by Laura Wright
Ethan scored the skin of Pearl’s belly, lapped at the droplets of blood, then lowered his head to listen. She had only a gentle swell, but Ethan could hear the slow thudding of his newest recruit beneath her pale skin.
“The balas is doing well,” he said, lifting his head. “You are a solid host, my sweet Pearl.”
Pearl smiled and moved closer to him on her bed. “I would do anything for you, you know that.”
“I do.” Ethan had used the powers of the Supreme One to get into the hospital undetected and to keep Pearl’s roommate asleep and unaware. Pearl had begged to see him and though he had not the time or interest to look in on her, he didn’t want her to start yapping to the doctors and nurses about what grew inside her womb.
Noticing the annoying look on her face, Ethan asked, “What is wrong, Pearl?”
“I hate it here,” she said with fake tears in her tone. “The doctor won’t leave me alone. I can’t do anything. Ethan, when can I leave? I want to be with you.”
“Soon, my love,” he said. “But for now, the balas must be protected above all things.” He heard her woeful sigh and chuckled. “What do you need from me, sweet one?”
“A taste of you. To feed your balas.”
Ethan raised an eyebrow, moderately impressed. Pearl McClean was no innocent. She knew well how to play him, as he played her. They would do well together in future, his seed implanted in her every year until she could give him nothing more. Then he’d toss her back where she came from.
“It can be for only a moment,” he said. “Then I must go.”
She nodded, and when he ran his fangs across his wrist and presented it to her, she eagerly licked her lips, then lowered her head.
29
Sara glanced at the clock on the table near her bed. It was close to five. Even though she’d gotten less than twenty minutes of sleep on the hotel’s excessively soft mattress, she needed to get up and take a shower. She wanted to get to work early and find Peter, run her idea by him—prove to herself that she was still her, still one hundred percent focused on Gray’s recovery, despite the infinitesimal amount of Alexander’s blood running quietly through her veins.
For one quick moment, she stared at the wall in front ofof her, at the hotel’s nondescript version of abstract art. The Miró lookalike reminded her of internal organs—liver, spleen, lungs, with rivers of blood intersecting. Blood. It seemed to be part of her stream of consciousness now, not to mention a turn-on, an odd combination of fear and desire.
She let her vision blur then, let the shapes in the painting become just saturation of color. What had Alexander done after she’d left him? Had he given in, taken what he’d needed from the one who thought they were true mates? Her gut twisted at the image of his mouth anywhere near Bronwyn, let alone feeding from her vein. But what was his choice? Starve to death? And what was her choice? Risk her life, and in turn risk her brother’s future recovery?
She could never do that.
She turned, saw her cell phone beside the clock, and reached for it. The numbers on the screen blinked up at her, tempting her. Her hands shook as she punched in the numbers. Her heart thudded in her chest as the phone rang. Once, twice, three times—
“Hello?” A woman’s voice.
Oh God. She was so weak.
“Hello?” A familiar, soft, tired woman’s voice. “Who’s there?”
Sara put her hand over her mouth.
“Is anyone there?” A moment passed, then another. “Sarafena?” the woman said softly. “Sarafena, is that you?”
Sara closed her eyes. The ache that moved through her was debilitating. It was the ache of a child who wanted to be held again, comforted—forgiven. And she knew her mother would have done that for her in an instant if she’d only let her. But she wouldn’t let her. Not yet.
“Hi, Mom.”
“Oh.” There was a sigh of relief on the other end of the phone. “Honey, are you okay?”
“Everything’s going well. As you saw when you were here last month, Gray’s progress has slowed down, but I think I’ve found a way, a new, innovative way to tamp down his—”
“Sara, please,” her mother interrupted gently. “I know all about Gray. I want to know about you. Are you all right? When are you coming home? Just for a few days . . . Maybe for Christmas?”
Tears pricked Sara’s eyes. It had been years of that question—ever since Sara had come to get Gray and bring him to Walter Wynn. And Sara’s answer had always stayed the same. Not yet. She wasn’t coming home until she could bring her mother’s son back to her with his mind intact.
