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.