Sons of Navarus Box Set #1

by Scott, K. M.

  Her words enflamed his desire as much as the feel of her body against his, and he rolled her onto her back to take her. God, he wanted this! To be inside her, her body, his body taking and giving until neither knew where one ended and the other began would make everything else disappear, at least for a few moments.

  Hovering over her, he let his gaze travel over her pale skin so similar to one of his kind. Beneath him, she arched her back to touch her body to his. So sweet, so willing.

  The thought of turning her burned in his brain as he slid his cock into her wet channel. Each thrust into her made the idea something he didn’t want to dismiss with his usual excuses.

  Perhaps he’d found the woman who could make him forget his past.

  The feel of her hands holding him to her—needing him—filled him with joy. While he could turn her if he chose, a willing partner would mean far more to him.

  “Janelle,” he whispered as he stilled inside her. “Stay with me.”

  For a second she was silent. Had she understood his meaning?

  Wrapping her legs around his waist, she held him tightly inside her. “Declan, take me. Make me your vampire.”

  The thrill of her words shot through his body, and his fangs slammed into his mouth. It had been years since he’d sired a vampire, but instinct surged in his veins, and the need he fought every night took hold of his very being. Like a creature with a singular purpose, he sunk his teeth into her neck and drew her warm blood into his mouth.

  “Oh, Declan…this feels…don’t stop,” she whimpered as he took everything she was into himself. “Make me yours for every night.”

  Every night. She would be his to take care of every night. He would do it. Finally, after all those years, he could be a proper sire.

  Don’t do this, Declan.

  Saint’s eyes flew open and with his mouth still on Janelle’s neck, he darted his gaze left and right to find the one who’d said those words, but he saw no one.

  Only a minute more and she’d be ready. But the words echoed in his mind. Don’t do this, Declan.

  Was he going mad? Had being cooped up in this house finally driven him insane?

  He knew whose voice haunted him. Her next words stopped him dead. You can’t be what she needs. She’ll grow to hate you like all the others. You know your fate. Accept it.

  Saint sat bolt upright, expecting to see Solenne standing next to his bed, but there was no one. With sadness, he looked down at the nearly-turned Janelle lying silently next to him, her eyes closed. All it would take was a few more tugs on her vein and she’d be one of his vampires. Someone to devote himself to, protect, and care for.

  Someone to end the life he’d led for so long.

  Her blond hair lay spread out behind her head like a halo of an angel. He softly traced her delicate features as he tried to convince himself Solenne’s words were lies, but as blood fell from his lips onto Janelle’s cheek, marring her beauty, he knew the truth.

  As he wiped the crimson drops from her skin, he knew he couldn’t be the sire she needed. Bending down, he placed a small kiss on the lips that had brought him such happiness. “I’m sorry, Janelle.”

  For a long time, he lay next to her, listening to the gentle beat of her heart grow stronger as the minutes passed. He’d missed the feel of a woman by his side in bed more than he wanted to admit. Thousands of empty days alone should have rid him of the memory, but they only served to sharpen it and the need for that feeling to return to him once again.

  Saint felt the dawn approach and carefully dressed Janelle. Silently, he bid her goodbye and took her into his arms before carrying her out to Solenne. She looked up at him, her blue-green eyes showing her confusion at the look of rage he knew he wore. He couldn’t conceal it. She’d stolen another happiness from him, and he hated her for taking Janelle from him.

  “Take Janelle home.”

  Solenne stood and looked first at the woman in his arms and then up at him. “Is something wrong?”

  Shaking his head, he fought the urge to let his rage explode out of him. “No. Do what you’re supposed to do and take her home.”

  She took Janelle with no argument, and he watched as she walked toward the door with all his hopes in her arms before disappearing into the night.

  The house seemed so empty now as he sat and stared blankly at the TV. Soon it would be time to hide from the day, but for now he was content to just close his eyes and attempt to forget all he’d wanted from Janelle.

  “Saint?”

  Solenne lightly nudged his shoulder, and he opened his eyes to see her seated next to him with something in her hand.

  “What time is it?”

  “I don’t know, but the sun has been up for a while.”

  Scrubbing his hands over his face, he tried to wake up. “I must have dozed off.”

  “I wanted to show you this. I found it the other day when I was putting away some of Teagan’s things.”

  Saint looked down at what sat in her lap. A program from some show, it instantly brought back memories that had been silent for decades.

  “Do you remember when the three of us saw those dancers? I’d never laughed as much before in my life.”

  “Don’t, Solenne.”

  The joy in her eyes faded to sadness. “Why?”

  “I can’t do this with you.”

  The tears in her eyes forced him to look away, but he couldn’t escape her words. “I miss him. I miss thinking about him from all those years ago. You’re the only one in the world who can truly understand my loss.”

  All he could do was shake his head. No words could convey how true her statement was. He did understand her loss. He’d felt it since hearing about Teagan’s death, but he couldn’t do this. Not with her.

  “Saint, I know you miss him. Why can’t you just say you do?”

  Turning to face her, he saw the tears on her cheeks. “Why? What good does it do?”

