The Brethren - Dark Hunger Part 18

Nothing, he replied. It means I'm tired and I need to go to bed before I say something I'll be sorry about later. He moved to lean forward, kiss her cheek good night, but she startled him by giving him a shove.

"No, don't do that. Don't just make some smart-a.s.s quip and then walk away or play it off, like you did that day in the dance studio years ago." When he clearly didn't remember this, to judge by the bewildered look on his face, her frown deepened.

"You've had a problem with Grandmother Eleanor since we were sixteen years old, ever since she gave me that green sapphire pendant for my birthday. I know you were angry about that, jealous even, but-"

What? Brandon interrupted, his eyes widening again. I wasn't jealous. Or angry, either.

"I saw you in the foyer," Tessa said. "When Grandmother Eleanor must have told you she was going to give it to me. I was standing on the staircase and saw the whole thing-the way you reacted, how you pulled away from her."

Brandon moved to walk around her. You don't know what you're talking about.

"I know you think she slighted you by giving it to me," Tessa said, stepping directly into his path, blocking his way to the door. "I know you've acted angry with her ever since. But she loved us both, Brandon."

Tessa. He locked gazes with her. You don't know what you're talking about. So just leave it alone.

He brushed past her, but she grabbed him by the sleeve, wheeling him forcibly about to face her. "I will not!" she exclaimed. "I think it's high time we talked about this, Brandon-that you deal with it. It's not fair for you to be angry with Grandmother Eleanor."

You want me to deal with it? He frowned, jerking his arm away from her grasp. You don't think I'm being fair? You don't know what the h.e.l.l you're talking about, Tessa. You don't know anything-only some half-a.s.sed conjecture about what you think you saw that day on the staircase. And you're wrong. You're dead f.u.c.king wrong.

"Then tell me what I saw." He kept trying to get by her; she kept preventing him. "Tell me, Brandon! I want to know. If you're not mad at Eleanor for giving me the necklace-if you're not jealous-then what have you been p.i.s.sed about all these years? What did she say to you? Tell me!"

Get out of my way, Tessa, he told her with a frown.

"Not until you tell me," she shot back.

I mean it-move, he said, and when he sidestepped, she cut him off.

"Tell me, Brandon. I want to know," she said. "Tell me!"

It should have been you! Brandon snapped. Are you f.u.c.king happy now, Tessa? Grandmother Eleanor told me what happened to me-getting attacked, losing my hearing, getting my throat slit-it all should have happened to you!

And in her mind, he showed her, opening up his memories, letting them replay inside of her head like her own. Through Brandon's eyes, she saw Eleanor on their sixteenth birthday, their grandmother cradling his face between her hands and leaning forward to press her full, cool lips against the corner of his mouth.

"Beautiful Brandon," she murmured, smiling as she stroked her hand against his cheek, her fingertips trailing down to trace along the scar at his throat. Brandon hadn't been able to hear her voice, but he'd read her lips; her words whispered through his mind, soft and intimate. "Such a pity, what happened to you. Such a waste."

She met his gaze, wearing a sweet but melancholy smile. "I wish it had been Tessa instead," she remarked. "A Brethren man should be strong-speak his mind and stand his ground, especially a n.o.ble. Women don't need to hear or speak to make babies, no matter their clan. And, in the end, isn't that really all Tessa can ever hope to accomplish?"

At this, Brandon had recoiled, startled and dismayed, and that was what Tessa had seen from the stairs.

When Brandon snapped his mind closed to Tessa, it was like a heavy steel door slamming abruptly shut in her face. She stumbled back, wide-eyed and dumbstruck. Women don't need to hear or speak to make babies, no matter their clan.

Eleanor's words echoed in her mind, stabbing into her stunned heart again and again like the point of some cruel and relentless knife.

...in the end, isn't that really all Tessa can ever hope to accomplish?

Her hands darted to her belly, to the baby growing inside of her womb. "Oh, G.o.d," she whispered. Oh, G.o.d, is that all she thought of me?

She remembered Eleanor giving the necklace to her, how she'd smiled at Tessa's surprise, and entertained none of Tessa's sputtered protests. "Sweet sixteen is more special for girls," she'd said.

But she didn't think I was special, she thought, her eyes welling with tears. Not then, not ever...oh, G.o.d, not at all.

