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Rafe closed his eyes and whispered a silent prayer to anyone who might be listening. This life had been thrust on Philippe, and he’d done the best he could. He loved his people even if they didn’t love him back. He’d given everything of himself. Rafe just wished he could shield him from the pain he feared was still coming.
But regardless of what they found at Arsenault Manor, he was not leaving Philippe’s side ever again. He would find a way to balance his loyalties between the Arsenaults and the Variks.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Nausea roiled Philippe’s stomach, and it had nothing to do with Rafe’s fierce driving. He was vaguely aware of the multiple calls Rafe made as he drove, directing each of his brothers to Arsenault Manor and detailing the situation they could be facing.
The only hint of warmth in his body came from Rafe’s sharp words. His lover was willing to place his family in harm’s way to protect Philippe’s clan. He wanted no harm to come to any of the Variks, but he welcomed the feeling of family that wrapped around him.
Even when he’d had a clan, he’d been alone. The people he’d been trying to protect didn’t trust him or his intentions. The trust he did have was hard-won and brittle. He cared for them, but it had been a hard life. He would give everything, his own life, to keep them safe. Could any of them say the same for him?
Jullien.
He and Jullien had been friends well before others were brought into what would become the Arsenault clan. Jullien had believed in him, trusted him. They had been friends. Jullien had struggled with Philippe’s association with Rafe, but Jullien admitted his anger had stemmed from worry over Philippe’s heart.
Philippe had thought the same with Ezra, but he’d been so damn wrong.
Rubbing his eyes, Philippe tried to shove aside the choking betrayal so he could focus on the task ahead of them. He had to be the leader he claimed to be, if only to keep from putting the Variks in more danger than necessary.
Tires squealed and gravel pinged against the undercarriage of the BMW as it roared up the driveway. Rafe had barely slammed the thing into park when Philippe was jumping out. His foot touched the first step when a strong hand wrapped around his arm, pulling him to a sharp stop.
“Wait,” Rafe said in a harsh whisper. “We need to be cautious. Our support won’t be here for a few more minutes.”
Philippe clenched his teeth against the urge to snap at Rafe. His blood was bubbling in his veins and his heart was beating in his throat, but he couldn’t allow his judgment to become more clouded more than it already was.
“There’s no one here,” Rafe whispered. His hand relaxed on his arm and Philippe jerked free. But there was something in those haunted words that kept him from charging into the house.
Taking a deep breath, Philippe concentrated on feeling for the power of other vampires in the area. It shouldn’t have been hard. While Rafe’s would be easiest to spot since he was standing right next to Philippe, he was well acquainted with his own home and clan. He would have been able to identify each of his clan members from a distance.
But there was nothing.
Rafe was right. It felt as if the house was empty.
“What’s Ezra’s power?”
It took Philippe an extra second to register and even understand what Rafe was saying.
“What? Why?”
“Can he cloak the power of other vampires? Can he easily hide an entire hoard of MacPhersons in there and we not sense it?”
Philippe shook his head, finally getting his brain online. “No. No, his power has to do with memories. He’s good at wiping minds. He wouldn’t be able to hide a vampire’s power signature.”
Rafe nodded. “We should still be cautious. We don’t know if the house is truly empty.”
There was no argument coming from Philippe regarding that point. He accepted a knife from Rafe and led the way up the stairs. His hand trembled slightly as he reached for the door and pushed it open.
The thick scent of blood rolled out of the opening, slamming into his face and knocking him back a step. Such a smell had been associated with relief, joy, and satisfaction. But this time, it carried with it only horror.
Philippe’s feet felt as if they were suddenly made of lead. His body didn’t want to move. Didn’t want to face what was waiting for them inside.
But he forced himself. One foot in front of the other. He locked his eyes on the floor, seeing only the old hardwood and the worn runner carpet that stretched from the door. Rafe’s hand landed on his shoulder, and Philippe drew the strength he needed from it to lift his eyes.
