1902—London, England
"THERE. THAT ONE."
Leo pressed the heels of his hands to his temples as his mind whirled and then came to an abrupt stop. He was now standing in a ballroom. A huge, rectangular one full of men and women dressed in their best finery. A string quartet played in one corner, and several young women were seated in another. A large chandelier with long, tapered candles lit the room, and men stood around the outskirts of the dance floor sipping from crystal scotch glasses.
Christ. The dream has changed again, Leo thought, and then he spotted them.
Alasdair was standing in the corner of the room looking as handsome as ever in full black tails. Directly behind him stood Vasilios. They were so close they had to be touching, and from the smug expressions stretched across both their faces, they were enjoying the contact.
"There. See him? The Duke of Essex. He's looking very dashing tonight, and every time he passes, his eyes stray to you, agóri. Not that I can blame him. You’re so very handsome in your evening wear."
Leo could tell by the way Vasilios’s eyes tracked the man across the room that he was on the hunt, and he was more than enjoying using Alasdair as the bait. It was clear by the way Vasilios stroked a hand over Alasdair’s shoulder, drawing the Duke’s eye that he delighted in having others look at Alasdair and want him.
It was as if the fact that they found his possession appealing pleased him. But Leo also sensed that, if anyone dared to touch without his permission, they would likely lose their hand. Or their life.
"Are you sure you don't wish to go back to our room and—"
"You are hungry," Vasilios said. "You need to eat."
"I can wait."
"No, you have waited long enough. You must stop doing that. Testing yourself."
Alasdair scoffed. "It's hardly a test, Vasilios. I have been doing it for centuries. I am merely more selective than you.“
"Yes, but it seems so unnecessary when there is food readily available."
“I know. But you spoiled me from the first. After tasting you, only something special will tempt me.”
As the duke wandered by the two of them, he dipped his head in Alasdair’s direction, and when the corner of Alasdair's lip curved up and his eyes glowed, the redheaded man straightened his shoulders like a proud peacock.
As he continued by, not wanting to appear conspicuous, Alasdair said softly, “I suppose he will do.”
Vasilios raised the glass in his hand and took a long sip before he said, “So enthusiastic. You can always add a bit of excitement yourself, agóri. Tease him. Then take him. I’ll wait here. Don't be long. I suddenly have a different hunger I wish to satisfy."
Alasdair grinned, and Leo caught the tips of his fangs before he shut his mouth and followed the duke outside.
Present Day—Alasdair’s Bedchambers
ALASDAIR APPEARED IN his bedchambers and dropped Leo onto the king-size mattress in the center. He didn’t want to leave him there unsupervised, especially with all the shit going down. But what other choice did he have? He wasn’t going to take him to the Assembly Hall, where he could feel the Ancients were gathered, and that was where he needed to go.
He slung Thanos’s arm over his shoulder and gave a final look at the man on his bed. With any luck, he’d remain passed out, or wherever the fuck he was, until he returned. Until then, he needed to get Thanos to the Ancients. If anyone could hope to heal his cousin, they could.
He faded them from his room to the Hall, and they appeared rather ungracefully. Thanos, a ragged mess, clung to him as he staggered to stay on his feet.
Eton winced as he stood. He had the same fair complexion as Thanos and was tall like him, but where his first sired was more muscular, Eton was lithe in frame. When his eyes zoomed in on the vampire Alasdair held propped up by his side, the shared pain their kind felt when their progeny was close to death was evident in his stance and expression.
Before Alasdair could begin to explain, Eton was at their side.
“I sensed something had happened but did not understand the severity. What is wrong with him?” he demanded, concern shining in the Ancient’s eyes.
Just like he and Vasilios were dark in their coloring and nature, Thanos and Eton shared those same boyishly handsome features. Since they were charmers of both men and women, it was shocking to see Thanos so sickly and Eton so serious.
As the Ancient knelt down by Thanos’s side, Alasdair wondered for the first time how the others would react should one of the three die. Was the concern in Eton’s eyes for Thanos? Or his own safety?
“I don’t know what happened, exactly.” Alasdair glanced over at Vasilios, who was currently rounding the end of the podium and moving towards him. “I wasn’t there,” he admitted, and then he looked to the third in the room—Diomêdês.
He knew what he had to say next, and he didn’t relish the reaction it was going to evoke. But he locked eyes with the third Ancient and stated loud enough to be heard, “Isadora—she is gone.”
Diomêdês glared at him, his eyes changing to obsidian, and before Alasdair could blink, Vasilios was standing between the two of them, warding off Isa’s sire with bared fangs.
“Step off, Diomêdês.”
“Move aside, Vasilios.”
Vasilios hissed and spat at the male glaring over his shoulder, and Alasdair knew that, if his Ancient hadn’t been standing there, he would be dead on the floor.
Diomêdês’s anger was clouding his common sense. All he was aware of was what he was pulling from Alasdair’s mind—his first sired was gone, and he had been the one to let her go.
“If you kill him,” Vasilios said, “you lose any kind of lead you may have. Not to mention I won’t let you end his life, therefore ending my own. Think before you act, adelfe. Do you want that? To never see her again? Reach out to her. Can you feel her?”
While Vasilios tried to calm the rabid beast in front of him, Alasdair looked down at Eton, who was running a hand over Thanos’s hair, showing more concern than he’d thought their kind capable of in that moment.
“He doesn’t have much time,” Eton stated.
“I know,” Alasdair said as he crouched to look Eton in the eye. “His palm is fused in place. I cannot remove it to heal him. He was coherent before we faded. Told me it was a silver letter opener. So the amount is not much. It is the placement and the fusing that is killing him.”
Eton frowned, his features more adult than Alasdair had ever seen. Usually, he was the most carefree of the three, younger in spirit even though he was much, much older than his looks suggested. But right then he had a worried frown on his face as he tried to devise a way to work out the complication before him.
“We need to remove the hand so I can get to the wound.”
“But, to do that, you are going to tear the skin from his neck and possibly his face. And it’s so deep, I’m not sure that will heal.”
Eton grimaced and nodded. “I know. And he will hate me for it. But it will ensure his survival.”