Ellowyn Found: An MM Vampire Trilogy Omnibus Edition Books 1 - 3

by Kayleigh Sky

  Isaac crossed his arms in front of him. “Don’t I have a choice?”

  Rune stood. “Reject me, but I won’t reject you.”

  “You just did.”

  Isaac’s cheeks had flushed, and the hurt stood out in his eyes.

  Rune shook his head, the weight of it suddenly enormous. “I’m empty, and I can’t promise you anything. I can’t stay. I can’t stop. Not until it’s done. Until I’m done.”

  The end was close, he knew, but for the first time ever, he wasn’t sure of his ability to finish his task. When he met Thomas Mithrinin, he’d have a better idea, but the energy he’d started his quest with was long gone. Chipped off, ripped away, and sucked out of him. The idea of any torment coming to the angry human sitting on the bed threatened to steal the last of his resolve.

  “I shouldn’t have come here. I swore I wouldn’t.”

  “Then go. I lost somebody who really cared about me today. Somebody who taught me things. Cooking is important. It’s something real that I can use to survive.”

  Rune smiled. “I didn’t want to be an architect like my father. I wanted to be an artist, a craftsman, but he told me I couldn’t toil in the common square. Cooking is honorable.”

  Isaac stared at him for a moment, eyes slightly narrowed. “You are an artist.”

  “In my spare time. I’m a mapmaker by trade and not the king I was supposed to be. I let my father down. You are proud though.”

  Isaac’s jaw tightened but not in anger now. He was blinking too fast, fighting back tears. Rune stiffened, fingers in the bedcovers, holding himself at a distance. It wasn’t the right time for them, but the right time might have passed, might never be.

  “You don’t have to worry about me,” Isaac said. “Just because I’m feeling something doesn’t mean I need you to help me with it.”

  Rune flinched then released another soft laugh. “You’re as tough as Jessa said you were. But Jessa worried about you. That’s what people do, isn’t it?”

  “That’s what friends do. We aren’t friends. I’m human, and that fated love thing doesn’t work on me.”

  “Then why can I hear you?”

  “Stop listening, or be with me. One or the other.”

  “I am with you.” He pushed himself up, joints creaking, head pounding between his temples. “I have no choice.”

  Isaac ran a hand through his messy curls. “That isn’t very flattering. I don’t want somebody who doesn’t have a choice. I thought—”

  He stopped, jaw tight again.

  “Thought what?”

  “I thought you liked me because I was friends with Jessa. If I had stuff in common with Jessa maybe I would with you. Stuff like art. I don’t know, I liked what you did. We glued your statue back together because it was really pretty. I don’t want somebody who’s just with me because some voice from the great beyond said to be. How’s that different from people feeding off me because they have to. Half the time they didn’t even know my name. Marcus knew my name. He asked me questions and told me stuff about his family, and he loved…” Isaac’s voice broke, and Rune’s head went light, his lungs frozen. “He loved cooking, and he gave that to me, and now I have to live my whole life without him. Well, fuck you—”

  “Isaac.”

  “I mean it.”

  Rune took a breath. He wanted to fight it. He wanted to lie down on Isaac’s bed and sleep with him in his arms.

  But he didn’t.

  He disappeared.

  4

  Pressure

  The bitch didn’t bother to meet him. She’d been Wen’s lover and most likely resented Bronwen’s interference with Comity House. But it only took a few steps through the lobby door before Bronny made his decision to interfere even more and overhaul the donor center. The luxury was ridiculous. For pity’s sake, why had Wen catered to drainers and humans like this? Granted, he’d expanded his business in a more lucrative direction with the right kind of vampires, but the accommodations appropriate to true Ellowyn did not need to extend to every corner of the facility. After he entered the main building and stood gaping at the sumptuous interior, he swiveled his head to frown at his secretary. “Why am I not being met?”

  The woman, a human, said, “I called ahead, sir.”

  Yes, Wen had indulged this place and its people too much.

  Bronny took a breath. “Well, that didn’t accomplish much, did it?”

  “I’ll go look for her, sir.”

  “You do that.”

