Unleash (Vampire Erotic Theatre Romance Series Book 6)

by Felicity Heaton

  Antoine left the bed and walked around the foot of it to the cluttered black dressing table on the left side of the room, opposite the door, his bare feet silent on the wooden floor. He picked up the small metal canister there, unscrewed the cap and brought it to his nose. He sniffed, smiled, and picked up a glass and returned to Snow, settling on the bed beside him again.

  Antoine poured some blood into the glass and held it out to Snow.

  Snow reluctantly nodded, closed his eyes and opened his mouth. He hated cold blood, but it was all he had known for centuries now. He could no longer remember what fresh blood straight from the vein tasted like.

  Antoine carefully brought the glass to his lips and tipped it, allowing a steady flow of it to enter Snow’s mouth. He swallowed it down and grimaced, suppressing a shudder as it chilled his throat. Disgusting.

  It did what he needed it to though. The moment it reached his stomach, his body began to absorb it, using it to restore some of his strength. With his returning strength came memories that had eluded him. The black empty stage of Vampirerotique bathed in blood and entrails. An unfamiliar female and a child. Payne defending them. Males attacking his brother.

  His brother’s blood spilling.

  Snow growled and bucked against the restraints, the image of Antoine bleeding from wounds across his chest driving his bloodlust back to the surface. He ground his teeth as his fangs elongated, filling his mouth, and threw his head back and roared.

  “Snow!” Antoine pressed his palm against Snow’s forehead and pushed his head down onto the black pillows, effectively restraining him. “Look at me, Brother.”

  Snow rolled his eyes open and sought Antoine. Antoine knelt over him, concern shining in his pale blue eyes.

  “I am well. See for yourself.”

  Snow dropped his eyes to his brother’s chest. No blood marred the dark material of his shirt. No wounds. Antoine had already healed. Snow breathed slowly to calm himself and kept his eyes locked on his brother. He was well. Not bleeding. Not hurt.

  Not dying because of him.

  “Brother,” Snow said and Antoine frowned at him. He ached to be free of his bonds so he could take Antoine into his arms and hold him. He needed to reassure himself that his brother was unharmed, alive and with him. He longed to feel that he did have the power to break the hold of his bloodlust even when he feared that he didn’t. All he could do was ask though. “Your injuries are healed?”

  Antoine’s dark eyebrows knitted into a confused line.

  “It is a simple question. How are you feeling?” Snow tried again, needing an answer this time, afraid that if Antoine didn’t reassure him, he would lose his mind again and the bloodlust would claim him.

  Antoine released his forehead only to stroke it. “Are you feeling alright?”

  Snow frowned at that. He had asked the same damn thing and Antoine hadn’t answered. Was Antoine still injured? Had he not healed?

  “I am fine… but your injuries… tell me you have healed, Brother.” Snow tried to touch him and the cuffs sliced into his wrists again. He winced at the fleeting stab of pain. Antoine took some more cotton wool from the black nightstand and cleaned the blood off his wrists for him, and then cast him a worried glance. “What is it?”

  Antoine sat back on the bed and Snow could sense his concern and frustration. He lobbed the bloodied cotton wool into the bin near the nightstand, drawing Snow’s attention to how full it was. Some had fallen out, littering his wooden floor. How long had he been lost to bloodlust?

  “Antoine. Answer me.”

  His younger brother’s expression grew even more concerned. “I do not understand a word you are saying, Snow, and you are beginning to scare me.”

  Snow frowned now and thought about the words that had left his lips. They had seemed normal to him.

  “I never learned the language of our family’s homeland.” Antoine refilled the glass with blood and rested it on his knee.

  Snow stared at him, struggling to take in what he had said. He had been speaking the old language?

  His eyes shot wide and he tried to sit up, only to have the cuffs around his wrists jerk him back against the pillows. Antoine hastily set the glass down on the nightstand and grabbed his shoulders, his fear flowing over Snow. Evidently, he thought Snow was having a relapse.

  For once, it wasn’t the case.

