Eternal Hunger

17

Bronwyn 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!”

“He didn’t want us to have to go before them,” came another male voice, a more controlled one, though still hypermasculine.

“That’s bullshit and you know it! We protect each other. Blood stands with blood—it is the way it has always been.”

“You look to the past far too much.”

“And you still live there.”

The old servant glanced back at Bronwyn and Edel and said, “One moment, please.”

After a quick knock, he disappeared into the room and left Bronwyn to wonder what she had gotten herself into. Descendants of the Breeding Male were rumored to be more aggressive than ordinary Pureblood paven.

And she was actually begging entrance to their lair.

“Miss Kettler is here.” The servant’s voice was barely audible through the door, unlike the one that followed.

“What?” came the annoyed bark of the first paven.

“Is she alone?” came the calm query of the second.

“No, sir,” the servant said, his tone a loud whisper now. “An older veana accompanies her.”

“Oh, Christ,” shouted the first. “She brought her tegga with her. It’s like the fucking Old Country.”

Bronwyn glanced at the veana beside her and gave her a tedious smile. “He thinks you’re my governess, Edel.”

The veana’s mischievous brown eyes flashed. “If I may say, I hope that one is not your true mate.”

“Indeed.”

“Bring her,” Nicholas commanded. “And you, Little Brother, had better watch yourself.”

The door opened and the servant reappeared, his expression beleaguered. He gestured for them to enter. Bronwyn went first, her chin lifted to mask the fear that pulsed in her belly. She heard a curse, then a dark grumble. “First humans, then the Order, now simpering veanas from the credenti all descending on us like typhus-carrying rats.”

No, Bronwyn thought as she entered the extraordinary two-story library, she was not the rat here.

“Miss Kettler. I’m Nicholas Roman.”

The paven who stepped forward to greet her was very tall, very broad, and had eyes the color of the night sky. He was menacingly dark in both features and humor, and the moment she stood in his path she felt the true weight of his presence. Forcing her nerves to remain beneath the surface of her calm exterior, she waited for his gaze to move over every inch of her, before she spoke.

“Please, call me Bronwyn,” she said. “Thank you for seeing me.”

“Of course,” he said, inclining his head, though his eyes went once more to the cloths covering her neck and wrists.

She tried not to be intimidated by him, but it wasn’t easy. He was nothing like the pavens in her credenti, who were similar to her height and gentle in both action and tone. No, this paven was large and rough and no doubt breathed blood and sex, just as his sire had.

“You have brought a handfast?” he asked, his black eyes cool, though respectful.

“Yes.”

“For my brother Alexander.”

“Yes.”

“Thank Christ!” came an irritated male voice from above.

It was the first voice she’d heard through the library door and Bronwyn’s eyes drifted upward, to the second floor of the library. She saw no face there, only dark blue jeans that housed long, thickly muscled legs and a pair of scuffed-up black hunting boots that were propped up on the wood banister. “Nice tegga,” the paven muttered down to her. “Do you still suckle at her tits?”

Beside Bronwyn, Edel sucked in air.

“Shut it, Lucian!” Nicholas snarled. “For fuck’s sake.” He turned back to Bronwyn and lifted his hands in the air, in a silent show of frustration. “I apologize for my brother.”

Bronwyn’s gaze lifted once again. So that was Lucian. The devil brother.

“Please ignore him,” Nicholas said.

“I imagine that would be impossible,” Bronwyn quipped.

Humor lit the paven’s black eyes. “Indeed.” Then he sobered. “Bronwyn, I respect your call for a handfast, but why do you believe Alexander is your true mate?”

She hesitated before answering. Though she openly studied true mates, their histories, bloodlines, and the location of their marks on the skin, in the past year she had dipped into a strain of vampire lineage for a private client, lineage that was controversial and confidential. It was there that she had found her true mate, a son of the Breeding Male who, thankfully, carried no Breeding gene.

