“I did.”
“Why did she leave you?”
The answer had haunted him ever since Uta had reappeared. Because I was empty inside, eaten alive with a hunger Lexi couldn’t fill and it made me furious, at her and myself, so I withdrew. But he said none of it, just shrugged.
Kos swallowed, the gulp audible. “When you were a boy you adored Uta. You were a child, bosom buddies with an ancient vampire. And she accepted your affection and returned it without condescension.”
“Funny. A moment ago she tossed me around like a feather to put me where she wanted me.”
Kos turned his palms up. “What, you’re not into that?”
Glaring, Bel crossed his arms in reply.
Kos sobered and continued with his reminiscence. “It was so bizarre to see you two, walking along side by side, her twice as tall as you. I could not understand what drew you together—like a sexless bond. Krist, please tell me it was—”
“Shite, Kos, yes! The moment…I, um…came of age, she sent me away.”
“It must have pained her greatly. Not just the separation, but having to hurt you.”
The pity on Kos’s face finally forced Bel to concede. He did know something about the misery of being forced to hurt an innocent. She had been imprisoned by the same accident of blood, and the acknowledgment flooded him with emotion. An unfamiliar sting pricked behind his eyes. Were those tears? He shook them off.
He would have to free them both from this oppressive bond. First hemoaurum, then he would engineer hemostatowhatever it was in her blood that drew him like an addict. Yoked to his enemy, just like the vampires to the Hunters. Surely if he could understand this mysterious osjećaj, everyone could be free.
Chapter 18
WITH CLEAN, DRY HANDS, Gwen used her thumb and forefinger to turn the pages of The Book of the Day, one after another, though by now she could recite its words by heart and knew the minute details of its gruesome images. The ancient codex was the most fascinating find of her academic career—the career she’d abandoned to assist Ethan, and to submit to him. Only half-seeing, her gaze ran over page after page in a ceaseless loop.
At first she’d thought the ancient text clear proof of vampires’ evil. Golden-eyed and prehistoric Hunters, native to the mountains of Turkey, had fallen victim to the seductive power of vampires and their opiate-like bites. At least, that is what she’d thought when all she knew of vampires was Mason Kearney, her lover and abuser. But the story told by the early-medieval illuminated manuscript no longer seemed so simple. Now she knew Hunters too, knew of their genocidal hatred, and the absolute lack of scruples of Ethan’s ambitions.
According to Hunter mythology, thousands of years older than the archaic book itself, a generation of young Hunters intermixed with vampires, fell in love, and bred. By doing so, they angered the sun god, Dela-Malkh, and their elders enforced his wrath by killing their own children to purify their race.
Myths had some basis in reality, and this one justified horrific violence—the Hunters’ sacrifice of their own kind, just as Ethan had done to incite the vampires to attack Hunters, just as he had done with that poor girl this morning. She understood such sacrifice with a nearly religious reverence—and the logic of purifying violence both ordered her psyche and made sense of the world. She’d been a bad girl, after all. She’d let a vampire torture her until she’d liked it. Now she needed Ethan to do the same. He gave her pleasure; with him she wasn’t alone. In the beginning, she’d hoped his violence would redeem her, make her lovable again, something other than a piece of vampire trash. Was that still possible?
She stared into the golden eyes of a victorious, blood-smeared Hunter on the page.
Ethan had made an offering of that girl. It had been frightening to watch—his calculation, his disregard for her life. But worse, his failure lodged cold dread inside of Gwen. So she searched the book for some other bit of knowledge she might offer him, anything to help him succeed.
She knew that in his chilling way, he had come to love her. And in the end, that was all that mattered. She closed the book, and her heart, to the questions of right and wrong, good and evil. None of it mattered—he was her lover and her god. All of a sudden, her need for him consumed her. Oh God, she had to see him.
She darted up from her desk and made it three steps out of her office before remembering the glass walls and gatekeepers that would keep her from him. She went back to her purse and found her phone to send him a text:
If you have a minute, can I speak to you in my office?
