Chapter 12 #2
His heart begged him to reach out to Rafe.
The vampire would hold him and help to ease the pain.
He’d reassure Philippe there was a way through this mess, that they could still save his remaining clan members when Philippe was completely out of ideas.
But he’d made himself put off calling. Rafe had already had to deal with enough drama from him.
Philippe needed to stand on his own two feet. Needed to stand alone as a leader.
Shoving both hands through his hair, Philippe paced over to the window in the library.
He was a fucking mess. He didn’t deserve the beauty and kindness Rafe was offering.
Everything had been so perfect about their time together, and he’d still managed to destroy it all, to hurt the man he was starting to care so much about.
“You can’t blame yourself.” Jullien’s firm, steady voice wasn’t the balm it usually was. Hell, he’d forgotten his old friend was even in the room with him. “Piper’s death isn’t your fault.”
Guilt lanced through Philippe, and he was grateful that he had his back turned to Jullien. He hadn’t been thinking about Piper, only his own need to feel Rafe’s arms wrapped around him. To have Rafe tell him everything was going to be okay and that they’d figure this out together.
“But it is,” Philippe wearily snapped. “When each person was invited into the clan, I promised to keep them safe. Erik, Sarah, and Piper were all murdered under my watch.”
“Yes, and you can’t be everywhere at once.”
Philippe turned to find Jullien seated on the edge of the desk while Ezra leaned against the doorjamb with his arms shoved into the pockets of his jeans.
“Why attack the Arsenaults? We keep to ourselves,” Philippe snapped.
“We don’t have any known enemies,” Jullien agreed.
“Maybe this is backlash for helping the Variks,” Ezra tossed out, but Philippe was already shaking his head.
“No, Erik was killed before Jullien helped free the brothers from the Black Wolf clan, and Sarah was already missing. I refuse to believe this has anything to do with the Variks.”
Ezra remained stubborn. “Maybe so, but associating with the Variks isn’t helping us. We would have been better off aligning with a clan like the MacPhersons.”
“The MacPhersons would never have accepted the Arsenaults when they learned the full truth about us. I don’t trust them.
” Philippe wanted to say that they had far more in common with the Variks, but he bit his tongue.
He just didn’t know anymore. He was beginning to wonder if his growing feelings for Rafe were starting to seriously cloud his judgment.
“Then we need to do something to be stronger. Maybe it’s time we reconsider exactly who we have in the Arsenault clan.”
Philippe stared at Ezra in openmouthed horror for a moment.
Was he actually arguing to have some members kicked out of the clan because they didn’t meet a certain measure of strength or value?
That wasn’t why Philippe had started this clan.
Philippe had been determined to offer a safe haven to those hurting and lost in their world.
Ezra knew that just as clearly as all of them did.
Or at least Ezra had known it at one time.
The vampire with the shock of red hair and cold blue eyes had been half-starved and alone when Philippe discovered him outside of Dublin more than a century ago.
He’d been a soldier and grievously injured during battle.
Much of his body was covered in horrible scars and he walked with a permanent limp.
A vampire had found him and turned him for a bit of fun one night.
The vamp had fully intended to kill Ezra before the sun rose, but Ezra escaped and found a suitable hiding place until the next night.
But those hard, early years had obviously been forgotten by his friend.
“Enough,” Philippe snapped. “We’re not discussing this.”
Ezra’s mouth took on a mutinous line, and he stormed away.
Philippe turned his attention to Jullien, who only sighed as he nodded.
He didn’t get the impression that his old friend no longer agreed with his mission when it came to building the Arsenault clan, but the deaths of the three members definitely had them all rattled.
The doorbell echoed through the silent house, and Philippe’s heart immediately sped up.
A little smirk twisted Jullien’s lips as he pushed away from the desk. “I’ll go let Rafe in.”
Philippe didn’t deny it. Jullien had been in the room when he made the call, and Philippe had been sure he’d managed to keep all emotion from his face, but he doubted he’d been so careful the other times he’d returned from his evenings with Rafe.
Jullien knew him, and probably to some small extent, Jullien knew Rafe.
He listened to the footsteps cross the hall floor and the muffled voices before more footsteps returned. This time they were sharper, faster.
There had been no time to compose himself. Rafe was just suddenly there, in the doorway, a worried expression on his handsome face. He paused for only a second and then crossed to him. Philippe caught a small glimpse of Jullien closing the door behind Rafe, leaving them alone.
God, he looked so good. Tonight he was wearing a pair of dark-gray slacks and a white shirt that was open at the throat. His hair was already starting to look slightly wild, as if he’d been running his fingers through it in worry.
What was surprising was the violin case in his right hand. Why had he brought his violin?
But the question was knocked out of his brain again when Rafe halted less than a foot away and placed the case on the floor. He reached for Philippe but stopped himself at the last second, pulling away. A look of indecision wrinkled his nose and deepened his frown.
Philippe closed the final couple of steps separating them, walking straight into Rafe’s arms. He didn’t miss the sigh of relief or the little shudder that ran through Rafe’s body before those wonderful arms tightened around his shoulders.
Philippe closed his eyes and burrowed his face into Rafe’s neck, wanting to wallow in the warmth and comfort Rafe was offering.
In the back of his mind, he knew he still had work to do to fix this new breach between them.
