Until Hudson had turned to him with stricken eyes and terror etched onto his face.
Then Marcus realized that everything he knew about himself was wrong. He wasn’t smarter than Asher. The plans he and Hudson had made were a waste when the entire time they’d strategized, Asher was attacking Briar, night after night.
He went into the bathroom and ran the shower. He stunk like Asher. He could smell his creator’s blood through his skin. Even after gorging on the bag of blood, he could still smell him. It would be hours, maybe days, before the scent left him completely.
Thinking about scents reminded him of Briar’s, and he hurriedly undressed before jumping into the shower. The warm water poured over his skin, sluicing away the dirt and blood that covered him. He watched the pink-tinged water swirl around his feet and then disappear down the drain.
Briar had never smelled as good as she had earlier. Whatever she and Hudson had done had blossomed her scent so it filled the room like a cloud. The remembered scent was enough to make his fangs descend. He ran a finger over his upper lip. His mouth felt achy and swollen. The blood from earlier had helped him heal, but it’d done nothing to assuage his hunger. The only thing that would satisfy him was the one thing he couldn’t have.
Briar.
Marcus flipped the shower handle to cold and was rewarded with a blast of freezing water he hoped would help with the massive erection he’d sported since smelling her. His forehead thudded against the tiled wall, and he groaned.
What would it feel like, touching her? Would the freckles that covered her face trail all the way down her shoulders and back? Maybe decorate her legs?
Marcus imagined his hands trailing over her milky pale skin and shivered, though not from the cold water.
His dick hardened, and he took himself in hand. He was rougher than he imagined Briar would be. Her hands would be soft, and she’d be uncertain. He’d have to show her what he wanted, how hard he wanted her to grip him, how fast he wanted her to pump him.
Marcus groaned, all thoughts of nearly losing his life gone. Now there was only Briar’s face behind his closed eyelids and her perfect pink mouth, opened in a sigh as he skimmed his hands down her back and around her waist.
As he imagined parting the folds between her legs and rubbing her pink clit under the pads of his fingers, he came with a loud moan. Immediately, he clenched his teeth to keep the sound inside, but the image was too clear, too pure. Besides, it wasn’t like Valen or Hudson wouldn’t be jacking off later to Briar’s remembered scent as well.
Well, maybe not Hudson. He’d have the actual memory to keep him company during his cold showers.
Toweling off, Marcus walked into his bedroom, only to be greeted by the man himself.
“Feel better?” Hudson asked, voice devoid of any double entendre. If Marcus had been in his place, he wouldn’t have been able to help a few dirty jokes. But Hudson wasn’t like Marcus.
“Yeah.” Marcus dug through his drawers to find a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt. He tugged the material over his damp body before facing Hudson.
Hudson approached him, eyes on Marcus’s neck. “I’d hope so. Whatever you were working out was audible downstairs.”
So maybe Hudson wasn’t quite the gentleman Marcus made him out to be. Something about his brother ragging on him eased the tension in his chest. Still… “Jesus, Hud.”
“What?” Hudson tilted Marcus’s head to one side, touching the now healed wounds. “How do you feel?”
“I thought you knew how I felt,” Marcus retorted, but Hudson narrowed his eyes. “I feel fine.”
“You’re going to need to feed again,” Hudson said. “You should do it before Briar gets home.”
“I’d never—” he began and then stopped. He would never take Briar’s blood without her permission, but what if she offered? If he kissed her, took her to his bed, would she offer him her throat? And if she did, would he deny himself a taste of her? He didn’t think he would be strong enough to say no.
Ever since Hudson had returned home, weeks ago, with the astonishing information that Briar’s cells didn’t react to their venom, the knowledge had weighed on Marcus. If he slid his fangs into Briar’s skin, his venom wouldn’t effect her. As long as he didn’t share his blood, Briar was safe from him accidentally turning her.
If she offered, he would take her in his arms…lower his lips to her throat…
Then again, he’d been an asshole, so it was highly unlikely Briar’d run into his arms anytime soon.
