Lead Demon

Mark of Reborn

“Not all of our kind are prone to it. The sickness is in Ysabeau’s blood, passed from her maker and on to her children. Ysabeau and Louis were spared, but not Seven or Louisa. And Seven’s son Benjamin has the affliction, too.”

Though I knew nothing of this son, Seven had told me hair-raising stories about Louisa. The same blood-borne tendency to excess was in Seven as well—and he could pass it down to any children we might have. Just when I thought I knew all the secrets that kept Seven from my bed, here was another: the fear of hereditary illness.

“What sets it off?” I forced the words past the tightness in my throat.

“Many things, and it is worse when he is tired or hungry. Seven does not belong to himself when the rage is upon him, and it can make him act against his true nature.”

Eleanor. Could this be how one of Seven’s great loves had died, trapped between an enraged Seven and Baldwin in Jerusalem? His repeated warnings about his possessiveness, and the danger that would result, didn’t seem idle anymore. Like my panic attacks, this was a physiological reaction that Seven might never be entirely able to control.

“Is this why you ordered him down here today? To force him into showing his vulnerabilities to the world?” I demanded furiously of Michael. “How could you? You’re his father!”

“We are a treacherous breed. I might turn against him one day.” Michael shrugged. “I might turn on you, witch.”

At that, Seven reversed their positions and was pressing Michael back toward the far wall. Before he could gain the advantage, Michael grabbed him by the neck. The two of them stood, locked nose to nose. “Seven,” Michael said sharply.

His son kept pushing, his humanity gone. Seven’s only desire was to beat his opponent, or kill him if he must. There had been moments in our brief relationship when the frightening human legends about vampires made sense, and this was one of them. But I wanted my Seven back. I took a step in his direction, but it only made his rage worse.

“Don’t come closer, Stephanie.”

“You do not want to do this, milord,” Daniel said, going to his master’s side. He reached out an arm. I heard a snap, watched the arm drop uselessly to his side thanks to the break at the shoulder and elbow, and saw the blood pouring out of a wound at his neck. Daniel winced, his fingers rising to press against the savage bite.

“Seven!” I cried.

It was the wrong thing to do. The sound of my distress made Seven wilder. Daniel was nothing more than an obstacle to him now. Seven flung him across the room, where he hit the wall of the hay barn, all the while retaining a one-handed grip on his father’s throat.

“Silence, Stephanie. Seven is beyond reason. Matthaios!” Michael barked out his name. Seven stopped trying to push his father away from me, though his grip never loosened.

“I know what you have done.” Michael waited while his words penetrated Seven’s awareness. “Do you hear me, Seven? I know my future. You would have beaten back the rage if you could have.”

Michael had deduced that his son had killed him, but not how or why. The only explanation available to him was Seven’s illness.

“You don’t know,” Seven said numbly. “You can’t.”

“You are behaving as you always do when you regret a kill: guilty, furtive, distracted,” Michael said. “Te absolvo, Matthaios.”

“I’ll take Stephanie away,” Seven said with sudden lucidity. “Let us both go, Michael.”

“No. We will face it together, the three of us,” Michael said, his face full of compassion. I had been wrong. Michael had not been trying to break Seven, but only his guilt. Michael had not failed his son after all.

“No!” Seven cried, twisting away. But Michael was stronger.

“I forgive you,” his father repeated, throwing his arms around his son in a fierce embrace. “I forgive you.”

Seven shuddered once, his body shaking from head to foot, then went limp as though some evil spirit had fled. “Je suis désolé,” he whispered, the words slurred with emotion. “So sorry.”

“And I have forgiven you. Now you must put it behind you.” Michael released his son and looked at me. “Come to him, Stephanie, but move carefully. He still is not himself.”

I ignored Michael and went to Seven in a rush. He took me into his arms and breathed in my scent as if it had the power to sustain him. Daniel moved forward, too, his arm already healed. He handed Seven a cloth for his hands, which were slick with blood. Seven’s ferocious look kept his servant several paces away, the white cloth flapping like a flag of surrender. Michael retreated a few steps, and Seven’s eyes darted at the sudden movement.

“That’s your father and Daniel,” I said, taking Seven’s face in my hands. Incrementally, the black in his eyes retreated as a ring of dark green iris appeared first, then a sliver of gray, then the distinctive pale celadon that rimmed the pupil.

“Christ.” Seven sounded disgusted. He reached for my hands and drew them from his face. “I haven’t lost control like that for ages.”

“You are weak, Seven, and the blood rage is too close to the surface. If the Congregation were to challenge your right to be with Stephanie and you responded like this, you would lose. We cannot let there be any question whether she is a de Clermont.” Michael drew his thumb deliberately across his lower teeth. Blood, darkly purple, rose from the wound. “Come here, child.”

“Michael!” Seven held me back, dumbfounded. “You have never—”

“Never is a very long time. Do not pretend to know more about me than you do, Matthaios.” Michael studied me gravely. “There is nothing to fear, Stephanie.” I looked at Seven, wanting to be sure this wasn’t going to cause another outburst of rage.

“Go to him.” Seven released me as the creatures in the loft watched with rapt attention.

“The manjasang make families through death and blood,” Michael began when I stood before him. His words sent fear instinctively trilling through my bones. He smudged his thumb in a curve that started in the center of my forehead near my hairline, crept near my temple, and finished at my brow. “With this mark you are dead, a shade among the living without clan or kin.” Michael’s thumb returned to the place where he began, and he made a mirror image of the mark on the other side, finishing between my brows. My witch’s third eye tingled with the cool sensation of vampire blood. “With this mark you are reborn, my blood-sworn daughter and forever a member of my family.”