Eternal Hunger (18 page)

Holding a plate of seeds and brown plantlike cakes out toward Sara, Bronwyn said, “We don’t crave human blood, only the blood of other vampires.”

Her eyes trained on Bronwyn, Dillon snorted again.

Sara declined the plate with thanks. “So you learn to suppress yourself and the need for blood until your true mate comes along.”

Bronwyn nodded. “Exactly.”

“What if you can’t?” Sara asked.

“There are consequences to every choice, aren’t there?” Bronwyn’s gaze suddenly shifted over to Dillon, whose jaw looked so tightly clenched Sara worried that she’d crack a tooth, or a fang.

Dillon stood then, said caustically, “I think we’re done talking about this.”

“Why’s that?” Sara asked innocently.

Dillon glared down at her. “Thought you were hungry, human.”

Sara’s brow lifted. “You gonna make me something, vampire?”

It was over in a split second, but Sara could’ve sworn she’d seen Dillon smile. “If you like your steak tartare, yeah,” she said dryly. “If not, I’d better go out and get you something before the boss gets back.”

Bronwyn interjected, “I forgot to ask before, but why are you here, Dillon? I’d heard you were helping guard a human politician or something.”

“I took a short break to help out Alexander, protect his lady of the moment here.” She nodded toward Sara.

Bronwyn stopped eating her plant cake and looked over at Sara, this time like a bird inspecting a juicy little insect. As a slow dawn of understanding came across her face, a low, feral growl emanated from the back of her throat. She said nothing, but her eyes changed from their benign and beautiful pale green to a raging sea of emerald.

Truly afraid, Sara sat back in her chair. Coming to stand beside her, Dillon chuckled humorlessly. “Did I say something I shouldn’t have?” she asked, her brow lifted as she looked at Bronwyn. “Remember, Miss Kettler, we’re all responsible for our choices.”

Before Bronwyn could say a word in response, the doors to the living room burst open and a chorus of loud male voices entered. All three females turned to see Alexander, Nicholas, and Lucian stalk in and head straight for the leather club chairs, Alexander leaning on Nicholas for support.

“Get blood on my pool table,
Duro
,” Lucian snarled playfully at Alexander, “and I’ll take a shot at that other shoulder of yours.”

“Blood should be the least of your worries in regards to that table,” Alexander returned dryly as a worried and anxious Evans fussed around him.

Nicholas chuckled, dropped Alexander onto one of the chairs. “True enough. If I had a pint for every time you scratched and pocketed the eight, I’d be a satiated
paven
.”

“Yes, Luca—you need to learn to control your
balls
,” Alexander declared, causing all three brothers to break into laughter.

“What happened?” Sara asked, running over to them, Dillon behind her.

Alexander sat in one of the club chairs, his shirt off, a thick towel pressed against one massive shoulder. For Sara, it was impossible not to stare at the impressive cords of muscle that stretched taut against his smooth skin. Never in her life had she seen such perfect masculine beauty. He captured her gaze then and his eyes were soft with pleasure and his full mouth curved into a smile. Sara’s heart fluttered in her chest and she itched to run at him and jump in his lap.

“We went in ready to play and win an easy game,” Nicholas was saying. “But the rules have changed.”

“Who did this?” Dillon demanded. “Ethan Dare?”

Behind Sara, a gasp sounded.
Bronwyn.
Sara tore her gaze from Alexander and raised a brow at Dillon. “Who’s Ethan Dare?”

The
veana
’s eyes narrowed. “A piece-of-shit vampire with a cause.”

“An enemy of the species,” Bronwyn added, coming to stand beside Dillon, her tone thick with unmasked revulsion. “An Impure who wants to destroy the Eternal Breed, turn it from purity to poison.”

“A little late for that,” Lucian muttered under his breath, unloading his weapons and tossing them on the pool table.

Ignoring his brother, Nicholas turned to Sara and said, “Your skinny attacker was with him.”

Shock and fear rippled through Sara. “You saw Tom? What was he doing there?”

“We weren’t sure at first, but it looks like he’s become a recruit for Dare.”

“That doesn’t make any sense,” Sara argued. “How could that happen?”

