It was unbelievably difficult to tell him of how I had been shot twice by Jack. I watched his eyes harden, and he smiled bitterly when I described how Angus had snapped Jack's elbows and legs. His smile grew when I told him how Jack had been beheaded by his sister Julia.
I was seeing a new side to my much loved little brother, one which I knew would grow over the coming years as he morphed into the vampire he resembled so closely now. I felt a bit sad about it all, but there was no stopping that transformation, no denying the instincts etched in our DNA. I had already felt its effects in the ease with which I'd attacked my abductors two days ago, and the enjoyment I'd derived in doing it. Afterwards, when the rage had died, the remorse had struck like a freight train. I winced at the memory, because it still hurt.
I knew that Mark would soon be experiencing the same soaring highs and plummeting lows, and it comforted me a little to know that I would be there to help him deal with it.
"So where are the new guys?" Mark asked.
"They have gone to Russia with Fergus and Marcus. The idea was to plan an attack of some sort, and then to come back in a week or so and find the blood drinking vampire base and wipe them all out. Apart from those that need rescuing, of course. There might be a couple of younger female vamps that Jack hadn't been able to break yet."
Mark shook his head. "That's disgusting, what he did to them all. And we probably still don't know the half of it," he said bleakly. "I am so glad he's dead. I wish I'd been there to see his head come off."
"It was pretty satisfying, I have to admit," I told him. "Gross, but satisfying."
"Supper is ready," Angus spoke from the doorway. He was leaning against the door frame, his muscular arms crossed over the front of his lean body, an indulgent smile playing around his lips. He looked every inch the benign and sophisticated host.
"Speaking of gross but satisfying..." Mark smirked, pushing all sorts of boundaries, and grinning up at Angus from his very vulnerable position on the floor.
Angus looked at him disbelievingly. "So disrespectful. And in my own home too," he sighed and shook his head, but couldn't hide the amusement in his eyes.
Supper that night was not for the faint-hearted. We ate stir fried chicken and vegetables, and described scenes of bloody clashes and desperate violence for an audience of one, who sat enraptured throughout, occasionally remembering to chew and swallow. He seemed particularly intrigued by my new and very erratic gift-slash-curse. I myself was starting to consider it more of the former than the latter. It had extracted me from a couple of nasty situations in the past few days, but there was none of the summoning-at-will business that would make it a reliable accomplice. It was really more like a drunk cousin your mother made you take with you to a club, who lurked in the background, out of sight in a dark corner, downing tequila and grabbing backsides. Get into a minor scuffle, and the butt-grabbing tequila-swilling rat would be nowhere to be found. But if the crap hit the fan, and getting seriously hurt was part of the future, he'd be there, roaring and smashing, a broken bottle in his fist and fire in his eyes.