Black Scar (13 page)

Logan wiped away
a tear that had trailed down her cheek. “Aye, he is all that and more.”

“Then why are you
hiding out here? If you want him, Logan, go back and claim him.”

A sharp rap on
the door interrupted their conversation. Edward McFarland entered with a
zippered pack in his hand. Julian laid his utensils across the plate and
reclined in his chair.

“Ah.
Blood-letting time. Seems I am to be a pin cushion once again.” Julian rolled
up his sleeve and laid his arm on the table. His gaze slid to the scenery
outside the picture window. Crows cawed loudly, landing on the branches of the
pine trees near the property.

Edward sat next
to Julian and opened the pack. Popping off the plastic cover on the needle he
hesitated and gave Julian such a look of yearning and affection Logan’s heart
seized in her chest. Julian was completely oblivious to Edward’s apparent
desire. He continued to stare out the window. A cloud of sadness crossed
Edward’s face as he inserted the needle into the vein.

Logan left the
room. Closing the door behind her, she leaned against it. Edward had passionate
feelings for Julian? Since when? In the past she never had taken any notice of
such things. Did her growing feelings for Marcus open up something deep within
her, so much so she could see and feel the emotions swirling all around her? How
long did Edward have these yearnings? She shook her head in sadness. Julian’s
words echoed in her mind.
Go back and
claim him.
She pushed away from the door and walked down the hall. Time she
did exactly that.

****

Deegan sat alone
in his spacious office at Black Transports. The building was quiet, even the
cleaners had left long ago. He lost track of time. Probably past two in the
morning. Deegan had spent the last several hours analyzing a business
prospectus.
 
He had also examined every
aspect of outstanding Clan business. He had not only his own to see to, but
also the various branches under the Blackthorne Clan umbrella.

The first call he
placed was to Volger Bay, U.K., the Vladimirovs. Roman, as usual, still traveled
in Russia. So his oldest son, Wolfram, acted as leader in his continued
absence. That had to stop. He did not know what plagued Roman to such an extent
that he never stayed still, but the time had come for him to return home and
take control of his family. Something to address in the near future.

Roman Vladimirov
had asked permission in 1899 to form his own Clan, and Deegan had given it.
He’d settled in a small coastal town on the southeast coast of the U.K. of all
places. Since they were still affiliated with the Blackthorne Clan, they kept
in constant contact over the years. However, Roman had seemingly passed on his
duties to Wolfram as of late.

So Deegan asked
Wolfram if there were any further rumblings regarding the Zombi incident, which
may or may not involve the Thrope Rexlupus. Deegan did not like it that Lucius
had been caught up in that particular drama while he stayed with Wolfram.
 
Deegan had few dealings with the so-called
“wolf king”, and he would rather keep it that way. Each faction of the Shadow
World had its own governing body.

Wolfram, now
happily settled with his Were mate, Jessilynn, stated all seemed well and
quiet. Deegan remained skeptical and cautious.

Thropes were considered the Nazis of the Shadow
World, breeding, termination, rules, regulations, and punishment. The less he
had to deal with them, the better. Yet, they seemed to plague him. Did Rannulf,
the Rexlupus, involve himself in this breeding business of Devlin Steele’s?
Something to ponder. Devious Thrope plotting really did not concern him as long
as the Clan remained uninvolved. The Thropes had better pray it continued to
stay as such.

Deegan stood and walked to his bar on the
opposite side of the room. Sliding the glass door open, he reached for a
decanter and poured himself a tumbler of Black Bush. Leaning against the
counter, he sipped slowly as he gazed at the floor-to-ceiling safe across the
room.

Inside were many treasures he had collected over
the centuries. The artifacts held either sentimental or monetary value or both.
His most sacred item? An urn that held the ashes of his Blood Brother and
dearest friend, Raynor Nightwood. Before he’d elected to be destroyed along
with his mate, Raynor had insisted his ashes be scattered with Laura’s. Deegan
had agreed. The first time he had lied to Raynor in centuries.

