Eternal Hunger rb-1

by Laura Wright

  Silent as shadows, the brothers moved up the stairs. When they hit the second floor, they ran smack into a large Impure. The male was so damn shocked to see them, he turned to run, but Lucian grabbed him by the arm and knocked him unconscious before he had a chance to react or call out a warning to his buddies. Unfortunately, the sound of his body hitting the floor reverberated down the hall, and in seconds, there were three Impures hauling ass toward them.

  Come on, then, Alexander mused darkly. Let’s see what you can do without your commander.

  Lucian and Nicholas took off in opposite directions, while Alexander aimed and fired directly at the large black-haired Impure who was descending upon him, a sword in each fist, slashing at the air. But just seconds after Alexander’s finger touched the trigger, the Impure vanished. Flash. Gone. Just like at the restaurant.

  A growl ripped from Alexander’s throat, but it died there. Someone was breathing near his shoulder. He whirled around. A fist slammed into his nose and he jerked back. The Impure had reappeared! How the hell were they doing this? And inside the fucking house!

  Quick, intent rage took Alexander’s mind and, completely unconcerned with the racket he was about to make, he reached out for the Impure, who had his sword pulled back over his shoulder, ready to plunge the blade into Alexander’s heart. In less than a second, Alexander’s hands were around the male’s throat, snapping his neck. He let the body fall where it had stood and glanced over at Lucian. The fierce albino had an Impure guard in a headlock, knife drawn, ready to slash his throat.

  Flash. Gone. The Impure disappeared.

  “They’re flashing!” Alexander shouted. “Quick kills!”

  Circling around behind his brothers, Alexander covered them, ready to spring when the next Impure surfaced. A moment later, Lucian’s Impure reappeared just behind Nicholas. Alexander shoved the head of his Glock into the Impure’s back, firing. Heartbeat extinguished, the Impure dropped to the floor like a bag of rocks, joining his comrade in death.

  “Thanks, Duro,” Nicholas said, his black eyes flashing with bloodlust.

  Alexander grinned. “Anytime.”

  The brothers turned and saw Lucian slash the wrists and throat of the third Impure, then haul him to the ground, conveniently forgetting the orders to provide a quick kill.

  Grabbing the male’s throat, Lucian stuck his palm over the deadly slash, managing to slow the thick ooze of blood as he said, “Where’s your boss, Impure?”

  The male blinked up at him. He was clearly in deep pain, but his eyes remained defiant just as his tongue stayed mute.

  Lucian sneered. “Not going to tell me? Big mistake.”

  The Impure spoke through a bloody gurgle. “You’ll . . . never get him, Pureblood witte.”

  “We will get him, Impure. Unfortunately, you will not be around to watch.” Lucian pushed the male away and stood, watched as the blood flowed thickly from his neck, watched as in seconds, the light died in his eyes.

  “Upstairs,” Alexander ordered. “Search every room for Dare.”

  Music, soft and seductive, met them as they reached the top floor of the house. To Alexander the music seemed to be coming from every closed door, filtering out of every crack and crevice, into the hallway as though it were a solid, living being. No Impures blocked their way this time, and the brothers moved with pantherlike quickness down the hallway, stopping at every room, checking every corner for Dare. But there was no sign of the half-breed.

  At the last door, Alexander paused. He scented both human and Impure and something else that felt druglike in its powerfulness. Weapons drawn, he nodded at each brother. With a grunt, Lucian kicked open the door, then crouched, ready for action. But what the brothers found on the other side of the wall made them stop and stare.

  “Holy shit,” Nicholas muttered under his breath, lowering his weapon. “What kind of party is this?”

  Lucian snorted. “Fuck party. This is an orgy.”

  “Is Dare in there?”

  Alexander shook his head, his cock stirring at the scene before him. Males and females—easily twenty or so, Impure, Pureblood, and human alike—were naked and coiled together, some asleep, some moving together in a rhythm as timeless as the dance of sun and stars, and all completely unaware of the Roman brothers’ presence. In fact, Alexander thought, studying the lack of movement in their eyes, they seemed to be in some kind of trance.