  The woman hurried off, her relief palpable. Bronny found human employees provided him with a certain accessibility that surrounding himself in vampires did not. In that way, he was similar to his brother. When in Rome, as the humans said.

  He crossed the lobby with its black decor and rose-scented air through a door in back to an atrium choking with exotic plants. Ferns and giant variegated-leafed plants rose in front of him. Falling water pitter-pattered, and heat wafted against him—pleasant, except for the humidity swaddling him like a blanket.

  He’d acquired a map of the place he’d given to his contractor and knew where he was going, so he followed the walkway into the greenery. A sapphire, palm-shadowed pool appeared. The skylight above him was magnificent and worth keeping. But maintaining this mini forest was irrational.

  Bronny shook his head as he followed the path to the staircase on the other side of the atrium. A walkway lined the second story, overlooking the scene below. Bronwen took a moment to admire the silver filigree in the skylight. The murmur of voices reached him, from vampire or human, he wasn’t sure. A small fountain babbled, and a laugh floated up.

  Continuing down the carpeted walkway, Bronny reached his brother’s office and inserted the key.

  Stale air greeted him as soon as he opened the door. He stepped in, closed it, and leaned back. “You don’t deserve it, Wen, but I will avenge you.”

  Because that was the Ellowyn way. Otherwise, Bronwen would expend no effort. Not that Wen had done anything wrong, but Bronny had always thought him too comfortable with humans. Comfortable enough to marry one anyway. But thankfully, that vile little half-breed crossling Wen had been betrothed to, Jessamine, would never join the Wrythin family.

  From where he stood against the door, he was on a straight line with a statue beside the window. A naked man, and though there was no way to tell if the model had been human or vampire, Bronny’s intuition screamed human. His skin crawled. Pushing himself off the door, he crossed the room and squinted at the shape up close. Glass. The color flowed from gold to purple to gold again. Bronny stretched out a finger, drawing a streak along its arm. Of course, it was cool, glass cool, but he’d imagined the malleability of flesh.

  He’d sell it.

  Turning away, he gazed around Wen’s office. Nicely appointed, but nothing special. He hadn’t wasted his budget in here.

  Idiot. This was where to spend it. Where people came to meet him.

  Bronny sat behind the desk, frowning at its surface, only seconds before a knock on the door came, and it opened a crack to show a human eye. “Sir, may I come in? I have coffee and some of the financials you requested.”

  Some.

  Idiot human.

  He sighed. “Well, I can’t drink it from over here.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  The woman entered. She had a name, of course. Bronwen refused to use it. “That’s so petty,” Wen had often said.

  “It’s bad enough when humans forget their place,” Bronny had replied. “But really, Wen, you shouldn’t forget yours.”

  He took a sip of his perfect coffee. His human was superb at her job. She was plain though—he saw no need to tempt himself.

  After shooing her away, he set about going through the documents she’d brought him. Wen was meticulous—of course, he would be—but Bronwen suspected that the numbers Anya allowed him to see were strictly for public consumption. He sipped his coffee. Wonder where the real numbers are? Prydwen had catered to a select clientele beyond t
he rank and file drainers he kept on the books. Some important vampires had been willing to pay a premium price to drink real blood. Unfortunately, his murder had brought the center under investigation, and many of Comity House’s clients had gone to other centers. Lesser centers. But Comity House was a jewel Bronwen planned to polish to a brighter shine than ever before. All he had to do was convince the king of his capabilities. Their invitation—summons, rather—to brunch at Dinallah Manor was to discuss Comity House’s future. The Wrythin family couldn’t lose it, and Bronwen had to show that Wen’s—lapses in judgment?—had never been endorsed by the Wrythin family.

  And they hadn’t been, because Comity House was Wen’s. But now it was Bronwen’s. Bronny had known about Wen’s relationship with Solomon Frenn and about Solomon’s tenuous link to the Adi ’el Lumi, and that Wen had shown his solidarity with their cause by providing human blood to non-drainers. That had been a significant source of Wen’s income, but it wasn’t income Bronwen could claim now. He had to show that Comity House was still viable, which meant long overdue reductions—eliminations—of the ridiculous indulgences Wen had allowed the staff. Private rooms, free meals, entertainment, carte blanche to come and go as they pleased on top of generous stipends were things of the past. Freedom will be a thing of the past.

