“I should have done
this
a hundred and eighty-five years ago.” Christian’s voice sounded deeper, harsher, like the growl of an animal.
As Rhys still struggled, his brother went for his throat, ripping into the flesh, taking half his throat in the first bite.
Despite the savageness of the attack, Rhys felt no pain. He continued to struggle—until Christian bit him again on the other side of his neck, and Rhys felt the blood and energy being sucked from him.
Christian didn’t intend to simply teach him a lesson, to show his strength or humiliate Rhys.
No, Rhys thought as he began to fade into oblivion, his once much-loved brother intended to kill him.
Jane shifted from one foot to the other and chewed at the corner of her nail. She’d carefully searched the sidewalk and even the gutters, but she hadn’t found the rings.
Now she was back at the bar, and her nerve was waning. She hadn’t even worked up the nerve to get close to the bar’s front entrance, much less the alleyway.
She tugged at her nail a moment longer, then dropped her hand to her side and straightened her shoulders. She had to look. She’d never forgive herself if she lost her parents’ rings because she was scared. She’d come this far. But just to make herself feel better, she slipped her hand in her coat pocket and pulled out the cylinder of hair spray. With the small can held out in front of her, she approached the bar, scanning the ground as she went.
When she reached the entrance of the bar, she heard a sound. She froze and clutched the hair spray tighter.
There it was again.
The sound of someone gagging—no, gasping.
Her heart clattered against her breastbone, and she held her breath. The sound came from the alleyway.
She considered turning and running, but her feet were paralyzed.
Another
gasp,
and the faint sound of a struggle.
She pulled in a slow, quiet breath, sure the person or persons in the alley would hear her.
Another wheezing gasp, which Jane was fairly certain didn’t come from her, then silence.
Jane tilted her head, listening. Somehow the silence was now more unnerving than the scuffle and the strained breathing. Silence might mean whoever was in there struggling was now unconscious or—dead.
What if Joey was attacking another woman? She couldn’t live with herself if she just stood by and listened while another woman was getting hurt.
But maybe it wasn’t anything. Maybe she’d been hearing things.
Her stressed, overactive imagination playing tricks on her.
She looked around. The street was deserted. And the bar was dark. She had no idea what time it was, but it had to be late.
Taking another steadying breath, she repositioned the hair spray in front of her. Cautiously, she crept to the alleyway. Clinging to the side of the building, she peeked around the corner.
The alley appeared empty.
Nothing but blackness and that small, dim bulb burning over the back steps.
Relief washed through her, and she sagged against the wall.
Then she saw it, just a faint movement, the shift of shadows, and a man’s face appeared.
She peered harder. Not just any man’s face.
Rhys’s
face.
His head hung to the side at an unnatural angle, and his eyes were closed.
The shadows shifted again, and she realized that there was another man in the alley. He looked toward her, but she couldn’t quite make out his features, the light only illuminating his profile. But from his height and his width, he couldn’t be Joey.
The shadowed man released Rhys. Rhys crumpled to the ground.
Jane stared at his downed form, sickness welling in her belly. Rhys had to be all right. But she had a terrible feeling he wasn’t.
“Well, silly mortal, this is what they call, ‘being in the wrong place at the wrong time.’”
Jane blinked. The man who had been beside Rhys was now directly in front of her. Had she been focusing on Rhys so intently that she didn’t notice the other man moving toward her?
“
Wh
—
what did you do to Rhys?”
He took another step closer. The streetlight illuminated his face.
Despite her fear, Jane couldn’t help but notice he was breathtakingly handsome with dark blond hair, streaked with
gold,
and pale eyes.
“So you know Rhys?
Very interesting.
I didn’t think he mingled with mortals—at least not pretty, little, pure ones.”
She shook her head slightly. Why did he keep referring to her as a mortal? Was this street lingo of some sort?
Lingo meaning that she was mortal, thus capable of dying?
Before she could even think to move away from him, his hand snaked out and caught her wrist. She tugged and dug her heels into the pavement, but it was useless. He hauled her into the alley as easily as if she were held by a steel manacle.
“Let’s go see what is wrong with Rhys,” he said, almost cheerfully.
He dragged her up to
Rhys’s
prone body.
Rhys’s
head was still at an awkward angle, and now, Jane could see why. Thick blood glistened on his neck, and she could see his throat had literally been ripped open.
She put her free hand up to cover her mouth. Not that her trembling fingers could suppress her scream or the bile rising up the back of her throat.
The man, still clasping her, laughed.
She sank to her knees, both in horror and distress, but he jerked her back up and spun her to face him. Her shoulder throbbed, but she barely registered the pain.
“Unfortunately, now that you have seen my brother, well,” he said with a regretful tilt of his head, “I can’t let you go.”
And just like that, the man’s features changed. At first, Jane thought the distortion had to be a trick of the dim light. Or the terrible fear wracking her body.
Then he smiled, and she saw the light glint off his long, razor-sharp teeth. This had to be a nightmare, but she knew it was real. She didn’t know what he was, but he was real. And he really meant to kill her.
She screamed again. And again, he laughed.
She began yanking frantically, trying to break his unyielding hold. That was when she realized she still held the small hair spray can in her captured hand.
As the monster’s head lowered toward her, those vicious teeth coming closer, Jane grabbed the can with her other hand and sprayed a steam of Extra Firm Hold directly in his eyes.
