Page 91 of Thomas
“Thomas,” the viscount snapped, a brief crack in his otherwise serene façade. He paused, took another breath. “I mean no insult—I would never insult you. I do not wish to sit here and demean you with an apology. I know that nothing I say or do can ever atone for what I allowed to happen to you. But know thatI amsorry for it. Words cannot express how profoundly repentant I am, and I have regretted it every waking moment of my life since. There are dynamics at play between your elder father and I that you cannot under?—”
Thomas’s eyebrow had lifted so high in disbelief that it threatened to leap off his forehead altogether. The viscount seemed to notice as much and held up a palm.
“Nor will I sit here and make excuses for myself,” he said, dropping his shoulders. His gaze went down to his tea. Silently, he brought it to his lips and took a sip.
Thomas had had quite enough of this. “Let me see him.”
The viscount blinked, surprised. “He… he is nothing like what he used to be.”
“Good. I want to see it with my own eyes.”
Calmly, he put his teacup down and stood. “Very well, then. If it is your wish, I will take you to him.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Along with Mira, the three of them walked in silence down the corridor that led to Thomas’s elder father’s office. This part of the castle was darker and colder. It always had been due to the lack of windows and airflow. Growing up, it used to remind Thomas of a posh cave. But there was nothing extravagant about it now.
Some of the arms and portraiture were missing from the walls, and they’d left pale, dust-outlined shapes where they’d once been. Thomas almost asked where all the antiquated family regalia had disappeared to, but he could easily guess. Sold or pawned for extra money to fund those lavish banquets and events during Oliver’s engagement festivities. Thomas had wondered how his clan would pull that off—holding up their end of the traditional Eden marriage rituals for a royal audience accustomed to Central’s extravagance.
It was a wonder that they didn’t open up part of the estate as a bed and breakfast for additional income. That would have been harder to keep secret, he supposed.
When they reached the familiar door to the office, Thomas gripped Cameron’s hand even tighter. A sudden paralysisshocked his chest and he stiffened. Cameron stepped in front of him, blocking the view of the door.
“Do you want to do this?” he asked quietly. “We can stop here if you choose it.”
Thomas looked into his pretty eyes. They emitted such a sincere kindness, warmth and steadiness that it gently eased the fear and tension inside his body. Cameron was here with him, no matter what. This man was the embodiment of his safe space. He would be okay.
He inhaled deeply and leaned to touch his forehead to Cameron’s. “I want to. Thank you for insisting to come with me. I’m glad you’re here.”
Cameron lifted, nodded and kissed his forehead.
The viscount had silently watched everything play out. Quietly, he said, “Are we ready?”
“Yes,” Thomas assured him.
The viscount didn’t bother knocking, nor announcing their party. He pushed the door open and gestured them inside.
The office was nearly identical to Thomas’s memory of it, except for the smell. The air was dry and reeked of decay, old blood and sickness. It reminded Thomas of the dungeon, and his body tensed as he quickly clasped a hand over his nose and mouth. Cameron stepped up behind him, warm and firm, and put his hands on his waist in an affirming gesture. Grounding him and bringing his own, much more pleasant bodily scent closer.
The viscount walked over to the velvet armchair where a vampire sat slumped, hunched and unmoving. He bent to one knee and said quietly, “Charles, our eldest is here. He wishes to see you.” The viscount lifted a hand, beckoning Thomas.
Thomas stepped out of Cameron’s grasp and inched forward, staring at the pale entity as he came around to the front of the armchair. He drew back, appalled. It was his elder father, buthis skin was shriveled and blotted with ugly sores from lack of feeding and eating. The stench was stronger this close, and it was clear to Thomas that he was standing in front of a slowly decaying creature.
The eyes, no longer the steely gray that matched his own, were almost white. Translucent. Without warning, they flickered up to Thomas, unexpectedly focused.
“Why?” his elder father ground out. His voice was dry and papery. “Come… to see me suffer? Satisfied?”
“Perhaps,” Thomas said honestly. “Although, your suffering is at your own hand. Not mine.”
“Ungrateful child,” he rasped, then coughed violently, spitting and hacking as the sound rattled in his chest, mucus-riddled and wet.
Thomas stepped back and glanced over at his mate. Cameron met his eyes and nodded once, firmly. It was time to leave. There was nothing else to see.
He turned and took a step toward the door, but his elder father shouted in that croaky, dry voice, “Apologize!”
Confused and somewhat bewildered, Thomas froze. “Excuse me?”
“Apologize—” He coughed again, but pushed up from his seat, which Thomas wouldn’t have thought possible if he hadn’t seen it with his own eyes. “Make him apologize to me—to us! Tell him toapologize.”
