“Diana. Not. Here?” Matthew formed each syllable carefully. He needed whoever might be watching to know that his wife was still free.
“The Diana you saw was a mirage, Matthew,” Benjamin chortled. “Knox cast a spell, projecting an image of her into that empty room upstairs. Had you watched for a bit longer, you would have seen it loop back to the beginning, like a film.”
Matthew had known it was an illusion. The image of Diana was blond, for Knox had not seen his wife since they’d returned from the past. Even had the hair color been right, Matthew would have known that it was not really Diana, for no spark of animation or warmth drew him to her. Matthew had entered Benjamin’s compound knowing he would be taken. It was the only way to force Benjamin to make his next move and bring his twisted game to a close.
“If only you had been immune to love, you might have been a great man. Instead you are ruled by that worthless emotion.” Benjamin leaned closer, and Matthew could smell the scent of blood on his lips. “It is your great weakness, Father.”
Matthew’s hand clenched reflexively at the insult, and his forearm paid the price, the ulna cracking like arid clay beneath a baking sun.
“That was foolish, wasn’t it? You accomplished nothing. Your body is already suffering enormous stress, your mind filled with anxieties about your wife and children. It will take you twice as long to heal under these conditions.” Benjamin forced Matthew’s jaws open, studying his gums and tongue. “You’re thirsty. Hungry, too. I have a child downstairs—a girl, three or four. When you’re ready to feed on her, let me know. I’m trying to determine if the blood of virgins is more restorative than the blood of whores. So far the data is inconclusive.” Benjamin made a note on a medical chart attached to a clipboard.
“Never.”
“Never is a long time. Philippe taught me that,” Benjamin said. “We’ll see how you feel later. No matter what you decide, your responses will help me answer another research question: How long does it take to starve the piety out of a vampire so that he stops believing that God will save him?”
A very long time, Matthew thought.
“Your vital signs are still surprisingly strong, considering all the drugs I’ve pumped into your system. I like the disorientation and sluggishness they provoke. Most prey experience acute anxiety when their reactions and instincts are dulled. I see some evidence of that here, but not enough for my purposes. I’ll have to up the dose.” Benjamin threw the clipboard onto a small metal cabinet on wheels. It looked to be from World War II. Matthew noticed the metal chair next to the cabinet. The coat on it looked familiar.
His nostrils flared.
Peter Knox. He wasn’t in the room now, but he was nearby. Benjamin was not lying about that.
“I’d like to get to know you better, Father. Observation can only help me to discover surface truths. Even ordinary vampires keep so many secrets. And you, my sire, are anything but ordinary.” Benjamin advanced on him. He tore open Matthew’s shirt, exposing his neck and shoulders. “Over the years I’ve learned how to maximize the information I glean from a creature’s blood. It’s all about the pace, you see. One must not rush. Or be too greedy.”
“No.” Matthew had expected that Benjamin would violate his mind, but it was impossible not to react instinctively against the intrusion. He scrambled against the chair. One forearm snapped. Then the other.
“If you break the same bones over and over, they never heal. Think about that, Matthew, before you try to escape from me again. It’s futile. And I can drive spikes between your tibia and fibula to prove it.”
Benjamin’s sharp nail scored Matthew’s skin. The blood welled to the surface, cold and wet.
“Before we are done, Matthew, I will know everything about you and your witch. Given enough time—and vampires have plenty of that—I will be able to witness every touch you’ve bestowed upon her. I will know what brings her pleasure as well as pain. I will know the power she wields and the secrets of her body. Her vulnerabilities will be as open to me as if her soul were a book.” Benjamin stroked Matthew’s skin, gradually increasing the circulation to his neck. “I could smell her fear in the Bodleian, of course, but now I want to understand it. So afraid, yet so remarkably brave. It will be thrilling to break her.”
Hearts cannot be broken, Matthew reminded himself. He managed to croak out a single word. “Why?”
“Why?” Benjamin’s voice crackled with fury. “Because you didn’t have the courage to kill me outright. Instead, you destroyed me one day, one drop of blood at a time. Rather than confess to Philippe that you had failed him and revealed the de Clermonts’ secret plans for Outremer, you made me a vampire and flung me out into the streets of a city crowded with warmbloods. Do you remember what it’s like to feel a hunger for blood that cuts you in two with longing and desire? Do you remember how strong the blood rage is when you are first changed?”
Matthew did remember. And he had hoped—no. God help him, Matthew had prayed that Benjamin would be cursed with blood rage.
“You cared more for Philippe’s good opinion than you cared for your own child.” Benjamin’s voice shook with rage, his eyes black as night. “Since the moment I was made a vampire, I have lived to destroy you and Philippe and all of the de Clermonts. My revenge gave me purpose, and time has been my friend. I’ve waited. I’ve planned. I’ve made my own children and taught them how to survive as I learned to survive: by raping and killing. It was the only path you left for me to follow.”
Matthew’s eyes closed in an attempt to blot out not only Benjamin’s face but also the knowledge of his failures as a son and a father. But Benjamin would not allow it.
“Open your eyes,” his son snarled. “Soon, you will have no more secrets from me.”
Matthew’s eyes flew open in alarm.
“As I learn about your mate, I will discover so much about you as well,” Benjamin continued. “There is no better way to know a man than to understand his woman. I learned that from Philippe, as well.”
The gears in Matthew’s brain clinked and clunked. Some awful truth was fighting to make itself known.
“Was Philippe able to tell you about the time he and I spent together during the war? It didn’t go according to my plans. Philippe spoiled so many of them when he visited the witch in the camp—an old Gypsy woman,” Benjamin explained. “Someone tipped him off to my presence, and as usual Philippe took matters into his own hands. The witch stole most of his thoughts, scrambled the rest like eggs, and then hanged herself. It was a setback, to be sure. He had always had such an orderly mind. I had been looking forward to exploring it, in all its complex beauty.”
Matthew’s roar of protest came out as a croak, but the screaming in his head went on and on. This he had not expected.