  “We shared so much then. Maybe our memories can keep him alive in our hearts.”

  “I don’t need any more memories keeping any more things alive.”

  “He was my sire. I can’t just let the memory of all he was to me then fade away to nothing. I need those memories. How can you just let all that fade away? He was your brother, no matter what happened.”

  “I can’t think about the time we spent together, Solenne. It comes with too much bad.”

  Solenne hung her head and tears dripped down onto the program she held in her hand. “I can’t be in this house with you like this. I made mistakes. I admit that. Am I never to be forgiven?”

  “Did he forgive you?”

  Lifting her eyes, she smiled as she wiped the tears away. “Yes. But that was never the problem. I was his vampire.”

  “You were more than his vampire, Solenne. You were his.”

  “One of many. We were young. I grew to understand what kind of man he was when it came to love.”

  Saint studied the woman in front of him. Her barely veiled justification of her actions bothered him, and her ability to move on felt like it was undeserved.

  “So he forgave you and you’ve rationalized that since he went through women like water that what you did was okay? Have you rationalized everything about your past away?”

  Solenne frowned and shook her head. “No, but I won’t apologize to you when I wouldn’t to him. I never meant to hurt him, and he understood that. I paid more than you know for my mistake.”

  “How nice for both of you.”

  He’d heard enough. Apparently, only he couldn’t put that past behind him. So be it. As he rose to leave, Solenne took his hand in hers and gave him that look that never failed to make him weak.

  “Forgiveness isn’t an end, Saint. It’s a beginning.”

  Nine

  A smoky haze hung heavy in the air all around Declan, a combination of the remnants of the day’s battle and the encroaching night air. The pitted ground beneath him, hard and full of jagged stones that stabbed his lower b
ack, had been his home for hours after he’d fallen in the early afternoon of the battle. Around him lay many of those who’d charged on the German line that morning, so full of life and now dead or waiting for their final moment when the excruciating pain of their wounds would finally relent.

  The wailing sound of agony had filled his ears all day as one by one fallen men of the 36th Ulster Division went to meet their maker. He’d gotten it in the shoulder, the pain making him lose consciousness almost instantly, but he’d held on long enough to find Teagan, who’d been at his side when the charge began. Now as night began to fall, he felt the end coming closer and needed to know if his younger brother would soon join him.

  “Teagan, talk to me,” he groaned to the body near him.

  “Declan, did we get any of those fucking Krauts?”

  He had no idea if they’d had any success after they’d been thrown back by a vicious German counterattack. If the number of bodies littering the field around him was any indication, their effort had been a failure.

  “Yeah, we got them. The 36th showed them what us Irish lads have in us.”

  Teagan groaned as if the Devil himself was standing on his injured leg, and Declan saw the pain written on his face when he rolled over to face him.

  “We’re going to die here, aren’t we? I don’t want to die in France, Declan.”

  Declan reached out and held his arm. Where they’d die wasn’t going to be of their choosing, but at least they’d be together. He’d promised his mother he’d watch over his younger brother when she’d sent them off to fight the Germans, and he’d lived up to his word.

  At least there was that.

  That she’d lose both her sons on this godforsaken field in northern France wasn’t a choice any of them would’ve made. He’d never wanted to fight this or any other battle, but like every other soldier who’d signed up to stop the Germans, he knew he had to.

  “Don’t talk about dying. We’re not dead yet.”

  “They’re going to leave us here, Declan. We’re never leaving France,” Teagan whispered, his voice full of the anguish his brother acutely understood.

  Eyes closed, he silently agreed. Quietly, he said the first lines of the only prayer he could remember at that moment. “Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name…”

  Teagan let out a cry of pain and Declan opened his eyes to see a man crouched down next to him. His jet black hair hung in front of his face as he seemed to examine his brother, but he was no medic.

  “Get your hands off him! Don’t touch him!”

  The dark man lifted his head and Declan saw his blue eyes look first to him and then past him to someone else. “This one’s mine. Will you take that one?”

  Declan turned to see a man standing at his side looking down at him as if he were deciding on what to do. Much larger than the man near Teagan, he looked different in appearance too. As if his true opposite, he had pale blond hair and a Nordic look to him.

  “Who are you?”

  The man answered the dark haired man’s question with a nod and said, “Kir.”

  A sense of desperation came over Declan as the idea that his brother had already died settled into his heart. “Teagan! Talk to me!”

  Silence.

  The dark haired man smiled and lowered his head to Teagan’s neck. Declan didn’t know if he could help, but he begged, “Save him! Help my brother.”

  When the man raised his head, Declan saw a pair of razor-sharp fangs dripping with blood. His brother’s blood. “I will save him, as Kir will save you. And then you’ll have lives others have only dreamed of.”

  The man returned to Teagan’s neck, a vampire who intended to take his brother’s life. Everything in Declan raged at the sight of him drinking from his brother. He may have been close to death, but he couldn’t let some vulture take Teagan for his own! With his good arm, he struggled to push the man off him, but a large hand restrained him.

  “Don’t fight this. Vasilije will give him what he wanted—not to die in France. Something tells me you don’t want to die here either, but I’ll give you the choice.”

