by Ella Frank
“Yes,” Alasdair growled, and raised his head. “I can hear your pulse,” he said in a silky tone. “Thump, thump, thump. It’s a beautiful melody. More so than the last time we were here, because now, now I know it is not from fear that it races, but from something much more…complicated.”
Leo tried to speak, something he usually didn’t have a problem with. But he couldn’t get anything past the lump in his throat. What Alasdair had just said was true. Everything felt way more complicated now.
His feelings.
His emotions.
They had all changed, and Alasdair felt it too.
The more time the three of them spent with one another, the more they were merging in body and mind, and while it was unbelievably intimate and more than he had ever imagined, it was also slightly alarming.
“Oh God. Alasdair,” Leo said, and reached to grab Alasdair’s arms for balance.
“Yes,” Alasdair groaned, and then his mouth was on top of Leo’s and his tongue had slipped between his lips.
Leo lost any kind of coherent thought after that. He brought a hand up to the back of Alasdair’s dark head and threaded his fingers through the silky strands as he molded his body to the one pinning him to the pillar.
Alasdair’s fist was methodically stroking him, and with every punch of Leo’s hips, his fevered state of arousal increased. Then Alasdair raised his head and his fangs appeared, gleaming, lethal, and, God help me, Leo thought as he yanked Alasdair down so he could run his tongue along the tip of one, so damn sexy.
Alasdair shuddered at the intimate move, and when Leo wound a leg around his waist, he hitched him up against the pillar so Leo had to wrap his legs about his waist.
“Fuck,” Leo said at the position change, as he rocked against Alasdair’s body and Alasdair nipped at his jaw and then trailed his tongue to the pulsing vein of Leo’s neck.
He wasn’t sure what it said about him that the mere thought that Alasdair could rip into him made his dick kick even harder, but it did, and the sinister chuckle that followed his demented musings told him that Alasdair knew it.
“’Tis why you suit us so well, file mou. Now give it to me here and there…”
And with several more hard thrusts, Leo was calling out Alasdair’s name, and his entire body tightened like a bow before he came all over the male pinning him to the granite column.
AS LEO’S EYES opened, Alasdair was exactly where he’d been before he’d shut them, hovering over the top of him. The only difference was his eyes. They were aglow with heat and desire.
“That was…” Leo panted and shifted on the bed. As the robe parted, he felt the sticky warmth on his skin and laughed.
“Yes?” Alasdair asked, smug as ever.
“It was a much more satisfying ending than the first time around.”
“I would agree, considering how I ended up that night.”
Leo grimaced. “Yeah, sorry about that. But in my defense, you were trying to kill me. So you probably got what you deserved.”
When Alasdair rolled onto his back, Leo reached over to stroke a finger down his cheek and asked, “What do you think is going to happen with all of this?”
Alasdair’s eyes narrowed and his lips pulled tight, and Leo almost regretted asking.
“I do not know. We have never been faced with anything such as this. Such as you and your friends, I mean. And now Eton… Everything is changing. We are changing, and I wonder how that can possibly end with any of us remaining the same.”
As Alasdair sat up and settled on the side of the bed, Leo came up to kneel behind him, touching a hand to his shoulder. “I won’t hurt any of you. You know that, right?”
Alasdair looked back at him, and there was an expression in his eyes that Leo had never seen before. He appeared weary.
“You may not have a choice.”
“We always have a choice.”
“And if they want us to die, are you prepared to die alongside us, Leonidas?”
Leo swallowed a lungful of air, but the ache in his chest at that thought wasn’t for himself. It was the idea of not being with Alasdair and Vasilios anymore that was more worrisome than the idea of his own demise. If he only got them for a few days—a few weeks, even—he’d feel cheated.
At his thought, Alasdair’s lips twitched. “Oh, file mou, always so greedy.”
“Well, it’s not fair. You have both had centuries—”
“Millennia, actually.”
“No need to boast about it.”
