What, exactly is he? There’d been a few vampire hunters over the years who’d tried to take them down, but none who had ever gotten the best of her and Thanos. What if… No, it couldn’t be that. But then Alasdair’s human, who he suspected, worked for Elias…
So maybe? Maybe he is one of those who Diomêdês was warning me of.
No.
Not Elias. It wasn’t possible.
“Your friend, is he?” Elias’s voice cut through her thoughts, and when she nodded, a scornful laugh left him. “Stop lying, Isadora. I know.”
Refusing to admit anything unless he said it first, she remained silent.
“Don’t want to say what you are? Is that what’s going on here?” he asked as he stood and walked around the desk.
She tracked his movements, looking for any weakness he might possess. Is he favoring a leg? Does one foot drag behind the other, even a little? But there was nothing. From all outward appearances, her adversary, her potential victim, seemed to be in peak fighting ability. Which was better shape than she could say for herself in her present condition.
He crossed the space between them, then he leaned down and placed his hands over hers, pressing her flesh harder against the silver. She hissed at him, the pain running up her arms almost unbearable, and when satisfaction flashed in his eyes, he brought his face in close to hers and whispered, “I know what you are, Isadora. I can feel it now. So let me see. You owe me that.”
She knew her eyes had to be glowing a fierce, bright blue. He was so near that she could smell the familiar woodsy scent wafting off his skin, and as his lips arrogantly quirked on the side, she wanted to wipe that look off his face with the back of her hand.
Her fangs pierced through her gums and her top lip pulled back when he taunted, “Bare your teeth for me.”
Unable to stop herself, she lurched forward with a frustrated snarl and revealed her deadliest weapon at her opponent, finally confirming his suspicions.
Ancient Greece—47 BC
LEO STEPPED INSIDE the temple, surprised at the eerie silence that greeted him. He shouldn’t have been, considering the thickness of the stone walls. They would block out any kind of commotion beyond them, and it amazed Leo to think that anything could have brought them to the ground.
As he walked farther inside the place of worship, hushed whispers met his ears. Groups of men and women were gathered in small clusters, and when Leo searched the area for Alasdair, he spotted him standing a few feet away with several young men.
He wandered down the center aisle, unease swirling in his gut.
He wasn’t sure why he was being shown all of this. When it had first occurred, he’d figured it was some strange power Alasdair was giving off, but even he wasn’t aware of what Leo knew of his past. He’d said as much in the kitchen before he’d ended up here.
So why am I having these dreams? These invasive flashbacks into Alasdair’s life? He didn’t understand at all.
As he continued, he noted how strange it was walking past people only to have them ignore him because he wasn’t there. Yet, at the same time, it would’ve been even more unusual for them to see a man who was attired in completely different clothes.
He came to a stop a short distance from Alasdair and took a moment to really look at him. He was wearing a similar outfit to the one he had on the first time Leo had had one of these visions—a white toga with the same brown sandals. He was so attractive that he could’ve been a movie star in a Greek or Roman classic. Instead of his long hair being tied back from his face as Leo had seen it before, it was left loose today and had a golden laurel wreath sitting on top of it. He was laughing at the man beside him, and the expression was so foreign that it made him look like another man. Leo had a sudden desire to have him laugh with him like that.
Unable to help himself, he moved towards the group of four and stood on the outskirts, listening to them talk. He was so caught up in witnessing this snapshot of Alasdair’s humanity that it wasn't until Vasilios was standing directly behind Alasdair that Leo noticed him at all.
Leo’s eyes were glued to Vasilios, as he leaned in to smell the ends of Alasdair’s hair. Leo had seen Alasdair do the same to him several times, so he knew exactly what Vasilios was doing—catching his scent. But then the vampire looked up, their eyes caught, and a wickedly depraved smile hit his lips as he ran his tongue along his top lip.
Oh fuck.
Vasilios could see him.
November—Leo’s apartment
ALASDAIR STARED DOWN at Leo, whose eyes currently resembled smoky marbles. He'd laid him on his couch after he'd collapsed in his arms, and the lingering effects of hunger and desire were draining from him.
Where does he go when this happens?
Leo had said that he had flashbacks. Flashbacks to when he was a human. But never before had he been out for this long.
So, was this the same?
Alasdair wasn’t sure how he felt about Leo seeing him as he’d once been. But he knew one thing: It was bringing back feelings he’d long since believed were dormant. He found himself wanting to push Leo for more. More information on what he’d seen and if he liked what he’d seen. But in the end, Alasdair decided it didn’t matter what Leo thought one way or another. His feelings were of no consequence to him.
Alasdair tried to reach out to his mind with a thought, to push his way in as he had before. But, as he searched for the usual opening, it was no longer there. Any access he’d had to his yielding was gone. Your yielding, is he now?
Annoyed at himself for giving a shit, he made himself leave and check Leo's small apartment in case there was something he’d missed. When he got to his bedroom, he saw the book he’d thrown off him all those weeks ago on the nightstand.
Heroes, Gods, and Monsters of the Greek Myths.
He picked it up and flicked through the pages. Images of the Greek gods were littered throughout the text, and photos of the land he’d left a long time ago called to him. But when the page stopped on an image of Apollo, Alasdair put his hand on it, tracing a finger over the man.
He examined the sketch of the god and took in his features. The strong jawline, the crooked nose, and the fable of his light-blond hair and grey eyes. Then Alasdair pictured Leonidas’s face.
Motherfucker. How could he have missed it? He’s almost a perfect replica.
Alasdair slammed the book shut and opened his mind to his cousins. He couldn't believe that it had taken him this long to put two and two together.
Too busy thinking with your cock. That's why. Fuck.
When Thanos connected with him and rasped out, Hurry. Isa—she's been taken. And I've got a slight problem on my hands, Alasdair’s gut tightened.
It had started.