Tessa... Brandon reached for her, round-eyed and remorseful. Oh, Jesus, I'm sorry. I didn't mean for you to...I didn't mean...

He tried to touch her, but she shrugged him away. "Get out."

I didn't want you to know that, he pleaded. I didn't mean for you to see, Tessa. I was angry and I'm tired and I...it just slipped...

She pointed one shaking hand toward the door. "Get out, Brandon. Just...just go away. Leave me alone."

Tessa... He tried to touch her again but she recoiled.

"Get out!" she cried. "Get out, Brandon! You get the h.e.l.l out of my room!"

Tessa, please...

Again, he reached for her and this time she shoved him back. "Get out!" she cried again. "Just go away!"

Chapter Twenty-two.

Rene ran d.a.m.n near headlong into Brandon on the walkway outside of their respective motel rooms. Both men had been walking swiftly, their heads down, their minds clearly distracted, and when they b.u.mped into each other, knocking shoulders and each stumbling sideways, they both blinked in mutual surprise.

"Oh, hey, pet.i.t," Rene said. "Sorry about that. I wasn't watching where I was going."

That's okay, Brandon said. I wasn't, either. You all right?

"I'm fine." Rene glanced over his shoulder, back in the direction of Brandon and Lina's room. "Can't say the same thing for your other half, though, pet.i.t." When Brandon looked at him, clearly puzzled, he elaborated. "Lina and I just had a bit of a spat."

Oh. Brandon nodded. Fair enough. Tessa and I just had one, too. What was yours about?

Rene shrugged, stuffing his hands into his pockets. "Nothing really," he said. "It's just that Lina doesn't seem to think I'm good enough for Tessa, that's all."

What? Brandon cut his eyes toward his door and then back to Rene. You're kidding. She said that?

"Not in so many words, no," Rene said. "But she didn't have to. I understood her meaning perfectly well." Brandon glanced again, this time over his shoulder to Tessa's room. Are you sleeping with my sister?

The dreaded question. Rene braced himself, straightening his spine and settling his jaw at a stern angle. He met Brandon's gaze, fully expecting yet another confrontation, another rousing round of the same old "good enough to hire, not good enough to marry"

bulls.h.i.+t he'd heard time and again his entire life. "I am, oui."

Brandon looked up at him, his expression uncharacteristically unreadable. Do you love her?

"Yes, pet.i.t. I do. You can hit me if you want. I probably have it due. But that's the G.o.d's honest truth of it, Brandon."

After a moment, Brandon shook his head and laughed soundlessly. I'm not going to hit you, Rene, he said. Jesus, I could hug you. I don't know why Lina would tell you that you're not good enough for Tessa, but she's wrong. You're more than good enough for her-you're good to her. She needs someone like you. She's needed that for a long time.

This caught Rene completely off guard and he stood there for a long, awkward moment, unsure of what to say.

Martin would have killed her if it hadn't been for you, Brandon said. Then, with a pointed look that let Rene know he still wasn't buying the whole "the jack slipped while changing a flat tire" story, either, he added, I don't know the truth about your hand, but I suspect something else happened-something that put you and Tessa both in danger-and you took care of it.

You took care of her.

He glanced again toward Tessa's door. She probably hates me right now... he said, his brows lifting, his eyes growing sorrowful.

What? Rene interjected mentally, because Brandon's gaze was averted; he wouldn't have been able to read his lips or realize he was speaking. No, pet.i.t. Don't be silly. Why would you say that?

She's pretty p.i.s.sed, Brandon said. I told her something...something about our grandmother that I shouldn't have...

something I didn't mean to.

"That one mamere she thinks hung the moon?" Rene asked and Brandon nodded. "What about her?"

Nothing. Brandon shook his head. Never mind. You'll probably find out from Tessa soon enough. Anyway, she's p.i.s.sed at me, and I deserve it. I hurt her. He forked his fingers through his hair, shoving it back from his face. I didn't mean to. I was angry, too, and it just came out.

He looked up at Rene. I keep f.u.c.king things up, so thank you for taking care of her. She needs that right now. She needs you.

Rene had been ready for Brandon to rip into him. The last thing he'd expected was this-Brandon's earnest candor, his approval.

