“¿Dudas de mi, viejo?” he growled, his voice deep and threatening, the words spoken in a Spanish so guttural that she could barely make out their meaning. Do you doubt me, old man?
Xuan had shrunk lower by the second until Lana almost felt sorry for him, cowering on the floor as if certain that terrible death was imminent.
“No,” he whispered. “No, yo le creo.” No. No, I believe you.
“Cinco días,” Vincent repeated, as the overwhelming sense of danger abruptly drained from the room. “¿Comprendes?” Five days. Do you understand?
Xuan nodded without looking up. “Comprendo.” I understand.
Vincent spun around and, shoving Lana ahead of him, strode out of the small house, not speaking again until they were in the SUV.
“Put on your seatbelt,” he ordered as he slammed the SUV into gear and did a spinning 180° turn, spewing dirt and dust as he sped out of the yard and back onto the narrow road.
“Tell me what just happened,” she said, clicking the belt into place.
Vincent’s jaw was clenched so tightly that she could see the muscles bunching even with only the dash lights to see by.
“Vincent, if you don’t tell me what’s going on, I’m going to jump out of this vehicle and go back and have Xuan tell me.”
He shot her an angry glare. “Even you aren’t stupid enough to jump from a moving vehicle.”
She figured he was furious enough to say stupid things himself, so she ignored his stupid comment . . . for now. Instead, she said sweetly, “The vehicle won’t be moving when you make the turn around that big organ cactus.”
“Don’t push me on this, Lana,” he said in a hard voice.
“Don’t shut me out, Vincent,” she retorted just as hard.
He slammed his hand against the steering wheel with such force that she heard it groan.
“Enrique murdered my brother,” he spat.
“I got that. Now, tell me the rest.”
“That’s not enough for you?”
Lana didn’t fall for it. He was trying to shame her into letting it drop, but she wasn’t going to do that. She was part of this pilgrimage, too, and she needed to know the whole story.
“Tell me the rest, Vincent.”
His jaw clenched again and she thought he wasn’t going to answer. But then he said, “He was careful in how he told the story.”
She frowned. What the fuck did that mean? “You mean Xuan Ignacio.”
“Yes.”
“And …?”
He took so long in responding that she thought they’d have to do the whole song and dance all over again. But then he took her hand, threading their fingers together and resting their joined hands on his thigh, his thumb stroking back and forth as if he needed comfort.
“Vincent?” she said, growing alarmed. Was it really that awful?
“Xuan was careful in how he told the story,” Vincent said again, “because Enrique isn’t my Sire. Xuan Ignacio is.”
Chapter Twenty-One
LANA BLINKED IN surprise. That was it? That was the big secret? Clearly, she was missing something.
“How do you know Xuan’s your Sire instead of Enrique?” she asked, trying to figure out why it was such a big deal.