“What happened to the final version?” I ask.
Alaric shakes his head. “Justinian shut down the experiment and executed everyone involved. For the first thousand years of his rule, he wanted complete sovereignty over vampires. A means for making lesser vampires more powerful would have eroded his authority.”
I nod, remembering how the ancient emperor had gotten his generals to drink his blood. “Did you know him?”
Alaric downs the glass and pours himself another serving. “It was his general, Mundus, who turned Galla and me.”
I want to know more, but he says, “You can’t return to the Order.” After drinking the entire contents of the glass, he adds. “Not until we know you won’t transform.”
“Right.” I’d already come to that conclusion. The story of Saint Julia who got executed for having been turned is still fresh in my mind. “Why did you help me?”
The corner of his mouth curls into a smile. “I have a weakness for Augustine slayers.”
“Huh?”
“Let’s just say I encountered more than one during my centuries of being a vampire.”
“Like the woman in the portrait outside your room.”
His shoulders slump, and his gaze drops to the empty glass. “We met when I was still alive.”
I lean toward him, waiting for him to elaborate, but he doesn’t. Maybe the story of his turning and his association with that slayer is too painful to discuss. I’m not going to betray his kindness and hospitality by insisting that I hear the story of my ancestor. Not after he had gotten himself in this weak state on my account.
“Tell me everything you know about the monster that bit me.” I place a hand on his arm. “Please.”
Alaric turns his head and meets my eyes in a gaze so intense it makes my stomach flip. “It’s been hunting vampires since the summer.”
My throat dries, and I rasp, “Where did it come from?”
“It stinks of the Order’s experiments.” He breaks eye contact and pours another glass of blood.
Outside, the sun disappears behind a cloud, casting the room in gloom. Goosebumps prickle on my arms, and I suppress a shudder.
“They wouldn’t…” It’s impossible to complete that sentence with any conviction, but I can’t believe Alaric. The Order would go to great lengths to rid the world of vampires, but creating that thing would mean performing necromancy. “How do you know it’s not the work of a warlock or a rival vampire who wants to claim this territory for himself?”
He places two lumps in the glass, which sink beneath the thick blood. “I don’t.”
As soon as the ether stops bubbling and fizzing, he places the glass to his lips and drains it in a single gulp. The gentle color returns to his lips, cheeks, and the tip of his nose, making him look alive again. Even his forearm feels warm.
“The Order wouldn’t send a monster to attack a slayer,” I whisper.
He tilts his head to the side, and his eyes fix on mine in a sidelong stare. I can’t tell if it’s pity I see in his gaze, but it’s something close. His full lips tighten for a moment before he speaks.
“You haven’t worked it out yet?” his voice is like a caress.
I drop my gaze from his lips, and my fingers tighten around his forearm. “What?”
“That thing was trying to reproduce.”
The words hit like a hand-cannon to my gut. I snatch my hand away from his arm and stumble off the bed.
“No.” I shake my head from side to side, my feet shuffling toward the door. The Supernatural Biology lesson on werewolves rushes to the forefront of my brain in a painful snap.
Their bite injects a toxin that forcibly transforms a live human into a slavering beast when the moon is full. Alchemists have tried to find cures for this condition, as have mages, but over the years, they have only transmuted the toxin into something worse. Sister Anning said that the Order and the Council of Mages had eliminated all the creatures that the toxin had spawned, and werewolves are nearly extinct, but what if that monster was one they had missed?
Alaric rises from the bed. “Gabrielle.”
“I can’t become that thing.” Deep in my heart, I know the futility of my words, but I thought the leeches and the vampire blood had extracted or at least destroyed all the poison.
He stands over me, impatience crosses his features. “I would never have pegged you as naive.”
I gulp. “It infected me—”
“Turned you.” He grips my shoulders, and his dark eyes penetrate mine.
My stomach clenches at the urgency in his gaze, his desperation that I accept this terrible truth. “Alright.” I dip my head. “It turned me, but you reversed that with your blood.”