He found himself choked up, as ridiculously on the verge of tears as he'd been with Lina moments earlier, only this time because he was touched, not hurt.

You really think that highly of me pet.i.t? he asked.

Of course I do. Brandon looked surprised by the question. You're my friend, Rene.

Rene hooked his hand against the back of the younger man's head and drew him into a brief, one-armed embrace. Thanks, pet.i.t, he thought, closing his eyes. I needed that.

When Rene walked into the motel room, he found Tessa curled up on the bed, her back to the doorway, her narrow shoulders trembling visibly. He could hear her sniffling mightily against tears. She didn't look back or otherwise acknowledge his entrance, but when he lay down beside her and draped his hand across her waist, she caught his hand, sliding her fingers between his own.

"I ran into Brandon outside," he said. "He told me you two had some kind of argument...?" "I don't want to talk about it," she said simply, still without looking at him.

"C'est juste," he said. That's fair. He felt her stiffen against him despite this, antic.i.p.ating some sort of lecture, perhaps a well- intended but ineffectual attempt to empathize with her. "Say, have I ever told you about Baldy Bertie?"

She sniffled again and canted her head slightly to glance over her shoulder. "What?"

"Baldy Bertie. Have I ever told you about her?"

Tessa offered a feeble, somewhat tearful laugh. "No."

"Ah." Rene snuggled closer, drawing her against him. "Baldy Bertie was the nickname for Miss Florence Bertram, the head librarian at the Thibodaux Public Library when I was a boy. All of the kids called her that because she had this bald patch on her head right about here..." He touched the cap of Tessa's head with his hand.

"Stop trying to make me feel better," Tessa said, shaking her head to dislodge him. "She did not."

"Hand to G.o.d, pischouette, I'm telling the truth. She looked like a G.o.dd.a.m.n Benedictine monk or something. This was back in the days before Rogaine or hair plugs, anything like that. She'd try to comb the rest of her hair over and hide it, but it never did any good."

He smiled somewhat sadly. "Back then, my mamere worked at a local grocery store, and when she'd go to town for work in the summers, she'd bring me along with her, drop me off at the library to keep me out of trouble. I'd stay there until midday, then walk or hitchhike home for lunch and ch.o.r.es.

"I didn't have many friends growing up," he remarked, his mind turning momentarily to his childhood nemesis, Gordon Maddox, and the gang of boys who would often join in his bullying. "So I never minded spending so much time at the library. Aside from all of the books, they always had other things there for me to get into, like these self-illuminating little stereo viewers that looked sort of like cameras, only you used them to look at pictures, not take them. They showed you things in 3D, the way they'd look in real life, if you were right there in the middle of them, and the library used to have all kinds of slides with pictures of big cities, foreign countries, national landmarks, that sort.

"Mamere couldn't afford to take me anyplace like that-going to New Orleans or maybe Shreveport was as big a deal as things got in my house growing up. But I could look at those pictures and pretend anyway. When you don't have a lot of friends as a kid, a good imagination is a d.a.m.n close subst.i.tute sometimes."

He could feel Tessa relaxing against him, the unhappy tension that had made her body tight in his embrace fading as he spoke. "So there was this boy named Gordon Maddox who used to always make fun of me, pick on me and fight because my clothes were all hand-me-downs, my family was poor and worse than that, we were Cajun, which was just about a half step up from being black back in those days in the bigoted deep south. Gordon Maddox was rich and golden, everybody's all American, and even though he beat the s.h.i.+t out of me more times than I can count off the top of my head, a part of me still wanted him to like me.

"So one day when we were both in the library at the same time and he couldn't get me in trouble by punching on me, he decides he'll get me another way. He and his friends dare me to jerk my pants down in the library foyer, where the ceiling is high and the floor is polished granite, and say 'Baldy Bertie! Baldy Bertie!' And me, like a stupid salaud, agrees to do it."

"You didn't!" Tessa said with a laugh.

He chuckled against her hair. "I did. She was sitting behind the main counter, right past the foyer, where the big gla.s.s doors were propped open because of the heat. I dropped my britches right in front of her and yelled at the top of my lungs, my bare a.s.s flapping in the breeze all the while. 'Baldy Bertie! Baldy Bertie!'"

