Blue-Blooded Vamp (36 page)

I took another look around the room. I’d noticed the spartan décor before, but now I realized what bothered me about it. Most people have some sort of personal items in their living space. Photos, mementos, souvenirs—something. But Tristan’s room was completely bare of anything that might indicate he had a personal life at all.

Of course, from what I’d seen from him thus far, the lack of personal items shouldn’t have surprised me. While I’d witnessed camaraderie among the rest of his team, Tristan seemed to be always an arm’s length away. Even with Nyx, who had shared his bed.

I scanned the room for the map. Not seeing it, I realized it must still be in the meeting room where we’d talked earlier. I turned to leave, but a book on the desk caught my eye. It stood out only because it was the one item in the entire room that wasn’t perfectly aligned. The leather-bound volume lay at an odd angle, as if it had been dropped hastily onto the surface. I normally wouldn’t have thought anything of it, but given my father’s love of order, it made me curious.

The cover was cracked brown leather. Nothing fancy. But the weight of the volume told me this wasn’t just a normal book. I opened the cover and realized it was, in fact, a photo album. I paused. Was this the album Nyx had mentioned? The one Tristan kept to record Maisie’s and my progress over the years?

A flip of the page confirmed my suspicion. I knew immediately that the baby in the black-and-white print was Maisie instead of me. Why? Because she was smiling.

I stared at the image for a long time, memorizing every detail. Only a few strands of hair were visible on her smooth head. Because the image was black and white, it was impossible to know if her hair showed the signs of her mixed blood so young. She lay in a bassinette, swaddled in white cloth. Her big, bright eyes dominated the shot. Maybe I was projecting, but those young eyes seemed to contain too much knowledge for an infant. Her mouth was open in a gummy grin. Her milk fangs were hidden behind those gums so that to the ignorant observer, she looked like any other adorable infant.

Seeing my sister as a baby made something inside me crack open. Five decades later, that innocent being was dead, but at that moment, she had been perfect. Unsoiled by conflict or the vagaries of fate. Back then, the world was nothing but potential for my twin. She had no idea of the mother who’d died shortly after giving birth. Or the father who ditched her to be raised by his relatives. Or the sister who wasn’t strong enough to save her.

My chest tightened with regret. I didn’t bother trying to staunch the tears stinging my eyes. There was no use. I flipped farther into the book to poke at the wounds a little more. Might as well get it all out now. Dragging out the process of watching my dead twin’s happy life in pictures wouldn’t make it hurt any less.

The second shot was Maisie as a toddler. She wore a simple white outfit. Two chubby legs held up the bulk of her round body as she stood. One dimpled hand rested against a female knee. The image cut off the female above the thigh, but I assumed it belonged to my paternal grandmother, Ameritat. In the background, a magic workroom, similar to the one belonging to Rhea, only larger and more elaborate, confirmed the identity of the female. Ameritat had been revered as the Oracle of the Hekate Council for two millennia. Her healing powers were renown.

The facing page showed Maisie as a girl. She held a willow branch in her hand—a magic wand for a fledgling mage. She wielded the wand proudly with a determined frown on her small face. Far too serious for one of her tender age.

The photos were blurrier now. Tears gathered in my lashes, spilled down my cheeks. A couple of drops fell onto the image of my twin. I started to turn the page, but a creak on the stairs stopped me. I looked up to see Tristan staring at me.

“What are you—” he began in a harsh tone.

I dropped the book and hastily swiped at my eyes. But it was too late. He’d seen the tears.

“Sabina?” he said. This time his voice wasn’t gentle, but it held a note of concern I’d never heard from him before.

I shook my head and sniffed. “Sorry, you weren’t here so I thought I’d wait.” Another swipe of the eyes. “I didn’t mean to pry.”

He came forward then. “No, it’s all right. That’s your history.”

I laughed. “Maisie’s history, you mean.” I wasn’t exaggerating. Thus far, I’d yet to see one image of me.

Tristan frowned and came to stand beside me. Reaching past me, he grabbed the book. “No, you’re in here, too.”

He flipped several pages—past more images of Maisie, the pictures slowly filling with more color as the years passed—to one about halfway through the book. The one he stopped on was definitely me.

