Eternal Hunger rb-1 Read online

  “How did you find me?” Alexander snarled.

  “The human female you nearly devoured.”

  “Impossible!” Alexander roared. “I didn’t take her life.” Aside from going through morpho, killing was the only other way the Order could track either an Impure or a Pureblood outside of the credenti.

  “No, but the Impure who watched you, then drank from the human after you left, did—he stopped her heart in under a minute.” The older paven sneered. “Sloppy little sacro bastard. But his memories did lead us to you.”

  Alexander’s eyes flashed at the black-haired paven. Once again, his uncontrolled hunger had imprisoned him. “What is it you want?”

  “You’ve run from us for too long. It is time. You and your brothers must help your kind.”

  “Help?” Alexander released a bitter laugh. “You’re asking me to help the ones who tormented and tortured me? That’s why you premorphed me?”

  “You speak of one or two in the credenti, not the Eternal Breed as a whole.”

  “I speak of you.”

  “You accuse the Order of torture? Tread lightly, son of the Breeding Male.”

  A growl erupted from Alexander and he warned the male, “Call me that filthy title again and you will see how deeply I have morphed!”

  The paven’s eyes narrowed and his hand came up in front of his face, ready for a mental battle. Beside him, another member of the Order, a veana with skin the color of clay and waist-length hair the color of snow, leaned toward him and whispered something. After a moment, the paven dropped his hand, but his irritation with Alexander remained. “We have a situation at several of our credentis,” he said tightly. “An infiltration. Impures have broken into our communities, taken several of our veanas, impregnated them, then returned them to us. Thankfully, most of the balas never survived past the first month of swell, but the communities are growing scared. There is talk of families leaving, running away, hiding.”

  “Good,” Alexander uttered flippantly. Did this asshole really believe he’d care if vampires were leaving the credentis? Hell, he was thrilled!

  “You may have felt the need to run,” the paven continued, “but this life is not torturous for others. These are families who are breaking apart.”

  “Perhaps they don’t wish to be under your control any longer. I know I didn’t.”

  “These are peace-loving, simple vampires. Most will not be able to survive outside their credentis.”

  “They’ll be fine.”

  Nostrils flaring with irritation, the older paven turned to the others and muttered something in the ancient language. Alexander couldn’t make it out, but he guessed it had something to do with his defiant attitude. He liked that.

  When the paven turned back to him, his pale blue eyes flashed with ire. “You will help us. You will do your part in this war we find ourselves in.”

  “How? Protecting the credenti?” Alexander interrupted darkly.

  “In a manner of speaking.”

  Alexander sneered. “Fuck you.”

  The paven shot to his feet, and as Alexander watched, he grew taller and taller until he was double Alexander’s height. “Your insolent mouth will be your quick death,” he roared. “Watch how you address the Order.”

  Alexander stalked toward him, stopped when he came within a foot of the table. “I will address the Order in any way I choose. It is you who want from me.”

  “Indeed” came the soft reply from the veana Order with the smooth, clay-hued skin. “Pray sit, Cruen,” she said to the paven sitting next to her. “Let us be not only useful, but thoughtful.” She turned to Alexander and inclined her head. “The half-blood Ethan Dare is the one who leads the Impures, who commands that they take our Purebloods and lie with them.”

  Though he remained aware of Cruen, Alexander turned his focus to his neighbor. “Why?”

  “We believe his objective is to wipe out all Purebloods and turn the Eternal Breed into a race of only Impures. He wishes to defile us.”

  Alexander chuckled. As if the Eternal Breed wasn’t defiled already. Honestly, he didn’t give a shit if a vampire was pureblooded or not, and after all the years of treating its Impure citizens as unwanted embarrassments, an uprising wasn’t much of a surprise. Then again, if the story the Order was pitching to him was true and females were being taken against their will and dishonored, swift and deadly action needed to be taken. “What do you want me to do about it?”

