Eternal Hunger (24 page)

“Fall back,” he ordered, pushing away from the door and heading down the hall and toward the stairs. His mind jumped and devised. He knew what had to be done. Tonight, he would dive deep into his mind, and though it made his skin twitch with revulsion—though Cruen had warned him against it—he would attempt to connect with the Order once again.

 

The study had been on rats, but what the hell, Sara reasoned, curled up in a chair on the second floor of the Roman brothers’ library, there was always a jumping-off point. Shock treatments to induce fear, followed by a drug to bring about temporary amnesia, followed by a new, gentle memory to take its place. A little thrill ran through her. What if this was the answer? Or at least got her infinitely closer to it? Sara glanced at the clock on the wall. It was close to midnight. Tomorrow she would run the idea by Pete, get his thoughts. Gray’s memory of the fire would need to be reinforced somehow, simulated, which would be pretty hellish, but then again, so was the life he was living now. The amnesia, she thought—would she have to go with hard drugs? She didn’t want to go the drug route again, not yet. She could use hypnosis or sodium Amytal, but would either be strong enough to calm the fear center of the brain? Her gaze scanned a row of books on the wall in front of her, not really seeing anything but ancient cloth spines. Hypnosis was a thought, but then again, Gray always fought the relaxed state—hell, he was fighting everything these days. He still refused to get inside the MRI machine . . .

Sara stilled, cocked her head to one side as though she’d heard something. But there was nothing there, nothing her ears picked up anyway. Suddenly a wave of anxiety moved through her, a feeling of dread so powerful she stood up and ran to the top of the stairs. For a moment, she wondered if her reaction was about Gray, the thoughts on testing and drugs, and the ever-present fear that every one of Gray’s memories would die off along with the memory of the fire and he’d be left with a blank history. But then, just as quickly as it came, the anxiety faded away and a heady sensation of pleasure wrapped around her body like a blanket.

She practically leaped down the stairs and ran out of the library. She saw Evans hustling out of the living room and down the hall, and she called after him.

He stopped and turned, looking a bit preoccupied as he said, “Dr. Donohue?”

“Is Alexander home?”

“No, but he should be returning soon enough. Anything I can help you with?”

Disappointed, she shook her head. “No, no, thanks.”

He looked relieved and quickly turned away, started down the hall again.

“Wait a sec! Hey, Evans?”

She caught up with him, noticed that his eyes held a bit of frustration in their depths. “Yes, Doctor?”

She sighed. “I don’t know how I know this, but Alexander’s here. In this house.”

Evans paled. “What?”

“I can feel him ...”

Shock registered in his eyes.

Sara rushed ahead. “I need to see him.”

Evans shook his head. “I’m afraid that’s not possible.”

“Why?” She shrugged, her eyes imploring him for answers. “What is it? Why can’t you tell me where he is?”

It took a moment for Evans to give her an answer, as though he were searching for the right one. “He wouldn’t wish it.”

Her heart squeezed in her chest. “Did he say that? Did he say he didn’t want to see me?”

“Please, Doctor. He will come to you when he’s ready.”

Sara opened her mouth to respond, but stopped herself. She read people very well and she knew when it was time to ease off—knew better than to keep pushing a loyal employee for answers that might get him into trouble. She pressed her lips together in acquiescence and nodded. “I’m sorry. You’re right, Evans. It’s no big deal. I’ll see him tomorrow.”

He gave her a grateful smile. “Very good, Doctor.” Then turned and resumed his course down the hall.

Sara watched him go, and when he was far enough away not to hear her footfalls, she followed him.

T
he Order.

The motherfucking Order.

He couldn’t get to them. No matter where he’d flashed to, no matter how hard he’d called to them in his mind, they had ignored him. Maybe all that talk about “innocent members” of the
credentis
being taken was just that—talk. Maybe it was all about what it had always been about with them—Pure Blood.

Alexander dropped his head back, exhausted. The bars of his cage felt cold and soothing against his naked skin. Between the battle at Dare’s and the hours of failed mind travel, his veins were as dry as winter leaves and his belly ached for the rich, power-inducing blood of a
veana
.

He closed his eyes, lifted his chin, and sniffed the air as an Impure entered the room. A growl hummed at the back of Alexander’s throat. “You bring the scent of Dr. Donohue with you tonight, Evans.”

“Yes, sir.”

His eyes remained closed. “You wish to drive me mad, then?”

“No, sir. I’m sorry, sir. She stopped me in the hall, wanted to speak with me.”

“What did she want?”

“You, sir.”

Alexander’s eyes opened and he searched out the face of his servant. A soft, sad smile lit the old Impure’s eyes as he stood there, on the other side of the bars. He too understood the pain of an unfulfilled desire. Alexander wondered what Evans would think if he knew what Dare was promoting. Would he join forces with the half-breed? Would Alexander blame him if he did?

As another wave of Sara’s scent drifted into Alexander’s nostrils, his mouth watered. He slammed his fists against the bars. “Have you brought me something besides the scent of a blood I cannot taste?”

“One of the Impures is fetching your repast, sir.”

The blood of a cow. Alexander sneered. Just the thought of it turned his stomach. He gripped the bars, wishing he’d ordered spikes to be placed on the steel poles, their sharp points stabbing into his palms, replacing one pain he couldn’t quell with another he could.

“The hunger grows worse,” Evans said, observing him.

“Take the pity from your eyes, Evans,” Alexander growled.

“Sir. Miss Kettler could—”

“No.”

“She is pure.”

“Cease!”

“Even if she is not your true mate, her blood will fill you, give you time—”

Alexander’s hand was through the bars and around Evans’s neck. “Say another word and
your
blood will fill me—impure and weak though it is.”

