by Laura Wright
“Fine,” Sara muttered. “Have it your way, but don’t say I didn’t try.”
Laughing, though it hurt like hell, Dillon envisioned the expression on Alexander’s face when she told him all about the momentary, innocent girl-on-girl action she’d had with his woman.
Yes, she mused, watching Sara return to her brother’s side. Busting Alex’s chops—good times.
On the roof of Walter Wynn Hospital, Alexander and Nicholas hovered over Tom Trainer’s dead body, good times as unattainable an idea as removing the Eternal Order from power. Time ticked loudly away, reminding Alexander that he had to retrieve Trainer’s memories before it was too late, before his brain shut down completely and Ethan’s hiding place remained a mystery.
Baring his fangs, he dropped his head and struck. He went deep, and directly into the temple. As a premorph he’d barely been able to break the skin without a brutal strike, now it was like a knife through butter.
A tunnel stretched out for miles in his mind, on both sides, still shots of memory played, one frame after the other. Alexander saw Tom as a child, playing on his lawn, Tom hiding in a closet, a rabbit in his lap, his hands encircling the poor creature’s neck.
“Easy, Alex,” Nicholas warned gently. “Don’t get emotionally involved in what you see. Concentrate.”
Circling around the memory, Alexander pressed forward, navigating around memories he did not need or want until he got to the recent past. When he saw Sara, he backed up, then slowed . . .
Yes. There we are.
Dare, sex, the town house, the battle with Alexander and his brothers, and the move to the new location. He centered in and sucked, Trainer’s blood memories flowing into him. It was quick and when he pulled out, the release of suction echoed in the freezing air as his mind quickly processed what he’d taken in.
Nicholas eyed him. “Taste good?”
“If you like sewer with a side of infection,” Alexander said, standing up, wiping his mouth with the sleeve of his coat.
“Did you get a location?”
Alexander shook his head. “Just visuals.”
“Could you make it out? Was it the city?”
Alexander walked to the edge of the roof, frustration stabbing at his gut. He couldn’t tell what the location was or where it was, yet it felt familiar to him somehow.
Nicholas jogged after him. “The ‘eyes’ have thirty minutes to collect. Maybe they’ll drop another piece of the puzzle.”
Maybe. Alexander stared out at his city, his mind working at hyperspeed. “Dare has a boss.”
“What? Who?”
Alexander shrugged. “Don’t know. Trainer didn’t know either.”
Nicholas lifted his brows. “Well, if that’s true, it explains the extraordinary power of a mere Impure. But how would the power transfer? Through blood?”
“We will ask, Duro.” He pulled Nicholas into his side, ready to flash. “Right before we kill him.”
36
Sara stood naked in front of the mirror in Alexander’s bedroom, her skin still damp from the shower. Tipping her chin up, she inspected the bruises on her neck, ran her hand over them, and swallowed. The throbbing pain had her gritting her teeth. No more fear, Dr. Donohue. Trainer’s dead—the threat of him gone for good.
And yet she remained here, in this house, his house.
“Cruel, cruel girl.”
“You’re back,” Sara said, the pleasure in her tone blatant.
Alexander came up behind her, dressed in black combat gear and looking like something the U.S. military would keep a secret from their enemies.
Grinning, he looked in the mirror at her. “How are you?”
“I’m not sure yet,” she said honestly.
“Your brother . . . ?”
“Is sleeping. He still won’t talk to me.”
“You’ll try again.”
“And again.” She smiled weakly. “What about you? How are you? What do you need?”
Wrapping his coat around her naked flesh, he breathed her in, then shook his head. “For now, I need your excessively brilliant brain. Some ideas, profiling.”
She liked that. “Okay.”
“After running from his previous residence, Ethan Dare continues to elude me. Trainer’s memories gave me little. I see room after room of simplicity, but it’s not an apartment or condo, and I can’t tell if he’s remained in the city or not.”
