Eternal Beast: Mark of the Vampire (13 page)

Dillon hadn’t realized how heavily she’d been breathing, how anxious she felt, how exhausted the entire episode had made her until she felt it come over her in waves.

With a sigh of relief, she turned around and curled up beside him, against the now perfectly healed wound, and closed her eyes, letting the healthy rise and fall of his chest lull her to sleep.

Sometime later, she thought she felt his body stir, thought she felt him turn toward her and drape an arm over her, but she was too tired to lift her cat’s head and see.

*  *  *

Per Alexander’s request, which was really a thinly veiled demand, they were all sitting. A tough thing for seven Pureblood vampire males, and, Erion mused as he glanced over at Alex’s female, Sara, not all that comfortable for their mates either.

Lycos spoke first. Seated at the very edge of his chair, he looked ready to spring. He growled fiercely at Titus. “Before we decide if we’re going to kill you or just send you back to the Order without a tongue, I want to know why.”

Beside the wolf, Helo picked up where the
paven
left off. “Why would you come here and warn us?”

“It’s a trap,” Phane offered, his upper lip curling, his hands fisting at his sides. “He’s a spy.”

“He’s not goddamn spy,” Lucian said, seated all the way back in his chair, immobile while his
balas
slept against his chest. “Not in the way you’re thinking, anyway.”

Lycos growled at him. “No one asked you, Daddy Palest.”

Lucian turned to Alex. “Can we get this one a muzzle?”

“I’d love to see you try to put one on me,” Lycos returned, nearly off his seat now. “My bite is a thousand times worse than my bark, and I haven’t tasted dickhead for ages.”

Lucian snorted. “Oh, there’s way too many places I can go with that.” Unable to stop himself, Lucian burst out laughing. “So you’ve haven’t had dickhead. What about asshole? Have you tasted asshole?”

“Lucian,” Alexander warned.

“Enough, brothers,” Erion said, turning to Nicholas.
It was like looking in a mirror, save for the facial brands and the eye color. It was a shame, a tragedy that they’d had to meet the way they did—taking the
paven
’s sister-in-law and handing her over to Cruen. Erion’s nostrils flared. That ancient bastard would have much to answer for when Erion stood before him again. And he would stand before him again. The lies told to him and the truth kept from him…

Pulling his mind back into the present, Erion asked his twin, “Who is this
paven
? Truly? He is not merely a member of the Order, yes?”

“He is my sire,” Nicholas said tightly. “Our sire.”

As a collective grumble of shock took over the room, Erion held firm, still. He hadn’t been prepared for this. Perhaps he should’ve been. “A Breeding Male?” he hissed, his gaze shifting back to the elder
paven
, who sat deep within an armchair by the windows. “Then…” Erion looked back at Nicholas.

“He is the sire to us all,” Phane finished for him.

All the mischievous jabs and posturing from a moment ago were now gone. The room felt cold, strange.

“I don’t understand this,” Erion said, first to Alex, then Nicholas. “It cannot be possible. He is Order. He cannot be a Breeding Male.”

“It is possible to be more than what others believe you to be.”

They all turned toward the ancient
paven
, each gaze set with their own particular brand of shocked unease.

“The Order sees what it wishes to see and ignores the rest,” Titus said quietly, his skin as white as the moon outside the window. “Their only objective is to preserve the past—the old ways—because they fear what would
happen to themselves if they did not. If things change, evolve, or are accepted, they wonder, does that mean we are no longer needed?” He lifted his chin. “They fear this more than anything—will do whatever they must to keep the old ways current and strong.”

“Even kill,” Sara said, leaning into her mate Alexander’s shoulder.

Titus shrugged. “Castrate, kill, nothing is off-limits when it’s framed with ‘protecting the breed.’”

“Don’t sound like you’re innocent of either of these crimes, Order,” Phane said tightly.

“I am not.” Titus looked as if he wanted to elaborate, but wasn’t sure how to go about it. “There is more. If Impures,
mutore
, anything that is not ideal or absolutely Pureblood gains in power, the Order is concerned that the entire breed will implode. They fear anarchy will ensue and we will be known to the humans—truly known for the first time in our existence.”

“But why exterminate the
mutore
at birth?” Sara asked, her tone clinical, curious. “Why not castrate them like the Impures?”

Titus looked uncomfortable, his gaze avoiding the four Beasts seated around him. “Impures do not have mates, do not go through the intensity of that impulse to breed.”

“Neither do
mutore
,” Erion said, the taste of those words, that truth, bitter on his tongue. “We have no mates.”

“Who told you that?” Titus asked him, looking even paler than a moment ago. “Cruen?”

“Yes.”

Titus stood then, used the chair as support to move closer to the window. “You have true mates,” he said to the night sky, the moon, to the view. “In fact, when you reach the age of your Beast’s maturity, your need to find that mate is more uncontrolled than a morphed Pureblood
paven
.”

Lucian, Nicholas, and Alexander all at once cried out, “What?”

