Santo stared at him with disbelief. “You are joking. I would know if—”
“It’s not a joke,” Christian hissed. “You shattered my jaw once when I tried to wake you, crushed Raffaele’s windpipe another time, and broke Marcus’s back.”
Santo stared at him with horror. “I did not. I could not—”
“You did,” he insisted.
“How could I not know this?” Santo asked with dismay.
“Because we hid it from you,” Christian admitted solemnly. “We piled on the blood and healed quickly. At least Raff and I did. Marcus took longer to heal the time you hurt him, but he just stayed in his room and avoided you until it was done.”
Santo gaped at him. “And you never told me?”
“You did not harm us intentionally, and we knew you would suffer guilt if you knew, so we avoided thinking about it so you couldn’t read what had happened from our minds,” Christian said wearily.
“Dear God.” Santo ran one hand over his head, his mind racing.
“I’m sorry,” Christian murmured. “But I am glad I got to you in time. I could not believe it when we arrived and mother said you were up here with your life mate. I rushed right up to make sure you did not sleep with her. I realized then that we should have told you before. I mean, Raff, Marcus, and I are immortal and healed quickly, Pet is not. If you crushed her windpipe or broke her back, she could die.” He shook his head. “You cannot risk having life mate sex with her, passing out, and then possibly killing her in your sleep, or damaging her so badly she dies before you wake, Santo.”
“She is turned.”
Both men swung around to see Julius Notte approaching from the stairs. Pausing in front of them, he scowled at Christian. “You should not have kept that from him, son. Pet could have died.”
“I know,” Christian admitted. “But she has been turned? She is safe?”
“Sì,” Julius murmured
“Good, good,” Christian said, nodding. “It is all right then.”
Santo almost winced at the claim. It didn’t seem all right to him.
“I guess we should head downstairs,” Christian said now. “Lucian wants to plan our approach for raiding the Purdy house.”
“Lucian is here?” Santo asked, startled to learn the head of the North American council had arrived.
“Sì,” Christian said. “He wants Dressler as much as the rest of us. Several Enforcers came with us too. Decker, Nicholas and Jo, Mirabeau and Tiny and Eshe all came as well. They want a piece of the bastard too.”
Santo nodded. Most of the enforcers mentioned were family or friends of Marguerite on the Argeneau side. He wasn’t surprised they had come, but merely turned back toward the bedroom, murmuring, “I must let Pet know I have to go below.”
Pet glanced up when the door opened, relaxing when she saw that it was Santo. Raising her eyebrows in question, she asked, “Who was that?”
“My cousin Christian,” he said quietly, remaining near the door. “The men are here. We are going to have a meeting to plot our strategy and then raid the Purdy house.”
“Oh,” Pet said with disappointment. “So, no naked comfort for now?”
She saw something flicker in Santo’s eyes and then his expression hardened. “No.” He turned back to the door, and then paused and looked back at her sadly as he added, “I am sorry.”
Pet stared at the door after he left. There had been something off about Santo. Something . . . wrong. She didn’t know what, but she had a bad feeling. His last words . . . It had sounded as if he didn’t expect to see her again.
“Well?”
Santo turned from searching the entry closet at that barked question from Lucian Argeneau, and followed the tall blond man’s gaze to Nicholas Argeneau as the Enforcer led his wife, Jo, and his cousin Decker out of the basement near the end of the hall.
Nicholas shook his head. “Dressler was not there.”
“But there are a dozen or more bodies downstairs. All drained dry,” Decker announced grimly. “And we found Purdy locked in the cold cellar. He’s in a bad way. Tiny’s bringing him up.”
“He’ll need medical care,” Jo added, even as a man nearly as large as Santo brought a shriveled old man dressed in filthy clothes out of the basement.
“Were you able to learn anything about who the rogue was here?” Lucian asked, eyeing the old man in Tiny’s arms with a frown.
“It was Dressler,” Nicholas assured him. “But he left four or five days ago after some kind of disturbance. Before Purdy lost consciousness, he managed to tell us that someone came by, causing a fuss, he thought it was Pete somebody. He heard a scuffle, and then later, he wasn’t sure how much later, he heard his own car start in the garage and drive away. He hasn’t heard anything since, but he’s been in and out of consciousness. Dressler took a lot of blood from him and then left him locked up for days down there. Unfortunately, the only thing Purdy keeps in his cold cellar is bottled water, juices, and soda.”