  “The prince and… homeland. Prince.” Snow knew he wasn’t making any sense and it wasn’t because he was speaking the old language this time. He was speaking English. The look in his brother’s eyes as they darted between his and the glass of blood said he definitely thought the blood had had a negative effect on him, driving him back to insanity.

  “Are you okay, Snow?” Antoine moved his hands to Snow’s face, cupping both of his cheeks.

  “Not crazy for a change,” he snarled and instantly regretted it when Antoine released him and picked up the glass. “Prince. The song. Winter skies. Snow.”

  Antoine lifted the glass to Snow’s lips. “Drink a little more. You need to sleep. Do you feel you can sleep?”

  What he wanted to do was slap his brother into the next century and get him to listen, but any act of violence right now would have Antoine calling in Javier and restraining him until he forced blood down his throat and possibly stuck him with a lion-sized dose of sedative.

  Snow didn’t have good memories of the last time they had tried that one. He had hallucinated for days about all manner of weird creatures and demons jumbled in with flashbacks of his past, hadn’t slept at all, and had come out of it worse than before they had tried to tranquilize him.

  “I will try,” Snow said and allowed Antoine to pour a little more blood into his mouth. It was cold on his tongue and he swallowed it quickly. A sense of calm returned as it flowed into him, making him sleepy. “Prince. Snow. Winter skies.”

  It swam around his head, the melody haunting him and chasing sleep away.

  “I am sure it will come to you, Brother.” Antoine set the glass down again and sat beside him, his closeness comforting Snow and easing him. “Do not push yourself.”

  “Stay a while,” Snow mumbled, struggling to keep his eyes open. He didn’t want to be alone. “Will you?”

  “Of course,” Antoine said.

  Sleep tried to overcome Snow but he fought it, not wanting to waste this precious time with his brother. He didn’t know when the bloodlust would win and grip him again, and right now he feared next time it wouldn’t let go. Right now, he wanted to be normal again.

  “How long was I out?” he whispered and blinked rapidly, trying to keep sleep at bay a little longer. He should have refused the blood. It always made him sleepy when he was recovering. “You look like shit.”

  Antoine smiled but it didn’t lift the darkness from under his eyes. “It was over three weeks ago that Chica took you down.”

  Twenty-one days. It scared the hell out of Snow.

  Antoine’s voice was hoarse, strained as he spoke. “I thought I had lost you this time.”

  Tears rose into Snow’s eyes, mirrored in Antoine’s, and he fought to stop them from falling. He didn’t know what to tell his brother. He wanted to tell him that if he had known that he had been scaring him, he would have battled his bloodlust and overcome it to take away his fear and his pain, but it would be a lie. How many times had he lied to his brother?

  Too many times, and always about the same thing.

  He had promised Antoine that he would fight and he would live, and he would never succumb to the temptation death presented.

  It was becoming impossible to keep that promise.

  “I am back now,” Snow said, voice thick with emotions that felt more like a burden each day longer that he lived.

  Snow wished he could offer his brother more comfort. He wasn’t sure if he would come back from the next bout of bloodlust. He was surprised he had come back from this one. He glanced at his wrists again. The blood on them had been fresh when he had woken, no more than an
hour old, yet all the cuts had been nothing but scars.

  Snow fell quiet, allowing Antoine to talk to him, his mind elsewhere. The healed cuts and the sleep. The sanity. Someone had been with him and whoever they were, they knew how to calm him.

  They had sung to him in the old language.

  That was why he had spoken it to Antoine.

  Snow couldn’t recall the last time he had spoken it before today. It had been centuries or possibly more. Had he spoken it since Antoine was born? He didn’t think he had.

  It hadn’t been a dream.

  Someone had been here in this room with him.

  A female who smelled of lily of the valley and snow.

  A woman who had sung in the language of his homeland.

  A song for a prince and an angel.

  He sung fragments of it in his head, trying to recall it all. The more he tried to remember, the harder it became to keep his eyes open. His eyelids dropped once, twice, his vision swimming whenever he managed to get them open again, and then fell and darkness claimed him.