Sara let this information sink into her brain for a moment, then said, “Well, I think that after leaving his home—or feeling as though he was forced out of his home—he’d find somewhere completely opposite, somewhere he feels no positive connection to. In fact, he may have run to somewhere he could do real damage and not care.”
“Damage ...” Alexander nodded, his eyes heavy and thoughtful. “I’ll think on that, run it by my brothers.”
“Hey, Alex?”
His gaze lifted to hers, his expression surprised at what she’d called him. “Yes?”
Sara turned in his arms, looked up into his beautifully fearsome face. “I want you to do it.”
“Do what?”
“Take the memory from Gray.”
“But you—”
“I,” she interrupted passionately, “am a fake.”
With a soft growl of reproach, Alexander cupped her face. “No, Sara.”
“And a phony,” she continued, nodding. “You were right—back at the hotel. I am worried about the risks to Gray’s mind, but honestly I’m more worried about myself. Half of my life was paying for the accident I caused, the other half was spent trying to fix it. It’s like, what am I without the pain, you know? The guilt? What am I without the constant cause?”
“You are the woman I love.”
The woman. Not the veana. She’d never be his veana. Her heart stilled with momentary sadness, but she asked again, “Will you do it?”
He leaned down and brushed his lips over hers. “Yes.”
A loud rap on the door startled them both.
“The ‘eyes’ have come through, Alex,” Nicholas called through the wood. “We have a location.”
Alexander nodded at Sara. “We will talk of this more later.”
She didn’t want him to go, but she released him. “Be careful.”
“Of course.”
“No, I mean really careful. As in, don’t give Bronwyn anything that needs to be healed, okay?”
“Bronwyn has gone home.”
It was as though the sun had risen in her chest and she nearly squealed with happiness. “She has?”
He nodded, grinning. “She knew, as I always did, that we were not true mates.” He took her in his arms then and kissed her, hard and sweet, his tongue grazing her teeth. But when he broke away, his smile was gone, and his eyes registered concern.
“What is it?” she asked him.
“Nothing.” He frowned, backed up. “You will wait for me.”
She nodded. She wasn’t going anywhere.
Turning, he strode to the door, but when his hand reached for the handle, he froze. “Room after room,” he muttered. “A place he would hate, would want to destroy.” Then he suddenly roared, “That’s what I saw—the credenti!”
From the other side of the wood, Nicholas yelled, “Yes! How the hell did you know?”
37
Alexander flashed to the front gates of the Manhattan credenti, taking Lucian and Nicholas with him. Grazing his fangs against his wrist, he waited for the blood to flow. When it leaked red and strong from the puncture wounds, he ran it along the iron lock. As the gates disengaged and swung slowly back, Alexander readied himself, weapons drawn. His attempt to keep Sara out of his thoughts kept failing. Even as he ran, quietly and stealthily through the parklike setting inside the credenti grounds, he thought about his mouth on her, his tongue. He’d lapped at the tips of her teeth and had felt something . . . something disturbing, yet something that had made his body roar with lust.
A loose canine.
How was that
possible? Had she told him the truth about ingesting his blood—
“Two recruits at ten feet,” hissed Lucian as they headed away from the guards and past a small field of snow-dotted crops. “Shadows everywhere. Watch yourselves.”
Alexander resumed his course around the field.
Snaking to the right, Nicholas gestured with the barrel of his gun. “The Barracks.”
Alexander’s gaze shot to the long stretch of housing in the distance. Shit. That’s what he’d seen in Trainer’s mind. Row upon row of rooms . . .
“He’s holding members in there,” Alexander said. “Let’s go.”
Alexander took off at top speed, the brothers following him across the field, over a small rise before stopping short just a few feet from the Barracks doors. A line of at least ten recruits blocked their way—ready and waiting, weapons drawn.
“Kill or be killed, duros,” Alexander called as he ran straight at them, flying, firing, dodging knives and bullets, taking down two recruits before he was even on the ground again.
