Killer Temptation

by Willis, Marianne

  “If he sends her away, he will wither and die. The council is trying to convince him otherwise, but he’s adamant. He wants his moitié free and he doesn’t care about dying.”

  “Do you want to know what I care about? I care about being caught and sent back into that padded cage. So, get out of my way.”

  “This is your brother, Maurice. Your twin,” she insisted.

  Brianna eased back the door and strode inside. In the far corner of the room, Cynthia clutched the man’s black shirt, big, round and pleading eyes staring into his.

  She took in the back of Maurice, but even so the resemblance compared to Tristan was exact. Maurice’s body twitched, however, and he scratched the inside of his arms like a junky craving his next fix.

  “Why should I do anything?” The vampire shouted. “Don’t you remember Tristan turned me in, he’s the one who sent me to that cage? I owe him nothing…”

  They both stilled.

  Cynthia’s bloodshot gaze landed on her. Maurice whirled around. His red-rimmed eyes dilated, tongue running over his fangs. “Eh bien, just what I need.”

  Cynthia gasped, tightening her grip on Maurice’s shirt. “Brianna, run!” Her shout echoed.

  She stepped back to do just that, but horror locked down every cell in her body when he turned and swung his arm. The back of his palm struck Cynthia’s face, and she slammed to the floor in an unconscious heap.

  “Cynthia!”

  “She will be fine,” Maurice said, marching toward her. “Unlike you, I’m afraid.”

  With lightning speed, he advanced, clutching her shoulders and smacking her against the solid wall. A burning gush of air wheezed past her lungs, and she whimpered from the pain.

  “Damn you.” She coughed. “You’re the one who killed my sister.”

  He blinked, then grinned. “Ah, my brother’s moitié, I take it. Nice to meet you.” His tone rose and fell when he spoke, as though unsure whether to shout or whisper. “And just so you know, your sister begged for it. She took from me, and I took from her.”

  “What are you talking about? My sister didn’t beg to die!”

  “Perhaps I took too much. Just know the little beggar died satisfied.” That red-rimmed gaze danced over her face, the movement jerky. “Now, be a bonne fille and tilt your neck so I can drink from you.”

  “Never.” She kicked and smacked, attempted to squirm free. Her knee struck between his legs. He bellowed, slamming his fists against the wall.

  She took the opportunity, dove under his arm and ran, but didn’t even make it to the door when her world spun. She blinked away the vertigo, and Maurice’s familiar face came into focus, hovering inches from hers. They were now in the centre of the room and a fair distance from the door.

  “A human trying to outrun a vampire.” He laughed, deep and cruel. “Why, it’s preposterous.”

  Those bloodshot green eyes stopped their jerky movements and stilled on her. His fingers combed through her hair, fisted and yanked back. A burning sting lanced through her scalp. The slope of her neck now vulnerable to his fangs. His strained features sent a chill down her spine. Strange, how one pair of the same eyes made her yearn with need, and the other made her shudder in fear. They might share the exact colour, but staring into Maurice's was like looking into a dark pit of hatred and anger. The complete opposite of Tristan’s whose emerald eyes shone with kindness and love. She gasped aloud. A love I rejected over and over. And now he’d never know my true feelings.

  “Bon appétit.”

  She sucked in what would probably be her last breath, and screamed, “Tristan!”

  Chapter 13

  Tristan snatched the lapels of Julian’s jacket, disregarding his weak trembles, eyes wide and frantic. “What do you mean there’s an emergency?”

  “She said to meet her in your room—”

  Tristan! The panicked cry of Brianna echoed through his mind, alarming all his senses. “She’s in danger,” he muttered.

  “What danger? She was fine when I left her…”

  Ignoring his brother, he closed his eyes, focused on his bedroom.

  “Tristan, don’t flash! Let me get our brothers and…” Julian’s voice declined.

  Body fading to mist, mixing with the air, he was surrounded by darkness. Frustrated and desperate to reach her, he endured every unbearable second to form whole again. Tristan’s eyes flew open when his feet flattened against solid ground. The faded surroundings cleared. The shapes, colours and furnishings of his room filled out.

