Vincent scoffed. “Because I heard what Xuan said, how he described that night. And I was there, damn it! But mostly because . . . the moment we drove into that yard, the moment I saw Xuan . . . I felt something, and I knew.”
“But you didn’t get angry until—”
“Until I found out they’d murdered my brother because he was inconvenient!” Vincent interrupted. “Instead of giving him one more night to recover, they killed him. They did that. Not the bandits, but Enrique and Xuan, my Sire.”
He said the word sire like it was something dirty, something disgusting.
“But why does it matter who your Sire is?” she asked carefully.
“Why does it matter?” he repeated, turning to stare at her in disbelief.
“I’m not a vampire, Vincent,” she reminded him sharply.
He let out a long breath. “The one connection that is sacrosanct in vampire society is the relationship with your Sire. No matter what else happens in your life as a vampire, that connection is always there.” He snorted a harsh laugh. “Why do you think Raphael sent us after Xuan? Manipulative bastard. He knew that if I found out what really happened, that Xuan was my Sire and that Enrique murdered my brother . . . Raphael knew I’d kill Enrique. And Raphael wants Enrique dead.”
“So, it’s not about Xuan being your Sire. It’s about who killed your brother.”
Vincent seemed to deflate suddenly, all of his anger disappearing in an instant. “The betrayal . . . it’s both. That Xuan walked away, that Enrique . . . I’ve been a loyal lieutenant for more than a century to the vampire who murdered my brother.”
Lana squeezed his hand. “But you’ve always hated him. Even when you were loyal. Maybe a part of you knew without really knowing.”
Vincent smiled bitterly. “Every powerful vampire reaches a point when he no longer needs his Sire to survive, when his own power is enough to sustain him. But even then, the ties of affection can remain, making the idea of killing the one vampire who gave you this life unthinkable. I say this only because I’ve seen it in others. For my part, I always knew I’d challenge Enrique someday, and it never bothered me to know that I’d gain power literally over his dead body.
“But now that I know the truth, now that I know what he did, his death will taste even sweeter. I’ll rip his beating heart from his chest and watch his life fade into dust. And then I’ll seize his territory and everyone in it. Everything he ever cared about, everyone he ever loved—if a black heart such as his is capable of such a thing—will be mine.”
Lana’s eyes went wide, her lips flattening into a narrow line. “Okaaay,” she said eventually, figuring it was best not to challenge Vincent when he was plotting mayhem.
Vincent squeezed her hand, as if trying to reassure her that her heart was safe from the whole ‘getting ripped out of the chest’ treatment.
“Can I ask you a question?” she asked carefully.
He gave her an almost amused glance. “Of course.”
“Why are you driving like the hounds of hell are on our heels?”
He gave a bark of laughter that had no joy in it. “Because if I had to spend one more minute in that bastard’s presence, I’d have ripped him to bloody pieces. And I didn’t think you’d understand.”
Lana’s chest filled with warmth. That was almost sweet. And then she choked at the thought. It was sweet that her vampire lover didn’t want to rip a person to bloody shreds in her presence? Clearly, she’d fallen down the rabbit hole without noticing.
She drew a deep breath through her nose. “Well. Good. So, are we driving to Mexico City, then?”
Vincent almost smiled as he squeezed her hand tightly. “Michael will bring the plane and we’ll fly. But not tonight, querida. Tonight, we’re going to find a hotel, and I’m going to show you what it means to have a vampire lord in your bed.”
FIGURING THERE WAS at least a small chance that Xuan Ignacio would ring up his old buddy Enrique and fill him in on current events, Vincent decided he and Lana had to get as far away from Pénjamo as they could before sunrise. They ended up in Guadalajara, which was only a hundred miles, but it was big enough, with over one million residents, to afford them some anonymity, not to mention lots of hotels and a major airport.
Vincent selected a hotel at random—not his usual modus operandi, but probably safer under the circumstances. Anyone who knew him well—and Enrique did—would know his preference for high-end lodging, which meant staying in a cookie-cutter businessman’s hotel near the airport was probably the most secure place for tonight.
The check-in went smoothly. They used Lana’s ID and credit card to at least slow Enrique down if he came looking, and they were the only ones riding up in the elevator. Most of the lobby traffic consisted of businessmen going in the other direction, off to catch an early morning flight. Neither of them spoke in the elevator or on the long walk down the bland hallway to their room. Lana inserted the key card, but Vincent pushed in ahead of her, ignoring her exasperated sigh. She was going to have to get used to his protective nature, because there was nothing he could do about it. Well, he supposed he could have changed if he’d wanted to, but he really didn’t want to.
He grinned as Lana came in behind him and threw her bag on the bed. At least he’d let her carry her own duffel. That was enlightened of him, wasn’t it?
“What are you grinning at?” she grumbled.
He dropped his own duffel to the floor and grabbed her. “You,” he told her. “You make me smile.”
“Right,” she dismissed, pushing away from him. “I need a shower before it’s too late. You up for that?”
Vincent quirked an eyebrow at her words, and Lana tsked at the obvious path his thoughts had taken, but she didn’t manage to hold on to her stern expression for long. She was already smiling when she dropped to the bed and started unlacing her boots.