Alasdair

by Ella Frank

  He wasn’t sure why he was being shown all of this. When it had first occurred, he’d figured it was some strange power Alasdair was giving off, but even he wasn’t aware of what Leo knew of his past. He’d said as much in the kitchen before he’d ended up here.

  So why am I having these dreams? These invasive flashbacks into Alasdair’s life? He didn’t understand at all.

  As he continued, he noted how strange it was walking past people only to have them ignore him because he wasn’t there. Yet, at the same time, it would’ve been even more unusual for them to see a man who was attired in completely different clothes.

  He came to a stop a short distance from Alasdair and took a moment to really look at him. He was wearing a similar outfit to the one he had on the first time Leo had had one of these visions—a white toga with the same brown sandals. He was so attractive that he could’ve been a movie star in a Greek or Roman classic. Instead of his long hair being tied back from his face as Leo had seen it before, it was left loose today and had a golden laurel wreath sitting on top of it. He was laughing at the man beside him, and the expression was so foreign that it made him look like another man. Leo had a sudden desire to have him laugh with him like that.

  Unable to help himself, he moved towards the group of four and stood on the outskirts, listening to them talk. He was so caught up in witnessing this snapshot of Alasdair’s humanity that it wasn't until Vasilios was standing directly behind Alasdair that Leo noticed him at all.

  Leo’s eyes were glued to Vasilios, as he leaned in to smell the ends of Alasdair’s hair. Leo had seen Alasdair do the same to him several times, so he knew exactly what Vasilios was doing—catching his scent. But then the vampire looked up, their eyes caught, and a wickedly depraved smile hit his lips as he ran his tongue along his top lip.

  Oh fuck.

  Vasilios could see him.

  November—Leo’s apartment

  ALASDAIR STARED DOWN at Leo, whose eyes currently resembled smoky marbles. He'd laid him on his couch after he'd collapsed in his arms, and the lingering effects of hunger and desire were draining from him.

  Where does he go when this happens?

  Leo had said that he had flashbacks. Flashbacks to when he was a human. But never before had he been out for this long.

  So, was this the same?

  Alasdair wasn’t sure how he felt about Leo seeing him as he’d once been. But he knew one thing: It was bringing back feelings he’d long since believed were dormant. He found himself wanting to push Leo for more. More information on what he’d seen and if he liked what he’d seen. But in the end, Alasdair decided it didn’t matter what Leo thought one way or another. His feelings were of no consequence to him.

  Alasdair tried to reach out to his mind with a thought, to push his way in as he had before. But, as he searched for the usual opening, it was no longer there. Any access he’d had to his yielding was gone. Your yielding, is he now?

  Annoyed at himself for giving a shit, he made himself leave and check Leo's small apartment in case there was something he’d missed. When he got to his bedroom, he saw the book he’d thrown off him all those weeks ago on the nightstand.

  Heroes, Gods, and Monsters of the Greek Myths.

  He picked it up and flicked through the pages. Images of the Greek gods were littered throughout the text, and photos of the land he’d left a long time ago called to him. But when the page stopped on an image of Apollo, Alasdair put his hand on it, tracing a finger over the man.

  He examined the sketch of the god and took in his features. The strong jawline, the crooked nose, and the fable of his light-blond hair and grey eyes. Then Alasdair pictured Leonidas’s face.

  Motherfucker. How could he have missed it? He’s almost a perfect replica.

  Alasdair slammed the book shut and opened his mind to his cousins. He couldn't believe that it had taken him this long to put two and two together.

  Too busy thinking with your cock. That's why. Fuck.

  When Thanos connected with him and rasped out, Hurry. Isa—she's been taken. And I've got a slight problem on my hands, Alasdair’s gut tightened.

  It had started.

  The war. The fight. Or whatever the fuck was coming for them had been triggered. And he had a feeling Leo had been the key.

  His anger rose. He’d been deceived.

  Leo was not who he claimed to be.

  And once he woke and told him what he wanted to hear, he would find a way to end this obsession once and for all.

