Eternal Hunger (13 page)

 

“Welcome, Alexander, son of the Breeding Male.”

Alexander dropped into fighting position, his eyes flickering around, looking for the origin of the voice and a weapon he could use against it. A sheet of sand whipped up in front of him, then just as quickly dropped to the ground as though weights were attached to each grain.

Before him, seated at a long glass table, looking remarkably like a modern version of the Last Supper were the ten ancient members of the Order. They were nothing like what he’d imagined them to be when he was a
balas
—even as a grown
paven
: ghostlike, other-worldly, paper thin, yet lethal to the core. No doubt the latter was true, but the ruling ten were as solid, as three dimensional as he was. They sat in their chairs, hands folded on the glass table, eyes trained on him. Each wore a red monklike robe, had a black circle, a perfect O, branded around each of their left eyes, and except for the three
veana
members, each had a full beard.

“Where is she?” Alexander growled menacingly.

The Order member at the far left, a
paven
with electric sky blue eyes and a black beard that tapered into a perfect point at the end, spoke first. “She is well. Asleep. She won’t even realize you’ve gone.”

Alexander’s fingers twitched as he imagined them wrapping around the neck of each member of the Order and squeezing until their eyes popped as wide as their brands. “You’d better be right or we’re going to have a serious problem.”

The older
paven
grinned, displaying his set of brick red fangs—another symbol that he was Order, that his hunger had been completely fulfilled, that his long existence consuming blood was over. “Morpho agrees with you, son of the Breeding Male.”

“How did you find me?” Alexander snarled.

“The human female you nearly devoured.”

“Impossible!” Alexander roared. “I didn’t take her life.” Aside from going through morpho, killing was the only other way the Order could track either an Impure or a Pureblood outside of the
credenti
.

“No, but the Impure who watched you, then drank from the human after you left, did—he stopped her heart in under a minute.” The older
paven
sneered. “Sloppy little
sacro
bastard. But his memories did lead us to you.”

Alexander’s eyes flashed at the black-haired
paven
. Once again, his uncontrolled hunger had imprisoned him. “What is it you want?”

“You’ve run from us for too long. It is time. You and your brothers must help your kind.”

“Help?” Alexander released a bitter laugh. “You’re asking me to help the ones who tormented and tortured me? That’s why you premorphed me?”

“You speak of one or two in the
credenti
, not the Eternal Breed as a whole.”

“I speak of you.”

“You accuse the Order of torture? Tread lightly, son of the Breeding Male.”

A growl erupted from Alexander and he warned the male, “Call me that filthy title again and you will see how deeply I have morphed!”

The
paven
’s eyes narrowed and his hand came up in front of his face, ready for a mental battle. Beside him, another member of the Order, a
veana
with skin the color of clay and waist-length hair the color of snow, leaned toward him and whispered something. After a moment, the
paven
dropped his hand, but his irritation with Alexander remained. “We have a situation at several of our
credentis
,” he said tightly. “An infiltration. Impures have broken into our communities, taken several of our
veanas
, impregnated them, then returned them to us. Thankfully, most of the
balas
never survived past the first month of swell, but the communities are growing scared. There is talk of families leaving, running away, hiding.”

“Good,” Alexander uttered flippantly. Did this asshole really believe he’d care if vampires were leaving the
credentis
? Hell, he was thrilled!

“You may have felt the need to run,” the
paven
continued, “but this life is not torturous for others. These are families who are breaking apart.”

“Perhaps they don’t wish to be under your control any longer. I know I didn’t.”

“These are peace-loving, simple vampires. Most will not be able to survive outside their
credentis
.”

“They’ll be fine.”

Nostrils flaring with irritation, the older
paven
turned to the others and muttered something in the ancient language. Alexander couldn’t make it out, but he guessed it had something to do with his defiant attitude. He liked that.

When the
paven
turned back to him, his pale blue eyes flashed with ire. “You will help us. You will do your part in this war we find ourselves in.”

