Sara opened the door and disappeared behind it. Alexander felt Gray’s impatience, his concern. Then the door opened and Sara came rushing out clutching a book to her chest, the candle forgotten. “Got it,” she said excitedly. “It was under the bed.”
Gray rushed after her, down the stairs and toward their bedrooms. They were inside only a moment when chaos erupted in the house. Everything happened at once. Alexander smelled smoke, heard a male scream. He saw fire at the top of the stairs, then turned to see Sara. Her face was pale and terrified as she realized what she’d done. She pushed past Gray and ran toward the staircase, screaming and crying. But a woman came running in from another room and grabbed her, held her back.
Alexander saw only the woman’s profile, but something about her stopped him from focusing on Gray and the boy’s need to get up the stairs to his father—something about the woman made his pulse speed up. He paused the memory and circled around, taking in one feature after the other until he saw the woman’s face.
No. She was no woman.
Celestine.
Shock slammed into Alexander’s lungs and he lost focus, falling back into the past, tumbling as his mind fought to understand what it had just seen. He was bombarded by images; Celestine pushing a balas from her body—holding a newborn balas.
“Focus, Alexander,” he heard Nicholas urge sternly. “Take the memory of the fire.”
But Alexander just hovered there, unable to stop staring at the Impure female he knew as well as he knew his own brothers. How could it be? Impossible. And yet there she was. After their escape from the credenti , Celestine had remained with them for nearly ten years, cared for them as they’d protected her. Then one day, she’d walked out to find blood and never returned. They’d all thought her dead, mourned her for decades, and here she was—alive, mother to two balas—
Oh God. Sara.
“Move along, Duro,” Nicholas said, his tone grave now. “You stay too long in his mind.”
“Please, Alexander.” It was Sara; her anxious voice stole him from his startling revelation and he leaped forward in time again, searching for the last scene he’d witnessed.
He saw Celestine holding a hysterical Sara back. He saw Gray running for the stairs, up the stairs as his mother screamed at him. Alexander ran with the boy through the fire, as he kept low, when he found his father in the hall, his body consumed by flames. On a scream, Gray reached out to him with both hands . . .
Forcing himself out of the emotion and deep pain, Alexander circled the scene, focused, then drank, taking deep pulls of the fire memory into his mouth. It took only seconds and when he was certain he’d retrieved the entire memory, he withdrew from Gray’s skull and opened his eyes. The Impure—for that’s what he was—lay calm, asleep on the bed. Alexander pressed his thumb against the entry wound for a few moments; then he stepped back, his blood and Gray’s blood racing through his veins.
“Let him sleep,” he said softly to no one in particular, his mind reeling with the shocking images he’d just witnessed, not to mention the repercussions. “We will know soon enough.”
“Alexander—” Sara began.
But Alexander was already up, walking away, out of the room. He couldn’t stay there, look into Sara’s eyes and pretend he was looking at the human female he’d believed her to be. Not yet. What he’d seen, what he now knew, was astounding, remarkable. Celestine had survived, and her balas . . . both the male and the female were in his home, under his care—and both had vampire blood in their veins.
Jesus. Sara could be . . .
Growling, he ran, flew down the stairs and toward the tunnels. He wanted to rejoice at the possibility before him. If he were merely a Pureblood, it wouldn’t be possible. But he was a descendant of a Breeding Male. His true mate had to be a vampire, yes, but she could be either Pure or Impure. Sara could be his now—she could be his true mate.
He should have been hopeful and yet the only thing he felt was dread.
After Alexander’s swift departure, his brothers were quick to leave as well. But Sara remained by Gray’s side, taking his vitals every fifteen minutes, dozing in her chair, waking up to see if he was awake, and wondering what she was going to say to him when and if he did.
If the memory was gone, she reasoned, the trauma would be gone too. But he would still be left with fire-ravaged hands, and questions. Many questions. Then there was the flipside. What if he was exactly as he was before—or worse, what if he had no memory at all?
Feeling jumpy, she stood to take his vitals again, pulling out her stethoscope and placing the diaphragm against his shirt. Suddenly, a hand shot up, white-knuckled, and gripped her wrist.
“Sarafena.”
Sara gasped, stared down into the open, gunmetal gray eyes of her little brother. His voice, deep and masculine now, so unfamiliar, yet so beautiful, washed over. “Gray. Oh God. I can’t believe it.” She touched his face, his forehead, his hair. “How do you feel? Are you okay?”
He nodded slowly, though confusion moved over his features as he tried to process his past, his present, and what had happened a few hours ago in this room. “Sara,” he said, lifting his hands for her to see. “Explain this to me.” He swallowed. “How?”
As the ache built in Sara’s throat, she took his hands in hers and sat down beside him. “A little at a time,” she said. “First step is rest, okay?”
He nodded again. “We’ll talk later.”
“Of course.” She smiled gently. She’d give him small doses of memory until he could understand it without the trauma. Then they would see . . .
“And you’ll thank him for me?” Gray said.
Him? Oh God, he meant Alexander? She leaned toward him. “You understood? Seriously? You knew he could help you?”
“Yes.”
“How, Gray?” she entreated.
The beautiful young man before her smiled softly. “He spoke to me. In my head. About you, all you’ve done, how you’ve hurt.” His eyes grew momentarily sad. “He said that it was time for you and me to go home.”
Tears filled Sara’s eyes and she shook her head, unable to speak. Alexander was truly more than a desire, more than the male she loved. He was a great friend.
“Hey, human,” came a voice behind her.
Sara looked back, saw Dillon behind her, completely healed and grinning. “Hey, vampire.”
“I’ll stay with him.” She flicked her chin toward the door. “You should go. See about the other one you love.”
Yes. She needed him now, as he needed her.
With one last squeeze to her brother’s hand, Sara got up and let Dillon take her seat. As she turned to go she swore she saw her brother’s eyes flash with interest as the bodyguard dropped down into the chair beside his bed.
The cage had once been a place where his hunger could rage out of control, where he could be the animal he believed himself to be.
Now it simply kept him from the one he loved.
Fully clothed, Alexander sat back against the rock wall and fought his hunger for her as he fought the truth of what he’d seen inside Gray’s head. He breathed in, frowned. “Your brother is well, Sara?”
The unlocked metal door swung back and Sara came inside, her heady scent and honest beauty a shocking contrast to the ugly frigidity within his cell. Her blueberry eyes sought out his in the near darkness and when she found him, she went to him and knelt before him. “He spoke to me.”
“I’m glad.”
“He sounds so . . . old. Like a man. It’s hard to remember him as anything but a boy, you know?” She shrugged, her smile so bright it took his breath away. “He wanted me to thank you.”