by Laura Wright
Pearl’s heart dropped. “What?”
“She’s here,” Alistair hissed harshly.
Pearl stopped protesting. “Who?”
“Your nosy little doctor. She’s just walking into the hospital now.”
Sara took the fire stairs two at a time, energy racing through her blood. For the first time in her career, she was both late for work and not sorry about it. She grinned, shook her head. Screw the “impossible.” She was going to live in it for a while, for as long as it felt like this. Last night and early this morning, something had been turned on inside her, a fresh wave of passion she hadn’t known she’d been missing.
She threw back the door and headed onto the fourth floor and to the keypad on the wall leading to the adult ward. She’d closed herself off all these years, turned herself off completely, maybe because she’d felt she didn’t deserve passion or release or anything that gave pure pleasure until her brother could have those things as well.
Whatever the answer, tonight, instead of going home to an empty apartment and an empty bed, she would go home to Alexander. And anyone who had an objection to that could just suck it.
She was down the hall and nearing her office when Claire stopped her, motioned for her to come over to the nurse’s station.
Sara walked over, grabbed her messages from her box. “What’s up, Claire?”
“You said you wanted to know when Pearl McClean had a visitor.”
A strange sensation coiled through Sara. “Yes.”
“About thirty minutes ago.”
“They’re still here?”
“He,” Claire corrected, popping a Certs in her mouth. “He’s still here.”
“The boyfriend?” Sara asked, her body on alert now.
“Yep.”
Shit. Dropping her notes on the desk, Sara turned and headed back toward the juvenile ward. What was the mother’s boyfriend doing visiting the girl alone? Did the mother even know about it? As Sara hauled ass through one ward into the other, she knew this wasn’t about pseudostepfather types in general—this was about this particular man. Everything in her gut told her something sketchy was going on with that relationship and she should’ve blocked the man from visiting without the mother, even if it got her in some legal hot water.
When Sara arrived at the visitors’ room and saw that it was empty, she cursed and headed over to the nurse’s station, asked the male nurse behind the desk, “Pearl McClean’s visitor? Is he gone?”
The man nodded. “Left about five minutes ago. She’s back in her room now.”
Sara released a breath of frustration. Great. “Can I have her chart?”
“Sure thing.” The nurse thumbed through the stack on his desk, pulled one and handed it off. “Here you go.”
“Thanks.” Sara took a quick look-see. “There are no labs in here.”
The nurse shrugged. “Maybe they’re backed up downstairs.”
“They’re always backed up downstairs,” Sara said with a grin, pushing away from the desk. She wanted to get a look at the girl’s blood—see if anything was low, see if any drugs were in her system. When she got to Pearl’s door, she knocked once before heading in. Pearl’s roommate wasn’t around, and Sara was grateful for the moment of private time. Pearl was lying on her bed facing the wall, her body coiled up like a shrimp, and Sara went over to her and sat on the edge of the bed.
“Pearl?”
Nothing. She didn’t even move.
“Pearl?” Sara repeated, a bit more forcefully now. “I need to speak with you, and the longer you ignore me and don’t say anything, the longer you’re going to remain under my care.”
Again, the girl lay silent and still. For a moment, Sara wondered if she was actually sleeping. Then in a low, angry tone Pearl muttered, “Why did you have to come in today?”
“It’s my job,” Sara said evenly.
“Well, you ruined everything.”
“Why? What happened? Was it your mother’s friend? His visit?”
“Yes.”
I swear, if that piece of shit touched her . . . “Can you tell me what it was that upset you?”
“You,” Pearl uttered with a true bite to her tone. “You upset me.”
Sara shook her head, trying to connect the pieces. “I don’t understand.”
“Can’t you just leave me alone?”
“No, I can’t. I think you’re in trouble and hurting, and it’s my job to help you.” Sara placed a hand on the girl’s shoulder. “Please let me help you find a way out.”
