THIRST (The Elite Book 3)

by Hanleigh Bradley

  “I don’t know what you mean.” My body tenses with irritation. How can she be making jokes when Farah is crying?

  “It’s not as simple as that. Humans spend their entire existence searching for meaning, a reason for their existence. They’re usually so busy searching for that meaning that they completely miss it.”

  She’s talking in riddles. Damn it. But she’s caught Farah’s attention. Her head lifts away from my chest and I almost want to pull her back against me, so I can protect her from whatever information the Mother has decided to impart.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Everette

  “Religion. Love. God. Humans are constantly searching for something more. Something greater than themselves. Something that can give meaning to the monotony of their days.”

  Her words mirror my thoughts on the matter. I’ve thought that exact same thing more than once. Comparing myself to them. Those silly little creatures that don’t even know why they exist.

  “Vampires pride themselves on knowing why they exist,” the Mother continues. “It’s terribly dull if you ask me, but they believe their existence is purely the result of the whims of their creator.”

  Even though I’ve thought the same thing myself, her wording irritates me. She says it like she thinks we’re fools for believing such a thing. I glance at her and notice that she’s watching me closely, seeing more than I want. I hate the way she seems to see everything. It makes me feel more like a child than the centuries old vampire that I actually am.

  “I imagine the reason why Everette hasn’t changed you yet is more to do with your purpose than his desire for you.”

  Blinking, I bare my teeth, preparing to growl at her.

  “He’s worried that he won’t be enough for you.”

  This time I do growl at her. The girl in my arms, the only thing preventing me from pouncing on her. I grip Farah’s thigh a little too tightly and she lets out a little pained gasp, making me recoil. I can’t hurt her.

  “It’s a heavy burden,” the Mother’s words are whispered, “believing yourself the reason someone else exists.”

  “What do you want, Mother?” I ask, my voice harsh.

  “I want your happiness.” It’s hard to believe something so simple. Her motives have never been so pure. Not once in the long time that I’ve known her.

  “You don’t agree with him?” Farah asks, leaning towards the Mother. I don’t understand the question. “That vampires exist because of the… whims of their creators.”

  The Mother smiles brightly at Farah as if she’s a precious child who has worked out the most difficult of puzzles.

  “I couldn’t possibly presume myself so important.” The Mother nods her head emphatically. “It’s a ridiculous notion.”

  “Then why?” Farah asks.

  “I don’t know.” The Mother shrugs her shoulders. “I’ve asked that question myself, quite a few times. But I know I cannot give another being’s life meaning. No matter how much I care for them.”

  It’s easy to see where her thoughts have gone. She’s thinking about Kirdem.

  “Do we need a reason?” The question surprises me. Farah has reached out her hand to the Mother in a comforting gesture. She’s actually patting the hand of a deadly vampire without so much as a thought for her own safety. Is she completely bonkers?

  “I think most people do, humans and vampires alike. Everette certainly needs to.”

  “I do not,” I begin, but there isn’t much bark in my voice. I’ve always known why I exist. I knew my purpose, and it had certainly given me comfort. I’d even laughed at the little humans searching for a reason for their existence. “This is a silly conversation. If I wanted to discuss the reason for my existence, I would have had this conversation with Plato or Aristotle or Socrates.”

  “You’re not that old?” Farah’s eyes widen in surprise.

  “No. Of course not. I’m not even sure that the Mother is that old.”

  The Mother merely smiles knowingly as she takes a bite of her breakfast.

  “How old are you?” Farah asks. It’s a question she’s asked before, but now I see little reason not to answer her. She’s as good as dead already.

  “I was born in the sixteen hundreds.”

  “You’re four hundred years old?”

  “Give or take.”

  “Did you know… No. You couldn’t have.” She shakes her head disbelievingly.

  “Did I know who?”

  “Oliver Cromwell.”

  “Yes. The Mother changed me after the civil war to ensure that stability would return to the realm.”

