two wolves fighting inside you. We all do.” Chris joined Matthew.
“What do you mean?” Jack asked, his expression wary.
“It’s an old Cherokee legend—one that my grandmother, Nana Bets, learned from her grandmother.”
“You don’t look like a Cherokee,” Jack said, eyes narrowing.
“You’d be surprised by what’s in my blood. I’m mostly French and African, with a little bit of English, Scottish, Spanish, and Native American thrown into the mix. I’m a lot like you, really.
Phenotype can be misleading,” Chris said with a smile. Jack looked confused, and Matthew made a mental note to buy him a basic biology textbook.
“Uh-huh,” Jack said skeptically, and Chris laughed. “And the wolves?”
“According to my grandmother’s people, two wolves live inside every creature: one evil and the other good. They spend all their time trying to destroy each other.”
It was, Matthew thought, as good a description of blood rage as he was ever likely to hear from someone not afflicted with the disease.
“My bad wolf is winning.” Jack looked sad.
“He doesn’t have to,” Chris promised. “Nana Bets said the wolf who wins is the wolf you feed. The evil wolf feeds on anger, guilt, sorrow, lies, and regret. The good wolf needs a diet of love and honesty, spiced up with big spoonfuls of compassion and faith. So if you want the good wolf to win, you’re going to have to starve the other one.”
“What if I can’t stop feeding the bad wolf?” Jack looked worried. “What if I fail?”
“You won’t fail,” Matthew said firmly.
“We won’t let you,” Chris said, nodding in agreement. “There are five of us in this room. Your big bad wolf doesn’t stand a chance.”
“Five?” Jack whispered, looking around at Matthew and Gallowglass, Hubbard and Chris. “You’re all going to help me?”
“Every last one of us,” Chris promised, taking Jack’s hand. When Chris jerked his head at him, Matthew obediently rested his own hand on top.
“All for one and all that jazz.” Chris turned to Gallowglass. “What are you waiting for? Get over here and join us.”
“Bah. The Musketeers were all tossers,” Gallowglass said, scowling as he stalked toward them. In spite of his dismissive words, Matthew’s nephew laid his huge paw atop theirs. “Don’t be telling Baldwin about this, young Jack, or I’ll give your evil wolf a double helping of dinner.”
“What about you, Andrew?” Chris called across the room.
“I believe the saying is ‘Un pour tous, tous pour un,’ not ‘All for one and all that jazz.’”
Matthew winced. The words were right enough, but Hubbard’s Cockney accent made them practically unintelligible. Philippe should have delivered a French tutor along with the cello.
Hubbard’s gaunt hand was the last to join the pile. Matthew saw his thumb move top to bottom, then right to left, as the priest bestowed his blessing on their strange pact. They were an unlikely band, Matthew thought: three creatures related by blood, a fourth bound by loyalty, and a fifth who had joined them for no apparent reason other than that he was a good man.
He hoped that, together, they would be enough to help Jack heal.
In the aftermath of his furious activity, Jack had wanted to talk. He sat with Matthew and Hubbard in the living room, surrounded by his past, and shifted the burden of some of his harrowing experiences onto Matthew’s shoulders. On the subject of Benjamin, however, he was mute. Matthew wasn’t surprised.
How could words convey the horror Jack had endured at Benjamin’s hands?
“Come on, Jackie,” Gallowglass interrupted, holding up Lobero’s leash. “Mop needs a walk.”
“I’d like a bit of fresh air, too.” Andrew unfolded from a strange red chair that looked like a piece of modern sculpture but that Matthew had discovered was surprisingly comfortable. As the front door closed, Chris sauntered into the living room with a fresh cup of coffee. Mathew didn’t know how the man survived with so much caffeine in his veins.
“I talked to your son tonight—your other son, Marcus.” Chris took up his usual seat in the plantation chair. “Nice guy. Smart, too. You must be proud of him.”
“I am,” Matthew said warily. “Why did Marcus call?”
“We called him.“ Chris sipped at his coffee. “Miriam thought he should see the video. Once he had, Marcus agreed we should take some more blood from Jack. We took two samples.”
“You what?” Matthew was aghast.
“Hubbard gave me permission. He is Jack’s next of kin,” Chris replied calmly.
“You think I’m worried about informed consent?” Matthew was barely able to keep his temper in check. “Drawing blood from a vampire in the