“I see your mind going a thousand miles an hour,” Hudson said.
“I can’t stop myself.” Marcus jerked away from Hudson to throw himself onto the bed. He crossed his arms behind his head and stared at the tin ceiling. “I freaked out about Asher, and I took it out on Briar. Then, when she was worried about me, I dismissed her.”
“I know,” Hudson answered. “You made a mistake.”
“A mistake?” Marcus snorted. “A mistake is something you do once. I’ve been nothing but miserable to Briar. And she’s done nothing to deserve it. Nothing.”
“So apologize,” Hudson said, like it was the easiest thing ever.
“Why aren’t you more upset?” Marcus asked suddenly. “Asher is invading her dreams, showing her God knows what, and you’re Mister Chill? Where’s the Hudson I know? The general whose words cut like a knife?”
Hudson sat next to him and shrugged. “I don’t know. I feel stronger than I have before. Briar came to me.” Marcus lifted both eyebrows and waggled them, and it was Hudson’s turn to shake his head. “For help, Marcus. She came to me for help. And now we’re aware of what Asher is doing.”
“But we have no idea how to stop him. Briar needs sleep. I assume she was up most of the night?” he asked.
“A good portion, yes,” Hudson allowed.
“Then she’s going to be even more exhausted, and what are we supposed to do? Keep her awake? Shoot her full of caffeine, or Ritalin, and hope for the best?” Marcus asked. “I. Don’t. Know. What. To. Do, Hudson.”
Hudson stood and paced the room. “He comes to her when she sleeps.”
“Yeah, I know,” Marcus replied. “But we can’t keep her from sleeping, and we don’t know how to stop Asher.”
“It’s all brain stuff,” Hudson said thoughtfully and gripped the end of the sleigh bed. He rocked forward and back, staring over Marcus’s head at the wall. “How does he get into her mind? Does he have to be close? Is there a way to keep him out? Did he do this to us?”
The questions rattled off one after another, but Marcus recognized his brother wasn’t asking because he wanted Marcus to answer. Each question was one that would lead him to a larger question, the hypothesis he would then investigate and solve.
“What were we doing last night while Asher was attacking her?” Hudson asked, pinning Marcus with a gaze. This was a question he was supposed to answer.
“Strategizing,” Marcus answered quickly.
“Yes, but more specifically?” Hudson asked.
“We were revisiting battles we’d fought with Asher, hashing out where we’d been weak and how we could exploit those weaknesses again.” Marcus had no idea where he was going with this.
“Exactly,” Hudson said. “We were talking about a battle we fought hundreds of years ago, and upstairs, Asher brought Briar to that very battle. It was there she spoke to me. Told me to help her.”
“It could be a coincidence,” Marcus said. “We don’t know enough about what happened to Briar to draw a conclusion about how it happened.”
Hudson drummed his fingers on the footboard. “When we dream, our brain enters different states.”
“Right, REM sleep, non-REM sleep,” Marcus interrupted.
“Yes, but, think broader,” Hudson corrected. He stood and clasped his hands behind his back. “Think brainwaves. What type of brainwaves are typical during REM sleep?”
“Theta,” Marcus answered quickly.
“And when we access our mem
ory?” Hudson went on.
“Theta,” Marcus answered again.
“And there’s been some research that shows people actually synchronize their brain waves when they have conversations,” Hudson said. “Perhaps…”
“Perhaps what we’re assuming Asher is doing is magical when it actually has a scientific explanation,” Marcus finished. “In reality, he’s not actually feeding from her. He’s making her believe he’s feeding from her.”
“Exactly.” Hudson smiled. “And let’s not forget, Briar’s DNA. She has all the markers of a vampire. Perhaps that’s why her cells don’t react to our venom…”
Marcus swallowed audibly before he spoke. “So if we change her brainwave patterns while she’s asleep, she should be able to rest and we can keep Asher out of her head.”
