“I know that, Braden,” Julien said quickly, trying to dispel his concern. “This isn’t a criticism, not at all. I just want to understand what it was. Why did you talk to him? Why did you give him the time of day, or night, so to speak? Why did you go against your instincts?”
Braden’s neck and shoulders stiffened. “I don’t know what you mean.”
Oh, hell, Julien wasn’t getting anywhere. Still, he intended to push—to dig deeper—and he knew he was on the right track. “Yeah,” Julien said brusquely. “You do. You didn’t completely trust him that night. You knew something was off, yet you gave him the benefit of the doubt; and you more or less extended your hand in friendship, if only to keep the peace. I’m just asking why.” Feeling like a creepy inquisitor battering a loyal citizen, Julien replayed Lord Hercules’ cryptic words in his memory, repeating that enigmatic phrase: dig deeper…much deeper. “Look, Nachari and Napolean have shared some things with me over the past two years, nothing too personal, just general…stuff. And it’s no secret that you’re tapped into the soul of the house of Jadon, that you have some pretty extraordinary talents and gifts. All I’m saying is Ian had to have been projecting some pretty foul energy, no matter how carefully it was masked, but there was something—something that spoke to you, something that got through—something that allowed him to make a connection. What was it, son? Think about it.”
Braden rubbed his jaw with his thumb and forefinger, leaning slightly forward in his chair. “Honestly, I don’t know. I mean, he was trying to be all personable and stuff—you know, friendly—but I didn’t really buy it.”
“How so?” Julien asked.
“Huh?”
“You said you really didn’t buy it, yet you still found him personable. What made him seem friendly?”
Braden shrugged. “Hell, I don’t know. He just talked a lot.”
Julien nodded. “What exactly did he say? Can you remember?” He knew it was a stupid question—hell, Braden was a vampire, and that meant the male could not only remember, but he could replay, rehear, and view the entire scene in his mind’s eye like an endless video loop if he chose to—and that was precisely why Julien continued to push.
Braden looked off into the distance and narrowed his gaze, deep in thought. “I dunno,” he murmured pensively. “He said something about telling me a secret, which, honestly, weirded me out.” He pursed his lips together, and his gaze rose up and to the left, which meant he was consulting his memories, no longer just speaking off the cuff. “And then, he went on and on about needing some solitude and tranquility before he made his presence known. You know, in Dark Moon Vale.”
Julien nodded again, this time with more vigorous approval. “Did he say why that was important? Did he expand on this…secret of his?”
Braden’s expression softened as the memory came into view. “Um, yeah, I guess he did. He said that he wasn’t a big fan of Dark Moon Vale or our people, but then he immediately tried to explain it away. He said he respected the king and all, and he even looked up to Prince Jadon—I guess as an icon or something—but that his parents had passed away a long time ago, and they had very little use for him, even when they were alive. He said he was an only child and never had many friends…except for you.” His eyes swept downward in apology. “I didn’t know, J. I just thought he was weird.”
Julien shook his head to dismiss the needless apology. “That’s okay, son. Was there anything else? Anything that kind of connected or resonated?”
Braden’s jaw tightened and his tone grew more intense. “You know, I think there was one thing.”
Julien leaned forward. “Go on.”
“He said that he didn’t think he had been missed—you know, by anyone here—that his role was never that important. And then he said something really strange…about me. He said, Forgive me, but it sounds as if you might have a personal acquaintance with the subject of missing parents. Am I…wrong?”
Just then, a shooting star blazed through the pitch-black sky and illuminated the night, burning out in a flash just as it reached the M13 globular cluster, the quadrilateral of stars that formed part of the body of Hercules. Julien sat up straighter in his chair. He held up his hand to halt the conversation, and locked his gaze with Braden’s. “Back up for a minute, son. What you just said…about your parents…back up.”
Braden linked his hands together, rested his elbows on his knees, and slowly twiddled his thumbs. He was thinking deeply, critically now, and it showed in his every nuance. After a minute or so had passed, he leaned back and shrugged. “There’s really nothing else to tell. Just that Grigori—that Ian—had mentioned it.”