No reply came, and emptiness gnawed at her.
She perched straight and still in her chair, trying to embrace the aching hunger in her heart as a masochistic pleasure.
When he appeared inside her office door, she sucked in a deep breath. He seemed to have recovered from his earlier disappointment, and he radiated satisfaction. Lord, he was beautiful.
Smiling, he flashed his even white teeth. “Lisjak.”
“Pardon?”
“We are to L on the list of Šoltan refugees who bought Marasović’s wine. Half have been exterminated.”
Living, sentient creatures, systematically murdered. The words passed before her eyes like text on a page. She blinked them away and let his pride be her compass.
“I had forgotten about that list.”
“It is only now complete. A particularly diligent initiate tracked down every sale from the list Derek Williams stole from the wine distributor.”
“Congratulations.”
His smile eased into repose. “You wanted to speak to me?”
“I just…well. I was thinking about this morning, and…” Her need for him opened up again like a deep crevice. She could barely stand to look up at him. “I suppose I missed you.”
He crossed the small office in two long strides and pressed her against the desk. “What a pleasant surprise.” Cradling her head in both hands, he kissed her with more gentleness than ever before.
When he finished, he pulled back. “Are you sorry you came with me to Kaštel?”
“No. I needed to see.”
“Yes, I suppose you did. Still, I fear have been too rough with you,” he whispered against her lips.
The words were ice in her veins. “No! I need—”
“Shh. Do not worry. There will be as much pain as you need. But from now on, it will be more carefully administered, with precision. With needles and blades, not knuckles and fists.”
She’d come to love the ache of her ribs after they’d been pummeled by those knuckles.
“Why?”
“Because I need you, Gwen. I need your body to last us both a good, long time.”
Her body, her sacrifice—he wanted it on his altar. She gripped him, sniffling into his chest and wrapping her legs around his waist.
“My, my,” he said. “What has gotten into you?”
“Maybe I’ve fallen in love with you. Or if not that, at least I can offer you my undivided loyalty.”
He pulled back, frowning, and instantly she regretted her words. He hadn’t even known her loyalty had been in question. Good submissives were always loyal. But just as quickly his eyes widened in understanding.
“Were you having a crisis of conscience about my methods?”
She swiped her tongue across her bottom lip. “Yes, to some extent. But then I remembered I have no conscience apart from yours. Because I belong to you.”
He stared at her, his face absolutely without expression.
Her skin tingled all over. She might have believed it was vanishing, if such a thing were possible. Because surely, she was dissolving into him—and there, on the other side of this surrender, was the freedom of non-existence. She could taste it, a peace deeper even than the solace she’d found in pain.
His chest rose and fell in labored breaths, suggesting he sensed the power of her choice.
“Yes, Gwen. I need your loyalty, and I need your help.”
“Anything.”
“I’m sending you to the Kaštel Estate. You will be my Trojan horse.”
Chapter 19
THE HIGH-PITCHED WHIRR of the milk steamer on Kaštel’s resident espresso machine was the most annoying sound Pedro’s young vampire ears had ever heard. Note to self—no more coffee shops, ever.
The steam jetted into the metal pitcher, frothing the milk under Lena’s careful supervision.
“There. That’s enough.” She switched off the steam. “He doesn’t like much foam.”
Pedro nodded, storing the detail in the files of things that he wanted to know about Lucas. Not that it would matter for long, if this conversation went well.
Lena poured the milk into the waiting mug. She handed it to Pedro with a goofy-ass smile. “You know, there is an old saying among householders—a vampire makes a guy a latte, you know he’s in love.”
If only it were as simple as love, not as complicated as a blood bond to a human only recently recovered from his mortal hatred of vampires.
Pedro forced a smile. “Yeah, something like that.”
Lena nodded, but kept quiet. She had that knack for knowing when not to talk that none of the rest of the Maras family possessed.
