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He was having enough trouble with his own privacy at the moment.
“What’s in this vault?”
Lassiter glanced over to where she’d wandered. The reinforced panels were taller than she was and wide enough to accommodate three of her standing shoulder to shoulder, the steel glowing in the odd, diffused light.
“That’s where the histories of the Black Dagger Brotherhood and all the First Families are kept. Phury told me he reinforced it a little. And by ‘a little,’ I think he meant a ton.”
“Indeed,” she breathed.
Now she touched something, her fingertips descending the contours of the molding that surrounded the vault’s entry—and for a moment, he replaced his abdominal muscles with the carpentry’s undulations. His breath caught.
“Do you get a volume?” she asked as she glanced over her shoulder at him.
“No, I don’t.”
Her eyes flashed with surprise. “Why not?”
“I’m not a vampire.”
“But you’re in charge.”
“Am I? I think that’s the Creator.” He mostly kept the bitterness out of his voice. “We’re all under Him and his whims.”
Lowering his eyes, Lassiter focused on the book in his palms and fanned the pages all the way to the end—except then he stopped and frowned. The blank sheets of parchment were marked with shadowy etchings that were not legible, and when he backtracked to the last of the ink that was properly, vividly, present, he saw that the lines of symbols were filling themselves in, the shapes darkening on their own.
He looked around at all the volumes, the thousands of volumes.
Jesus, he thought. The histories are writing themselves now.
And clearly, free will was not the bill of goods it had been sold as.
“But no one is writing anything down anymore.”
“I don’t think that’s a problem.” He clapped the book shut and shoved it back into its slot. “Anyway…”
Rahvyn came over. “Are you all right?”
“Of course I am.”
“Talk to me, Lassiter. You must tell me what is on your mind.”
As he stared down into her eyes, he felt a fucking maelstrom rise inside him, conflicts twisting and turning in his gut. And for all the reasons he should stay quiet, he found that he wanted to be truthful with her. Even if only in one way.
“I want to kiss you.” That stare of hers flared and he nodded. “It’s a truth I’ve been trying to deny. For your sake.”
As he heard his words hit the airwaves, he pictured Eddie and Adrian dragging him off to the Creator.
“Lassiter?”
“Yes.”
“Why are you so afraid of kissing me?”
Even though he knew it was Rahvyn in front of him, somehow Devina took her place, the brunette-haired demon a barrier that was as tangible as that vault Rahvyn had just put her hand on.
“I do need to tell you something,” he said in a halting voice.
“What,” she whispered.
And yet the words didn’t come. Not direct ones, at any rate.
“When I came here to Caldwell,” he hedged, “and then when I started… here, after the Scribe Virgin left… I didn’t think I was going to get involved. But I learned that I couldn’t help myself.”
“Forgive me, I do not understand?”
He moved his hand around, and then focused on the vault. “All of these souls, I’m responsible for them. They are my reason for being, these vampires. Their destinies…? Are my own now.”
Unable to stay still, he broke off from her and stalked among the shelves. And as if she recognized he needed his freedom, she waited silently—until he was back standing before her.
“I will do anything to help them. So I have done… things I shouldn’t have… to help them. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
“What kinds of things,” she whispered.
“Oh, Rahvyn. Bad things.”
Crossing her arms over her chest, she shivered. “Like what.”
Reaching out, he brushed her cheek, and thought of how different this moment would have been if he hadn’t willingly put himself in Devina’s cross hairs: It would have been uncomplicated by the disgust that was clogging his throat, the self-loathing getting even worse as he focused on Rahvyn’s sweet mouth.
“I shouldn’t have gotten involved as deeply as I am,” he mumbled. “Losing objectivity makes you do things you wouldn’t ordinarily think of. Things that you couldn’t ordinarily contemplate… things that you didn’t want to do, would never do. But feel as though you have to.”
“Wrong deeds for the right reasons,” she intoned.
“Yes.”
“I know what that is.” She put her hand on his arm. “Your heart is pure, though. Your intentions noble. Forgive yourself, that is what you must do.”
He thought of Devina and Lash, and then how much he loved the female in front of him. “Even if I’m still doing it?”
“Perhaps you should stop.”
Shaking his head, he said, “I can’t. At least not right now.”
“Then my wish for you is that you make peace with your choices.” Abruptly, her face tightened, as if she were in pain, deep pain. “I know how you feel, and I do not relish your responsibility. But those under your care are very fortunate.”
