by Laura Wright
Shaking with rage, with bewilderment—with failure—Cruen slammed the bars of the empty cage and commanded, “Take Lycos and find them.”
The Beast’s diamond eyes flickered with confusion. “They are not here?”
“Do you see them here, Erion?” Cruen said caustically. “My magic has been severed.”
As the captive ones behind him fell silent, listening, curious, Erion’s voice bordered on wonder. “Someone interferes.”
“Someone dares to play with me,” Cruen said viciously, pushing away from the cage and quickly heading for his worktable. There, he picked up a syringe. “A dangerous, foolish game.”
“Who would make such a grave mistake?” Erion asked.
Cruen cocked his head, pulled back the plunger on the syringe, and said with deadly calm, “I believe I may have the answer.”
Erion lifted his chin. “Shall I send Helo to execute this hindrance?”
Cruen’s anger turned thoughtful for a moment. “No. The interloper will pay, but not in death.” He flicked his chin at his son. “Go now. Time is of the essence. The female will be ready to breed in four days’ time. We must have her male ready.”
Cruen watched Erion flash, then stalked over to a sleeping Pureblood in one of the smaller cages. Without care or sympathy, he thrust the needle into the paven’s throat and withdrew another vial of blood.
Bronwyn landed naked and cold on the only drift of remaining snow outside a massive villa. It took her a second or two to get her bearings, to question where she was and why—and to realize just how exposed she was. It was day and the sun was bright in the blue sky above her, but still she shivered. Not from the cold, but from fear. Lucian was no doubt following her here—wherever this was—at least, that’s what she hoped, and as he was the Breeding Male now she wondered plaintively if he was also morphed. In her genetic studies, there had never been a clear answer on the morphing process for Breeding Males—some did, some didn’t. But she didn’t want to risk it with this one. Unlike Meta for females, morphed pavens couldn’t survive in the sun, and if Lucian had undergone the change, the moment he hit the wet spring earth, his flesh would burn.
Completely unconcerned with her nude frame, Bronwyn jumped up and looked for something, anything to cover him. All she needed was a moment, to cover his skin before she could flash them closer to the villa, closer to shelter. But like the island, there was only plant life to be had: leaves and bark, rocks and olive trees. Her gaze slid up to the villa, the massive castle on the hill with its tentacles of vines on the exterior walls, and the windows that looked like eyes. Could she flash there, beg the occupants for a blanket or something and get back before Lucian arrived? Did she want to risk it?
The popping sound that had accompanied her entrance into this world sounded once again, and when she saw Lucian appear nude and writhing in pain on the ground a few feet away, she ran at him and covered him with her body, tried to use her nude frame as a shield. But the paven was fast. In under a second, before she could get to him, he ratcheted up to a standing position and shot out his arms.
For one brief moment, Bronwyn sighed with relief. His skin was the same, beautiful, hard angles, jutting manhood. No sun had harmed him. He wasn’t morphed—and she wondered if he ever would be.
But then he opened his mouth and hissed at her and she abandoned all thought, all the questions in her mind.
His eyes huge, his fangs extended, he whispered in an ugly, animal-like voice, “Another step, Princess, and you will face your truest fear—a Breeding Male’s pleasure.”
Lucian felt the innocence in her expression, perhaps even the beginnings of love, die before his eyes. But there was nothing for it. He was already halfway to hell, his mind shifting in and out of consciousness, his senses looking, searching for prey—female prey as the drive to breed fought for control of his mind.
He hadn’t completely turned Breeding Male yet, but the change was coming, and coming fast…
As her gaze moved over him, it took all of his remaining self-control to keep himself from running down the hill and into the woods—away from her and in search of more female flesh.
Goddamn, he was like a mad wolf.
Gripping his belly, his hands clenching and unclenching like claws, he uttered a terse, “I need to get up there, to my brother’s.”
“That’s your brother’s house?”
He nodded. “And you need to get to your mate.”
Her expression of sadness, of fear, of anxiety fell even further. “I can help. Let me flash you there.”
