“The Order?”
“The Eternal Order. Vampire law, vampire gods.” He sneered. “They are responsible for this. They determine how a vampire should live to remain pure inside and out. And until a vampire’s true mate finds him or her, the points on their bodies—neck and wrists—where blood is most commonly taken, are covered.”
Sara was pretty taken aback. It was so primitive. “And everyone here goes for that? Abides by the law?”
“If they wish to have a peaceful existence they do.”
“But you and your brothers—”
“Got the hell out,” he finished for her.
They continued down the street, passing homes with farmland behind them. Men and women—male and female vampires—continued to stare, their gazes ranging from shock to disgust to fear. Just like Alexander, they could easily pass for human in the looks department, but unlike him, they were bone thin and noticeably shorter than an average human.
Sara wondered why that would be, but the thought barely had time to register. Beside her, Alexander had stopped, his body frozen in place, a low feral sound erupting from his throat and filling the air around them. Sara had never heard such a sound; it was like an animal caught in a trap, and her heart suddenly ached for him. He was staring at something to his left and she followed his line of vision. There, a few feet away, standing in front of a small one-story home, was a male, a female, and a child, who appeared to be somewhere around twelve years old.
When she saw Alexander, the girl dropped her gaze to the snowy ground, but the male and female beside her stared at Alexander with looks of shock that quickly morphed into expressions of disgust. The November air chilled Sara to her bones, but it was nothing compared to the coldness that emanated from the two creatures before her. Every instinct, every nerve in her body screamed at her to run.
She dug her nails into Alexander’s waist. “Who is that?”
“The veana who gave me life,” he uttered, “and the paven who did everything he could to take it away.”
13
It had been a hundred years since Alexander had laid eyes on his mother and her true mate, Theydon, and yet their scent still made him sick. It was the scent of hate, of abuse, of neglect, and its pungent stench sent a wave of fury through what remained of Alexander’s soul. Had the Order set this up? Forced him to come here and prostrate himself at the foot of the very monsters who had driven him away?
Beside him Sara whispered, “They don’t look happy to see you.”
“This was a mistake,” he uttered tightly, his nostrils flaring, releasing angry little puffs of air like a bull in the winter night. “I’m a selfish prick.”
Sara looked up at him, her beautiful dark blue eyes confused. “What are you talking about?”
“I shouldn’t have brought you here.” The brands on his cheeks burned with an irritating pain. The need to keep Sara close and protected was nothing to this new need he had to keep her far away from the conversation he was about to engage in with his mother and her mate. “But it’s too late for regrets.”
“I thought you said I have nothing to worry about, nothing to fear,” she said.
He looked down at her, feeling like a gigantic ass for scaring her. “And you don’t,” he said assertively. “They won’t touch you.”
“Alexander . . .”
“Come, Sara, let’s finish this and get out.” He walked, Sara beside him, toward the threesome. Just moments before he reached the porch, his mother leaned down and whispered something to Evaline, his little sister, and she turned and ran into the house.
Alexander pretended not to care. She was his half sister and he’d met her only once when he was a balas . No doubt she’d been poisoned against him by the paven who stood before him now.
Theydon was at least six inches shorter than him and possessed half the muscle mass, but the cruelty and evil he’d shown to Alexander as a balas still burned brightly in the older paven’s blue eyes. The instinct to kill was strong within Alexander—to protect the young veana inside the house and the beautiful human who stood beside him outside of it. But this was not the time for vengeance. The future of his brothers was crucial and he needed information.
“Alexander.” Theydon’s raspy tone curled around Alexander’s neck and squeezed.
“In the flesh,” he said with true menace.
“We thought you were—”
“Dead,” Alexander finished for him, casting a quick glance at his mother. “Sorry to disappoint you.”
Theydon stepped in front of his veana. “You don’t belong here, sacro. What do you want?”
Alexander flinched at the ancient word for “filth”—the word Theydon had called him whenever he’d begged for blood through the bars of his cage. His fingers itched to wrap around the old paven’s neck.
“Why have you interrupted our nightly meditation—or are you just here to torment your mother?”
“I’ll leave her torment to you.”
His mother shook her head. “Really, Alexander, coming here after all this time, dressed that way, and bringing that ‘thing.’ ”
“Impure sacro,” muttered Theydon.
“You may address me in whatever way you choose,” Alexander warned the old paven, “but say another word about my woman and I will rip your head from your shoulders, regardless of the sacred ground and consequences from the Order.”
His mother gasped, put her head down, and started whispering an ancient plea to the Order.
Theydon put his hand on her shoulder. “Madeline—”
“He wishes to shame me. It has always been his greatest gift.”
“His only gift. It is his father’s blood that acts this way, not yours. Breeding Male witte.”
Alexander smiled darkly. Yes, his father was an “animal.” “And that animal is in me now, Theydon. So take care.”
Madeline’s brown eyes lifted to the brands on Alexander’s cheeks. “You have gone through morpho.”
“Yes.”
Disgust saturated her gaze. “Yes. Your size, your eyes, the marks on your face and wrists—the look of the monster, the rapist . . . Though you will not become a Breeding Male, your father is within you.”
Alexander heard Sara gasp beside him and he dropped his arm from her waist and went searching for her hand. It was the bond he needed, the strength he needed to stop himself from killing the pair before him. When he found her warm, willing palm, he squeezed it gently.
Theydon gestured to Madeline. “Go inside the house, Madeline. I will deal with your unwanted balas.”
With one last look at Alexander, Madeline turned and hurried up the steps.
When the door clicked shut, Theydon whirled on Alexander and hissed, “Why are you here, sacro witte?”
Dirty animal. Yes, indeed. “I seek the Hollow of Shadows.”
Disgust gave way to fear and awe within the old paven’s pale eyes. “The Order?”
“I need their location.”
“I don’t know it.”
“Don’t play with me.”
“Never. I do not wish to dirty my soul.”
Alexander dropped Sara’s hand and with the powers of morpho, shot forward, landing within a centimeter of the piece-of-shit paven who goaded him so easily. He spoke slowly and with deadly lucidity. “As you would have it, my hunger is never quelled, Stepfather, and when I look at you, the ache to rip you apart and feed on your unbeating heart is barely contained.”
The old paven shuddered. “Do not threaten me, witte.”
“There is no threat, only fact. An animal will kill to survive.”