Andrei kneels beside Ambrose and asks, “Death for who, Ambrose?”
“Whoever drinks from her fountain too often. She is not mine, though I want and crave her to be.” Ambrose begins to wail, great big heaving sobs shuddering through his frame.
“We need food,” Raphael says to no one in particular. “Whatever is going to go down tonight, we need food and our strength.”
Nodding my head, I look to Raphael and Matthias. “Raph, call the pack. See if they can bring us some food and do a disposal.”
Raphael nods and moves toward the bathroom to make the call.
“Wait. Also see if can see if Dav can meet us here… or near Chloe right after sunset,” I add.
“Got it,” he calls out in confirmation.
Returning my full attention to Ambrose, I say, “Talk to me about Nikolaos.”
Ambrose stares off into space. “What about him? He’s an ant in a much larger world.”
Snapping my fingers in front of his eyes, I say, “Come back to earth, Ambrose.”
Andrei grunts. “That sounds familiar as of late.”
“Fuck off, Andrei.” I snap my eyes to him. “You fill in Matthias and Raphael when he gets off the phone… about things.”
“I think you need to be a part of that conversation,” he says back to me before getting up and moving away.
“Well, one of use needs to deal with Ambrose here.” I grin. “When’s the last time you were tortured?”
Ambrose looks me in the eyes. “1813, Paris, France, but they were not friends so I didn’t enjoy it as much as I might have.”
“Well fuck, that was a rhetorical question,” I say with a laugh.
Ambrose waves his hand around. “It was an unsolicited answer, I suppose.”
“One more time here, Ambrose, talk to me about Nikolaos. How in the thirteen gods of darkness did he have two soulmarked girls in one city?” I ask.
Ambrose does something so startling I’m forced to stand up and take a step back. The mask of insanity slips off his face so suddenly I wonder if the crazy was all an act.
“Impossible,” Ambrose says coldly.
“I saw them both with my own eyes. Mine and another’s. I experienced what you did, I think, with the one in the back room.” I hold up my fingers to show two. “One was in the back room and mine was taken to Nikolaos’s private room.”
“Two in one city at the same time?” he snaps angrily. “That hasn’t happened for centuries.”
“Exactly,” I say, and sit back down on the bed. “You’re nearly as old as me. We’ve never met, but I know your name Ambrose Handel.”
“And I know yours Asher Sturluson, but you didn’t have last names when you came about,” he says, and I can see a glaze slowly forming back over his face. He’s going back under his mask. Whether it’s one he controls or not, I don’t know.
“Ambrose, I want you to search your memories. Has another ever turned someone else’s soulmarked to be their own?” I ask.
“Never. It would never be allowed. Abominations….” he trails off, and his fingers begin to lightly flicker across his knee as if he’s playing a piano only he can hear. “Arsenic and vanilla. I only wished to dance, yet poison took Cinderella.”
I ask something that’s been bothering me. “Ambrose, what happened to your sire?”
“I ripped his head off when he murdered my fated love. She died in my arms while we were dancing,” he answers and slowly slips back into his madness. His eyes no longer seeing the world around him.
Every single person in the room stares at Ambrose in uncomprehending shock.
Not even a breath is heard as we turn to each other, as if to confirm what we just heard.
“I shall keep watch over you all, my dear friends. I do not sleep often. Every time I do? I feel further and further away from her,” Ambrose says sadly before standing from his chair and beginning to slowly dance in front of the window.
“Fat fucking chance of that,” Raphael says with a laugh. “I’d sooner eat a werewolf.”
“Ambrose,” I say, getting his attention. “Are you hungry?”
“I could use a bite, if you have it,” he says in his singsong voice. “I would love to dine on a beautiful red-haired woman with green eyes, freckles, and perky breasts.”
“Picky bugger, aren’t ya?” Matthias laughs and turns to me. “No way is he keeping watch.”
Ignoring Matthias, I walk over to Ambrose and snap my fingers in his face to get his attention.
“Hmmm?” he asks, pausing in the middle of what I’m assuming is the waltz.
“I was thinking of something more akin to the northern climes,” I say.
Taking a deep breath of air through his nose, Ambrose looks at me and frowns. “No.”
I lift my wrist up to him. “You have two options, Ambrose. Only one of them has you leaving this rat-infested motel tonight.”