Eternal Hunger

23

Alexander returned to the battleground he and his brothers had once fought on and stood at the mouth of the cave that Sara had slept near and waited for the Order to pull his ass into their sandy little world again. He wasn’t sure if this was how it worked—if the commanding ten would see him without an invitation this time, but it was worth a shot. The mission they’d sent him on had a design flaw and he had to know if those bastards had been aware of it or not—if they’d sent him in cocky and blind. And why.

He closed his eyes, breathed deep.

I’m ready, fuckers.

But when he raised his arms, nothing happened. He remained grounded, the frigid wind pulsing around his body. Behind him, a trio of birds took off and flew over his head, squawking, mocking him.

Goddammit, he wanted to be back in bed with Sara, his arm around her waist, pulling her impossibly closer against him until they fit, locked.

His cock twitched, his shoulder warmed—the open wound she’d touched her lips to an hour ago, now closed again. Another thing unexplained.

He shut his eyes once again and tried to focus. Come on, you bastards. I know you can feel me. He waited, let the moments tick by, but nothing happened. They were playing with him, he just knew—they loved playing with him.

Unable to stand still any longer, he walked to the edge of the small cliff and looked out over the snow-covered valley. He cursed the ruling ten. A hundred years of existing in a world without them and now he was practically begging to go before them.

Full circle had never tasted so goddamn bitt—

His thoughts died in his mind and as he felt himself being yanked from the mountainside, he grinned with satisfaction. They’d felt him.

The flash was quick. He was pitched about in darkness for a couple of seconds, then anchored to the ground.

It took him a moment or two to get his bearings, get his mind solid, but once he did, he crouched down into a fighting stance, his hands up, his eyes working to take in everything at once. But it was not as he remembered. No sand, no ruling ten sitting behind a table, their eyes trained on him. He was in his old credenti, in Montauk. And it was summer.

What the hell?

At first he wondered just what game was being pulled on him—was he being cast back in time or something equally irritating—but then he realized that the Order might, in fact, be here. Several times a year, the Order would travel, visiting credentis, lecturing and teaching on the proper ways for a Pureblood to live, eat, mate. The Triba, it was called. And to startle a community, demonstrate their oh so great power, the Order would abruptly change the season, usually to the opposite of what it was—fall to spring, winter to summer.

Alexander turned and started toward the field that only a day ago had been ankle deep with snow. Now, beneath trees heavy with leaves and air scented with the nearby beach, it was a picturesque stretch of red and purple flowers. As Alexander walked, he saw Impures working in the field, weeding, picking the delicate blooms and putting them in baskets. They glanced up as he passed, then looked away, but their Pureblood neighbors, who sat in groups of ten or so under the shade of the many thick-leafed trees bracketing the field, completely ignored his approach. Each Pureblood was listening to a member of the Order. All but one, anyway. Alexander spotted his little sister, Evaline, sitting with her mother and Theydon under a willow tree. All three were cross-legged, their backs pole straight as they listened to the white-haired female member of the Order. Evaline gave him a small smile, but was quickly reprimanded by her father with a swift yank of her chin back to face the Order.

Alexander’s lip curled. He had protective feelings for the girl, a connection of blood that was hard to ignore. But he would do just that, because no matter what interest she showed him now, with the council and training of her parents, she would grow to revile him in time.

“Back so soon?”

Alexander turned to find Cruen standing behind him, his red robe brilliant in the sunshine, his startling blue gaze accentuated by the single black circle brand around his left eye—the one that proclaimed to all the world “I am Order.”

“We have a problem,” Alexander told him.

“We?”

“Did you know that Dare can flash?”

Cruen glanced around at the other members of the Order who were busy with the Triba, unable to hear their conversation; then he sniffed and uttered, “Impossible.”

“It happened before my eyes,” Alexander said. “And he took an entire table of Impures with him.”

For one moment, Cruen appeared thoughtful; then he shrugged and offered a flippant gesture with his hand. “It was a trick. Human magic, no doubt.”

