through the door. “That’s bullshit and you know it! Keep him the fuck away from her!”
Eyes flashing golden, Jared stared at the door. Another crash resounded inside, followed by a curse.
“What’s he talking about, Jared?” Cliff asked, his voice hoarse with dread as he stared at the ancient immortal. “Did I hurt her? Did I…” He swallowed, then forced himself to continue. “Did I try to kill her? Was he telling the truth?”
Seth had praised him. Cliff had thought he’d helped Bastien and Aidan. He thought he’d helped Liora. But when he forced himself to look at her again, the truth lay in her posture as she edged closer to Jared and in the eyes that held Cliff’s with both fear and sorrow.
No. Not sorrow.
Pity.
Suddenly an image flashed through his mind of Liora stumbling backward as she stared up at him with eyes full of panic, her long hair disheveled. A deep gash on one side of her face bled profusely. More wounds wept on her arms. And Bastien gripped Cliff’s wrists, shouting for him to stop as he fought to keep Cliff from delivering a death blow.
Horror filled him, coupled with self-loathing as he staggered back a step. Then two more. He shook his head, not wanting to believe it.
“Cliff,” Jared said gently, “it isn’t as bad as you think.”
“The fuck it isn’t!” he shouted. “I tried to kill her!”
Stuart and Miguel appeared in the doorway to the infirmary, skin gleaming with a sheen of perspiration from their runs on the treadmills.
“Cliff?” Stuart asked, his face full of concern.
Cliff shook his head, continuing backward, placing more distance between himself and the woman.
Jared’s expression firmed. “Jordan is only telling you half the tale, Cliff. He’s conveniently leaving out the fact that he, Liora, and almost a dozen other vampires were doing their damnedest to kill you.”
Jared’s presence seemed to ease the woman’s fear enough for her to speak. “It’s true,” she said. “We thought you were an Immortal Guardian.”
But Cliff, shaken to his core, barely heard her. He had nearly slain an immortal female. If Bastien had been slower to respond, Cliff would have!
You cut that bitch up, a voice taunted gleefully.
He had laid open her cheek. He’d cut her arms. He’d wanted to kill her.
Why had he thought he’d helped her?
Because Seth lied to you, the voice hissed.
The truth of that simple statement twisted his insides. Seth had lied to him. Seth had even altered his memories. It had to have been Seth. Cliff just couldn’t see Aidan doing such a thing.
But Aidan had been there. Hadn’t he? And he hadn’t stopped Seth. Bastien hadn’t either.
Jared took a step toward him. “Let me help you. Let me calm you.”
Fury consumed him like a flash fire. The voices surged with triumph. “You stay the fuck away from me!” Cliff snarled, not even recognizing his own voice.
Seth lied to you. You trusted him, and he betrayed you. So did Bastien. And Aidan. They all betrayed you. This one will, too.
Kill them. Kill them all!
His pulse pounded in his ears as he curled his hands into fists.
He should. He should kill them all. He’d trusted them not to let him hurt anyone. He’d trusted them, and they’d lied to him!
Yes! Kill them! Butcher them! Fuck them up!
Jared took another step toward him.
Roaring, Cliff shot back to his apartment in a blur and slammed the heavy door.
Once inside, he stood still, breathing hard, every muscle tense. His whole body shook with rage as bloody image after bloody image flitted through his mind.
How many times had they lied to him?
Bastien. Aidan. Melanie. Linda. Seth.
How many atrocities had they covered up?
Were some of the nightmares he had and some of the images that flitted through his mind of brutally tearing vampires apart… memories? Had he done that?
Did he do that?
He had thought them merely depraved delusions spawned by the madness, like the verbal taunts that maintained a constant litany in his head. But what if they weren’t? What if, instead of delivering a quick death, he inflicted unnecessary agony on the vampires he killed? Vampires who might even be more lucid than him?
How many had he savaged?
Stumbling over to the kitchen, he grabbed one of the barstools and hurled it across the room with such force that it splintered against the wall. A large chunk of drywall fell off, revealing the heavy concrete beneath. He hurled a second barstool. Then a third. Tore the sofa apart. Smashed the large-screen television with the coffee table. Swept