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A gasp brought V's head up. One of the females was close by, her face drawn in horror as if he had spoken to her.
"What goes on herein?" came a booming voice.
V leaped off the pretrans so he could get back a ways from his father and keep the male in view. The Bloodletter was standing with his breeches undone, having clearly just taken one of the kitchen females. Which explained why he was in this part of the camp.
"What have you in your hand?" the Bloodletter demanded, stepping closer to V. "Give it unto me this moment."
In the face of his father's wrath, V had no choice but to proffer the book. It was snatched up with a curse.
"You used this wisely only when you beat him with it." Shrewd dark eyes narrowed on the indention in the hides whereupon V laid his back. "You have been lazing off against these skins, have you not? You have passed time here."
When V didn't reply, his father took another step nearer. "What do you do back here? Read other tomes? I think yes, and I think you shall give them to me. Perhaps I shall like to read instead of being about my useful endeavors."
V hesitated... and received a slap so hearty it knocked him over onto the hides. As he slid down and rolled off the back of the pile, he landed on his knees in front of his three other books. Blood from his nose dropped onto one of the covers.
"Shall I strike you anew? Or will you give me what I asked for?" The Bloodletter's tone was bored, as if either outcome were acceptable, as both would hurt V and thus bring satisfaction.
V put his hand out and stroked a soft leather cover. His chest roared with pain at the good-bye, but the emotion was such a waste, wasn't it. These things he cared about were about to be destroyed in some fashion, and it was going to happen now, regardless of what he might do. They were as good as gone already.
V looked up over his shoulder at the Bloodletter, and saw a truth that changed his life: His father would destroy anything and anyone V cleaved to for comfort. The male had done so countless times and countless ways before and would continue apace. These books and this episode were just one foot print along an endless trail that would be well trodden.
The realization made all V's pain go away. Just like that. For him, there was now no utility in emotional connection, only an eventual agony when it was crushed. So he would no longer feel.
Vishous picked up the books he'd cradled in gentle hands for hours and hours and faced his father. He handed what had been a lifeline over without any care or kinship to the volumes at all. It was as if he had never seen his books before.
The Bloodletter didn't take what was put before him. "Do you give these to me, my son?"
"I do."
"Yes... hmm. You know, perhaps I shall not like to read after all. Perhaps I should prefer to fight as a male does. For my species and my honor." His massive arm stretched out, and he pointed to one of the kitchen fires. "Take them there. Burn them there. As it is winter, the heat is of value."
The Bloodletter's eyes narrowed as V calmly went over and tossed the books into the flames. When he turned back around to his father, the male was studying him carefully.
"What said the boy about your eye?" the Bloodletter murmured. "I believe I heard a reference."
"He said, 'Your eye, your eye, what has been done,' " V replied without affect.
In the silence that followed, blood oozed from V's nose, running warm and slow down his lips and off his chin. His arm was sore from the blows he'd thrown, and his head was in pain. None of it bothered him, though. The strangest strength was upon him.
"Do you know why the boy would say such a thing?"
"I do not."
He and his father stared at each other as an audience of the curious gathered.
The Bloodletter said to no one in particular, "It appears as if my son likes to read. As I wish to be well versed in my young's interests, I should like to be apprised if anyone sees him doing so. I would consider it a personal favor to which a boon of note would be attached." V's father pivoted around, grabbed a female by the waist, and dragged her toward the main fire pit. "And now we shall have some sport, soldiers mine! To the pit!"
A rousing cheer rose from the knot of males and the crowd dispersed.
As V watched them all go, he realized he felt no hatred. Usually, when his father's back turned, Vishous gave free rein to how much he despised the male. Now there was nothing. It was as when he had looked upon the books before holding them out. He felt... nothing.
V glanced down at the male whom he'd beaten. "If you ever come near me again, I shall break both your legs and your arms and make it so you shall never see right once more. Are we clear?"
The male smiled even though his mouth was swelling up as if bee-stung. "What if I transition first?"
V put his hands on his knees and leaned down. "I am my father's son. Therefore I am capable of anything. No matter my size."
The boy's eyes widened, as the truth was no doubt obvious: Disconnected as Vishous was now, there was nothing he could not stomach, no deed he could not accomplish, no means he would not call forth to reach an end.
He was as his father had always been, naught but soulless calculation covered by skin. The son had learned his lesson.
Chapter Twelve
When Jane came to again, it was out of a terrifying dream, one in which something that didn't exist was in fact alive and well and in the same room with her: She saw her patient's sharp canine teeth and his mouth at the wrist of a woman and him drinking from a vein.
The hazy, off-kilter images lingered and panicked her like a tarp that moved because there was something under it. Something that would hurt you.
Something that would bite you.
Vampire.
She did not get afraid all that often, but she was scared as she sat up slowly. Looking around the spartan bedroom, she realized with dread that the kidnapping part of things hadn't been a dream. The rest of it, though? She wasn't sure what was real and what wasn't, because her memory had so many holes in it. She remembered operating on the patient. Remembered admitting him to the SICU. Remembered the men abducting her. But after that? Everything was spotty.
As she took a deep breath, she smelled food and saw there was a tray set up next to her chair. Lifting a silver lid off the... Jesus, that was a really nice plate. Imari, like her mother's had been. Frowning, she noted the meal was gourmet: lamb with baby new potatoes and summer squash. A slice of chocolate cake and a pitcher and a glass were off to the side.
Had they kidnapped Wolfgang Puck as well, for kicks and giggles?
She looked over at her patient.
In the glow from a lamp on the bedside table, he was lying still on black sheets, his eyes closed, his black hair against the pillow, his heavy shoulders showing just above the covers. His respiration was slow and even, his face had color in it, and there was no sheen of fever sweat on him. Although his brows were drawn and his mouth was nothing more than a slash, he looked... revived.
Which was impossible, unless she'd been out cold for a week straight.
Jane stood up stiffly, stretched her arms over her head, and arched to crack her spine back into place. Moving silently, she went over and took the man's pulse. Even. Strong.
Shit. None of this was logical. None of it. Patients who had been shot and stabbed and who had crashed twice, who then had had open-heart surgery, did not rebound like this. Ever.
Vampire.
Oh, shut up with that.
She glanced at the digital clock on the bedside table and saw the date. Friday. Friday? Christ, it was Friday and ten o'clock in the morning. She'd operated on him a mere eight hours ago, and he looked as if he'd had weeks of healing time.
Maybe this was all a dream. Maybe she'd fallen asleep on the train down to Manhattan and would wake up as they pulled into Perm Station. She'd have an awkward laugh, get a cup of coffee, and go to her interview at Columbia as planned blaming it all on vending cuisine.
She waited. Hoped a bump in the tracks would lurch her into waking up.
Instead, the digital clock just kept churning through the minutes.
Right. Back to the shit-this-is-reality idea. Feeling utterly alone and scared to death, Jane walked over to the door, tried the knob, and found it locked. Surprise, surprise. She was tempted to bang on the thing, but why bother? No one on the other side was going to let her free, and besides, she didn't want any of them to know she was awake.
Casing the place was the directive: The windows were covered by some kind of barrier on the far side of the glass, the panel so thick there wasn't even a glow of day coming through it. Door was obviously a no-go. Walls were solid. No phone. No computer.
