Eternal Demon: Mark of the Vampire (7 page)

Hellen watched the male, Erion, pace from one end of the dungeon to the other, his black hair hanging to his hard jawline, his diamond eyes fixed on her, his lips forming a sneer. His wide shoulders were rolled forward. Every thick muscle she could see outlined in the jeans and black T-shirt he wore flexed and bunched as if he was ready to attack. He was a fearsome sight, and she licked her lips, tasting the blood of his guard.

Metallic and unsatisfying.

“You seem tense, Male,” she said, her gaze trained on him, wondering what he would do next, how he would deal with her. “Hasn’t my fiancé contacted you yet?”

Erion’s nostrils flared, but he didn’t stop moving. “You should be the one who’s concerned. Perhaps Cruen doesn’t value you as you believed.”

She refused to even contemplate that. “Or perhaps he doesn’t want to give back the prize he took from you, bloodsucker.”

A fearsome growl erupted from his throat, and he whirled on her. “I swear to all that is unholy, if you eat another member of my household, I will bleed you out and you’ll see my bloodsucker tendencies firsthand.”

She plastered on a false expression of trepidation. She knew he wouldn’t kill her, his leverage. “A vile threat indeed.”

“You push me too far, woman.”

“Hellen.”

“Whatever,” he growled, turning away from her and resuming pacing.

She pulled at the cuffs encircling her wrist. “I was hungry, okay?”

“The guard brought you food. Did he not?” Erion said through tightly gritted teeth.

“It wasn’t fresh.”

He growled again.

“And how was I supposed to eat it?” she continued. “With my toes?”

He was in her face in under a breath. Nostrils flared, chest heaving, he towered over her. Hellen had been around males her whole life, and as she’d grown and bloomed into womanhood she’d seen how some males began to regard her. Not like they did her sisters, but there were the ones who had found her attractive, the ones who made her laugh and fought rogue demons beside her. But never in all that time had a male looked at her like this one did. Hate and fear and sadness and hunger and . . . lust?

She drew back as far as she could go, her shoulders hitting the wall.

Who was this bloodsucker? And what did he want from Cruen? She knew Cruen had to be a fiend in his own right—after all, who would pay for a mate but someone who craved power, someone without empathy? Someone very similar to her father, Abbadon. Did this male who looked as though she were something he wished to unwrap and discover only desire the power of her being?

Should she care? Should she even wonder? After all, her main objective had to be escape. Or . . . if given the chance, this male’s demise.

His gaze was moving over her face. Only when he came to her eyes did he speak. “My guards are not on the menu. Understand?”

She couldn’t help herself. She breathed him in, cold air and hot skin.

“Do you hear me, woman?”

Hear you, scent you
 . . . Her ankles flickered with heat. Gods, she needed her draft. “When they are perverted little fucks who attempt to touch me, they are.”

Erion’s eyes widened and a feral growl vibrated from his throat. “What did you say?”

“Seriously, I have to repeat it?”

He cocked his head to the side and uttered in the deadliest of voices, “He touched you?”

“Above the waist. If he’d tried to go lower I would’ve had to play with my food first before I ate it.”

His gaze cut to her chest.

Just the quick look made her demon heat flare an inch higher.
Shit.
“I may not be all that hot in the face department, but I do have killer tits.”

The bloodsucker’s eyes lifted and he appeared confused. “You believe yourself unattractive?”

“Does it matter?”

“I find it curious.”

She shrugged. “My face. The shape, the features. It’s not all . . . It’s—”

“It’s beautiful,” he said. “You’re beautiful.”

Silence fell between them, and Hellen wasn’t at all sure what to say, what to think. She was locked up in a dungeon, prisoner to the male before her while her skin grew hotter with each breath she took.

He had called her beautiful. He stood before her, watching her, guarded, yet clearly confused on what had just transpired between them—what he had allowed himself to say.

It wasn’t good.

They were prisoner and jailer. No bond was to be formed, no matter how many compliments were tossed her way.

She forced her gaze from him. “Look,” she began in a tight voice. “Your guard thought the best course of action was to feed me with one hand and cop a feel with the other. And, well . . . Hellen don’t play that.”

“I understand.” His voice was stone and ice.

Her gaze seemed to drag itself back to his.

“I apologize, Hellen,” he said, his mouth grim, his eyes flaring with anger. “It will not happen again.”

“Why should I believe anything you say?”

“I do not keep you here for my own sadistic amusement. It is because I have no choice.”

She laughed softly. “You have a choice.”

“Have you ever cared about someone, Hellen?” His eyes burned into hers. “So deeply, so desperately you would sacrifice everything for them—including your code of honor?”