  Seated once again, his pale face now a mask of indifference, Cruen spoke. “We know where you and your brothers went after leaving us. We know the skills you acquired in battle. The success you achieved.” He lifted one black eyebrow. “We wish you to use these talents to bring down our new enemy.”

  “You want me to kill Dare,” Alexander said.

  Cruen nodded, and each member of the Order followed.

  “And if I say no?”

  “We will bring the second Roman brother before us.”

  Alexander’s gaze tore into Cruen, who watched him in return, his lips lifting at the corners in a small smile, as though he knew exactly what Alexander was thinking. Yes, it was clear. Fucking crystal. If he didn’t cooperate, give himself over to the Order’s commands, Nicholas would be morphed next. Followed by Lucian.

  Alexander lifted his chin. “Has Dare killed?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then take him in. End his life.”

  “We have tried,” the white-haired veana explained. “We cannot maintain a hold on him for more than a few seconds. It is an impossibility, and yet ...” She glanced up at Cruen, who remained impassive, his eyes trained on Alexander.

  There was nothing Alexander wanted more in that moment than to tell each of them to go fuck themselves because he was already screwed; he was already morphed. But there was Nicholas and Lucian to consider.

  His teeth ground together, making his jaw scream in pain. “I will find and kill Ethan Dare, but I demand a blood oath that afterward the Order will forget that the Roman brothers exist. Nicholas and Lucian will morph in their own time.”

  A light flickered within Cruen’s baby blues. “Bring his lifeless body to us, and we will give the oath.”

  “Fine,” Alexander said. “Now I want the fuck off this plane.”

  He felt the pull, like a hook out of the world, then the tunnel into blackness. But before the world went completely dark to him, his eyes caught on another member of the Order, one he hadn’t paid much attention to before, but who, though mostly covered by his hood, felt strangely familiar to him. The moment was over in an instant and when light returned to his vision, he was back in the woods, before the cave, and Sara was asleep on a tuft of grass, near the mouth.

  She looked so soft, so fragile, yet he’d seen the fire that burned beneath her pale skin, had scented it, had wanted it flowing against the blood that ran in his own veins.

  He knew he should wake her and leave the area immediately, but instead he lay down behind her and coiled his body around hers. The warmth she provided soothed him. He heard the blood in her veins moving freely, heard her breath leave and enter her lungs in an even rhythm. He closed his eyes and buried his face in her hair, desperate for the comfort he’d refused to take earlier, but receiving only a stiff cock and a dry throat.

  She stirred, her shoulders lifting, her back arching; then a moment later, she turned in his grasp. “Hey ...”

  “Hey.” He’d never seen dark blue eyes look so soft, so tender. He wanted to stay just like this, wrap his hands around her hips and pull her to him, let her know that he could no longer protect her body from his.

  “Sorry I fell asleep,” she said, rubbing her eyes.

  “Don’t be.”

  “I’m good to go now.” When she sat up, he followed her.

  “It’s done, Sara. I saw them.”

  “What?”

  “I’ve dealt with the Order.”

  “But how ...”

  “They took me—through my mind.”

&nb
sp; She took a moment to digest this, then asked, “What do they want?”

  “What they’ve wanted for a hundred years,” he said bitterly. “The control of me and my brothers.” He stood and reached for her hand. “Come. Tuck in, now. We have to get home.”

  She took his hand and let him lift her, which he did, right into the curve of his arms. “The real home this time? SoHo?”

  He grinned. “Yes.”

  “I have to work in the morning.”

  “I know.”

  “You—”

  “Don’t worry about me. I hate having you out of my sight, but I will not stop you.”

  He was entering a battle: with himself, the coming of his Pureblood female, his true mate, the Order, and an unknown assassin named Ethan Dare. He had no idea where it would end, but he did know that after a hundred years of freedom, his control had vanished.

  Sara wrapped her arms around his neck and Alexander flashed, flew—the state of morpho so deeply embedded in him now that all it took was one quick thought.