Tessa laughed again, the strain of tears almost fully gone now. "G.o.d, Rene." "Je sais," Rene said. I know. "Trust me, pischouette. I know. To this day, I don't know what the h.e.l.l I was thinking, or why I didn't think Mamere would find out. She'd grown up in Thibodaux. She and Bertie had gone to school together. And it wasn't like no one in that library knew me by sight, or how to get a hold of my grandmother.

"So I spent the rest of that afternoon just sort of f.u.c.king around, and by the time I get home, it's nearly supper and Mamere's back from work. She's standing in the living room when I get home, and little do I know but she's got her whippin' belt off its hook in the kitchen and behind her back.

"'So tell me, Rene,' she says to me in that deep voice of hers with a French accent thick like roux. 'How was your day? Did you have fun at the library?'

"'Oh, oui,' I said, and I have no idea the licking I am in for, the hide blistering that is waiting for me. To which she replies, 'I just bet you did,' and then she pulled out that belt and laid into me like my a.s.s was a sinner and it was the second coming. The next day, she took off her lunch at the grocery to march me down to the library and have me apologize in person. I don't recall ever calling her Baldy Bertie again...not until just now."

He meant for her to get a giggle out of the story, as he did now in retrospect, but as soon as he finished, he realized. Jesus Christ, her husband likes to beat the s.h.i.+t out of her, and here I am with an anecdote whose punch line has me whipped upside the a.s.s with a belt.

"I'm sorry, pischouette," he said with a grimace. "I shouldn't have told you that. I don't know what I was..."

His voice faded as she rolled over to face him. "That's all right, Rene. I know what you were trying to do. Your heart was in the right place...and it was kind of funny." She reached up, stroking her hand against the side of his face gently. "I'm sorry your grandmother hit you."

"She didn't mean it out of spite," he told her, feeling goofily obligated to try and explain, to a.s.sure Tessa that Odette LaCroix hadn't been some belt-wielding abusive monster like Martin. "That's the way things were back then, pischouette. There weren't things like timeouts or getting grounded. And Mamere had enough on her mind without me making things harder. My granddaddy was a drunk and he didn't do much but draw disability, so that left it up to Mamere to take care of things-the house, the laundry, the yard, me."

"What about your mother?" Tessa asked.

"I never knew her, outside of her name-Cecile Marie LaCroix-and her face. She died when I was a baby, a car accident, but Mamere kept pictures of her all over the house, like it was a G.o.dd.a.m.n shrine. She used to tell me I looked like her, that I was headstrong and stubborn just like she'd been."

"Everyone used to say that about me, too," Tessa said, growing sorrowful again. "That I looked just like Grandmother Eleanor...

acted like her, everything." Her eyes clouded with tears and her bottom lip trembled. "Everything I thought about her has been a lie, Rene," she whispered, tears creeping from the shelter of her lower eyelashes, rolling slowly down her cheeks. "Everything I felt about her...anything she ever told me...all of it lies."

He wrapped his arm around her, drawing her near. "I'm sorry, pischouette," he said softly, kissing her ear through her hair. "I'm sorry."

She fell asleep in his arms and Rene dozed lightly, her hair soft and fragrant against his face. He had restless dreams of being back in Thibodaux, the LaCroix house again, just as he'd been only days earlier.

The dream was vivid, utterly convincing in its realism. Everything from the stale odor of stagnant dust in the air to the light crunch of plaster chips and grit beneath his shoe soles was just as it had been in person. He dreamed of walking down the front corridor toward the rear of the house, his eyes cutting easily through the heavy shadows of night that had settled through the shack's darkened interior.My pupils have dilated, he thought, even though he felt none of the other heightened awareness that typically came with the bloodl.u.s.t. His pupils had spread wide; to anyone observing, it would have looked as if they'd swallowed every margin of s.p.a.ce across his corneas, leaving his eyes smooth, featureless planes of black. In reality, this allowed for even the faintest hint of discernable light to be detected; to Rene, the world looked like it might have through night-vision goggles.

Where derelicts had pried loose the boards covering the bathroom windows, he saw a smear of moonlight against the gloom, enough to cast an eerie glow across the sprawled, fallen body of the man Tessa had killed. By now, the insects of the Louisiana bayou had found the b.u.m's corpse, as had rats; from the corner of his gaze, he saw several large ones scamper and scurry away, frightened by his encroaching footsteps.