by CJ Ellisson
Just as he’d be able to find her, she’d now be able to find him, leaving him vulnerable to the delicate human.
And he couldn’t care less.
Still panting with his release, he stared down at her and wondered if he’d ever get enough of her lovely body. More importantly, her blood.
Her eyes had drifted closed and her breathing had evened to a slow, contented pattern. He’d have to release her, return her to her home. No matter how much he detested the idea.
“Sleep, little bird.” He slid in a bit of compulsion, wanting her to slumber through the next few hours.
Griffin would return her to her life. He had no other choice.
Chapter Three
Griffin snarled at the Novice who opened the door to Carac’s home. His hunger, primal and fierce, rode him harder with every step he took. With each day, the need for Wren grew, destroying every thought, every bit of focus he managed to grasp.
Two weeks. It’d been two weeks since he’d released his little bird and still he craved her like no other. He remembered the delicate, sweet taste of her blood as he took her, possessed her body and relished her surrender.
And he’d released her as law demanded.
Fuck.
He could find her though. Find her and…
He bared his teeth at the scurrying maid who crossed his path, hissing as she darted down the hallway. They should scurry. All of them. They should run and find his Wren.
“Griffin, quit being an ass and get in here. Now.” Carac’s voice cut through Griffin’s thoughts, the compulsion to follow his Sovereign’s words unmistakable.
It was rare that their Sovereign, their leader and center of their Ring, would compel another. But Griffin could not refuse. The man’s power was far beyond any others in Atlanta and he couldn’t defy the vampire even if he desired.
Griffin stiffened, but turned to follow the other man’s voice, boots thumping on the gleaming marble floor as he moved toward the library. Two steps into the room and he narrowed his eyes, suspicious at finding four members of their Ring scattered throughout the room. At least Carac hadn’t gathered them all.
Liam was pouring himself a drink at the bar, the man rarely without a glass of alcohol in hand. Brom, the “brain” of their group, perused the shelves. Griffin knew that Carac kept book cases freshly stocked for the vampire. Simond was sprawled across one of leather couches, hat pulled low over his face. The position seemed relaxed, uncaring, but Griffin knew better. The vampire was primed and ready to strike, body always prepared for whatever was to come.
“Sit.”
The compulsion again, the metaphysical order for Griffin to do as demanded. Gritting his teeth, he did as commanded, lowering his tense frame into a soft club chair, gripping the arm rests with claw-tipped hands.
Carac sat across from him, fingers loosely twined as he rested his elbows on his knees. The man, the vampire who’d seen centuries spanning from the crusades, stared at him, intense knowledge in his gaze.
“I don’t want to Release you, Griffin, but I will.”
Griffin’s heart thumped in his chest, slamming against his ribcage and he rubbed his sternum. He couldn’t be Released, turned to ash and poured into the sea. No. That would leave Wren alone. He hadn’t stalked her, not as he’d desired, but he had others keeping her under watch. She was safe. That’s what mattered. He couldn’t have her, but he protected her. Even if from afar.
“No.” He snarled, fangs full and descended, craving the blood of the vampire who dared to threaten him, threaten his ability to keep Wren out of harm’s way.
Carac leaned back in his seat, fingers forming a steeple as the knowledge of centuries lurked behind his eyes. “You’re riding the edge, Griffin. You know you are. You’ve slaughtered every Broken you’ve come across—”
“That’s my job.” He growled.
“It is. But it’s not the Novice’s job to scrub an alley from top to bottom because the blood of a banshee coats every surface when you lose control. It’s not my job to watch you after you’ve ripped the throat out of a harpy and ingested her blood. It’s not Liam’s job to restrain you when you try to venture near 6th and Lawrence. Nor is it Brom’s responsibility to keep you from starving.” Carac leaned forward once again. “It could all be forgiven, almost understood as you’ve passed your three hundredth year. I believed it was time for you to go to ground for a few years and rest, but then I spoke with Simond…”
Griffin couldn’t breathe. Yes, he’d lost control with the banshee. The woman had screamed Wren’s name as he’d approached. The single syllable resonated through his mind, clouded his thoughts until he could think of nothing but destroying death’s omen. He couldn’t be blamed for protecting his little bird.