Nicholas shrugged. “Not sure. But he is with Dare and”—he ventured a worried glance at Alexander, then returned to Sara—“he’s no longer fully human.”

Sara’s eyes shifted to Alexander. “Talk to me.”

“There is vampire blood in him,” Alexander said softly. “
And
there is vengeance. We scented it. Which means you are in far more danger than I thought. Either Dillon or myself will be with you 24-7.”

Sara was too shocked to immediately protest, but she knew there would be a discussion later. She wasn’t about to be controlled by Alexander or by the psychotic actions of her ex-patient.

“Oh, shit,” Nicholas muttered, nodding at Alexander’s shoulder. “It’s bleeding out again.”

Following his line of vision, Sara gasped. “Oh my God!” The towel that Evans now held to Alexander’s wound looked like an overturned can of red paint, fingers of blood spreading in every direction.

Alexander glanced down, yanked off the towel. “More towels, Evans.”

“Yes, sir. Right away.” The old servant was off like a shot.

Sara stared at the bullet wound carved into Alexander’s powerfully muscled shoulder, and the blood, a good deal of it leaking from the hole. She’d seen plenty of blood in her time, worked on the brains of cadavers in med school, and yet seeing Alexander with a hole in his body made her sway on her feet.

“Hey there,” Alexander said to her gently, “don’t go soft now.”

“It looks bad.”

“It’s nothing. Human inflicted. The bullet’s already been removed and the wound will fade in a few hours.”

“No. It will fade now,” said the resolute feminine voice behind Sara. There was a whisper of fabric and Bronwyn moved past her to Alexander’s side.

“Stop!” Sara blurted out, following the
veana
, grabbing her by the wrist. “Don’t touch him.” She couldn’t help herself, the strange urge to protect him guiding her actions.

“Easy, Doctor,” Nicholas said, coming to stand between her and Bronwyn, forcing Sara to release the
veana
’s wrist. “It’s a Pureblood
veana
’s pleasure and her gift to heal a
paven
or
veana
if she can.”

Bullshit, Sara thought. Not if the
paven
was
her paven
. Sara looked at Alexander, waited for him to respond, to tell Bronwyn to back the hell off. But he didn’t. He nodded.

Ready to spring, ready to punch the wall, Sara watched the beautiful vampire female inhale deeply through her nose, then part her perfect lips and blow on the ravaged and bloody skin of Alexander’s shoulder. Shivering, Alexander closed his eyes and let his head drop back. Bronwyn repeated the act several times until Alexander released a sigh of satisfaction, and before Sara’s eyes, the hole in his skin began to close.

The jealousy, the hatred that rushed through Sara in that moment, reminded her of the early days of junior high and a boy she’d loved who had only noticed her when she was with her incredibly hot best friend, Penny Mathews, or when he needed help on his biology homework. Watching Bronwyn heal Alexander, Sara felt odd, competitive, unsure if she could stop herself from ripping the
veana
’s arm off if given the chance.

When the hole was completely closed, Bronwyn stepped back and Alexander opened his eyes and looked up at her, nodded. “Thank you.”

She smiled, an irresistible smile. “Anytime.”

Jaw clenched, Sara glanced over at Dillon. The vampire was watching her, a curious expression on her face. Sara wanted to shake her, yell at her,
You’re a
veana
too! Why the hell couldn’t you be the one to fix him?

But this wasn’t about Dillon. This was about Sara and all that she lacked and being no match for something with fangs. So, trying not to appear as though her tail hovered between her legs, she lifted her chin and announced to the room, “It’s sleep time for the human. Night, everybody.” Calmly, coolly, and without looking at either Bronwyn or Alexander, she walked out of the room.

A
lexander stood outside Sara’s bedroom door—the bedroom she’d moved all of her things into sometime after leaving the living room an hour ago.

The bedroom that was an entire floor away from his.

Pressing his head against the wood, he flared his nostrils and inhaled, splitting her scent into physical and emotional fragments. His mouth pulled into a frown. She was still awake, yes, but she was pissed off, distracted, turned on, jealous, and . . . very worried.