“Maybe,” Hudson replied. “We won’t know unless we do an EEG, and even then, it’s not like she’s able to remember what happens when he comes to her. Unless she approaches us again and we carry over the knowledge, then—”
“Fuck.” Marcus pushed himself off the bed and rubbed the palm of his hand over his head. “You can be sure Asher won’t make the same mistake again.”
“You don’t know that,” Hudson said. “We don’t know he won’t shove our memories in her face. He’s torturing her. What better way than through us?”
“I wish we could go back in time and figure out when he appeared to her last night.”
“What time did she go to bed?” Hudson asked.
“I don’t know,” Marcus answered. “But Valen might.”
Hudson was already striding toward the door. He nearly ripped the thing off the hinges whipping it open. “Valen!”
Their massive brother appeared a breath later. His blue eyes were worried. “What? Did you hear from Sylvain? Is it Briar?”
“No,” Hudson answered quickly. “What time did Briar go to sleep last night?”
“Just after eleven-thirty,” Valen said after a moment. He studied the ceiling as if searching his memory before repeating, “Yes. It was around eleven-thirty.”
“Typically, REM sleep happens about an hour and a half into sleep. I don’t suppose you remember when I ran upstairs?” Hudson asked Valen.
“One,” the answer came immediately. “It was one in the morning.”
“An hour and a half after she fell asleep,” Marcus intoned. “It happens when she dreams.”
Hudson smiled, but there was no amusement in the expression. “Yes. There we go. It happens when she dreams. Now, whether it’s the only time it happens, we can’t be sure, but we can assume he appears when she dreams.”
“Theta waves,” Marcus said.
“Theta waves,” Hudson repeated. “We keep her from REM for the time being, and we keep Asher out.”
“You hope,” Valen interjected. He glanced between Marcus and Hudson, eyes narrowed. He may not have understood theta waves, but Marcus’s brother was an intelligent man. He’d followed along easily with their reasoning and drawn his own conclusion. “You hope that’s when he appears, but you can’t know for sure. How do you keep someone from dreaming?” he asked.
“You can wake them,” Marcus said, but Valen immediately shook his head. “That won’t work. When he’s with her, we can’t wake her.”
“It’s almost like sleep paralysis,” Hudson said. “It’s another part of REM sleep. It’s generally difficult to wake someone in REM sleep anyway. Think about all the times we’ve had trouble waking her. For example, the night we had to wake her with smelling salts. Anyone remember what time it was?”
This time, Valen shook his head, ashamed.
“It’s not your responsibility to look at the clock each time Briar wakes up,” Marcus told him.
“Of course not,” Hudson said. “It was worth a shot.”
Valen crossed his arms and went to the window, peeking out onto the street. “Maybe Sylvain will. He was the one who knew something was wrong. He may have a clearer memory of it. He’s known all along, you know. You’d do well to listen to him, not discount what he has to say.”
Valen was right. Marcus and Hudson had ignored Sylvain and Valen, relegating them to the same roles they’d had hundreds of years ago. They hadn’t shared their plans—hell—they hadn’t included them in anything they’d talked about so far.
They were assholes.
Sylvain and Valen had just as much to contribute, just as much experience to guide their strategies. Not only had they done a disservice to their brothers by excluding them, but to all of their plans for offense and defense.
“We need to work together,” Marcus said. “We were stupid to exclude you, Valen. I’m sorry.”
Valen nodded, accepting his apology easily. The man had the biggest heart of anyone Marcus had ever known. “You took on the mantle of leadership,” Valen said. “Like you’d never stopped wearing it.”
“Once a general…” Marcus droned, but stopped. He wanted Valen to know he was serious. “It was wrong of me not to listen to your thoughts and experience, Valen. I apologize.”
His brother smiled and slapped him on the back. Marcus lurched forward at the force of his hit. “Forgiven, brother.”
“Marcus is right, Valen,” Hudson added. “I apologize as well. I had my head up my ass.”
Valen chuckled, accepting Hudson’s hand when he stuck it out to shake. “Apology accepted, Hudson. So tell me, brothers of science, how do we keep our Briar from dreaming?”