  17

  Bronwyn Kettler stood outside the Romans’ home, barely feeling the bite of cold that always spread across the city in November. Simply put, she was nervous. She wasn’t at all sure of how she’d be received inside the building before her, the building that spanned an entire city block and rather brilliantly garnered little notice because of its weathered, unkempt brick facade.

  She brought her gloved hand to the door and knocked again, this time with a little more force. It was rare for her to leave the Boston credenti for anything other than work. It was her home and she was at peace there with her family, but tonight another form of business needed to take place. Her future contentment depended upon it.

  “Perhaps they’re not at home,” her assistant, Edel, remarked as she stood just behind her, engulfed in luggage and a week’s worth of vampire genealogy work.

  “They had warning of my arrival,” Bronwyn said, glancing over her shoulder at the older blond veana, who had outlived her true mate just six months ago when the paven had decided his long life was at an end and had walked out into the sun. Devastated by the loss, Edel had found a new way to be content, assisting Bronwyn in her work.

  “Perhaps I should have left out the description of my appearance,” Bronwyn said pointedly.

  Edel nodded, her eyes softly twinkling. “Yes, the hook nose and the warts can be a turnoff to some.”

  “Not to mention my third eye and the way I snort when I laugh.”

  They both dissolved into laughter until Bronwyn heard movement behind the heavy wood door, and then the sound of locks retracting from their bases. The door pulled back and an older paven stood there, dressed simply, as though he had just come from one of the more rustic credentis.

  “Good evening, Miss Kettler.” He struggled to get all the luggage inside, then stood before them in the entryway and inclined his head. “May I take your coat and your companion’s, as well?”

  “Yes, thank you.”

  His eyes swept over Edel as she passed him her cloak, but he quickly looked away. He was a timid male, very unusual in one so seasoned, Bronwyn observed. Unless . . . She paused. Was it possible? Did the Romans have Impures working for them?

  She and Edel followed him from the sleek foyer through several living areas furnished in a modern design that fused beautifully with the ancient moldings and fixtures, then past a sweeping limestone staircase. She understood the wrecked exterior now. It wasn’t just to keep their existence a secret; it was also to deter intruders of the sticky-fingered variety.

  When the servant stopped before a large arched door, the nerves Bronwyn had wrestled with earlier bloomed into a full-blown anxiety. For a second, she thought about bolting, but her sister’s face appeared before her and she stood up taller and prepared herself for whatever she was to encounter within the Roman household.

  “He lied to us!” The male growl shot through the thick door, just as the old servant’s knuckles lifted to strike. He hesitated. “The foolish bastard went to them without us,” the paven behind the door yelled. “Without backup!”

  “He didn’t want us to have to go before them,” came another male voice, a more controlled one, though still hypermasculine.

  “That’s bullshit and you know it! We protect each other. Blood stands with blood—it is the way it has always been.”

  “You look to the past far too much.”

  “And you still live there.”

  The old servant glanced back at Bronwyn and Edel and said, “One moment, please.”

  After a quick knock, he disappeared into the room and left Bronwyn to wonder what she had gotten herself into. Descendants of the Breeding Male were rumored to be more aggressive than ordinary Pureblood paven.

  And she was actually begging entrance to their lair.

  “Miss Kettler is here.” The servant’s voice was barely audible through the door, unlike the one that followed.

  “What?” came the annoyed bark of the first paven.

  “Is she alone?” came the calm query of the second.

  “No, sir,” the servant said, his tone a loud whisper now. “An older veana accompanies her.”

  “Oh, Christ,” shouted the first. “She brought her tegga with her. It’s like the fucking Old Country.”

  Bronwyn glanced at the veana beside her and gave her a tedious smile. “He thinks you’re my governess, Edel.”

  The veana’s mischievous brown eyes flashed. “If I may say, I hope that one is not your true mate.”

  “Indeed.”

  “Bring her,” Nicholas commanded. “And you, Little Brother, had better watch yourself.”