Alasdair touched a hand to the one he had resting on his shoulder and said, “Gather what you wish to take with you, Leonidas, and let us be gone. I’d much prefer you back safely at the lair than out here.”
“See,” Leo said as he climbed off the bed and wrapped the robe around himself. He picked up the book he’d been reading that first night Alasdair had come into his life—Heroes, Gods, and Monsters of the Greek Myths—and clutched it to his chest. “If the two of you had said it just like that, I wouldn’t have put up such a fuss. It’s all in the delivery.”
Alasdair held his hand out for the book, and when Leo passed it over, he read over the title and raised a brow.
“Elias gave it to me for my birthday, actually. See, I’ve always loved old myths and— Oh shit.”
Leo snatched it back from Alasdair and flicked through to the last story he’d been reading about vampires and, fucking hell, the Scriptures of Delphi. And there, staring back at him, was an image he hadn’t yet gotten to, because that had been the night Alasdair had interrupted his life.
It was a painting of… “That’s Vasilios.” He was naked upon a bed with his wrist pressed up against a blond male’s lips… My lips. “Oh my God,” Leo said, as he looked at the other two also depicted in the painting. Alasdair and Diomêdês. And beneath the image was the caption: I archí tou télous—the beginning of the end.
“Oh my fucking God.” Leo dropped the book as though it had burned him, and Alasdair frowned as he bent down to pick it up.
When he opened it to the page Leo had been studying, the frown turned to a scowl as he flicked through the entire hardback and then slammed it shut.
“We must leave. Hurry, get cleaned up. Vasilios will want to see this immediately.”
“Wh…what do you think it is? A guide?” Leo asked. “Instructions? Do you think it tells me how to hurt you in there? I don’t want it. Burn it.”
Alasdair shook his head and then reached for Leo’s chin. He held it steady as he looked him in the eye and said, “The first image is of Vasilios feeding you, and me watching; what follows are other familiar depictions. The bathhouses we were just at now. Isadora at Neda’s falls. Diomêdês on Kopais Lake. And Eton chained up in some kind of cell. These are all events of great significance, from what I can deduce. This is a record of all that has happened since we have met. Things we have done. Memories we have shared.”
Leo’s mind raced a mile a minute as he tried to catch up, and then he blurted out, “What was at the end?”
Alasdair shrugged. “The final pages are blank. Which is why we must find Vasilios immediately.”
Leo nodded. “Okay, okay. One second; let me rinse off and we can leave.”
“Be swift, Leonidas. I fear whatever it is that is coming for us is ever so much closer tonight.”
VASILIOS PACED THE length of the raised dais in the Chamber for what felt like the hundredth time since he and Diomêdês had arrived. The internal conflict warring inside of him was the most violent he could recall, as he thought of the task he’d sent Thanos to complete. He brought a hand to the back of his neck and squeezed as he continued on the path he’d been on for the past several minutes.
It had begun.
He wasn’t a fool, and could most certainly tell when there was a threat in their midst, and with every molecule of his being he could sense something bigger, something more at play, in these last couple of hours. Ever since Thanos had come to them, and sent them to the remains of Kronos in
his hall.
The first clue that the tables had been turned was when Leonidas had almost burned him and Alasdair alive. That was when Vasilios had known things had shifted. But it hadn’t been until that moment in Thanos’s hallway, and then in the holding cell, that he’d really felt the force of the threat.
Death—it was most certainly near.
They were dealing with so much more than a mere enemy. They were dealing with their creators, those who had the power to allow them to live or die, and it was becoming increasingly more obvious they were out for death. Annihilation of their race. And it was a threat unlike any they’d faced before.
“Brother? Vasilios?” Diomêdês said, drawing him from his headspace and back to their actual reality.
Vasilios stopped and pivoted to face his silver-haired companion of nearly three millennia, and wondered what exactly Diomêdês thought of all that was happening.