  Bronwen smiled. All he had to do was get over this hump with the king. Then he could get on to converting Comity House into a premier human confinement center. But in the meantime…

  He chewed his lip, pushed his coffee cup away, and crossed to the file cabinet against the far wall. It was made of wood and more decorative than practical. Most of the important papers were in the downstairs office, but a few file folders occupied half of the top drawer, pushed to the side to accommodate a stack of binders. Curious, Bronwen removed the top binder and flipped through photos and stats for the center’s donors. With a grunt, he set the binder back, scooped up the stack, and took it to the round table under the window. He sat and scowled at the statue now directly across from him. The sun, though indirect, stroked the figure’s back and buttock with a warm caress. Human. It had to be.

  Bronny wrinkled his nose and shifted the binders closer. Most of them had tags on the spine that read Inactive, but a few had letters indicating a range of the alphabet. He extracted the binder A - H and opened it. Somewhere in the complex, these donors lounged around on his dime. He leafed through the photos, each with accompanying information sheets, and moved on to the next binder, pausing at an information sheet with a date stamp on it. Frowning, he returned to the first binder and flipped through the photos at the end. He found another date stamp, but this one was faint as though the ink had run out. It was dated just over four years ago. Interesting.

  Isaac Hart.

  Bronwen flipped back to the accompanying photo. The kid looked suspicious as hell, a pensive frown worrying his brow. He also looked familiar. Bronwen was quick to dismiss humans, but he never forgot a face. It was too risky in this world. Where had he seen him?

  He growled at a knock on the door. It popped open a crack.

  “If you aren’t going to wait for me to answer, I don’t see the purpose in knocking.”

  “I didn’t want to intrude.”

  “Too late.”

  “I have more documents, sir.”

  “Set them on the desk.”

  “Yes, sir. Can I get you more coffee? Something to eat perhaps?”

  He lifted his gaze from the photo and fixed on her face. “Where is Anya?”

  His human screwed her brow into an anguished frown. “At an orientation, sir.”

  “Orientation?”

  “For the new donors.”

  Bronwen clapped his mouth shut a second after it fell open. Don’t play that bitch’s game. But how fucking dare she? “Of course. However, you will have to interrupt her.” He took the sheet with the date stamp from the binder and held it out. “Find out what the stamp means, and I want everything she has on this donor. And yes to coffee and lunch.”

  “Right away, sir.”

  Unlikely, but Bronwen let her go without comment and returned to staring at Isaac’s face. Bronny had seen him but not in a memorable way, which was not surprising because he was human. But try as he might, Bronny couldn’t drag the memory close enough to fit into context. Settling back in his chair, he studied the new material his human had brought him. After eating his lunch—bloody strips of steak on a crusty French roll and a green salad—his temperature inched higher. How often did orientations take hours? The goddam bitch.

  Bronwen rubbed his neck, growing warm in the afternoon sun. The additional financial papers only confirmed that Wen’s success—since he’d flushed his revenue down the toilet spoiling his donors—had been tied to Solomon Frenn. Chewing his lip as he continued to peruse the data, Bronwen sifted through his memory for somebody who could help him locate Solomon. He’d disappeared after the failed assassination attempt on the king, but he’d been fighting against humans too long to give up. He was an ally Bronwen wanted. Needed.

  At least she didn’t knock this time. She stepped in but didn’t approach.

  “No Anya,” he observed.

  “She said shortly.”

  “What did you learn?”

  She approached and set the form he’d given her on the edge of the table. “The stamp provides the start date of a contract, but Isaac is no longer active. He was prince Jessamine’s primary feeder, and now he’s gone.”

  Bronwen nodded. “You may go.”

  As soon as she stepped out, he pulled over the binders for Inactives and flipped through the pages. Only one sheet had a date stamp, or rather two date stamps, start and end. He gazed at Isaac’s single stamp. Very interesting.

