Part 5 (1/2)

She blinked, shaking her head once, forcing the dark memories from her mind. ”Anyway, that's just part of the job. It's not the whole job. And now my grandpa and I can sit around and tell each other war stories when I go to see him. He lives in a nursing home near my mom in Florida.”

The beer had addled Brandon more so than her, and while he was in such pleasant spirits, she decided to take a chance. ”How about you?” she asked, and he blinked at her, inquisitive. ”Is your grandpa still alive?”

Christ, yes, Brandon signed. Nothing short of a bullet in the head would kill him.

This struck him as particularly amusing, and he laughed, his shoulders shuddering.

”You don't get along...?” Lina asked, prodding gently.

He laughed again and shook his head. No, he signed. No, we don't. I'm a bit of a disappointment to the Grandfather.

”I'm sure that's not true, Brandon,” she said, leaning forward and touching his arm. But when he looked at her, any trace of humor faded from his face, and his eyes grew sad and somewhat wounded. She realized that it was true, at least in Brandon's eyes. One mean son of a b.i.t.c.h is the term Jackie had used to describe Augustus n.o.ble, and all at once, Lina didn't doubt it for a minute.

The waitress returned with two mugs of beer. I got this, Brandon signed to Lina, raising his hips so he could fish his wallet out of his pocket She watched him give the waitress a ten spot and wave away her offer to make change. As the girl left, Lina watched Brandon's eyes roam out across the crowded bar. His expression grew troubled, nearly wistful.

I wish I could be like them, he signed, his hands moving absently.

Puzzled, Lina looked around. ”What do you mean?”

Going to college, he said. Going out, making friends, having fun.

”Brandon, you can do that,” she said, reaching for him again, drawing his gaze. ”Who told you you couldn't?” She didn't need him to tell her, though. She already knew. One mean son of a b.i.t.c.h.

I was accepted into Gallaudet, he said, and she blinked in surprise.”Really? That... that's wonderful, Brandon,” she said, pleased for him, but puzzled by the turn in conversation. ”Does Jackie know? That's where he went...” When Brandon nodded in interjection to let her know that he knew this, yes, she leaned across the table toward him. ”Is that why you left your home? Jackie... he's told me things about your grandfather. He told me he wouldn't let anyone learn sign language to speak with you. He wouldn't let you go to any kind of school for deaf kids.” Would he not let you go to college either? she thought.

Gallaudet was an extremely prestigious university; any family would be proud to have a student accepted there. But the n.o.bles aren't just any family, are they?

Brandon tilted his head back, draining half his beer in two, long, deep swallows. He set the gla.s.s down and belched softly against the back of his hand, then wiped his fingertips against his left palm a time or two, signing apology. My grandfather broke my hands when he found out I'd applied to Gallaudet, he said, and Lina felt her chest tighten, her throat constrict, the wind in her lungs abruptly faltering.

What? she thought, stricken.

Well, not all on his own, Brandon signed. He broke the right side. My brother, Caine, took care of the left.

He's joking, Lina thought. He's got to be. He couldn't have meant...

She looked him in the eye and he met her gaze evenly. Oh, my G.o.d. She thought of him downing the mysterious little pills in the cab. It's medicine, he'd told her. For my hands. They still hurt me sometimes.

He's not joking.

Brandon hadn't said his fingers had been broken; he'd said his hands. That wasn't the sort of injury one simply splinted and waited to heal. We're talking surgery, screws and pins, physical therapy, months and months of it, if not years, she thought. And all that time, he couldn't talk to anybody. Jesus Christ, he couldn't sign or write...!

She blinked at him in stunned horror. What kind of monster would do that to you, Brandon?

My family isn't like yours, he signed to her at length. He wouldn't meet her gaze; he fixed his large, dark eyes on a point somewhere on the tabletop and kept them there. You didn't feel like you fit in anywhere as a kid, but I still feel like that. My family is different. They're not like yours. They live their whole lives in cages, like that wolf pack at the zoo, and they do things a certain way because that's how it's always been done. And n.o.body ever says anything otherwise, because if you do...

His hands fell still and he folded them together. He didn't finish but he didn't have to. Because if you do, they break your hands, Lina thought, aghast. Jesus Christ, who are these people-the backwoods mafia? If they do something like that just for wanting to go to college, what will they do to someone who runs away?

She looked at Brandon, heartsick and frightened for him. What are they going to do if they find you, Brandon?

Brandon remembered the morning after the Grandfather had beaten him, broken his hands. His mother had come to him the night before, when he'd been so wracked with pain, he'd been nearly delirious. She had spoken to him in his mind; she was a powerful telepath, and her words had caressed him, calming him, soothing him. Brandon... take these. Take these, darling.