  CHAPTER 4

  Snow wasn’t sure how long he slept. When he came around, Antoine was gone and Lilah was there in the wooden chair to the right of his four-poster bed, her greeting smile bright and cheerful. His gaze flickered to the mahogany panelled door beyond her.

  “He hasn’t been gone long,” she said as though reading his thoughts and leaned to her left, towards the ebony nightstand. The action caused the loose lower half of her black empire-line camisole top to sway with her, brushing the waist of her dark blue jeans. She picked up the tattered book from on top of the small cupboard and settled back in her chair. “Would you like me to read to you?”

  Snow shook his head and she set the book back down but made no move to leave. “I do not require a babysitter, Lilah.”

  Her pretty face darkened into a frown, turning her golden eyes the colour of rich amber, and he silently apologised for his harsh words. He normally enjoyed Lilah’s company, even when chained to his bed as he was now, a situation that would have embarrassed him once but no longer bothered him.

  At least Antoine had pulled the covers up over his chest, giving him some dignity, and had cleaned the blood from his arms and torso. Or perhaps Lilah had.

  She had taken to him shortly after her turning and it had been nice to have someone else to talk to and spend time with in his room, but he wasn’t in the mood for company tonight.

  He was tired, cranky, and hungry.

  If he requested blood, Antoine would come running, fretting that he needed more. He would have to admit that he had been thirsting again, drinking more than a normal vampire should, let alone one affected by a vicious affliction like the one that constantly rode him.

  Antoine would be disappointed.

  Snow didn’t want to be something like that to his brother.

  Lilah bounced back with a smile and a flick of her long chestnut hair over her shoulder. “I know who does need a babysitter.”

  Snow raised a single eyebrow, intrigued by her statement. “Who?”

  “Callum and Kristina.”

  Both eyebrows shot up now. “The babies came?”

  God damn it. He had wanted to be sane when they had arrived so he could celebrate the births with everyone. Had they celebrated the arrival of the twins without him?

  Snow paused and derailed that thought. No good would come of it. He was already too attached to those at the theatre and had come to depend upon them. Part of him actually wanted to recover and defeat his bloodlust, hoping he would then be able to spend more time with them and become a more active member of the theatre staff. He wasn’t even sure when he had begun to desire such a thing.

  It had come on slowly, sneaking up on him, and then Javier had got himself into trouble with Lord Ashville, a vicious bastard of an aristocrat vampire, over Lilah and Snow had instinctively come to their defence.

  He had even tried to take Javier’s punishment on his own shoulders, but had come away from the meeting with their elders unscathed.

  Snow had often wondered since then whether the elders knew of his affliction and that it would be extremely dangerous for them to attempt to execute him. Getting him chained up for it would likely end in a bloodbath, let alone carrying out the decapitation. Whenever he felt threatened, he had a tendency to lose control and turn on everyone near him.

  “We were waiting for you to wake up before we had a big celebration.” Those words snapped him back to Lilah and he stared at her, his dark silver eyebrows pinned high up his forehead.

  “You were?” He couldn’t believe that, but her wide smile and the warm affection in her eyes told him that she wasn’t lying, and that Antoine hadn’t been the only one spending time with him while he had been in the throes of his bloodlust. “Javier didn’t let you come here to see me when I was… tell me that he didn’t.”

  Her expression turned sheepish and her honey-coloured eyes sparkled with something akin to mischief. He had. Her mate and sire had actually allowed her to come and see him while he had been lost to his demon, crazed and dangerous.

  “What the hell was he thinking?” Snow barked at her and had half a mind to shout for Javier and ask him too. If he hadn’t been cuffed to the bed, he would have been out of the door, down the hall to Javier’s room, and shaking the elite vampire male by his throat until Javier cursed him in his native Catalan tongue.

  Lilah raised an eyebrow at him this time. “He didn’t have a choice, but he didn’t let me come here alone. I was perfectly safe. I know you would never hurt me, Snow.”