  He stood and stretched as he gazed out of the window, and Anya appeared. She was quite attractive. Pure Ellowyn. Stealthy strength. Hair as black as a raven’s wing, except for one white streak. Still, composed features. Not a creature given to frivolity. At least Wen had done one thing right.

  As she neared the building, she looked up. The sun shone on the window, but she smiled as though he stood clearly visible in the glass. Her lips curled higher on one corner, her expression haughty and amused. The bitch. He ached to fire her, but he wanted Wen’s secrets. Her secrets. He clenched his fists and turned away, gaze falling on the statue again. Human? Was it Jessamine? One of the most seminal moments in Bronwen’s life had occurred on the day he’d learned the rank of the royal families. Shame had flooded him. The Wrythins were last. Maybe he could accept that, but Jessamine, that filthy crossling, was above him. The thing was an abomination.

  He turned back to the window and opened it. Anya, who’d continued on a few paces, stopped again. Hot with fury, Bronwen flashed his fangs in a grin, grabbed the statue, and hurled it outside. Anya wasn’t near it, he knew. He dropped his gaze, smile widening on Anya’s shocked face.

  Take that, bitch.

  The echo of glass shattering rang inside him like a song.

  A song he liked.

  5

  Letting Go

  Isaac stopped dead inside the chapel door. Vampires sat everywhere. Wonder if they even know who Marcus is? Isaac bet none of them had any idea. They were here to honor the king, not Marcus. But they filled the nave, and Isaac froze, not sure where to go until Dot put her arm around him and led him to one of the pews at the back where Dennis, Will, and Casey slid in. Before Isaac took his seat, Asa, who sat up front with the king, glanced back and patted the top of the bench, but Isaac shook his head, and Asa gave him a small smile before turning round again. It wasn’t that Isaac didn’t want to sit with Asa, but the front was too conspicuous, and he wanted to disappear during the service.

  He’d never been to a funeral before. Not Mateo’s. Not Mr. Wrythin’s. Of course, nobody would have invited him to Mr. Wrythin’s, and he wasn’t sure if Mateo had even had one. Mateo had only been a donor he’d barely even considered a friend, though Isaac had helped him hide from the killer Otto had been
after. Now he wondered why he’d never thought about a funeral for Mateo. Had anybody mourned him? He’d had a family, but he hadn’t gone home in a long time. Mr. Wrythin was important, and vampires had probably come from all over. These vampires were being polite, fulfilling their civic duty. Maybe he should have sat up front.

  Dot nudged him. “Big turnout.”

  “Yeah,” he murmured.

  “I don’t think Marcus would have been much impressed.”

  A smile pulled at Isaac’s lips. He leaned closer to Dot’s ear. “I bet he could give the eulogy, and they’d never know they were listening to a dead guy.”

  Dot grinned, and Isaac gazed around as another pair of vampires entered. These two appeared annoyed, the younger one wrinkling his nose as though something besides the scents of lilies and roses and wood polish clung to the air. The older one touched his arm, and they started down the middle aisle. When they found seats, the younger one surveyed the assemblage, glanced over his shoulder, and locked gazes with Isaac, who froze as though pinned. Do I know you? He looked vaguely familiar. The vampire narrowed his gaze, and a tiny smile touched a corner of his mouth before he faced forward again.

  Isaac shivered, and Dot pressed his shoulder with hers.

  “Are you feeling okay?”

  He swallowed and nodded. “Yeah, sure.” The space was muggy, to be honest. His skin was probably flushed, though Dot’s wasn’t. “I’ll be able to help after.”

  She shook her head as the door closed behind them, and a few more stragglers found seats. “You have today off.”

  He opened his mouth to argue when Otto appeared in the corner of his eye, making his way down the outer aisle to the front pew where the king and Asa sat. He had an arm stretched back, and Jessa held his hand, his red and gold-brown hair falling over the tattoo of a broken infinity sign on his neck. The mark of a drainer. Jessa surveyed the guests until he found Isaac and tightened his lips. Isaac shrank against the hard seat back.