I stood next to a statue of the three Dominae in the estate’s garden. My profile was upturned, as if I was gazing up at their faces with admiration. Along the edge of the image, someone had written simply
Sabina
.

“That’s one of the few we managed to get of you in Los Angeles. Do you remember what you were doing here?”

As I studied the image, my mind flew back to that night thirty years earlier. I considered telling him I didn’t know, but why? He seemed genuinely interested, and besides, it was the past. It couldn’t hurt me now.

“I do, actually. I think that was the night Lavinia informed me I wouldn’t be allowed to become an acolyte to the Temple of Lilith because she was sending me to Enforcer school.” I swallowed against the flashback of pain that memory brought up. “I’d escaped into the gardens
because I knew if I was around her one minute longer, I’d kill her.”

His eyes widened. “I didn’t realize you wanted to enter the priestess caste.”

I nodded absently and ran a finger over the plastic sheet covering the picture. “I was naïve to think they’d ever allow a mixed-blood to join the temple.”

He didn’t respond. He was quiet so long, I looked up. He was watching me with new eyes.

“What?” My tone was more defensive than I’d meant it to be.

He shook his head. “Nothing. I just realized there’s a lot I don’t know about your early years.”

“There’s not much to tell,” I said bitterly.

“I doubt that very much,” he said quietly. “I knew Maisie was well protected and loved, so I assumed it was the same for you. But maybe I was the naïve one.”

He was getting a little too close to the truth for my comfort. I didn’t want to have a heart-to-heart with this man about my fucked up childhood. Especially when he’d done nothing to stop it.

I cleared my throat and turned to the next page. This one had been taken more recently—within the last six months.

“I was so relieved when I found out you’d joined Maisie in New York,” Tristan said. “By that time, I had dozens of photos of Maisie but only that one shot of you.”

I nodded, studying the picture. I was walking down the street in New York. A deep frown wrinkled my brow and my fists were clenched.

“You look like you want to kill someone in this one. Any idea who?”

I chuckled. “Any number of beings.”

He must have sensed my internal steel doors were
locked tight now because he cleared his throat and turned more pages. I felt itchy, like I wanted to claw my way out of my skin. As he flipped, the images blurred into swirls of color. Pictures of me fighting a werewolf pack in Central Park. Me coming out of Slade’s bar. Adam and me holding hands. And just then, he turned one more page, and my heart skipped a beat. My hand slammed down on his to prevent him from turning the page.

“Wha—” he said.

Ignoring him, I grabbed the book and brought it closer to my face for inspection. This was the first image in the books that showed Maisie and me together. It had been taken at the Crossroads, the mage estate north of New York. Maisie and I were side by side, walking through the grounds together. We leaned into each other, like we were whispering secrets. Our red and black heads were so close you couldn’t tell where my hair ended and hers began.

Whoever took the picture had obviously used a zoom lens. There was no way they’d be able to get that level of detail without me sensing their presence. Maisie was laughing and had her hand on my arm. I smiled back at her, clearly enjoying myself. My chest tightened. I felt embarrassed to have an unguarded and private moment exposed.

Anger rose up suddenly. Tristan didn’t deserve this picture. He didn’t deserve the right to pry into our lives. He didn’t deserve to intrude into the few private moments my sister and I had shared.

Without thinking about what I was doing, I ripped the plastic sheet back and pried the picture from the sticky backing.

“Hey—” Tristan began.

I swung around. Whatever he saw in my face had him backing down. I glared him down as I stuffed the picture
into my back pocket. “You had no right,” I said, my voice low and hard.

His face paled. “I know.”

I turned back to the album and flipped to the last page. The final image was of Adam, Giguhl, and me. We were walking through the French Quarter together. If I had to guess, it was taken our first night in New Orleans. The night Lavinia appeared to ambush me near Jackson Square. I’d been so angry. So fueled by rage. By the desire to get Maisie back so we could all return to normal life. Whatever that was.

Little did I know that just a few short months later, Lavinia and Maisie would be dead and I’d be in Italy with our father. The only constants in that entire fucked up story were Adam and Giguhl. Tristan didn’t deserve them either. I pulled that picture out, too.

“Sabina…,” he began haltingly. “I know this is painful for you.”

