Alistair smiled broadly, his dimples popping. “Like a fist, Commander.”
“And her mother?”
“Believes her daughter is aself-destructive brat who will do anything, including cutting her flesh, to get attention. She is pleased that the girl is getting the serious mental help she needs.”
Ethan nodded. “Good. Keep a close watch on her. Make sure she remains in the hospital. She carries our future within her.”
“Yes, Commander.”
Movement caught Ethan’s focus and he waved Alistair away. His lead recruit, Mear, a thickly muscled, violet-eyed Impure was walking down the hall toward him, combat boots cracking against the wood floors. Conversely, trailing behind him was a tall, thin, impish-looking male Ethan had never seen before. He pushed away from the wall, met the pair halfway, and demanded in a curt tone, “What do we have here?”
“A new recruit, Commander,” Mear said.
Ethan eyeballed the large Impure and sneered. “He’s human, Mear. He can rut along with the other human male dogs here, but he will never be a recruit.”
“He wishes to become Imiti, sir,” Mear said, using the ancient word for an imitation vampire, one who can take on the characteristics of a vampire if they are consistently fed. “With my blood in his veins, he will make the change.”
Ethan paused. “Your blood?”
Mear nodded.
Normally, a human could not become Imiti unless they drank from a Pureblood, but for Ethan and his recruits, things were different. The Supreme One had made it so. “You will feed him?” Ethan asked.
“Yes.” Mear’s lavender eyes glittered with anticipation.
“Why?”
“We were friends in the human’s juvenile system for many years. He assisted me in my escape.”
“Did he?” Ethan turned to the human, who was shaking like a dog who’d been kicked every day of his life. It was a feeling Ethan remembered well. “What is your name, human?”
“Tom Trainer,” the man squeaked.
“You understand what this means, Tom Trainer?”
Looking like he was about to shit his pants, the human nodded slowly.
A smile twitched at Ethan’s lips. “Our poor Mear, our best fighter, cannot bear to lay with a female. You will take care of his needs?”
Tom swallowed tightly, but again, he nodded.
“And he will work for you, Commander,” Mear put in, “do whatever he’s told.”
“How nice,” Ethan drawled, enjoying the human’s fear and confusion, not to mention Mear’s excitement over his new pet. “To give to the cause, without any quid pro quo.”
There was a pause, then a whisper of “Sir, he does need something.”
Chuckling softly, Ethan moved closer to the human, stood eye to eye with him, and asked, “What is it you want, Tom Trainer? What are you so willing to give your life for? Because, make no mistake, once you stepped into this little world of mine and offered your body to Mear, your life became mine to command.”
Baby brown eyes flickered up, found Ethan’s calculated glare. He whispered something unintelligible.
“Speak up, human!” Ethan demanded. “I can barely hear you.”
“A woman,” Tom said.
“Ah,” Ethan drawled, eyebrows lifted. “You will make Mear jealous.”
“Not to fuck,” Tom said in an almost violent tone. “To hurt, to bleed, to kill.”
“She has rejected you,” Ethan said as if he gave a shit.
“Yes.” Emotionally amped up now, Tom continued his tirade. “She must die. She and that fanged animal who was with her.”
Ethan’s gaze shot to Mear’s. “What is this?”
“My friend claims that his love for the woman was interrupted by a vampire, Commander. A vampire with burning tattoos on his face.”
Ethan stilled, a cold fear rolling through him. “Tattoos on his face? Are you certain?”
“Yes . . . Commander,” Tom managed. “On both cheeks. They looked like something a branding iron would do.”
Was it possible? Ethan wondered, alarmed. A descendant of the Breeding Male close by? And if so, what did it mean for Ethan’s plan, his new Order?
Unwilling to show his unease over the news the human had brought with him, Ethan regarded Tom with a cold smile. “You know that there are fanged animals here?”
Tom paled. “Not like that one.”
No, not like that one. Ethan’s gaze bore down on Tom. “All right, human, you will drink from Mear, you will gain in strength, and your female will die at your hand. In return, you belong to me—you will fight for me.” Ethan closed his eyes and pulled air into his nostrils. “Now tell me more about this singed paven.”
10
Having run all the way from SoHo, Sara could barely catch her breath as she burst through the back door of Walter Wynn Hospital. She spied the empty stairwell and took the steps two at a time until she reached the fourth floor. Dizzy, her heart throbbing inside her chest, she collapsed on the top step and put her head between her knees.
Breathe.
Try to get some oxygen into the rational part of your brain.
Maybe she should’ve gone straight to the cops, or found a hotel room and slept for the five hours her body was begging for. But no, she’d searched Alexander Roman’s second floor for an unlocked window and when she’d found one she’d destroyed the screen, climbed down the rickety-ass fire escape, and run to the one place she was utterly tethered to, the one place she was sure to find her sanity.
Grabbing on to the railing, she pulled herself up and plodded over to the door, opened it wide. The psych unit was active, like a Starbucks at eight a.m. Afternoon visiting hours were in full swing, and families and loved ones were being buzzed into one ward or another, depending on the age of the patient. Just a month ago, Sara’s mother had been part of that crowd, in New York on one of her biyearly visits, and just like the rest of them, she’d worn a hopeful expression on the way in, praying she’d find her son changed, healed. It was not an uncommon occurrence to leave disappointed.
Sara tried to slip past the nurse’s station, heading straight for the door to the adult ward, and had her hand on the keypad when a voice called out, “What happened to you?”
Feigning nonchalance, Sara glanced back at Claire, the main reception nurse, and shrugged. “Tripped on the stairs going into my apartment. Ice was pretty slick this morning.”
Claire looked concerned. “Did you get checked out by ER?”
“Yep. All good.” Eager to stop the questions, Sara turned back to the keypad and stabbed in her security code. Yep, all good. Walked into the ER and told them about the patient who attacked me and the vampire who kidnapped me and they immediately sent Cameron Phelps down for a psych eval . . .
The door buzzed and Sara took off through it. Just like any other day, she headed straight for Gray’s room. She found him sleeping, curled up into his pillow, looking peaceful and young. The sight should have eased her, but it didn’t. Every moment since the night of that fire she’d thought of nothing else but making her brother well. Every day he’d been stuck at home with their mother, voiceless and in pain, she’d been studying her ass off, waiting for the day she would graduate from med school, waiting for the moment she could come and get him, help him, fix him.
It had been four years now, four years that she’d been working with him, at this hospital, trying to take the trauma from his mind. She had performed countless drug trials, a yearlong study into levels of anxiety, depression, fear memory versus permanent memory, memory replacement, even false memory replacement, and though some of her patients had been helped, had gone home to live what she hoped would be normal lives, Gray remained unchanged. What was wrong with her that she couldn’t find the answer, find a way to fix him?
Pushing away from the doorjamb, she left his room and headed for her office. She was in immediate, real trouble here—and in her world, if you were in trouble you fixed it. The scenario was simple: Patient broke into your apartment and tried to kill you. You didn’t stop to think or consider the feelings of others. You called the police.