“No, she’s not the first ghost I’ve seen. Won’t be the last either,” Winter admitted.
“Do you see any now?”
Winter let his eyes drift away from his brother. There was one older gentleman scanning over the books that lined Marcus’s shelves while another woman was yelling at him in what sounded like German. He was naked while she was dressed in what looked like an old robe. A child sat on the floor near Bel’s feet, playing with a ghostly set of jacks. Happily, they all seemed oblivious to him. It was harder to pretend they weren’t there when they were determined to get his attention.
“A few.”
To Winter’s surprise, Bel didn’t appear excited by the prospect, but more worried. He chewed on his bottom lip for a second.
“You saw Julianna, so I know you don’t think it’s a hallucination. I’m not crazy,” Winter snapped.
“Of course not!” Bel gasped. He sounded insulted at Winter having even suggested it. “I’m worried. Why didn’t you tell any of us? We thought it was just disappearing. You were turning invisible, bending the light or something. This is completely different!”
There was the distant sound of footsteps on the stairs and voices in conversation. Aiden and Marcus were approaching, and Rafe would be likely arriving at any moment. He needed to end this now.
Shoving to his feet, Winter hurried over to the couch and dropped down next to Bel. He placed his hand over his brother’s wrist and squeezed. “I didn’t mention it because it’s complicated to talk about. Death is uncomfortable, and I don’t want our brothers getting their hopes up about talking to Julianna. Marcus is happy. You’re happy. Rafe is happy. And most importantly, I think Aiden has found some peace and happiness. I don’t want to take that from him.”
Bel sighed and laid his free hand over Winter’s. “I know. I don’t want Aiden dredging up old pain or guilt either. But what about you? Do they ever bother you? Can they see you?”
Winter shoved down a curse. Time was running out. “I’m fine, I swear. And I’d prefer it if the rest of our family doesn’t find out about this. We have bigger problems right now.”
“I’m no fool, Winter Varik.”
“I never said—” He started to deny, but Bel quickly cut him off.
“No, but you’re trying to treat me like one. I’ll leave you to your secrets for now, but you’re on borrowed time. The second this Damon and Ministry nonsense is taken care of, you and I are having a very long chat.”
“For science?” Winter teased. It was Bel’s favorite argument for digging into anything or even when it came to sampling a bit of blood for his experiments.
“No, because you’re my goddamn brother, and I’m worried.”
Bel’s angry words slammed into Winter’s heart, almost knocking the breath from his lungs. An unexpected lump formed in his throat, and Winter had to look away from Bel before his brother saw how deeply touched he was. He knew his brother cared, but it was different when Bel looked as if he meant to shake him out of love.
Too often the Varik brothers overlooked how overprotective and astute their mad scientist was. It was too easy with his adorable ties, boisterous laugh, and scientific babble, but there was a hard spine of steel that ran through Bel. He fiercely loved and protected his family.
Winter shocked Bel by wrapping his arms around him in a brief but tight hug. “We’ll talk,” Winter whispered and there was a small part of him that prayed they did have that chat. After nearly two centuries, Winter yearned to finally shed this secret, to share it all with his family. For it all to be finally done.
But not yet. Not until he was sure they were all safe.
He rose from the sofa just as Aiden and Marcus entered the room, followed by Ethan and River. The werewolf had a beautiful guitar cradled in front of his body.
“Winter, we didn’t know you were here,” Aiden said with a welcoming smile.
“Just arrived. River was promising to show me this beauty,” Winter replied smoothly, holding his hands out as he walked toward the werewolf. And it truly was a beauty. The Gibson SJ-200 was a classic guitar, the kind that had been held by countless talented musicians over the years. Winter had at least two in his collection, but River held something a little above the average. The vintage sunburst seemed to glow with life, and the floral engraved scratchplate gave the guitar an extra touch of elegance.
“You really like it?” River asked as he handed it over.
“Definitely. This is a real treasure,” Winter murmured as he carefully cradled the instrument in his hands.
All the Varik children played instruments, but it had taken Winter a few tries to find his true calling. He’d tinkered with the piano and flute for a few years, but he was finally drawn to the guitar. There was nothing like making it sing for him, whether acoustic or electric, rock or classical.