“That’s bullshit, and I think you know it.”

“I’m surprised at you, Alexander Roman. I had heard you and your brothers were great warriors in battle, keen observers—but you have fallen for a parlor trick.”

“This wasn’t a fucking Vegas lounge act, Cruen. I know the difference. This was Pureblood flashing.”

“Silence,” Cruen hissed. Behind him, the other members of the Order were ending their sessions. “You will return and fulfill our agreement. And next time, we will summon you. Understand?” His blue eyes flashed and he hissed low and ugly, “Son of the Breeding Male.”

Fangs flashing, Alexander lunged at the paven. But even with his quick mind and shocking speed, he made no connection with Cruen. The paven was gone in an instant, and Alexander was yanked out of the credenti by an unseen force, thrust into the now familiar blackness and dropped beside the mouth of the cave.

Seething, he snatched up a large rock from the ground and threw it against the cave’s wall. It shattered into a hundred tiny pieces, and Alexander couldn’t help but wish it had been Cruen’s arrogant, thick head.

Cursing into the cold mountain air, he clamped his eyes shut and flashed home.

Thirty minutes later, he was sitting in one of the brown leather chairs in the library, a stockpile of weapons on the table beside him and a vampire physician, who had come to check on his shoulder wound, pacing the floor in front of him.

“So do you have an answer for it?” Alexander asked, his conversation with the Order pushed to the back of his mind. For now.

Leza shook her head. “I’m afraid not.” She stopped in front of him and ran her hand over the smooth skin of his shoulder. “Are you certain the wound was open?”

“Of course I’m certain!” Alexander returned gruffly. “I felt it, saw it—saw the tears of blood weep from it.”

“Well, it has healed itself again.”

Alexander cocked his head to one side. “Don’t look at me like I’ve lost my mind, Leza. Sara saw it too. In fact, she ...”

“She what?” the physician interrupted, her eyes narrowing with curiosity.

The look made Alexander pause. He wasn’t about to go there, reveal the details of Sara’s unfortunate, unforgettable kiss to his shoulder. If he did, there would most certainly be a lecture coming his way, not to mention a suggestion for testing to be done on the human female. And after what he’d just endured with Cruen the Prick, he was done listening to reprimands.

Leza’s gaze bore into him, suspicious about his silence. Jaw tight, Alexander stood and went over to the table, started loading a magazine into his pistol. “Sara witnessed the open wound, that’s all.”

But Leza didn’t buy it. “If we connect the dots, this change in your wound happened while you were with Dr. Donohue. She might be a part of it.”

“No,” he said simply.

“You have never been one to ignore the realities nor the probabilities of a situation, Alexander Roman.”

Alexander slammed the bottom of the mag well until it clicked into place. “The reality is—no amount of exertion should be able to break that seal.”

“True.” Leza shrugged. “I’ve never seen it or heard of it happening. A veana’s healing power has always been impenetrable.”

Alexander continued loading weapons, but his mind returned to Sara’s bedroom and her soft eyes and sweet mouth. If she was the catalyst to his wound opening again, what would be the reason for it? Did she have some kind of power over him? Something he couldn’t understand? Or was this just a random act, a fluke? Was it possible that a veana’s breath might be too weak to truly heal the son of a Breeding Male?

He tossed the loaded Glock onto the table. Whatever the answer, he needed to keep his mind on the blood of another today. Within the hour, he and his brothers were going into the tunnels for a training exercise and a strategy session to make sure there was no escape for Dare and his recruits next time.

He lifted his gaze to Leza’s and said resolutely, “Perhaps I saw something that wasn’t there.”

Leza didn’t say anything for a moment; then her eyes softened and she nodded. “Perhaps.”

Alexander returned to his work just as a knock on the library door echoed through the room. “Come,” he called.

Leza was packing up her medical bag when the veana entered. Along with the strips of fabric tied around her throat and wrists, she was dressed in jeans, a white sweater, and had a lovely, obliging smile affixed to her face. She was admittedly beautiful, and if Alexander sensed it correctly, had a sharp brain as well. But she might just as well have been dim and unappealing for all it mattered to him. The woman with the blueberry eyes, yielding heart, and damaged soul so like his own possessed him now.