“How? Protecting the
credenti
?” Alexander interrupted darkly.

“In a manner of speaking.”

Alexander sneered. “Fuck you.”

The
paven
shot to his feet, and as Alexander watched, he grew taller and taller until he was double Alexander’s height. “Your insolent mouth will be your quick death,” he roared. “Watch how you address the Order.”

Alexander stalked toward him, stopped when he came within a foot of the table. “I will address the Order in any way I choose. It is
you
who want from
me
.”

“Indeed” came the soft reply from the
veana
Order with the smooth, clay-hued skin. “Pray sit, Cruen,” she said to the
paven
sitting next to her. “Let us be not only useful, but thoughtful.” She turned to Alexander and inclined her head. “The half-blood Ethan Dare is the one who leads the Impures, who commands that they take our Purebloods and lie with them.”

Though he remained aware of Cruen, Alexander turned his focus to his neighbor. “Why?”

“We believe his objective is to wipe out all Purebloods and turn the Eternal Breed into a race of only Impures. He wishes to defile us.”

Alexander chuckled. As if the Eternal Breed wasn’t defiled already. Honestly, he didn’t give a shit if a vampire was pureblooded or not, and after all the years of treating its Impure citizens as unwanted embarrassments, an uprising wasn’t much of a surprise. Then again, if the story the Order was pitching to him was true and females were being taken against their will and dishonored, swift and deadly action needed to be taken. “What do you want me to do about it?”

Seated once again, his pale face now a mask of indifference, Cruen spoke. “We know where you and your brothers went after leaving us. We know the skills you acquired in battle. The success you achieved.” He lifted one black eyebrow. “We wish you to use these talents to bring down our new enemy.”

“You want me to kill Dare,” Alexander said.

Cruen nodded, and each member of the Order followed.

“And if I say no?”

“We will bring the second Roman brother before us.”

Alexander’s gaze tore into Cruen, who watched him in return, his lips lifting at the corners in a small smile, as though he knew exactly what Alexander was thinking. Yes, it was clear. Fucking crystal. If he didn’t cooperate, give himself over to the Order’s commands, Nicholas would be morphed next. Followed by Lucian.

Alexander lifted his chin. “Has Dare killed?”

“Yes.”

“Then take him in. End his life.”

“We have tried,” the white-haired
veana
explained. “We cannot maintain a hold on him for more than a few seconds. It is an impossibility, and yet ...” She glanced up at Cruen, who remained impassive, his eyes trained on Alexander.

There was nothing Alexander wanted more in that moment than to tell each of them to go fuck themselves because he was already screwed; he was already morphed. But there was Nicholas and Lucian to consider.

His teeth ground together, making his jaw scream in pain. “I will find and kill Ethan Dare, but I demand a blood oath that afterward the Order will forget that the Roman brothers exist. Nicholas and Lucian will morph in their own time.”

A light flickered within Cruen’s baby blues. “Bring his lifeless body to us, and we will give the oath.”

“Fine,” Alexander said. “Now I want the fuck off this plane.”

He felt the pull, like a hook out of the world, then the tunnel into blackness. But before the world went completely dark to him, his eyes caught on another member of the Order, one he hadn’t paid much attention to before, but who, though mostly covered by his hood, felt strangely familiar to him. The moment was over in an instant and when light returned to his vision, he was back in the woods, before the cave, and Sara was asleep on a tuft of grass, near the mouth.

She looked so soft, so fragile, yet he’d seen the fire that burned beneath her pale skin, had scented it, had wanted it flowing against the blood that ran in his own veins.

He knew he should wake her and leave the area immediately, but instead he lay down behind her and coiled his body around hers. The warmth she provided soothed him. He heard the blood in her veins moving freely, heard her breath leave and enter her lungs in an even rhythm. He closed his eyes and buried his face in her hair, desperate for the comfort he’d refused to take earlier, but receiving only a stiff cock and a dry throat.

She stirred, her shoulders lifting, her back arching; then a moment later, she turned in his grasp. “Hey ...”

