I stood to leave. “This isn’t our problem, Misha. Give Destiny a call. Maybe she’s free.”
Misha motioned for me to sit again. I did so only because his gesture seemed more of a request than an order. “My maid’s death and the escalating level of bloodlust within my family obliges the court to prosecute me, despite their conceivable involvement. I have until the next full moon to unearth and eliminate the perpetrator.”
I froze. “And if you don’t?”
“I will be left with two choices: Kill all my family—infected or not—to eliminate the plague or be condemned to death.”
Good God. “So it’s either your life or those of your family?”
“Yes.”
Whoever cursed Misha’s family was hell-bent on destroying him. I glanced back at the photos, understanding why it could easily be one of the judges. Misha’s death sentence would be at their hands, therefore granting them his power. If Misha killed his family, he’d also be vulnerable for attack. I didn’t know how to respond. If roles were reversed and there was no other choice, I would sacrifice my life to spare my sisters without hesitation. And while masters didn’t regard their servants with the same love, there was no mistaking Misha’s remorse and fear. It would destroy him to kill his own. Still, all sympathy aside, Misha had no right to drag us into his mess. “What about Petro? You think of him as your brother. Can’t he be of help?”
Misha stilled like I suggested something asinine. “Vampires are only as strong as their masters. He and his keep would be devoured like lambs.”
He didn’t think Petro would be of any help. And he didn’t want to jeopardize his existence. Yet he would chance ours. “I’m sorry for what you’re going through. But I won’t risk my sisters’ safety.”
Misha’s gray eyes darkened. “They are already at risk, Celia. You just fail to see it. My downfall alone will not end the bloodlust.”
Hank, the vampire witness from court, came to stand by us. At first, I thought he was attempting to strong-arm me into helping Misha, but he didn’t even glance in my direction. “Forgive me for disturbing you, Master.”
Misha kept his eyes on me. “What is it?”
“Aric Connor is on the phone. He wishes a word with you.”
“The mongrel can wait. Do not interrupt me again.”
The “mongrel” apparently heard him. Cursing and growling in a strangely familiar timbre erupted from the cell phone. My inner beast jerked and I rubbed my chest, expecting it to hurt. I didn’t know this Aric guy, but he obviously didn’t fear Misha.
Hank disconnected the call and stalked away. Misha leaned back in his seat, unaffected. He tapped a finger against the table, apparently considering what to say. Several awkward seconds passed before he spoke again. “Celia, you are so young. You cannot fathom what it is to watch your family die.”
I swallowed hard. “Actually, I can.” He frowned, but his eyes softened upon taking in my appearance. My back was rigid, my fists clenched, and I readied to pounce. Everything about me screamed, Fight, attack, maul—everything—except my eyes. Recalling my parents’ deaths betrayed the sadness I always kept hidden, an emotion I refused to allow Misha to witness. “You put us through hell, Misha. You can’t expect flowers and gifts and flirting to erase such a threat. Just as you can’t expect us to drop everything to help your cause.”
I stood to leave, but not before Misha clasped my hand and kissed it. “Make certain the decision you reach is a just one,” he whispered. It wasn’t a threat—at least, I didn’t take it that way. They were more the words of a desperate man, or, as I reminded myself firmly, a desperate vampire.
CHAPTER 6
My sisters arrived home from the hospital shortly after my run. I failed to find the wolf again. Any other gal would have moved on. But I wasn’t any other gal. And those dreamy brown eyes belonged to no mere man.
Taran yanked off her scrubs in the middle of our family room, anxious to get out of her work clothes. I’d once overheard a coworker making fun of us for being nurses. “God, they are so codependent,” she’d complained. “They can’t even have separate careers.”
Screw her. She didn’t know becoming nurses at a young age helped Taran and me gain custody of our sisters following the death of our foster mother.
Emme moved slower than usual, appearing lost in her thoughts. “You okay, Emme?” I asked.
She nodded. “Mr. Luther died today.”
Emme cared for the terminally ill. She used her gift to grant her patients a peaceful good-bye. And with her honey blond hair, fair skin, and soft green eyes, perhaps her patients envisioned her as their own personal angel welcoming them into heaven.