  “Stop!” Tristan shouted to Maurice, who stood with one hand clutched around Brianna’s arm, the other gripping her hair, bearing her neck to his mouth.

  “Stop, get away from her,” he said again, attempting to rush forward, but he might as well trudge through setting cement. He managed a few pitiful steps. Weakness had overtaken him in the last two days, but after teleporting here…Merde.

  Beside them, an unconscious Cynthia lay on the floor. His twin shot him a look, eyes slanted, lips drawn back. Maurice did not back away from Brianna. Instead, his fingers sank deeper into her arm.

  Ineffectiveness consumed him, like watching through a clear glass window, trapped and with no way to get to the other side.

  “Tristan,” she whimpered, panicked.

  Brianna, his beautiful Brianna. The fear in her eyes screamed like a lost child, begged for safety and comfort.

  Tristan peered at Maurice. Eyes bloodshot and glassy, it wasn’t hard to guess Maurice needed blood and was powerless to fight his urges.

  A shiver rode along his spine, hands curled into fists and flexed. Every protective instinct woke, pumping energy he hadn’t experienced in days.

  “Step away from my moitié.” His words dripped of venom.

  Maurice straightened, but still kept his tight hold. “Brother, relax. I won’t drain her like I did her sister. She will be weak, but I promise she’ll be alive.”

  What?

  Tristan flinched. Maurice killed Brianna’s sister! Impossible!

  For years, his twin had been locked inside one of the psychiatric rooms in the rehabilitation centre. Just how long had he been out? Why wasn’t it reported?

  His gaze ran from Maurice to Brianna. Tears slid down her soft cheeks. All this time, she hated him for something his twin did. When she accused him, he assumed she referred to all vampires, as if she considered each of them killers because one had murdered her sister, but that wasn’t the case. Her indignation had been directed at him, and only him. For her to believe he did this, she must have seen Maurice with her sister and watched his brother commit the crime.

  A pain, sharp like a blade, twisted inside his gut. The heartache and distress she endured, witnessing something so horrific! He and his brother were identical, make no mistake about that. No wonder she poisoned him. She’d tried to avenge her sister.

  Tristan glanced around, in search for an object to help subdue his brother and steer him away from Brianna. He lost focus when Maurice slid his index finger over her jaw and down the slope of her neck. Blood boiled in his veins. No one. Touches. Her.

  “I know this one is yours, but I just want a taste…” His voice softened to less than a whisper, “just a little taste.” His mouth lowered once again.

  She yelped, thrashing in his firm hold.

  Surroundings blurring like a watercolour canvas, he raced forward, fist knocking the side of Maurice’s skull. His brother’s eyes widened, releasing Brianna as he flew across the room and smacked against the wall.

  She staggered back and fell to the ground, crouched beside the legs of the dresser.

  Pain throbbed through his knuckles and up his arm. If he had his full strength he’d be unaffected. Ignoring the sting, he turned to his breathless moitié.

  The sight of her was clear, then blurred, then clear again. His limbs almost passed as pudding as he staggered closer. The pupils of her eyes dilated when her gaze danced over his shoulder. “Tristan, look out!”

  A sharp pai
n lanced up his spine and he stumbled forward. He slammed his hands against the wall beside the dresser, making sure to stay clear from his moitié.

  “Now you’ve done it, brother.” Vehement loathing shuddered through Maurice’s voice. “Just for that I will drain your woman until I’ve consumed every drop of blood in her little body.”

  Those harsh, aggressive words produced a horrid vision in the forefront of his mind; Brianna with pale skin, lifeless eyes, purple lips. Dead. Gone. Forever.

  On a roar he spun, charged and circled Maurice’s waist. Stepping back, he threw him across the room.

  Maurice slammed into the closet door. Crack. The snap of furniture splitting in half reverberated the room. His brother lay amidst the pile of splintered wood and clothes. One of the sconces broke off the wall, its flame doused and wax splattered as it clattered to the floor.

  Maurice jumped out of the mess, charged and grabbed him by the collar, twisting the material in his grasp.

  “Wow, I think I had a moment of déjà vu. Except the tables were turned, do you remember, brother?”

  Air struggled past Tristan’s lips as his brother kept him in a chokehold.

