"He was probably pissed. I know I would be."
Winkler left for a few minutes, going to the bedroom he used as his workspace and coming back carrying a laptop. "You know how to use a computer?" he asked. I just glared at him.
Thomas Williams Junior's e-mail address was already pulled up, the cursor blinking, waiting for me to write a message. My brain had slowed along with my body, so it took a while to think of something to write. This is what I wrote:
I am sorry for your loss. I had the privilege of fighting alongside your father, as well as the sadness of watching him die. He killed two Packmasters before a third took him down and he died with more than dignity. He died for your future and the future of every werewolf child. It is my hope that you honor him and remind your Pack how fortunate they were to have him as a leader. I wish you fond memories and brighter days.
-Lissa.
Winkler was reading over my shoulder as I typed and he didn't object when I hit send. Then I wrote the note to Martin Walters after Winkler pulled up his e-mail address.
Mr. Walters, I thank you for your timely rescue and for your words afterward. I was barely conscious when you said them and in much pain, but I appreciate them more for those very reasons. It is my hope that your children truly do grow up in a world where there is no danger from the source you mentioned. Every child should have the opportunity to grow and prosper in a hate-free environment. My best wishes go out to you for your continued health and well-being.
-Lissa.
"I think you missed your calling as a diplomat," Winkler said after I hit send on the second message.
"I have some questions for you," I told Winkler. He sat down beside me after returning his laptop to the bedroom, his dark eyes focused on my face.
"What do you want to know?" he asked.
"Daryl said something about a Vampire Council," I said. "And he mentioned Enforcers and Assassins. He talked a little about rogue vampires, Winkler. What constitutes a rogue? What happens to them?"
Winkler looked more uncomfortable than I'd ever seen him look. "Lissa, I really don't want to answer those questions," he said, raking fingers through his hair and then covering his face briefly with both hands.
"I think you owe me those answers. Or the Grand Master does."
"Yes, we both owe you those answers." Winkler removed his hands and studied my face before answering. "Every vampire that is successfully turned is registered with the Council by their sire, and their sire teaches them for a period of five years before they are considered a separate entity, able to go out and thrive on their own." Winkler watched me carefully as I digested this information. "Until that five year period is over, the sire is held responsible for his child's actions," he added, gauging my reaction to his words.
"And if the sire," I pronounced the word with distaste, "fails to register his child?"
"If the Council learns of it, they bring the sire in on charges and the child is considered rogue in most cases. Perhaps if the child is captured quickly, and fostered out with another vampire…"
My heart no longer beats, so it cannot increase its pace. What happens to me when I become terrified is this: my skin quivers—over my entire body, almost. This time, in addition to the quivering, I wanted to cry. "How quickly is quickly?" My voice was quavering, too.
"Perhaps a day or two. The new vampire will be feeding off the population, with no instruction or training. Many of the newly turned, or so I have heard, kill their donors if they are not taught to take blood properly. The killing of humans threatens the exposure of the race, just as it is with the wolves. In both cases the killers are deemed rogue and someone is sent to destroy them."
"I'm a rogue." I got up from my seat and wobbled toward the French doors. Winkler didn't try to follow me. "I didn’t kill any of the ones I fed from, but I guess that doesn't make a difference, does it?" I put my hand on the door handle and walked out of the beach house.
It was hard, but I managed to drag myself to the top of the guesthouse, which was taller than the beach house by at least six feet. The same word kept slowly revolving in my brain—rogue. I was a rogue. Did the Council know about me, yet? Were Ed and Serge still out there, desperate to find me so they wouldn't be brought in on charges? I wondered what their punishment would be for the charges brought against them. More needed information from the missing FVM.
"Little girl, what are you doing on top of this roof?" Gavin seated himself beside me. I hadn't even heard him make the climb.
"What are you doing on top of this roof?" I asked coolly. If I'd wanted company I'd have asked for it, but I didn't tell him that.
"I asked you first."
"Well, if you must know, I'm wallowing in self-pity. There. Happy now?" I kept my eyes straight ahead, watching the waxing gibbous moon rise over the gulf waters. Another full moon would come soon. It made me wonder if Winkler and his bunch would run with the Corpus Christi Pack or fly back to Dallas for the evening. Shirley Walker was the Packmaster here in Corpus Christi. I'd seen her at the meeting in North Dakota; we just pretended we didn't know each other. I also recalled that she hadn't come to the Grand Master's defense.
"How are you feeling, other than sorry for yourself?" Gavin asked.
"Are you asking out of politeness or because you want to know?" I answered his question with one of my own.
"You're prickly tonight," he said.
"Winkler just informed me that according to his knowledge of vampire law, I'm a rogue. How about that? I'm entitled to a little self-pity."
"Winkler is a werewolf. And while he may be better versed than the average werewolf in the racial laws and politics of the vampire race, he may not know everything."
"Honey, I wish I believed that," I muttered. "And I'm stiff all over, thank you for asking."
"It may take a while for the poison to completely leave your system," Gavin rose and stretched a little. "I must go back to work." He walked over to the side of the roof and let himself down to the stair rail below.
* * *
"Honored One, the Grand Master lives because of her efforts, although she was poisoned by the bites of many in his defense. I can only imagine that she is a formidable fighter already, as I was told she took down at least twenty Packmasters, receiving grievous wounds in the process. Only now is she making a recovery, which is practically a miracle.
G"
* * *
"Lissa, this is Kathy Jo Greene." Winkler brought the woman into the guesthouse the following evening. She was a werewolf; I could now tell the subtle differences between a human and a werewolf in human form by scent.