Текст книги "Alasdair"

Автор книги: Ella Frank

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Текущая страница: 12 (всего у книги 15 страниц)

Ancient Greece—47 BC

LEO'S HEART WAS going to give out. He was positive. With as many jolts as it had been getting, it was going to give the fuck out. He stood as still as he possibly could as the stunning vampire behind Alasdair held his gaze. 

Maybe he's not looking at me, he thought, and then he looked over his shoulder. But there was no one behind him. So he turned back, wondering if he was about to be maimed right there in his vision, but when he glanced beyond Alasdair's shoulder, Vasilios was gone.

Where the…

Leo spun around to see if he'd missed him or if he was going to appear somewhere to ravage his throat, but instead of finding Alasdair and Vasilios, he was somewhere else entirely. 

ALASDAIR PICKED LEO up and slung him over his shoulder. He really didn't want to do this. Not now, and not with Thanos. But he didn't have a choice. He couldn't leave Leo behind, and he had to go to his cousin’s aid.

Holding on to the backs of Leo's thighs, he faded back to the office where he'd left Isadora and Thanos, and what he saw when he appeared made his knees want to buckle. Thanos was on his ass, his back against the wall, clutching his neck. Blood oozed between his fingers and trailed down his arm in rivers of crimson liquid, and when his blue eyes found his, they appeared lackluster compared to the usual twinkle the vampire sported.

What the fuck is the matter with him?

Alasdair crouched by his cousin's side and put Leo on the ground. Then he looked at Thanos's disturbingly sallow complexion. He was in trouble.

“Show me,” Alasdair demanded, gesturing to the wound his cousin was covering with his hand. When he refused to let go, Alasdair repeated himself. “Show me.”

“I can’t,” Thanos managed to say between grim lips.

“Why not? Just take your hand away. I’ll heal you.”

Thanos grimaced. “My hand. It’s fused to the silver.”

Alasdair shifted closer and saw exactly what Thanos meant. His left arm was across his chest, and his palm was flat against the side of his neck as though he’d reached to remove the weapon that’d been used. But it appeared that, when he’d taken hold of it, the metal had melted into his fingers and his hand, melding it with the wound and making it impossible to directly heal.

The silver was pressed between Thanos’s neck and hand, and tiny little bubbles boiled there. The pain must’ve been excruciating, not only from the poison, but also from the burn. Silver only melted when it reached 1763.2° F, a little factoid Alasdair had picked up through many years manning the torture chair of the Adjudication Room. So it was a fucking miracle Thanos could still speak.

The ghastly grey veins traveling up his neck to his ear were straining out against his skin, which was paper thin where the poison was coursing through him.

“Who did this?”

Thanos tried to straighten up but hissed and slumped back down. “Some fucker Isa knows—”

“What do you mean Isa knows?”

“Some tall bastard in a preppy-ass suit and tie. Gotta say, cousin. Didn’t think this is how I’d die.”

“You are not going to die,” Alasdair swore as he tried to find a way to stop the toxic liquid from spreading.

“There’s no way to heal this shit without direct contact, and you know it. It’s too deep in the blood.  I’d figured a dagger would be it for me, or maybe you ripping my head off in annoyance, but not a fucking letter opener by some goddamn human.”

So that’s what was now nothing more than an adhesive between his neck and his palm.

“You need to go find Isa.”

“If you think I’m leaving here—”

“Go!” Thanos roared.

Alasdair reached for the hand lying limp by his cousin’s side. “No. Now, shut the fuck up and give me your hand.”

Thanos opened his mouth to protest but must’ve thought better of it and decided to do as he’d been told. Instead of his palm being cool to the touch, it was close to scorching.

Like all cold-blooded creatures, their variable body temperature adjusted to their surroundings—or emotions. In this case, Thanos’s skin was heating due to severe pain. But Alasdair tightened his fingers around his cousin’s limp ones and gnashed his back teeth together to fight the pain off.

Mine is nothing compared to his.

He clamped his other hand around Leo's wrist, and as he was about to fade them all from the room, a photograph fell from the wall and landed by them.

When Alasdair glanced at it, the bathhouses were staring back at him. The ones that had set him on his quest for answers when he’d last been in this room alone with Leo.

That was when the world he had always known began to fall apart. And that made him wonder as his eyes shifted to the human who was still eerily unconscious, Is that where he is now?