He’d told Tristan he’d kept the ashes out of
remembrance. He’d felt his son’s scepticism. Rightly so. The main reason was
entirely more devious. He had not lied to Marcus when he’d stated he could be.
Machiavellian would best describe him. He was a Primoris, an Ancient Vampire,
and leader of this Clan, one of the more powerful ones in North America. One
did not rise to such a position without possessing a certain conniving streak.

If the situation became dire enough, he would
not hesitate to resurrect Raynor and use him as a weapon.
 
Resurrected Vampires were forbidden, as they
were dangerous, uncontrollable, and considered soulless. Perfect for an
assassin. They had been used for just that purpose centuries ago before the
Oriundus had been banished in the 1700s.

Deegan threw back another swallow of Black Bush.
The burn sizzled all the way down his throat. The heated splash of whiskey did
nothing to calm his raging insides. A feeling a dread had plagued him for
months, and it had not lessened.

Something
wicked this way comes
.

He wondered if the Thropes were at the core of
his uneasiness. Perhaps. Somehow, Deegan imagined what was about to come would
be much more than interference from wolf-shifters. Regardless, he would take
this period of calm and peace and savor it. Autumn had all but arrived. The
holidays were around the corner. Thanksgiving was a mere two weeks away.
Considering all that had happened of late, there still was much to be thankful
for.

Yet, The Concealment hung over his Clan’s head
like an assassin’s sword. Edward still toiled in the laboratory trying to find
a way to suppress this ... curse.
 
Malady.
 
Sickness. His reasons for
trying to avoid the Mate Bond with Raylene could very well come to pass. What
if Raylene also had The Concealment as Raynor and Julian had? What if she
passed it on to their unborn child? Watching Raynor’s misery over his wife
Laura’s fate, he knew deep in his soul he would have elected to do the same if
Raylene turned into a drooling insane beast as Laura did. Destruction of them
both. He could not bear to watch his beloved go mad. He would
not.

Downing the rest
of his whiskey, he turned and poured another. Deegan noticed in the reflection
of the glass door his eyes burned a fiery red color, a sign of his Primoris
status. They turned this shade when his emotions were difficult to control. He
exhaled. Perhaps it would not come to that. Raynor’s attacks plagued him every
two hundred years or so. Maybe it would be the same for Julian, or Raylene,
should it come to that. Surely they could find a cure or at least a way to
restrain it in that time.

A wave of calming
sereneness settled deep inside at last. Yes, not all was doom and gloom. Lucius
and Tristan had found their mates. So had he. He would be a father again.
 
Now to see Marcus settled and content. He
spoke to the truth to the lad. He had come to care for him very much. Marcus
was his son, and he would see him happy. He had a feeling Marcus and Logan
would find their way to each other and soon. Yes, perhaps all would be well.

Chapter Fourteen

Fifteen days had
passed since Logan left Bennington Bay. In that time, she’d reflected on her
emotions and behavior. She concluded she had acted in an atrocious manner. For
someone who had lived over eight hundred years, she had learned nothing.

The time had come
to move past Allen’s horrific death and her attack. Neither incident had
anything to do with Marcus. Put simply, she was afraid to feel anything again.
A curse of those with immortality. She never thought she would be a coward.
Julian spoke the truth; Marcus had more courage than anyone she had known in
her long life.

She had been
attracted to him from the first, before she even experienced the Mate Bond.
True, his ruined face could be hard to look at, but she wasn’t disgusted.
Emotions had welled up in her. She wanted to protect him, hold him close. Her
feelings were far from motherly. He had an astounding body. The sex they shared
so far had been fast and frantic. She guessed that kind of sex was all Marcus
knew. She, however, knew so much more and longed to teach him how passion and
desire could be slow and sensual. To draw out the release, climb heights never
scaled.

No use denying it
any longer and Mate Bond be damned, she had fallen in love with him. Could he
forgive her for acting so bleedin’—stupid?

