by Laura Wright
But in seconds, his feet hit concrete and the ice-cold salt air of the Atlantic rushed at him, whipping Sara’s long dark hair against his face. He closed his eyes and his nostrils widened, taking in her blood scent. Normally, humans were cold, bland, lacking in spice, but not this one. She was scented with earth, a rich, hot blend that breathed desire into his lungs and, even though it was impossible, felt somehow familiar to him.
Beneath the half-light of the moon, Sara pressed herself closer to him and looked up, her stunning blue eyes curious, no longer wary. “It may be dark out, but I know this isn’t SoHo.”
As he gazed down at her, Alexander felt an ache run through him, from chest to groin. He wanted to stand on the icy path beside the tall beach grass and remain attached to her. He wanted her mouth against his, wanted to know what she tasted like. He could almost imagine it. She was a beautiful woman, yes, but it was her strength, her drive to be fearless in the face of something impossible and inhuman that made him crave her—made him want to crawl up inside of her and remain for days. It was a sensation he’d never experienced and it concerned him.
“Are we still in New York at least?” she asked, her eyes demanding the truth, yet promising to accept whatever the response was.
“We’re in Montauk,” he said.
“Long Island?” Her brows knit together. “Why?”
He reached up and touched her hair, her jaw. “A quick detour.”
“For what?”
He wanted to drop his head, have just one taste of her, the drug that might grant him a few minutes of calm to do what needed to be done this night.
“Listen, Alexander,” she said with a hint of frustration. “I’m here with you because I saw the logic in what you said back in my apartment, and because my number-one priority is survival. I’m admittedly scared of Tom, and I think you can keep him away from me. I’m not here because you’re forcing me or holding me captive. I’m here because I trust you.” She lifted one dark eyebrow. “I deserve the same.”
Yes, she was fearless. No one but his brothers made demands on him. “How did you acquire such an attitude?”
“What attitude?” She tried to look both confused and put out. “I’ve got an attitude?”
He chuckled. “That wasn’t an insult, Sara. You impress me with your candor. Where does it come from?”
“I don’t know. I suppose from surviving on my own for so long.”
“It made you strong.” It wasn’t a question.
“I think so. God, I hope so.”
He shifted his gaze, looked out into the black water beyond the sea grass. “For some it would’ve broken them.”
She laughed softly. “I’ve been broken, a few times, but I had something that kept me focused—someone who kept me going.”
Alexander’s head jerked back to her. “Who is this someone?” he demanded, his gut twisting. “A male?”
She nodded. “A man. Human.”
Jealousy roared through him, the sudden emotion taking him by surprise. He’d never felt possessive over a woman, and this one should be no different. Why was it, then, that he wished more than anything to rip the head from the man she spoke of with such softness and care in her tone?
Reaching between them, Alexander took her hand and led her toward the very gates he had run from a hundred years before. For now, she was his and whoever this man was, he had no place in this moment, this time.
“We’re here,” he uttered, his body rigid. It was risky bringing her to this place, he knew that, but he couldn’t help himself. He needed to keep her close. It was the only answer he had, and if he was forced to fight to keep her safe, he would.
“Here where?” Sara asked, looking from the iron gate before them to the eight-foot-tall and extraordinarily thick shrubbery that ran down both sides as far as the eye could see. “It looks restricted. Private property.”
“It is,” Alexander said.
Sara felt the misery in his tone, the weight of it. She looked up at him, his profile in the light of the moon. Easing pain came naturally to her, but what she saw etched in his features, the raw hatred there concerned her. Not for her own safety, but for the safety of whatever lay behind gate number one.
“Are you all right?” she asked him.
“Perfect,” he said, lifting his wrist to his mouth and baring his fangs.
Sara stared at him, momentarily captivated by his beauty and those pinpointed fangs. Then everything changed. Without a word, he pulled in a breath and struck his wrist, puncturing his vein.
Sara gasped. “Stop! Jesus.”
The blood that ran down his arm was the color of a beet. Sara watched it travel, utterly horrified. “What the hell are you doing?”
He moved closer to the gate and pressed his bloody wrist to one thick steel bar, ran it down the length. “Using my key.”
He pulled his arm away, then displayed the gash to Sara’s worried gaze. “Look now,” he said. “No harm done.”
His explanation did little to shut down the shock and panic running through her, but she watched as the cuts on his wrist sealed.
She released a breath she didn’t realize she was holding.
His eyes flashed. “It pleases me that you care, Sara.”
She frowned up at him. “You could’ve warned me.”
He inclined his head. “I’m sorry.”
There was a loud crack and Sara turned, watched as the gate opened at a snail’s pace.
“Am I safe here?” she asked Alexander.
“You will always be safe with me.” He eased her back against his side and together they entered the compound.
The first thing Sara saw was a snow-covered field that stretched so deep into the distance the moon didn’t catch its ending with her light. Anxiety, brought about by the unfamiliar, knocked around in Sara’s belly and she moved closer to Alexander as he guided them onto one of the dirt paths leading into a quiet wood.