And then the harpy… It had been yet another that threatened his Wren with a violent death, promising to drag his sweet into the streets and feast on her.
Eating. He craved nothing but Wren. Nothing. Any other blood tasted like trash, the vilest of liquids ever created. He’d been presented with any number of humans, young and old, pure of heart and evilest of men, but they’d all disgusted him. It took nothing but the tiniest of sips before the need to vomit overtook him. The Protectors’ constant hunting required frequent feedings, but no one appealed to him. No one but Wren.
Then there was Simond. The single vampire who could bring his world tumbling down. That single moment of salvation could mean his end. Literally.
“Simond needs to keep his mouth shut.” Griffin bit off the words.
“Simond’s words are the only thing saving your ass right now.” Carac’s voice was soft and deadly serious. “Simond told me about the woman, Griffin. She had been attacked by pixies, was dying and you broke our laws to save her.”
Griffin gritted his teeth and glared at Simond. “Yes.”
“How many exchanges?”
A single question, so difficult to answer. Would one leave him alive? What about two? Would it ensure his Release?
Pained beyond measure, Griffin broke Carac’s stare and turned his attention to the shelves beyond his Sovereign. The truth. He could never lie to the other vampire. “Two.”
“I see. Two full exchanges?” Carac waited, face impassive.
Griffin nodded. Sipping a human, using them as food, was accepted, but giving her his blood in return was beyond forbidden.
“And how do you feel about this woman?” Carac’s voice held no inflection.
“Wren,” he corrected. “Her name is Wren. And she’s…” There wasn’t a word for his feelings. The blood in his veins? The beat of his heart? The center of his soul? His emotions transcended romantic love. She didn’t just belong to him. He simply couldn’t live without her. “She’s mine.”
The whiz of a book heading his way snagged Griffin’s attention and he plucked it from the air, shooting a glare at Brom.
“No shit, Sherlock. Wanna know what the fuck you’re doing to yourself?” Brom flung another tome at him and he repeated the process, snatching it from its path.
“Brom.” Carac’s voice held a warning, but it seemed the other vamp was ignoring their Sovereign’s tone.
“What? I finally get to be useful as something other than clean-up or destroying Broken and I’m sure as shit gonna get the most out of it.” Brom let one final book fly and then strode toward them, slumping into a nearby chair.
Griffin curled his lip, exposing a single fang. A glance at the books in his lap revealed three titles written in what could have been Latin…but not quite. He’d never been big on languages. The covers were solid, yet unmarred, pages stiff from lack of use. Old words, but new books. “What’s this, man?”
“The reasons Carac hasn’t lopped off your head.” Brom smirked at him. “I’m ready for you to bow before me whenever you are.”
Griffin snorted and took a closer look at the pages he held, thumb tracing the words gracing the cover. “Explain.”
“Those, puppy…”
Griffin glared, b
ut didn’t interrupt.
“…are translations of a few ancient scrolls currently residing Rome. Not the ones that have been sanitized by the Ancients along the way, but originals.”
“Translations? I know a little Latin, but this shit is—”
“No interruptions.” Carac cut him off.
“Damn straight, man.” Liam bust in. “Brom’s been saving up for something like this for years.”
A glare was passed around by Brom, but the vamp continued. “It’s actually Old Latin, translated from Sumerian. The point is—”
“That’s fuckin’ old.”
“Carac.” Brom’s face had reddened. Griffin had never heard that particular growl from his brother Protector before.
“Silence, Griffin. Before I decide to follow through with my original plans and find a lovely beach.” Carac smiled, a blood-chilling row of teeth revealed, capped off with lengthening fangs.