  She’s blinking up at me with an unfathomably confused look on her face. She has thousands of questions and her upset has temporarily been forgotten.

  “You look very good for four hundred,” she murmurs.

  If I wasn’t a vampire, I might blush. Her voice is hushed, unintentionally seductive, and if the Mother wasn’t here with us, I’d have her naked and screaming my name within seconds. My body reacts to her, my dick growing hard beneath her.

  She must feel it because the little minx wriggles her goddamned arse, looking up at me with mock innocence.

  “Why are you telling me this?” Farah asks the Mother. I don’t know how she can be so unaffected. She knows exactly what she’s doing to me, but she’s not letting on at all.

  “I thought you’d want to know.” She says it in such a way that I almost believe her. I almost believe that she’s just showing Farah a kindness.

  Except, the Mother never does anything without a reason.

  “And I need…”

  My entire body tightens in response. I grip Farah harshly, pulling her closer. My legs are ready to spring, prepared to run.

  “What do you need?” Farah asks, giving me an irate look. She doesn’t understand. How could she? She doesn’t know the Mother the way I do.

  I don’t need to hear what the Mother intends to say to know that she’s taking my choice away from me. If that’s what it was. I’m beginning to think I never really had a choice at all. There was only ever Farah.

  Her life. Her blood. Her body. Her death.

  I always knew I’d kill her, but that doesn’t mean I’m ready for this right now.

  “This can wait,” I ground out. “We can discuss this later.”

  The two women look at me like I’m talking a foreign language. Apparently, they don’t share fear. Even Farah, who has always been adamant that she wants to live, doesn’t seem to realise that her life is hanging in the balance.

  “I need someone to rule Scotland,” the Mother says the words that I feared she would.

  “Excuse me.” Farah is completely lost. Flabbergasted.

  “She’s not doing it,” I bark. There’s no way I’m letting Farah out of my sight for more than a few hours, let alone letting her live in another country. Not to mention, we still don’t know who killed Kirdem. I will not allow Farah to be put in danger.

  Farah

  I don’t know what has suddenly gotten into Everette. He’s furious. He gets to his feet so quickly that if it wasn’t for his arms around me, I’d land on the floor in a heap. He lowers me to his side gently, his actions contrasting with his words.

  He growls at Jessamine. Actually growls at her. And Jessamine doesn’t even react. If anything, I’d think she might have been expecting it.

  “I forbid it,” he says, his voice deadly cold.

  “You forbid it?” Jessamine laughs.

  “I’m serious, Mother.”

  “And so am I,” Jessamine retorts. “You fear being the reason for her existence. I do not.”

  “Enough. We’ll discuss this later,” Everette says, grabbing my hand so he can pull me from the room. “Let’s go, Farah.”

  “Where?” I ask, struggling to keep up with him. I still have questions. I don’t understand what just happened or why Everette is so angry. But I know better than to argue with him when he’s being so pig headed.

  CHAPTER FOUR<
br />
  Farah

  I don’t know what has gotten into him. He as good as drags me out into the hall, and then his eyes shuffle between the front door and the stairs. He doesn’t know what he wants to do. It’s out of character for him. He’s usually so sure of himself. Determined even.

  It’s unnerving. I’ve grown so used to his self-assurance. His dependability. As much as I usually hate his heavy-handedness, I think I hate this more.

  “Everette?”

  He doesn’t even spare me a glance, but I feel his fingers tighten around my hand. That slight gesture is reassuring. He looks towards the door as if he’s assessing some danger that I don’t see. Then he glowers at it, baring his teeth. Not that I have any idea what the door has done to offend him.

  “Damn it!” He growls.

  That’s when I hear it. The sound of tires on the gravel outside.

  “Go upstairs,” he demands, “and lock the door.”

  His words fill me with fear. What the hell is going on? I open my mouth to ask him, but he doesn’t give me a chance to say anything.

  “For Christ’s sake Farah, for once could you just do what I ask?”

