It was the same power he’d felt down in that crypt, he realized.
The power he’d felt down there, that was his father’s power.
His father’s power hung over this whole house.
It throbbed in the very stone, in the very earth.
Ghost realized something else, as he looked between their faces, studying each aura in turn.
His father was right about him.
Whatever it was his father’s spirit contained, whatever the Count shared in varying amounts with the men who stood around him right then in a disjointed circle…
Ghost had it, too.
He had more of it than any of the men who stood around his father.
Returning his gaze back to that of the Count, he made himself a new promise.
One day, he would know how to wield that power for himself.
One day, he would have more of it than his father.
When that day came, he would run him through with his sword.
And he would never look back.
He would never feel remorse.
11
THE TIME DRAWS CLOSE
“Dance with me, brother,” Serafina murmured.
She leaned close to his ear to speak it, to pull at him. He heard her clearly despite the louder sounds of the musicians who stood behind him. He felt her hand as it examined the contours of his rear end through the wool pants he wore.
His jaw tightened right before he looked at her coldly.
“Don’t you tire of this game, Serafina?” he asked her. “There are so many young, far richer idiots here you could more easily amuse yourself with.”
“The key word beingeasily,brother.”
Drawing away slightly, Serafina smiled into his face.
Dark red lipstick adorned those bow-like lips. Her dress, a blood-red lace affair with a tight bodice and flaring skirts, barely held up her breasts. Such a dress would not have been considered decent in England, but Ghost had no idea how it was perceived here.
“You like what you see?” she asked coyly.
He glanced up from her ghostly pale breasts, his eyes flat.
“Not particularly.”
“Yet you look.”
“That dress has made it near impossiblenotto look, sister,” he reminded her.
“No one will care, you know.”