“Not safe.” Hudson crouched, elbows on his knees, staring at Briar. “Not safe.” He roared suddenly, gripping his hair in fists so tight, Marcus expected to see clumps of hair. Panting, Hudson tried to regain control over himself.
“I don’t know what to fight,” Valen stated baldly from his place next to the window. “Dammit, Marcus. What do I do?”
“Shut up!” Sylvain yelled. “Hudson. Get your shit together and get over here. I can’t wake her up.”
Hudson shook his head, a constant, low growl rumbling from his chest. “Not safe. Marcus.” He pinned Marcus with an angry glare. “Ammonia.”
They’d used the smelling salts from the first aid kit to awaken her the first time this had happened. Stupidly, though, Marcus hadn’t replaced the single-use bottle.
Before he could blink, Valen had dashed past him and returned, an oversized bottle of the cleaning fluid and a cloth in his hands. He unscrewed the top, dribbling the liquid on a cloth before reaching toward Briar.
Sylvain hissed, grabbed the fabric from Valen and turned his back, edging closer to the wall. Marcus stepped forward, but Sylvain hissed again. Great. He had a monster on one side of him and the illogical predator on the other, curled over his girl like she was a gazelle.
Marcus dismissed the thought. He was being unfair to Sylvain. His brother couldn’t help the instincts that had arisen in him. One glance, and it was obvious Sylvain was in protection mode. A soft groan from Sylvain’s lap had Marcus’s knees weak with relief.
“Sylvain.” Briar’s voice caught on a sob. “Sylvain. It hurts.”
Marcus could make out her heart rate, but something had changed. The way the air entered her lungs was different. Like she was struggling to expand her diaphragm.
“Hudson.” Marcus made his voice a whip.
“I’m trying,” Hudson got out. At least he was beginning to sound more like a man than a monster. He sucked in a deep breath and held it. A second later, he rushed to Briar. “Sylvain,” he said calmly. “Let me see her.”
Sylvain growled, but moved to slide Briar into Hudson’s arms. She cried out, and he immediately stopped, bringing her close to him again. “What is happening?” he yelled.
Hudson dipped his head, placing his ear on Briar’s chest. “I don’t know,” he stated. “Briar.” He lifted his head but lowered his voice. “Briar. What hurts?”
Hudson’s presence seemed to have a calming effect on her. She shut her eyes, signaling her attention had turned inward. Slowly, a flush of heat rose along her neck to her cheeks. “I’m okay,” she whispered. She took a deep breath, and touched her ribs. “It hurt so bad, and now.” She breathed deeply again. “Nothing. I feel fine. Normal. I’m so sorry. It must have been a dream.”
“Bullshit,” Sylvain said. “It wasn’t a dream. God-fucking-dammit.” He passed Briar to Hudson quickly and stood. He strode past Valen to the window, flicking aside the curtain to check the street.
“It’s not a dream,” Hudson said, repeating what Sylvain said. “It—”
Not a dream? “What did you dream, Briar?” Marcus asked, but she only shook her head.
“I don’t remember,” she answered. Her cheeks were still rosy, and she had trouble making eye contact. “I just remember feelings, being frightened. Terrified, actually. And then I woke up and my whole body hurt. But it doesn’t now.” She tried to push away from Hudson, but he held her tight. “I’m so embarrassed.”
“Don’t.” Hudson stopped her.
“Hudson,” Marcus interrupted them both. “Enough of this cagey shit. Tell us what’s going on.”
“Asher,” Hudson said. “Sylvain was right all along. Asher is in her head. He’s in all our heads, and he’s hurting her.”
“How do you know?” Briar asked. “I don’t remember…”
“I don’t know how he did it, but he’s been taking our memories and using them to get to you,” Hudson said. “But in taking our memories, he had to go in our heads, and when he did, he took you with him. You talked to me.”
What had Asher shown her? What hellish piece of their past had he shared? Marcus swallowed the anxiety welling in his throat.
“I don’t remember,” Briar repeated.
“Thank God for that,” Hudson answered.
“What did he show her?” Valen asked, his pale face illuminated by the moonlight. Marcus both wanted to know, and didn’t.
