Bastian GP

by Marie Johnston

  Her life had always felt like it was at the mercy of others, that she was nothing truly special—to anyone. Ironic that as she was pinned under the sun she’d craved for so long to meet, it was no longer true. Bastian cared about her. Ophelia LeFevre. Not just for her blood, or for her body, or for something as insignificant as her cooking, but for her as a whole. He talked to her. He cared about what she thought even if they disagreed.

  Finneus’s struggles weakened as he shrieked. “Don’t let me die! Not like this!”

  She hugged him harder. He was hot. She was growing hotter. By now the multihued rays of the sunrise were blending into nothing but blue sky. She rarely hung out in the daylight this late. Only twice: after she’d freed herself from the prison that was her home, and again when she’d killed the father of her daughter. Both times, she’d pondered her role in the world, wondering if the emotional turmoil was worth it.

  Sheer stubbornness and curiosity for what the future held had prompted her to seek shelter. It was the same stubborn tenacity that kept her anchored to Finneus as he slowly burned up.

  He threw his head back with such force, his mouth opened wide in a final shout. Smoke rose in ever-increasing tendrils off his skin as his face blistered. Her own face and the bare skin of her legs tightened like she was in the early stages of an admirable sunburn. Only the results of this burn would be death.

  “Help me—” He evaporated in a puff of ash, his clothing draping over her, offering a smidgeon of protection.

  She coughed and collapsed back. Her role in society was as a protector, and she was going to die in that role. Regret sifted through her, but she couldn’t regret Bastian, just the time she wasn’t going to get with him.

  Heat whipped through her. Death was coming.

  “Ophelia!”

  She blinked and turned her head toward the building. Bastian had appeared and jumped back into the shadow of the doorway.

  “I would’ve loved to be your true mate.” Had her words made sense, or were they too clogged with pain to be intelligible?

  He stepped away from the protection of the shadow and winced. He was strong, but his bloodlines wouldn’t tolerate much exposure, and he still had no shirt on. She could go out with that view.

  “Save yourself. Get back to the compound.” Her eyelids were drifting shut to accept her fate when he disappeared.

  His scent swamped her, and her eyes flew open to his handsome, red and blistering face. “Bastian, save—”

  His face was tight with pain, but he swooped her up and flashed away.

  He fell against the wall of the compound, but as much as he had to be in agony, he cradled her and took the brunt of the impact. When he stiffened, she knew his end was near.

  “Don’t die on me,” she whispered. God, she was useless. He was going to drop her as he ended up just like Finneus, then she’d follow in the same cloud of ash.

  Part of her took solace that they’d be together at the very end. The rest of her mourned his loss for their people. They needed more people like him.

  The compound’s door flung open and hands reached out to yank them inside. Bastian’s arms gave away, but before she hit the ground another pair of sturdy arms grabbed her. A wave of cool dark air blanketed her, but she didn’t care that she was out of the sun.

  “Bastian?” What happened? Why had he dropped her? She tried looking around, but her eyes were burnt and blinking was like scraping her eyelids over hot sandpaper.

  “Bastian?” That panicked cry for him had come from her? Yes. Where was he? What happened?

  A wrist slammed over her mouth and blood filled her mouth. Who was feeding her? This wasn’t Bastian’s blood, but another female’s. She gagged, but someone plugged her nose. She swallowed on reflex as strength literally poured into her.

  That was the effect of finding a true mate: trouble tolerating another’s blood. Did that mean he was still alive?

  The trauma of the night caught up with her. Her body and mind gave up to the power of Calli’s healing blood.

  Bastian was her last thought as she lost consciousness.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Bastian slowly came awake, biting back a groan. It was like he should be in pain, but he wasn’t. He was comfortable, if on the warm side.

  Had he survived the sun?

  It’d been so bright. He would’ve reveled in it if he could have, astounded by the beauty of the intense colors of a world lit by a massive gaseous ball.

  One of his absurd thoughts during a time when he feared for the life of the female he was absolutely in love with was that now he understood her obsession with the sunrise. When he’d left Quentin in the hands of Demetrius at the compound, he’d stepped out to flash back for a third time to the Roberts manor and glimpsed the lavenders and oranges plastered across the sky.

  They weren’t as beautiful as Ophelia, but he adored them all the more because she did.

  He must’ve survived or he wouldn’t be thinking or feeling. Right?

  Heat seeped into his side. He’d survived, but perhaps he was still toasty.

  As awareness crept back, he couldn’t dismiss the pleasure of a rounded bottom curved into him.

  “Oph—” He tried licking his lips to get out more than a croak. He couldn’t open his eyes; it was like they were sewn shut.