Griffin swallowed past the dryness in his throat. He’d behave and wouldn’t give his Sovereign a reason to Release him.
Brom resumed his explanation. “As I was saying. The texts were originally recorded in Sumerian and I had a friend visit the tombs and, uh, borrow them for a while. He translated them to Old Latin since he’s old. Plus, not many speak the language and it’d be difficult to translate had someone gotten a hold of the books. The gist is… Wren is your Fire.”
Silence descended, the quiet surrounding the room in a blanket of stillness and Griffin’s thoughts whirled within his mind.
“Come again? That’s a fairytale. A myth. A flimsy excuse the Broken vampires use to justify exchanging with humans and forever binding them.”
Carac drew his attention then, leaning toward him, eyes intent. “It’s not a myth. It’s reality. The Ancients recorded our history and along the way, politicians distorted the truth. From what Brom has discovered, the Broken vampires did take advantage of humans long ago and violated our laws under the guise of hunting for their Fire. In retaliation, humans who’d been partially bound had begun hunting and killing those vampires. At the time, it was decided that rewriting history was necessary and exchanges were outlawed. But a vampire’s Fire is real, Griffin. And, based on Brom’s research, and your behavior, you’ve found yours.”
* * *
Wren shivered and clutched her cup of coffee, hugging it close and spreading her fingers to absorb the heat. She was so freakin’ cold. And if she wasn’t cold, she was hot. Her body bounced between the two ends of the spectrum, refusing to even pause in between.
In the last two weeks she’d been to two doctors along with one lovely visit to the emergency room. So far, no one had been able to tell her what was wrong. Though, she had endured a fun conversation where a doctor told her there was nothing to be ashamed of if she was going through alcohol withdrawal. There were places that could help her…
Physically, they hadn’t found anything wrong, but Wren knew she just wasn’t right.
The buzz of the intercom forced her to release her mug and she poked at the phone, answering her admin Lynn’s page. “Yes?”
“A Mister Pinxton is here for you, Wren. He’s a walk-in. Should I make an appointment? I know you’re not feeling too hot.”
Actually, at the moment, she was all about the hotness. “No, it’s fine. Have him complete the intro packet and I’ll be out in five minutes.” In today’s real estate market, Wren had to jump on any leads that came her way. The rhythmic buzz of Wren’s cell phone snagged her attention and she glanced at the screen and winced. “Make it ten. Tell him…something that doesn’t make me look like an ass. I’ve gotta take this other call.”
“Sure thing, boss.”
Releasing the button on her desk phone, she snatched up her cell and answered. “Hey, Tory. What’s up?”
Look at her, she could pretend to be all perky and everything.
“So, I’ve been looking into our little problem.”
“Is that the royal ‘our’?”
“Shaddup. I’m talkin’ here.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Wren slumped into her chair. “Carry on.”
“Bitch. Anyway. It’s all the vamp’s fault.”
Wren snorted. “Because I got vamp-nookie-defied I’m sick?”
“Yes, I’ve been reading and—”
She couldn’t hold back her groan. Reading. It was one of Tory’s things. If she didn’t understand something, hell, if she was curious, she hunted and dug until she was satisfied. The woman had taught herself several languages. It started with Korean because she found those soaps interesting. Then web and graphic design because she thought it’d be neat to have a pretty website even though she didn’t really need one. It got even better when she discovered fun tricks to do with a bank’s computers.
“I’ve been reading and—”
“On Snopes dot com?” Because she could believe what she read on Snopes. It was like, unstupify people gospel or something.
“—and I think you’re, like, addicted to the fang-flinger now.”
“Fang flinger?”
“Do you prefer Count Suckula? Oh, Sucktastic One?” Tory huffed. “We could go with the standard Bite-n-Banger, but I didn’t think you’d appreciate that one since you’re in this situation ‘cause he, uh, bit and banged.”
“Right. Let’s go with Count Suckula then.” The last thing she needed was the greatest night of her life (evah) thrown in her face. Especially since said best night evah ended with her waking in her apartment. Alone. And sticky.
