Eternal Hunger rb-1 Read online

  Without thinking, Bronwyn’s gaze shot to the second floor and she said fiercely, “What is your problem, paven?”

  But this time, there were no jean-clad legs, no boots resting lazily on the banister. This time, the devil himself stood there. Like Nicholas, Lucian Roman was tall, and alarmingly broad in the shoulders, but that’s where the similarities ended. The youngest of the Romans was stunningly, terrifyingly good-looking, his jaw-length hair as white as an angel’s wings, his almond eyes lethal and lustful, his face hard and chiseled. For Bronwyn, looking at him was like looking at the other side of death, and yet she could look nowhere but.

  His gaze roamed over her, from top to bottom, in the most brazen of ways, like a tongue licking an ice-cream cone—like a paven who had removed many a veana’s purity cloth.

  Beside her, Nicholas cleared his throat. “Evans will take you to your room, Miss Kettler.”

  “Thank you.” Bronwyn ripped her gaze from Lucian’s, nodded once at Nicholas, then followed Evans. She was nearly to the door when she suddenly stopped, turned back, and addressed Lucian one last time. “And by the way, Mr. Roman, I don’t nurse from my business associate Edel, but I do let her wipe my ass from time to time.”

  Edel snorted from the hallway and a loud chuckle erupted from Nicholas, but Lucian remained impassive as he watched her—although his thick, blond eyebrows rose a good half inch from where they normally dwelled.

  With a quick nod in his direction, Bronwyn turned and walked out of the library.

  Alexander touched down near the back entrance to his home. Night had succumbed to the stillness and bitter chill of predawn, and every muscle in his body tensed, warned him to get inside and find shelter before the sun showed her merciless face.

  The back door opened and without a word to Evans, Alexander carried Sara into the house. She was asleep, a delicious weight in his arms, her dark hair swinging from side to side as he moved. He wanted nothing more than to keep her against him, all day and deep into the night. But that was not possible, today or ever.

  He took the back stairs two at a time until he reached the third floor, then stalked down the dark and quiet hallway until he reached his room. LIGHT. DIM. The mind command was as swift as the result, and he crossed the large suite and placed Sara on his bed, then covered her gently.

  He stepped back. Yes, the woman looked right in his bed, beautiful, enticing.

  She sighed in her sleep, turned her head, exposing the white flesh of her neck to his gaze. Saliva pooled in his mouth and his fangs vibrated with a sexual hunger he hadn’t felt in quite some time. He could do it. Right now, he could mark her, score her with his fangs—a permanent tattoo that would keep any male fearful for his life away from her. He growled low, pained, the desire to act nearly debilitating. But it wasn’t fair to her. She was human. She could never be his female, his true mate, the one who bore his mark.

  There was a knock on the door and a firm whisper. “Sir.”

  With one final glance at Sara, Alexander left the room and went into the hallway. “What is it, Evans?”

  “I have Dr. Donohue’s room ready if you’d like—”

  “No. She’s staying here.” For now.

  “Yes, sir.”

  Evans’s almost sheepish gaze dropped and Alexander released a breath. “Is there a problem, Evans?”

  “While you were gone, there was a . . . development.”

  “What kind of development?”

  Evans’s gaze flickered upward. “You’ve been hand-fasted.”

  Alexander frowned. “What?”

  “And she’s in the room next to yours.”

  “What?” Alexander roared, his chest suddenly filling with air, his veins rushing with hot, irritated blood.

  “Yes, Brother dear,” Lucian called, coming around the corner, his almond eyes locking with Alexander’s fierce gaze. “We’ve been invaded. First the Order and now the credenti.”

  “A Bronwyn Kettler, sir,” Evans said quickly. “She comes from the Boston credenti with her assistant, and claims you are her true mate.”

  The madness he’d encountered this day was off the charts. He gestured toward her door. “Send her home.”

  “Can’t do,” Lucian said with a wry grin.

  Alexander growled. “I don’t have time for this bullshit, Luca.”

  Lucian shrugged. “Nicholas has given her the three weeks.”

  “Then Nicholas can have her! I’ve been to see the Order.”