It was a short walk through the cold, pine-scented forest, and when they emerged, Sara saw that they were in a little village. It was small, quiet, and so simplistically perfect looking that it felt as though they’d just walked onto a movie set. Sara was desperate to ask Alexander where they were and how this was possible, but she didn’t speak, felt that if she did the entire thing would vanish.
They continued, taking the path that went straight through the town square. Oil lamps lit the front porches of modestly constructed homes and businesses. People dressed in simple, almost period costume milled about, riding horses or walking in and out of what appeared to be a general store. Sara jumped slightly as one young girl stopped directly in front of them and gave a small squeak of fright as she stared up at the both of them.
“Off you go,” Alexander commanded softly, and the girl instantly turned away and took off down the lane, out of sight.
“What is this?” Sara asked, perplexed and fascinated at the same time. “Some kind of Amish town?”
“Not exactly. It’s called a credenti, a vampire community.”
Vampire community. The two extraordinary words rolled around in Sara’s brain, looking for a safe, real place to land.
“There are credentis all over the world,” Alexander continued, his voice devoid of all emotion now. “This is the one where I began my life.”
Sara looked up at him, curious by this new bit of information. This was his home, where he was born, and yet he looked as though he would rather be anywhere else. Despite her own flirtations with anxiety at the moment, she curled her arm around his waist, offering him whatever support she could. He growled low in his chest and leaned in to her touch.
As they walked, Sara eyed the people around them. They were completely covered from head to foot in homespun clothing. “Why is everyone dressed like that?”
“They remain in their own time,” Alexander said with a bitter edge to his tone. “The Purebloods and Impures that live within these walls and the walls of every other credenti are uninterested in the modern world and
her conveniences. Simplicity is how they must live—it is in what they wear, what they see, what they talk about.”
Sounded pretty restrictive to Sara, but she wasn’t the kind of person to knock someone else’s choices. She gestured to men and women walking past them. “There’s fabric wrapped around their throats and wrists.”
“Yes.”
“What’s that all about?”
“All males and females embrace the ancient ways and texts of the Order.”
“The Order?”
“The Eternal Order. Vampire law, vampire gods.” He sneered. “They are responsible for this. They determine how a vampire should live to remain pure inside and out. And until a vampire’s true mate finds him or her, the points on their bodies—neck and wrists—where blood is most commonly taken, are covered.”
Sara was pretty taken aback. It was so primitive. “And everyone here goes for that? Abides by the law?”
“If they wish to have a peaceful existence they do.”
“But you and your brothers—”
“Got the hell out,” he finished for her.
They continued down the street, passing homes with farmland behind them. Men and women—male and female vampires—continued to stare, their gazes ranging from shock to disgust to fear. Just like Alexander, they could easily pass for human in the looks department, but unlike him, they were bone thin and noticeably shorter than an average human.
Sara wondered why that would be, but the thought barely had time to register. Beside her, Alexander had stopped, his body frozen in place, a low feral sound erupting from his throat and filling the air around them. Sara had never heard such a sound; it was like an animal caught in a trap, and her heart suddenly ached for him. He was staring at something to his left and she followed his line of vision. There, a few feet away, standing in front of a small one-story home, was a male, a female, and a child, who appeared to be somewhere around twelve years old.
When she saw Alexander, the girl dropped her gaze to the snowy ground, but the male and female beside her stared at Alexander with looks of shock that quickly morphed into expressions of disgust. The November air chilled Sara to her bones, but it was nothing compared to the coldness that emanated from the two creatures before her. Every instinct, every nerve in her body screamed at her to run.
She dug her nails into Alexander’s waist. “Who is that?”
“The veana who gave me life,” he uttered, “and the paven who did everything he could to take it away.”
13
It had been a hundred years since Alexander had laid eyes on his mother and her true mate, Theydon, and yet their scent still made him sick. It was the scent of hate, of abuse, of neglect, and its pungent stench sent a wave of fury through what remained of Alexander’s soul. Had the Order set this up? Forced him to come here and prostrate himself at the foot of the very monsters who had driven him away?
Beside him Sara whispered, “They don’t look happy to see you.”
“This was a mistake,” he uttered tightly, his nostrils flaring, releasing angry little puffs of air like a bull in the winter night. “I’m a selfish prick.”
Sara looked up at him, her beautiful dark blue eyes confused. “What are you talking about?”
“I shouldn’t have brought you here.” The brands on his cheeks burned with an irritating pain. The need to keep Sara close and protected was nothing to this new need he had to keep her far away from the conversation he was about to engage in with his mother and her mate. “But it’s too late for regrets.”
“I thought you said I have nothing to worry about, nothing to fear,” she said.
He looked down at her, feeling like a gigantic ass for scaring her. “And you don’t,” he said assertively. “They won’t touch you.”
“Alexander . . .”
“Come, Sara, let’s finish this and get out.” He walked, Sara beside him, toward the threesome. Just moments before he reached the porch, his mother leaned down and whispered something to Evaline, his little sister, and she turned and ran into the house.
Alexander pretended not to care. She was his half sister and he’d met her only once when he was a balas . No doubt she’d been poisoned against him by the paven who stood before him now.