She looked up at Nicholas, who was watching her intently. She needed to give the paven something. It was only fair. “I study vampire genealogy. It’s my life’s work, my passion. I don’t know how much you know about the subject, but when a paven or veana is born, they have three copies of each gene, one from their mother, one from their father, and one from their true mate. With either blood or skin samples, I can find any and all of these matches.”

“And you believe that you and Alexander are a match?”

“I do.”

“How did you come upon a sample of Alexander’s blood?”

She hesitated, choosing her words very carefully. “The Order takes samples from every Pureblood at birth. The Order supports my work—they believe it could be vital in bringing mates together early to procreate if there was a devastation in the Eternal Breed.”

“Do you have something to show me?” Nicholas asked. “A certificate? Concrete proof?”

She did, but the document also revealed information she couldn’t share with anyone. “The law requires no such proof for a handfasting,” she said quickly, “only a willingness—”

“There’s no fucking willingness here, princess,” Lucian called down, sarcasm dripping like lethal honey from his tone.

Nicholas sighed. “You are correct, Miss Kettler. You have your three weeks.”

“Thank you,” she said, relieved yet wary. “Where should I put my things?”

“How about back on the sidewalk?” Lucian suggested. “I’ll give you a hand.”

Without thinking, Bronwyn’s gaze shot to the second floor and she said fiercely, “What is your problem, paven?”

But this time, there were no jean-clad legs, no boots resting lazily on the banister. This time, the devil himself stood there. Like Nicholas, Lucian Roman was tall, and alarmingly broad in the shoulders, but that’s where the similarities ended. The youngest of the Romans was stunningly, terrifyingly good-looking, his jaw-length hair as white as an angel’s wings, his almond eyes lethal and lustful, his face hard and chiseled. For Bronwyn, looking at him was like looking at the other side of death, and yet she could look nowhere but.

His gaze roamed over her, from top to bottom, in the most brazen of ways, like a tongue licking an ice-cream cone—like a paven who had removed many a veana’s purity cloth.

Beside her, Nicholas cleared his throat. “Evans will take you to your room, Miss Kettler.”

“Thank you.” Bronwyn ripped her gaze from Lucian’s, nodded once at Nicholas, then followed Evans. She was nearly to the door when she suddenly stopped, turned back, and addressed Lucian one last time. “And by the way, Mr. Roman, I don’t nurse from my business associate Edel, but I do let her wipe my ass from time to time.”

Edel snorted from the hallway and a loud chuckle erupted from Nicholas, but Lucian remained impassive as he watched her—although his thick, blond eyebrows rose a good half inch from where they normally dwelled.

With a quick nod in his direction, Bronwyn turned and walked out of the library.

Alexander touched down near the back entrance to his home. Night had succumbed to the stillness and bitter chill of predawn, and every muscle in his body tensed, warned him to get inside and find shelter before the sun showed her merciless face.

The back door opened and without a word to Evans, Alexander carried Sara into the house. She was asleep, a delicious weight in his arms, her dark hair swinging from side to side as he moved. He wanted nothing more than to keep her against him, all day and deep into the night. But that was not possible, today or ever.

He took the back stairs two at a time until he reached the third floor, then stalked down the dark and quiet hallway until he reached his room. LIGHT. DIM. The mind command was as swift as the result, and he crossed the large suite and placed Sara on his bed, then covered her gently.

He stepped back. Yes, the woman looked right in his bed, beautiful, enticing.

She sighed in her sleep, turned her head, exposing the white flesh of her neck to his gaze. Saliva pooled in his mouth and his fangs vibrated with a sexual hunger he hadn’t felt in quite some time. He could do it. Right now, he could mark her, score her with his fangs—a permanent tattoo that would keep any male fearful for his life away from her. He growled low, pained, the desire to act nearly debilitating. But it wasn’t fair to her. She was human. She could never be his female, his true mate, the one who bore his mark.