  Lucian froze, his lip curling. “So you did it, then. Alone. You found the Hollow?”

  Alexander turned to Evans and motioned for him to leave.

  “I can’t believe you went without us, without backup,” Lucian accused when the servant was gone.

  “I didn’t go to them—they took me.”

  “I don’t care!” Lucian roared, then shook his head and released a pissed-off breath. “What did the old fuckers want?”

  “There’s a threat to the credentis and to the Eternal Breed. They’ve been infiltrated by a rogue band of Impures and many veana have been taken.”

  “And? What?” Lucian chuckled bitterly. “They want our help.”

  “My help,” Alexander corrected.

  “You told them to go fuck themselves, right?”

  “Not that simple, Brother.”

  It took only a moment for Lucian to get the clear picture. “Nicky and I go morpho if you don’t do as you’re told.”

  Alexander didn’t need to confirm or deny, just lifted his chin. “I will take care of this.”

  Lucian was shaking his head. “No.”

  “Don’t be stupid, Luca.”

  “I swear I will lock you up in that cage of yours and bury the key. You’re not doing this again. We’re brothers, partners. Just because you’re the eldest doesn’t mean you can make decisions about our future.” Lucian arched one pale, severe eyebrow. “We made a pact to remain together, fight together. If we don’t have that, we’re based on nothing. We walked out of that life together, and we walk back in together.”

  Alexander hesitated, his jaw tight as a fist. He wanted to be harsh with Lucian, pull rank and refuse to see the reason in the young paven’s words. The love for his brothers warred with the pain of seeing them lose their futures.

  “Together, Duro,” Lucian said resolutely, then flashed Alexander a wicked grin. “Besides, I’ve been itching for a little recon.”

  Alexander thought of the blood oath the Order had given him. They would leave Nicholas and Lucian alone if Ethan Dare was brought in, and he would have a better chance of finding the Impure with his brothers’ help. A low growl settled in the back of his throat. The Order had better come through with their end of the bargain. Because if they didn’t, he’d have another battle on his hands, one he was only too willing to start. “Where’s Nicholas?”

  Lucian grinned, knowing he had convinced the alpha, his pack leader. “On that skinny human’s trail.”

  “In-house or out?”

  “Online. Downstairs.”

  “Good. Let’s go.”

  Lucian flicked his chin in the direction of Alexander’s room. “What about the female?”

  “She’s sleeping in my bed, and I don’t want anyone disturbing her.”

  “I meant the other one,” Lucian drawled. “The vampire female? The veana who thinks you are her true mate.”

  “Not my problem.” Alexander started toward the stairs. “Let’s go. We’ve got a rogue Impure to find and kill.”

  18

  Sara awoke to the sound of muffled traffic and the scent of Alexander’s skin. Disoriented, she lifted her head and glanced around the dimly lit room, a relatively bare space with pale gray walls and a white fireplace. Alexander’s room, she was willing to guess. Alexander’s bed. Obviously, he’d put her here after she’d fallen asleep last night somewhere over Jersey.

  She dropped back onto the bed indulgently and pressed her face into his pillow, mindful of the bruise that still stung slightly. O
h God, she thought, breathing him in. He smelled so good, so indescribably good—like coffee, an earthy scent that was hard to describe but that made her feel warm and thirsty, and desperate to stay in bed. It was utterly impossible to deny her attraction to him, her desire for him now, and she wasn’t even going to try. The irony of being caught up in a state of delicious insanity involving vampires, mind travel, and potential danger wasn’t lost on her professional acumen. And yet she was willing to overlook it all if she could just feel that thing she’d felt in Montauk one more time. Tucked inside that ancient lighthouse surrounded by an angry sea, she’d felt completely and totally connected to someone.

  It had been a long time.