  A hand stroked his chest, as gentle as a feather. “Shh, just rest. I almost lost you.”

  His tongue flicked out, but it was no use. He was parched. His skin burned. The pleasure of Ophelia curled up with him was the only part that felt good. The rest of him was like being in a skin bag three sizes too small. Even worse than being crammed into Nadair’s suit.

  “What…?” He couldn’t pass out again without knowing everything was okay.

  “Demetrius said you were the closest to ashing he’d ever seen anyone. He couldn’t believe that you hadn’t gone up in a puff yet and”—her breath hitched—“bits of ash were flaking from you and your skin bubbled like it was going to explode any second. But…” Her cool finger touched his lips. “It’s a good thing you’d fed from me so much the day before.”

  His mouth twitched in a smile but his skin protested against the disturbance. That day had been one of the best of his life, and there were several moments last night that he didn’t think he’d get to have another.

  “Calli gave me her blood. Both Demetrius and Rourke fed you, several times.”

  “How long?” He was getting more words out. Healing was slow, the damage had been heavy, but he’d get better. Antonia was safe, Ophelia was with him. His world was right.

  “It’s the day after. Your skin looks like you spent the day at the beach and then fell asleep in a tanning bed, but it’s much better. D and Calli are coming back to feed us again. All we need to do is rest.”

  The male cared about his people. Bastian couldn’t deny that, even if he didn’t always agree with the male’s methods. “Quentin?”

  “Spectre’s been banished and he’s being hunted by Creed, Melody, and Quution. We’re keeping Quentin here for a while, but his parents are with him. He may not be able to bond with his true mate when he’s older, but he’s alive and demon-free.”

  Good. They couldn’t avoid repercussions, but they could be minimized.

  “Lora? Dead?”

  Ophelia’s head nodded against his chest. “The Synod approved her execution. She willingly worked with the underworld. Antonia is shaken, but she’s been talking with Quentin and decided what to do with her home.”

  A huge manor and all that money for a sixteen-year-old girl. She should be worrying about exams and what she’d do after graduation.

  “She’s waiting to discuss it all with you.” Ophelia stroked his arm. Her touch should be painful. It was anything but and he craved it like the starving male he was. “She’s asked Demetrius to draw up the paperwork to make you her guardian and the executor of her estate.”

  Her trust humbled him. He w
as as good as her father now.

  “I don’t want to leave you,” he said. He had more to say, and he debated for a moment. But life was short and he had to put it all out there. “I love you and when I’m better, I plan to properly ask you to bond with me.”

  “I never thought I’d have regrets about dying,” she said. “I mean, I have regrets, but not about leaving anything behind. But when I was burning up under the sun, I mourned the time I’d miss with you. I hated how we left things. I wanted to tell you that I thought you were right. I wanted to tell you…that I love you, too. I love everything about you. I like that you’re the yin to my yang. I like that you’re different from any other male I’ve ever met. I need you to be different from them.”

  Her words chased away the rest of his pain until he was flying on a cloud of euphoria, like he’d been dosed with an abundance of morphine and wanted to smother himself in it. “I only need you to be Ophelia. We’ll disagree, we’ll argue, then we’ll make up when we’re ready.”

  “I also…named her. While I was lying next to you, I named my daughter.” She paused. It was deeply personal. He’d understand if she didn’t share it with him. “I hope you’re not upset. Or disappointed.”

  “Why would I be?”

  “I named her Lia Angel LeFevre.”

  He couldn’t say anything at first.

  Her uncertainty radiated into him. “Lia is part of my name. And I just thought, well, your mom raised such a good kid that it would be an honor if my child shared her name.”

  “You don’t have to justify it, Ophelia. I’m humbled.”

  She snuggled closer. “It feels right. I was afraid you’d be angry.”

  “Never about that.”

  She swirled a finger across his chest until the burn he felt came from within and was entirely different than the physical one he’d suffered. “Technically, we do have some making up to do, so maybe you’d better rest up.”

  He chuckled and clutched his true mate close to him. He’d nap…for now. Then he’d wake to a new family, a new home, and a new life.

  ***

  Ophelia finished strapping her weapons on as Bastian prepared their eggs for breakfast. It’d been two weeks and he’d needed almost half of it to recover fully. He had minor scarring on his shoulders where he’d taken the brunt of the sun’s rays. Whether they ever healed completely or not, he was sexy as hell. She might be a little biased, but she didn’t care what others thought.

  Taking out Marcus had put a major hole in the underworld’s plans. Quution and Melody had dispatched Spectre—messily—and the other purebreds were in a near tizzy at the loss of their fount of information.