He cried out, the sound eerie and keening
like
a wounded animal. He released her as his hands went to his face.
Jane didn’t waste a moment. She turned and ran. But she never even made it to the street. Blackness encompassed her, and she dropped to the ground like a bug sprayed by Raid.
Sebastian stood over his wounded brother. Rhys looked as though he’d been gored by a wild animal. But Sebastian could tell by the bite marks that it had been a vampire attack. He couldn’t detect the identity of the vamp, however. The vampire had used a masking hex to cover his or her tracks.
Sebastian knelt down, holding a palm
over
Rhys’s
chest. He’d already checked once, but he felt the need to check again. Just to be sure.
He felt faint waves of energy radiating from his motionless chest. Rhys would be okay, but it was a close call.
Sebastian wiped a hand over his face, still shaken. He’d been back at his nightclub, having a lovely dinner with a delightful mortal, who not only happened to enjoy a nice meal, but also loved being a meal as well, when he’d sensed
Rhys’s
pain.
No, he hadn’t just sensed the pain. He had experienced it. He pressed a hand to his neck. The throbbing was still there, but not as intense as it had been.
He and Rhys had always had a connection. Blood-related vampires often did—but he’d never received a contact that vivid before. And it was probably a good thing it had been that powerful. He’d sped to Rhys—and likely saved him.
He glanced at the male mortal near Rhys. He could tell Rhys had fed off him. But the feeding was not
Rhys’s
usual style. He didn’t usually drain them quite so much. The man would live, but he was going to be a hurting unit for a while.
Sebastian stood and walked over to the mortal woman lying facedown in the middle of the alley. She was unconscious and unhurt. He could sense a memory hex around her. Probably the other vampire had cleared her memory, so she wouldn’t recall what happened here tonight. But what shocked Sebastian as much as anything was the scent of Rhys all over this woman.
Rhys wouldn’t normally interact with a wholesome mortal like this one. But Sebastian could smell not only
Rhys’s
scent, but also his desire heavy on her skin.
What the hell happened in this alley tonight? And he thought he’d been having an exciting Christmas Eve.
He bent and scooped up the female, hefting her onto his shoulder. Then he returned to his brother and balanced him on the other shoulder.
It was times like this when being able to shift into shadows really came in handy. Wandering through the streets with a couple of unconscious people slung on your shoulders tended to raise a few eyebrows. Even in
Christian stood on the roof of the bar, peering down at his baby brother as he lifted Rhys and the female mortal and dissolved into shadow.
Christian gritted his teeth. That may have been the only chance he’d ever have to kill his older brother, and that stupid mortal had ruined it. Rhys would never be caught off guard again, and Christian couldn’t take him without the element of surprise.
He looked at the sky. The sun would be up soon.
The sun that had killed
Lilah
.
No, Rhys killed
Lilah
. It had just taken him a hundred years to make it happen.
For
Lilah
to finally give up—and end her own existence.
She’d risen from their bed and walked out into the blazing noonday sun.
He didn’t know how, but Christian would make Rhys pay. He’d been patient this long. He could be patient as long as it took.
Rhys stretched. Damn, his muscles ached.
Had he been working with one of his horses yesterday? His groggy, sleep-filled mind could not seem to recall.
He supposed it did not really matter. He’d just stay in bed where it was nice and warm.
With this nice and warm…
Rhys sat upright and looked down at the woman sharing his bed.
Ah, so this was why his body felt so tired.
Although he did not recall bedding a woman last night.
Had he been foxed? Had he and Christian gone on one of their wild sojourns to the gaming hells?
He frowned. Was this woman a
lightskirt
? He made it a practice to never bring whores back to his home. His sister, Elizabeth, was only seventeen. Plus, that was just bad show.
He turned his attention back to the woman beside him. She did not look like any of the whores he’d known. Her face was turned slightly away from him, but he could still tell she wore no rouge on her lips,
nor
any of the other paint they put so liberally all over their faces.
He tilted his head and cocked his eyebrow, studying her shiny dark hair, her tiny hands with smooth skin and tidy, short nails. A fresh, clean scent seemed to encompass her.
She was also far too clean to be a whore.
So who was she?
He hesitated for a moment,
then
lifted the covers. His breath caught in his throat.
The woman was naked except for three pale pink triangles, two of which barely covered her small, but nicely rounded breasts and the third covered between her legs. He could see the hint of dark curls through the translucent material.
Perhaps she was indeed a whore. And from the look and smell of her, he must have paid a very pretty penny for her.
Damn, Christian! His brother was supposed to make sure he did not do such decadent things.
Wait. The reason he must be so hazy on the previous night had to be because he had been out celebrating his upcoming nuptials.
Or rather trying to forget them.
Betrothed to a savage American.
He looked back at the lovely creature beside him. He certainly deserved a fine memory such as this to warm him at night when he was lying unsatisfied beside his beefy, American wife.
And this little tart was truly beautiful.
He reached out and touched her breast, teasing the shadow of her nipple through the thin material of her
naughty
little costume. Her nipple hardened instantly, poking greedily at his fingers.
He smiled. She was delightful.
He ducked his head and lapped the hard pebble, then suckled. He moved to the other nipple, drawing it deep into his mouth.