Page 63 of The Blood Witch

“It’s funny,” Fey said with a smile. “The way Alastair talks about you… I didn’t expect…”

“Didn’t expect what?” Callum asked, smirking. “Didn’t expect me to be quite so handsome? So charming?”

Fey laughed. “No, I mean… you’re so similar, much more than I expected. But at the same time, you’re like night and day.”

Callum’s smile turned slightly sad. He looked down at the wineglass in his hand, swirling it. “I lack his brooding nature, I think you mean.”

“A little,” she admitted with a laugh.

Callum settled further back against the couch. “That’s Delilah’s doing. Our sister,” he added quickly, answering Fey’s question before she could even ask. “I was just a child when she died, but Alastair… she meant the world to him, you know? I think it broke a part of him when she died. And I don’t know if that’s something that he can ever heal from.”

“Alastair never talks about her,” Fey admitted.

“I don’t doubt it,” Callum said, running a hand through his hair. “He’s not exactly the paragon of an emotionally available male, my brother. He’s better at bottling it up until it eats away at him like a poison.”

“Tell me about it,” Fey said, rolling her eyes.

Callum laughed.

“But I’d love to hear about her,” she assured him.

“Where do I even begin? She was powerful, I’m sure he’s told you that at least. She would have been the first female head of this family if she was still here. The first female deSanguine. We’re traditionally patriarchal, as I’m sure you already know, but she broke the mold when she came into her power. There wasn’t a single Vampire from any of the families who would have even considered standing in her way.”

The silence that followed his words was heavy. “What happened to her?” Fey asked, finally.

Callum sighed sadly. “She overdosed. She’d been… going down that path for a while. It caused a rift between the two of them—Alastair and Delilah, the first rift of what would be many. After she started using, he did everything he could to stop her. To help her.”

He took a long drink of his wine.

“She liked to get her blood from users and get high that way. Said it was like smoking cigarettes with a filter,” Callum said with a smirk. “We didn’t even know she’d started using on her own until after… Well. Until after it was too late.”

“I’m so sorry,” Fey said, putting her hand on Callum’s.

“Thanks,” he said, giving her hand a squeeze. “But, like I said, I was just a kid. I barely remember her, so for me it’s like… like she’s this ghost haunting our home, you know? This specter of death and loss that lives in every room here and in everyone’s minds. A ghost everyone can see but me.”

Fey nodded.

“Her death hit Alastair hard, though. They were so close when they were young, practically inseparable. When she died, it just about broke him. And he blamed our father, of course. He left the estate within the week and never looked back…”

Fey frowned, brows drawn together in confusion. “I don’t understand. Why would he blame your father for it?”

Callum winced. “Where do you think she got the drugs, Fey?”

Chapter 28

ALASTAIR

Alastair didn’t bother knocking when he reached his father’s study. He stood in the doorway, leaning against the doorframe with his hands in his pockets, and waited. His father sat at his heavy wooden desk, back to the door, while the pen in his hand skimmed across the paper with practiced speed.

“Callum says you wanted to talk to me. Alone,” Alastair said.

His father stopped, the pen coming to an immediate halt as he stilled.

Cassiel Salvatore deSanguine was a man used to intimidating others. He wielded his power like a weapon, demanding people defer to him and bend before his strength. Once, when he was young, Alastair had done just that, bending to his father’s will just like everyone else in his life. He had existed in the orbit of his father’s power, his very existence revolving around his father’s whims.

But that was a long time ago. Now Alastair only smiled as his father’s power filled the room and space between them. Smiled, because he knew long, long ago that his own power eclipsed his father’s. The old man was just too blind to see it.

“It’s customary to knock before entering someone’s chambers, Alastair,” his father chided, turning.

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