Eternal Captive: Mark of the Vampire (16 page)

Alexander nodded. “Give us a few days. Stay in the
credenti
the Order is supplying; stay hidden until we come for you.”

Lucian was about to deny them again when he looked over at Bronwyn. Big. Fucking. Mistake. The heat of need slammed his balls. It was bad enough he could smell her, but he could also register the scent of every female in their neighborhood. If he went on the run, it was only a matter of time before he truly became his father’s son.

Forcing his gaze back to his brothers, he said, “I have to be chained. Have to be monitored and fed and controlled. There’s no telling when I’ll lose my mind and my judgment.”

“That can all be done,” Alexander assured him, looking relieved as hell. “If you don’t want to use the Order’s guards, we’ll use our own.”

Lucian groaned as another wave of shattering pain gripped his bones. “The eunuchs will not step foot in a
credenti
ever again.”

“They will if I say they will,” Alexander retorted. “And you will have Bronwyn’s help as well.”

“What?” Lucian barked, his gaze shifting to Bronwyn, who looked momentarily shocked.

Alexander nodded toward her. “She must go too. Out here in the world, unprotected, she is just another way for Cruen to get to you, draw you out.” He shrugged at Bronwyn. “We cannot watch over you if we are tracking Cruen and his Beasts. And your mate is nowhere to be found.”

She nodded. “I understand.”

“Unless you wish to return to your
credenti
, under the protection of your family.”

She shook her head. “I wouldn’t bring danger upon them.”

“No!” It was the only word Lucian could utter, but it echoed throughout the house.

“I’ll go.” Bronwyn walked over to him, and they all turned to stare at her.

“I won’t…allow it,” he rasped.

She eyed him. “You don’t get to make that choice,
Paven
.”

“You bet your sweet ass I do, Princess,” he said. The pain in his throat mirrored the pain in his entire body. “I won’t go after her if Cruen takes her…” He couldn’t finish that statement, that promise—and every part of him knew it. Maybe he wouldn’t go in search of her as himself, the rational
paven
, but for some reason he knew deep in his gut that the Breeding Male would.

She refused to look at him, her jaw tight. She addressed Alexander and Nicholas. “If he is chained and we have guards, I’ll be safe.”

It wasn’t a question, but Alexander nodded anyway. “I believe so.”

“Then, I will do it.”

“You have a mate,” Lucian hissed at her. She wasn’t
doing this—wasn’t throwing her life away for him. “Go back to Boston. Keep the home fires burning.”

“Synjon will find me when he’s ready,” she said, ignoring the snort of disbelief around her. “You need help. And I owe you my help.”

“I don’t fucking want it!” Goddamn it! He’d made the deal, agreed to be chained, fed blood like a
balas
, watched like a prisoner; he wasn’t having this
veana
beside him the whole goddamn way! He couldn’t bear it—Christ, couldn’t bear for her to see him as he disintegrated into an animal. He just wanted her to remember him as the
paven
who had played with her, teased her—pleasured her.

Bronwyn got that stubborn look—the one that was impossible to reason with. “It won’t be forever, Luca. Just until they’ve found Cruen and discovered if there is an antidote or not. And maybe I can help with that. Maybe I can do some testing on your blood in the
credenti
, see what changes have occurred—”

“You both need to leave. Now,” said Nicholas, going to the window. “Sun is almost down and our
mutore
brother will be coming for you.”

Lucian gripped the railing.

“Come, Luca,” Bronwyn said, holding out her hand.

He faced her, leveled her with his pale gaze. “It will be the ugliest nightmare you’ve ever seen. It will be what your sister faced—what you never wanted to face.” He lowered his chin. “Are you truly ready to face that animal, Princess?”

She paused, her eyes moving over his face as her nostrils flared. Then a look of sudden and absolute determination rolled over her. “I will face anything to keep breathing, keep us both breathing.”

“Foolish
veana
,” he whispered, his strength waning.

Alexander and Nicholas took Lucian under his shoulders and they walked across the entryway and down the hall, heading for the back door. The very moment the sun went down, they would all flash to the caves to await the Order’s transport.

Alexander gripped Lucian tightly, lovingly.

Nicholas did too as he whispered into his little brother’s ear, “Please hold on to your mind,
Duro
.”