  Alexander’s gaze shifted to several females sleeping alone on beds off to one side. Their bellies were in different stages of swell. “He’s making more Impures ...”

  “What?” Nicholas asked, his eyes lust-filled as he watched the show.

  “He’s raising an army, just as the Order said.”

  “To fight for control over the credentis? Or to completely destroy the Pureblood breed?”

  Alexander shrugged. “Perhaps both.”

  Lucian sneered. “Well, whatever he’s doing, at this rate, it’ll be a century before he succeeds.”

  “The question is what do we do now?”

  “Find and kill Dare,” Lucian stated flatly. “That is all we are contracted to do.”

  True. And yet . . . Alexander lifted his chin toward the crowd and the pregnant females asleep on their beds. “What about them?”

  “They’re having a hell of a lot more fun than we are,” Lucian muttered.

  “They’re barely coherent, Lucian,” Nicholas said, his tone one of disgust.

  Alexander nodded. “Some of them have been torn from their credentis and brought here to be either pestle or mortar.”

  Lucian shrugged. “Not my problem.”

  Alexander and Nicholas said nothing.

  They didn’t have to. Lucian’s gaze was traversing the room, resting on the females and their bellies. His lips thinned. “Dammit! I don’t do rescue ...”

  Alexander knew that Lucian hated the idea of further assisting not only the Order, but members of the credenti, but he also understood firsthand what deep pain a forced swell and an unwanted balas wrought. With a grumble of annoyance, he pushed past Nicholas, who was now staring unblinking at the orgy in front of him, and tried to get to the females on the other side of the room. Not even halfway there, he froze, cursed. “I can’t get to them,” he called back. “There’s something blocking the air around them.”

  Alexander closed his eyes and attempted to take down the invisible shield with the power of morpho, but he could sense nothing there, nothing in Lucian’s way. His lips curled back as he opened his eyes. This wasn’t the mission he’d agreed to, the mission he’d been forced into. He rubbed a hand over his face, felt his brands grow hot. No matter how much he despised his species and the Order who ruled them, he could not turn his back on those innocent females and the balas they carried.

  “Fall back,” he ordered, pushing away from the door and heading down the hall and toward the stairs. His mind jumped and devised. He knew what had to be done. Tonight, he would dive deep into his mind, and though it made his skin twitch with revulsion—though Cruen had warned him against it—he would attempt to connect with the Order once again.

  The study had been on rats, but what the hell, Sara reasoned, curled up in a chair on the second floor of the Roman brothers’ library, there was always a jumping-off point. Shock treatments to induce fear, followed by a drug to bring about temporary amnesia, followed by a new, gentle memory to take its place. A little thrill ran through her. What if this was the answer? Or at least got her infinitely closer to it? Sara glanced at the clock on the wall. It was close to midnight. Tomorrow she would run the idea by Pete, get his thoughts. Gray’s memory of the fire would need to be reinforced somehow, simulated, which would be pretty hellish, but then again, so was the life he was living now. The amnesia, she thought—would she have to go with hard drugs? She didn’t want to go the drug route again, not yet. She could use hypnosis or sodium Amytal, but would either be strong enough to calm the fear center of the brain? Her gaze scanned a row of books on the wall in front of h
er, not really seeing anything but ancient cloth spines. Hypnosis was a thought, but then again, Gray always fought the relaxed state—hell, he was fighting everything these days. He still refused to get inside the MRI machine . . .

  Sara stilled, cocked her head to one side as though she’d heard something. But there was nothing there, nothing her ears picked up anyway. Suddenly a wave of anxiety moved through her, a feeling of dread so powerful she stood up and ran to the top of the stairs. For a moment, she wondered if her reaction was about Gray, the thoughts on testing and drugs, and the ever-present fear that every one of Gray’s memories would die off along with the memory of the fire and he’d be left with a blank history. But then, just as quickly as it came, the anxiety faded away and a heady sensation of pleasure wrapped around her body like a blanket.

  Alexander.

  She practically leaped down the stairs and ran out of the library. She saw Evans hustling out of the living room and down the hall, and she called after him.