“No.”
“Lucian—”
“You can’t touch me, damn it!” he snapped, backing up. “Fuck, I’ve got to get out.”
She stepped toward him. “What do you mean?”
Why couldn’t she get this? Why did she continue to come at him like she was going to be the one veana in the world to tame the wild beast that raged inside of him?
“I’ve got to get away,” he told her, his skin growing thicker, his muscles getting tenser. “Before I can’t control myself any longer. Before this thing, this gene—whatever it is—takes over my sanity completely, and I find and rape any female who has the misfortune to cross my path.”
She shook her head, refusing to listen. “You won’t.”
His eyes drilled into her. “You know I will. You of all people know that.”
In his one hundred and twenty-five years, Lucian had felt deep hunger. He’d felt uncontrolled lust. He’d felt impending insanity. He’d felt sorrow and hopelessness come over him in thick waves of fog. But never in his life had he felt them all at once. This wasn’t morpho—he was never going through morpho. This was the pain and agony of changing into the Breeding Male.
His gaze dropped, moved over every inch of her exposed skin. Through gritted teeth, he uttered, “Flash up to the house. Tell my brother—tell the guards—to come and fetch me.” A low, brutal sound exited his throat. “I fucking despise that anyone must see you this way. But better them than me.”
Another lightning rod of pain, just like the one on the island, ricocheted through him. His nostrils flared, his fangs dropped. Pure hell on earth.
He caught her looking at him. Fear, pity, and something else in her eyes—something he didn’t want to see ever again. And yet he knew he would, over and over.
A trace of disgust.
His gaze shifted up, past her head. He spotted something, someone, perhaps a guard at the top of the hill. He shouted over the pain ringing in his ears, “Hey! We need some help! Get down here.”
But as the male drew closer, Lucian saw that it wasn’t an Impure guard. This paven was tall, broad, and moved like a bull charging a canvas of red.
“Lucian, that’s not—”
The paven flashed directly in front of them. Lucian heard Bronwyn gasp and utter the words, “It’s him. The one who took me. The gemino,” before he lost his mind altogether. Suddenly, the Beast reached out for him, tried to get his arm and neck, but Lucian slammed him in the face with his fist. The Beast dropped back, his nose dripping blood, his eyes flashing hate.
The intense amount of new and unexpected strength Lucian possessed surprised him, and he didn’t block himself when the paven came at him again.
“No!” Bronwyn screamed, grabbing Lucian out of the imposter’s reach and thrusting him against her.
She flashed them away just as the paven called out, “Run and hide, little mice. But I will find you.”
In the villa library, Nicholas was hard at work on his laptop. Pissed off at the contact who had been a no-show the night before, he was trying everything he could think of, contacting everyone he knew, to get this guy back on his radar.
He needed answers. Ladd needed answers.
As if his thoughts could actually summon the boy, Ladd Letts, his seven-year-old nephew and ward came running into the room, his eyes wild with excitement, his white hair disheveled as if he’d been at play. The boy had no idea that the mother he’d loved and
lost a few weeks ago to the deadly hands of ex–Impure leader Ethan Dare had once unknowingly given herself to Nicholas’s twin brother—and Nicky planned to keep it that way for as long as possible.
Kate was following at a brisk pace behind Ladd, but her beautiful face and dark eyes lacked the enthusiasm of the boy. Her expression was heavy with concern.
“We saw them,” she said, her tone just as agitated as her expression.
Nicholas put down his BlackBerry and asked, “Who, sweetest one?”
She shook her head, started rambling. “At least I think it was them.”
“Oh, it was them!” On the couch now, Ladd jumped up and down, a big grin on his face. “They had no clothes on, Uncle Nicky. It was weird and kinda funny.”
Turning from the boy, Nicholas raised his brow at his true mate. “Have the peasants in town been bedding in our hedgerows again?”
Kate lifted her gaze, shook her head. “It was Lucian and Bronwyn.”
Jumping to his feet, Nicholas demanded, “What! Where are they now?”