  Sharpe’s Point had closed. To everyone’s surprise, Marcus had owned the place. More than a few primes were left abashed and forced to dive deeper into the running of their own lives lest they be taken advantage of again.

  Her people were at the most stable point they’d ever been since the fall of the council.

  “What’d the Synod think of your suggestion?” he asked.

  Yeah, that. Her answer to their standing offer of a seat on the Synod as the other vampire representative was still a hell no. Not because she shirked people relying on her. She just wasn’t a good candidate.

  While Bastian recovered, they’d had an hours-long discussion brainstorming what the Synod needed in a representative and who would make a good candidate. The Synod had asked Ophelia because of the rank behind her birth, because they could trust her, and, she suspected, because she was female. That had left one frontrunner in Bastian’s mind.

  Madame Segal.

  But another qualified person had come to Ophelia’s mind. And that was who she’d presented to the Synod. Maybe she should’ve asked first.

  “Actually, yeah. They thought my idea sounded reasonable and would help take the Synod in a new direction, a better one.”

  “Good.” Bastian prepared their plates. “What’d Madame Segal say?”

  “I didn’t recommend Madame Segal.”

  He stopped, surprised. “Did you take it?” The smile that crossed his face filled her with warmth. He had unfailing confidence in her.

  “No. I recommended you.”

  The spatula clattered to the counter. “Me? Surely they laughed you out of the room.”

  She crossed to him and rested her hands on his shoulders. “Not when I told them how well versed in both sides of our culture you are. And how with your history, regular vampires will listen and respect you, and primes…well, they can suck it.”

  “Not all primes are evil, or even so arrogant they’re dangerous to themselves and others.”

  She feathered her fingers along his hairline and she almost needed to stand on her tiptoes. “See? That’s why the Synod needs you. After the last year, they think all primes are out to get them.”

  “But… I was going to talk to Betty today.”

  Ophelia grinned. “Betty will understand that you can’t be the one to work for her. But she might be willing to hear your ideas on prospective applicants. So, what do you think? I stay a fighter and you become a politician and we raise Antonia to be both?”

  His answering smile was just as broad. “I think I could get used to the idea.”

  He dipped his head to kiss her, but she cut it off after a peck. She had one more thing to say.

  “Before you go to work for the Synod, I’d like to properly mate my true mate.”

  Excitement glimmered in his eyes, but his expression was serious. “Are you certain?”

  “Lemme show you.” Their lips were a breath apart when there was a knock on the door.

  “Warning knock,” Antonia called before she entered. “Ooh, just in time.” She ignored their embrace and grabbed a plate of food.

  Soon, they’d all be living in the same apartment. Ophelia had moved in with Bastian, but Antonia was still technically in another apartment. Yet the living space was too small for the three of them to live together, especially when two of three were would be mated and fucking all the time, and the other was a teenager.

  Creed had drawn up plans to combine two side-by-side apartments into one. With Rourke and Grace expecting a baby this fall, it made sense to start remodeling the place into larger living quarters for families.

  After all, none of them were bachelors anymore.

  Ophelia had also gone over plans to update the cabin for weekend getaways. Antonia wanted to learn how to fish. Things were…awesome.

  Bastian slid a plate in front of her and sat down with his own. “What should I get for groceries tonight? Antonia wants us to teach her how to cook.”

  Suddenly, she couldn’t wait to be done with work. She had her teammates who were like siblings, and now she had Bastian…and was a stepmom of sorts. A mom.

  A month ago, the idea of caring for a kid would’ve made her blood run cold. But not now. Not ever again. She had a family. A real one.

  ___________________

  Thank you for reading. I’d love to know what you thought. Please consider leaving a review at the retailor the book was purchased from.

  ~Marie

  For new release updates, chapter sneak peeks, and exclusive quarterly short stories, sign up for Marie’s newsletter and receive download links for the book that started it all, Fever Claim, and three short stories of characters from the series.

  About the Author

  Marie Johnston lives in the upper-Midwest with her husband, four kids, and an old cat. Deciding to trade in her lab coat for a laptop, she’s writing down all the tales she’s been making up in her head for years. An avid reader of paranormal romance, these are the stories hanging out and waiting to be told between the demands of work, home, and the endless chauffeuring that comes with children.

  mariejohnstonwriter.com

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  Also by Marie Johnston

  New Vampire Disorder:

  Demetrius
(Book1)

  Rourke (Book 2)

  Bishop (Book 3)

  Stryke (Book 4)

  Creed (Book 5)