A loose canine.
How was that possible? Had she told him the truth about ingesting his blood—
“Two recruits at ten feet,” hissed Lucian as they headed away from the guards and past a small field of snow-dotted crops. “Shadows everywhere. Watch yourselves.”
Alexander resumed his course around the field.
Snaking to the right, Nicholas gestured with the barrel of his gun. “The Barracks.”
Alexander’s gaze shot to the long stretch of housing in the distance.
Shit.
That’s what he’d seen in Trainer’s mind. Row upon row of rooms . . .
“He’s holding members in there,” Alexander said. “Let’s go.”
Alexander took off at top speed, the brothers following him across the field, over a small rise before stopping short just a few feet from the Barracks doors. A line of at least ten recruits blocked their way—ready and waiting, weapons drawn.
“Kill or be killed,
duros
,” Alexander called as he ran straight at them, flying, firing, dodging knives and bullets, taking down two recruits before he was even on the ground again.
He leaped at a recruit, slamming them both to the icy grass, narrowly missing being skewered by the ten-inch blade in the Impure’s fist. He rolled them both until he was on top, then smashed his elbow into the male’s face, grabbed the knife, and plunged it into his heart. Flashes of gunfire echoed to Alexander’s left and he jumped to his feet, taking a quick assessment of his brothers and the damage done. Nicholas was firing on a cluster of three recruits who circled him, while Lucian was pounding his fist into an Impure’s side.
With four recruits dead, Alexander knew his brothers could handle the remaining six. He signaled to them, letting them know he was going in, going to find Dare, end this fucking nightmare once and for all. He stalked toward the Barracks, firing on one Impure who got in his path. But another bastard came from behind and ran his knife straight into the back of Alexander’s leg, grinding it all the way down to his calf. Hissing, Alexander reached back with his gun and took the Impure out with one shot to the head. Undeterred, limping slightly, he slammed the doors of the Barracks open and stalked inside.
Training his guns on anything that moved, Alexander passed by
credenti
living quarters, small, barely furnished rooms filled with
veanas
and
pavens
, Impures and Purebloods, all huddled together looking terrified.
Alexander sniffed the air.
Where are you? Where are you?
In one room he passed, a young
veana
around ten years old caught his gaze and gestured to the room across the hall. Alexander nodded at the brave one, then changed course.
But before he reached the door, a massive Impure jumped out and clocked him in the face, then triple punched him in the gut. Grunting, Alexander fought to stay upright, fought his desire to shoot the shit out of the Impure and the room behind him. He scented Dare, but the half-breed wasn’t alone. There were
veanas
, innocents with him, some heavy with their swell. He had to take the perfect shot.
He heard the scramble of feet, movement behind the huge Impure, and when the
paven
dove at him, two knives in his fists, Alexander slammed his head into the
paven
’s gut, then quick as a blink, reached around the male’s body with both Glocks and fired. Alexander heard a gasp, then a female’s terrified cry as Dare went down.
“Holy shit,” he heard Lucian snarl behind him.
Guns in his fist, Alexander rolled sideways, ready for more, but the huge Impure was up, rushing at Dare’s still body. Before Alexander could react, the Impure threw himself over Dare in a bear hug and they vanished.
“
No
!” Alexander roared, raising his guns and firing into the floor where Dare’s body had just been.
As the innocents scattered like rats, Nicholas grabbed Alexander’s wrists. “Stop. Christ. He’s gone.”
“The recruits!” Alexander shouted, whirling around, ready for Dare or his Impures to flash, return.
“All dead,
Duro
,” Lucian assured him. “It’s done.”
Breathing heavy, Alexander took in the sight before him, all the vampires in the Barracks, young and old staring at him with wide, frightened eyes. Was it done? Was it? He turned back to his brothers, who looked like they’d been playing soccer with their faces, and growled fiercely, “There’s no body.”
“They’ll have to know he’s dead,” Lucian said, eyeing Nicholas for confirmation. Nicholas nodded. “Dare was stone cold. The Order will know.”