Yes. Yes,
she thought. Her sisters. She would give anything, everything to keep them safe. But she couldn’t tell him that. She couldn’t risk the possibility that he would use the information to get back whatever it was he so desperately wanted.

Before she was forced to say something, anything that was not the truth, there was noise on the stairs behind them.

“Sir?”

“What?” Erion said, irritated, ripping his gaze from Hellen and turning around.

The guard reached the bottom step and stopped. He eyed Hellen and blanched, then slowly backed up the stairs.

“You have turned my guards into pussies,” Erion muttered.

“Maybe you’ll be next,” she said, then added, “Erion.”

He glanced over his shoulder. “You know my name.”

Your name, yes, but not your game.

“Sir?”

“What is it?” Erion grumbled, turning back to the guard.

“There is a message from your brothers.”

“He has brothers,” Hellen said softly.
Are they a part of this deal?
she wondered.
This abduction? Has Cruen taken them or hurt them? Is that what the bloodsucker wishes to get back?

“That’s not possible,” Erion told the guard. “I was just with them.”

“He said it was urgent, sir.” His voice lowered. “About the boy.”

Hellen’s blood jumped in her veins.
Boy. What boy?

Erion walked toward the guard, his large, powerful body tense. “
He
said it was urgent?” His voice was lethal. “Who is
he
?”

Hellen’s eyes cut between Erion and the guard as the temperature in the room seemed to drop twenty degrees.

The guard’s nostrils flared with nerves. “The courier at the gate, sir.”

Hellen heard Erion curse, then suddenly take off up the stairs.

“What boy?” she yelled after him, but he was gone, the guard with him.

T
here were three stages of fire in t
arget shooting: slow, timed, and rapid. Synjon had been at it for an hour and every round he went ended up rapid. He had no patience for conventional practice rules. Removing magazine after magazine, reloading again and again, aim and shoot—that’s all he was after. Hit after hit until he saw the battered wall behind the face on each of his target papers.

He set the semiautomatic down and went to change the target. Shooting used to give him some form of release, some feeling of control. It was like the bite into flesh before the suck—the initial action that drew blood.

But there was no relief inside him anymore. No matter what he did. All he felt, all the bloody time, was manic darkness. And it was growing blacker every moment Cruen continued to breathe.

“How many rounds you go?”

The Roman brother’s deep, concerned voice didn’t make Synjon start. In fact, Syn had known the male was coming, catching his scent as it had drifted in from the hall.

“Not nearly enough,” Syn muttered, crushing the target paper in his fist as he walked back toward Alexander. “Glad you stopped by.”

“I think it’s you who’s stopping by.”

“Yes,” Syn said. “At long last. I’m sure Frosty’s told you what I’m after.” He picked up the semiautomatic and started to reload. “A reminder of what was promised more than seven months ago.”

Alex leaned against the wall, crossed his arms over his chest. The
paven
was big, his Breeding Male genes showing in every thick muscle, every predatory movement. “Vengeance.”

The word made Syn pause, look up. His eyes narrowed. “I could say ‘justice,’ but why bother? I hope there’s no problem with that.”

“None whatsoever. Except for the fact that we’re having some trouble—”

“Locating the bastard yourself,” Syn finished.

“Right.” The skull-shaved
paven
’s eyebrows drew together. “But I think I may have stumbled upon a way.”

Syn lowered his weapon. “Tell.”

“Can’t. Not yet.” He released a breath. “It involves my mate.”

“You think she knows how to get to Cruen?”

“No. But she will be affected, perhaps even hurt, if I use this possibility.”

The urge to throttle Alexander Roman until he revealed his thoughts, his plan, was almost impossible to repress. “I understand your caution, but the
paven
must be taken down.”

“I know,” Alex said calmly. “I just need a little time.”

“Time’s up, Roman,” Synjon said, turning from the
paven
and lifting his gun. “For you, me, the
balas
who lies in wait of a rescue, and that
paven
bastard who killed my
veana
.”

Without another word, Syn aimed at the target and fired ten rounds without blinking. All shots landed right between the eyes.

•   •   •

Erion burst through the front door and flash-ran down the hill toward the gate like a
paven
possessed. What the hell would he find waiting?
Who
would he find waiting? And if it was a trap, how badly could he rip the bastard apart before the male spilled the details of his plan?

His final flash brought him right to the gate’s entrance. He’d already bitten into his wrist as he traveled, and he ran it over the lock. He sprang forward as the gate allowed him access. At first he saw nothing, no one, his gaze tracking every movement the moonlight favored him with. Then a sound caught his ears, a scent too, and it was one he knew well. One that was normally accompanied by irritating wafts of dust.