  Ancient Greece—47 BC

  LEO'S HEART WAS going to give out. He was positive. With as many jolts as it had been getting, it was going to give the fuck out. He stood as still as he possibly could as the stunning vampire behind Alasdair held his gaze.

  Maybe he's not looking at me, he thought, and then he looked over his shoulder. But there was no one behind him. So he turned back, wondering if he was about to be maimed right there in his vision, but when he glanced beyond Alasdair's shoulder, Vasilios was gone.

  Where the…

  Leo spun around to see if he'd missed him or if he was going to appear somewhere to ravage his throat, but instead of finding Alasdair and Vasilios, he was somewhere else entirely.

  ALASDAIR PICKED LEO up and slung him over his shoulder. He really didn't want to do this. Not now, and not with Thanos. But he didn't have a choice. He couldn't leave Leo behind, and he had to go to his cousin’s aid.

  Holding on to the backs of Leo's thighs, he faded back to the office where he'd left Isadora and Thanos, and what he saw when he appeared made his knees want to buckle. Thanos was on his ass, his back against the wall, clutching his neck. Blood oozed between his fingers and trailed down his arm in rivers of crimson liquid, and when his blue eyes found his, they appeared lackluster compared to the usual twinkle the vampire sported.

  What the fuck is the matter with him?

  Alasdair crouched by his cousin's side and put Leo on the ground. Then he looked at Thanos's disturbingly sallow complexion. He was in trouble.

  “Show me,” Alasdair demanded, gesturing to the wound his cousin was covering with his hand. When he refused to let go, Alasdair repeated himself. “Show me.”

  “I can’t,” Thanos managed to say between grim lips.

  “Why not? Just take your hand away. I’ll heal you.”

  Thanos grimaced. “My hand. It’s fused to the silver.”

  Alasdair shifted closer and saw exactly what Thanos meant. His left arm was across his chest, and his palm was flat against the side of his neck as though he’d reached to remove the weapon that’d been used. But it appeared that, when he’d taken hold of it, the metal had melted into his fingers and his hand, melding it with the wound and making it impossible to directly heal.

  The silver was pressed between Thanos’s neck and hand, and tiny little bubbles boiled there. The pain must’ve been excruciating, not only from the poison, but also from the burn. Silver only melted when it reached 1763.2° F, a little factoid Alasdair had picked up through many years manning the torture chair of the Adjudication Room. So it was a fucking miracle Thanos could still speak.

  The ghastly grey veins traveling up his neck to his ear were straining out against his skin, which was paper thin where the poison was coursing through him.

  “Who did this?”

  Thanos tried to straighten up but hissed and slumped back down. “Some fucker Isa knows—”

  “What do you mean Isa knows?”

  “Some tall bastard in a preppy-ass suit and tie. Gotta say, cousin. Didn’t think this is how I’d die.”

  “You are not going to die,” Alasdair swore as he tried to find a way to stop the toxic liquid from spreading.

  “There’s no way to heal this shit without direct contact, and you know it. It’s too deep in the blood. I’d figured a dagger would be it for me, or maybe you ripping my head off in annoyance, but not a fucking letter opener by some goddamn human.”

  So that’s what was now nothing more than a
n adhesive between his neck and his palm.

  “You need to go find Isa.”

  “If you think I’m leaving here—”

  “Go!” Thanos roared.

  Alasdair reached for the hand lying limp by his cousin’s side. “No. Now, shut the fuck up and give me your hand.”

  Thanos opened his mouth to protest but must’ve thought better of it and decided to do as he’d been told. Instead of his palm being cool to the touch, it was close to scorching.

  Like all cold-blooded creatures, their variable body temperature adjusted to their surroundings—or emotions. In this case, Thanos’s skin was heating due to severe pain. But Alasdair tightened his fingers around his cousin’s limp ones and gnashed his back teeth together to fight the pain off.

  Mine is nothing compared to his.

  He clamped his other hand around Leo's wrist, and as he was about to fade them all from the room, a photograph fell from the wall and landed by them.