Pearl jerked her shoulder away, and still facing the wall, fell silent. For a full twenty minutes, Sara sat at the girl’s side hoping she’d reveal something more, but she didn’t. Finally, Sara left the room and headed for the stairs. She had a date with some brain cells in the research lab next door to the hospital, another patient who’d had serious past trauma. But as she headed into the stairwell, her mind wasn’t far from Pearl and the anger the girl had for what she believed was Sara’s interference in the relationship she had with her mother’s boyfriend. Sara made a mental note to call Melanie, Pearl’s social worker, and to try the mother again, get her in for a session ASAP. And if that didn’t fly, she mused, walking down the stairs, she was going to go to the residence. Home visits weren’t policy, of course—but rules rarely stopped Sara when she was looking for an answer.
Aboveground, the sun was attempting to push its way through the clouds and melt the snow on the sidewalks. Belowground, huddled inside his cage, naked and cold, Alexander fed on warm cow’s blood until he felt his insides clog. The blood tasted like battery acid and did little to curb his hunger, but he refused to give in to what he truly required—what he truly desired. Even during bouts of intense hunger, before his body went through morpho, the cow’s blood had sustained him well enough, given him the amount of energy he needed to live and work unfettered among the humans.
But now . . . his body required so much more, not to mention someone else entirely.
He let his head drop back against the stone. He needed rich, ancient, life-sustaining blood—he needed to drink from his true mate and he wasn’t sure how long he could hold out without finding her. It was how he was constructed, and if he continued to go against his nature he would either starve to death or lose his shit completely and hunt down any female unlucky enough to cross his path. Including Sara. He knew he should speak with Bronwyn, search her skin and see if her claims were true, or just ask her for a pity feed. But he just couldn’t do that to her . . . to Sara.
His insides coiled in pain, in desperation, crying out that he had no loyalty to Sara, no promise to keep himself away from another’s vein. After all, he could feed from one and please the body of the other, couldn’t he?
But Sara would never accept that. He knew her now. He’d seen her desire for him, felt it as her hand had fisted his cock in the ultimate display of ownership. She wanted all of him.
Fucking hell. Didn’t she get it? She was human and could never feed him or feed from him, not if she wanted to keep her soul and her heart pure. His body stirred, his cock too, at just the thought of her with her own set of fangs, puncturing his skin, drinking straight from his heart, taking long pulls of his blood into her mouth as he nuzzled and suckled at her sweet cunt.
His jaw clenched to the point of pain and he got up, pulled on his clothes. He was done here—until the next feed, whenever and whatever that may be. Maybe Nicholas and Lucian had a point, he thought as he left the cage. Maybe Sara needed to go, just as much for her own protection as his sanity. But even as he said the words in his head, he knew he’d never allow it.
He ran down the tunnels, causing the Impures who were on guard to thrust their heads down. Once inside the house, he went up to her room and sat in the darkness the heavy, custom-built shades provided.
As the luscious scent of the orgasm he’d given her just hours before drifted up from the bedsheets to his nostrils, he dropped back into his chair and closed his eyes. He would onl
y stay a minute or two, he mused, his hand sliding down between his legs, wrapping around his prick.
Tonight was the night that Dare would die, that his brothers would be freed of the Order, that Tom Trainer would see hell, and if he, Alexander, allowed it, the night his beautiful woman left his life for eternity.
25
“Even as adults we are constantly growing new brain cells. The sample of this man’s cells showed that as his doctor attempted to suppress his past trauma with certain noninvasive treatments, a heavy collection of youthful active cells were provided to the brain. I want to try this with you, then get you back in that MRI for the seven days.”
Sara stood at the edge of Gray’s bed, her coat on, bags over her shoulder. It was late and she was tired, but she was hoping her words, her request would have some effect on him. Even just a hint of hope in his hopeless expression would do it for her right now. Unfortunately, as Gray stared up at her, there was nothing but frustration in his eyes.