  “You do remember,” Maurice continued. “You had me like this, just after you learned of my addiction. And you were more than ready to throw me into that padded cage.”

  “Let him go!” Brianna shouted, hurtling to her feet.

  Maurice kept one hand around his neck, while the other closed into a fist.

  “Maurice, don’t!” Tristan croaked, clawing at the grip holding him, but his brother pummelled into Brianna stomach when she approached.

  Cringing, she grabbed her waist and fell back. Her face reddened, coarse gags erupted.

  “Let me go,” Tristan demanded through the little air he had, desperate to reach her. “Release me!”

  “Say, isn’t that what I begged of you all those years ago, to give me a chance, to let me go. You didn’t…no, you wanted to do the right thing,” he snorted. “Turn your own brother in. Remember? Remember how I struggled in your hold and just managed to cut your cheek with my fang. I see you still have the scar. That distracted you, but you held on…you defeated me then.” Green eyes slanted on him. “You cannot defeat me now.”

  “I-I can d-die trying.” The pressure around his neck grew fatal.

  His twin threw back his head with a robust laugh. “You will die. After all, isn’t that the reason you’re so weak? You haven’t had the blood of your moitié.”

  A gasp filled the air, and they both gazed down at Brianna. Her eyes grew wide, mouth agape. She stared from Maurice to him.

  “What? You didn’t know, mon coeur? Didn’t know you’ve let the wrong man suffer for weeks? Starving him, bringing him to his death?” Maurice spat with a cruel curl of his lips.

  Guilt swam in the deep grey pools of her eyes. Did she regret not giving him blood? Or not knowing it killed him with slow torture? He did not blame her. He never asked her for a feeding because the idea frightened her. And of course she’d been afraid. She presumed he’d murdered her sister. He did not fault her for keeping distant.

  “Got no response for your moitié, do you, chérie?” Maurice shouted. “Just going to sit there and cry? Bon sang, you humans are pathetic.”

  Tristan ground his teeth, raised his leg with swiftness and kneed Maurice in the stomach. His brother’s hold loosened. A punch in the nose, another to the eye and Maurice reeled back. Tristan didn’t let up. He advanced again, threw hit after hit to the jaw, the eye, the nose. Every muscle burned as if he’d done an hour-long workout. Fire danced in his lungs, straining each breath he took. This fight weakened him faster, but he didn’t care. No matter what, he must protect Brianna.

  His brother growled, struck Tristan’s oncoming blow with his arm and took hold of his collar. Maurice threw him over his shoulders.

  He shot up high, air whooshed past. Hard, sharp edges smacked his face and body as he hit the jagged ceiling before slamming to the ground. A thousand knives could jab into him and he’d imagined the same raw pain to pulsate throughout his body. He flexed his jaw, a sweet and coppery taste filled his mouth, and he spat. The warm stream of blood trickled down the side of his chin. He tried rising, but his brother advanced on him as he rose to his knees.

  Maurice swung his fist, striking thumping pain right into his eye socket. He swung again, jabbing his chest.

  Tristan wheezed, skidded back, and smacked his head against the rough wall.

  Brianna lay near him. The sound of her harsh cries and choking sobs filled the air. He must not let her down. She was his. Everything he did, he did for her. To protect, cherish, and love her.

  She will be safe. The powerful words burst inside him, captivating every cell in his body on the promise. Yes. Yes, he would help his moitié. Tristan flattened his palms on the ground and hauled himself up. So damn weak, his wobbly arms gave out and he sank to the floor.

  Maurice howled yet another laugh. “Oh, frère, you should’ve saved your energy.”

  “Don’t do this, Maurice.”

  His twin violently shook his head. “I will not be thrown back into that cage, imprisoned for centuries.” He stomped toward him, bent down with hands resting against his knees. “Do you have any idea what it’s like? Day after day, surrounded by emptiness, with no one but yourself to talk to?” His face twisted with anguish. “How does it feel knowing you betrayed me, Tristan? You were the one who learned of my condition, even when I begged you not to worry, and yet you still ratted me out to the authorities, still had me sent away. You betrayed me, frère.”