The veana inclined her head and smiled confidently. “Alexander?”

He inclined his head. “Hello, Bronwyn.”

Leza glanced from one vampire to the other, then slung her bag over her shoulder. “Alexander, if there are any changes, send for me immediately.”

Alexander nodded. “Thank you for coming.”

When Leza left the room, Bronwyn went over to the couch and sat down. “Sorry to disturb you.”

“It’s no disturbance.” Alexander noted that the veana didn’t seem at all nervous holding his gaze. She wasn’t for him, that was certain, but it didn’t stop him from feeling a good deal of respect for one with such a strong backbone.

“I assume you know why I’m here,” she said, crossing her feet at the ankles.

“You think we are true mates.”

“I do.”

“Nicholas told me of your work with bloodlines, genetic codes, DNA—how you believe we are a match. He also mentioned that you have nothing to show us that documents this claim.”

“Actually I do”—Bronwyn sat up taller as she explained—“but the document also reveals information I’ve collected for a private client of mine. I’m not able to share it with anyone at this time.”

“How interesting and inconvenient,” Alexander said.

“I know, but I assure you our blood, our genes are a match. I wouldn’t be here, come here without seeing the proof on paper.”

Alexander lifted his chin, showed off the brands on his cheeks. “You see my mark?”

“Yes.”

“And you have this mark on your skin?”

Her eyes dimmed, just a hair. In fact, if Alexander hadn’t been studying her so closely, he never would have noticed the chink in her confidence. “I haven’t found it yet. But that means nothing. As you know, veanas can develop their marks later, or sometimes the mark is so hidden—”

“I feel no connection to you, Miss Kettler.”

Bronwyn stilled, her gaze locked to his.

Alexander sighed. “I apologize for my bluntness. But you must understand, I won’t be mating. Ever.”

“May I ask why?” she said tightly.

“A true mate is responsible for giving love, sex, blood, yes?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t believe that the first exists, the second I can have without mating, and the third . . . Well, let’s just say that after years of being starved, having to beg for even a drop of blood, I would never allow anyone to have that kind of control over me again.”

She took a moment to digest this; then she stood up, nodded at him. “I understand. But regardless of your strong feelings, I still ask for these three weeks.”

Alexander nodded. “Of course.” Perhaps he was more like Nicholas than he thought. The old laws were deeply imprinted within him as well.

“And maybe in time you will come to see—”

Lucian busted in then, cutting off Bronwyn’s words with his mere presence. His gaze searched out his brother, completely unaware of who else was in the room. “I hope you’ve loaded us down because after that show at the restaurant I’ve got a real hard-on for that Impure.”

“Hello, Lucian.”

The pale, cruelest Roman brother turned at the sound of Bronwyn’s voice. His lips pressed together in a thin line as his almond gaze moved over her. “Puritita,” he muttered.

Bronwyn flinched and said tightly, “Don’t call me that.”

“Maybe you should remove the cloth from your neck and wrists, then.”

“You know I cannot.”

“Right,” Lucian drawled evilly. “The credenti has a tight hold on its virgini.”

“Shut it, Lucian!” Alexander commanded, but Bronwyn didn’t need his defense.

She stalked over to the terrifying albino, all six-foot-five, two hundred and twenty pounds of him, and stabbed her finger into his rock-hard chest. “Just because we want to hold on to the traditions of our kind, care for our families, and save ourselves for our true mates, does not mean we’re unenlightened idiots.”

Lucian’s mouth curled into a mocking smile. “Actually, that’s exactly what it means, princess.”

Bronwyn muttered something, then turned away from him and faced Alexander once more. “Thank you for speaking to me. If you’ll excuse me, I need to get back to Edel. We have work to finish.”

“Of course.” Alexander watched her go, banking her visceral response to his brother—no fear in those emerald eyes, only the heat of fury and the scent of sexual interest.