Hudson sat back against the wall, dragging Briar between his legs. He wrapped his arms around her and laced his fingers with hers. “One of the many battles we fought for him,” he answered.
Marcus turned away, rubbing his hand over the back of his head. What had she seen him do? How many people had she been witness to him murdering? And in what manner? “You don’t remember any of it?” he asked in a voice that barely sounded like his.
“No,” Briar answered, quietly. “But, Marcus, no matter what it was I saw, even if I do remember it, it won’t change the way I feel about you.”
Marcus snorted. “It very well might.”
“It couldn’t,” she reiterated.
He spun, approaching her quickly. Her eyes widened as she took in the set of his shoulders. What did she see when she examined him? He tried to wipe his face clean of emotion. “Our past is—”
“Not your place to tell her about,” Valen interrupted immediately. “Marcus, stop. If you want to tell her about you, fine. But leave us our stories.”
Briar bit her lip, and he caught the way her knuckles whitened as she squeezed Hudson’s hands. “Do you want to tell me now?” she asked. “So you can see that I won’t hate you? That my feelings for you run deeper than—”
“Deeper than what?” Marcus asked. “We barely know each other.”
Briar’s face paled, and he stood frozen in shock by the words that had escaped him. Fix it! his mind screamed at him, and inside him, his vampire twisted angrily. The pain he saw flash across Briar’s face made the vampire want to search and destroy whoever put that look there.
But it was him. You don’t deserve her.
“I know you,” she answered, her voice trembling. “I know who you are, Marcus. I may not know what you’ve done, but I see you. And you’re a good man.”
The words left him before he could stop himself. “See, that’s where you’re wrong, Briar. I’m not a man at all.” And with that, and the image of her hurt branded into his brain, he left.
“Marcus!” Valen yelled after him, but he ignored him.
Everything inside him hurt, and he couldn’t bear to see what he’d done. But she didn’t understand.
Yet.
If Asher had shown her the type of demon Marcus used to be, she’d understand all too soon that she never really saw him at all.
Chapter Seven
Sylvain
Marcus’s figure retreated out the door. That was the only word for it—retreat. He’d lobbed a bomb at Briar, and then, like a coward, he’d run away.
Sylvain could have chased him, forced him back to apologize, but he didn’t. Because he knew what it was Marcus feared. He feared it, too.
In his past, he’d been a soldier, and war was ugly. It was bloody, and dirty, and it stunk like rot and piss and shit, and there was nothing about it he wanted to remember.
The dead last thing he wanted was for Briar to see him wielding his ax, hacking to pieces beings Asher had decided were the enemy.
The dead last thing he wanted was for Briar to see how much he’d loved it.
He loved it still.
And there was the problem.
Briar’s gaze stayed trained on the door, as if Marcus would walk through any moment, but Sylvain knew his brother better than that. It was rare that Marcus dropped his bonhomie; there wasn’t much that could penetrate his everything-is-a-fucking-joke armor.
Except apparently Marcus himself.
“I wish I could remember,” Briar said, before scrubbing her face with both hands. She sighed, the breath seeming to come from her toes. The scent of sadness and
blossoms filled the room, and Sylvain sucked in a breath, holding it in his lungs. God, she smelled so good.
Even sad.
The light in the room dimmed, and Sylvain glanced over his shoulder quickly. Valen had tugged the curtains back into place. He found a place to lean and crossed his massive arms over his chest. “Give him time, little one. He speaks from hurt. And fear.”
“I know.” She tucked her messy hair behind one ear and leaned her head back on Hudson’s chest. How the hell had Sylvain let that happen?
Which reminded him… “So I was right,” he crowed. “About everything. About Asher. I told you something was wrong. And none of you—” He pointed an accusatory finger at Valen, and then Hudson. “None of you listened to me. Fucking doctor, Hudson? How about I school you in common sense?”
Hudson frowned, his blue eyes flashing warningly. Sylvain smiled wickedly. Marcus’s house could use a little remodeling. If Hudson wanted to fight, Sylvain was down for some demolition.
“What did you see?” Briar asked. “What’s really wrong with me?” She turned in Hudson’s arms so she could see his face while he spoke. Hudson held Sylvain’s gaze a second longer before shifting it to Briar.