  The door opened and the servant reappeared, his expression beleaguered. He gestured for them to enter. Bronwyn went first, her chin lifted to mask the fear that pulsed in her belly. She heard a curse, then a dark grumble. “First humans, then the Order, now simpering veanas from the credenti all descending on us like typhus-carrying rats.”

  No, Bronwyn thought as she entered the extraordinary two-story library, she was not the rat here.

  “Miss Kettler. I’m Nicholas Roman.”

  The paven who stepped forward to greet her was very tall, very broad, and had eyes the color of the night sky. He was menacingly dark in both features and humor, and the moment she stood in his path she felt the true weight of his presence. Forcing her nerves to remain beneath the surface of her calm exterior, she waited for his gaze to move over every inch of her, before she spoke.

  “Please, call me Bronwyn,” she said. “Thank you for seeing me.”

  “Of course,” he said, inclining his head, though his eyes went once more to the cloths covering her neck and wrists.

  She tried not to be intimidated by him, but it wasn’t easy. He was nothing like the pavens in her credenti, who were similar to her height and gentle in both action and tone. No, this paven was large and rough and no doubt breathed blood and sex, just as his sire had.

  “You have brought a handfast?” he asked, his black eyes cool, though respectful.

  “Yes.”

  “For my brother Alexander.”

  “Yes.”

  “Thank Christ!” came an irritated male voice from above.

  It was the first voice she’d heard through the library door and Bronwyn’s eyes drifted upward, to the second floor of the library. She saw no face there, only dark blue jeans that housed long, thickly muscled legs and a pair of scuffed-up black hunting boots that were propped up on the wood banister. “Nice tegga,” the paven muttered down to her. “Do you still suckle at her tits?”

  Beside Bronwyn, Edel sucked in air.

  “Shut it, Lucian!” Nicholas snarled. “For fuck’s sake.” He turned back to Bronwyn and lifted his hands in the air, in a silent show of frustration. “I apologize for my brother.”

  Bronwyn’s gaze lifted once again. So that was Lucian. The devil brother.

  “Please ignore him,” Nicholas said.

  “I imagine that would be
impossible,” Bronwyn quipped.

  Humor lit the paven’s black eyes. “Indeed.” Then he sobered. “Bronwyn, I respect your call for a handfast, but why do you believe Alexander is your true mate?”

  She hesitated before answering. Though she openly studied true mates, their histories, bloodlines, and the location of their marks on the skin, in the past year she had dipped into a strain of vampire lineage for a private client, lineage that was controversial and confidential. It was there that she had found her true mate, a son of the Breeding Male who, thankfully, carried no Breeding gene.

  She looked up at Nicholas, who was watching her intently. She needed to give the paven something. It was only fair. “I study vampire genealogy. It’s my life’s work, my passion. I don’t know how much you know about the subject, but when a paven or veana is born, they have three copies of each gene, one from their mother, one from their father, and one from their true mate. With either blood or skin samples, I can find any and all of these matches.”

  “And you believe that you and Alexander are a match?”

  “I do.”

  “How did you come upon a sample of Alexander’s blood?”

  She hesitated, choosing her words very carefully. “The Order takes samples from every Pureblood at birth. The Order supports my work—they believe it could be vital in bringing mates together early to procreate if there was a devastation in the Eternal Breed.”

  “Do you have something to show me?” Nicholas asked. “A certificate? Concrete proof?”

  She did, but the document also revealed information she couldn’t share with anyone. “The law requires no such proof for a handfasting,” she said quickly, “only a willingness—”

  “There’s no fucking willingness here, princess,” Lucian called down, sarcasm dripping like lethal honey from his tone.

  Nicholas sighed. “You are correct, Miss Kettler. You have your three weeks.”

  “Thank you,” she said, relieved yet wary. “Where should I put my things?”

  “How about back on the sidewalk?” Lucian suggested. “I’ll give you a hand.”