Hanging a foot above the ground, Evans stilled, his jaw trembling, his eyes popping with fear. After a moment, Alexander released him onto the stone floor below with an irritated grumble. “Leave me.”

 

Sara was lost.

Twenty minutes ago, she’d followed Evans into a remote part of the house, through a door, and down some steps into what she’d assumed was a cellar, but what had turned out to be an entire secret world beneath the SoHo streets.

She looked behind her, down the length of tunnel that was high and relatively wide and lit every ten feet or so by torches. It went on forever, branching out in several directions. It’s how she’d lost Evans. Fear of what might be lurking in the shadows beyond had made her question her decision to follow the servant many times, but the drive and curiosity to explore, mixed with the unshakable feeling that Alexander was near, kept her in pursuit. As a doctor, she questioned the base, raw instincts that pushed her to find him; as a woman, she ran blindly.

She wove her way through the tunnels as the air grew colder and colder and she could see her breath. Just as she was wondering if anyone but the Romans used the tunnels, she spotted something ahead and froze. A man—short, stocky, and definitely not Evans. He stood against the wall, perfectly still, his chin lifted. As quiet as she could manage, Sara turned around and hurried back the way she came, veering off onto another leg of the tunnel, one she’d rejected earlier. She kept running, growing warmer with the exercise, not slowing down until she saw another light ahead, and a voice she recognized. Her heart jumped into her throat and she sprang ahead, into the light and a cold, cavelike room.

But her excitement died a quick death. Cut into the rock wall was a cell, a cage, its steel door shut. As she approached, she noticed there was an opening in the top of the door, three iron bars that revealed one lonely prisoner.
Alexander.
Her gut pulled at the sight. In the dim light, she saw him on his knees, nude and shaking, huddled over the body of a cow. His fangs were bared and he was about to strike, about to feed . . .

“Oh God.” Her breath rushed from her lungs.

Alexander’s head came up with a jerk. His eyes were bloodred and menacing as he stared straight into her. He looked utterly inhuman at that moment—like a starving wolf, ready to kill anything that came near his untouched meal. He lowered his chin and growled at her, his fangs fully extended now, twin blades of instant death.

Disturbed and confused, Sara turned and ran from the room, down the hall, her heart slamming against her ribs. The scene played in her mind, over and over, and suddenly she couldn’t catch her breath. She stopped at the apex of the tunnels and gripped the rock wall for support. What was happening to her? Why was she stopping? Why wasn’t she running for the front door, terrified, desperate to get away from him? Why did she, even now—even after what she’d just seen—yearn for the beast in him to search her out?

“You saw me.”

Sara gasped and whirled around. Naked and aroused, nostrils flaring and fangs bared, Alexander towered over her, his mere presence forcing her back against the stone wall of the frigid tunnel.

“You saw what I am,” he snarled.

Her breath coming heavy and uneven, Sara locked eyes with him. “Yes.”

“An animal that seeks blood.”

“Yes.”

He leaned closer, his warm breath on her cheek, his spicy blood scent filling her nostrils, his cock hard against her belly. “An animal that hovers over its dead prey—”

“Stop saying ‘it’!” she broke in passionately.

He leaned in closer still. “—Ready to sink
its
fangs into the animal’s vein.”

“You’re not an ‘it,’ goddammit!”

“Am I not?” he roared back, the sound echoing through the cavernous tunnels. “You saw me in that cage! What the fuck am I, then?”

Sara didn’t move, just stood her ground, chin lifted, staring into his belligerent merlot eyes. “You are the one I ...” Her tongue refused to say it. She couldn’t. It was too soon. He wasn’t ready or able to hear the truth from her.

Alexander dropped his head, his mouth just inches from hers. “You are afraid.”

“Yes.”

He cursed. His jaw looked tight enough to crack and he pushed away from her. “Go now.”

“Alexander . . .”

“Go now, because if you remain I will take you—your body and possibly your blood as well.”

Sara barely hesitated. “Then do it.” She started to unbutton her shirt. “Take me!”

Alexander’s eyes flared with panic-laced desire. “No! Sara, stop.”

But Sara wasn’t listening. She was done with this shit. She wanted her shirt off, wanted to be naked like him—wanted his hands on her and his cock inside her, and she didn’t care about the consequences.

“For fuck’s sake, Sara, stop!” He reached out and grabbed the two sides of her shirt and held them together. “No matter what I am, I would never take a female who fears me.”

She tried to push his hands away. “I’m not afraid of you, Alexander.”

“Bullshit,” he growled. “I heard what you said before, and I scent your fear now—”

She locked eyes and growled back, “Listen to me, vampire, and listen well. The only thing I’m afraid of is
me
! That’s it. Afraid of what’s happening inside of me. Things I want, things that don’t make any kind of sense for a human to want.” Her voice cracked with emotion, but she kept going. “I’m afraid of being without you, never feeling again the way I feel when I’m with you. I’m afraid of never seeing your eyes again or your mouth, or hearing your voice. I’m afraid you’ll never allow yourself to fill the emptiness in my heart, my soul, or my body—”

Sara never finished her thought. Alexander crushed his mouth over hers, his kiss so warm and intense that Sara felt utterly helpless and heart-shatteringly thrilled all at the same time. With a moan of pleasure, she wrapped her arms around him and kissed him deeply, her tongue playing with the tips of his fangs. Suddenly, a fragrance so rich, so intoxicating, floated into her nostrils and she opened her eyes and stared at him. Then she saw it. The wound on his shoulder. It had opened again, just a millimeter, but she saw two tiny tears of blood on the surface. How was this happening? she wondered, her tongue dry, her throat parched. She had no answer, only the cry her body refused to silence, and she hugged him close, let her tongue sweep over the two sweet red droplets.