Ancient Athens—47 BC

IT WAS AS if someone had changed the channel on the TV. 

Leo scrubbed his eyes, and when he reopened them, he recognized his new location. 

He was back at the bathhouse. 

It was nighttime. 

And there was a definite tension in the air—of the sexual kind. 

Then he heard it. A shout of uninhibited ecstasy.   

Leo's pulse thumped and his cock twitched. Then, as if he couldn't stop his feet from moving, he started walking in the direction of the sound. Gooseflesh covered his skin, but it wasn't borne out of fear.

It was anticipation. 

A cool breeze whipped through the open roof of the house and swirled down around his feet, brushing his pants against his thighs. 

“You really should not walk alone in the night, omorfo mou agóri.”

Leo recognized the voice. Vasilios.

Oh God. God…

He stopped walking and curled his fingers into his palms. Did he really want to keep going? He knew exactly who that groan belonged to, and he wasn't sure if he wanted to see Alasdair with his vampire again. 

And why is that, he asked himself. Probably because he was always interrupted every time he thought he'd finally—

What? Have sex with a vampire who wants to kill me? Jesus, I have lost my mind.

“A lot can happen when the sun dips down and the moon come out to play…” 

Fucking hell—Vasilios was convincing. His words were drawing him closer, and the moan that tore through the empty bathhouse was full of raw arousal. 

Alasdair.

Not knowing if his presence would be detected or not, Leo crept closer, careful not to make a sound. Then, as he rounded the last column, he saw them. 

Alasdair was pressed up against the end pillar. Nobody was with him, but he had his eyes closed and a hand rubbing his erection. It must have felt amazing too, because he was rocking into his palm as if he hadn't fucked for days.

Leo's own cock throbbed at the sight. Alasdair was as sexy dressed in a toga as he was in modern-day clothes. The only difference: his long hair, which was tied back now, showing off his spectacular face as the moon shone down and seemed to illuminate him. 

Fuck this, Leo thought as he pressed his hand against his stiff length. As if he wasn't going to get achingly hard watching Alasdair masturbate only a few feet away from him. 

But then the air shifted and practically hummed. Leo had felt this once before. This vibration of power that had only been present when Vasilios had been near—and aroused. 

Leo kept his eyes on Alasdair as the hand he had been using to stroke himself was yanked away and pinned to his side. Leo swallowed, his eyes focused on what was happening, when Vasilios’s voice sounded again.

“I have been waiting for you for some time, Alasdair Kyriako ú s, son of Lapidos. Ise poli omorfos. A man worthy of my attention, if ever I saw one.”

Leo squeezed his own cock at the words of praise. What must it have felt like to be worshiped so openly as Alasdair clearly was in that moment? He figured pretty damn good if his bucking hips were any kind of indication. 

Then Alasdair demanded, "Show yourself." 

Leo stared at the shameless picture Alasdair made while waiting for whomever was speaking to appear. Dying for some kind of release, Leo unbuttoned his jeans and slipped his hand inside. He was so fucking aroused by what he was seeing that he needed to do something to either get off or hold back the impending orgasm.

"I desire your presence," Alasdair panted, and when his eyes closed, his long lashes swept over his cheeks, which made Leo’s choice of fucking his fist or holding his climax off real easy. He started to fuck his fist.

“Understand, agóri. Once you really see me, you can never unsee me. You will be of my blood. Your life—tied to mine.”

This was it. 

That moment of passion, of desire so intense that Alasdair's mind was completely overtaken with arousal. The moment Vasilios had him.

 Leo knew it, and so did the male vampire. He had Alasdair exactly where he wanted him. It was in the desperate cry falling from those delectable lips and the rawness of Alasdair’s movements as he jerked his hips forward. And when Alasdair begged once again, a figure appeared.

Even with his back to him, Leo knew it was Alasdair's vampire by the power rattling the marble walls surrounding them. With the confident way he held himself and the short cut of his hair, it wasn’t hard to make the connection. He hadn't done much to change his appearance in all his years, and neither, for that matter, had the sexy man he was pleasuring.

They were magnificent together, just as they had been in Vasilios’s bed, and as Leo continued to watch, his feet moved him closer as if he were on autopilot. When he was finally standing beside the two of them, close enough that he could see Vasilios run his tongue along Alasdair's ear, Vasilios said, “Then open your eyes.”