  He stopped and turned, looking a bit preoccupied as he said, “Dr. Donohue?”

  “Is Alexander home?”

  “No, but he should be returning soon enough. Anything I can help you with?”

  Disappointed, she shook her head. “No, no, thanks.”

  He looked relieved and quickly turned away, started down the hall again.

  “Wait a sec! Hey, Evans?”

  She caught up with him, noticed that his eyes held a bit of frustration in their depths. “Yes, Doctor?”

  She sighed. “I don’t know how I know this, but Alexander’s here. In this house.”

  Evans paled. “What?”

  “I can feel him ...”

  Shock registered in his eyes.

  Sara rushed ahead. “I need to see him.”

  Evans shook his head. “I’m afraid that’s not possible.”

  “Why?” She shrugged, her eyes imploring him for answers. “What is it? Why can’t you tell me where he is?”

  It took a moment for Evans to give her an answer, as though he were searching for the right one. “He wouldn’t wish it.”

  Her heart squeezed in her chest. “Did he say that? Did he say he didn’t want to see me?”

  “Please, Doctor. He will come to you when he’s ready.”

  Sara opened her mouth to respond, but stopped herself. She read people very well and she knew when it was time to ease off—knew better than to keep pushing a loyal employee for answers that might get him into trouble. She pressed her lips together in acquiescence and nodded. “I’m sorry. You’re right, Evans. It’s no big deal. I’ll see him tomorrow.”

  He gave her a grateful smile. “Very good, Doctor.” Then turned and resumed his course down the hall.

  Sara watched him go, and when he was far enough away not to hear her footfalls, she followed him.

  26

  The Order.

  The motherfucking Order.

  He couldn’t get to them. No matter where he’d flashed to, no matter how hard he’d called to them in his mind, they had ignored him. Maybe all that talk about “innocent members” of the credentis being taken was just that—talk. Maybe it was all about what it had always been about with them—Pure Blood.

  Alexander dropped his head back, exhausted. The bars of his cage felt cold and soothing against his naked skin. Between the battle at Dare’s and the hours of failed mind travel, his veins were as dry as winter leaves and his belly ached for the rich, power-inducing blood of a veana.

  He closed his eyes, lifted his chin, and sniffed the air as an Impure entered the room. A growl hummed at the back of Alexander’s throat. “You bring the scent of Dr. Donohue with you tonight, Evans.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  His eyes remained closed. “You wish to drive me mad, then?”

  “No, sir. I’m sorry, sir. She stopped me in the hall, wanted to speak with me.”

  “What did she want?”

  “You, sir.”

  Alexander’s eyes opened and he searched out the face of his servant. A soft, sad smile lit the old Impure’s eyes as he stood there, on the other side of the bars. He too understood the pain of an unfulfilled desire. Alexander wondered what Evans would think if he knew what Dare was promoting. Would he join forces with the half-breed? Would Alexander blame him if he did?

  As another wave of Sara’s scent drifted into Alexander’s nostrils, his mouth watered. He slammed his fists against the bars. “Have you brought me something besides the scent of a blood I cannot taste?”

  “One of the Impures is fetching your repast, sir.”

  The blood of a cow. Alexander sneered. Just the thought of it turned his stomach. He gripped the bars, wishing he’d ordered spikes to be placed on the steel poles, their sharp points stabbing into his palms, replacing one pain he couldn’t quell with another he could.

  “The hunger grows worse,” Evans said, observing him.

  “Take the pity from your eyes, Evans,” Alexander growled.

  “Sir. Miss Kettler could—”

  “No.”

  “She is pure.”

  “Cease!”

  “Even if she is not your true mate, her blood will fill you, give you time—”

  Alexander’s hand was through the bars and around Evans’s neck. “Say another word and your blood will fill me—impure and weak though it is.”

  Hanging a foot above the ground, Evans stilled, his jaw trembling, his eyes popping with fear. After a moment, Alexander released him onto the stone floor below with an irritated grumble. “Leave me.”

  Sara was lost.

