His susceptibility to suggestion surprised me. Philip had played along when we first met, even allowed himself to be affected, but he always knew the game. He always knew exactly what I was.
But Julian let go instantly, actually steadying me to make sure I wouldn't fall.
"My father is dead?" he asked, his words sounding more like a statement than a question.
Some of my terror began to fade, and I bowed my head for a moment, as if not worthy of looking him in the face. Then carefully, I raised my eyes.
"Yes, my lord."
"And where is his murderer?"
"Dead. Philip killed him."
A flicker of relief passed across his pale features. His work here was done. The senile abortion he called father no longer haunted him. Revenge had been exacted, and Philip and I were no threat because we had been beaten into states of eternal fear. Things must have looked quite rosy.
He didn't seem to sense or suspect a thing about our growing telepathy. Maybe Philip gave him too much credit?
My hope began to rise.
Maybe if we just behaved correctly, fed his ego, and walked three steps behind him, we'd get out of this without a fight. I had no pride left, not when it came to Julian.
But then he turned to Wade, who'd been standing silently in the corner, just watching, breathing quickly. Even wearing his canvas jacket, he looked so slender, almost fragile, his white-blond hair hanging forward over his eyes. After that first intense scan of my memories a few nights ago, Wade knew my maker well.
My heart sank again.
"Who is this?" Julian asked. "Did Philip bring dinner?"
I wanted to scream, to claw his eyes out. What had I been thinking? Hoping we could flatter our way out of this? Julian would never let Wade out of the building.
Of all the ways I thought to die, defending a mortal wasn't one of them. Then again… I did possess one weapon, and I still might be able to use it here.
But it was difficult not to think of days long past. The sight of Julian brought back memories long forgotten, interfering with my gift. I remembered serving my first banquet at Cliffbracken, when he sat at the lavish dining table… back when the house was still alive. He had seemed so large, and I had felt so small.
Not anymore.
Not unless I wanted him to see me that way.
I pushed the memories away… pushed my fear away, and then moved between him and Wade, focusing hard on emanating my gift.
Concentrate. Get him on his knees.
"Master, please." I reached out again and used the tips of my fingers to touch the back of his hand. "He is not worthy of you. Come. Let me find you a lovely woman." I took a step toward the door, pitching my voice to an even softer tone. "I've dreamed of hunting with you, of learning from you. Let Philip have this one." I took another step toward the door.
Julian's mouth opened slightly as he stepped after me. His eyes seemed puzzled and pleased at the same time as I could see him mulling over the sweet portrait my words painted of him as the teacher, me as his grateful student, working to please him, to find him better prey.
Philip hadn't moved in several moments, and he was watching silently, allowing me to take over.
"Come into the city with me," I whispered to Julian.
He took another step.
Then, suddenly, he glanced over at Wade, and his eyes changed. He shook his head as if to clear it and looked back at me in shock… and then rage. His large hand flashed out and gripped my wrist, jerking me up against him.
"What are you doing?" he snarled. "You would try that on me?"
He whipped his free hand back to hit me, and I braced myself.
"Julian, don't!" Philip shouted.
The blow never landed-but not because of Philip's angry shout. Instead, the room exploded in a deafening sound, and I fell back against the floor, looking around wildly to see what happened.
Another explosion sounded, hurting my ears.
Julian's chest was bleeding from two gaping holes as he stumbled backward. Wade was holding his Beretta out in both hands, beads of sweat trickling down his narrow face.
He fired again, catching Julian in the shoulder.
I'd forgotten about the Beretta.
"His throat!" Philip yelled. "Aim for his throat!"
I twisted over to sit in a crouch, uncertain what to do. Wade fired again, but Julian dropped low, and the bullet missed him completely.
But his pale face was so shocked I wondered how he had the presence of mind to even act.
Philip bolted across the room, his loose flannel shirt billowing behind him. He grabbed Julian by the shoulder and leg, lifting him into the air and throwing him at the window. Julian's body crashed against the drapes.
Glass snapped and crackled.
Let him fall through. Please, let him fall through.
Dropping twelve floors to the pavement might not destroy his body, but he'd be out of working order for a while.
But in despair, I saw his hand catch the drape. He managed to steady himself, pain and confusion twisting his features as he stared back in shock-as if unable to believe Philip would attack him to defend me.
Philip actually snarled at him.
I realized this was a new situation for Julian. Fearing a psychic combat he could not win, he'd always hidden himself away, striking only unaware victims. Physical battles with an equal were almost unknown… and he was wounded, bleeding.
But Philip was strong. He charged forward again and swung hard with his right fist, catching Julian across the jaw. The crack echoed as Julian's head snapped back.
Wade moved past me, looking for a clear shot.
"Don't!" I called. "You might hit Philip."
We needed Philip whole.
"Stay behind me," Wade spat back, still holding the gun with both hands.
Philip reached down to try and get another grip, but this time, Julian swept out with his leg, knocking Philip off his feet. Julian lunged up to stand behind the couch, his face a mask of hatred, and then his eyes grew more focused, emanating his gift.
The fear hit me like a wall.
I started gagging.
Wade didn't even get off one shot. He fell to his knees, dropping the gun. His mouth was open in terror but no sounds came.
Philip cried out from fear, and he tried struggling up to crawl. Julian kicked him in the chest so hard his body flew against a wooden chair, smashing it to pieces. When he hit the floor, his shoulder popped out of its socket and his arm lay at an odd angle.
Julian ignored him and strode directly to Wade. The waves of fear washed over and over me, but despair flooded in as well when Julian grabbed Wade's hair with one hand and the Beretta with the other. He smashed the butt of the gun against Wade's cheekbone.
"You like this gun?" Julian asked. His chest and shoulder were still bleeding, soaking his black shirt. He pressed the barrel to Wade's temple. "Do you like it now?"
He wasn't even going to feed. He was just going to shoot Wade in the head.
And Philip was down, his body broken, his mind lost in fear.
"Master, no," I started begging. I hated begging.
I had to do something.
In desperation, more from instinct than intent, I pushed my own thoughts into his mind with all the force I had once used on Dominick. Only this time, I didn't fire ugly images.
Stop!
He froze, his dark eyes wild.
Let go of him!
He dropped Wade first, then the gun, and his mouth formed a horrified O shape. He half turned and staggered toward me. I felt him trying to force me out of his mind. He focused his gift on me at the same time, trying to bury me in terror.