Her words yanked Sylvain away from the fantasy he had going where he elbowed Hudson’s smug mouth and then dick punched him for good measure.
“What I remember,” Hudson began then paused as if choosing his words carefully before continuing, “is him taunting you.”
There was more. Sylvain could see it written all over the doctor’s face. Was it so awful he didn’t want Briar to know?
“There’s more,” Briar said, repeating Sylvain’s thoughts verbatim. “Tell me. I’m tougher than I look, Hudson.”
Hudson’s eyes lowered, his dark lashes hiding his emotions. “I know you are. But I don’t know how to help you. And I don’t want you to be frightened.”
“It’s bad,” she stated baldly, and Hudson nodded. His brother framed her face, leaning down to place a kiss on her lips.
“You avoid sleep,” Valen started slowly, and with each point, took a step closer to Briar. “You’re exhausted. Pale. Twice now, we couldn’t wake you.”
Asher was torturing her.
The predator inside him roared and demanded he begin to hunt. He would tear Asher apart, burn each part of his body, and then when he was nearly dead, he’d allow the son of a bitch to heal, so he could do it all over again.
“Asher is feeding from you,” Valen concluded quietly and knelt in front of Hudson and Briar. His huge hand dwarfed Briar’s when he took it between his. “It is the only explanation.”
Her pale face drained of blood, leaving her scar a stark white and her freckles golden spots against her milky skin. She made a sound, something between a cry and a groan, and leapt from Hudson’s lap to run into the bathroom. Sylvain followed, and behind him, Valen and Hudson. Briar slapped the light on before pulling herself onto the counter in front of the mirror. She yanked her hair away from her neck, turning from side to side.
Sylvain’s gaze was drawn to the still-healing burn on her neck. He imagined Asher sinking his fangs past the fragile skin, and growled.
“Careful,” Valen warned, edging closer to Briar.
Sylvain elbowed him hard in the side, pushing Valen hard enough to smack into the doorway. He was going in first, Valen and Hudson could fuck off. People who were right about shit got to comfort Briar.
And who had been right?
Oh, yeah. It was him.
Sylvain took over from Briar, lifting her hair away from her skin to peer closely at her neck. “I don’t see anything,” he whispered, and she shivered. He leaned forward, kissing the red skin and then moved to the other side of her neck to kiss her there. “There’s nothing here.” He breathed her in. Apple blossoms. There was no hint of Asher around her.
“He may not have bitten her neck,” Hudson stated.
At once, Briar’s skin flushed, and she spun, her horrified eyes meeting Sylvain’s. “Sylvain?”
Earlier, Briar had asked him to bite her, and he’d done everything in his power not to drink her. The idea that Asher had taken something from Briar, something that wasn’t his to take, made him shut his eyes. Carefully, he dropped his forehead to Briar’s and breathed in her scent again. One breath after another.
Nothing mattered but her. Murder could wait until after he’d comforted her.
“Do you want me to examine you?” Hudson asked from too close. Sylvain snapped his head back and grimaced at his brother.
Briar shook her head quickly, but paused, and then nodded slowly. “Yes. I think you probably should.”
“So, first you say there’s nothing wrong with her, and now you’re the one who gets to check her for bite marks?” Sylvain ground out. “How the hell is that fair?”
Valen chuckled. “Little one, I think you will have your choice of men who are happy to study you from head to toe.”
“Oh.” The word left Briar on a breath. “I—”
“Enough,” Hudson cut in. “Valen. Sylvain. Get out. This is not a date. Clearly only one of us will be able to keep our head with Briar.”
Valen crossed his arms before shrugging good-naturedly. “All right. I would much rather the first time I see your form to involve…”
Fuck that. Sylvain lurched toward his brother and dragged him toward the door. The last thing he wanted to hear was Valen’s plans for Briar. He was fine sharing her but didn’t need the details.
The door hadn’t shut behind them before the smile dropped from Valen’s face. In its place was the hard gaze of a warlord, primed for battle. “Sylvain,” Valen said low, pitching his voice to keep Hudson from hearing him. His brother’s voice was choked, but he forced out the words. “He hurt her. He’s been hurting her.”