  Sensing the lateness of the morning even with the blackened-out windows, she glanced at the clock. It was nearly six thirty and she was on duty in an hour. She slipped out of bed and headed for the attached bathroom, which continued the minimalist style that Alexander seemed to favor. Gleaming white with chrome accents. For a second, she contemplated showering at the hospital, but her curiosity and her ache to remain close to him had her stripping off her clothes and stepping into the white limestone stall. She glanced around for the showerhead, but saw none. She twisted the faucet handles, hoping for an answer, and in less than an instant, hot water rained down on her from above. Startled, she looked up. The water was falling from a hundred tiny holes in the ceiling tiles. It was magnificent. As she washed her hair, she imagined Alexander beside her, engulfing her small frame with his massive one as the water sluiced over their skin. The intensity of desire that ran through her in that moment concerned her. Granted, fantasizing was a normal, natural part of being human, and for Sara not uncharted waters every other month or so, but the continuous, unbalanced need she had for this man, this nonhuman male, seemed excessive, and, frankly, out of the realm of what she considered normal. Maybe she was under some kind of spell. Vampire voodoo.

  Grinning at her idiocy, she quickly finished up and left the bathroom. With a towel wrapped around her, she padded into the large walk-in closet attached to his bathroom, looking for a robe or something that would hold her until she could slip on yesterday’s clothes again. But what she saw there made her pause, made her nearly drop her towel. Her clothes, every piece, every pair of shoes, was either hung up or folded on one side of the closest. He’d brought all her things here, put them beside his own. That intimacy, the sweet, uneasy promise of that gesture, sent a shiver of fascinated apprehension through her. How long did he expect her to stay? How long did he want her to stay?

  In his room, his bed . . .

  The clock on the wall screamed at her to hurry and she piled her hair on top of her head in a loose knot, covered the bruise on her face with a little bit of makeup, then slipped into a black pencil skirt, white sweater, and a pair of heels before grabbing her purse and heading for the door.

  Outside in the hallway a young man was furiously working, installing several sets of rather unusual metallic window coverings to the windows. He didn’t look up from his task and acknowledge her so Sara moved on, rounding the corner, hoping to find a staircase nearby. But in her rush, she ran straight into someone. “Oh!” She backed up quickly and apologized. “I’m so sorry. I—”

  “It’s all right. No permanent damage done.”

  Sara caught her breath enough to see the black-haired woman she’d nearly knocked down. She was a total stranger, but one of the most beautiful women Sara had ever seen. She looked to be somewhere in her early twenties and was a good five inches shorter than Sara, but her face and figure made up for her height. She had very pale skin, eyes the color of sunlit grass, pretty white scarves wrapped around her neck and both wrists, and a simple black dress that accentuated hips and breasts that would’ve made Marilyn Monroe jealous.

  She smiled at Sara and stuck out her lovely, pale hand. “Bronwyn Kettler.”

  “Hi.” Sara shook the woman’s hand and returned her smile. “Sara Donohue.”

  “You’re human?”

  The question and its casual delivery made her laugh. “Yes. Which must mean you’re not.”

  “There are days I wish I was. How’s that?” The woman’s smile deepened, exposing a lovely set of dimples and the tips of two ultrawhite fangs. “Are you going downstairs? I’ll walk with you.”

  “All right,” Sara said as they headed for the stairs. “So, do you . . . work here?”

  “No. I’m here for a handfast with the eldest Roman.”

  “Handfast?” Sara repeated. The list of vampire vocabulary was growing at a steady pace. Starting a list might be a good idea, she thought.

  “It’s a vampire thing,” Bronwyn said, shrugging her shoulders, which caused her very real, very perfect breasts to bounce. Sara had never been jealous of another woman’s top half, but she really wouldn’t mind possessing a rack like that.

  “The handfast goes back many, many years,” Bronwyn continued as they walked down the stairs. “You’d probably call it dating. Exclusive dating.”

  The captivated haze Sara had been in for the past two minutes abruptly wilted, and she rewound their conversation in her mind until she got to a point of confusion. She stopped on the last step and cocked her head to one side and said, “Wait a second. The eldest Roman?”

  Bronwyn nodded. “Alexander.”

  Sara’s smile, along with every intimate feeling she’d had in the past half hour, faded. “You’re dating Alexander? For how long—”

  “No, no,” Bronwyn corrected quickly. “We’ve never met. We hadn’t a need to. Until now. You see, in our breed, we have true mates—our destined one—and when a paven goes through morpho—”

  Sara didn’t wait for her finish. “You think Alexander is your true mate.”