He lifts my chin, and we’re locking gazes again. His eyes soften. “We won’t know for sure until tonight.”
All the fight leaves my body and I slump against Alaric’s broad shoulder. He wraps a strong arm around my back and walks me to the bed. I’m too wrapped up in dread and despair to hear the words of comfort he murmurs into my ears, but whatever he says bypasses my conscious mind, and my fretting turns to fatigue.
We lie together on the mattress—Alaric on his back, my head on the juncture of his shoulder, and my legs curled against his side. This isn’t like me. I’m not the type to cuddle with a guy I’ve only met twice, but drinking Alaric’s blood has dissolved a barrier I keep around my heart. I tilt my head and run the tip of my nose along his neck, inhaling his delicious scent.
He shudders and exhales a ragged breath.
“The Order would never tolerate a slayer who drank blood,” I murmur.
“I didn’t say they approved of the monster.” His deep voice rumbles, and the palm I’ve placed over his chest vibrates with each word. “It probably escaped from the numerous experiments they perform on magical beings.”
“Huh?” I tilt my head up to meet his eyes, but they’re shut.
Alaric’s lashes are thick and straight and as dark as the hair that sweeps down his high cheekbones. His chest rises and falls with deep breaths, and I wonder if that’s out of habit or because of the cocktail of oxblood and ether. My own eyes droop shut, and I fall asleep leaning on his shoulder.
Later, Galla wakes us to eat lunch in the garden. Alaric pulls on a shirt, and we walk through the hallways of an old-style European mansion that he explains is a mile outside Jaeger and set within its own grounds.
We reach the garden through a cream-colored sunroom with glass windows down the length of the space, an arched roof of glass, and another wall of glass doors. Along the brick wall are oak dressers that hold an array of crystal glasses in the same design. As we pass a wooden table long enough to seat twelve, I inhale the scent of freshly cut oregano and can’t remember my nose ever being so sensitive.
Outside, the sun warms my skin, and a warm breeze blows through my hair. A stone patio stretches to the pergola I saw earlier from the window.
Leo and Thoris sit at Galla’s sides around the wooden dining table, which is set for five with a platter of barbecued chicken, lamb kebabs, and vegetables grilled on a stick. A large bowl of potato salad sits next to the meat, along with coleslaw and a mixed salad of multicolored leaves.
There’s also a giant jug of blood with a bowl of granulated ether, and a separate jug that contains a thinner red liquid I assume is for me.
I turn to Alaric and smile. “You have a beautiful home.”
“This is our favorite spot.” The hand on the small of my back slides around my waist and pulls me closer to his side. I can’t tell if the gesture is protective or possessive. “It’s such a joy to be outside in the sun.”
“How did you do it?” I ask.
“That’s a story for another time.” His lips curl into a smile, and we reach the pergola.
Leo and Thoris stand. My steps falter. It’s the kind of old-world gesture I’ve only ever seen in movies and that Sister Bradford warned was a common habit of vampire males turned in previous centuries. I offer them
weak smiles and raise a hand. The Order never told us how to respond to vampires acting like gentlemen beyond plunging stakes through their hearts.
Alaric places a hand on the small of my back. “Gabrielle, allow me to formally introduce you to my family. You already know my sister, Galla from the Weaponry. The rogue with the dark hair is Thoris, and the other reprobate is Leo.”
Leo steps forward, takes my hand, and presses his lips to my knuckles. “I once escaped the wrath of an Augustine in Prague.”
A nervous laugh warbles in the back of my throat. “I’m glad you got away. How do you guys know each other?”
Leo’s sunny expression dims, and he releases my hand. “Apart from all being Visigoths, we spent the first centuries of our vampire existence confined together.”
My mouth falls open. “Why would—”
Alaric places a hand on my arm and offers me a gentle smile. “It was a long time ago. Why don’t we forget about unpleasant memories and have something to eat?”
We take our seats beneath the shade of the pergola, which is in full bloom. Wisteria flowers hang from the ceiling like grapes, and Leo explains that there are eight different species of vines that bloom at different times of the year.