“Every night,” Sylvain replied. He thought about all the times he encouraged her to nap, thinking it would rejuvenate her and put the sparkle back in her eyes. But he’d been wrong. Each time he insisted on sleep, he’d unknowingly sent her back to Asher.
“Every time she slept,” Valen added. He stepped away from Sylvain to lean his forehead on the walls. He drew his head back, once to let it thump against the wall, and then again, this time hitting harder. A rain of plaster dust fell onto Valen’s head before he drew back and scrubbed his hand through the blond strands. “Any thought I had of ignoring him, staying off his radar is gone. I should have known, Sylvain. How the fuck didn’t I know?”
“How would any of us have known?” It wasn’t Sylvain’s role to comfort Valen, but something about seeing his stalwart brother going to pieces made him answer quickly. “If she hadn’t spoken to Hudson, we still wouldn’t know.”
“I wish she’d spoken to me,” Valen said thoughtfully. “But at the same time, I hope I wasn’t there. That she didn’t see what I’ve done. How can I hold her with hands that are still covered in blood?” He held out his massive hands, turning them from palm and then to the top as if the stains of a hundred years ago remained ground into his skin.
“I don’t know,” Sylvain answered. Because it was the same fear he had. With every bit of control he had, he resisted staring at his own hands. What had she seen? And how could he ever explain what he’d done?
Chapter Eight
Marcus
A thousand memories assaulted Marcus as he ran through Boston. He dashed past the clueless humans. Thank god for the early darkness. All they’d sense was a streak of light, or a strong breeze. They’d never see him or his swiftly increasing panic.
What had Briar seen? Which murder had he committed?
Had she seen him in Rome, driving his sword through soldiers as the streets ran with blood? So much blood it’d run to the aqueducts and into the water. Later, Marcus had drunk from fountains tinged pink with the lifeblood of his enemies.
Were they his enemies? Back then, any enemy of Asher’s had been Marcus’s as well. Had he had any will?
No.
Perhaps what Briar had s
een was more recent? The destruction of a village of vampires, ones who’d created their own family group away from Asher’s control and megalomania? They’d lived peacefully until Marcus and his brothers had annihilated them.
“Or perhaps, I showed her Annie?” Asher’s voice was a silky whisper through the darkness. It was a ribbon of evil that wound its way into Marcus’s ear and around his heart, squeezing tightly. “Is that what you truly fear?”
Marcus slowed, waiting for his creator to reveal himself. He gave a quick glance around his surroundings to ascertain whether there were humans present. There were not. He’d made it to Mt. Auburn Cemetery. Without realizing it, he’d passed Harvard, followed the Charles River, and traveled west to the cemetery. It was the perfect place for a confrontation with a creature of death like Asher.
“I have too many fears when it comes to Briar to admit to just that one,” Marcus stated and Asher grinned. The vampire stuck his hands in his pockets and ambled toward him, looking for all the world like a hipster from one of the coffee shops near Briar’s old apartment. He wore a scarf slung around his neck, dark pants and a wool coat. A knit hat covered his long hair, but the ends blew around his face.
It was his face that would set him apart. He was so golden, so perfect. No one would ever mistake him for a human, no matter what uniform he wore to camouflage his true identity.
“I always appreciated your honesty,” Asher replied, coming to a stop an arm’s length away from Marcus.
“No, you didn’t.” Marcus snorted. The last thing Asher had ever appreciated was someone who disagreed with him. Kill the messenger? Asher inspired the saying.
The vampire shrugged. “Maybe I didn’t, but I do now. I’ve had years to learn the error of my ways.” He took his hands from his pockets and held them out. “I miss my family, Marcus. I want you to come back to me.” Marcus rocked back on his heels. A small line appeared between Asher’s eyebrows, a flaw on otherwise smooth skin. “You don’t believe me.”
“Of course not,” Marcus answered. He gazed around them, searching for the soldiers he knew would be waiting nearby, hovering. At the first sign from Asher, they’d attack. But for all his heightened senses, Marcus could not find them. Inside his head, he felt a slight pressure, as if his maker was pressing against his mind, digging. “Stay out of my head,” he said through clenched teeth.
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