There was a knock on the door and a firm whisper. “Sir.”

With one final glance at Sara, Alexander left the room and went into the hallway. “What is it, Evans?”

“I have Dr. Donohue’s room ready if you’d like—”

“No. She’s staying here.” For now.

“Yes, sir.”

Evans’s almost sheepish gaze dropped and Alexander released a breath. “Is there a problem, Evans?”

“While you were gone, there was a . . . development.”

“What kind of development?”

Evans’s gaze flickered upward. “You’ve been hand-fasted.”

Alexander frowned. “What?”

“And she’s in the room next to yours.”

“What?” Alexander roared, his chest suddenly filling with air, his veins rushing with hot, irritated blood.

“Yes, Brother dear,” Lucian called, coming around the corner, his almond eyes locking with Alexander’s fierce gaze. “We’ve been invaded. First the Order and now the credenti.”

“A Bronwyn Kettler, sir,” Evans said quickly. “She comes from the Boston credenti with her assistant, and claims you are her true mate.”

The madness he’d encountered this day was off the charts. He gestured toward her door. “Send her home.”

“Can’t do,” Lucian said with a wry grin.

Alexander growled. “I don’t have time for this bullshit, Luca.”

Lucian shrugged. “Nicholas has given her the three weeks.”

“Then Nicholas can have her! I’ve been to see the Order.”

Lucian froze, his lip curling. “So you did it, then. Alone. You found the Hollow?”

Alexander turned to Evans and motioned for him to leave.

“I can’t believe you went without us, without backup,” Lucian accused when the servant was gone.

“I didn’t go to them—they took me.”

“I don’t care!” Lucian roared, then shook his head and released a pissed-off breath. “What did the old fuckers want?”

“There’s a threat to the credentis and to the Eternal Breed. They’ve been infiltrated by a rogue band of Impures and many veana have been taken.”

“And? What?” Lucian chuckled bitterly. “They want our help.”

“My help,” Alexander corrected.

“You told them to go fuck themselves, right?”

“Not that simple, Brother.”

It took only a moment for Lucian to get the clear picture. “Nicky and I go morpho if you don’t do as you’re told.”

Alexander didn’t need to confirm or deny, just lifted his chin. “I will take care of this.”

Lucian was shaking his head. “No.”

“Don’t be stupid, Luca.”

“I swear I will lock you up in that cage of yours and bury the key. You’re not doing this again. We’re brothers, partners. Just because you’re the eldest doesn’t mean you can make decisions about our future.” Lucian arched one pale, severe eyebrow. “We made a pact to remain together, fight together. If we don’t have that, we’re based on nothing. We walked out of that life together, and we walk back in together.”

Alexander hesitated, his jaw tight as a fist. He wanted to be harsh with Lucian, pull rank and refuse to see the reason in the young paven’s words. The love for his brothers warred with the pain of seeing them lose their futures.

“Together, Duro,” Lucian said resolutely, then flashed Alexander a wicked grin. “Besides, I’ve been itching for a little recon.”

Alexander thought of the blood oath the Order had given him. They would leave Nicholas and Lucian alone if Ethan Dare was brought in, and he would have a better chance of finding the Impure with his brothers’ help. A low growl settled in the back of his throat. The Order had better come through with their end of the bargain. Because if they didn’t, he’d have another battle on his hands, one he was only too willing to start. “Where’s Nicholas?”

Lucian grinned, knowing he had convinced the alpha, his pack leader. “On that skinny human’s trail.”

“In-house or out?”

“Online. Downstairs.”

“Good. Let’s go.”

Lucian flicked his chin in the direction of Alexander’s room. “What about the female?”

“She’s sleeping in my bed, and I don’t want anyone disturbing her.”

“I meant the other one,” Lucian drawled. “The vampire female? The veana who thinks you are her true mate.”

“Not my problem.” Alexander started toward the stairs. “Let’s go. We’ve got a rogue Impure to find and kill.”