Fuck, Alexander wanted to believe that. He stared at the both of them, his younger brothers whom he loved. Everything they’d known, everything they’d enjoyed for the past hundred years was gone. Peace had become war, and the days of self-governing had been given over to the ones who ruled without thought. The Order, the
credenti
, the Eternal Breed as a whole had become part of their lives now, and Alexander feared that even if he stopped the premorphing of his brothers, the connection to this old life and new world would not be severed.
“We need to take inventory,” he said, his tone commanding and controlled once again. “Sweep the entire area and make sure no recruits remain. Then we must see to the
veanas
and their
balas
, find out where they belong and to whom. After that, we’ll return home.” He turned his focus on Nicholas and frowned. “To wait and to watch.”
38
“Y
ou’re angry and confused. I get that,” Sara said gently. “I know you don’t want any more tests or pills or hypnosis. I’m done with all that, too.”
Gray’s eyes snapped up to meet hers. His attention at long last.
“Can you trust me this one last time?” she asked him. When he didn’t look away, Sara took a breath and continued. “My friend Alexander, he’s offered to help you.”
“That’s right, human” came a strong, clear masculine voice behind Sara. “You’d better buck up, because I’m coming for your blood.”
Sara looked up to see Alexander walking into the room, limping slightly as his injury attempted to heal from last night’s fight with Dare and his recruits. An hour ago, Dillon had given him her breath, but according to Leza the stab wound had torn cartilage and it needed a good twenty-four hours to mend properly.
“My brothers are coming to assist,” Alexander told her, though his eyes were on Gray. “Why not make it a party, yes?”
“A coming-out party,” drawled Lucian, strolling into the room, Nicholas behind him, both vampires looking like punching bags with eyes.
Sara noticed Gray’s attention shift from the blacked-out windows to the blackened eyes of the brothers. “Do we really need everyone?”
“Yes.” Alexander gestured to the pair. “Nicky, Lucian. Hold him down.”
Sara jumped up. “No, Alexander, please. He hates being contained like that.”
“Perhaps.” Alexander’s gaze was trained on Gray. “But not this time. Look.”
The pulse in Sara’s neck kicked, and she turned back to Gray. His eyes were on Alexander, his chin titled upward and his expression . . . She squinted. What was that in his metal gray eyes? Was that interest and a thread of . . . trust? Her heart lurched. God, how long had it been since he’d looked like that at her?
As he came to stand beside Gray, Alexander shook his head. “He knows he will fight, and he wants this done.”
“How do you know that?” Sara asked, her emotions running a race inside of her. Fear and hope battling it out for first place.
“Please trust in me, Sara,” Alexander said.
Nicholas and Lucian clustered around the bed, and Nicholas put a hand on Gray’s shoulder. “Easy now, Brother.”
Taking a deep breath, Gray stretched his arms out for the brothers to hold him. Sara’s mouth dropped open and she shook her head. He did know, he understood that whatever Alexander was offering might be the real deal. But how?
“You might want to turn away for a moment,” Alexander warned her, his hands gripping Gray’s skull.
“Not a chance,” Sara said, catching Lucian glancing her way, his devilish eyes flashing with begrudging respect.
Alexander struck quick, and Sara flinched as her brother sucked in air, his body going instantly rigid.
Please work
, she begged silently, no longer giving a shit about her own sense of failure. She just wanted Gray to recover, to talk again, to have a chance at a real life.
Suddenly, his body jerked, and as the brothers pressed down on his arms and legs to keep him steady, Gray cried out and went into full-on convulsions.
Unlike Trainer’s rank blood and diseased mind, Gray’s blood was uncommonly sweet for a human, and his brain was open and ready. Alexander moved through the man’s memories with experience, pushing his way back in history, jumping rapidly until he snagged on to an image that carried emotional weight. It took only seconds to find what he wanted and veer off the cerebral roadway to see the young, undamaged pair of children he sought: Gray and Sara. The image of little Sara made Alexander’s chest tighten, and the temptation to remain and watch her climb a tree, her bare feet raking up the bark with the effortlessness of a monkey, was powerful. But he had sworn to take great care and speed within the head of her brother and so he pushed forward, flying through doors in time, one after the other until he came to a late-summer evening, a young Sara walking up the stairs in a pitch-black house, a candle in her hands.