“Sara, are you there?”
“Mom, I sorry. It’s late. I’ve got to get ready for work. I’ll see you here in a few months, okay?”
Sara stabbed the end button and sat up. Her throat was so tight and she felt nauseous. She shook her head. She wasn’t going to cry again today. It was useless. A stupid, useless reaction that weak individuals resorted to when they didn’t get what they wanted. She grabbed the hotel phone and dialed a new number.
“Yes.” Dillon. She was in the room next door. She’d followed Sara out of the house in SoHo, refusing to leave her alone and unprotected until Alexander gave her the word.
“I have an early call,” Sara informed her. “I’ll be ready in twenty minutes.”
Dillon snorted. “Bated breath, Doc. Bated breath.”
* * *
He was new, reborn and retooled.
Alexander followed two of Ethan Dare’s recruits across the Brooklyn Bridge, Bronwyn’s pure blood coursing through his veins. He felt unflinchingly strong, totally focused, his speed and vision outstanding.
Scurrying past a stone pylon, the pair of Impures glanced back, but they didn’t see him—just as they hadn’t seen him waiting in the shadows outside Dare’s town house. Heavy snow rained from the sky, making the view of lower Manhattan look like the insides of a snow globe. The snow, combined with Alexander’s flash movements forward, to one side, then another on the wood plank walkway, kept the recruits and any human up and out at five thirty a.m. from seeing him.
Once off the bridge, the two Impures raced past City Hall Park toward the Financial District. Alexander shadowed them, a sinking feeling growing in his gut as he realized where they were headed. He’d hoped these boys would lead him to Dare, but it looked like they were on a mission to pinch a few more Purebloods.
When they turned onto Liberty, Alexander slowed, found shelter against a building front, and watched as the pair stood outside the gates of the Manhattan credenti , talking with their heads bent.
How will you manage it, Impures? Your blood isn’t welcome there.
Alexander’s muscles twitched. He wanted to move. Hell, he wanted to know what these two were planning and how Dare’s recruits were getting inside the credentis. He withdrew his knife and nearly flew into the snowy street, but paused when he saw three new Impures approach from the other side of the street.
Alexander’s skin tightened and his fangs descended.
Jackpot.
Ethan Dare and Tom Trainer.
Dare walked calmly over to the gate, pulled back the sleeve of his coat, and dropped his head. Alexander watched as Dare brushed the inside of his arm against the bars. The familiar groan of metal disengaging from metal. So this is how the Impures were getting into the credentis . . . Alexander sneered. But how the hell was the blood of a half-breed vampire powerful enough to open the gates?
Whatever the answer, they weren’t getting inside today.
Alexander was off. He flew straight at Dare, but before he reached the half-breed, an Impure jumped straight in front of him, smashing him in the face with an iron-gloved fist. Alexander reeled back, his nose spurting blood. Fuckers. Growling, he hauled off and kicked the male in the head, sending him flying across the sidewalk and into the wall, grinning as he heard the sound of cracking bone. The second Impure came at him fast and furious, diving low, thrusting his knife deep into Alexander’s thigh. Bloo
d poured from the wound, but Alexander barely registered the pain. He slammed the recruit in the belly, then slashed his throat. Breathing hard, nostrils flared with rage, Alexander whirled around and sent his elbow into the chest of the other Impure and his fist into the bastard’s face.
“Do you really care for the Eternal Breed, or do you secretly wish for its demise?” Alexander heard Dare call out as the extralarge Impure at his side ran at Alexander, blades flashing, fangs flashing.
Spinning around, Alexander cracked the Impure in the head with his fist. The male howled and retaliated with a slice into Alexander’s other leg. As blood pooled on the snowy sidewalk, Alexander wished he had Glocks in his fists right now so he could end this bullshit. But there could be no gunplay outside—one shot off and the police would be on the scene.
He couldn’t get a bead on Tom and Ethan, as the cowards kept flashing out of his reach.