  What he offered was no choice. Either he died there on the pitted and scarred landscape surrounded by his countrymen, or he became a vampire, dead but not dead.

  Declan watched helplessly as the life was drained from his brother. Teagan, weakened from his wound, put up no fight. The dark man stayed at his neck and Teagan grew pale, his eyes slowly fluttering closed. Then the one called Vasilije punctured his own wrist and pressed it to Teagan’s pale lips. Declan watched in horror as he eagerly lapped at the blood that flowed from the man’s arm.

  “Your brother is almost there, Declan. Are you willing to let him go on without you?” Vasilije asked, taunting him.

  The promise he’d made to his mother all those months before repeated in his head. In this, he had no choice.

  He turned back to Kir, who awaited his answer. “I don’t want to die.”

  “Good. You’ll do well as one of us.”

  Without warning, Kir seized upon him and sank his sharp teeth into his neck. Declan cried out in pain, certain the vampire had betrayed him and intended to end his life, but just as he was sure he could endure the pain no more, something inside him began to change and the pain was replaced with pure contentment.

  The injury to his shoulder didn’t produce blinding pain anymore and a sense of calm overcame him. Even as Kir drained his blood from his body, Declan felt more alive than he’d ever felt in his twenty-five years.

  And then he felt nothing.

  He watched as Kir sat back away from him and repeated what Vasilije had done to his own wrist. From what seemed like miles away, he heard Teagan’s voice telling him everything would be fine.

  Then Kir’s cool skin pressed against his lips, and he tasted the thick liquid that oozed from the puncture wound in his wrist. Unlike anything else he’d ever drunk, the blood was metallic tasting and almost sour as it washed over his taste buds. It slid easily down his throat and any worries he’d had about feeling sick from it were pushed out of his mind when the strength that had steadily ebbed from his body all day long surged back through his limbs.

  Kir removed his wrist from his mouth, and Declan gasped for air, his first action as a vampire. Next to him, Teagan smiled his usual cocky grin. “You were right, brother. We aren’t dead yet.”

  “It’s time we left this graveyard. Come and begin your new life,” Vasilije said as he helped Teagan to his feet, his injured leg as healthy as the day he was born.

  “I need to stay with my brother,” Declan said as Vasilije began to lead Teagan away.

  Kir extended his hand to help him up, and once on his feet, Declan examined his shoulder to find it was just as healed as his brother’s leg. Something impossible had occurred and he hadn’t died.

  “Come. I will see if Vasilije will allow you to remain with your brother. You have much to learn and he will help you.”

  They walked through the field of dead bodies to catch up with Teagan and Vasilije, who had made their way across the battlefield. Declan wondered how they appeared so close so soon, while he and his sire remained as if strangers.

  By the time their first night was over, he felt no closer to Kir but distanced from the brother he’d protected all his life, replaced by a new protector.

  Saint awoke from a day of dreaming, exhausted both emotionally and physically. Solenne’s need to reminisce had made his subconscious work overtime. Maybe she was right. No one else but them shared memories of Teagan like they did.

  But that meant they’d have to be willing to put past hurts aside, and he wasn’t sure he could do that. Almost one hundred years later, he still wasn’t able to leave the past behind.

  “I’m bored with Paris, Teagan. Tell Vasilije you want to be let off your leash.”

  Declan saw his brother roll his eyes at the snide comment about his sire. He knew how he felt about the Romanian, who ruled over his vampires like a tyrannical despot, a
s far as Declan was concerned. His sire had released him from all but the basic rules of being one of his vampires within months of his turning. He rarely required any contact with him at all, and Declan had become accustomed to the level of freedom Kir provided.

  “The women are all the same here. Aren’t you tired of every night the same offerings?”

  Teagan reclined on a Louis XIV antique sofa and lit one of the Turkish cigarettes he enjoyed. “You say this at least once a week, but you always end up finding something you like.”

  “I settle for what I need. Don’t confuse that with liking.”

  A voice behind him said, “You are the least fun a vampire can be, Declan.”

  Spinning around, he saw Vasilije standing in the doorway to the hotel suite the three of them shared. The picture of excess, he appeared as he always did.

  Satisfied. Sated.

  “Nice to see you, Vasilije. I didn’t realize you’d returned.” More like he’d hoped he wouldn’t. His effect on his brother in the five years since they’d been turned was anything but positive, as far as Declan was concerned. Because Vasilije insisted on having his favorites around, Teagan was required to be with him constantly, except on the all-too-rare occasion that his sire spent time in London.

  “I’ve just come from the club next door and I can assure you that your assessment of this city’s women is incorrect. I met the loveliest American artist and there seems to be quite a few new faces out tonight. So get rid of your glum face and join us.”

  Teagan was already off the sofa and eager to see what his sire had boasted of, but Declan doubted his claims. He’d seen what Vasilije liked in human women before. As long as they attracted the attention of every male in the room, human and vampire, they were instant favorites. That they rarely had any substance at all seemed not to matter.

  “Come, brother. Perhaps tonight will be the night you find a woman you truly like. Not that I understand this need to truly like a woman to enjoy your time with one.”