Erion stood outside the villa in the small French town, a town similar to the one where he had been born—and where he had been tossed away like the unwanted refuse his dam had believed him to be. As he watched the very last rays of the sun disappear into the horizon, his brother Lycos moved to stand beside him. The wolflike
paven
didn’t get too close, didn’t drop a hand to Erion’s shoulder as brothers of blood were known to do. After all, they had not been raised to care for each other in such a manner.

“You let them go, didn’t you?” Lycos said, his voice a near growl.

Erion said nothing, his gaze still and uneasy as he watched the windows. Would the automatic blinds lift as they normally did around this time, or would the fortress remain sealed up and quiet now that they knew he was after them?

“Father’s orders must be met without question, Erion.”

Erion turned, eyed the Beast, his brother. Lycos’s wolfish features were particularly sharp tonight, his dark eyes watchful, always watchful. “I know all about our father’s orders.”

“And yet…” He raised his dark eyebrows.

Erion inhaled deeply, his lungs filling with air and the scent of the many in the town below. “Things are different with them.”

“Different.” Lycos sniffed like the dog his own mother had called him when he exited her body and, like all
mutore
, instantly shifted into his Beast-like state. “Nothing is different. We serve our father. The one who rescued us from the flesh seller when we were only cubs, the one who resurrected us—who gave us a home, freedom, purpose.”

“Yes.” Erion nodded, returned his gaze to the villa. It was the way his mind worked too, what he believed to be his truth, his motivation for everything.

And then again, he had started to see a different kind of life, a different kind of freedom in the Roman brothers. There was a small part of him that felt envious. It was why he had stolen his twin’s identity that night in Vermont, laid with the
veana
Mirabelle Letts—Nicholas Roman’s trick. She had touched him, reveled in his touch. She had looked at him like a Pureblood
paven
—not as a freak of nature.

It had felt good.

Yes, he was devoted to his master, the only father he would ever know, and yet there were questions inside him. Questions that persisted no matter how hard he tried to suppress them. The first being, if he wasn’t as truly free as they were, what was he?

“An indentured servant.” He said the words aloud, causing Lycos to coil around him like a snake.

“What did you say, Brother?” he asked.

“Do you ever feel as though we have no choices, no excuses, no impulses or emotion?” He knew he should
cease this line of questioning, yet he could not. “Do you ever feel we are weapons and nothing more?”

The look in Lycos’s eyes said it all.

One word.

Never
.

Before him, the window shades of the villa lifted, but no light flickered on life inside. Erion gestured to his brother. “Let’s go.” And the two flashed out of the French countryside.

E
ver since morpho hit, Synjon had enjoyed the feeling of flashing. Flying in wind, the rush of air and speed, going anywhere he wanted—just as long as the sun wasn’t out. But as he moved from one country to the next, one city to the other, in search of his bride, he began to despise it. Bronwyn felt as far away as a lost thought now, and the tiny scraps of information he’d been able to gather from his many sources regarding Cruen and his whereabouts had made his mood foul, to say the least.

He touched down in a London street near Big Ben, hitting the pavement and walking away so fast that the mere mortals around him saw nothing but a breeze ruffling a few stray bits of garbage into the street. He was meeting with a female contact—an Impure he’d known for several decades, who was in the spy game like him. Most vampires looking for information went to the Eyes, but Syn didn’t trust those rats anymore.
They were greedy little peckerheads with no sense of loyalty.

He spotted her on a park bench reading the
London Times
, her long red fingernails grasping the paper with a fierceness he understood. He slid down beside her and heard her inhale slightly.

“Need to be quick about this, Celestine,” he said.

“I’ve never seen you so tense, Synjon Wise.” She turned to him then and laughed, her blue eyes and oval face framed by long black hair.

“I’ve got a serious problem, or haven’t you heard?”

She smiled, her teeth and fangs the color of the moon over their heads. “I know whom you seek, and why. This
paven
is a difficult one to locate.”

“Yes, I’m starting to realize that.”

“However,” she said, still holding her newspaper aloft, “difficult does not mean impossible.”

Syn lifted one eyebrow. The woman may have appeared soft and gentle, but she was a tiger with terrible claws when she needed to be. “What can you tell me? Do you have the location of his laboratory?”