  Tristan swore a ton of bricks fell on his heart. Guilt ate him from the inside like a terminal illness. He loved his brother, and shouldn’t feel guilt-ridden for having him detained. The safety of others was at stake. Besides, it was for Maurice’s own good, but Tristan hadn’t once visited him, hadn’t given him the time of day. “You’re sick, Maurice. I had no choice.”

  “I don’t care,” he roared, throwing his arms up. His cheeks coloured bright red and air puffed from his lips as if he were some fire-breathing dragon.

  A dark shadow moved.

  Tristan spied Cynthia behind Maurice, getting up from the floor. His twin’s laughter echoed the room, capturing his attention once again. “And if I must kill you to get out of here then so be it.”

  “Argh!” The loud female shout made Maurice straighten. Cynthia jumped on his back, arms wrapping around his neck, legs around his waist. She clenched a syringe in one hand, the same bright purple liquid they used to gas the isolation rooms. She stuck the needle in Maurice's shoulder and his brother writhed to fight her off. But it was too late. For the next few hours he would be unable to flash. Staggering back, Maurice crashed into the floor-length mirror. Glass broke against her back, shards shattered to the floor.

  “Tristan,” Brianna cried.

  His gaze found her. Tears roamed down her cheeks, causing a sharp pain in his chest, more turbulent than the throbbing burn running through his entire body. He sat up and shuffled closer, frowned when she extended her wrist. Shock immobilised him.

  “Drink. Drink from me, Tristan.”

  He shook his head. “I can’t. I know you are afraid of—”

  “Tristan, please.” More tears fell from her trembling chin. Her eyes like windows of despair and anxiousness. She sucked in a shaky breath and said, “Drink from me. Please.”

  His stare strayed to the wrist she offered. His mouth watered, and the wild orchid scent of her filled his nose. He’d do this, but only because it would strengthen him enough to help her. He closed his lids, took gentle hold of her wrist, and swiped his tongue across the pulse beating beneath. Grunts and screams of the commotion echoed behind him, but he focused on the delicious blood he was about to receive.

  For weeks he hungered, craved the taste of her. He sank his fangs beneath the layer of skin into the vein and tendon of her delicate flesh. Brianna moaned, but sounded more surprised than in pain. With gentle s
trokes of his tongue, he lapped and sucked the sweet nectar. It coated his mouth and ran down his throat.

  Warmth shot through his stomach. Fatigue drained away, muscles flexed, vibrated with power and energy he hadn’t experienced in weeks. Oh, how he needed her blood, her essence. She would always be his life source.

  Tristan eased his fangs from her wrist and peered up, ready for the disgust in her eyes. Another shock, there wasn’t any.

  “Better?” she asked.

  He wanted to hold her in his arms and never let go. A scream erupted, and he wheeled around. Cynthia struggled on Maurice’s back, huffing and shouting as she fought to retain him.

  A dangerous scowl twisted his brother’s face. Maurice extended behind him, secured a firm grip on Cynthia’s arms and flung her forward. She flipped and his hold on her tightened, hauling her to him, with her back against his chest. A hand raced up her neck and squeezed. One twist and snap, the collarbone would break.

  “Maurice, don’t!” Tristan raised his hands, palms out. “Don’t hurt her.” He had never seen his brother’s green eyes so feral, more so than a wild animal.

  “No one gets in my way,” Maurice pursed his lips, but Tristan didn’t miss the slight tremble of his hand. His brother was nervous. “No one!” Maurice shouted again, his voice rumbling off the cave walls.

  Tristan shook his head. “Maybe so, but this is Cynthia, your moitié.”

  His brother would forever regret laying a hand on her. Even though his addiction occurred years before they found out about their bond, Cynthia always showed support to Maurice.

  “Look at her, Maurice. She is your moitié, the one who has been there for you, the one who visited even when you ignored her presence.” Tristan swallowed back the familiar sense of guilt.

  Maybe if he and his brothers visited Maurice more often, his health might have improved. Over the years they all relied on Cynthia to give them an update on his condition, and though they were thankful she checked on him, they could have taken the time to go themselves.

  “I know you have cravings, but you will also be able to feel the tug of your bond.”