He made his way to the dining room, hoping like hell to find Lucas alone. And he did. The lanky ex-Hunter hunched over his laptop, his face awash with that eerie bluish electronic glow, his excellent cheekbones a bit too prominent. The toll all this stress was taking on him amped up Pedro’s sense of urgency as if the need to ensure Lucas’s immortality were a new vampire instinct. Mierda, how had Kos resisted turning Lena for all these weeks? A hungry animal inside Pedro demanded he do the deed here and now, on the dining room table.
Lucas didn’t glance up until Pedro sat down and slid the mug toward him.
“Lena helped me make it just the way you like.”
Lucas closed his computer and cocked his head. “What’re you up to?”
“Hey, can’t I just do something nice for my man?”
“Nice try, but you may as well come clean. You have guilty written all over your face.”
Pedro wished the emotion was guilt, not anxious fear. He tapped his fingertips on the table, in line with the scar that bisected it. “So. About last night.”
Lucas spluttered, spitting coffee all over before he erupted in full-blown guffaws. “I’ve always wanted someone to say that to me.”
“Dude. Be serious. This is important.”
Lucas wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and nodded. “What’s up? Some vampire news?”
“Si, but it’s personal.”
“Go on.” A deep furrow appeared between Lucas’s brows.
When had that worry been carved into his face?
Pedro took a deep breath. “Here goes. I need to turn you.” His pulse accelerated, pounding in his chest like it used to on the dance floor of his favorite nightclubs. “Into a vampire, I mean. The sooner the better.”
A red stain crept up Lucas’s neck, coloring his face deep crimson. His eyelid twitched.
The room wasn’t pin-drop silent, at least not now that Pedro was a vampire. It buzzed with distant conversations around the household, the gentle whistle of wind in the chimney, dishes clattering in the kitchen below, the frenzied beat of Lucas’s heart, out of sync with Pedro’s own. The frightened animal inside him panicked.
Splayed on both sides of his laptop, Lucas’s long fingers started to curl under. He opened his mouth, but Pedro cut him off.
“Don’t argue with me. This is nonnegotiable.”
“What?” Lucas rose, and his chair pushed backward, scraping against the floor. “Nonnegotiable? This is my life. This is whether or not I drink blood, fall victim to a wasting disease, ever see the sun again. I don’t want to be—”
“Like me.” Pedro crossed his arms, shaking his head in furious disbelief. “I thought we were past this.”
“Past what?”
“Your Hunter shit. Deep down, you still hate vampires.” Pedro took an angry step forward.
“How can you say that?” Lucas turned away, toward the window where new green grass grew out of ash.
Pedro wanted to yank his shoulder to force Lucas to face him, but he gripped the back of the chair instead. “You like the biting and the fucking, and maybe you like me too—”
Lucas put his fingertips and thumb on the glass, shaking his head. “I said I love you last night. I’ve never said that to anyone before.”
Pedro’s rage fizzled, and he dropped back into the chair. He’d screwed that up pretty bad, wanted to bang his forehead on the table—thunk, thunk. Could he start over?
Then his skin tightened in warning. Someone had come into the room.
Andre closed the door behind him and leaned against it, looking between Pedro and Lucas only once. El hijo de puta—his sire’s eyebrows lifted as if he were amused.
“Son. Perhaps this conversation would have proceeded more smoothly had you informed Lucas why you desire to turn him.”
Lucas spun, his features forming a question.
And finally the right words appeared on Pedro’s tongue. “About last night—I bonded to you.”
Lucas pressed his lips together, and his posture softened.
Encouraged, Pedro went on. “Now, even more than before, you are my life. Without your blood I might die.”
“Shit. Why didn’t you say so?” Lucas’s sexy mouth was very nearly smiling.
“Indeed,” Andre grumbled.
Pedro was too relieved to feel defensive.
Lucas sat down again. “But you need my blood. Can you feed from another Hunter if I turn?”
“This is the crucial question.” Andre took a seat alongside Pedro. “But there is no time to address it now. Loki has called a meeting. All the vampires will be here in a moment. Perhaps they are already waiting outside, listening to your squabble.”