Driving toward
the Canso Causeway in Deegan’s SUV, she had decided to return to Bennington Bay
and claim Marcus as Julian advised. No more doubts, no more prevarications.

The sun shone
brightly in the sky. Logan reached for her sunglasses. A perfect early autumn
day. A few trees already had gold leaves. The air coming through her cracked
open window felt cold, crisp and ocean fresh.

Logan inhaled
deeply and exhaled. Spying the exit for the Causeway look-off, she flicked on
her blinker, drove up the hill, and parked the vehicle. She turned off the
engine and slipped the keys in her leather jacket pocket. Logan smiled. She
remembered when the Causeway opened in 1955. Before then, Cape Breton Island
was separate from the mainland of Nova Scotia and only accessible by ferry. She
had lived in this area for over two hundred and fifty years. The very soil and
the smell of the sea resided in her blood. She would give it all up for Marcus.
In an instant. Though she hoped he would be amenable to spending a few months
at her cottage every year.

She leaned
against the front of the Escalade. Maybe she was getting ahead of herself.
Marcus literally threw her out of the house last she’d seen him. His words
sounded angry and bitter. She had a lot to make up for. Stubborn woman.

Gulls and
northern gannets squawked and cried overhead. One gannet took a dive bomb from
the sky, skimming the surface of the water, his beak disappearing in the ocean.
When he made his arc skyward, a herring was clasped in his mouth. Logan laughed
and clapped at the sight. Well done! A sudden pang of longing tore at her
insides. She wished Marcus was here with her sharing the scenery and the antics
of the sea bird. They could have packed a picnic and had a romantic lunch at
one of the secluded coves along the drive.

She wanted him.
With an aching need she had never felt before in her long life. She wanted to
share everything with him, her past, present, and future. Her heart and soul.
The love she knew she was capable of feeling, though she had hidden it for so
long.

Logan stayed for
thirty minutes. Her determination solid and her purpose true, she climbed back
into the SUV and headed for the mainland.

****

Marcus stood on
the beach and gazed at scenic mountains and rocks surrounding the protective
cove of the Blacks’ waterfront homes. The late afternoon sun skimmed the water,
causing it to sparkle. He tucked the cane under his arm. Seemed he needed it
more often than not. Like the scars on his face and body, he knew the limp
would be with him the rest of his existence.
 

Most of the
stitches had been removed from his face, and the swelling had receded a small
degree. Deegan spoke of reconstructive surgery. Perhaps. It would not eliminate
all his scarring, but might be an option. He did not want to subject himself to
numerous surgeries, and how to explain his injuries in the first place? He
agreed to the glass eye. Wearing a patch had become a frigging pain in the ass.
All in good time, one step at a time.

In the past two
weeks he had been to Lucius and Trevina’s on four occasions for dinner. Amazing
how close he and Lucius had become in such a short span. Lucius showed him a
few inventive mixed drinks with blood as one of the main ingredients. To
further solidify the bond between them, Lucius allowed him to take blood from
him twice more even though he’d said he would not be ‘on tap’ for him. Only a
real friend would offer such a thing. Lucius stated they were now ‘Blood
Brothers’. It meant two male Vampires who shared a soul and blood connection. A
deep, abiding relationship that was not necessarily sexual in nature. In turn,
he let Lucius also drink from him. They were closer than friends, closer than
brothers. This kind of reciprocal blood exchange apparently meant something
between male Vampires and not agreed to that often. Marcus felt privileged and
proud. He also joined the Clan at Deegan’s every Sunday for dinner. Yes, he was
part of a family.
Finally.

Deegan and
Tristan had taken him to look at the available properties that belonged to the
Clan. He was also told what amount of money would be settled on him as a member
of the Blackthorne Clan. Millions. They were richer than he had imagined. He
would never have to work, not that he ever did. The Pack had been well off,
self-sustaining, but nothing like the Blackthorne Clan.