Stefan gave him a slow smile. “And that is the core of what bothers you, is it not? Sharing a race? You worry that witches might be demon spawn. You are concerned that you and your Coven fight so hard to be a force for good, yet your magick may come from a dark and violent alien people. Has it occurred to you, Thomas, that warlocks may be truer to their parental nature than witches? Does it concern you that all witches have this propensity for chaos and mayhem because of our genetics?”

That’s exactly what had occurred to him, though he didn’t want to admit that to Stefan. So he got back to his reason for forcing himself into the same room with Stefan in the first place. “What more do you know about this?”

Stefan met his gaze. “I know it to be true. I can feel it in the center of my being. I feel it every time I take a life because the act fills me with such a sense of power. We are superior over the non-magickals, Thomas. Don’t you see? Embrace what you are and realize this truth.”

He had a wild glint in his eye and Thomas wondered for a moment if incarceration in Gribben might be stripping Stefan of his sanity. Of course, more than likely Stefan’s sanity had been shaky before they’d caught him.

Stefan leaned forward, his voice becoming impassioned. “The witches and warlocks could rule the non-magickals if we combined our efforts. Have you never considered the power we wield, Thomas? We could take over the world. Do you never think of the possibilities?”

Thomas regarded him for a long moment before replying, expression grim, jaw locked. “No, I don’t think about that. But I do think you have a complex about the size of your dick.”

Stefan’s face fell and he blinked slowly. His expression as he glanced away could only be described as vulnerable. “Control, Thomas. I have a complex about control. That’s something a warlock has a lot of.” His voice trembled.

For a moment, Thomas almost thought he understood Stefan. That scary second burned itself into his psyche. He knew Stefan’s history, knew the abuse he’d suffered at the hands of his biological parents, knew he’d suffered even more when he’d run away from France’s child protective services and survived on the streets. Knew he’d been shaped like hot glass in an artisan’s hands by his adoptive father, William Crane.

Control? Yes, he just bet Stefan had issues about control. So would anyone who had been so completely under the thumb of another his entire life. Bitterness stung the back of Thomas’s tongue. The last thing he wanted to have for Stefan was empathy.

“A warlock has control, you say?” Thomas narrowed his eyes. “Not here in Gribben.”