“Parker!” Pet screamed, already on her feet and running for the stairs.
She heard Lucian and Santo both bark at her to stop, but ignored them, and there was a sudden thunder of feet pounding as several of them apparently followed her.
Pet ran flat out up the hall, one part of her brain amazed at how much faster she was now. But then she had reached Parker’s room. Halting abruptly inside the door, Pet took in the scene at a glance. Mrs. Wiggles was on the bed, growling and hissing at the man holding Parker. Her nephew’s headphones lay on his bed next to one of his schoolbooks. He’d obviously been playing a game and never heard his father attack his mother below and then creep up here after him.
Pet shifted her gaze to the man backing toward the windows with Parker held to his chest. She didn’t dare look at her nephew. The confusion and terror on his face would have undone her, so she concentrated on her brother-in-law. Patrick Peters hardly looked like the arrogant asshat she knew and tried to love for her sister’s sake. He was filthy, greasy, his clothing torn and bloodstained, and his eyes were wild and desperate.
“Stay back,” he cried, sounding panicked.
Forcing herself to remain calm, Pet said, “Let him go, Patrick.”
“Just don’t come closer!” He’d reached the window and now slid his free hand behind him to feel around for the window latch.
“There’s nowhere to go,” she said firmly, moving forward.
“Pet,” Santo growled behind her.
She ignored him. “Let him go, Patrick. You don’t want to do this.”
“Shut up, Petronella,” Patrick growled. “He’s my son.”
“Yes, he is,” she agreed. “But you need help, Patrick, and these people can help you.”
Her brother-in-law snorted at that. “Dressler told me about the kind of help they give. I’ll not let them kill me.”
“You talked to Dressler?” Lucian barked behind her. “Where is he?”
“Gone,” Patrick growled, and then nodding to Santo, he said, “He recognized the big guy there. Said the hunters were running him to ground.” His mouth tightened. “He wanted me to go with him, but I couldn’t. Not without Quinny and Parker.” The words were almost a whine, and then Patrick scowled. “Where is Quinn?”
“Safe,” Pet assured him.
“Bring her to me,” he demanded.
“Let Parker go and we’ll talk about it,” Santo said grimly.
Pet heard the click of the window latch. Knowing what was coming, she lunged forward and just managed to grab onto Parker’s arm as Patrick pushed it open and started to climb out, dragging the boy with him. Tugging her nephew against her chest, Pet turned toward the people crowded inside the door. When her hair was suddenly caught and yanked backward, Pet gave Parker a push toward the others, and then she was swung around to face Patrick’s furious face.
“You always were a stupid bitch,” he snarled, tugging her head sideways and exposing her throat. Patrick lunged for her neck, fangs extended, and Pet closed her eyes, sure she was toast, and then she felt someone grab her from behind and pull her free. She heard the hiss of a blade whistling past even as the hands at her waist turned her away and against a hard, wide chest. But Pet heard the sound behind her, remembered it from her childhood. The sound of a head being lopped off, followed by a splat as it hit the floor.
A moan slid from her lips then, and a shudder ran through her. Then she was scooped up and carried from the room. Pet didn’t have to open her eyes to know it was Santo carrying her. She recognized his scent and curled against his chest, trying not to imagine the state her brother-in-law was in now.
“Pet?”
“Yes?” Pet’s voice was flat, her gaze never leaving her nephew’s sleeping face. She hadn’t stopped looking at Parker since Santo had carried her here to the Caprellis’ home from her sister’s house and then walked out. Pet had stared at Parker’s face while she’d listened to Marguerite ask Santo how he could do this, followed by her begging him to reconsider, and as she heard him respond that it was for Pet’s own good. She’d stared at Parker while she’d listened to Julius yelling at Santo that he was being foolish and needlessly cruel, and as Santo had responded that he wouldn’t risk breaking her back or crushing her larynx. And she’d stared at Parker while she’d listened as Christian had tried to convince Santo to at least talk to her and explain that he’d asked his mother to come train her as an immortal rather than risk hurting her while in the throes of his nightmares, and as Santo had responded with a grim, “You just did.”
And he was right, of course. Christian and Julius and even Marguerite had all given her the pieces she’d needed to understand, and now she knew why Santo’s plans for them had changed. Oddly enough, it didn’t make it hurt any less.
“Calandra Notte is here,” Marguerite said now, and then asked gently, “Do you want me to stay?”
“No,” Pet said quietly, but didn’t stand and turn to face Santo’s mother even after she heard the bedroom door close.
A moment of silence passed, and then Calandra Notte asked, “Have you nothing to say to me?”