They will help you with the pain...

She'd pressed something between his lips, some kind of pills. The medicine had indeed dulled the pain, but they'd knocked Brandon out, too. When he'd come to again, the pain had returned in full, excruciating measure, and his mind had been cloudy and dazed.

He remembered watching Caine enter his room, his long, dark hair caught back in a ponytail against the nape of his neck, his dark eyes cold as he stared impa.s.sively at his brother. Their younger sister, Emily, was with him.

Poor Brandon, she purred inside of his head, her face twisted with feigned sympathy. How are you feeling?

Brandon lay supine in bed. His hands were swaddled in heavy bandages to try and immobilize the shattered bones. From his elbows to his fingertips, his arms were propped up on pillows. The slightest hint of movement sent unimaginable pain lancing through his entire shoulder girdle and down his arms; it would seize his chest and tighten through his groin, and he would suck in hissing breaths through his teeth. He said nothing to his brother or sister. He wasn't allowed to use his telepathy, and they knew it; they were deliberately baiting him, trying to get him in trouble.

We've brought you something, Caine said, his hand darting out as he threw something at the bed, a rumpled pile of fabric. It slapped against Brandon's lap, cream-colored silk with ruffles and lace, stained in places with dark patches that still smelled distinctly like blood to Brandon's sensitive nose.

It's the dress Emily wore to her bloodletting, Caine said, smiling thinly. She thought you'd like to borrow it for yours.

Brandon heard Emily giggle in his mind and frowned. f.u.c.k you, he thought.

Oh, shame on you-I'm telling, Emily said. They knew what caused him the most pain, and so when she hopped into bed with him, pouncing against his lap and straddling his hips, it was not with the innocent good cheer her bright grin so deceptively presented. She jostled him, and he twisted, gasping sharply, his mind nearly fading beneath the sudden, molten swell of agony.

Get off me, Emily, he thought, making her smile widen.

You're not supposed to be using your telepathy, Brandon, she said, waggling her forefinger at him in a scolding gesture.

Get off me, he said again, his frown deepening.

That's no way to be, Caine said. Emily's been thinking about you. Look what else she brought.

Emily held up a thin sc.r.a.p of fabric she'd been clutching in her hand; a pair of satin panties trimmed in lace, dyed to match the dress. I thought these would suit you, too, she said, and when she fluttered them in his face, he jerked away, sending fresh new spears of pain radiating from his arms at the motion. They're still fresh. She shoved the panties against his face. See? They still smell like p.u.s.s.y.

Get off me! he snapped in his mind, and Emily twisted like he'd physically thrown her away from him. She tumbled sideways off the bed and crashed to the floor. Caine darted forward to help her as she sat up, her hand pressed to her brow, her eyes wide, angry, and somewhat bewildered.

What's going on in here? Brandon heard their sister, Tessa, say. He blinked toward the doorway, his mind and gaze both blurred with pain, and saw her there. Her brows were narrowed, her dark eyes angry as she glared at Caine and Emily. ”Leave him alone,” she said aloud. ”Get out of here or I'll tell Father.”

Emily limped to her feet, leaning heavily against Caine for pitiful effect. ”Go ahead,” she said, glowering. She nodded once toward Brandon. ”You're as pathetic as he is, you know that?”

”Not quite,” Caine said. Like Emily, he kept shooting dark, wary glances at Brandon, his expression inexplicably puzzled, as if Brandon had bitten them or something. ”One of them at least has some b.a.l.l.s.”

Emily and Caine left. Brandon had closed his eyes, but he felt them go, their icy presence in his mind receding. He'd been left alone with his twin, but had found no comfort there, even though Tessa tried to offer it to him. Brandon, she whispered gently inside his head.

He knew it wasn't entirely her fault, the fact that she'd changed since her bloodletting. As a woman among the Brethren, she'd been expected to a.s.sume her role as a new adult, a new wife. Brethren women didn't question their mates; they especially didn't challenge the Elders. Whatever freedoms and liberties Tessa had enjoyed in the great house as Sebastian n.o.ble's daughter had ended the moment she'd become Martin Davenant's wife.

Martin says it should be at least a few months before your hands are healed enough to take off the bandages, Tessa said.

He felt the mattress settle slightly as she sat beside him. It won't be that bad. Martin said I could stay for a while. I'll be here and you can talk to me with your mind, just the two of us, like when we were kids, remember? I won't tell the Grandfather. I'll help you eat, wash your face, get you dressed...

She tried to touch his face, but he turned away. Brandon, why do you keep doing this? she asked, sounding weary and exasperated. It's time to stop. Just go through the bloodletting and be done with it. You'd heal faster, anyway, if you fed-weeks instead of months.