“Gone,” Kate began. “I told you, they flashed away. I don’t know who it was, but another male approached them, and after a moment they flashed.”
Nicholas’s words were grave. “Another male?”
“He flashed too.”
The toxic scent of fear moved slowly into his nostrils. “Where are the guards now?”
“Two of them were knocked unconscious; the others are checking the perimeter of the grounds,” Kate told him, her eyes and expression stronger now. “They’re looking for Bronwyn and Lucian—looking for anyone who would want to do them or us harm. But they did try to catch whoever it was. They were nearly on his tail when the threesome flashed.”
Nicholas didn’t wait for anything else. He crossed the room and left the library. The first servant he encountered he stopped and demanded, “Find Alexander Roman and bring him to me immediately; then round up the guards and send all but four to us.”
The servant bowed and was off.
When Nicholas returned to the library, he went straight to Kate and Ladd and asked in the calmest voice he could manage, “Now, tell me again exactly what you saw.”
14
In the split second of her flash, Bronwyn had been forced to pick a location that would be safe and familiar to them both. Boston was out—couldn’t risk her family knowing the truth or tattling to the Order. Middle of the ocean—been there, done that. That left SoHo—the house where she and Lucian had met, where it had all begun just a few months ago.
They landed near the back door, Bronwyn’s body still covering his as they pushed their way inside. Darkness enclosed them in its comforting way, the electric shades already dropped on every window in the entryway.
“Why did you do that?” Lucian muttered, stumbling inside, moving through the kitchen.
Bronwyn followed him, completely unaware—or was it uncaring—about their nudity now. “Do what?”
“Flash me out?” he barked, his voice hoarse. “Why the hell did you do that?”
“Is this a trick question?”
“No.”
“I don’t get you.”
“You should’ve left me there, goddamn it!” He kept moving, past the living quarters and into the massive entryway, stopping only when he hit the stairs going up to the second floor. He gripped the banister, his knuckles white as he breathed heavily—too heavily.
Bronwyn hesitated to go near him. He seemed so unstable, talking nonsense—so on the verge of a change she’d never heard about or witnessed. But why was this change so different from morpho or meta? she wondered. Why was it so drawn out and painful?
In the near darkness, the only light coming from a pale yellow motion detector above them, Bronwyn watched Lucian cling to the banister, his bloodshot eyes lifting to hers, his voice gravel-like and devoid of calm emotion. “That ‘brother’ of mine, the gemino—he would’ve taken me back to the mothership.”
Bronwyn felt the blood drain from her face. “You’re saying you wanted to get caught?”
“That’s exactly what I’m saying.”
She shook her head. “You’re insane.”
“Yes! Glad you’re finally getting that fact, Princess. Christ!” His hand slid from the wood banister and wrapped around his waist as he doubled over in pain. “I should just off myself right now.”
Bronwyn felt so helpless standing there in the middle of the entryway. She wanted to run to him, pity him, comfort him—but Lucian didn’t respond to that. Or wouldn’t. She forced down her own agony at seeing his suffering and fixed him with a glare. “If getting back at Cruen is your goal, then offing yourself—as you put it—defeats the purpose, I believe.”
His gaze flickered up.
She continued. “Cruen wants his mild-mannered undead prize, undead.”
The grim line of his mouth twitched. “Smart-ass.”
“Yes, well, it takes a smart-ass to recognize an asshole.”
In that moment, that brief moment in the darkened entryway, she saw him—just a hint of the bad boy, the smart-mouthed paven who had always teased her to the point of exhaustion. Her heart ached for that paven, her body too…
“My brothers,” he began through gritted teeth. “They’ll come here.”
“Good. We need all the help we can get.”
He pushed away from the railing and hobbled past her, over to a window. With great effort, he yanked down one beautiful tapestry window covering and tossed it at her. “Here. Cover yourself.”
“Embarrassed by me, Paven?” she said, wrapping the fabric around her shoulders, grateful for the warmth even as she chided him.