“Your son is an idiot,” Pet said in a flat voice.
Another moment of silence passed, and then Calandra Notte barked, “Turn around.”
Sighing, Pet stood up and turned, the dead expression she’d worn on her face for the past several hours evaporating as her jaw dropped in shock. Calandra Notte was no taller than herself. No bigger either. After hearing how the woman had saved her son, Pet had imagined her to be an Amazon. Tall and strong and powerful. Not this tiny woman with dark brown hair and a lovely face.
“My son may be acting like an idiot, but he is not one,” Calandra Notte announced solemnly. “And while I am small, bullets are tiny, yet also powerful.”
When Pet managed to close her mouth, Santo’s mother moved to peer down at Parker. “He is still turning.”
“Yes,” Pet agreed. “So is his mother. She’s in the next room.”
Calandra nodded. “He will be coming with us. She will not.”
Pet glanced at her quickly, but asked, “Is there a reason?”
“Smart girl,” Calandra said with a smile of approval. “You think first.” Turning back to Parker, she nodded. “From all I have been told, and from what I have read from your mind and hers, Quinn is not likely to take what has happened to her well.”
“No. She won’t,” Pet agreed.
“Parker has to deal with much. Becoming something he did not know existed, his father’s attack on him, seeing his father die—”
“He saw?” she asked with alarm.
“It is there in his mind. He saw it over Marguerite’s shoulder as she carried him from the room.” She raised her gaze to Pet. “The last thing he needs as he adjusts to his new life is a mother who is distraught and unbalanced. He needs love and support, and only those who can offer that should be near him. You can do that.”
Pet nodded but asked, “After they’ve both adjusted, though . . .”
“If Quinn retains her sanity when she comes out of the turn, we shall reunite them after their training,” Calandra announced and then turned to face her head on. “Are you ready to be trained so you can be free to teach Santo how stupid he is being?”
When Pet’s eyebrows rose, Calandra added, “I have read you, Petronella Stone. You are smart, courageous, and a fighter. You are perfect for my son . . . and he needs you very much.”
“I’m ready,” Pet said quietly.
Nodding, Calandra turned to stride to the door. “Then bring your nephew and we will go. My plane is waiting at the airport.”
Pet bent to pick up Parker, and then turned to watch Calandra walk out of the room. A small smile started tugging at her lips as she followed. By the time she’d reached the hall, it had spread across her face.
Glancing down at Parker’s unconscious face, she whispered, “I like her.”
Twenty-one
Santo wasn’t sure what woke him. Perhaps it was the cold or perhaps the pain grinding through his body, but his eyes snapped open and he found himself staring at the hard-packed dirt he knelt on. He was in a dark, dingy room, lit only by a couple of burning torches. He was chained to a cold, damp stone wall, dressed only in filthy, tattered breeches that left his mangled chest bare and revealed the bloody patchwork of burns, cuts, and gouges that hadn’t yet healed. Santo’s body simply didn’t have the blood needed to manage the feat. But the torture would start again eventually, he knew. It always did. He might be left hours, days, or even months or years to suffer in dread, but his captor always returned and the pain began anew.
He would fight it at first, suffering in silence rather than give them the satisfaction of screaming. But eventually Santo wouldn’t be able to bear it so stoically, and he would begin to scream. Once that happened, he wouldn’t be able to stop until his throat ruptured and he found himself choking on his own blood.
Sighing, Santo closed his eyes wearily. With each round of torture, a little more of his spirit was worn away and he felt as if he lost another chunk of his soul. He used to search for ways to escape, and then he’d prayed for rescue, now he just longed for death to end his misery.
The screech of the metal cell door opening made Santo stiffen. His waiting was over. Vanittus had returned. He wondered wearily what torture would be visited on him this time. They had used nearly every known torture device on him as far as he could tell. Aside from the more mundane whipping, burning him with a hot poker, and slicing him repeatedly with swords, they’d used the thumbscrew to break every one of his fingers and toes, torn out his tongue with the tongue tearer, broken his body on the wheel, blinded and tormented him with the lead sprinkler, and once even left him in an iron maiden for months.
But the worst had been the rat torture. Santo shuddered at the memory. He had never been bothered much by rats, not until the night they’d chained him to a table, set a small cage with no top or bottom to it on his stomach, placed several large rats inside and then laid a torch over the top opening. Desperate to escape the heat and flames, the rats had taken the only path left to them and had tried to escape by burrowing through his body. Santo had nightmares of the pain as they’d clawed and dug their way into his stomach, their little bodies writhing inside him.