  Twenty minutes ago, she’d followed Evans into a remote part of the house, through a door, and down some steps into what she’d assumed was a cellar, but what had turned out to be an entire secret world beneath the SoHo streets.

  She looked behind her, down the length of tunnel that was high and relatively wide and lit every ten feet or so by torches. It went on forever, branching out in several directions. It’s how she’d lost Evans. Fear of what might be lurking in the shadows beyond had made her question her decision to follow the servant many times, but the drive and curiosity to explore, mixed with the unshakable feeling that Alexander was near, kept her in pursuit. As a doctor, she questioned the base, raw instincts that pushed her to find him; as a woman, she ran blindly.

  She wove her way through the tunnels as the air grew colder and colder and she could see her breath. Just as she was wondering if anyone but the Romans used the tunnels, she spotted something ahead and froze. A man—short, stocky, and definitely not Evans. He stood against the wall, perfectly still, his chin lifted. As quiet as she could manage, Sara turned around and hurried back the way she came, veering off onto another leg of the tunnel, one she’d rejected earlier. She kept running, growing warmer with the exercise, not slowing down until she saw another light ahead, and a voice she recognized. Her heart jumped into her throat and she sprang ahead, into the light and a cold, cavelike room.

  But her excitement died a quick death. Cut into the rock wall was a cell, a cage, its steel door shut. As she approached, she noticed there was an opening in the top of the door, three iron bars that revealed one lonely prisoner. Alexander. Her gut pulled at the sight. In the dim light, she saw him on his knees, nude and shaking, huddled over the body of a cow. His fangs were bared and he was about to strike, about to feed . . .

  “Oh God.” Her breath rushed from her lungs.

  Alexander’s head came up with a jerk. His eyes were bloodred and menacing as he stared straight into her. He looked utterly inhuman at that moment—like a starving wolf, ready to kill anything that came near his untouched meal. He lowered his chin and growled at her, his fangs fully extended now, twin blades of instant death.

  Disturbed and confused, Sara turned and ran from the room, down the hall, her heart slamming against her ribs. The scene played in her mind, over and over, and suddenly she couldn’t catch her breath. She stopped at the apex of the tunnels and gripped the rock wall for support. What wa
s happening to her? Why was she stopping? Why wasn’t she running for the front door, terrified, desperate to get away from him? Why did she, even now—even after what she’d just seen—yearn for the beast in him to search her out?

  “You saw me.”

  Sara gasped and whirled around. Naked and aroused, nostrils flaring and fangs bared, Alexander towered over her, his mere presence forcing her back against the stone wall of the frigid tunnel.

  “You saw what I am,” he snarled.

  Her breath coming heavy and uneven, Sara locked eyes with him. “Yes.”

  “An animal that seeks blood.”

  “Yes.”

  He leaned closer, his warm breath on her cheek, his spicy blood scent filling her nostrils, his cock hard against her belly. “An animal that hovers over its dead prey—”

  “Stop saying ‘it’!” she broke in passionately.

  He leaned in closer still. “—Ready to sink its fangs into the animal’s vein.”

  “You’re not an ‘it,’ goddammit!”

  “Am I not?” he roared back, the sound echoing through the cavernous tunnels. “You saw me in that cage! What the fuck am I, then?”

  Sara didn’t move, just stood her ground, chin lifted, staring into his belligerent merlot eyes. “You are the one I ...” Her tongue refused to say it. She couldn’t. It was too soon. He wasn’t ready or able to hear the truth from her.

  Alexander dropped his head, his mouth just inches from hers. “You are afraid.”

  “Yes.”

  He cursed. His jaw looked tight enough to crack and he pushed away from her. “Go now.”

  “Alexander . . .”

  “Go now, because if you remain I will take you—your body and possibly your blood as well.”

  Sara barely hesitated. “Then do it.” She started to unbutton her shirt. “Take me!”

  Alexander’s eyes flared with panic-laced desire. “No! Sara, stop.”

  But Sara wasn’t listening. She was done with this shit. She wanted her shirt off, wanted to be naked like him—wanted his hands on her and his cock inside her, and she didn’t care about the consequences.