Eternal Hunger (26 page)

“Evans conducted a search.”

Maybe he was still in the tunnels, hiding, Lucian thought. Maybe the cage. “I’ll take care of it.” But even as he said the words, he knew in his gut that his brother had gone after Sara.

He headed into his closet.

“I’d like to help if I can,” Bronwyn called after him.

“Why are you so concerned?” he called back.

“What?”

He grabbed some jeans and a heavy sweater and headed back into the room. “Why do you care about Alexander? He doesn’t care for you. He wants nothing to do with his true mate—none of us do.”

“How lucky for you,” she muttered.

He tossed his clothes onto the bed. “What?”

“You’re all very lucky you can choose to reject your true mate like that.” She crossed her arms over her splendid chest and regarded him with a vicious stare. “So easy. No care for the
veana
and what becomes of her life, her future. What nightmare awaits her if you choose not to search for her, claim her, mate with her for life. For some of us, it’s about survival.”

Lucian said nothing, but his gaze held hers. She was something, this
veana
. A controlled beauty and a real pain in the ass. But if she thought he was going to feel sorry for her, she could think again. “Everyone has a sad story to tell, sweetheart. But yes,” he added, dropping his towel, “I am lucky.”

He waited for her to gasp, cover her eyes, curse at him for standing before her with his cock hanging out. But she didn’t. “Not going to run screaming from the room, princess?”

She held his gaze. “I’ve seen my fair share of
paven
.”

His brows lifted.

She shrugged. “Just because I remain intact doesn’t mean I don’t have the need for it. When the time is right, I will go after what I want, what I need.”

Lucian’s cock stirred, and Bronwyn’s gaze dropped.

He made the mistake of watching her watch him.

She licked her lips.

Shit.
He turned away and yanked on his pants. “On your search through the house, did you happen to see Nicholas?”

“No.”

“Course not,” he muttered. His brother was disappearing too damn much lately—time for an intervention.

Dressed and a little cock heavy, Lucian strolled past Bronwyn and walked out the door.

“You’re welcome,” she called after him.

“Oh, yeah. Thanks, princess.” He didn’t turn around. “You’re a real ass-saver.”

 

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.

S
ara 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.

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. Blood 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.