He lifted his hand to the wood and knocked, the heady anticipation of seeing her running wild through his veins. Christ. Why was he so taken with this woman, so driven to protect her and see her happy? What did he even know about her besides the story of that horrific accident that would’ve broken anyone else but had only made her stronger, more determined, living to heal the brother she loved before she even thought about healing herself? What did he know about her besides the fact that she was the kind of human who had helped drag a vampire animal inside her home and out of the sun when she could’ve easily kicked him aside?

Perhaps that was knowing enough.

He heard her footfalls coming toward him, scented her unease, and when she finally opened the door, he was prepared to give her the food he’d brought, ask if she needed anything else, and leave her to sleep. But then he saw her: barefoot, her dark hair, thick and soft, falling around her beautiful face, and wearing a white silk bathrobe that caressed her luscious frame as his own hands would if given the chance. She looked like a goddamn angel, and he wanted nothing more than to bury his head between her breasts and feel her wings close around him.

“It’s late.” She stood in the doorway, her blueberry eyes weary as she barred him entrance.

He stared at her, his covetous gaze unwavering. “Why aren’t you in bed, then?”

“Who says I wasn’t?” she returned softly.

“Are you having trouble sleeping?”

“A little.”

His voice dropped to a whisper. “It’s probably because you moved out of my room.”

Her eyes flashed with sudden heat. “I never moved
into
your room.”

He shrugged. “Technicality.”

She paused for a moment, her gaze sweeping over him, resting on the large brown bag in his hand. “What do you have there?”

“Dinner.” He raised his brows suggestively. “Best Chinese in the city.”

“How would you know that?”

“What do you mean?”

“I heard about your eating habits, the lack of solid food.”

“Dillon talks too damn much,” he grumbled.

“It wasn’t Dillon,” she told him, her eyes revealing the sadness and frustration she wouldn’t say aloud.

Alexander leaned against the doorjamb, hovering just inches from her, and inhaled deeply. “Let me in, Sara.”

Sara stared at him, her insides melting, not at the words he’d uttered, but at the reverent, vulnerable, teasingly pained way he’d uttered them. Perhaps both of them wished they could just walk away from the imaginary string that connected them, that demanded they remain close and pretend they were unaffected by each other, but that seemed an impossibility. Sara pushed away from the door and allowed him to enter. It seemed that no matter who was in the house, or what they claimed to be, she would still open her door and her heart to Alexander—just as she knew that he would not stop caring for her, protecting her or pursuing her.

She watched him as he crossed the room, carrying a small table under one arm as though it weighed less than a feather. He was so beautiful. The way he moved, those long, terrifying yet graceful strides, made the muscles around her heart contract.

“What’s all this?” she asked as he placed the table by the window, pulled two chairs to meet it, then began drawing out linens and silverware and a wineglass from the larger bag he had slung over his shoulder.

“You didn’t think I’d have you dining on the floor, did you?”

Her gaze moved with him, reveled in the peculiar sight of him—this branded, skull-shaved, six-foot-three linebacker of a vampire—fluffing out a snow-white tablecloth and waiting patiently for it to land on the glass tabletop. “Not the floor, but the bed would’ve been fine. I’m all good with the room service.”

He turned and flashed a predatory half smile. “Eating in bed shouldn’t involve food, woman.”

A searing wave of desire moved through Sara and her gaze ran the length of him, from black boots to black thermal, every inch of him blazing hard lines and thick muscle. It was juvenile, but she hated that another female had even gotten close to him tonight, much less healed him, and she knew that when this thing between them finally went south her feelings of possessiveness were going to cost her big-time. “How’s your shoulder?”

“Fine.” He continued to set the table.

“I’m kind of surprised Dillon didn’t rush in to help you—being your friend and all.”

“Dillon enjoys seeing me in pain.”

Sara had a feeling Dillon liked to see everyone in pain—physically and emotionally. “Well, it was a good thing Bronwyn was there.”

“Yes, she was very helpful.”

Sara frowned, and a muscle twitched near Alexander’s mouth as he placed a red cloth napkin across her stark white plate. “Your jealousy has a scent, you know.”

“What are you talking about?”

He glanced up at her. “It’s exquisitely strong.”

“Is it now?” she tossed back. “Does it smell like kung pao chicken?”