  I nod my head and stagger towards the stairs, my feet unsteady. Jessamine is standing in the doorway to the breakfast room and she’s glaring at the door too. That can’t be a good sign. My body itches to run, but I know that if I try and run up the stairs, I’m guaranteed to stumble.

  Instead, I grip the banister and take steady, measured steps. I feel Everette’s eyes on me and I’m tempted to look back at him, seeking reassurance. But I won’t do it. I have more pride than that. My life has been completely turned upside down by this crazy psycho of a vampire.

  He’s addictive. Seductive. And I’ve struggled to understand what he does to me. I could easily imagine this to be love, but it can’t, can it? I barely know him. It’s infatuation. A chemical reaction. An addiction perhaps.

  Closing Everette’s bedroom door, I do as he instructed and twist the lock.

  Leaning against the door, I crumple, fear ransacking my body. If he doesn’t change me, or kill me, he’s going to prematurely age me with all this stress.

  I listen for something. Anything. There should be talking or a door opening or something. Except vampires move quickly and silently. Or at least I know Everette does. My heart is pounding heavily against my ribcage and I can hardly breathe.

  My cheeks are still raw from where I cried earlier, and so the tears that are falling now burn my face. The pain is a nice distraction. Until I hear a loud bang and I’m almost certain I feel the whole house shake. Biting down on the back of my hand, I refuse to scream.

  Everette

  When I hear the lock click into place on my bedroom door, I feel my shoulders slump slightly with relief. The movement wouldn’t be noticeable to human eyes, but I don’t doubt that the Mother sees it. Usually, I’d avoid showing such weakness in front of her. It doesn’t do to allow anyone to know your weaknesses.

  And that’s what Farah is quickly becoming.

  A weakness.

  It’s disconcerting. The Mother looks like she wants to say something, probably to rebuke me for not hiding my emotions better, but she holds her tongue.

  “Are you expecting anyone?” she asks instead.

  I shake my head.

  “It could be Hestin,” I say as an afterthought, although I know it’s not him. I’d recognise the sound of his car’s engine. “Whoever it is, they’re not alone.”

  I dart to the door, pulling it open. There’s no point waiting for them to knock. They are hardly trying for the element of surprise, and I don’t have time to waste on the niceties of pretending to be human. I need to deal with this quickly so I can talk to Farah.

  And probably shout at the Mother. It’s not something I’ve ever really done, but god, do I want to. I’m furious with her for suggesting that Farah take Kirdem’s place. For one thing, I do not want Farah hundreds of miles away from me, and for another, Kirdem was just murdered.

  I will not allow anyone to put Farah in danger. I’ve already done that enough myself for one lifetime.

  “What are you doing here?” I demand as soon as I have the door open.

  “The Mother is here?” Malfas asks, striding past me into my house. Damn his entitled arse.

  His mate, Caelia, at least gives me a polite nod. “Hello Everette.”

  “Caelia,” I greet her between gritted teeth.

  Malfas bows to the Mother, completely ignoring me. He prides himself on being older than me, not that his age means very much. Other than Kirdem, I’ve always been the Mother’s favourite.

  “You should be in Wales, Malfas,” the Mother says coldly.

  “As we were,” Malfas tells her, “when we were attacked.”

  That catches my attention. Neither of the vampires in front of me looks particularly hurt.

  “By whom?” I demand.

  “No idea. But after Kirdem died, I…” He hesitates. “I wanted to check that I still had your support, Mother.”

  The implication is glaringly obvious and the Mother’s eyes darken with fury.

  “Are you trying to suggest that I had Kirdem killed?” Her voice is deadly quiet, and I’m surprised Malfas isn’t cowering in his boots. He should be.

  “O-of course not. I just…” He steps back nervously, causing the side table behind him to bang lightly against the wall. The vase sitting on the table drops to the ground with a crash. I watch it fall, knowing that I should catch it. Sybil will be so disappointed. She’s always liked that vase.

  But I’m unwilling to move from my position. I’m standing close to the stairs, blocking Malfas and Caelia’s access to Farah. Not that it’s necessary.