“Hey.” He’d never seen dark blue eyes look so soft, so tender. He wanted to stay just like this, wrap his hands around her hips and pull her to him, let her know that he could no longer protect her body from his.

“Sorry I fell asleep,” she said, rubbing her eyes.

“Don’t be.”

“I’m good to go now.” When she sat up, he followed her.

“It’s done, Sara. I saw them.”

“What?”

“I’ve dealt with the Order.”

“But how ...”

“They took me—through my mind.”

She took a moment to digest this, then asked, “What do they want?”

“What they’ve wanted for a hundred years,” he said bitterly. “The control of me and my brothers.” He stood and reached for her hand. “Come. Tuck in, now. We have to get home.”

She took his hand and let him lift her, which he did, right into the curve of his arms. “The real home this time? SoHo?”

He grinned. “Yes.”

“I have to work in the morning.”

“I know.”

“You—”

“Don’t worry about me. I hate having you out of my sight, but I will not stop you.”

He was entering a battle: with himself, the coming of his Pureblood female, his true mate, the Order, and an unknown assassin named Ethan Dare. He had no idea where it would end, but he did know that after a hundred years of freedom, his control had vanished.

Sara wrapped her arms around his neck and Alexander flashed, flew—the state of morpho so deeply embedded in him now that all it took was one quick thought.

B
ronwyn Kettler stood outside the Romans’ home, barely feeling the bite of cold that always spread across the city in November. Simply put, she was nervous. She wasn’t at all sure of how she’d be received inside the building before her, the building that spanned an entire city block and rather brilliantly garnered little notice because of its weathered, unkempt brick facade.

She brought her gloved hand to the door and knocked again, this time with a little more force. It was rare for her to leave the Boston
credenti
for anything other than work. It was her home and she was at peace there with her family, but tonight another form of business needed to take place. Her future contentment depended upon it.

“Perhaps they’re not at home,” her assistant, Edel, remarked as she stood just behind her, engulfed in luggage and a week’s worth of vampire genealogy work.

“They had warning of my arrival,” Bronwyn said, glancing over her shoulder at the older blond
veana
, who had outlived her true mate just six months ago when the
paven
had decided his long life was at an end and had walked out into the sun. Devastated by the loss, Edel had found a new way to be content, assisting Bronwyn in her work.

“Perhaps I should have left out the description of my appearance,” Bronwyn said pointedly.

Edel nodded, her eyes softly twinkling. “Yes, the hook nose and the warts can be a turnoff to some.”

“Not to mention my third eye and the way I snort when I laugh.”

They both dissolved into laughter until Bronwyn heard movement behind the heavy wood door, and then the sound of locks retracting from their bases. The door pulled back and an older
paven
stood there, dressed simply, as though he had just come from one of the more rustic
credentis
.

“Good evening, Miss Kettler.” He struggled to get all the luggage inside, then stood before them in the entryway and inclined his head. “May I take your coat and your companion’s, as well?”

“Yes, thank you.”

His eyes swept over Edel as she passed him her cloak, but he quickly looked away. He was a timid male, very unusual in one so seasoned, Bronwyn observed. Unless . . . She paused. Was it possible? Did the Romans have Impures working for them?

She and Edel followed him from the sleek foyer through several living areas furnished in a modern design that fused beautifully with the ancient moldings and fixtures, then past a sweeping limestone staircase. She understood the wrecked exterior now. It wasn’t just to keep their existence a secret; it was also to deter intruders of the sticky-fingered variety.

When the servant stopped before a large arched door, the nerves Bronwyn had wrestled with earlier bloomed into a full-blown anxiety. For a second, she thought about bolting, but her sister’s face appeared before her and she stood up taller and prepared herself for whatever she was to encounter within the Roman household.

“He lied to us!” The male growl shot through the thick door, just as the old servant’s knuckles lifted to strike. He hesitated. “The foolish bastard went to them without us,” the
paven
behind the door yelled. “Without backup!”