“Did you sleep well?” asks Leo.
“Yes,” I reply and turn my gaze to Galla, who inclines her head, and to Thoris, whose face blanks. “Thank you for helping me last night. Thank you all.”
Leo waves it away with a dismissive hand. “It’s not the first time we’ve seen a being transform.”
“At least you didn’t break through your bonds and twist off our heads,” says Thoris.
“Thor,” says Alaric, a warning in his voice.
The long-haired vampire raises his brows in challenge. Alaric responds with a low growl.
“Let’s eat.” Leo picks up a plate of chicken, takes two quarters, and hands the plate to Galla, who takes her share.
Soon, everyone is helping themselves to the dishes on the table, and even I am piling food on my plate. My empty stomach clenches and I lick my lips, readying myself for meat.
When we’re all about to start, Thoris glances at my plate. “You’re not eating vegetables.”
“I thought Leo was the nurturer,” says Alaric with a chuckle.
Thoris scowls. “You know what I mean.”
I reach for the bowl of potato salad and place a heaping spoonful on my plate. “There.”
His eyes narrow. “After you.”
Galla twists in her seat and throws Thoris a glare. “You’re being rude.”
“Yes,” says Alaric, his voice as sharp as his fangs. “Gabrielle is our guest.”
“Who at any moment will transform and kill us all.” Thoris turns to me with his brows raised. “Or have you already mastered your monster?”
Dry, prickly heat crawls over my skin. My throat thickens, and a mix of shame and guilt wraps around my chests like a constrictor. “I don’t mean to—”
“There’s no need to respond to his taunts.” Alaric turns to Thoris, his eyes hard. “You owe our guest an apology.”
I want to say it doesn’t matter, but the temperature under our shaded spot rises along with the levels of testosterone, and no one wants to get between two snarling males. The cords in Thoris’ neck thickens, and his muscles bulge from his shirt, looking like he’s ready for a fight. Alaric’s anger is cold and deadlier than that of the hot-headed vampire.
It’s just like at Jude’s house when one of his brothers challenges the other. The only person who can separate them is Mrs. Dempsey. I pick up my fork, scoop up a large serving of potato salad, and place it in my mouth.
As I chew, Thoris’ gaze moves from Alaric’s to mine, and when I swallow and take another forkful, all the tension leaves his shoulders.
Galla places a comforting hand on his arm, and Thoris squeezes his eyes shut. He lets out a breath, raises his head, and meets my eyes. “Please forgive my rudeness,” he says. “We seldom have slayers for lunch, let alone those who wield such terrible power.”
My mouthful of potato sits heavily in my stomach, but not because of my newfound loss of appreciation for anything that isn’t meat. “I’d be just as worried in your situation.”
Leo picks up the tongs, places a handful of leaves on a side plate, and pushes them across the table. “Try the lettuce. I made the dressing without ether.”
“Thanks.” I spear a few leaves and place them in my mouth. They taste exactly as expected. Green leaves covered in oil and vinegar. For the benefit of the vampires, I hum as I chew and try to act like I’m a normal human.
Next, I take a bite of chicken, and the most intense flavors explode in my mouth, and my eyes roll to the back of my head. Apparently, the monster has turned me into an eater of flesh. The lamb kebab is equally as succulent, and I reach for a burger and don’t bother with the bun.
“Hungry?” Alaric asks.
I nod and continue eating, making sure to balance my intake of meat with vegetables.
Leo tilts his head to the side and smiles. “I always enjoy cooking for werewolves. They’re such great eaters.” His face drops. “Not that you’re a were—”
“Werewolves only transform once a month,” says Thoris. He turns to me and raises his brows. “What are your plans for tonight?”
“Gabrielle will stay in the basement,” Alaric says with a challenge in his voice.
Thoris pauses, his face devoid of expression, and Galla’s stares between Alaric, Thoris, and me. I can’t tell what she’s thinking, but her expression is a mix of trepidation and curiosity. Beside me, Alaric tenses. My experience of watching quarreling brothers says he’s waiting for an excuse to strike.