  Snow scoffed at that. Hurt was putting it mildly. If he had escaped his restraints, he would have killed her, and Javier would have just been a warm up for the bloody main attraction.

  The door opened before he could reprimand her and Javier entered with Antoine, deep in discussion. Next year’s shows seemed to be the topic of conversation for the two tall slender males and both were dressed for business in sharp black tailored shirts and crisp pressed trousers. Was it the closed season already?

  Antoine smiled at Snow and relief coursed through him when he saw that some of the fatigue had lifted from his face and he looked more refreshed and rested. He must have taken the opportunity to sleep while Snow had.

  Javier crossed the room in a handful of long-legged strides and dropped a kiss on Lilah’s dark hair. She smiled up at him and took his hand, clutching it tightly. Matching gold bands encircled one finger on their left hands and Snow regretted missing something else too.

  While they had married at Vampirerotique so Javier’s younger brother, Andreu, could attend the ceremony, they had celebrated the wedding at the family estate in northern Spain. Andreu had remained at the theatre to stay with Chica, his mate, who had been trapped within its boundaries at the time, and Antoine had decided to stay in London too. Callum hadn’t been able to travel because of Kristina’s pregnancy.

  It had meant that none of Javier’s friends here at the theatre had attended the endless parties they must have held in Spain. Snow would have liked to have been there.

  He had a feeling that Lilah and Javier would have liked it too.

  Lilah had asked him to give her away after all.

  Antoine had baulked at the request. Javier had been more than a little wary too.

  Snow had been proud. He had walked her down the middle aisle of the theatre towards the stage with her arm draped over his and all eyes on them, and he hadn’t made one mistake or suffered even a momentary flicker of bloodlust.

  Of course, Antoine hadn’t shut up then. He had spent the night saying how Snow was recovering and would be free of his bloodlust before long. The bloodlust already drove him mad. He didn’t need his brother’s repetitive nonsense relentlessly shoving him towards insanity too.

  Lilah rose, led Javier across the room and whispered something to Antoine as though a two thousand year old vampire such as himself wouldn’t be able to hear it. She wanted Callum to come with the babies.

  Sn
ow wasn’t sure how he felt about meeting squalling babes while chained to a bed, but he had helped raise Antoine around a thousand years ago. He wasn’t averse to small people. They were often amusing. Antoine had always been doing something ridiculously stupid.

  Snow smiled at that.

  Everyone looked at him as though he had gone insane again and he noted with a frown that they were all holding their breath. He scowled at them.

  “I was recalling the time Antoine wet—” Snow flinched when Antoine’s hand slammed over his mouth and his fangs cut into his lower lip.

  “Play nice.” Antoine glared at him, looking for all the world as though he wished Snow was mad with bloodlust again and unable to resume his normal duty of driving him crazy or embarrassing him.

  Antoine slowly removed his hand, giving him a pointed look that warned he would have him gagged again in a millisecond if he attempted to mention all the times he had wet the bed as a child.

  Snow grinned, flashing fangs. Antoine’s face fell.

  “I did not mean to hurt you,” Antoine said.

  Snow shrugged it off and licked his fangs clean. It wasn’t the first time his fangs had ended up a little bloodied because of Antoine, and it probably wouldn’t be the last.

  Javier led Lilah from the room and Snow tracked them with his senses. They were heading towards the end of the black and gold corridor at his back. A knock sounded. A door opened. A baby wailed.

  “You used to sound like that.” Snow smiled at Antoine when he looked displeased. “You would cry like a wild thing all day long. I used to have to bring you to my room and into my bed if I wanted to get any sleep.”

  “You are certainly talkative tonight.” Antoine smiled at last and Snow nodded. He was feeling brighter. The sleep and blood had done him good, but the darkness was still pushing inside him, trying to break free and consume him again.

  And the scent of lily of the valley and snow still haunted him.

  “You are certain no one else visited me?” Snow couldn’t shake the feeling that a stranger had been with him, singing to him in his native language, soothing him out of his bloodlust and into sleep.