Page 103 of Tainted Souls
He stops walking, the sudden stillness of it enough to make me take a half step back, instinctively preparing for what might come next. He looks over his shoulder, raking his gaze over me. “Anonymity protects both parties. Bloodmaids come and go from our territory regularly. It’s safer if they can’t identify us. Should they get caught or questioned, they won’t be able to give away more than necessary.” His fingers trace the edge of his mask as he turns to face me fully, slow and methodical, like he’s handling something far more dangerous than carved lacquer. “It also allows them to separate the act from the vampire. Makes it less personal, more transactional.”
My grip tightens on the sleeve of my dress. He’s testing me, trying to see if I’ll flinch. If I’ll react to the obvious discomfort, to the cracks in his calm facade. He’s daring me to blink first. But I won’t.
“Why are you telling me this?” I ask, my voice suspicious. “Playing tour guide through vampire ethics seems beneath you.”
He regards me silently, as if weighing me instead of words. “Because I’m trying to determine whether we’re on the same side or not.”
“The same side?” I scoff. “Weren’t you the one that said you’d hand me to Cain yourself?”
He resumes our walk along the stone path. “What I want and what needs to be done aren’t always aligned.”
“What needs to be done?”
The gravel crunches beneath our feet, each step a small percussion in the stillness of the night.
He lets out a near-imperceptible laugh, the kind that comes from hearing a joke one too many times and growing tired of it. “What needs to be done,” he says, contemplative, as though speaking to himself more than to me, “is a matter of what the world demands of us. Some forces have long been set into motion, irreversible in their course. They are already written,even before you take the first step, part of a design that stretches far beyond any of us. The question is, do you think you can change the pattern?”
“Yes,” I blurt out with deceptive confidence. “Just because things have been written, doesn’t mean they can’t be rewritten. Those who think they can’t are just trying to make sense of their own mistakes. It’s always easier to blame external forces than admit you messed up and did something terrible.”
He lowers his head then, his eyes narrowing, maybe the flicker of recognition there. He heard me. Not just my words, but my intention. And I hope it stings. It should. He made a choice, didn’t he? A decision that led to blood on his hands—a massacre.
My father’s death.
When he looks up at me, I’m already staring him down. Gray eyes like storm clouds pierce with an intensity that makes my hands tremble with suppressed wrath.
“I don’t expect forgiveness,” is all he says.
His words hit like a stone sinking into deep water, barely making a ripple on the surface. No remorse. No apology. Not even the faintest hint of vulnerability. It’s like he’s resigned to the fact that he can never undo what he’s done, and he’s not looking for absolution.
Just acceptance.
I want to press him, dig deeper, break him, and make him confront the weight of it all.
I want him to get on his knees and beg for my forgiveness.
I’m about to snap and let fury take over, but I can’t. I know better. I’ve fought too hard to let my emotions dictate every move I make. Not when I’m this close. Not when the answers are just within reach.
Besides, what could I possibly say to someone who’s already made peace with the darkest parts of himself? Someone whohas crossed lines others wouldn’t dare, and yet still insists on carrying the full measure of it, as if it’s the only way forward.
So, I bite down on the words I want to hurl at him. Unclench the fists I want to throw at him.
But this fight? It’s far from over.
“Why not detain Cain instead of me?” I ask, desperate to change the subject before I lose it. “You clearly have the means.” I gesture around us at the mansion, the gardens, the evident power at his disposal. His history. “Or is it all just talk?”
He stops at a stone bench overlooking a curving pond, where water lilies drift like pale specters on the dark surface. “Detaining Cain would create a noticeable power vacuum that Redmoore wouldn’t hesitate to exploit immediately.”
I raise an eyebrow. “And that’s bad because…?” I may not be fond of the idea of these vampires being part of the mixed society I know and live in, but I’m sure we could create a separate one just for them.
Far away from Penn City.
“Because, despite everything, the Veltri are our first line of defense against human aggression. They have the legacy army and a willingness to fight that other clans lack.”
“You need them to keep Redmoore at bay.”
Saying it out loud sounds absurd to me. Redmoore isn’t the enemy here. They aren’t the predators. They hunt the killers, not the victims.
“For now, yes. Vampires may be stronger individually, but humans have technology, weapons, and sheer numbers on their side.”