He leaped at a recruit, slamming them both to the icy grass, narrowly missing being skewered by the ten-inch blade in the Impure’s fist. He rolled them both until he was on top, then smashed his elbow into the male’s face, grabbed the knife, and plunged it into his heart. Flashes of gunfire echoed to Alexander’s left and he jumped to his feet, taking a quick assessment of his brothers and the damage done. Nicholas was firing on a cluster of three recruits who circled him, while Lucian was pounding his fist into an Impure’s side.
With four recruits dead, Alexander knew his brothers could handle the remaining six. He signaled to them, letting them know he was going in, going to find Dare, end this fucking nightmare once and for all. He stalked toward the Barracks, firing on one Impure who got in his path. But another bastard came from behind and ran his knife straight into the back of Alexander’s leg, grinding it all the way down to his calf. Hissing, Alexander reached back with his gun and took the Impure out with one shot to the head. Undeterred, limping slightly, he slammed the doors of the Barracks open and stalked inside.
Training his guns on anything that moved, Alexander passed by credenti living quarters, small, barely furnished rooms filled with veanas and pavens, Impures and Purebloods, all huddled together looking terrified.
Alexander sniffed the air.
Where are you? Where are you?
In one room he passed, a young veana around ten years old caught his gaze and gestured to the room across the hall. Alexander nodded at the brave one, then changed course.
But before he reached the door, a massive Impure jumped out and clocked him in the face, then triple punched him in the gut. Grunting, Alexander fought to stay upright, fought his desire to shoot the shit out of the Impure and the room behind him. He scented Dare, but the half-breed wasn’t alone. There were veanas , innocents with him, some heavy with their swell. He had to take the perfect shot.
He heard the scramble of feet, movement behind the huge Impure, and when the paven dove at him, two knives in his fists, Alexander slammed his head into the paven’s gut, then quick as a blink, reached around the male’s body with both Glocks and fired. Alexander heard a gasp, then a female’s terrified cry as Dare went down.
“Holy shit,” he heard Lucian snarl behind him.
Guns in his fist, Alexander rolled sideways, ready for more, but the huge Impure was up, rushing at Dare’s still body. Before Alexander could react, the Impure threw himself over Dare in a bear hug and they vanished.
“No!” Alexander roared, raising his guns and firing into the floor where Dare’s body had just been.
As the innocents scattered like rats, Nicholas grabbed Alexander’s wrists. “Stop. Christ. He’s gone.”
“The recruits!” Alexander shouted, whirling around, ready for Dare or his Impures to flash, return.
“All dead, Duro,” Lucian assured him. “It’s done.”
Breathing heavy, Alexander took in the sight before him, all the vampires in the Barracks, young and old staring at him with wide, frightened eyes. Was it done? Was it? He turned back to his brothers, who looked like they’d been playing soccer with their faces, and growled fiercely, “There’s no body.”
“They’ll have to know he’s dead,” Lucian said, eyeing Nicholas for confirmation. Nicholas nodded. “Dare was stone cold. The Order will know.”
Fuck, Alexander wanted to believe that. He stared at the both of them, his younger brothers whom he loved. Everything they’d known, everything they’d enjoyed for the past hundred years was gone. Peace had become war, and the days of self-governing had been given over to the ones who ruled without thought. The Order, the credenti, the Eternal Breed as a whole had become part of their lives now, and Alexander feared that even if he stopped the premorphing of his brothers, the connection to this old life and new world would not be severed.
“We need to take inventory,” he said, his tone commanding and controlled once again. “Sweep the entire area and make sure no recruits remain. Then we must see to the veanas and their balas, find out where they belong and to whom. After that, we’ll return home.” He turned his focus on Nicholas and frowned. “To wait and to watch.”
38
“You’re angry and confused. I get that,” Sara said gently. “I know you don’t want any more tests or pills or hypnosis. I’m done with all that, too.”
Gray’s eyes snapped up to meet hers. His attention at long last.
“Can you trust me this one last time?” she asked him. When he didn’t look away, Sara took a breath and continued. “My friend Alexander, he’s offered to help you.”
“That’s right, human” came a strong, clear masculine voice behind Sara. “You’d better buck up, because I’m coming for your blood.”