“You aren’t superior to me, son of the Breeding Male,” Ethan taunted with a bitter chuckle. “I know who you are, what you are. You may have pure blood, but half of you is animal.”
Refusing to lose focus, Alexander flashed, landing directly behind the massive Impure, issuing a battle cry as he slid his blade into the male’s back. Hitting rib cage and missing heart.
Flash. Gone. The large Impure—Ethan and Tom with him.
The gasps behind Alexander had him whirling around, crouching, ready to continue the battle through stinging, bleeding thighs and a busted nose. But there was no enemy there—not the kind Alexander was expecting anyway. Several members of the credenti stood near the gates, huddled against the cold in their simple nightclothes.
Jaw tight, Alexander nodded at the dead Impures near his feet. “Take them in and dispose of them, unless you want NYPD up your ass.”
They looked scared, but did as he instructed, running out to grab bodies and pull them inside the gate. Feeling like shit and breathing heavy, Alexander waited until the gates closed to try and flash home.
He dipped into his mind.
Nothing.
Dammit. With his injuries, he couldn’t focus well enough to flash that far. Too much blood loss. He limped down the street, feeling the tug of night ending, the alarm bell ringing in his blood to find shelter. The tunnels weren’t too far, ten blocks or so, and he picked up the pace. Like Hansel leaving bread crumbs, Alexander dripped blood, and it was a good thing too. Two blocks into his journey, a BMW rounded the corner, then screamed to a stop in front of him.
The darkly tinted passenger-side window slid down silently. “Get in.”
Alexander grinned at the faces of his brothers and jumped in the backseat. “Perfect timing, duros.”
Nicholas sped off, while Lucian went off. “What the fuck, Alex? Do you have a death wish or something? It’s nearly dawn!”
“I had them, both of them.” He eyed Nicholas in the mirror. “Dare and Trainer.”
Nicholas’s dark brows lifted. “Bodies on their way to the Order already?”
“They pulled the disappearing act again, but I did manage to take out a few of his recruits.”
Nicholas drove with the speed and precision of a race-car driver, utterly focused. “All you get is a few recruits and I get blood all over my backseat.”
Lucian chuckled.
“Yeah, sorry about that,” Alexander said dryly, shifting his focus to the street they were racing down. Again, he felt the end of night nearing. “Let me out here,” he commanded.
“What?” Nicholas barked.
“Right here! Stop the car.”
“No way.”
“There’s access to the tunnels here, through the subway.”
Nicholas cursed, but slammed on the breaks. “Where are you going?”
“I’ll stay belowground,” Alexander said, exiting the car.
“No more hunting solo, Duro,” Nicholas called after him. “We wait until dusk and go together.”
Alexander clipped him a nod. “Agreed.”
Lucian glared at him. “You look different, your blood too. Have you fed?” He said the last word as though it were an accusation all its own.
“Drained the cow dry.” His face as controlled as his words, Alexander lifted a hand in farewell. “Thanks for the save.”
The sun was just rising as he rushed down into the subway and toward the secret passage that led to the tunnels. Bronwyn Kettler was certainly no cow, but he’d sworn not to reveal her generous gift to anyone. If the credenti found out, they would not accept her back in the fold, for she had fed a paven who was not her true mate.
Once in the tunnels, Alexander rejected the path that led him home, taking instead the one that would lead him to Sara. As he ran, his thighs bled and ached to be healed, but his heart was in far more pain. He needed to see her and hear her voice, even if she refused him. He snaked through a tunnel that had clearly been unused for a long time, then entered the hospital basement.
He palmed his cell phone and dialed.
The veana answered on the first ring. “You better be in the shade.”
“I’m directly below you.”
Dillon released an irritated sigh. “You’re here? In the hospital?”
“What floor is she on?”
Dillon cursed. “Four. But she’ll be heading your way in a few hours.”
“For what?”
“Tests on the brother.”
“Good.” He was no longer surprised at the palpable relief that spread through his system at hearing he would see her soon. “Can you meet me down here?”