Alasdair's eyes opened, the stunning shade the same then as it was now. They even seemed to glow, but that wasn't from any supernatural reason—merely from desire. Then those sinful lips Leo had felt against his own moved and Alasdair pledged a vow. 

"I am yours."

"Forever?" Vasilios asked as he raised his head, and the covetous expression in his eyes solidified their undeniable bond. 

Leo hadn’t understood until that moment exactly how deep their connection ran. 

He knew what Alasdair's response would be, but as he opened his mouth to tell Vasilios, the channel changed.

Present Day—Elias’s Office

“I THOUGHT I would be disgusted by your kind.”

As Elias continued to inspect her, Isadora felt a pain in her gut, like his words were a knife stabbing her. Ever since she had flashed her canines at him like a spitting hellcat, he’d been studying her like a lab rat.

“I knew what I was looking for, was told I would feel it. So I assumed I would be repelled. How wrong was I?”

She didn’t dare take her eyes off him when he raised a hand as if he were about to touch her, but at the last minute, he took a step back.

“Nothing to say, Isadora? That’s unlike you. You never used to hold back.”

“And you used to be a gentleman.”

His laughter was full of disdain. “Yes, I suppose I was, wasn’t I? But I didn’t know who I was back then. And I certainly didn’t know what you are.” He slid his hands into his pockets, and Isadora cursed herself for noticing that he was as handsome as ever with his dark hair and odd-colored eyes. “Did you?”

The pain radiating up her arms made her clench her fists together as she fought against it. “Did I know what? About my being a vampire? Or are we still discussing my chatty tendencies?”

“You know exactly what I’m talking about,” he bit out. “Did you know who I was when I pursued you?”

“Why should I tell you?” she challenged. “You have me tied to a chair, Elias. And you are watching me suffer. Excuse me if I don’t feel like indulging you.”

He shook his head, her ruse of innocence not winning him over. “Don’t act like I wouldn’t be dead on the floor if you were free. You’re merely upset that I did it first. Don’t make me hurt you.”

“You already have.”

She thought his face softened slightly but then he spun away from her. Easier to punish someone if you aren’t looking at them. She knew that firsthand.

“Did you know who I was?” he asked again.

She glared at his broad shoulders, which were encased in his tailored jacket, and felt a strange sense of longing claw at her anger. “I had no idea. And I still don’t. Not really.”

He looked over his shoulder, disbelief in his eyes.

“Why would I lie? You talk as if I’m holding you at my mercy. But look at us, Elias. There are no shackles on you. If you want to end this, end it! You are your own master, and right now, it appears you are mine. But don’t expect me to soothe your wounded pride.”

He turned around and stormed over to her. Then he leaned down and touched his nose to hers. “And if I let you go? Then what?”

She swallowed, and the ache in her arms was almost outdone by the dry scratch of her throat. But there was no stopping years of instincts. “Then I will kill you.”

1902—London, England

"THERE. THAT ONE."

Leo pressed the heels of his hands to his temples as his mind whirled and then came to an abrupt stop. He was now standing in a ballroom. A huge, rectangular one full of men and women dressed in their best finery. A string quartet played in one corner, and several young women were seated in another. A large chandelier with long, tapered candles lit the room, and men stood around the outskirts of the dance floor sipping from crystal scotch glasses.  

Christ. The dream has changed again, Leo thought, and then he spotted them.

Alasdair was standing in the corner of the room looking as handsome as ever in full black tails. Directly behind him stood Vasilios. They were so close they had to be touching, and from the smug expressions stretched across both their faces, they were enjoying the contact.

"There. See him? The Duke of Essex. He's looking very dashing tonight, and every time he passes, his eyes stray to you, agóri. Not that I can blame him. You’re so very handsome in your evening wear."

Leo could tell by the way Vasilios’s eyes tracked the man across the room that he was on the hunt, and he was more than enjoying using Alasdair as the bait. It was clear by the way Vasilios stroked a hand over Alasdair’s shoulder, drawing the Duke’s eye that he delighted in having others look at Alasdair and want him. 

It was as if the fact that they found his possession appealing pleased him. But Leo also sensed that, if anyone dared to touch without his permission, they would likely lose their hand. Or their life.