I laughed, a bitter sound. “Don’t act like you care.” I held up the book. “Besides a handful of crappy photos, you don’t know the first thing about who I am or how I feel.”

“You’re right.” He met my anger levelly. His frankness made me pause. “I knew a lot about your sister. Between Orpheus’s updates and the research of my team, I felt like I knew her—a least a little bit. But you?” He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “Were always a bit of a mystery.”

“I didn’t have to be,” I said, raising my chin.

“Didn’t you?” He raised a brow.

“Please, you only had one shot of me in Los Angeles and it was taken long before I could have killed your spy. Admit it, you never made much of an effort with me because you believed Maisie was the Chosen.”

Tristan sighed and crossed his arms. “I’m sorry. I admit now there’s a chance I might have been… wrong.”

“A chance?” I said, my voice incredulous. “Well, that makes me feel so much better.”

He shot me an impatient look. “If I were you, I’d spend my time between now and tomorrow night getting my ego in check. Your fight with Horus was a perfect example. If you allow cockiness and anger to guide you tomorrow, you’re destined to fail.”

I ignored the fact that I knew very well I’d been showing off. Some perverse part of me had wanted to prove to Tristan that I had skills. But that was neither here nor there as far as this conversation went. “So, what? You figured you’d stick a pin in my overinflated ego? Make me insecure and scared before I head off to the fight of my life?” I huffed out a breath. “Jesus, it’s like you want me to fail.”

“That couldn’t be further from the truth. The fact is, I—and everyone else—need you to succeed. You’re our best and only shot at finally killing Cain. But you won’t be able to stroll blithely into the underworld like you own it. A little humility and common sense will serve you better than that chip on your shoulder.”

“Oh, that’s rich! You want to know why I have a chip on my shoulder?” I stared him down. “You put it there. You and my mother.” His mouth fell open, but I steamrolled ahead. “While you were off chasing windmills and Maisie was being adored by the mages, I was hidden away in the Dominae compound because Lavinia was ashamed of her mongrel granddaughter. She forced me to give up my dream of going into service to the Great Mother because no mixed-blood could possibly be allowed such a revered position in the vampire race. Then I was forced to become a killer because in Lavinia’s eyes it was the perfect job for an abomination like me. I killed for her for thirty years and I was good at it.

“After I woke up and got away, I used those skills to defend myself against beings who wanted me dead because I was a freak. I used that pain and anger to spur my resolve to get stronger, faster, more powerful. And I did. My killing skills combined with my Chthonic magic make me the best fucking shot you’ve got to get the revenge you want. So forgive me if I’m a little angry when you tell me to be humble.” I threw up my hands. “Humility is for martyrs. And I don’t plan on dying for your cause any time soon.”

“That’s not—” he began.

I cut him off. “Fair? You’re right. It isn’t fucking fair. I don’t want this to be my life. I don’t want everything to be messy and hard, but it is. Whether or not I’m really the Chosen doesn’t mean shit to me right now. All I care about is the mission and making sure Cain dies. I’ll do whatever it takes to make that happen.”

He opened his mouth, but I wasn’t done.

I lowered my voice. “But if you think I’ll ever forgive you for making me pay for your sins, you’re wrong. Dead wrong. You can blame Cain for bringing you and Phoebe together, but he didn’t force you to abandon me. He didn’t force you to wait until I finally was useful to you to introduce yourself. You can look at those pictures and think you know me or my sister, but you don’t know shit.” My throat felt tight and scratchy. Tears stung the backs of my eyes, but I didn’t let them fall. “You should be ashamed of yourself that you never got to meet Maisie. She was amazing.”

Tristan swallowed hard. He was quiet for a moment. But his stricken expression didn’t earn him an ounce of sympathy from me. He couldn’t just stroll back into my life and tell me I needed to be less me. “Are you done?” he said finally.

I nodded, blowing out a long breath. I felt lighter now having gotten those painful words off my chest.

He crossed his arms. “You can go now.”

That threw me for a loop. I’d been expecting some sort of retort. Maybe an apology. An attempt to mend fences. The last thing I expected was nothing. Although, given Tristan’s track record, I should have known better. As far as I could tell, he was very talented at sidestepping confrontation and not taking responsibility for his actions.