  “Malfas,” Caelia murmurs a warning. She’s probably the only reason the Mother has kept him alive for the last eight hundred years. “We wanted to see if we might have any information that could assist you in your search for Kirdem’s killer. In case there is a pattern.”

  “You fear rebellion too?” the Mother asks, her eyes sharp as they land on Caelia.

  “It was a vampire that attacked us,” Caelia says slowly, meeting the Mother’s eyes with surprising confidence, “so either we’ve lost your favour, or someone else is trying to pick off the elite.”

  “Or it could be random,” Malfas adds with a shrug.

  Caelia shakes her head. “I do not think so. A random, unmeditated attack would never bring Kirdem down and we were lucky to get away.”

  Malfas glowers at his mate and I can easily imagine that his pride is hurt at the insinuation that he had nearly failed to protect not only his seat in Wales but his mate.

  “Well, it would seem we have much to talk about,” the Mother remarks. “I don’t suppose you can have Sybil bring us some blood, Everette. It would seem your brother and sister have had an awful shock.”

  With a nod of my head, I pull out my phone and send Sybil a quick text message. My eyes linger on the stairs before I lead them into the living room. I’m not ready for Farah to meet Malfas and Caelia, but I don’t like the idea of her cowering in a corner scared.

  I try to push my concern from my mind as I settle onto one of the chesterfield sofas near the fireplace. I have a job to do. Then I can give Farah my undivided attention.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Everette

  “I wonder who will show up next,” I mutter sarcastically. “Perhaps the Spanish royal. I’ve not seen Breya in a long time.”

  The Mother gives me a little smirk. She knows why I’m impatient and apparently, she finds it entertaining.

  “We saw Breya last month,” Malfas says gruffly, missing my sarcasm entirely.

  Breya and I have never been friends. Breya is the sort of royal that takes for granted the privileges of our position. The humans in her charge do not live long, healthy lives. She’s far too vicious for that. I might not like the idea of Malfas and Caelia near Farah, but I’d kill Breya before letting her into this house while Farah is
in residence.

  There’s a quiet knock at the door and then Sybil is entering with a tray. Four crystal glasses of crimson liquid sit on the tray and she puts them in front of us all on the coffee table, before turning to me.

  “Is there anything else you need?”

  “No thank you, Sybil.” I consider asking her to check on Farah but that would probably lead to questions. I’m not ready for Malfas and Caelia to know about Farah. Of course, if they’re planning on staying, I’ll have no choice but to introduce her, but I’m about to do that prematurely.

  None of us speak, not until the door clicks shut behind Sybil and we hear her walk down the hall. Even then the Mother’s voice is low when she says, “A rebellion.”

  I’d be offended that she doesn’t trust my housekeeper, except I know for a fact that the Mother trusts no one. Not even me.

  “Tell us exactly what happened.” I cross my foot across my other leg and lean back as if I’m perfectly relaxed. I’ve spent the entire morning on edge, but it won’t do any good to let them know that.

  Malfas is pacing uneasily, but he looks to Caelia. The one good thing about Malfas is that he realises Caelia is his greatest strength. She squares her shoulders, giving him a slight nod.

  “We were at the castle,” Caelia begins. “There was a noise outside. Some of our men went out to see what it was, but they didn’t come back.”

  It sounds so sinister, I almost laugh.

  “How many?”

  “How many what?” She looks at me with bewilderment.

  “How many of your men?”

  “Five or six.” She shrugs her shoulders indifferently. The lives of her protectors are meaningless. It’s strange. I don’t make a habit of keeping bodyguards around my house. I’ve never felt the need for it, knowing that I can protect myself.

  But now with Farah in the house, it’s a tempting prospect. Especially if someone is going around picking off reigning royals.

  “And they all died?” It’s hard to believe. It’s difficult to kill a vampire. It takes patience and endurance. And usually numbers. A vampire has to be ambushed and outnumbered to be slaughtered. So killing five or six…