Philippe glared at Rafe for a second, then directed his attention to their surroundings. “You know it is,” he murmured. The words were nearly carried away by the wind.
“Is there any reason why this person would choose Piper than say…Jullien?”
Philippe shook his head. “None other than the obvious reason that she’s an easier target. He’s only a couple dozen years younger than me. He’s stronger, harder to subdue or even kill. Piper…”
“Piper is a lost child compared to Jullien.”
Philippe’s shoulders slumped, and Rafe had to ball his hands into fists in his pockets. It was the only way to keep from reaching over and wrapping his arm around the vampire’s shoulders, pulling him in tight.
“I promised to keep her safe, Rafe,” Philippe whispered.
The walls Rafe had erected to guard against Philippe’s allure took another brutal hit. Something in his voice, something in the lines cutting deeper into his face, reminded Rafe too much of rare moments with Marcus.
His older brother had whispered those words a few times over the past several decades. Marcus’s whole purpose and being had been directed toward keeping their mother, Julianna, and his brothers safe. And more recently, that small group expanded to include Ethan. Something inside of Marcus seemed to break every time one of them was hurt, even if there had been nothing he could do to stop it.
“There’s only so much that you can do,” Rafe replied as gently as possible. “That’s the nature of life. Eventually, they have to take a chance. Take responsibility for themselves. It’s not fair when they get hurt, but we have to be strong and learn from it.”
Philippe stopped and looked up at Rafe. His expression was completely unreadable, making Rafe more than a little uncomfortable. “Hard-won experience rings in your words.”
Rafe cleared his throat and started walking again, relying on the notion that Philippe would resume walking as well. “Contrary to popular belief, my existence hasn’t been all wine and roses.” He cocked his head to the side and smiled as a thought occurred to him. “Or as Little Varik might say, kinky sex and food delivery apps.”
The rough chuckle from Philippe helped to release some of the heaviness from the air, and Rafe glanced over to find a wry look on the vampire’s face.
“Little Varik?”
Rafe shrugged. “It’s what I call Ethan, the lover of my brother Marcus. He’s the youngest of our little family.”
“He hasn’t been with you long, correct? How is he adjusting?”
“To being a vampire?” Rafe’s grin grew. “The usual complaining. ‘I don’t want to hunt every night. I want to stay home and screw your brother.’ ” Rafe said it in a disturbing falsetto that sounded nothing like Ethan. “It’s like he takes pride in sharing nightmarish details about his sex life. I know far too much about Marcus now.”
Philippe’s laughter rang out through the neighborhood, and the sound saved him from feeling guilty over sharing the intimate details of his family. He knew he shouldn’t, but he wanted to trust Philippe with this information, as silly as it was.
“I was thinking about how he’s adjusting to being a part of the Varik clan, but that is still amusing.”
Rafe bit back a reminder that they weren’t a clan. There was no point. Instead he focused on Philippe’s implied question. Rafe’s smile shifted into something a little more feral and cold. “Ethan might have been brought into this world at a different time, but he was born to be a Varik. He’s one of us.”
And Rafe meant it from the very bottom of his soul. Ethan not only loved Marcus with every ounce of his being, but Rafe knew the young man loved Rafe, Bel, and Winter as brothers. As if they were his own flesh and blood. That meant Ethan would risk his life for them, kill to protect them if necessary.
That was what it meant to be a Varik. To give everything for the safety and happiness of the others. Ethan understood that instinctively, which only made it that much easier for Rafe to love him as a brother.
“That’s good to hear.”
Rafe grunted. “He’ll adjust to the rest soon enough,” he murmured, but his mind was on the enormous redbrick building rising up across a large open lawn. The edifice was older, with five floors of windows across two broad wings. It was highlighted with columns and ornate decoration above the front door. But there was something about the behemoth structure. A heavy weight of death and sorrow.
“What’s this place?”
“It’s a nursing home.”
His eyes ran over the building. Everything looked tidy, but there was a weariness to it all, as if there wasn’t the time, money, or energy to keep up with all the things that needed doing. There were fewer lights on in the building than in the surrounding homes. These residents weren’t the night-owl type.