Julien recognized a diversion when he heard one, a clever change of subject, and he knew that Braden had just backed off. He decided to take a stronger tack. “What were you thinking about when he made that comment about your parents? Can you try to recall your thoughts?”
Braden shook his head and remained silent.
Apparently, Julien had just gone too far.
“Look,” Julien said, “you’ve been a part of the house of Jadon since you were, what? Five or six years old?”
“Five,” Braden answered. “Dario converted me when I was five.”
“Right,” Julien agreed, “and you’ve been in Dark Moon Vale since age fifteen; you came at the end of August, correct?”
Braden nodded his head. “Yeah. Nachari brought me back with him from the University.”
“And in all those years, how many times have we talked, you and I?”
Braden practically snorted. “Do short waves from across a room or half nods count?”
Julien chuckled. Damn, was he really that antisocial? “No,” he said honestly. “They don’t.”
“Then I guess the answer is never,” Braden said, looking suddenly out of place.
Julien tried to soften the subject with a smile, wade through the awkward moment with mirth. “Right, and my bad for that. I just…hell, what can I say? I’m pretty single-minded most of the time; it’s never personal.” He sighed. “Point being, I wouldn’t be here tonight, having this conversation, if I didn’t have a reason. It’s important, son, so I need you to think. And I need you to be completely honest with me—whatever you say, it’s confidential, okay? But I need you to tell me what you were thinking at that moment.”
A hint of defiance, perhaps opposition, flashed through Braden’s eyes, and then, just as quickly, the resistance was gone, and his reluctance was replaced with resignation. Finally, after what seemed like several minutes, though it was probably no more than a couple of seconds, Braden reluctantly pressed on: “When Ian said that stuff about my parents, I was thinking”—he paused to lick his lips—“I thought that maybe he was trying to read my mind or my memories or something, like I might have felt a little tap in my head: There was just something creepy or not on the up-and-up about it. It actually made me uncomfortable, but at the same time, I almost felt like I could relate.”
“And why would that be?” Julien nearly held his breath.
C’mon, son, just answer…you’re so, so close...
Once again, there was no reply.
Julien sighed. “If Ian had been reading your thoughts—assume he actually did peek into your mind—what do you think he saw?”
Braden turned modestly pale, his usual tan skin growing a slight shade of yellow.
“It’s okay,” Julien reiterated. “Tell me what you were thinking, Braden. C’mon, son. Go ahead.”
The teenager began to tap his foot on the ground, almost like a nervous tic. “I was just thinking that, you know, my parents don’t really visit very much…or have a whole lot to do with me in general.” He tried to brush it off with a smile. “I mean, it’s cool, you know? They call and send gifts, sometimes cards and letters, so it seems like they know I’m alive. But you know how it is: They’re just not that involved in my life.”
Julien’s gut clenched in response to Braden’s dejected words, and he had to stop, tune i
n to his own reaction, and try to discern its meaning: It wasn’t like a sudden surge of emotion, nor was it an overwhelming flood of empathy—although that would, clearly, be an appropriate response. It was more like an internal lightbulb going off inside his stomach; lighting, then glowing; heating, then cooling; resonating in confirmation.
Yep, that was exactly it.
Julien was right on top of whatever curious revelation Lord Hercules wanted him to reveal, and for whatever reason, the information was important. If nothing else, it was significant to the boy.
Dig deeper.
Much deeper.
“Why do you think that is?” Julien asked.
The question seemed to catch the youngster off guard. He shifted nervously in his seat, crossed his arms protectively over his middle, and began to tap the opposite foot. “Don’t know,” he mumbled, almost inaudibly, his features betraying his ire.
Julien softened his voice. “Yes, you do. Tell me what’s up, Braden.”
The youngster began to squirm in his seat, and then he simply leaned forward, stood up, and started to walk away. Julien moved like the wind, rising from the divan and heading the youngster off. He placed a steadying hand on the fledgling’s shoulders. “Braden, why don’t your parents visit? What did Ian see in your mind?”