Sara looked up to see Alexander walking into the room, limping slightly as his injury attempted to heal from last night’s fight with Dare and his recruits. An hour ago, Dillon had given him her breath, but according to Leza the stab wound had torn cartilage and it needed a good twenty-four hours to mend properly.
“My brothers are coming to assist,” Alexander told her, though his eyes were on Gray. “Why not make it a party, yes?”
“A coming-out party,” drawled Lucian, strolling into the room, Nicholas behind him, both vampires looking like punching bags with eyes.
Sara noticed Gray’s attention shift from the blacked-out windows to the blackened eyes of the brothers. “Do we really need everyone?”
“Yes.” Alexander gestured to the pair. “Nicky, Lucian. Hold him down.”
Sara jumped up. “No, Alexander, please. He hates being contained like that.”
“Perhaps.” Alexander’s gaze was trained on Gray. “But not this time. Look.”
The pulse in Sara’s neck kicked, and she turned back to Gray. His eyes were on Alexander, his chin titled upward and his expression . . . She squinted. What was that in his metal gray eyes? Was that interest and a thread of . . . trust? Her heart lurched. God, how long had it been since he’d looked like that at her?
As he came to stand beside Gray, Alexander shook his head. “He knows he will fight, and he wants this done.”
“How do you know that?” Sara asked, her emotions running a race inside of her. Fear and hope battling it out for first place.
“Please trust in me, Sara,” Alexander said.
Nicholas and Lucian clustered around the bed, and Nicholas put a hand on Gray’s shoulder. “Easy now, Brother.”
Taking a deep breath, Gray stretched his arms out for the brothers to hold him. Sara’s mouth dropped open and she shook her head. He did know, he understood that whatever Alexander was offering might be the real deal. But how?
“You might want to turn away for a moment,” Alexander warned her, his hands gripping Gray’s skull.
“Not a chance,” Sara said, catching Lucian glancing her way, his devilish eyes flashing with begrudging respect.
Alexander struck quick, and Sara flinched as her brother
sucked in air, his body going instantly rigid. Please work, she begged silently, no longer giving a shit about her own sense of failure. She just wanted Gray to recover, to talk again, to have a chance at a real life.
Suddenly, his body jerked, and as the brothers pressed down on his arms and legs to keep him steady, Gray cried out and went into full-on convulsions.
Unlike Trainer’s rank blood and diseased mind, Gray’s blood was uncommonly sweet for a human, and his brain was open and ready. Alexander moved through the man’s memories with experience, pushing his way back in history, jumping rapidly until he snagged on to an image that carried emotional weight. It took only seconds to find what he wanted and veer off the cerebral roadway to see the young, undamaged pair of children he sought: Gray and Sara. The image of little Sara made Alexander’s chest tighten, and the temptation to remain and watch her climb a tree, her bare feet raking up the bark with the effortlessness of a monkey, was powerful. But he had sworn to take great care and speed within the head of her brother and so he pushed forward, flying through doors in time, one after the other until he came to a late-summer evening, a young Sara walking up the stairs in a pitch-black house, a candle in her hands.
“Go back to your room and stop following me, Gray,” she whispered behind her.
But the boy must have continued because Alexander was following Sara up the stairs and down a hall. At a closed door, she turned and put her finger to her lips. “Stay here,” she whispered. “I’ll be right back.”
Sara opened the door and disappeared behind it. Alexander felt Gray’s impatience, his concern. Then the door opened and Sara came rushing out clutching a book to her chest, the candle forgotten. “Got it,” she said excitedly. “It was under the bed.”
Gray rushed after her, down the stairs and toward their bedrooms. They were inside only a moment when chaos erupted in the house. Everything happened at once. Alexander smelled smoke, heard a male scream. He saw fire at the top of the stairs, then turned to see Sara. Her face was pale and terrified as she realized what she’d done. She pushed past Gray and ran toward the staircase, screaming and crying. But a woman came running in from another room and grabbed her, held her back.