"Are you sure you don't wish to go back to our room and—"

"You are hungry," Vasilios said. "You need to eat."

"I can wait."

"No, you have waited long enough. You must stop doing that. Testing yourself."

Alasdair scoffed. "It's hardly a test, Vasilios. I have been doing it for centuries. I am merely more selective than you.“

"Yes, but it seems so unnecessary when there is food readily available."

“I know. But you spoiled me from the first. After tasting you, only something special will tempt me.”

As the duke wandered by the two of them, he dipped his head in Alasdair’s direction, and when the corner of Alasdair's lip curved up and his eyes glowed, the redheaded man straightened his shoulders like a proud peacock. 

As he continued by, not wanting to appear conspicuous, Alasdair said softly, “I suppose he will do.”

Vasilios raised the glass in his hand and took a long sip before he said, “So enthusiastic. You can always add a bit of excitement yourself, agóri. Tease him. Then take him. I’ll wait here. Don't be long. I suddenly have a different hunger I wish to satisfy."

Alasdair grinned, and Leo caught the tips of his fangs before he shut his mouth and followed the duke outside.

Present Day—Alasdair’s Bedchambers

ALASDAIR APPEARED IN his bedchambers and dropped Leo onto the king-size mattress in the center. He didn’t want to leave him there unsupervised, especially with all the shit going down. But what other choice did he have? He wasn’t going to take him to the Assembly Hall, where he could feel the Ancients were gathered, and that was where he needed to go.

He slung Thanos’s arm over his shoulder and gave a final look at the man on his bed. With any luck, he’d remain passed out, or wherever the fuck he was, until he returned. Until then, he needed to get Thanos to the Ancients. If anyone could hope to heal his cousin, they could.

He faded them from his room to the Hall, and they appeared rather ungracefully. Thanos, a ragged mess, clung to him as he staggered to stay on his feet.

Eton winced as he stood. He had the same fair complexion as Thanos and was tall like him, but where his first sired was more muscular, Eton was lithe in frame. When his eyes zoomed in on the vampire Alasdair held propped up by his side, the shared pain their kind felt when their progeny was close to death was evident in his stance and expression.

Before Alasdair could begin to explain, Eton was at their side.

“I sensed something had happened but did not understand the severity. What is wrong with him?” he demanded, concern shining in the Ancient’s eyes.

Just like he and Vasilios were dark in their coloring and nature, Thanos and Eton shared those same boyishly handsome features. Since they were charmers of both men and women, it was shocking to see Thanos so sickly and Eton so serious.

As the Ancient knelt down by Thanos’s side, Alasdair wondered for the first time how the others would react should one of the three die. Was the concern in Eton’s eyes for Thanos? Or his own safety?

“I don’t know what happened, exactly.” Alasdair glanced over at Vasilios, who was currently rounding the end of the podium and moving towards him. “I wasn’t there,” he admitted, and then he looked to the third in the room—Diomêdês.

He knew what he had to say next, and he didn’t relish the reaction it was going to evoke. But he locked eyes with the third Ancient and stated loud enough to be heard, “Isadora—she is gone.”

Diomêdês glared at him, his eyes changing to obsidian, and before Alasdair could blink, Vasilios was standing between the two of them, warding off Isa’s sire with bared fangs.

“Step off, Diomêdês.”

“Move aside, Vasilios.”

Vasilios hissed and spat at the male glaring over his shoulder, and Alasdair knew that, if his Ancient hadn’t been standing there, he would be dead on the floor.

Diomêdês’s anger was clouding his common sense. All he was aware of was what he was pulling from Alasdair’s mind—his first sired was gone, and he had been the one to let her go.

“If you kill him,” Vasilios said, “you lose any kind of lead you may have. Not to mention I won’t let you end his life, therefore ending my own. Think before you act, adelfe. Do you want that? To never see her again? Reach out to her. Can you feel her?”

While Vasilios tried to calm the rabid beast in front of him, Alasdair looked down at Eton, who was running a hand over Thanos’s hair, showing more concern than he’d thought their kind capable of in that moment.

“He doesn’t have much time,” Eton stated.

“I know,” Alasdair said as he crouched to look Eton in the eye. “His palm is fused in place. I cannot remove it to heal him. He was coherent before we faded. Told me it was a silver letter opener. So the amount is not much. It is the placement and the fusing that is killing him.”

