Page 40 of Silent Stalker
“Because you and other brood masters can sense the maker?” I guessed.
“Not precisely, but you’re on the right track. I couldn’t bite someone else Jeremy Breckenan had turned and identify him without fail, but there’s a sense to the magic. I’m similar to my maker in that sense, and other brood masters tend to be like their makers. I don’t know who is behind these turnings, but I’ve never felt anything quite like it before—and I will not forget the sense of Breckenan’s dark magic.”
“And you’re sure it’s not my father?”
“No, because my maker has gotten a feel for the blood in your mother’s veins, and it’s nothing like Breckenan’s—and it’s nothing like what I described to him.” Emerick held up his phone. “We have been texting back and forth in a code of sorts trying to come to the end of this matter. But he has confirmed he believes it is a male vampire, younger, as in no older than thirty to forty years, and working alone. That points towards your father, although it is uncertain how he would have pulled it off, unless he cooks.”
I shrugged. “He’d go into the kitchen often, I guess. And the chef is always someone he personally hires. He does like to cook.”
“It’s possible he has some psycho-manipulative abilities. Some vampires do. If he was turned before your birth, you may have been born predisposed to vampirism, which would have aided your cause. Long exposure to a consistent supply of blood would certainly aid your mother’s turning.”
Salania sighed, gathered her things, and rose to her feet. “How utterly despicable, should this be the truth. To remove the choice from his child and wife, and to do so when it is not a dire emergency? Awful. I will return the kettle to the kitchen, Emerick.”
Emerick chuckled. “If you’re going to take your temper out on your husband, do attempt to leave him capable of rationale thought by tomorrow.”
“I’ll think about it.”
I doubted I would ever get used to the idea that vampire women took out their nerves on their husbands.
In bed.
I didn’t question if she’d even release her husband by the next night. From my understanding of the situation, it could go either way. “And on that happy note, I’m stealing your chair, Emerick.”
“Would you prefer if you stole my chair while I am occupying it?”
I spent a minute or two thinking about my options, and I nodded. “Yes. You’re warm. I’m not. This is a problem.”
“I’ll light the fireplace and serve as your chair, and before I sit, I’ll make sure you have some hot chocolate that won’t attempt to kill you. I’ll bring some books, so if you want some quiet time, it shall be yours.”
“Assuming I stay coherent,” I complained.
“Well, should you not remain coherent, I shall enjoy some quiet time while making certain you stay warm.”
It would do.
