Sheldon retook his seat and caught Jenna’s eye. “I hope you’ll cut him some slack over keeping this part of his life from you.”
John snorted.
Jenna . . . didn’t know what to think. She felt numbed by the shock of it all. “He knew how much I value honesty and chose to keep this from me.”
“It isn’t an easy secret to share.” When she remained silent, he said, “He didn’t cheat on you. He doesn’t have a wife tucked away somewhere. He’s just . . .”
“What?”
“Different. In a way that, when revealed, usually sparks violent reactions in others.”
“So—what—he thought if he told me I’d come after him with a torch-bearing mob and try to stake him?”
“You wouldn’t be the first to do so.”
That was unsetting. “People who found out what he is have tried to kill him?”
“Richart and others of his kind, yes.” He nodded at his uncle. “Who do you think developed the drug he was hit with tonight?”
Jenna stared down at Richart, her hip pressed to his.
His chest rose and fell more often. Not as often as a human’s, but more than it had before.
“Look,” Sheldon said, drawing her gaze, “I know all this must have been a hell of a shock to you. I know you must be pissed, finding out that Richart isn’t quite who you thought he was. But he’s an honorable man, Jenna. If he weren’t, I wouldn’t have practically begged him to let me serve as his Second.”
“You used that term before,” John said. “What’s a Second? Is that like his Renfield?”
Jenna’s head began to pound. Dracula had always had a human assistant, a Renfield as fans of the fictional figure had come to call him.
But Richart wasn’t like Dracula. He wasn’t.
“Yeah. I guess you could say that.”
Crap.
“And now, if you’ll excuse me for a moment, I need to make a call. A lot of people are worried about Richart. I should let them know he’s safe and tell them his condition.” He rose. “I didn’t ask this earlier . . .” He hesitated, as if he really didn’t want to ask whatever it was.
Could things actually get worse?
“Did Richart speak before he passed out?” he finally queried.
“Yes. A little bit. Most of it was in French—”
“Did he mention someone named Ami?”
“Yes. He said he left her behind.”
Sheldon gripped the back of the chair with a fist. A muscle in his jaw jumped.
Jenna remembered the torment in Richart’s eyes, in his voice. They’ll kill her. They’ll tear her apart. “He tried to go back for her, but couldn’t.”
Sheldon lowered his head, raised a hand to rub his eyes.
“He said they’d kill her,” she continued softly.
Head still down, Sheldon nodded. “Yeah.” Turning away, he headed out of the room. “Excuse me.”
Jenna saw her own concern reflected in her son’s face. She glanced at the clock. “When are you supposed to meet with your study group?”
“I don’t think I should go. I think I should stay here.”
“No.” He’d worked his ass off all semester, balancing work and school. And the exam he’d take tomorrow counted for sixty percent of his final grade. The partial scholarship that covered half his tuition was contingent upon his maintaining a high GPA. “Go. Study. I’ll be fine.”
Sheldon spoke softly in the living room. “Cam? It’s Sheldon. I found him.”
John looked toward the living room. “It isn’t safe.”
“That isn’t for you to decide,” Jenna reminded him.
Again Sheldon spoke. “I need you to keep this from Reordon if you can. Richart didn’t want him to know. He’s been seeing someone. I think the drug got his wires all crossed and he accidentally teleported to her place. . . . No. She cleaned him up and has been watching over him. . . . No . . . I’m sure. She hasn’t told anyone. Nor will she. She cares about him as much as he cares for her.”
“John,” Jenna said firmly, “go. I don’t know what I’ve gotten myself into, but I’m not going to let it threaten your future.” He opened his mouth to protest. “Go!” she insisted.
Sighing, he pointed to the drawer in which he’d placed the dagger. “If you need it . . .”
She nodded.
He padded down the hallway to his bedroom, went inside, and closed the door.
“I’ll stay with him,” Sheldon said. “No, he’s safe. No one else can track him here. Besides, you can’t do anything for him there that we haven’t already done for him here. . . .