Blood Kiss - Ward J. R. (чтение книг .txt) 📗

“What … do you mean?”

“The family who lived there, the aristocrats who lived there, went to take shelter in a steel-clad safe room—and they wouldn’t let any of the workers in. They locked them out so they got slaughtered—I saw the open door, and their footsteps through the blood of my father and his class as they went for the exit and escaped either right before the dawn came or the following evening.” There was another pause. And then in a low voice, he said, “I buried everyone but my father there. Him, I took back home. I just couldn’t … leave the others like that. A doggen came back while I was taking care of the bodies and told me that they’d been trying to find kin, but everyone had been killed at all of the workers’ houses—just like mine. There were … literally no survivors to tend to the dead. Oh, and that classy family? They ran. I’ve tried to find them—and I will not rest until I do. They lived on an estate called Endelview.”

He cleared his throat roughly. “I mean, how do you do that to someone else? How do you live with yourself knowing that you could have helped somebody and didn’t? The staff, the servants, they had served that family for generations. And there were a lot of those commoners in that parlor. They came there, from what I was told by that doggen, because the construction guys knew about the passage and herded people in the direction of that room. They were pounding on the panels to be let in while the house was sacked—I know because so many of the bodies were grouped together against the wall. But nope. They weren’t good enough, important enough, worthy enough.”

Oh … God.

That was the only thing going through her mind—because she knew that story, too. Peyton had shared the terrible tale with her during one of their long, all-day phone calls about a month after she and her father had left for their safe house. The first son, a middle daughter, the mother and two cousins, had claimed to come back from out of town to discover the carnage … but maybe they had been there all along?

And they had disappeared. Likely to a new safe house far away from Caldwell.

“Anyway, I got plans for them. When I find out where they are.”

Paradise closed her eyes. “Not all aristocrats are evil.”

“When you had to listen to your father come home every night with stories about how they treated him like shit while he was trying to make an honest living? Tough to find any sympathy for them—and that was before they were directly responsible not only for my sire’s death, but my mother’s and sister’s.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

No, it wasn’t.

And she wasn’t at all surprised when he said abruptly, “I should go. We gotta sleep.”

“Yes. Yes, of course.” She held on to the phone hard, trying to think of something to say. “I, ah—”

“See you tomorrow.”

Click.

Taking her cell away from her ear, she stared at the thing. Naturally, there was no record of the number, because the lines out of the training center, like those from the audience house, were restricted and private.

But she wouldn’t have called him back even if she could have.

Placing her phone aside, she stared across her room, her pretty, fancy room with its coral and pink tones, and silk drapery with tassels and needlepoint rugs. She couldn’t blame Craeg for the way he thought or what he felt. She’d be exactly the same. But the answer wasn’t him stalking some guy and murdering him to ahvenge those deaths. Or murdering females over all that, too.

Well, at least she hoped that wasn’t the answer.

There was just so much death already within the species. Surely there was another way to atone for such a wrong?

As her phone started to vibrate, she jumped and picked it up. No number. Him? Again?

Accepting the call, she whispered, “Hello?”

There was a heartbeat of silence. Just like before.

“I’m sorry,” Craeg blurted. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’m shit with emotions. It’s not your fault all that stuff happened before.”

She exhaled in relief. “I’m so glad you called back. I didn’t expect you to.”

“Neither did I.”

“Do you think you’ll be able to sleep at all?”

“Now that I’ve heard your voice again? Maybe. I’ll give it a shot.”

“Craeg…”

“What?”

She fiddled with the lace edge of her duvet cover as she chose her words carefully. “That night of the raids … I’m not saying that the male or whoever it was who locked everyone out was right. Not at all. But eye for an eye is … barbaric.”

“That’s the way it’s always been in the Old Country.”

“We don’t live there anymore. Times have changed. Think of all the progress that’s been made, blood slavery outlawed, equality beginning to happen for females and commoners alike. You don’t have to forget what happened, you don’t have to forgive … but your response doesn’t have to be murder.”

“It wouldn’t be murder. I would be ahvenging my own dead.”

“But if you kill someone in cold blood, what else would you call it?” She kept her voice soft and low. “I don’t want to fight with you, honestly, I don’t. And I would never presume to know what that would be like, having your family…” As her voice caught, she cleared her throat. “I can’t imagine. But if you follow through on this, you’d just be a murderer, too. You’d be no different from the lessers.”

There was a long silence. But she knew by the lack of a click that he hadn’t hung up on her.

“You are one of the most empathetic people I’ve ever met,” he said finally.

“Not really.”

“Yes, really. You’re a good person, Paradise.”

“Don’t put me on a pedestal. All I’ll do is fall from grace.”

“Doubt it.” There was a pause. “Sleep well, okay? And if you wake up in the middle of the day with the feel of someone’s hands on your body, it’s me. At least, it’ll be me in my dreams.”

“You’re making me blush.”

“Good. And when we’re back in class, I’ll try not to stare at you the whole time.”

“Don’t try too hard.”

Now, his tone got more serious. “You’ve got your virtue to protect.”

“My virtue, my problem. Not yours.”

Craeg let out a hrrumph. “I’m calling you at seven again tomorrow. Answer your damn phone.”

Paradise had to laugh. “Has anyone ever told you you’re dominant.”

“No, because I never listen to what people say to me.”

“So if I mention that you’re pretty amazing, too, are you going to hang up on me again?”

“Probably.”

“Okay, well, then good day, and you’re amazing—” Abruptly she sat up higher and pushed the phone against her ear. “Wait a minute, did I just hear a little laugh there?”

“No. Not at all.”

“Liar.” She smiled so big, her cheeks hurt. “You laughed. Right then and there.”

“It was not a laugh.”

“Oh, because a chuckle is so much more manly? Fine, you chuckled, Craeg. I caught you.”

“You got to stop.” Now he really let out something that sounded like …

“You just giggled.”

“No!”

“Yes, you did.” As she continued to needle him, she figured it was the conversational equivalent of tickling him in the ribs. “You just giiiiiigggggled—”

“I got to go! Bye!”

“You’re ammmmmmmmmmmaaaaaaaazing—”

Click.

This time when she put her cell phone back down, she felt as light and frothy as the bubbles in a champagne flute.

And a little drunk, too.

Chapter Thirty-two

As night fell, Marissa cracked the bedroom door and put her head out into the hall. There were no sounds from the Pit’s front room, so she padded down in her silk nightgown, her bare feet getting cold fast on the hardwood. Rounding the corner to look at the couch, she expected to find her mate asleep with his head at the kitchen end and his feet closer to her. He always slept like that, so he could see the TV better around the Foosball table.