Forbidden by Leanna Ellis Read Free Book Online Page B

couldn’t. With growing heaviness, he slumped onto the cot, hunching his shoulders forward. “Ferris is dead.”
    Shock eclipsed Roberto’s features. His eyes filled with tears, but they did not spill over. He leaned back as if all the air had been sucked from his body, his limbs sagging. Roc had expected dismay or even anger, but this reaction drove the dagger of guilt further into his heart.
    After a moment, the old priest sputtered, “H-how?”
    Roc rubbed the sweat off his palms along his jeans-clad thighs, back and forth along the tense-as-rope muscles as if he could punish himself or somehow infuse his system with courage. “It was my fault.”
    â€œYour fault? I do not understand.”
    â€œI took him with me to confront a professor at UPenn.”
    Roberto’s eyes and mouth rounded, and his skin turned pasty white. “The Philomathean…”
    Roc went cold inside. “How did you know?”
    â€œI’ve known for years…for years. But it has been too powerful to penetrate, the vampire—”
    â€œVictor Beaumont.”
    Roberto nodded, his mouth pinching at the corners.
    â€œYou knew? But why didn’t you tell me?” asked Roc, shocked into anger. “Why—?”
    â€œTell you what? That the group existed? When we were strong enough, I thought maybe we might”—Roberto shook his head—“but alone? Never. It was impossible.” He turned his back on Roc, stepped away, before turning back to face him, his features stricken with raw grief. “And you are too rash yet. If I had told you about the professor, then I would not have been able to hold you back for long.”
    â€œAnd while we waited”—Roc tasted the vehemence like vinegar on his tongue—“more innocents died.”
    Roberto glared down at Roc. “We can’t save everyone, Roc. You should know that. And you should know that Ferris was—”
    Roc swiped the Scotch out of the priest’s hand and sent it flying across the room. It smashed into the wall. Rivulets ran down the whitewashed plaster. Splinters of glass slid across the floor.
    Strong hands gripped Roc’s shoulders, and the older man gave him a stern, fatherly look. “Ferris knew what he was getting into. He knew the risks, just like you and I know. It is not your fault. Ferris is dead. But it is not your fault.”
    â€œBut—”
    â€œNo!” Roberto’s voice exploded in the room, the sound reverberating and pulsing against Roc’s eardrums. “It’s not your fault. Accept it. Repeat it.”
    But Roc’s mouth couldn’t form the words. His throat closed, jerked, and convulsed. He shrugged aside Roberto’s firm hands and turned away, unable to look into the priest’s probing gaze.
    â€œWhere is he now?” Roberto asked, his voice quiet in the stillness of the dank room. “Where is my—?” He swallowed hard. “Where is Ferris?”
    â€œHis body is still at the university. Along with the professor’s.”
    â€œYou killed him too?” Astonishment saturated Roberto’s voice, but there was really nothing astonishing about it. Fury had fueled Roc, and it was all a red haze now. There was no satisfaction in murder, not when they had suffered a devastating loss such as Ferris’s.
    â€œI have to go back and take care of things. Before they are discovered.” Roc sank back onto the cot, his limbs weighted, his soul depleted. “It’s worse than—” He stopped himself from speaking of the gore. “You can’t go. I will—”
    Roberto clapped him on the back. “They will take care of it.”
    The hair on Roc’s neck prickled. “They?”
    â€œOh, yes, Professor Beaumont was not alone. But they will not want to be discovered, and so they will clean things up. They will not want investigators snooping around their sacred