“I wish it were that.” Pale and exhausted, he dropped right where he stood, his backside hitting the hardwood by the front door with a smack, his body slumping against the wall.
Bronwyn started to go to him, but he growled at her and shook his head. “It’s hard enough just having you in the same room. Nude, smelling like me, like sex. The more aroused I get, the less sanity I can hold on to.”
She swallowed and closed the fabric even tighter around herself. The last thing in the world she wanted to do was torture him—not anymore, not in this way. “I’ll get some clothes for you too.”
He laughed bitterly. “What’s the point? Animals wear only their fur.”
“Well, since you have no fur as of yet,” she said, fighting for calm as she turned and headed up the stairs, “I’ll get you some clothing.”
“Fine,” he uttered, too tired to argue now.
She didn’t like that—the quick way he acquiesced. She needed to keep him mocking her, teasing her—she needed to keep him him. Again, she forced the light, playful sound into her tone and called over her shoulder, “And try not to feel too sorry for yourself while I’m gone.”
Lucian felt like a slab of steel that was being crushed, then flattened out, then crushed again. It took every effort to lift his head and watch her go. An effort he shouldn’t have bothered with. The curtain had shifted, and wasn’t covering her ass completely. He could just make out the twin curves of both smooth, soft cheeks. A surge of animal-like lust roared through him, but the weakness in his limbs forced him to remain where he was. Thank God for small and short-lived favors, he thought, his tongue lapping at the tips of his fangs as he watched her delectable heart-shaped ass move and sway in her hurried stride.
Fuck, he was in no position to stare at something he could never have again. But he would always remember. Remember it, remember her in his arms, that sweet, supple backside tucked in his hands as he pumped in and out of her body.
His teeth ground together. He’d give anything for another round—hell, for weeks and weeks of rounds. But it wouldn’t be him holding her, touching her, moving in and out of her body. It would be the Breeding Male—the thing she despised, the thing that raped and hurt and could make only one reasonable decision—create paven or veana.
The shock of that thought weakened him further and he dropped back agai
nst the plaster wall and wished for death to take him. But the sound of a door smashing open and heavy footsteps on the hardwood had him pushing himself to stand.
His brothers stormed into the room, their faces masks of concern even in the dim light, their eyes taking in his nude frame, the hard cock between his legs, the pathetic, pain-filled fighting stance he was in.
“What the hell happened?” Alexander said, getting to him just in time to catch him when his legs gave out.
Dropping down on his haunches, Nicholas touched his shoulder. “Are you all right?”
Flinching from the touch, Lucian uttered a terse, “Fuck no, I’m not all right.”
Nicholas dropped his arm, concerned frustration coating his words. “What happened, Duro?”
Lucian fixed his gaze on the far wall. “Doesn’t matter.”
“Like hell it doesn’t,” Nicholas said.
“It’s done!” Lucian returned with as much force as he could manage.
Alexander leveled him with a hard stare. “We need to know exactly what went down to help you, to fix this.”
He didn’t want to look at them, didn’t need to see the disgust-laden pity that would shadow their eyes when they realized the truth. “You don’t get it, Duros. There is no fixing, no help. I need to be chained up or destroyed now.” He turned his gaze on them. “That’s the only fix there is.”
“Good, you’re both here.” Bronwyn hurried down the steps, dressed in jeans and a black sweater, her dark hair swirling about her face. She went straight to Alexander. “We were taken, sent to Cruen’s reality, and forced to…”
“Stop!” Lucian barked, then waved their concerned looks away. “What’s done is done.”
Cursing, Nicholas turned to Alexander. “That’s why they offered up a safe haven.”
“Who?” Bronwyn asked him.
“The Order,” Nicholas said, his voice a mass of despair as he put it all together—island, blood exchange with Bronwyn, sex, Breeding Male. “When we found out you both had returned, and that someone was after you, we went to the Order.” His gaze shifted to Lucian, the old anger riding his words. “But we were never pulled in. A certain member came to us in the Hollow, told us to get to you immediately.”