Lucas rolled his eyes. “Great, now I have a starring role in Days of Our Immortal Lives.”
Pedro grinned at his man and mouthed an apology. Sorry.
The door swung open, and if anyone had been behind it, they’d have been squashed like a bug on a windshield. Dust flew up where the knob hit the plaster wall. Uta strode in with an ice pack and dropped it on a chair. Then she unceremoniously perched on top of it.
She shrugged shamelessly at Pedro.
Andre muttered under his breath. “Davo.”
Once, Pedro’s cock had nearly exploded when he attempted to withhold sex from Lucas, forgetting he was the one who couldn’t jerk off. If Uta was singing the same Stones’ tune about her lack of satisfaction, then that ice pack would cool her off for a total of ninety seconds before the heat of her desire turned it to slush. Tough as she was, she’d be no match for that. He actually felt sorry for the scary chick.
The Justicia members filed in, their householders behind them. Then the Maras household filled in the empty chairs—Kos, Lena, Zoey, Bel’s security crew, and Andre’s staff. They were packed in like sardines, and the room grew immediately warmer.
Just before Loki’s assistant closed the door, a dark skinned vampire slipped in. He cast Lucas and Leo hateful looks. Pedro tensed.
Kos leaned down from where he stood to whisper. “Stay calm, he’s a notorious Hunter hater. The leader of the aggressionist camp. But everyone else is copacetic, and we’ve got Lucas’s back.”
Bel slid in just behind the hater and he looked mighty pissed. Pedro would have expected his bro to be more smug about not putting out for Uta. Bel took a seat on the other side of Lucas from Pedro; it was the only empty chair, but it put him directly in her line of sight. While everyone focused their attention on Bel, waiting for him to settle, Uta’s was conspicuously on Loki.
Lucas scratched out a note to Pedro, knowing a whisper would have been easily heard by more than a dozen sets of vampire ears: This is going to be good.
Then Loki spoke in his accented English. “We have much to discuss at this meeting, but I wish to begin with silence in honor of
those fallen in the war.”
The late-arriving vampire snorted, then fell silent with the others.
“To the homeland.” Loki ended the silence with the traditional blessing.
“The homeland,” everyone intoned.
On the same breath, the snorty one asserted, “I do not honor my enemies, Loki, and I resent your heavy-handed moment of silence. As if being under a roof with them wasn’t bad enough, this whole place reeks of Hunter.”
Pedro finally placed his accent as Indian.
“Sadavir, your position is well known.” Loki leaned one elbow on the table and angled himself ever so slightly away from the latecomer. “I trust no one mistook your silence for mercy. We will not debate it now. Several pieces of information are required before we decide on a course of action.”
Sadavir shot out of his seat. “There is only one tenable course. We fight back.”
Loki darted at him, hovering at eye level like a hornet, right in front of the pro-aggression mo-fo. “When I am dead and you are the oldest, you may give the orders. Right now, you will sit down.”
When Sadavir complied, Loki alighted on the floor as lightly a butterfly, his tone once again turning gentle. “First, let me assure you every resource at my disposal is employed to defend households and hunt out the aggressors. Those we believe to be in special danger have been alerted.” He strolled back to his chair and sat, folding his hands on the table. “The purpose of this meeting is to determine our strategy. We all know Sadavir’s position, but I believe we have other options. A cure for the wasting disease has never been more critical. With it, vampires could flee their homes and go into hiding without the plague of exile. So, we will begin with Lobel Marasović. Bel, please report to us on your research.”
Bel stood, and in spite of all the tension in the room, Pedro had to smile—the dude knew how to wear his jeans. His T-shirt hugged biceps and a broad chest, but hung loose around his narrow waist. The vampires were dressed to the nines, and Bel owned his skin better than most of them in their designer togs. Lucas must have thought the same thing, because a barely audible hum of appreciation sounded in his throat. Seconds later Kos coughed and Andre rolled his eyes. Two female Justicia members hid their smiles. Uta joined them, wiping the murder off her face when she realized it was Lucas who had made the sound.
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