“Yeah, well, I got my hair styled by inferno three weeks ago, so it’s still growing back,” I said flippantly.
If I wasn’t a vampire, I wouldn’t have hair at all after being nearly burned to death, but undead regenerative abilities meant I didn’t need to invest in wigs. Or skin grafts, thank God.
“So, you want to talk more?” I went on. “Or should I just start whipping your ass for trespassing and probable assault?”
I was now close enough that I could see his eyes were the color of blueberries, but he didn’t react in anger. Instead, his grin widened.
“If you weren’t my relation, I’d be tempted to take you up on your flirting.”
The idiot thought I was hitting on him? That annoyed me into missing the first part of his sentence, but then I froze.
“What do you mean, relation?”
The only family I had aboveground consisted of an imprisoned vampire father, a ghostly uncle, and a newly-undead mother. Yet the conviction in his tone and the steady way he held my gaze had me wondering if he was telling the truth. Good Lord, was it possible that my father wasn’t the only vampire in my family ancestry?
He traced a line in the dry leaves with that long stick, his brow arching in challenge.
“Haven’t figured it out yet?” He gave a mock sigh. “Thought out of everyone, you’d be most attuned to the similarities, but appears not.”
Word games weren’t the right move with me. I gave his long blond locks and intentionally outdated shirt a withering glance. “If you’re trying to double as Lestat, then sure, you nailed it with the similarities.”
He snorted. “Thick little kitten, aren’t you?”
Something dark dropped down behind him, but before the vampire could whirl around to defend himself, he was enveloped in a punishing embrace. Moonlight glinted off the blade Bones held to the vampire’s chest.
“No one calls my wife that but me,” he said in a deadly, silken voice.
The vampire twisted in a futile attempt to free himself, but iron bars would’ve been easier to pry off. His thrashing drove the tip of Bones’s knife into his chest, darkening that white lacy shirt with crimson. More struggling would only shove the blade deeper, and if that silver twisted in his heart, the vampire would be dead the permanent way. He stilled, craning his neck to peer back at the man restraining him.
In that moment, seeing their faces so close together, the first inkling of realization slammed into me. It seemed impossible, but . . .
“Bones, don’t hurt him!” I said, reeling at the implications. “I— I think maybe this isn’t about Annette’s attack.”
The vampire shot me an approving look. “Not so thick after all, are you?”
Bones didn’t move the blade, but his hand tightened around the hilt of the knife. “Insult her again and those will be your last words.”
A pained laugh came out of the vampire. “Here I thought teasing one’s relation was normal.”
“Relation?” Bones scoffed. “You’re claiming to be a member of her family?”
“Not by blood, but by marriage,” the vampire said, drawing each word out. “Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Wraith, and I’m your brother.”
Four
SHOCK WASHED OVER Bones’s face. Wraith seemed more urbane, even with a knife protruding from his chest.
“Lies,” Bones finally said. “My mother had no other children aside from me.”
“She didn’t,” was Wraith’s reply. “Your father did.”
Bones still looked thunderstruck, but his grip didn’t loosen. “My mum was a whore. There’s no way she could’ve known who my father was.”
“Your mother was Penelope Ann Maynard, who did indeed become a whore. But not until after she bore the Duke of Rutland’s illegitimate son. That son was raised in a London whorehouse and sentenced to deportation for thievery in 1789. He died in the New South Wales penal colonies a year later, but he didn’t stay dead.” Wraith’s gaze slid to the man behind him. “Any of this sound familiar to you?”
Each word hammered into Bones like physical blows, I could tell from the emotions weaving into my subconscious. While I’d heard the story of Bones’s past, it wasn’t common knowledge, and Wraith had been spot-on with the dates and details. Plus, there was the resemblance. Both men had those high, chiseled cheekbones, thick brows, full yet firm mouths, and tall, proudly arrogant stances. Bones was a brown-eyed brunet and Wraith a blue-eyed blond, but if Wraith dyed his hair and got dark contacts, even a casual observer could guess they were related. Half-brothers, if what Wraith said was true.
“Close, but my mother’s surname was Russell, not Maynard,” Bones stated. “And neither she nor any of the women I grew up with even hinted that they knew who my father was. Now, over two hundred years later, you expect me to believe this tale of dukes and you being my long-lost brother?” His arm tightened around Wraith’s neck. “Sorry, mate. I don’t.”