“My apologies,” Vasilios said, as he came down the three steps and crossed over to where Diomêdês stood. “I was contemplating my life for a moment there.”
“Ahh, so your concern, that is legitimate? Not something you wish me to believe you feel.”
“Of course it is legitimate. We are under attack. Not just our lair. Not just our first-sired. The entire race is threatened. Gods and their monsters, battling it out to the very end.” Vasilios shook his head and then looked up at his taller brother. “It was bound to produce some collateral damage, was it not?”
Diomêdês narrowed his eyes as he slipped his hands into the pockets of his coat. “You speak of Eton?”
Vasilios said nothing in response, merely stared at Diomêdês with a stoic expression.
“You feel guilt over what you sent Thanos to do. That is a first for you.”
“It had to be done. Eton knew that; it is why he did what he did.”
“Do you think so?” Diomêdês asked.
Yes, he did. But that did not make it any easier. “There were many ways for Eton to absolve himself of his sins with Thanos. But he chose a way he knew would mean certain death. He knew back in London, the last time he went rogue, that this would be the outcome should he ever disconnect or commit such acts again. I had made it very clear to both him and Thanos.”
“That was a long time ago, brother.”
“Not for us, it was not. For us it was merely a heartbeat ago. Which is why I am finding it so difficult to reconcile in my mind. Why would Eton sign his own death warrant? Why would he willingly sacrifice himself? But I do not think it is so willingly anymore, Diomêdês.”
“What are you saying?”
“I believe this was all set up this way for a reason. That his disconnect and path of vengeance were all orchestrated to get us in place. We have all been so expertly moved around to get to this specific moment in time. And now we are in a checkmate situation.”
Diomêdês frowned. “And you think those playing us are the gods? Apollo, Artemis, and Hades.”
“Yes,” Vasilios said, and turned back to his pacing. “They have been playing us for years. They set it all up, planned a winning strategy, and have used our own past against us. They are smart. They are cunning. And compared to them, Diomêdês, I fear I am an angel.”
“If what you say is true, would it not make sense to fight back against what they are doing? If you believe they want Eton dead and gone, why give them the satisfaction of winning by ending him?”
Vasilios had thought the same thing at first. Why not just refuse to give in? Change the course of their destiny. But if he were to do that, who knew what balance he would shift? What fate he would change? He’d already risked too much by feeding Leonidas, knowing he should not. But his own selfish needs had been governing him then, and perhaps that was what had been driving Eton.
After all, it had been his choice and his alone to do what he had done. No one had forced it, and Vasilios had begun to think that maybe this was what the Ancient had wanted all along. But should he wish to change his mind, Vasilios had been sure to send the only one who could offer him an out. At least that way, he’d given Eton a fighting chance.
“It is what it is,” Vasilios said, not wishing to discuss it further. They would learn of Eton’s fate soon enough, and he could wallow in his lack of character then.
Right now, they had a more urgent matter at hand. They needed to get the heads of their race here at the Chamber for a meeting.
“Put out the summons. I want everybody here as soon as they are able. Let them know this is mandatory, no exceptions. Our survival, it hangs in the balance tonight, my brother, and I am, for the first time, concerned at what the outcome shall be.”
Diomêdês frowned, but before he could ask any more questions, Vasilios turned away from him, not willing to show complete defeat just yet.
WITH ISADORA NOW gone, Thanos found himself alone in the Adjudication room with a male he had been tasked to end, and a male who’d been created to bring the same fate down upon himself. Perhaps that was how destinies worked. Everything was set in a very delicate order and balance so certain events could take place.
He turned to look down at the one he’d known for a little over two millennia and tried to envision his life minus Eton. For years he’d lived for this particular male. He had devoted himself to making sure Eton stayed on the straight and narrow, sacrificing his own needs for the bargain he’d struck.
Yet over time he had developed deeply rooted ties to Eton. Not those such as Vasilios with Alasdair or Diomêdês with Isa. But he had a past with this vampire. A tragic history that no one but them could, or would, ever understand.