Theydon was at least six inches shorter than him and possessed half the muscle mass, but the cruelty and evil he’d shown to Alexander as a balas still burned brightly in the older paven’s blue eyes. The instinct to kill was strong within Alexander—to protect the young veana inside the house and the beautiful human who stood beside him outside of it. But this was not the time for vengeance. The future of his brothers was crucial and he needed information.
“Alexander.” Theydon’s raspy tone curled around Alexander’s neck and squeezed.
“In the flesh,” he said with true menace.
“We thought you were—”
“Dead,” Alexander finished for him, casting a quick glance at his mother. “Sorry to disappoint you.”
Theydon stepped in front of his veana. “You don’t belong here, sacro. What do you want?”
Alexander flinched at the ancient word for “filth”—the word Theydon had called him whenever he’d begged for blood through the bars of his cage. His fingers itched to wrap around the old paven’s neck.
“Why have you interrupted our nightly meditation—or are you just here to torment your mother?”
“I’ll leave her torment to you.”
His mother shook her head. “Really, Alexander, coming here after all this time, dressed that way, and bringing that ‘thing.’ ”
“Impure sacro,” muttered Theydon.
“You may address me in whatever way you choose,” Alexander warned the old paven, “but say another word about my woman and I will rip your head from your shoulders, regardless of the sacred ground and consequences from the Order.”
His mother gasped, put her head down, and started whispering an ancient plea to the Order.
Theydon put his hand on her shoulder. “Madeline—”
“He wishes to shame me. It has always been his greatest gift.”
“His only gift. It is his father’s blood that acts this way, not yours. Breeding Male witte.”
Alexander smiled darkly. Yes, his father was an “animal.” “And that animal is in me now, Theydon. So take care.”
Madeline’s brown eyes lifted to the brands on Alexander’s cheeks. “You have gone through morpho.”
“Yes.”
Disgust saturated her gaze. “Yes. Your size, your eyes, the marks on your face and wrists—the look of the monster, the rapist . . . Though you will not become a Breeding Male, your father is within you.”
Alexander heard Sara gasp beside him and he dropped his arm from her waist and went searching for her hand. It was the bond he needed, the strength he needed to stop himself from killing the pair before him. When he found her warm, willing palm, he squeezed it gently.
Theydon gestured to Madeline. “Go inside the house, Madeline. I will deal with your unwanted balas.”
With one last look at Alexander, Madeline turned and hurried up the steps.
When the door clicked shut, Theydon whirled on Alexander and hissed, “Why are you here, sacro witte?”
Dirty animal. Yes, indeed. “I seek the Hollow of Shadows.”
Disgust gave way to fear and awe within the old paven’s pale eyes. “The Order?”
“I need their location.”
“I don’t know it.”
“Don’t play with me.”
“Never. I do not wish to dirty my soul.”
Alexander dropped Sara’s hand and with the powers of morpho, shot forward, landing within a centimeter of the piece-of-shit paven who goaded him so easily. He spoke slowly and with deadly lucidity. “As you would have it, my hunger is never quelled, Stepfather, and when I look at you, the ache to rip you apart and feed on your unbeating heart is barely contained.”
The old paven shuddered. “Do not threaten me, witte.”
<
br /> “There is no threat, only fact. An animal will kill to survive.”
Theydon paused, seeming to consider his next move. “None of us can reveal the location of the Hollow of Shadows. We would be imprisoned for it. And I would never make such a sacrifice for you. You must find it on your own. Or not.” His gaze fell on Sara and he sneered. “Now, your human is stinking up our air. Pray, take her back to where you came from and do not return.”
Alexander’s fangs dropped low enough for his stepfather to see, but the older paven didn’t turn around and run. His steps were easy and calm as he made his way into the house, just as they had been centuries earlier as he’d left the outdoor cage and the starving, frozen balas huddled within it.
For Sara, the journey into the credenti had been a slow, vigilant one. The race out, however, was proving to be anything but.
Halfway through the woods, she stopped running, shrugged away from Alexander, and dropped at the waist, attempting to catch her breath. “I can’t . . . You’re going too fast.”
His face implacable, Alexander said nothing, merely scooped her up in his arms like she weighed less than a pine needle and continued down the path at a hectic pace. Sara dropped her head against his chest and watched the blur of snowy farmland whiz past. She wasn’t about to fight him or ask the dozen questions that licked at her curiosity after all she’d just heard. She knew he had to get out, breathe free again. It was an impulse she understood all too well.
When they finally reached the gate, Alexander bit into his wrist and slashed the gaping wound against the frozen iron. In seconds, the massive plates pulled back and Alexander flew through them, jetting across the roadway and into the thick beach grass. Clutching Sara tight against his chest, he faced the ocean and snapped his eyes shut. Before Sara could even take a breath, much less speak, they were off again, moving, flying, so high above the water the air grew ice cold, until—CRACK—they flashed downward and hit concrete.
Her heart beating with jackrabbitlike quickness, Sara lifted her head from Alexander’s chest and glanced around. She gasped. They were on top of a lighthouse, sixty feet or more in the air, on a balcony overlooking a dark, wild sea.