“Don’t you see,” she said, trying like hell to sound enthusiastic. “If enough new, young cells were created, perhaps they’d tamp down the memory, or rewrite it.”
He looked down at his fire-ravaged hands and shook his head. A boulder of despair rolled through Sara in that moment.
“You just don’t care anymore, do you?” she said, glancing out the window at the black night and the lights of the city, then back again to her brother. “Well, that’s fine. I’ll just have to keep caring for you.”
She saw his jaw tighten, his fists too, and she nodded.
“Okay, I’m going. I’ll see you in the morning.”
She left the room and headed for the elevators with a heaviness around her heart she hadn’t felt since those early days after the fire. Sure, she’d always experienced anger and frustration and guilt during her school years and into the first years of Gray’s therapy, but it fueled her study and gave her reason to be optimistic about her abilities.
Lately this feeling of impending doom, possible failure hovered in the air around her . . .
Night loomed cold and black as she walked out of the hospital. When she spotted the town car at the curb, she headed straight for it, relief filling her, a grateful smile playing sadly about her mouth. It had been a long, difficult day, and the thought of going home to Alexander filled her with a deep sense of hope and pleasure.
The driver nodded as she climbed inside and took the seat opposite Dillon, who was wearing a white shirt, charcoal gray pantsuit, and black leather heels, and was, as usual, neck deep in the Wall Street Journal. The veana clearly loved the news.
“You’re getting smarter by the minute, human,” Dillon drawled.
Sara settled back against the leather seat and yanked off her scarf. “Gee, thanks, Dillon.”
“Don’t get me wrong—I admire your commitment to being a pain-in-the-ass renegade, but not having to force you into the car makes way less work for me.”
“Well, I aim to please.”
“Really?”
“No.”
Dillon snorted, then tossed the paper on the seat beside her. “So what do you do in that hospital all day? Shrink heads?”
“That’s a human joke. You sure you want to fall that far?”
“Can’t help it. It’s the company I keep these days.”
“Well, you’re watching me. You see what goes down, what I do.”
Dillon shrugged. “Looks like a lot of pushing paper and pill-popping nut jobs to me.”
Sara cocked her head to the side, narrowed her eyes. “Where are you actually going when you should be watching me? Starbucks?”
The veana grinned. “The one on 34th and Lex makes a mean carotid frap.”
Sara laughed. “Nice. Vampire humor. I like that.”
Dillon’s grin flickered. “You do spend a lot of time with that man.”
“What man?” Sara asked, glancing out the window as they passed one of her favorite delis.
“The young one,” Dillon continued. “With the dark blond hair and impatient eyes.”
Sara turned back. Normally, people described Gray by the burns on his hands, never by the expression in his eyes. But then again, Dillon was neither a person nor normal. “He’s a patient, and some patients need a little bit more of my time and attention than others.”
“That all it is, huh?” Dillon said, her tone casual.
“Of course. What else would it be?” Before Dillon could speculate, Sara changed the subject. “So, how’s the training going?”
“With the guys?”
“Yeah.”
She shrugged again, looking bored. “They’re not totally inept.”
Sara laughed. “That’s good. So did you work the whole time or did they have some downtime? Do they get breaks?”
The veana’s eyes narrowed. “The Romans don’t require ‘breaks.’ ”
“Okaay. Good to know.”
“They stopped to change weapons, however.”
Sara brightened. “Any chatting going on during that time?”
“Chatting?” Dillon repeated, pronouncing the word like a high-class Brit. “Sure there was chatting. It was during teatime and right before instruction on skipping.”
The heavy sarcasm in Dillon’s tone made Sara smile and shake her head. “I just wanted to know if he said anything about me, okay?”
“Who?”
“Alexander.”
“Oh, fuck me.” Dillon dropped back against her seat as the car made a quick stop at a light. “I don’t owe him for this.”
Sara put up her hands in surrender. “Forget it. Sorry I asked. And before you even go there—yes, I am ten.” She turned away, stared out the window.