This time, the vampire looked visibly angry as he replied. “Well, if he actually read my mind without me knowing it, then he might’ve seen some stupid shit. That’s all.”
Julien nodded circumspectly, demonstrating no other emotions, no visible reaction. “What stupid shit?”
Braden huffed in exasperation. “Fine. You wanna know? You wanna hear some stupid story from my past?”
“I do,” Julien said. He sat back down on the divan, leaned back into the cushions, and gestured for Braden to do the same in the matching chair.
Braden shrugged in an exaggerated manner, went back to his seat, and plopped on top of the cushion. “When I was ten, my mom had some wine with dinner, and I guess she had too much to drink. There was no one else home, just her and me, and she started to slur her words. Anyhow, at one point, she just stared at me and frowned. After a minute or two had passed, she slammed her fist down on the table and almost growled: Damn, you look just like your father; I swear, the older you get, the more you remind me of Brad. She looked away and whispered, Sometimes, it’s just too painful to look at you.” Braden glanced away. “She was referring to my biological father; he was a real jerk when they were married.”
Julien didn’t react or speak.
He didn’t offer any immediate words of sympathy, and he didn’t try to mitigate what he had just heard. He just sat there and let the words sink in.
He knew enough about Dario and Lily Bratianu, especially being that she was the first destiny who had ever been previously married, to know that her first husband, Brad, had been more than just a jerk—he had been a drunk, and he had been abusive to both Lily and Braden. And Lily had all but begged Dario not to kill him once they were mated, knowing that the warrior would seek Blood Vengeance, which, of course, was his right.
What Julien hadn’t known was that Braden looked a lot like his biological dad, that Lily was dealing with some unresolved issues, or that she had allowed those internal problems to leak out and spill all over her son, an unfortunate repercussion that was sorely misplaced.
If not inexcusable.
Like many of the males in the house of Jadon, the tracker had long suspected that something wasn’t quite right; after all, Dario and Lily kept Braden’s little brother, Conrad, close by their side. Their one-year, worldwide vacation had ended almost nine months ago, and while Nachari Silivasi had a lot to teach the boy, and staying in Dark Moon Vale, being educated at the house of Jadon’s Academy, to be specific, just made sense, their complete and utter absence in the valley was nothing short of astonishing.
Braden was their son.
Period.
End of story.
And they should have made the effort.
The question, now: What was Julien supposed to do with the information? He didn’t pretend to have the wisdom of a god or to understand the true impact of that scene…on Braden. What he did know is that some words cut deeper than others, some wounds didn’t always heal, and celestial gods could see the past, the present, and the future: Maybe Lord Hercules knew something Julien didn’t. Maybe the youngster was supposed to learn something from Dario, but it required healing that rift; or maybe there was something Braden was meant to become, something he was meant to do, that required greater self-esteem.
Who knew?
The point was: Lord Hercules had felt it was important enough to nudge Julien in Braden’s direction—the tracker didn’t have to fully understand all the whys.
He weighed his next words carefully. “Have you ever told that story to anyone? Have you ever talked to Nachari—”
“No.” Braden cut him off. “It’s my deal, Julien. It’s nobody’s business.” The vampire uncrossed his feet at the ankles and then crossed them again, placing the opposite foot on top; all the while, his eyes held a hint of shame. “Doesn’t matter. S’all good.”