“Good. So, Count Suckula did some weird, voodoo blood exchange thingie and now you are jonesing for your next fix. This is withdrawal or something.”
Wren scrunched her face. “God, the doc who thought I was going through alcohol withdrawal was almost right.” She sighed. “So, I just have to work through this and I’m golden? How long do your little vamp-chaser friends think it’ll take before I get over this?”
“Hey, we prefer Vampstorians. And I’m the founding member and president of the Atlanta chapter.” Tory sounded haughty enough that she figured that pronouncement deserved a little something.
“Um, congratulations? Oh! Is this a membership of one by any chance?”
“You’re a bitch, you know that? I love you, but you suck.”
Wren giggled. “No. That’d be those peeps you hang out with. I’m all about blow—” Her desk phone buzzed, cutting off the rest of her thought. “Gotta go, chickie. I’ll call you later to finish talking about Count Suckula.”
Ending her call with Tory, she answered her admin. “Is Mister Pinxton ready?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Perfect. Maybe she’d find something for this guy and snag a decent commission out of it. “Go ahead and bring him on back.”
In mere moments, Lynn brought back the second most gorgeous man she’d ever seen. Griffin being the first. Even if he was a blood-sucking, undead asshole.
Not that she was bitter or anything.
This guy had Griffin’s height, but not his build. Mister Pinxton was slim, body like a swimmer, hiding all the strength that she was sure he possessed. His hair was a deep red, almost burgundy, and his eyes were a bright, shining green, drawing her in as their gazes clashed.
It felt like he dragged her to him and held her fast with those near glowing eyes. “Hello, Miss Minix.”
Well, then.
His voice had a musical quality, soothing and tempting at the same time. She was sure that if she hadn’t had Griffin on the brain twenty-four seven, she would be an aroused puddle at this man’s feet.
“Nice to meet you, Mister Pinxton.”
He extended his hand and she accepted the gesture, blushing when he brought her hand to his lips and brushed a kiss across her knuckles. “Hyde, please. And it is very nice to meet you. Now that I’ve found you.”
Well, hello then. “Have a seat and we’ll see what we’ve got that may interest you.”
“Oh, I’m sure you do. You are truly beautiful, Wren. Such a pretty little bird.”<
br />
Wren felt a flush of heat sear her cheeks, a true blush instead of the roaring heat that had been attacking her over the past weeks. She ignored the use of her first name. Hell, it was printed on the plaque outside her office and at the top of all the stationary. But little bird…the two words reminded her of Griffin and an ache speared through her chest.
“Right.” She took a moment to read through the outline of his needs and then turned toward her computer, ready to search through the MLS listings. “I think we may have a few homes that will meet your criteria.” She turned toward Hyde. “Would you like to go through them now or would you like me to email you links to the listings? We can, of course, setup appointments for viewings as well. Whichever you prefer.”
Hyde rose, towering over her and she immediately stood in response. He reached into his jacket and pulled out a business card which she took automatically. “Here’s my card. It has my private office line as well as my other contact information, including email. Send me the listings you find and we’ll go from there.”
His smile, one that she’d found attractive moments before, seemed forced, strained. And were his teeth pointed?
Holding the card, she flipped it over, spying the promised info. But…it seemed to glow. Even in the bright light it sparkled, swirled and shone. What the…
Wren opened her mouth to ask about the odd glistening, but was cut off by a growling snarl.
“You won’t be going anywhere with her.” Her attention bounced from the piece of paper in her hand to the doorway and the tension she’d been carrying for weeks immediately fled.
“Griffin.” She sighed. Her Griffin. She’d remember to be pissed at him for the whole addiction thing later. If that’s what it was. Then again, considering her sudden relaxation and relief at being in his presence, she was voting for the addiction.
The vampire stalked toward her, nudged her back from her desk and put himself between her body and Hyde’s.