They drove the last five blocks in silence, and when they came to a halt in front of the house, Sara got out quickly and hightailed it up the sidewalk. Dillon followed. When they reached the door, she released a weighty breath. “Hey. Human.”
Sara glanced over her shoulder. “What?”
The veana shook her head as though she couldn’t believe she was actually about to say what she was about to say. “He said, ‘Let anything happen to her and I’ll shackle your fangs and leave your ass in Mondrar for the next century.’ ”
“What’s Mondrar?”
“It’s like jail for vampires. Controlled by the Order.” She shook her head and uttered tightly, “It’s not good.”
Sara grinned with pleasure. “Really? He said that? He said he’d do that to you?”
Dillon snorted. “As if he could manage it.”
“Thanks, Dillon,” Sara said with a laugh.
Cursing, the veana pushed past her and opened the front door. “You know, you’re both fools,” she muttered, waiting for Sara to enter. It wasn’t a question.
“Yes, I know.” Sara lifted her brow as Dillon shut the door. “See you later?”
“Not if I see you first,” she called back, heading into the living room.
At nine o’clock that night, Brooklyn hummed with traffic and pedestrian life, but on Clark Street in Boerum Hill the only ones driving or walking past Ethan Dare’s residence were prostitutes and those looking to score drugs. His three-story town house appeared to be a boarded-up crack house, complete with pipes, plastic baggies, and dirty spoons that littered the snow-covered front yard.
Alexander stood across the street in the shadow of a cherry tree admiring the half-breed’s ability to not only vanish with a group of dinner guests, but to mask the exterior of his home so well. How the little Impure prick was managing something only a morphed Pureblood was capable of was anybody’s guess—maybe he’d ask him before he killed him.
“I say we go in weapons drawn,” said Lucian, who was beside him. “I doubt anyone on this block would give a shit.”
Nicholas snorted. “Might even think we’re cops.”
“We go in fast and quiet,” Alexander said in a clipped, authoritative whisper. “One goal. Ethan Dare. I want his body brought before the Order tonight.”
&nb
sp; Jaw tight, Nicholas nodded.
Lucian too. “Yes, sir.”
They nearly flew across the street. Avoiding the front of the house, they hustled around to a side window, where Nicholas made quick use of his blade, cutting through a thick layer of cardboard. He yanked the brown paper back, revealing a wall of wood planks that looked damn sturdy. He growled low in his throat. Yes, this would keep the crackheads out and the vampires in . . . He gestured to Lucian, and when Nicholas stepped back, Glock at the ready, the pair kicked the shit out of the boards until they had a hole wide enough to get through.
In a flash, Nicholas had the head of his gun inside the hole, ready for whatever lay in wait. Detecting heartbeats, Alexander twisted his mouth into a wicked grin and he gestured for his brothers to follow him.
“Aim well and spare all innocents,” he whispered as he stalked, hunched over, through the crawl space and into the room. Courtesy of his species, his eyes quickly adjusted to the darkness, his retinas flipping on their internal light.
“Un-fucking-believable,” Lucian uttered, taking in the art-deco room with its polished fixtures, expensive furniture, and crystal chandelier. “Just like our place. Wreck outside, palace inside.” He turned to glare at Alexander. “How is this possible? Dare’s got to be getting help from a Pureblood.”
Alexander agreed, but he didn’t have time to toss out ideas right now. He was sensing activity, slow heartbeats above him. Purebloods had no pulse, but Impures did. And humans too—he could scent them. He motioned to Nicholas. “We take each floor together; cover me. Lucian, take Nicky’s back.”
Grabbing the Glock from the small of his back, Alexander took the lead as they inspected each room on the first floor, just in case Dare was hiding. When they found nothing and no one, they headed for the stairs. Yes, Alexander mused, his fangs twitching as he climbed, heartbeats and scent were stronger this way. His finger hovered near the trigger. He was a perfect shot, no way could he miss unless Dare and his recruits pulled another disappearing act.
