And Tobias. Philippe reflected on that time.

Frank was merely puffing up Laroque’s ego, asking endless questions about magick and contacting spirits, only to turn around and use everything he’d taught in good faith against him. He’d used the same technique with Laroque as he had to cover his feelings for Nicolette.

Poor Deidre.

She loved Frank, and he took her for granted. She wanted to raise a family with him, but Frank told Philippe he wasn’t cut out to be a father. He told Deidre his career came first. The timing wasn’t right. The years passed, and no children were born.

Deidre became distant. Though she still loved her husband, she knew that in his heart, Nicki would always come first. Deidre wrote to Philippe, pouring her heart out about her suspicions that her husband was keeping something from her. She asked whether he knew what it was.

He was so entrenched in his work in the lab-so focused on getting back at Tobias-that he hardly gave Deidre’s letters a second thought.

He should have. He would have had a better insight into the monster that dwelled inside Frank.

He opened one of the letters and read.

Dear Philippe,

I hope you are well. We received the photos of Jade, and I cannot get over how big she’s gotten-how much she looks like Nicki. I wish you would reconsider bringing her back to us. She would have a stable life here. I know how you feel about Tobias, but he agreed to let us raise her.

Frank misses her so much. That’s where the ink became streaky, and Philippe knew instinctively that Deidre had cried when she wrote this part.

He’s not the same, Philippe. I don’t know why I’m telling you this, except that maybe you can get through to him. He looks at Jade’s picture and cries for hours. He locks himself in his study and won’t let me in, won’t let me touch him.

I have tried to comfort him, but he gets so angry sometimes. I swear he called out Nicki’s name the other night in his sleep.

He claims he dreamt of Jade and must have called out her mother’s name, asking for help to get Jade back.

I don’t know when you’ll get this letter, since you’re always on the move, but I hope it finds you well.

Tell our Jade we love her and miss her.

Deidre

The pieces were coming together. Philippe had heard the rumors that Frank insisted Deidre wear green contacts when she decided to shed her glasses. In another letter from Deidre she revealed Frank refused to touch her when she had her hair straightened and made her wear the same perfume that Nicolette wore. These facts sat before him in black and white, in the letters strewn across his desk.

All from Deidre. All written without Frank’s knowledge.

Then there was his strange sexual preference of never making love to her face-to-face. Always in the dark, always from behind-and she “even heard him mutter ‘sweet Nicki’ more than a few times” when he did have sex with her.

How had he missed this? On and on, the desperate woman’s pleas for help fell upon his deaf ears. If only, he thought. If only…

His own deadly virus would not be killing him.

Philippe still wasn’t exactly sure how Frank had done it, but he knew it was him. After the night his daughter disappeared, Philippe retrieved the virus from his den and, upon examining it more carefully later, noted that one vial had less virus than the others.

He knew exactly how much should be there. Enough to dose at least three people was missing. Frank was the only person, other than himself, who knew where he hid the virus.

“Excuse me, Mr. Laroque, the-uh-woman wants to have a word with you,” Mick, the treacherous Lamai, former employee at Blood Pool, said.

Philippe gathered the letters and placed them in a locked drawer in his desk. “Good. I want to talk with her as well.”

Raven watched Laroque enter the room, carrying a tray with food. The Lamai stood leaning against the door jamb. Philippe approached her. She felt the sting of the straps that held her onto the bed digging into her skin. He placed the tray on the table at the far end of the room.

Laroque smiled. “You look more like your mother now. Your mouth is the same, your complexion-even your hands are like hers.”

Raven ignored the small talk. “Are you going to kill me?”

Laroque’s expression was stone cold. “Probably. But I do have a deal to offer, if you’re interested. As long as you can help me, I’ll let you live. And depending on how well you do, maybe I’ll even let you go.”

She struggled against the straps. “What is it?”

He stared at her for a few moments before speaking. “What do you know about the virus?”

Raven couldn’t help herself from laughing as she asked him to repeat the question.

He folded his arms defensively over his chest. “Do you think this is funny? Let me remind you, you almost lost your true love to my creation. I wouldn’t laugh too hard, or for too long.”

Raven stared at Laroque, her mouth a thin, straight line. “You see, that’s just it. Why do you need my help? You created this genius virus. What’s the problem now?”

He took deep breaths while he went over to the tray. “Are you hungry?”

“Is it poisoned? Would you even tell me if it was?” she snarled.

Laroque snorted. “You haven’t eaten in two days. If you want to kill yourself, that’s fine by me. I’m asking for your help. Why would I try to kill you? Besides, you know better than anyone that if I wanted you dead, you’d be dead already.”

He had a point. “Why did you do it?” She knew that he, more than likely, would never tell her why, and he didn’t really need to. It was because of her mother.

It always revolved around her mother.

Love. Unrequited love, untamed love, unconditional love, undying love. Could love be the cause of it all? Raven knew she would do anything for love, but would she go to the same lengths as Philippe? But hadn’t she gone further? She gave up her own identity, the very core of who she was. But would she kill another person?

As a Lamai, the answer would be a resounding “Yes!” That was part of her nature as well. The wild blood that had coursed through her veins demanded she protect those she loved at any cost. Things changed, and she was entirely human, so could she still live up to that standard? Perhaps she would. For love.

Love was a fierce emotion.

She watched as Laroque approached the bed. He took a key from his pocket and unlocked the cuffs on her hands.

“Eat.” He handed her the tray with a salad, fresh bread with cheese and what looked like roast pork. “Do you want me to take a bite to prove it’s safe to eat?”

Her gaze narrowed. “Yeah, I would.”

He took a piece of meat, tore off a chunk and popped it into his mouth. “Would you like some wine?” Taking bites of cheese and salad, he seemed to force himself to swallow.

“Fine dining while imprisoned-what a dichotomy! Water is fine. But how am I supposed to eat this meat without a knife?”

He smirked at her. “You’ll have to make do for now. I’ll have your meat cut for you next time.”

She was confused. “What?”

“You sounded like your mother just now.”

Raven speared the fresh tomato in her bowl of salad while examining the dressing. “How can you kill me if you love her so much? I’m still her daughter.” She bit into the tomato savagely.

He wore an eerie smile. “My hatred for your father compensates for that sad fact.”

Not yet accustomed to these insistent hunger pangs, she grabbed a slice of bread and took a bite. Once the aroma of the food reached her nose, Raven realized she was famished and didn’t care if the food was poisoned or not.

“And yet you need my help,” she pondered aloud.