“Go back to your room and stop following me, Gray,” she whispered behind her.
But the boy must have continued because Alexander was following Sara up the stairs and down a hall. At a closed door, she turned and put her finger to her lips. “Stay here,” she whispered. “I’ll be right back.”
Sara opened the door and disappeared behind it. Alexander felt Gray’s impatience, his concern. Then the door opened and Sara came rushing out clutching a book to her chest, the candle forgotten. “Got it,” she said excitedly. “It was under the bed.”
Gray rushed after her, down the stairs and toward their bedrooms. They were inside only a moment when chaos erupted in the house. Everything happened at once. Alexander smelled smoke, heard a male scream. He saw fire at the top of the stairs, then turned to see Sara. Her face was pale and terrified as she realized what she’d done. She pushed past Gray and ran toward the staircase, screaming and crying. But a woman came running in from another room and grabbed her, held her back.
Alexander saw only the woman’s profile, but something about her stopped him from focusing on Gray and the boy’s need to get up the stairs to his father—something about the woman made his pulse speed up. He paused the memory and circled around, taking in one feature after the other until he saw the woman’s face.
No. She was no woman.
Celestine
.
Shock slammed into Alexander’s lungs and he lost focus, falling back into the past, tumbling as his mind fought to understand what it had just seen. He was bombarded by images; Celestine pushing a
balas
from her body—holding a newborn
balas
.
“Focus, Alexander,” he heard Nicholas urge sternly. “Take the memory of the fire.”
But Alexander just hovered there, unable to stop staring at the Impure female he knew as well as he knew his own brothers. How could it be? Impossible. And yet there she was. After their escape from the
credenti
, Celestine had remained with them for nearly ten years, cared for them as they’d protected her. Then one day, she’d walked out to find blood and never returned. They’d all thought her dead, mourned her for decades, and here she was—alive, mother to two
balas
—
Oh God.
Sara
.
“Move along,
Duro
,” Nicholas said, his tone grave now. “You stay too long in his mind.”
“Please, Alexander.” It was Sara; her anxious voice stole him from his startling revelation and he leaped forward in time again, searching for the last scene he’d witnessed.
He saw Celestine holding a hysterical Sara back. He saw Gray running for the stairs, up the stairs as his mother screamed at him. Alexander ran with the boy through the fire, as he kept low, when he found his father in the hall, his body consumed by flames. On a scream, Gray reached out to him with both hands . . .
Forcing himself out of the emotion and deep pain, Alexander circled the scene, focused, then drank, taking deep pulls of the fire memory into his mouth. It took only seconds and when he was certain he’d retrieved the entire memory, he withdrew from Gray’s skull and opened his eyes. The Impure—for that’s what he was—lay calm, asleep on the bed. Alexander pressed his thumb against the entry wound for a few moments; then he stepped back, his blood and Gray’s blood racing through his veins.
“Let him sleep,” he said softly to no one in particular, his mind reeling with the shocking images he’d just witnessed, not to mention the repercussions. “We will know soon enough.”
“Alexander—” Sara began.
But Alexander was already up, walking away, out of the room. He couldn’t stay there, look into Sara’s eyes and pretend he was looking at the human female he’d believed her to be. Not yet. What he’d seen, what he now knew, was astounding, remarkable. Celestine had survived, and her
balas
. . . both the male and the female were in his home, under his care—and both had vampire blood in their veins.
Jesus. Sara could be . . .
Growling, he ran, flew down the stairs and toward the tunnels. He wanted to rejoice at the possibility before him. If he were merely a Pureblood, it wouldn’t be possible. But he was a descendant of a Breeding Male. His true mate had to be a vampire, yes, but she could be either Pure or Impure. Sara could be his now—she could be his true mate.
He should have been hopeful and yet the only thing he felt was dread.
After Alexander’s swift departure, his brothers were quick to leave as well. But Sara remained by Gray’s side, taking his vitals every fifteen minutes, dozing in her chair, waking up to see if he was awake, and wondering what she was going to say to him when and if he did.