The long-haired vampire inclines his head. “Of course. Returning to the Order with an unresolved curse will mean your death. You realize that it’s not a once a month occurrence?”
Dread fills my stomach, and I lose my appetite.
Before I can reply, Alaric says, “We’re going to the one person who can give us answers.”
I gape at his profile, and he places a hand on mine.
“Surely not,” says Leo with a grimace.
Beside him, Galla cringes. “I can’t see how there's any alternative.”
Alaric turns to me, his expression grim. “I was going to suggest this tomorrow if the curse resurfaced tonight, but we may as well drive to Jaeger and visit the seer.”
Chapter 13
A bolt of terror travels down my spine and makes my muscles clench. The thought of leaving this oasis of calm sets my nerves on edge.
The sun drifts behind a cloud, and all the warmth leaves our shaded spot. Wrapping my arms around my middle, I glance around the table, where Leo, Galla, and Thoris stop drinking to watch my reaction. They’re unmoving statues, not emoting, not breathing, just waiting for me to say yes. I don’t want to subject them—or myself to the horrors of last night, but seers are the most dangerous kinds of warlocks.
Magical sight is a curse, and most seers lock themselves from society, unable to handle the torrent that comes from encountering others. Sister Shevette said it's like standing in the middle of a room circled by television sets that stretch out to infinity, each competing for the attention of the seer. Some seers from the pressure, others become warped by the evil they see. The most unfortunate are locked in dungeons and exploited by the unscrupulous.
A cold breeze blows through the juniper trees, rustles the wisteria leaves overhead, and makes my skin pucker into goosebumps. I break eye contact with Galla and stare into my plate of chicken bones. Every instinct wants to protest, wants to stay hidden until the situation works itself out, but common sense prevails.
“Gabrielle.” Alaric’s hand slides over my shoulders, suffusing me with unexpected warmth. “If you continue to transform—”
“I know.” The words leave my lips as a whisper. I know I need to visit the seer, know I need to face this problem, know I need to do everything in my power to undo the monster’s hold.
>
By now, word of my disappearance would have spread across the convent. If someone spots me in Agia Square, they’ll either drag me across the lake or report my location to Presbytera Diver. We’ll just have to work out a way to get me in and out of the seer’s home without detection.
Twisting around, I meet Alaric’s understanding eyes. Under the shade of the wisteria plants, they’re as dark as the midnight sky, the light reflecting off them like stars. It’s hard to believe this is the same male who trolled me in Jaeger Airport, but beneath the arrogant exterior is a generous and compassionate soul.
Placing my palms on the table’s wooden surface, I rise to my feet and blow out a weary breath. “Let’s go.”
Alaric and I leave the pergola and walk around the stone patio in silence, which stretches the perimeter of the house. Tall juniper trees sway in the wind, which swirls dried petals and fallen leaves at our feet. The clouds part and let in the sun, but the new warmth on my skin does nothing to smooth out my goosebumps.
He wraps his arm around my shoulder, and my breath catches. What’s left of my slayer instincts slaps me upside the head, and I push them away. Last night, I fed on Alaric’s blood. If anyone is the predator, it’s me.
I edge closer to Alaric’s body heat. Vampires are usually cold unless they’ve just fed, and even then, their eyes glow an eerie red from the stolen hemoglobin. It’s something I failed to notice last night when I freaked out and attacked him.
As we round the corner toward a courtyard of six cars, an old pick-up truck, and a pair of motorcycles, he says, “Alice Kyteler is one of the better seers. We’ve consulted her in the past.”
“Will anyone see us?” I ask.
Alaric shakes his head. “She has underground parking. Nobody will know we’re there but her staff.”
“Alright,” I whisper.
He opens the door to a 1960’s silver Mercedes convertible, letting out a gust of warm, leather-scented air. Its interior is modern, complete with a digital dashboard. I slide into the seat, lean against the headrest, and try not to hyperventilate as he closes me in. It’s not like I’m claustrophobic, but confined spaces with cursed poison running through my veins aren’t the best of combinations.
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