Chapter Twelve
Briar
Sylvain held her hand as they walked through campus. She was more aware of his hand clutching hers than she was of where they were going, or even of the sun. And it was a really bright day. In the weeks since she’d started school, Boston had changed. Now the days were shorter, and the weather in the mornings was frigid. It didn’t seem to bother most of the students. A good number of the ones Briar met on the paths between buildings wore light jackets or sometimes, a sweater, hands dug deep into their pockets.
This was Briar’s kind of weather.
If it hadn’t been for the sun, it would have been perfect. It was cold, and she’d changed out her summer hat for one more fitted for the winter. It was a little uncomfortable inside; she’d had a few classes where sweat dripped down her neck, but she’d take it if she was blending in more.
Sylvain squeezed her hand. “You warm enough?” he asked.
Sylvain fit in with these warm-blooded students. He wore a flannel button-down over a thermal shirt. His boots were the only concession to the weather. But he seemed completely comfortable, even with the shirt unbuttoned and flapping in the wind. His strong hand wrapped around hers, and she really wished she could take off her gloves and entwine her fingers with his.
A niggle of self-pity wormed its way through her before she could squish it. There was no reason to feel bad for herself. She should be feeling bad for that girl over there, the one who slipped in a puddle when she turned her head like an owl in order to keep her gaze on Sylvain. That girl needed sympathy. Not Briar.
Sylvain pulled her to a stop, and she realized she hadn’t answered his question yet. “No. Not cold.”
“We can stop for hot chocolate after class,” he said. “Warm you up.” It was like he hadn’t even heard her, and from the way his eyes darted from side to side, maybe he hadn’t.
Briar reached up, touching him on the cheek to focus him. “Hey,” she whispered. “Where’d you go?”
His gaze settled on hers, and he relaxed. “I’m sorry.” He lifted the hand in his to kiss the back of her glove. “I’m worried.” The declaration surprised him, but Briar warmed to the admission immediately. It was good to finally know what they were thinking, and that Sylvain was sharing with her made her feel like they’d taken a huge step forward.
“Me, too,” she replied, keeping her gaze on his.
He narrowed his eyes, and his lip puffed a little before he got himself under control. “Nothing will get to you while I’m here.”
“I
know,” she answered. “I’m still worried, though. Not about you protecting me. I know you will. I should probably worry more about protecting you…” Briar trailed off as three tall blonde girls walked by, giggling and staring at Sylvain with something that could only be labeled hunger.
“Huh?” he asked, following her gaze and then laughed. It boomed across the campus and sent a flock of pigeons flapping madly into the air. “Yeah, maybe you will.” One of the girls hesitated, like she was considering approaching him, but Sylvain swept Briar into his arms and kissed her. By the time she got her wits about her, the girls had disappeared.
“I… I should get to class.” Eventually. Would it be horrible to find a bench and kiss Sylvain more?
Sylvain’s eyes twinkled, and he nodded. “Yeah. Let’s go learn some art.”
✽✽✽
The professor smiled at Sylvain and Briar as they entered the auditorium. It was an undergraduate course and a prerequisite for other art history classes, so it was packed. Sylvain hesitated a moment, studying the crowd before leading Briar to a set of seats in the front, near one of the two exits. He slid into the seat closest the door and leaned back in the chair. As he shifted from side to side, Briar studied him. He was huge, his massive shoulders and torso making the seat look like the chairs in a preschool. He couldn’t be comfortable.
Frowning, Briar studied the rest of the auditorium. Though he’d accompanied her more than once to this class, she still harbored guilt about it.
The lights lowered, and an image appeared on the giant screen behind the professor. Briar flinched, her gaze drawn to the suffering depicted in the faces in the painting.
“The Battle of Vienna,” the professor announced, flipping through slides. Behind her, another image appeared, this one even more pain-filled than the first. “The Battle of Salamis. A Greek naval engagement twenty-five hundred years ago.” She clicked the remote in her hand. “The Death of General Warren at the Battle of Bunker Hill. Some of the earliest, and most moving, pieces of artwork are depictions of war.”
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