Ashes of the Day (27 page)

If Conrad were forced to go out tonight and find food for the twins, he’d have no one to blame but himself and little choice as to what he would have to do. He’d have to leave the twins unprotected, take to the streets, waylay random strangers and drag them back to the house.
 

And then kill said strangers when he was done with them in order to prevent them from talking about what they’d seen.

The very thought sickened him. Not because it would be the first time he’d unjustly ended someone’s life. No, not even the thousandth time. But he’d been happy to allow the dust of several accumulated centuries to cover over those horrors, to bury and obscure his murderous past. He’d hoped never to have to dig it up and revisit it.

Now, unpalatable as the idea was, it had to be considered. It was possible he no longer had a choice—nor the luxury of scruples. The twins were his first responsibility. Everything else had to take a backseat to their needs.

How long should he wait? Conrad’s anxiety increased as his mind began to once again tick over the list of possible explanations for what could be keeping Damian. Maybe his luck had run out and he’d been caught. Maybe he was being interrogated, even now, by curious humans with questions as to what dire circumstances could have driven him to buy blood—or by other vampires wondering much the same thing. He might be dead, injured, incarcerated…

Or perhaps it was none of those things. Perhaps he’d merely stopped to slake his own hunger and lost track of the time.

That was always a possibility, wasn’t it? It was not as though either of them were strangers to such debauchery. If it turned out Damian had merely chosen to spend a few hours, or even the entire night, sating himself, gorging ‘til dawn, Conrad really couldn’t fault him overmuch.

Given that Damian was already risking his life at Conrad’s behest, that Conrad had no legitimate hold on him beyond blood and loyalty, that the two of them were no longer even intimate with each other… No, Conrad couldn’t fault him at all.

There was still another reason to consider. A reason Conrad dreaded, possibly more than any of the others. Maybe this was the night Damian finally decided he’d had enough, that endangering his life in an effort to help Conrad with this endeavor was too foolish a gamble even for Damian to continue to take. Perhaps this was the night he’d decided to never come back at all.

Conrad could not repress the sound that left his lips as the thought took hold. Part snarl, part howl, wild and not even slightly civilized, it was the sound of a man bereft, the sound of a man pushed to the very edges of his sanity. In some tiny, sane corner of his mind, Conrad was glad Damian was not around to hear it. For it was also exactly the kind of sound that would likely cause anyone with any sense at all—even someone who was
not
already thinking of leaving Conrad—to take to their heels and flee.

Even the twins were not unaffected by this evidence of their sire’s unstable temperament. They stirred restively in response, their whimpers steadily increasing in volume until Conrad forced himself to regain some measure of control over his emotions. He couldn’t afford to fall apart to this extent. Not when there was so much at stake.

If he were on his own now, so be it. He should have expected it. After all, he’d had misgivings all along about the long-term success of this partnership. Just look at how quickly Damian had reached the decision to help Conrad. As though it were nothing more than an impulse, a whim, a matter of no consequence. If Conrad had been a more honorable man, or a less desperate one, he would have demanded that Damian take some time to think before committing himself. A few days perhaps. A few hours at the very least. He hadn’t.

A thrill of unease shot through Conrad as he gazed at the children in his arms, so fragile-seeming, so innocent. Did they really have the potential to someday shake his very world apart? It seemed too fantastical to believe. How he wished those legends had never been written. It didn’t matter whether or not they were true. Either way, they made his twins a target.

Had they been someone else’s children, anyone else’s children in fact, Conrad would have been among the first to insist they be put to death—humanely, of course—but swiftly and without delay. Vampires didn’t have to be the monsters they were so often portrayed to be, after all.

Instead… Well, there was more irony for you. He couldn’t help but chuckle bitterly as he considered it. For four hundred years, he’d been the self-styled protector of the Vampire Nation. He’d done everything in his power to strengthen and solidify his people’s position in the world. No one had been more dedicated to the task than he. There’d been no one more vigilant, more diligent—or less merciful—when it came to seeking out and eliminating potential threats against his kind.

Now, he was throwing that legacy away. He was putting all of it at risk, everything he’d worked to build or safeguard or preserve, right down the last dying embers of his own humanity. He was branding himself a hypocrite, a turncoat, a traitor, and all for the sake of a promise made to a dying girl.

A perfect firestorm of desire could save their people…or cost them their lives.

Kindred of the Fallen

© 2013 Isis Rushdan

Kindred Chronicles, Book 1

Serenity’s soul-reading ability lets her easily create custom tattoos. Everything else in her life is a struggle, from trying to make it work with her best friend, Evan, to nightmares and visions that make her question her sanity.

Then she meets a man who sharpens her craving for something
more
, but her commitment to Evan means nothing beyond sparks can exist between them.

Cyrus has been watching Serenity, preparing to claim her as his Blessed mate—the other half of a split soul that, once reunited, is his only chance to break the curse that plagues his people.

One moment, Serenity is confronted by armed militants firing questions she cannot answer. The next, she is safe in Cyrus’s arms, reveling in his burning kiss…and learning she isn’t even human. She is Kindred, blessed with preternatural powers, cursed to suffer the twin horrors of the blood rage and the dark veil.
 

Their union is the greatest hope for redemption in a thousand years, but not all Kindred want to be saved. A dark secret could snuff out their lives before love has a chance to unite them…and redeem the Kindred for all time.

Warning: Contains a headstrong, soul-reading tattoo artist, a sexy alpha hero who knows how to get what he wants, adrenaline-packed action, and explosive sex that literally shatters bulletproof glass.

Enjoy the following excerpt for
Kindred of the Fallen:

Cyrus caressed Serenity’s cheek, as he groped for the right words to explain what he’d known all his life.