Eton frowned, his features more adult than Alasdair had ever seen. Usually, he was the most carefree of the three, younger in spirit even though he was much, much older than his looks suggested. But right then he had a worried frown on his face as he tried to devise a way to work out the complication before him.

“We need to remove the hand so I can get to the wound.”

“But, to do that, you are going to tear the skin from his neck and possibly his face. And it’s so deep, I’m not sure that will heal.”

Eton grimaced and nodded. “I know. And he will hate me for it. But it will ensure his survival.”

“And your own,” Alasdair murmured. Then he looked into Eton’s troubled eyes, which were now focused on him.

“You are right. It will also ensure my own survival. That may be selfish, but do not deny you wouldn’t do the same.” Eton stood to his full height and addressed the two Ancients still facing off against one another. “If you two are quite done here, perhaps you could help me save Thanos so we can then go and find Isadora. It’s clear this war has begun, and we need to be on each other’s side, not going at one another’s throats like animals.”

Alasdair raised his eyes as Vasilios turned and looked down at him. No words were said out loud, but he heard inside his mind, Where is your yielding? 

Alasdair didn’t respond, but he didn’t have to. Vasilios’s expression already told him that he knew.

Leonidas Chapel didn’t know it yet, but when he woke, he would be a dead man walking.

1902—London, England

LEO FOLLOWED ALASDAIR as he tracked the duke out of the room. When he reached the far end of the maid’s hall, the duke glanced over his shoulder to make sure Alasdair was there—and he was.

Leo was right beside him, matching him step for step as he strode after the man. It was supremely odd to be next to someone who was completely unaware of his existence. But that was exactly what was happening. He was in Alasdair’s past, watching him like a moviegoer who’d bought tickets to a show. 

The duke opened a door on the left, and when he slipped through, a growl rumbled from the male beside him.

Damn, even in a fucking hallucination Alasdair is turning me on. That animal side of him, the side that was unlike anything he’d ever known, was both mystifying and tantalizing.

When they reached the door the duke had exited, Alasdair pushed it open and they both stepped out into the night air. The sky was jet black, and the air was cool. A pungent smell was being blown over, probably from the river in the far distance. They were on some kind of estate, standing in the shadows on the side of the main house. 

Alasdair lifted his chin and closed his eyes. He was sniffing the air, searching for the man, and then he spun to the right. 

Scent caught, Leo thought as he followed, his palms starting to sweat. 

He wasn’t sure why he was so nervous. It wasn’t like he was a part of this world, and Alasdair wasn’t a threat to him. But he was fascinated with what was about to happen—and dreading it.

As they made their way down the side of the house, he was surprised that no sound could be heard but the faint rush of water. They were walking over gravel, but his feet were making no sound, and Alasdair seemed to be gliding over it. 

Those damn hunter moves of his. That stealth. It always helped with the surprise attack. 

When they reached the end of the path, they stopped and Alasdair looked down the side of the house. Leo stepped around the corner, not worried in the least since he’d not been detected—and there he was.

The duke was leaning up against the side of the wall, one of his feet propped against the brick. After taking a draw from the cigar in his mouth, he blew the smoke out, and it curled up past his face before disappearing into the sky. 

That low purr of Alasdair’s vibrated through the air again, and Leo couldn’t help himself from turning to look at the male beside him. 

Alasdair was truly a sight to see. 

His long hair was pushed back behind his ears, so Leo could see the strong line of his jaw and the arrogant tilt of his chin. The tip of his tongue came out to touch the corner of his lip, and when they parted slightly, his fangs descended. 

Fuck me, Leo thought as a rush of air left him. That mouth had been on his earlier, finally devouring his in a way he’d only imagined, and he wanted it back. He reached out to touch Alasdair’s arm, needing his attention, even if it was the hunting, stalking kind, to be on him. But when he laid his hand on the sleeve of Alasdair’s jacket, he felt nothing, and neither did the vampire. He was one hundred percent focused on his prey, and his jaw began to twitch as though he were holding himself back. 

Do it, Leo thought out of nowhere. It was clear Alasdair wanted this man, and suddenly, he wanted to see him take him. Do it.

As if he’d heard him, a whoosh of air ruffled his hair and Alasdair was over and in front of the duke in a flash—and Leo was quick to follow.