She leaned in closer, her breath scented with cinnamon and cloves. “I will give it to you with a warning. In this hunt, you may go looking for the thing you think you want, yet end up with the thing you hate.”

The way she spoke, the language of prophecy, had never bothered him before. Probably because her predictions had never been aimed at him before.

But he didn’t have time to heed her warnings—if that’s what they were. Bronwyn was out there, waiting for him to come to her rescue, and he was growing more apprehensive by the moment that he wouldn’t
succeed. Just as he hadn’t succeeded with the last female who’d needed his care.

He stood. “The location now, Cellie dear. I must fly.”

Bronwyn was careful to remain close to the guards when they landed in the middle of a wild and beautiful countryside under the bright light of the moon. Somewhere in the distance, she heard the sounds of the sea and she wondered just where the Order had planted them.

“They’ve got to be kidding,” she heard Lucian growl, his voice filled with ire as he attempted to turn his pain-laced frame around, but was halted by the shackles that connected him to one of the guards. “I’m going to ring their ancient necks the moment I see them again.”

“What’s wrong?” Bronwyn asked, taking in the site before her, trying to see what was so vile to him. But she didn’t. The area was rural to be sure, with vast lands and heavily dotted with mature pine trees that stretched to the sky, but it was undeniably lovely, scented with earth and forest and clean life.

To their right, a dirt path stretched out like a garden snake before them, going so far into the distance the moonlight was no longer sufficient at showing her the way. But in this serene oasis, Lucian could see nothing beautiful. The poor
paven
vibrated with agitation so deep that he snarled both at her and the two guards bracketing him.

“This isn’t going to happen,” he said, his eyes wild, his fingers clenched and curled as a breeze picked up around them, sending his white hair across his chiseled face. “Take me back. Now!”

“This is the safest place for you, sir,” one of the guards said, his tone without sympathy.

“That is complete bullshit, Bel,” Lucian raged at the male. “I cannot imagine a worse
credenti
to drop my soon-to-be Breeding Male ass in. If you don’t take me back, I’ll have her do it.” He nodded at Bronwyn.

The black-haired, black-eyed guard said nothing, just stared at his employer, waiting for him to act or give an order that he could actually follow without risking the wrath of the ancient rulers of their breed. After all, the Order had given into Lucian’s demand, and agreed to allow the Romans’ own guards to accompany them, just as long as Lucian was contained, chained.

“What’s wrong with you?” Bronwyn asked him, totally confused by his hatred of their surroundings. “This is beautiful, and completely isolated.”

“Oh, nothing’s wrong, Princess,” Lucian muttered sarcastically, gripping his stomach. “It’s a perfect spot. It’s just great to be home.”

Bronwyn’s eyes widened. “Home? You mean…this is where…”

He cursed again. “That’s right. Where I took my first steps—where I took my first fist to the head and fangs to the neck. Welcome to motherfucking Banchory, Scotland.”

“Oh dear,” Bronwyn said, then turned to the guards. “What is the Order trying to prove with this? Did they tell you when they prepped you for the journey?”

Bel, the one guard who seemed to be the designated speaker explained. “According the Order, there is a natural defense against being found if you are in the
credenti
of your birth. According to the Order, he will be more protected here than anywhere else.”

Lucian grunted. “Bullshit.”

“The Order said they can anchor him here,” the guard continued, undeterred by Lucian’s ranting. “Where his body, his cells began.”

A hand reached out and grabbed Bronwyn’s wrist, and she gasped, but it was only Lucian. His eyes looked ghostly and desperate in the pale light. “Flash me back to the caves, Princess.”

Bronwyn stilled, her eyes locked with his. She hated seeing him like this, begging and so deep in pain. She hated seeing the past in his eyes. She knew his request had nothing to do with getting back home, getting himself caught and going after Cruen. This was about memories he had no desire to relive.

It was no shock to her that his early years had been rough ones, unhappy ones. With the stigma of who and what his father was, the teasing and torment from the “normal”
balas
must have been overwhelming. That was how it was for most Breeding Male offspring, she knew. And yet she was going to refuse to help him escape this new prison. It was ugly and unfair, but it was for his own protection. She wouldn’t let him be hunted, not like this—not defenseless. Alexander and Nicholas must have known where they were headed, and if they believed their brother was better off in the
credenti
of his birth, she would trust that.