“What the hell are you doing here, Raine?” he called out.

Nothing. Just wind through the trees met his query.

Erion cursed through clenched teeth. “Get over here before I’m forced to hunt you down. Your beast is a midnight snack for mine.”

He heard a whimper, then saw a flash of pale skin. Raine had stepped out from behind a wide bush and was slowly moving toward him. “I’m in deep trouble because of you.”

“You came here for an apology?” Erion said on a growl. “Truly?”

The
mutore
’s terrified features intensified as he drew nearer. “He knew I told you that I could be the only one.”

Cruen had contacted him. Erion’s skin prickled with hope. “Good.”

Raine, however, looked shocked at his response. “You are pleased.”

“I want to meet with him, exchange our goods. It is all I want.”

Raine stared piteously at him for a moment, then he sighed. “Then meet him, you will.”

He moved quickly, leaped forward, and grabbed Erion around the waist. Before Erion had a chance to react, they flashed from the castle grounds. But it was a flash unlike any Erion had ever experienced before. It was slow and strange and rendered him utterly immobile; even his mouth refused to move. Panic snaked through him, but it hardly had time to take hold. In an instant, he touched down, his feet sinking into warm, gentle sand as his gaze searched his surroundings. When he realized where he was, his bowels tightened. He despised this place, hated what he’d done on this beach, who he had manipulated, who he had humiliated.

“We have spent many hours here, my son.”

The words,
that
voice—it broke the spell over Erion’s muscles and his ability to speak. He lifted his upper lip and flashed his fangs at the
paven
who stood beside him. “Call me that again and I will devein you.”

Cruen laughed, but it wasn’t a light, frothy sound. It carried the weight of worry within it.

“There was a time when you begged me to call you son, when you reveled in my parental care.”

If only I had the ability to kill here,
Erion mused. “It was the desperate need of a desperate child,” he stated flatly.
One who only wanted to be considered worthy of love.
“That desire was over the moment you lied to me about being able to produce a
balas
.”

“It was for your protection, Erion.”

“Was it?” Erion turned and regarded the ancient
paven
.

“Of course. I have always protected my children.” He looked out at the ocean, the waves so calm, so serene—so unlike the
paven
s who stood before it. “All of my children.”

“Then you will understand that I must protect mine.”

Cruen turned to him, a strange gleam of optimism, perhaps even hope, lighting his eyes. “Come back, come home, bring the female, and I will give you the
balas
. He can remain with you in my home—”

Erion interrupted the
paven
’s worthless words with mirthless laughter. “I will be happy to trade the female for the boy, but you will never have me. I don’t belong with you anymore. I am no soldier to fight for you and your ugly cause, no specimen for you to study.”

“You think you belong out there in the world?” Cruen said with a trace of sadness in his voice. “Look at you. You’re a beast, something the Order would kill on sight. You can’t have a real chance at life in that world, Erion. Neither can your brothers.”

Erion wouldn’t believe that. Refused to believe it. He already had a life—the beginnings of one, at any rate. He had his brothers and the Roman brothers, he had a home . . . maybe even a child. He fixed the
paven
with a resolute glare. “They will not return, and neither will I.”

All traces of melancholy left Cruen’s expression and his mouth formed a hard line. “Your transition will be coming soon. You won’t be able to handle it alone. You will need me, my medicines, and my expertise. If I could see your blood, study your cells, I may be able to predict the exact time of your transition.”

Desperate threats were lost on him. His transition wasn’t for several years yet, and he would deal with it when the time came. His answer was simple. “Never.”

Around them the wind picked up, made the ocean water stir. Cruen’s gaze stirred too. “We will see.”

“I want the
balas
,” Erion said, going to stand in front of the aged
paven
, blocking his view of the seawater he loved so much. “Bring him here, and I will bring the female.”

Cruen’s face lit with a strange combination of relief and irritation. He wanted Hellen, perhaps needed her, but he didn’t like her. That realization should’ve washed off Erion’s back. The boy was all he cared about; the female was nothing more than a bargaining chip.

And yet . . . it bothered him.

“Not here,” Cruen said, interrupting his thoughts. “You will come to my compound.”

“So we are surrounded by your guards and you can take the female and the boy? I don’t think so.” Erion nodded at the
mutore
who had brought him here, the
mutore
who hovered a few feet away. Raine looked terrified, exhausted, like he wished he were anywhere else. “We will do the exchange at Raine’s shop.”