Rafe had some unexpected insecurity that Philippe’s seeming rejection had worsened.
They’d talk, but it could wait a little while.
“I’m so sorry, mon ange,” Rafe whispered into his hair.
The ghost of a smile drifted across his lips, and he squeezed Rafe a little tighter.
It was the first time Rafe had used an endearment, and it was touching that he’d chosen the French version of “my angel.” Plenty of others had commented on his classically angelic looks of blond hair and blue eyes, even Rafe, but there was something sweeter to hear it in his native French.
“Mon amour,” Philippe murmured back.
“I’m sorry I wasn’t more help. I know you expected—”
Philippe’s head immediately popped up so that he could look Rafe in the eye.
“In no way is this your fault. I’m the one who has failed.
I couldn’t save Erik or Sarah. I knew I needed to try something new.
Jullien commented to me that you seemed to know everyone.
I thought you might have seen or heard something. ”
“No, I’m sorry.”
Philippe reached up and pressed his thumb to Rafe’s lips while cupping his cheek. “No more apologies. I’ve already heard too many from you, and you have nothing to apologize for.”
Rafe kissed his thumb before gently moving it aside. “Then tell me what I can do to help.”
“Nothing.”
“I’m not giving up. Some fucker is targeting your clan, and it stops now. I’ll not have you or the rest of your clan in danger.”
Philippe started to open his mouth to argue, but he shut it again and smiled.
Rafe was right. He needed help. He’d lost three members to a murderer, and he wasn’t going to lose another person.
The Arsenault clan needed help, and he was going to accept all the resources that Rafe could pull together through his contacts and the rest of the Variks.
“You’re right,” Philippe agreed.
Rafe blinked at him, looking thoroughly surprised. “I…I don’t think I’ve ever heard anyone say that to me.”
Philippe chuckled softly. “Truly?”
“Certainly not my brothers. Not one of us would ever admit to being wrong.”
He slid his hands up Rafe’s back; he loved the feel of muscles stretched over broad shoulders. “I can’t imagine any of you being so stubborn,” he teased.
“Most definitely.” Rafe leaned forward and pressed a tender kiss to his forehead. “Now tell me, is there anyone else in your clan that is similar to Erik or Piper? Someone else who might be a good target.”
Philippe released Rafe and wandered over to a chair with a slightly faded plaid fabric.
While not as fancy or even fashionable as anything he’d seen in Rafe’s penthouse, it was a comfortable enough chair.
He sat down and rested his elbows on his knees.
Rafe was right. They needed to focus on what could be done now to keep his people safe.
“Two. Peter and Ming. Both were over seventy when they were turned into vampires, but they’ve been with the Arsenault clan for well over a decade. Their combined age is nearly fifty in vampire years.”
“So, while possible targets, they wouldn’t be the easiest of prey,” Rafe said.
“Yes.”
“Anyone else?”
Philippe had been racking his brain since he’d received word of Piper’s murder. He didn’t know who could be a target. They all could be, but right now, only Peter and Ming fit the closest description of the victims so far.
“None. But in the meantime, I ordered that no one is allowed to leave this house alone. No one hunts alone. Everyone goes out in twos or threes. They are also to text myself, Jullien, or Ezra when they leave and return. At least until we know who the killer is.”
“Good plan. What can I do?”
“I…I don’t know.”
“May I speak to my family? Particularly Winter. He might be able to talk to someone that I haven’t thought of. He could have some guesses as to why your clan is being hit.”
“Please. Tell them whatever you must. This has to stop.”
Rafe walked over and placed his hand on Philippe’s bowed shoulder. “It will. We’ll figure this out.”
Silence settled over them for a moment and Rafe dropped his hand back to his side. “If you prefer, I’ll leave you alone. I can go…talk to Marcus…”
“The case. It’s your violin?” Philippe said just to keep Rafe from leaving. He was right that he should be alone with his clan, but he wasn’t ready. Not yet at least.
“Yes. I…I wasn’t thinking clearly when you called. I grabbed it on my way over. Whenever there was trouble, it was usually with my mother, and I’d need my violin. I guess…I guess I grabbed it out of habit. Doesn’t make much sense.”
Philippe’s heart broke a little at the embarrassed expression on Rafe’s face. “I’m so sorry about your mother’s death.”
“Thank you,” Rafe replied, his voice rough and his eyes locked on the floor.
“Did it help when you played?”
Rafe nodded.
“Would…would you play for me?”
Light returned to his dark-blue eyes at last, and he smiled at Philippe. “Of course.”
Sitting in his chair, he watched as Rafe picked up his case and set it carefully on the desktop. With quick, efficient movements, he prepared both the bow and violin. He checked the strings, tuning them quickly by ear, before turning toward Philippe.
With the bow in one hand and violin tucked under his chin, Rafe started playing.
The song was familiar, a classic, though at that moment, Philippe couldn’t name it or the composer.
He was lost to the magic Rafe was weaving around him.
It was beautiful and elegant, soft and slightly forlorn.
Rafe’s vampiric gift might be the ability to wipe minds and control actions, but his true gift in life was playing the violin.
Tears slipped down Philippe’s cheeks for Piper and his other lost clan members. He wept for the pain and fear the others were feeling.
And if he was being honest, he wept for himself and Rafe. He was falling for a man he knew he could never have.