  The woman lifted her chin confidently. “I do.”

  Electric currents of blind jealousy ran through Sara’s body, attacking every muscle, every soft spot of emotion, and her eyes narrowed on the woman she’d only moments ago thought sweet and charming. She’d liked guys before, even felt possessive a time or two. But this, what she was feeling now was altogether different. This had rage behind it, a true fighting spirit, and she wasn’t exactly sure what do with the feeling.

  Bronwyn’s concerned gaze moved over Sara’s face. “Are you all right?”

  “Yeah,” she mumbled. Come on now. Get your shit together, Donohue. Sara’s gaze caught on the tips of Bronwyn’s fangs and she inhaled deeply. She needed to get out of here, get back to reality for a while—her reality. Forcing a thin-lipped smile, Sara nodded at the woman. “Excuse me. I’m running late.”

  The woman smiled. “Okay. It was nice to meet you, Sara.”

  Right. Very nice. Normally, blurting out sarcasm in her head did wonders for her morale. Not so much today. Seemed she had competition.

  Sara left the beautiful vampire on the stairs, walked across the foyer and out the front door into the sunlight.

  Three hours later, she was embroiled in the dealings of the hospital: new patients, med schedules, group therapy checks, evals . . . Quite honestly, it was a welcome chaos. Here she knew the language, the rules—she ran the show.

  “Gray? Are you listening to me?”

  Well, not every part of the show apparently.

  “Gray?”

  Ignoring her and refusing to cooperate, Gray lay flat on his back inside of Walter Wynn’s new high-resolution MRI scanner, while Sara sat on the other side of the glass, doing the job of an MRI tech. Moving in on the territory of other staff members wasn’t standard practice in her hospital, but when it came to patients with PTSD and/or memory trauma, most of the staff understood her penchant for taking over jobs that weren’t normally hers. Sara had to be on hand to witness every movement, every change, and today was no different. It was the first in a series of scans she was performing on three of her patients over the next seven days. As she recounted their traumatic memories, she was going to record the changes in the amygdala—the area of the brain that processed emotional and fearful e
xperiences.

  “I need you to hold your breath for a moment,” she said again, this time with undisguised frustration. “Come on, Gray, please.”

  But not only did Gray continue to breathe normally, he slipped off his headphones and dropped them on his stomach. Cursing, Sara stabbed at the emergency-shutoff button and sank back in her chair. So, he was getting sick of this, of the tests, of the trials and the experiments? Well, so was she. Tough shit.

  She reached out and pounded her fist on the console. What were their other options? Suicide? Sitting around staring into space, heavily medicated for the rest of his life? Not going to happen.

  For more than three years, Gray had been a docile patient, wanting her to fix him and bring him back from wherever it was he mentally resided, but in the past six months things had changed—he had become sullen and uncooperative, as if he didn’t want to get better. As if he’d given up.

  She leaned in and pressed the button that released the table, watched as he slid out of the scanner, as he sat up and faced her through the glass. Their eyes locked. He was going to fight her—he was going to resist her attempts to help him.

  She picked up the phone, dialed. “Tommy, I need a pickup in MRI. I’m done with him for today. I have Lotera and Mills scheduled for scans later this afternoon; you can bring them together.”

  When she looked up again, through the glass, Gray was holding the headphones. In under a second, he had them behind his head and in under two, he chucked them right at her. They hit the glass with a bruised thud and dropped to the floor.

  Sara stood there, curbing the urge to run into the magnet room and scream at him as though he were an uncontrollable child. He wanted it too—she could see it in his eyes. He wanted her to get angry, to lose control.

  He wanted her to fail.

  Thankfully, Tommy arrived. He came in to the magnet room and took over. Sara left the console room before them and headed over to the juvenile wing, her nerves frayed. It was part of the job, failures and successes. Couldn’t have one without the other—couldn’t recognize one without the other, but it was a hard truth to accept.