“Which is actually good or he’d be dead,” Jo pointed out dryly. “Although some food too would have been better.”
“We weren’t able to get much more than that from him,” Decker added as Eshe and Mirabeau came downstairs with Zani from searching that floor. “He’s in a bad way, his thoughts disorganized and hard to read after what he’s been through. But he was able to tell us that Dressler asked after two other relatives when he first got here. Where they live now, what their circumstances are, that sort of thing. He gave us the names, so at least we have a direction to go in now.”
Lucian released a long sigh and nodded. “Mirabeau, you and Tiny take Mr. Purdy to the hospital and stay with him. Hopefully after a little care, his thinking will be clearer and we can learn more from him.”
Santo watched the tall woman with fuchsia highlights in her hair lead Tiny to the door. She opened and held it for him to carry the man out, and then followed silently.
“Anything upstairs, Eshe? Zani?” Lucian asked, turning on the pair.
“A cell phone.” Zani held up a black phone. “But I’ll have to work on it. It’s locked. Other than that, I didn’t find anything else.”
“Me either,” Eshe said, shaking her head and making the flame-colored tips of her dark hair move so that it looked on fire.
Lucian’s mouth compressed, but he merely said, “Decker, go back to the Caprelli house and call Mortimer. Give him the names and whatever information you got from Purdy on those relatives. We’ll need addresses.”
When Decker nodded and headed for the door, Lucian glanced around and continued grimly, “We had best start cleaning up. We need to remove the bodies and get them to a hospital morgue so their families aren’t left wondering what happened to their loved ones. And we need to . . .” His mouth tightened as he surveyed the room. Santo followed his gaze around the garbage strewn entry and then into the living room, which was in even worse shape.
Santo knew the rest of the main floor was in the same condition. He, Lucian, and Bricker had searched the main floor while the others had dispersed to search the other floors.
“Let’s just clean this place up. The poor old bastard does not need to come home to this.” As everyone started to move, Lucian turned narrowed eyes Santo’s way and barked, “Porch. Now.”
Eyebrows rising, Santo ambled calmly to the door, but then paused and gestured for Lucian to lead the way. He’d learned long ago never to turn his back on a threat, and he suspected Lucian was about to threaten him. He wasn’t surprised when, once they were on the porch, the man turned his ice-blue eyes with their fringe of silver his way, and went on the attack.
“I do not know how it is done in Italy, but here in North America, when you turn them, you train them. You are not abandoning your life mate and flying home.”
“I will not risk hurting her by remaining,” Santo responded, expression tightening. “And my position here was voluntary. You are not my boss and cannot order me around.”
“But I am the head of the North American Council,” Lucian responded in a smooth, cold tone. “And as such, anything that happens in North America is under my purview.”
“There is no law that says I have to train her,” Santo growled. “Only that I have to see that she is trained. I will arrange for her training.”
Lucian opened his mouth to speak again, but Santo forestalled him, saying, “Do not bother threatening to kick my ass. You are only about five hundred and seventy years older than me, Lucian. Which means there is very little difference in strength between us.”
Lucian’s eyes narrowed dangerously and he warned, “I could still have a 3-on-1 done on you, Santo. The agreement made between you, Julius, and myself was that you would allow Greg to counsel you. If you try to fly home, you are breaking that agreement.”
Santo shifted grimly, his gaze sliding over the quiet neighborhood, and then he turned back. “I will speak to Greg before I leave. That is all I will promise, though. And I will not go near Pet in the meantime. I will not risk hurting her.”
“One more.”
Pet grimaced at Marguerite’s order as she tore the empty bag of blood away from her mouth and exchanged it for the full one the woman was holding out. Raising the new bag, she thrust it up quickly, relaxing a little when it slid smoothly onto her new fangs and didn’t burst and send blood flying everywhere like two of the last six bags had done.
After Santo left, Pet had pulled on the overlarge T-shirt she’d woken up in and headed out of her room. Only to encounter Marguerite in the hall. The woman had turned her around and urged her into the bathroom for a shower, promising to bring her some clothes to wear. Pet’s shower had turned into a nice relaxing soak since the bathroom she’d found herself in didn’t have a shower. She hadn’t minded too much. She’d always loved bubble baths and Mrs. Caprelli had the loveliest smelling vanilla bubble bath. Conscious that it wasn’t hers, she’d used it sparingly, but still got a lot of bubbles from it.