“Do that one more time and I’ll break it. And I’m not talking about the phone.”
The sound that came out of Matthew’s mouth was more bark than laugh, as if the human part of him had given up the fight and let the wolf win.
“What do you think Hugh would have done with a cell phone?” Matthew cradled his in both hands as though it were his last precious link to the world outside his own troubled mind.
“Not much. Hugh wouldn’t remember to charge it, for a start. I loved your brother with all my heart, Matthew, but he was hopeless when it came to daily life.”
This time Matthew’s answering chuckle sounded less like a sound a wild animal might make.
“I take it that patriarchy has been more difficult than you anticipated?” Fernando didn’t envy Matthew for having to assert his leadership over this pack.
“Not really. Marcus’s children still hate me, and rightfully so.” Matthew’s fingers closed on the phone, his eyes straying to the screen like an addict’s. “I just saw the last of them. Ransome made me account for every vampire death I was responsible for in New Orleans—even the ones that had nothing to do with purging the blood rage from the city.”
“That must have taken some time,” Fernando murmured.
“Five hours. Ransome was surprised I remembered them all by name,” Matthew said.
Fernando was not.
“Now all of Marcus’s children have agreed to support me and be included in the scion, but I wouldn’t want to test their devotion,” Matthew continued. “Mine is a family built on fear—fear of Benjamin, of the Congregation, of other vampires, even of me. It’s not based on love or respect.”
“Fear is easy to root. Love and respect take more time,” Fernando told him.
The silence stretched, became leaden.
“Do you not want to ask me about your wife?”
“No.” Matthew stared at an ax buried in a thick stump. There were piles of split logs all around it. He rose and picked up a fresh log. “Not until I’m well enough to go to her and see for myself. I couldn’t bear it, Fernando. Not being able to hold her—to watch our children grow inside her—to know she is safe, it’s been—”
Fernando waited until the ax thunked into the wood before he prompted Matthew to continue.
“It’s been what, Mateus?”
Matthew pulled the ax free. He swung again.
Had Fernando not been a vampire, he wouldn’t have heard the response.
“It’s been like having my heart ripped out.” Matthew’s axhead cleaved the wood with a mighty crack. “Every single minute of every single day.”
* * *
Fernando gave Matthew forty-eight hours to recover from the ordeal with Ransome. Confessions of past sins were never easy, and Matthew was particularly prone to brooding.
Fernando took advantage of that time to introduce himself to Marcus’s children and grandchildren. He made sure they understood the family rules and who would punish those who disobeyed them, for Fernando had appointed himself Matthew’s enforcer—and executioner. The New Orleans branch of the Bishop-Clairmont family was rather subdued afterward, and Fernando decided Matthew could now go home. Fernando was increasingly concerned about Diana. Ysabeau said her medical condition was unchanged, but Sarah was still worried. Something was not right, she told Fernando, and she suspected that only Matthew would be able to fix it.
Fernando found Matthew in the garden as he often was, eyes black and hackles raised. He was still in the grip of blood rage. Sadly, there was no more wood for him to chop in Orleans Parish.
“Here.” Fernando dropped a bag at Matthew’s feet.
Inside the bag Matthew found his small ax and chisel, T-handled augers of various sizes, a frame saw, and two of his precious planes. Alain had neatly wrapped the planes in oiled cloth to protect them during their travels. Matthew stared at his well-used tools, then at his hands.
“Those hands haven’t always done bloody work,” Fernando reminded him. “I remember when they healed, created, made music.”
Matthew looked at him, mute.
“Will you make them on straight legs or with a curved base so they can be rocked?” Fernando asked conversationally.
Matthew frowned. “Make what?”
“The cradles. For the twins.” Fernando let his words sink in. “I think oak is best—stout and strong—but Marcus tells me that cherry is traditional in America. Perhaps Diana would prefer that.”
Matthew picked up his chisel. The worn handle filled his palm. “Rowan. I’ll make them out of rowan for protection.”
Fernando squeezed Matthew’s shoulder with approval and departed.
Matthew dropped the chisel back into the bag. He took out his phone, hesitated, and snapped a photograph. Then he waited.
Diana’s response was swift and made his bones hollow with longing. His wife was in the bath. He recognized the curves of the copper tub in the Mayfair house. But these were not the curves that interested him.
His wife—his clever, wicked wife—had propped the phone on her breastbone and taken a picture down the length of her naked body. All that was visible was the mound of her belly, the skin stretched impossibly tight, and the tips of her toes resting on the curled edge of the tub.
If he concentrated, Matthew could imagine her scent rising from the warm water, feel the silk of her hair between his fingers, trace the long, strong lines of her thigh and shoulder. Christ, he missed her.
“Fernando said you needed lumber.” Marcus was standing before him, frowning.
Matthew dragged his eyes away from the phone. What he needed, only Diana could provide.
“Fernando also said if anyone woke him in the next forty-eight hours, there would be hell to pay,” Marcus said, looking at the stacks of split logs. They certainly wouldn’t lack firewood this winter. “You know how Ransome loves a challenge—not to mention a brush with the devil—so you can imagine his response.”
“Do tell,” Matthew said with a dry chuckle. He hadn’t laughed in some time, so the sound was rusty and raw.
“Ransome has already been on the phone to the Krewe of Muses. I expect the Ninth Ward Marching Band will be here by suppertime. Vampire or no, they’ll rouse Fernando for sure.” Marcus looked down at his father’s leather tool bag. “Are you finally going to teach Jack to carve?” The boy had been begging Matthew for lessons since he arrived.
Matthew shook his head. “I thought he might like to help me make cradles instead.”
* * *
Matthew and Jack worked on the cradles for almost a week. Every cut of wood, every finely hewn dovetail that joined the pieces together, every swipe of the plane helped to reduce Matthew’s blood rage. Working on a present for Diana made him feel connected to her again, and he began to talk about the children and his hopes.