“No!” the
mutore
cried out, backing up a foot.

Cruen put a hand up to silence him. “Agreed. Twenty-four hours.”

Erion growled and grabbed his adopted father’s wrist. “We will do it now,
paven
. This very moment.”

Cruen made no move to force his hand away. In fact, he appeared slightly less confident than a moment ago. “It is not possible.”

“Why?”

A shadow of humiliation moved over the
paven
’s face. He shook his head. He wasn’t going to answer.

“Your delay is suspect,” Erion said, tightening his hold. “I warn you not to attempt trickery. If you hurt the
balas
in any way, your bride-to-be will have the life’s blood sucked out of her every orifice.”

Cruen’s nostrils flared. “Twenty-four hours.”

Erion cursed and released the
paven
’s wrist. Not because he wanted to, but because his hand was on fire.
What the hell?
He stared at his palm, red and stinging. It was as though he’d been burned. His gaze ratcheted up just in time to see Cruen’s image flicker on and off before him like a faulty lamp. He seemed to glow for a moment; then he disappeared altogether.

Erion rounded on Raine. “What was that?”

“An illusion,” he offered weakly.

Realization dawned. He had been tricked.

He cocked his head to one side and growled. “He was never here.”

Raine looked terrified. “His mind was here.”

“Why not his person? What the hell is going on?”

The male rolled his lips under his teeth and shrugged.

Erion stalked toward the
mutore
. “Continue to hold your tongue, and I will cut it out.” With the
mutore
’s fearful gasp, Erion continued, “Is he contained somewhere? A prisoner?”

Looking around himself, Raine whispered, “I don’t believe so.”

“Then what?” Erion demanded, his feral voice echoing down the beach. “He blazed with heat, with color at first; then he looked as though he were fading, like he’d lost power before he . . .”

Raine looked up, blinked at him.

“His power?” Erion said, pouncing on the
mutore
’s reaction. “What about it? Is there something wrong?”

“It is all the time we have here. All I was allotted. If you are determined to cut out my tongue, it will have to be done back in France.”

He grasped Erion around the waist again, and in a flash they were airborne.

•   •   •

The heat inside her had risen maliciously. It was no longer contained at her feet and ankles, where thinking rationally and breathing in and out was manageable. Now it surged above her knees, licking at the very edges of her thighs. Hellen internalized a frustrated whimper. Whatever was left of the cooling draft was quickly exiting her veins. If she didn’t get to her supply soon, she would need to find relief another way.

She lifted her lids and narrowed her gaze on the guard who stood directly in front of the window. The male hadn’t looked her in the eye once since he’d come on duty after Erion left. He was clearly wary of her. And she hardly blamed him. After all, she’d eaten his coworker.

“Hey, you,” she called out.

The male’s eyes swept the floor.

“I know you hear me,” she said, forcing a calm, gentle tone into her voice instead of the raging frustration she truly felt. “You need to be afraid of me only if you say no.”

His gaze flickered upward. “Say no to what?”

She forced a smile, hoped she didn’t look too maniacal—or maybe that was a good thing in this situation. “If you do as I ask, I promise I won’t hurt you. If you don’t, I will kill you.” His eyes widened. She continued, “Most likely in your sleep.” His mouth dropped open and his nostrils flared. “I’ll wake you up first, of course, just so I can get your heart pumping quickly before I rip it from your chest and devour it.”

The guard turned fish-belly white and shook his head over and over. “I can’t release you. I won’t.”

She nodded her understanding. “You fear your master more than me?”

He didn’t answer.

“Fool.” She sniffed, attempted to look impish.

“He would kill me.”

“Yes,” she agreed, still keeping her tone even. “But he would kill you swiftly. Me? Not so much.”

“I could remain where I am,” he said with a moment of confidence. “I won’t get close to you.”

She laughed. “Perhaps not. But there will come a day when your master releases me. If you refuse to help me now, I will come and find you. And I will bring friends.”

She watched this news settle over him, watched as he shifted away from the stone. But still he remained where he was. His gaze, however, did flicker toward the ring of keys on the wall.

She lowered her voice conspiratorially. “If you like, I will kill him. Then you needn’t worry about his wrath or mine.”

The thoughts inside the male’s head, the visions of being eaten and/or tortured like his colleague versus being killed by his employer stirred his features. His body rigid, he slowly moved toward the wall with the keys.

“You will jump through the window again,” the male said. It wasn’t a question.

Her skin hummed with anticipation. “I will run straight past you, Male, and dive for the glass.”

“You will wait outside for the master and kill him before he returns.” Again, his words were not a question.