  When Alasdair glanced at it, the bathhouses were staring back at him. The ones that had set him on his quest for answers when he’d last been in this room alone with Leo.

  That was when the world he had always known began to fall apart. And that made him wonder as his eyes shifted to the human who was still eerily unconscious, Is that where he is now?

  Ancient Athens—47 BC

  IT WAS AS if someone had changed the channel on the TV.

  Leo scrubbed his eyes, and when he reopened them, he recognized his new location.

  He was back at the bathhouse.

  It was nighttime.

  And there was a definite tension in the air—of the sexual kind.

  Then he heard it. A shout of uninhibited ecstasy.

  Leo's pulse thumped and his cock twitched. Then, as if he couldn't stop his feet from moving, he started walking in the direction of the sound. Gooseflesh covered his skin, but it wasn't borne out of fear.

  It was anticipation.

  A cool breeze whipped through the open roof of the house and swirled down around his feet, brushing his pants against his thighs.

  “You really should not walk alone in the night, omorfo mou agóri.”

  Leo recognized the voice. Vasilios.

  Oh God. God…

  He stopped walking and curled his fingers into his palms. Did he really want to keep going? He knew exactly who that groan belonged to, and he wasn't sure if he wanted to see Alasdair with his vampire again.

  And why is that, he asked himself. Probably because he was always interrupted every time he thought he'd finally—

  What? Have sex with a vampire who wants to kill me? Jesus, I have lost my mind.

  “A lot can happen when the sun dips down and the moon come out to play…”

  Fucking hell—Vasilios was convincing. His words were drawing him closer, and the moan that tore through the empty bathhouse was full of raw arousal.

  Alasdair.

  Not knowing if his presence would be detected or not, Leo crept closer, careful not to make a sound. Then, as he rounded the last column, he saw them.

  Alasdair was pressed up against the end pillar. Nobody was with him, but he had his eyes closed and a hand rubbing his erection. It must have felt amazing too, because he was rocking into his palm as if he hadn't fucked for days.

  Leo's own cock throbbed at the sight. Alasdair was as sexy dressed in a toga as he was in modern-day clothes. The only difference: his long hair, which was tied back now, showing off his spectacular face as the moon shone down and seemed to illuminate him.

  Fuck this, Leo thought as he pressed his hand against his stiff length. As if he wasn't going to get achingly hard watching Alasdair masturbate only a few feet away from him.

  But then the air shifted and practically hummed. Leo had felt this once before. This vibration of power that had only been present when Vasilios had been near—and aroused.

  Leo kept his eyes on Alasdair as the hand he had been using to stroke himself was yanked away and pinned to his side. Leo swallowed, his eyes focused on what was happening, when Vasilios’s voice sounded again.

  “I have been waiting for you for some time, Alasdair Kyriakoús, son of Lapidos. Ise poli omorfos. A man worthy of my attention, if ever I saw one.”

  Leo squeezed his own cock at the words of praise. What must it have felt like to be worshiped so openly as Alasdair clearly was in that moment? He figured pretty damn good if his bucking hips were any kind of indication.

  Then Alasdair demanded, "Show yourself."

  Leo stared at the shameless picture Alasdair made while waiting for whomever was speaking to appear. Dying for some kind of release, Leo unbuttoned his jeans and slipped his hand inside. He was so fucking aroused by what he was seeing that he needed to do something to either get off or hold back the impending orgasm.

  "I desire your presence," Alasdair panted, and when his eyes closed, his long lashes swept over his cheeks, which made Leo’s choice of fucking his fist or holding his climax off real easy. He started to fuck his fist.

  “Understand, agóri. Once you really see me, you can never unsee me. You will be of my blood. Your life—tied to mine.”

  This was it.

  That moment of passion, of desire so intense that Alasdair's mind was completely overtaken with arousal. The moment Vasilios had him.

  Leo knew it, and so did the male vampire. He had Alasdair exactly where he wanted him. It was in the desperate cry falling from those delectable lips and the rawness of Alasdair’s movements as he jerked his hips forward. And when Alasdair begged once again, a figure appeared.

