Her Billionaire, Her Wolf(28)
“I saw part of a documentary, once. It was something to do with your father when he passed away. Then they talked about you in a follow-up piece once you took the business over and how the company’s revenues had risen under your direction.”
“Go on,” he murmured.
“Ummm, they said that you are a sort of golden boy, but one who makes a habit of staying out of sight. Something about a Midas touch and that you read the markets as if you have a crystal ball. That everyone is watching what you buy next.
“That you haven’t made a mistake, yet.”
He took a drink from his champagne, then appeared to consider the remaining bubbles within the flute.
“Anything else?” His voice was calm...cold even.
Sara did not want to say anymore. She could feel a distance widening between them with each word that passed her lips. But, his demand was clear and she had no choice.
“They call you the ‘stealth billionaire’. Like one of those black military planes. And, they said there are rumors that Abraxis Industries is just the tip of the iceberg. The reporter in the documentary said that the business goes as far as the White House and the Defense Department....”
She trailed off. Suddenly it felt like she had gone too far.
Sara watched as he stood up and walked away from her to stand just at the fireplace’s edge. It should have been too hot to bear, yet he did not move with his back turned to her, and Sara expected that at any moment his clothing would begin to smoke.
“They speak of the business and of my father. And they are right. That is what I am.”
His words felt heavy in the air as she heard them. They had a tone of...finality.
“All that I am...alone in the shadow of a great man. I simply carry on in his name.”
Braze turned back to her, but Sara could not see the look on his face. The flames behind him blotted everything out and the image she saw was terrifying. A silhouette with flames all around him, as if she saw a man in his own, personal hell.
“I don’t believe that,” Sara said. “You have good people all around you. People like Flair....”
One step toward her, then he said, “The people around me are obliged to be there. They are there because of duty, not because of confidence or trust.
“At least, not real trust, but only trusting in that I will do what my father would have wished. That the business will flourish while I continue to make no mistakes.”
Another step toward her.
“Why do you suppose that is, Sara? How can I make the right decision...each...and every...time?”
His words were measured, strained even. He was frightening her and she had no idea why as she watched him lift a hand to his shirt and undo a single button.
The white fabric felt open only slightly and for a brief second Sara could have sworn that she saw a serpentine curl of his dark tattoo move.
No, it’s just a trick of the light, that’s all. Shadows cast by the fireplace.
“You see...I walk in his shadow,” Braze said, then undid another button, revealing ever more of himself to her.
“I would like to find someone I can trust...completely, without reservation. And not because they are obliged to, but because it comes from the heart.”
He was whispering as he said it, almost as if was not meant for her ears.
Then, in that strange way of his, he changed the subject, except that Sara felt that somehow he kept talking of exactly the same thing.
“As I mentioned earlier, my family hails from the Gévaudan, although it is no longer called that. I think the people of that region wish to put the name behind them because it conjures up memories of a story too foul, too dark to be believed.
“Except that it is a matter of public record. In the years just before America proclaimed its independence, there were over 200 people mauled by a crazed beast in the Gévaudan. More than half of its victims were killed outright, and most of the dead had been at least partially eaten.”
Despite the fire, Sara felt a chill slide across her skin.
“The explanation for the deaths at the time ranged the gamut from a madman to that of an entire pack of wolves, and even included the theory of a werewolf sent to punish the region, a message from God Himself.
“And while many attempted to hunt down whatever was responsible for the murders, the resolution of the affair remained murky and most of these so-called hunters were disgraced in their failure to stop the rampage.”
Braze lifted his arms up as if to encompass the château surrounding them and said, “The Marquis de Morangias numbered among the unsuccessful. Which is why I procured all of this...his very bones must be rolling in his tomb at the irony of it.”
Then he came to Sara and crouching down before her he looked into her eyes with undisguised earnestness and asked, “What do you think of that, Sara? Can stories like these have anything real about them? Is there a place for such things in the world?