She pushed his hand from her face. “Kindred?” Her eyes flared. “What are you talking about? How is it possible for us to have the same birthmark?”

All of his plans, even the way he wanted to explain everything, had disintegrated to ashes. “The bond we share goes beyond the constraints of time, space…the shell of our bodies.”

He stroked her jaw down to her neck. Lush heat stirred his flesh. “Our souls are one.”

“Please, say something that makes sense. Those men told me…you aren’t human.”

“
We
aren’t human. We’re Kindred.”

“You’re definitely not like everyone else, but if you expect me to believe that you’re…”

Her head shook, curly chocolate wisps of hair accentuating the loveliness of her face. He slipped off the band restraining her hair in a ponytail. The wildness of her tresses quickened his pulse. He twined a lock around his finger, petal-soft.

“That I’m…” Her lips, rose-colored and full, moved but no sound came from her mouth.

“You and I are
kabashem
, two halves of one soul.” He lifted her fingers to the mark on his chest. “We’re meant for each other.”

“What? Soul mates?” she scoffed, skimming the birthmark.

“Not in the distorted way you think of today. Our affinity is far more complex.” He struggled to clarify. The feel of her fingertips gliding across his chest brought him peace of mind, even though he could practically taste her fear and confusion. They were together. The rest would fall into place. “We’re one soul, split into two different bodies. Our kind—”

“Our kind?” She pulled away, brushing his hand from her hair, and pressed against the car door. “I asked you to tell me something that made sense.”

Coldness seeped into his skin down to his blood, penetrating bone. He needed her touch and the warmth of her body.

He gripped her hands, determined not to let her go. Heat cascaded through his flesh, sparking his arousal. He needed to taste her. To have her open for him so he could bury himself deep inside.

Desire whipped at his mind, urging his body to action. He strained to focus on her questions to help her understand.

“You’ve suffered from violent outbursts or depression since you hit puberty,” he said, not knowing exactly how severe things must have been for her, separated from the collective. “You’ve never been sick and if you’ve had an injury like a broken bone, you healed faster than others, than humans. You feel like you’re waiting for something, and once you find it your life will make sense.”

She stared at him wide-eyed. He could sense her fear draining, but some other emotion was building. Her chest no longer rose and fell. She was holding her breath. She was in shock.

“Breathe.” He cupped her face. “I know this is sudden and overwhelming, but I’ll help you through it.” He wanted far more than to help her. He wanted to feel her hot body writhing with the need to have his. Above all, he wanted to protect her from every awful thing in the world.

Serenity clutched the car seat, fingers biting into the buttery leather as Cyrus’s words resonated within. She had experienced episodes of depression for as long as she could remember, but what child who had their parents ripped out of their lives wouldn’t? She must’ve had strep throat or the flu at least once. She combed her memories, but couldn’t recall a single instance when she’d been sick. Yet what he said couldn’t be right.

“This isn’t possible,” she said. “Energy weapons, instant healing, Kindred aliens—”

“We’re not human, but we’re not aliens. You and I are halves of the same soul, meant for each other.”

The idea of predestination or that she had no control over her future didn’t ring true.

“Are you saying I need you for my life to make sense?” Every instinct screamed for her to slide her hands over his legs, chest—the birthmark—to ignite sparklers of heat in her flesh, but she tightened her fingers into fists instead. “I determine what’s important in my life, and what’s real.”

“How can you determine what’s important, when you don’t know who you are or where you come from?”

“You don’t know me.”

“Let’s suspend the idea that you need me, and let’s entertain the idea that I need you.”

He grazed her cheek and lips with his thumb. She stared into the dark pools of his dynamic eyes. Animalistic hunger reflected back.

A moan rumbled in his chest, sounding distinctly similar to a growl.

“Imagine living in a world with constant overcast skies,” he said. “Picture an arid land, where nothing green can flourish, barren of natural majesty such as flowers or rain. Then one day, you see the sun and the ocean. You feel warmth and the sprinkle of saltwater on your tongue. Imagine smelling a gardenia for the first time or walking on dew-covered moss with your bare feet. How could you go back to an empty world of gray? I couldn’t, even if I wanted.” He sighed. “I don’t know how else to explain what I feel right now, touching you, being near you.”

Heat simmered in her midsection, rushing up to her scalp and down to her nether lips. He seized her face in his hands and claimed possession of her mouth. His tongue swept in, delving deeply, intent on conquering. He clutched her tighter. The ferocious urgency of his need overpowered all of her restraint, and she surrendered to the embrace of his arms.

A burning desperation to satiate his hunger dominated her mind. She wanted to please him, to take as much of his energy as she could offer in return. Their greedy tongues entangled. Her back arched, his fingers commanding her body to mold to his.

A swell of desire broke upon her soul, quenching a thirst she never knew she had, effacing all doubt. She didn’t care about yesterday. She didn’t know about tomorrow. Only this sweet, reckless moment mattered, and she never wanted it to end.

She explored his firm chest and back, delighting in his sculpted muscles and smooth skin. Cradled in silky warmth, she wanted more of him. Buds of pleasure flourished in her core, winding through her body, deepening between her thighs.

One strong hand curled around her hip. Cyrus slid her body down underneath him, resting her head on the seat. Spreading her legs with his hips, he pressed his body to hers, rubbing the bulge in his pants against her pelvis. Swooning from the weight of his body bearing down on her, she threaded her fingers in his thick hair. He subjugated her with his hot mouth, his rapacious tongue demanding more.

His savage hands—intense yet in complete control—tugged at her clothes and swept through her hair. She ran her fingers along his spine and buttocks, bringing him closer. His thick erection pressed against her moist sex, their clothing an irritating barrier.