Page 88 of Taming His Vampire Mate

Even if he refused, I would’ve answered him. But fairness worked both ways.

“Tit for tat, then?” He managed a smile, and relief flooded me at seeing it. The pain in his eyes was fading. “I didn’t think you had that in you, wolf.”

“I might surprise you.”

He sighed, appraising me. “You already have.” Then his mouth twisted into a rueful half-smile. “Well, I suppose it’s only fair that I answer your questions as well. Tit for tat it is.”

On some level, I hadn’t expected him to agree. Shame tightened in my chest as I considered his question, searching for the right words.

It was something I’d been turning over in my mind for a long time: why had I given in to the darkest parts of myself when I never had before?

“You saw what happened to Ian. When he died, it was like all of me died with him.”

“I know that much.”

I inclined my head. “I stopped seeing any beauty in the world. Only its horror. And I was angry. All the time.” My voice stayed mostly steady—though not as steady as I wanted. “And when I saw James at the lakeside that day, grieving for his father, I saw someone in the same kind of pain. I knew we were the same.”

Thierry stayed still and silent. His thoughts were right there, but I turned away from them. I owed him answers, even if they weren’t good ones. If I knew what he was thinking, I might not give him what he needed. And that wasn’t acceptable.

“So I followed him. Back to his campsite.” I paused, guilt clawing through me. “I saw him grieving, so completely alone.And then, when I was watching him, it was like seeing Ian again.”

Thierry’s gaze snapped to me sharply but he said nothing. I couldn’t bring myself to look at him.

“It wasn’t the way he appeared physically,” I added, forcing the words out. “It was the way he moved. His expressions. His mannerisms. The way he spoke, the words he chose. He was just like Ian. It felt like I could have my mate back.”

A shudder escaped me. The memory of that twisted hope felt ugly now. The fury at a world that stole Ian from me, mingled with the fantasy of getting him back—it had been overwhelming. But sitting here with Thierry, all those justifications fell away, leaving only the naked guilt.

“My wolf wanted him. Desperately.” A humorless laugh slipped out, wrong in the silence. “Turns out I was right—just not the way I thought. He was never meant to be my mate. He was meant to lead me to you.”

Thierry’s expression stayed unreadable. “How?”

“If I’d never crossed paths with James, he wouldn’t have met Pierce. Nathaniel Bailey wouldn’t have had a reason to notice the wolves in the mountains. He wouldn’t have invited me here. He probably didn’t even know we were there. We used to spread rumors we were much farther north, near the Canadian border. We even let the locals catch glimpses of us in wolf form.”

“That doesn’t excuse anything.”

“I know.” I exhaled. “If I’d turned James—if Pierce hadn’t healed him, if James himself hadn’t stopped me—I would have despised myself. We don’t rip people from their lives without choice. The ones who join the pack do it with their eyes open. That’s who we are. It’s who we’ve always been.”

“Why was that different for James?”

“Have you ever felt so much pain you’d do anything to make it stop?”

Thierry swallowed, eyes searching mine. I saw in them that he knew exactly what I meant.

“I saw a life raft and clung to it. It was wrong. If I could change it, I would. I swear it.”

His gaze locked on mine, his face hard, like he was measuring the truth of my words.

“Oh hell,” he muttered, some of the sharpness easing, giving way to something ragged and halfway to helpless. “Jeremy, I need to tell you something.”

Years of emotion swelled in him, pressing against the bond. Even without it, the haunted look in his eyes told me enough. He was about to confess something that mattered.

“Only if you want to.”

“Tit for tat,” he said softly. “Eight centuries ago, my twin brother Nicolas and I were turned into vampires. Magnus—our maker—liked to feed from altar boys and young men studying for the priesthood. He killed those he believed had found God. Other innocents too, but religious men were his favorite toys.”

Thierry’s tone was flat, but I could feel how hard he was struggling to drag the words up from where they’d been buried.

“That’s how he found us. Nicolas loved the church. He had a singing voice that could move you to tears, and he’d been in the choir since we were boys. He wanted to go into the seminary to become a priest, but our father forbade it.”