  Even with his back to him, Leo knew it was Alasdair's vampire by the power rattling the marble walls surrounding them. With the confident way he held himself and the short cut of his hair, it wasn’t hard to make the connection. He hadn't done much to change his appearance in all his years, and neither, for that matter, had the sexy man he was pleasuring.

  They were magnificent together, just as they had been in Vasilios’s bed, and as Leo continued to watch, his feet moved him closer as if he were on autopilot. When he was finally standing beside the two of them, close enough that he could see Vasilios run his tongue along Alasdair's ear, Vasilios said, “Then open your eyes.”

  Alasdair's eyes opened, the stunning shade the same then as it was now. They even seemed to glow, but that wasn't from any supernatural reason—merely from desire. Then those sinful lips Leo had felt against his own moved and Alasdair pledged a vow.

  "I am yours."

  "Forever?" Vasilios asked as he raised his head, and the covetous expression in his eyes solidified their undeniable bond.

  Leo hadn’t understood until that moment exactly how deep their connection ran.

  He knew what Alasdair's response would be, but as he opened his mouth to tell Vasilios, the channel changed.

  Present Day—Elias’s Office

  “I THOUGHT I would be disgusted by your kind.”

  As Elias continued to inspect her, Isadora felt a pain in her gut, like his words were a knife stabbing her. Ever since she had flashed her canines at him like a spitting hellcat, he’d been studying her like a lab rat.

  “I knew what I was looking for, was told I would feel it. So I assumed I would be repelled. How wrong was I?”

  She didn’t dare take her eyes off him when he raised a hand as if he were about to touch her, but at the last minute, he took a step back.

  “Nothing to say, Isadora? That’s unlike you. You never used to hold back.”

  “And you used to be a gentleman.”

  His laughter was full of disdain. “Yes, I suppose I was, wasn’t I? But I didn’t know who I was back then. And I certainly didn’t know what you are.” He slid his hands into his pockets, and Isadora cursed herself for noticing that he was as handsome as ever with his dark hair and odd-colored eyes. “Did you?”

  The pain radiating up her arms made her clench her fists together as she fought against it. “Did I know what? About my being a vampire? Or are we still discussi
ng my chatty tendencies?”

  “You know exactly what I’m talking about,” he bit out. “Did you know who I was when I pursued you?”

  “Why should I tell you?” she challenged. “You have me tied to a chair, Elias. And you are watching me suffer. Excuse me if I don’t feel like indulging you.”

  He shook his head, her ruse of innocence not winning him over. “Don’t act like I wouldn’t be dead on the floor if you were free. You’re merely upset that I did it first. Don’t make me hurt you.”

  “You already have.”

  She thought his face softened slightly but then he spun away from her. Easier to punish someone if you aren’t looking at them. She knew that firsthand.

  “Did you know who I was?” he asked again.

  She glared at his broad shoulders, which were encased in his tailored jacket, and felt a strange sense of longing claw at her anger. “I had no idea. And I still don’t. Not really.”

  He looked over his shoulder, disbelief in his eyes.

  “Why would I lie? You talk as if I’m holding you at my mercy. But look at us, Elias. There are no shackles on you. If you want to end this, end it! You are your own master, and right now, it appears you are mine. But don’t expect me to soothe your wounded pride.”

  He turned around and stormed over to her. Then he leaned down and touched his nose to hers. “And if I let you go? Then what?”

  She swallowed, and the ache in her arms was almost outdone by the dry scratch of her throat. But there was no stopping years of instincts. “Then I will kill you.”

  1902—London, England

  "THERE. THAT ONE."

  Leo pressed the heels of his hands to his temples as his mind whirled and then came to an abrupt stop. He was now standing in a ballroom. A huge, rectangular one full of men and women dressed in their best finery. A string quartet played in one corner, and several young women were seated in another. A large chandelier with long, tapered candles lit the room, and men stood around the outskirts of the dance floor sipping from crystal scotch glasses.