The pain that had come from Eton’s initial separation had been that of a gaping wound. And though it had been an agonizing blow, he’d survived a much similar one on a physical level.
This, though, killing Eton… Thanos wasn’t sure he could withstand the torment he would suffer from being the one to put an end to this part of himself. That was the kind of wound he knew would never heal.
“Thanos?”
Paris’s voice cut through his thoughts and reminded him of the other raw nerve in his life. The one who’d been sent to kill him—Paris Antoniou.
It seemed he was destined to be connected with men who were captivating on the outside, but harbored secrets within their souls that none of them quite understood.
He, Eton, and Paris were all of a similar mold. And Thanos had to wonder if maybe his parents had been right when they’d said he would be punished for all that he’d done. Maybe this was that moment.
“Thanos?” This time, Paris’s voice was closer, and when Thanos felt a hand on his arm, he looked back to see the young male with the long hair and wide, innocent eyes. “Can I help you?”
He knew he should push Paris aside. Should tell him to remove his hand and leave him to fight his own demons. One of which lay bloodied on the ground at their feet. But when Paris came closer and brought a hand up to cradle the scarred flesh of his face, Thanos’s entire body shook from the empathy and sensitivity this one soul possessed.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
It was obvious that Paris had heard and understood the burden he carried. But he couldn’t bring himself to open his mouth and say anything. So instead of speaking, Thanos brought his own hand up to touch Paris’s face. He pressed a finger to his lips to silence him, and Paris kissed it in return.
“I’m here,” Paris said, his eyes searching Thanos’s and not once dipping down to stare at the horrors that lay just below his eye line. “Let me help you.”
Thanos shut his eyes against the words, as they brought to the forefront of his mind a painful memory. One that was so distressing it made his chest ache where he knew his heart still sat, though it no longer beat. And before he knew what was going to happen, Paris rose up on his toes, and those soft, warm lips that had been pressed to his fingers brushed over the top of his mouth.
Thanos’s eyes flew open, and he saw that Paris’s had slid shut as he wound his arms up and a
round his neck.
Let me, was the thought in Paris’s mind right then, and Thanos felt the gentle tease of a tongue upon his scarred lip.
Let me in.
He automatically opened to the touch, but more from shock than anything else. Paris groaned in the back of his throat, and the sound escaped him and flowed into Thanos. He clutched at Paris’s arms, and when he would’ve pushed him away, he heard Paris’s next thought.
Let me have this with you. I’ve wanted it since you offered me a drink in your room. Let me kiss you. Let me touch you…
Thanos had no resistance against that. Instead, he speared his fingers into that gorgeous mane of hair trailing over Paris’s shoulders and drew him closer. He growled at the pleasure of the silky texture against his palms, and as he twisted his fingers in the lovely strands, he pushed into Paris’s mind: This will not end well, glikie antra.
Paris pulled away from him and brought one hand down to put it upon his chest.
“I am starting to get that feeling also,” he said, and Thanos knew he should’ve been somewhat worried that perhaps whatever Paris had done to Vasilios’s guard, he might do here. But death wasn’t the scariest thing in the room with them right now, no. That honor went to the emotion he could see swirling in Paris’s eyes.
Thanos lowered his head to rest his forehead against Paris’s, and whispered, “I fear there is no other way out now. You and your friends…you are the fire. The flood. The plague. You are the end of all ends that we are helpless to resist or fight. And it has already started. Don’t you see? You are our destruction—but for me, you will also be my salvation.”
Paris shook his head, but Thanos stilled the action with firm hands on either side of his face.
“Shhh,” he said, and brushed Paris’s hair behind his ears. “I will not hurt you.” Then he lowered his head and took Paris’s lips with his own in a desperate kiss. He was about to push an image into Paris’s mind to give him something more agreeable to imagine than the face that was before him. But before he could, Paris began to tremble beneath his hands.