Lucian was already at the weapons table, sharpening a long blade and complaining. “I fucking despise the Puritita veanas of the credenti.”

“Well, don’t despise her too much,” Alexander said, thrusting a Glock into the waistband of his pants. “I need you to stand in for me with this handfasting thing.”

Lucian jerked to face him, knife poised in his fist. “What?”

“You heard me, Duro.”

“No. Hell no.”

“Lucian—”

“Get Nicholas to do it,” Lucian said brusquely.

“He’s good with propriety and society. I swear he still has ties to them, emotional or something.”

Alexander shook his head. “Nicholas is busy.”

“Doing what?”

“Tracking Trainer and Dare.”

“Screw that!” Lucian roared, plunging his knife into the table. “I’ll find the location on those two assholes and Nicky can take the veana.”

The blade stuck there, swaying, as Alexander spoke low and slow. “I need your help and you will do this for me.”

“Why? So you can fuck the human?” Lucian sneered. “You’re as bad as Dare.”

Alexander was in Lucian’s face in under a second. Chest to chest, nose to nose, two sets of fangs bared. “You speak of her to me in that manner? To me? A morphed male?”

“No,” Lucian said. “I speak that way to my brother, who has shit for brains, as of late.”

“Watch yourself, Little Brother, before your tongue grows entirely too wicked to remain in your mouth.”

Hissing, Lucian pushed Alexander off of him and returned to his knife, yanking it from the table. Brawn to brawn was not Alexander’s preferred way of dealing with his younger brother, but despite the fact that the paven had become too defiant for his own good lately, times had changed. They were no longer a democracy. The Order was back in their lives and they were at war—fighting a battle against a new race of vampire, and he, Alexander, as eldest of their family, was running the show.

He pointed at Lucian with his favorite Egyptian dagger. “You will do this for me. Watch out for her, protect her.”

Slightly more conciliatory now, Lucian grumbled, “She’s a pain in the ass.”

“Good, then you won’t touch her.”

Lucian snorted. “Yeah, like that’s ever stopped me.”

“You will not touch her,” Alexander repeated.

An evil grin spread over Lucian’s features. “What if she touches me first?”

Alexander shook his head. “You’re still such a fucking balas, you know that?”

“ ’Evening, ladies.” Nicholas walked in, joined them at the weapons table. He grabbed two guns, sank them into his waistband, picked up a tribal spear, and said, “Ready?”

“I know I am,” Lucian said, heading for the door.

“Did you get a location on Dare?” Alexander asked Nicholas as they followed. He’d decided to keep his meeting with Cruen to himself. No new information had been given and with how his brothers felt about him going to the Order alone, he wasn’t about to drop that bomb if he didn’t have to.

Nicholas grinned. “Better. A possible residence.”

Alexander flashed his fangs. “Nice.”

“Yes,” Nicholas agreed. “But don’t forget. The human is mine to kill.”

Out in the hallway, Alexander corrected him. “Our main target is Dare.”

Lucian snorted.

Nicholas narrowed his gaze on Alexander as they headed toward the entrance to the tunnels. “Why does it seem that you wouldn’t be all that pleased to have Tom Trainer executed?”

“Because he wouldn’t,” Lucian muttered.

“Shut it, Luca,” Alexander growled.

“What’s the deal?”

“Get a clue, Nicky,” Lucian said, pulling the door to the tunnels wide and barreling through.

Nicholas stopped Alexander before he could enter. “Alex?”

“We’re going to be late,” Alexander said through clenched teeth.

“Duro?” Nicholas pushed.

Waiting for them a few feet ahead, Lucian exhausted a breath. “The human’s dead and Alexander has no excuse for keeping the woman here.”

Alexander’s jaw tightened.

Nicholas let out a defeated breath. “Shit, no. Alex, you can’t keep her. She doesn’t belong with you—or to you. She will be your downfall. And possibly ours as well.”

