“Our need to connect with our own kind was great, and we frequently traveled to each other’s homes, hunting, feeding, and sharing any new discoveries. Margory was determined to keep all the children away from us, but that little prat continually found a way to intrude. I honestly can’t remember one time when visiting Etienne when we weren’t appalled by that hellion’s behavior. And poor Etienne, he was forever torn between the love he had for his son and the animosity he had toward what his son had become.”

“How old was Napoleon when all this started?”

“Charles was twenty-one when he became one of us, so that would have made Napoleon…um…fifteen.”

“And he wanted to be turned at fifteen?”

Max short Bennett a look. “Does it sound like I’m describing a rational person?”

“No, and it was a stupid question,” Bennett said with a snort. “To say Napoleon’s irrational is an understatement.”

“Yes, it is,” Max said, slowing his pace as they neared the road. “Anyway, four years later, Etienne’s internal conflict came to a head when he and Charles came back from…well, from doing what we do. In their absence, Napoleon had slaughtered a massive amount of their farm animals, including several prized horses.”

“What? Why?”

“Because he could, and he wanted to prove to them he had what it took to be one of us.”

“That makes no sense.”

“Has the man ever made sense?”

Bennett shook her head. “So, what happened?”

“Etienne emptied the entire house of servants and family and made them watch while he forced Napoleon to clean up what he had done. After burning all the carcasses of those poor animals in a bonfire in front of their castle, Etienne beat Napoleon within an inch of his life in front of everyone. He then locked him in a room in the stable, and that’s where the boy stayed for weeks. He was given food and water, but instead of a bed, he slept on straw, and instead of a chamber pot, he had to dig holes in the dirt floor. I suppose Etienne was trying to teach Napoleon a lesson, trying to make the boy understand that life—any life—was precious. Yes, we’d murdered many, and we’d murder many more because the instinct to survive is fierce, but we didn’t ask to become vampires. We didn’t want to crave another’s blood, yet that is the lot we were given. It wasn’t our choice, and Etienne would be damned if he allowed it to be Napoleon’s.