Julien nodded slowly. “Look. You’re right. You’re an intelligent young male and a clever vampire in your own right, with a whole lot of talents, an asset to the house of Jadon; so your business is your own. I just want to say that sometimes family isn’t what we think it is, what we sometimes want it to be.” He pointed toward the ground, indicating the brownstone beneath them. “The vampires who love you, raise you, have your back—the ones who live right here—that’s your family.” He gestured broadly next, sweeping his hand in an arc, indicating the entire valley around them. “The house of Jadon and the warriors, healers, and wizards who have come to know you, who would stand beside you, fight to defend you, die for—or with—you, that’s your family as well. Look, I know all about mothers and fathers and brothers. My brother murdered my mom, and for the longest time, I hated my father because, to my way of thinking, he let it all happen. He didn’t care enough…about me…to get rid of that soulless bastard. But—” He held up his hand and gestured obscurely, almost at Braden’s heart. “That’s a hell of a lot of crap to carry around, Braden—take it from someone who knows.” He paused to let his words sink in and then immediately changed the subject, veering toward a solution. “Do you still spend time with Marquis? Does he still help out with some of your training?”
Braden glanced at his feet. “Sometimes, like maybe once a month. I mean, it’s all good; it really is. He’s got Princess Ciopori and Nikolai…and the casino. I mean, he can’t spend all of his time with me.”
Julien nodded. “Yeah, well, I want you to start coming by the house, my house, spending time with me and my son. And you can start this weekend at my mating and naming ceremony—I’m hoping to have it either Saturday or Sunday.”
Before he could get out another sentence, Braden stood and brushed off his jeans. “I don’t need your pity, tracker.” He smirked. “But thanks.”
Julien stood up angrily and towered over the fledgling, emitting a warning snarl. “Sit down.”
Braden sank into the seat and curled his shoulders inward in an unconscious show of submission, a beta wolf acknowledging an angry alpha. “Shit,” he muttered beneath his breath.
Julien remained standing and pressed both hands to his massive chest. “Do you pity me, vampire?”
Braden visibly blanched. “No! Hell no. Of course not. I was just—”
“Then don’t ever insult me like that again, boy. Do I look like the house of Jadon’s welcoming committee to you? Do I act like someone who’s the poster-child for charity?”
Braden shook his head in unbridled apology. “I’m sorry.”
Julien nodded slowly. “Look, I don’t have a mother, a father, or a brother, at least not living on this side of the spirit world, but when my Blood Moon went down, Ramsey and Nachari were there on day one. Saxson and Nathaniel stepped up with Rebecca in order to get m
y back. I just sacrificed a Dark One to the Blood, about two hours ago, and guess who showed up in the Chamber to be there beside me? Saber freakin’ Alexiares, a male who spent eight hundred years believing he was a Dark One. Do you think that was easy for him? Point is, these males, every last one, are my brothers in the most important sense of the word, and it takes a lot for a hard-headed bastard like me to admit that. To admit that maybe there were times in my life when I could have—when I should have—reached out to someone else, when just maybe, it might have made a difference.” He lowered his voice and took a seat. “Nine hundred sixty-seven years is a long time to live alone, to be alone, turning to solitude or heroin for comfort, when all along, I was never truly by myself.” He shrugged his shoulders in capitulation. “I’m not saying it was that black or white, that my path could have been much different. What I am saying is that you’re young, you have your whole life ahead of you, and unlike me, you’ve already forged so many strong rapports—you’ve made so many powerful allies. You’re known, you’re unique, and you’re loved. Braden, call your mother. Sit down with Dario. Hash this shit out before it festers. It may be the case that nothing changes on their end, that maybe they’re just not good parents, but it’s not about them, not in the end; it’s about you and how you perceive things. How you feel about yourself. It’s about those demons that haunt you in the dark coming out into the light. It’s about owning your own shit so you can be free of it. Son, you have more family than most people could ever dream of. You have security, a circle of support, and a stable home—and you always will. Talk to Nachari. Hell, talk to someone. Don’t be like me. Your future is too bright, and frankly, the house of Jadon needs you at your best, free of loitering demons.” What he didn’t say—what he wasn’t going to say—was that the situation was about to be addressed.
No, Julien would not go back on his word and spill Braden’s secret, although he would continue to encourage the young male to speak with Nachari. However, what he would do was make a phone call to Dario Bratianu and put things as clearly as he could: Get your sorry ass back to Dark Moon Vale, bring your wife and Conrad with you, and see about your son.