Eyes blazing with fury, Alexander let loose. “Kill the motherfucker, Nicky. Rip out his jugular and feast, for all I care. I’m just saying Dare needs to be the priority. Now, if you’re both done busting my balls, let’s move,” he said, stalking past them. “Dillon will throw a shit-fit if we’re late.”

Nicholas hesitated for a moment, then shrugged his shoulders and took off after his brother down the dark passageways lined with Impure guards, as always, their eyes trained on the stone floor.

Sara was dreaming. And in her dream, Tom Trainer was sitting beside a very large, very handsome man on a sofa she didn’t recognize in a room with blue walls. Tom’s mouth was buried in the man’s wrist, and his cheeks pulsed as he took deep pulls from the man’s vein. As if he’d heard something, Tom released the man and sat up. Blood stained his lips and chin. To Sara’s sleep-infused mind, her former patient looked different—older, chiseled in feature and more clever around the eyes.

Beside Tom, the large man moaned a little, as if he were in pain—but a sexual pain, and he pulled Tom toward his chest and kissed him tenderly on mouth.

Suddenly, the focus on the dream lens in Sara’s mind expanded and she could see the entire room. Now the blue walls displayed photographs of couples having sex, but they were not inanimate, they were alive, moving. On the rugs surrounding the couch and Tom and his lover were men and women engaged in sex. Sara watched as after one female had finished being serviced by her male another female took her place.

Sara’s body responded to the images. Heat pooled in her belly, then drifted lower, and her legs began to tremble. With a flash, like lightning to the mind, the room disappeared and Tom’s face sat before her, his features larger than life. When his mouth opened no sound came out, though his voice seemed to echo in her head.

I will fuck you, Dr. Donahue. Then I will kill you.

With a gasp, Sara came awake. Sweaty and disoriented, she sat up and looked around the room, saw the chair against the table and the uneaten food, and the view of the city lights out her window. Oh God. Thank God. Alexander’s house. SoHo.

“Sara? What is it?”

She turned and breathed a sigh of relief. In the dark, she hadn’t seen him, hadn’t known he’d come back. But there he was beside her, his large body so near, ready to protect her both in body and mind.

She lay down, her arms going around his neck, her face burrowing in his chest. “Hold me. Jesus. Just hold me tight.”

She knew why she was dreaming about Tom; it was normal for her fears of him coming after her to be worked out while she was asleep. But the sexual nature of the dream had felt so real. Her lower half ached with it.

“You’re shaking.” Alexander wrapped his arms around her and pulled her even closer against his warm chest. His shirt was off and he wore sweats on his bottom half, but it did little to stop her from feeling his erection against her belly, stiff as marble and pulsing. Her skin tingled, desperate to be touched, and she arched her back. Alexander’s hand slipped from her lower back to her bottom, gathering her against his hip, and when it did, he felt something there that made his cock jump.

“Not fear that has you calling out, is it?” he growled against her neck. “Were you dreaming about me?”

Sara didn’t know what to say. She didn’t want to tell him about her dream, not now, not yet, not when it was so fresh. The conflict her body was under made her irrational and selfish and all she wanted to do was to have his hands on her, in her.

She pressed her hips forward, her core squeezing against his thigh. “Alexander . . . please ...”

Alexander gave a soft chuckle as though she’d just affirmed his query, and he kissed her ear as he slid his fingers from her backside all the way down the soft, wet trail to the opening of her body. “Is this what you want?” he whispered, his fingers finding the sensitive spot his tongue had lapped at hours earlier.

Sara moaned softly. “Yes.”

“Is this what you need?” he asked, his two fingers making lazy circles over her clit.

“God, yes . . . please ...”

His mouth was on her neck, then her ear. “Is your cunt aching to be filled, Sara?”

“Yes.” With you, she wanted to call out, but before she even had a chance, Alexander drove three fingers so deeply inside of her that his knuckles disappeared and her breath, her words, were caught in her throat.

“No more dreams,” he uttered against her neck, his mouth suckling at the skin over her vein as he slid another finger inside her.