“For what?”
“I need a blow job.”
She was silent, then ground her words out like crushing glass. “I know I didn’t hear you right.”
Alexander laughed, his gaze running the length of the gashes in his thighs, the blood oozing from them. “Just get down here, veana.” Without waiting for a reply, he stabbed the off button and hunkered down in the black corner to wait.
30
The man wasn’t tall, but broad in the shoulders and undeniably handsome. His long, blond surfer hair, dimples, and pale blue eyes were a stark contrast to his manner, which was closed off and just plain shady.
Sara didn’t trust him as far as she could throw him.
Standing toe to toe with him inside Pearl’s room on the juvenile ward, Sara once again explained the reason she was kicking him out. “Unauthorized visits are not allowed, Mr. Barnes.”
“Alistair. Please.” He gave her a tight-lipped smile. “The child needs her parent, don’t you think?”
“Yes, unfortunately that legal parent is not here.”
“Doctor—”
“I’ve tried several times to reach her, as has the social worker.” Sara’s gaze shifted to Pearl, who sat on the edge of her bed, looking flushed and worried. “Pearl, do you know where your mother might be? How I can get ahold of her?”
Pearl didn’t even open her mouth before Alistair jumped in. “Unfortunately, her mother can’t handle the stress of this situation. She’s asked that I watch over Pearl, and”—he lowered his chin—“of your care of her.”
What was it? Sara thought, studying him. There was something almost familiar in his tone and the expression in his eyes. For a second, she wondered if he’d been a patient.
Keeping his back to Pearl, he continued. “And may I say that you are taking fine care of our girl?”
“I’m doing my best,” Sara assured him.
“I’m sure you are.” He seemed to grow a few inches as he stared down at her.
Sara didn’t so much as blink. “And I won’t stop caring for her until she is . . . well, herself again.”
His eyes narrowed. “Good to know.”
They stared at each other for a moment, and Sara wondered if the man felt some type of connection to her as well. What the hell was it? As if hearing her thoughts, Alistair’s eyes darkened from baby blue to sapphire, and his nostrils flared as though he scented something unpleasant.
“I should be going,” he u
ttered.
Sara heard Pearl mumble irritably under her breath, but she nodded at the man. “I’ll walk you out.”
After Alistair said good-bye to Pearl, Sara followed him out of the room and down the hall. Her beeper went off and she glanced down to read the text. The tests she’d ordered for Gray were ready to go, while the bloods she’d been waiting for on Pearl couldn’t be located. What the hell? The shift in her focus had been ten seconds max, but when she looked up again, Alistair Barnes had disappeared.
Alexander moved soundlessly down the hall, past the morgue, and into an alcove where he would be obscured yet could freely watch Sara through a small square of glass.
“You trying to blow my cover?” Dillon whispered beside him, deep sarcasm threading her tone. “Because you know how much I enjoy that.”
“I needed to see her.”
“Well, there she is. You saw her. Now fuck off back to the basement.”
“You’d better watch yourself, Dillon,” he warned softly.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah, you’re starting to sound a little like a possessive lover.”
She turned and punched him in the very leg she’d healed an hour ago. “Shut up.”
He grinned in the darkness. “Don’t think I don’t see it.”
“See what? You’re talking in circles.”
“You like her.” Alexander watched as Sara spoke to her brother, who was lying on his back, eyes closed. “I see the way you look at her.”
“Morpho has screwed with your wiring, you know that?” Dillon uttered.
Alexander shrugged. “Can’t say I blame you. She’s something to see.”
“Are we done here?”
“Your secret shame is your own, Dillon. Paven, veana, whatever you choose to lust over this week makes no difference to me, never has. Sara, however, is mine.”
Dillon cursed. “You want to take over this assignment?”
“You know I cannot.”
“Then shut it before I walk away and declare my debt paid in full.”
Alexander chuckled softly, though his attention remained in a room he could barely see and in it, the woman he ached to touch. “So that’s the brother.”