“Dillon,” Titus uttered. “She believes it was violence against her that set her Beast free, made it uncontrollable.” He turned back to face them, shook his head. “Maybe there was a trigger, but this is a biological change the
mutore
undergo, something far beyond a Pureblood
veana
’s meta and a
paven
’s morpho. While a
veana
and
paven
reach their maturity and transition with the sun and their hunger and the driving force to find their mate, a
mutore
’s response to that same call for mating is at the base level of an animal.” He glanced around to see if they understood. “A
veana
and
paven
would be damn uncomfortable if they couldn’t find their mate, but they’d still remain themselves. A
mutore
? They become their animal forever.”

The room exploded with sound.

“This can’t be true,” Erion said. “We would’ve known. He would’ve told us.” He stopped himself there, because that was a proven lie. Cruen had told Erion and his brothers that they would never be able to sire a child—all because he didn’t want them breeding, didn’t want their dirty
mutore
blood within the breed. Erion snarled. They’d been good for protection, for fighting, for doing their “father’s” bidding, but breeding was too far above their station.

A flash of Ladd, the
balas
he’d sired, came into his mind. Because of Cruen, he’d created a living, breathing
paven
who had no idea who his true father was.

“It was one of the ways Cruen created the Breeding Male,” Titus was saying, his gaze moving from Beast to Beast. “One of the many ways. Experimenting with the strongest
paven
of the Purebloods, crossbreeding with animal DNA.”

“For what?” Nicholas asked, shock and disgust lining his face as he realized that he could’ve just as easily been a
mutore
too.

“The ultimate vampire,” Titus revealed. “A race he could control.”

His body rigid, Lycos sneered. “So the Order had us exterminated at birth because they didn’t want us to find our mates? Breed?”

Titus nodded. “Partly.”

“What is the other part, Order?” Helo demanded, his fangs descending.

Titus sagged against the window, looking a century older than when he’d entered the room. “A
mutore
can become far more powerful, more dangerous than even the Order themselves.”

“How do you know this?” It was Lucian this time. The nearly albino vampire asked the question softly, so as not to disturb his child—but there was a thread of ire in it.

Erion wondered if these two males shared a bond. Both being Breeding Males, there had to be something there, as Lucian had barely said a word since Titus’s arrival. And the albino
paven
wasn’t one for keeping his mouth shut.

Titus’s hands shook, but his gaze lifted to his son. “It grieves me to say, but Cruen was my benefactor, too. Long ago, he gave me the blood to stop my Breeding Male desires and become Order. And with his blood came the knowledge of things he’s done.”

“Oh, shit,” Lucian uttered, his tone shocked but strangely curious, too.

“You must find Cruen,” Titus said to them all, his tone imploring.

“Why?” Alexander demanded. “Why would we want anything to do with that garbage now?”

“He is the one who can truly help Dillon.” He looked at the other Beasts. “Help you all control what is coming for you until your mates arrive.”

“And how would he know how to do that?” Phane asked blackly, disbelievingly.

Titus released a heavy breath. “Because he too is a Beast.”

Every male in the room shot to their feet. The four
mutore
lunged. Sara shouted for them to stop. But it was too late.

Titus had already flashed away.

Gray woke to the delectable feel of skin on skin. Hard against smooth, white hot against blistering. Him against her. And he did the only thing a male could do in that moment: wrap his arm around her waist and yank her impossibly closer.

It took him a moment of the sun coming through the windows to wake his mind to the fact that Dillon lay nude and curled into him on his bed, and another moment to realize she wasn’t a Beast anymore.

He opened his eyes and let the sun reveal all that his hands could not. The first thing he saw was her shoulder, her pale, silky skin just inches from his mouth. Hunger and thirst assaulted him like a bullet to the gut, and he felt his fangs extend, the tips nearly grazing her flesh. He’d bitten her there once before, in her bedroom inside the senator’s guest cottage. Goddamn, he remembered his need to get to her, how his fangs had entered her back, slow, centimeter by centimeter, until he was all the way inside. Where he belonged. And he remembered the taste of her—blood so sweet he’d had a sugar high for weeks.

Shit, maybe he still had one.

His cock knocked hard and insistent against the waistband of his jeans. It wanted to be fed too, wanted to be suckled by the hot, wet walls of this
veana
’s cunt.

He brushed her hair back from her neck and kissed that spot, that bit of flesh that still called to him, still scented of him. He felt her stir in his arms, then seconds later, felt her back arch and her ass press hard against his cock.

“Hungry, baby?” he whispered.

She moaned softly, sweetly. “Yes.”

Gray gave a groan of triumph. “Yeah, me too.” For as long as he could remember. For as long as he’d known her. He let his hand drift from her stomach up to her breast, to the tight, hard nipple in the center. “For this.” She fit so perfectly in his hand. “For you.” Shit, she fit so perfectly against him. If they hadn’t wanted to kill each other ninety-nine percent of the time, he might’ve believed in that moment that they were made for each other.

He lapped at her neck, ran his fangs down the curve of her shoulder as his fingers played with her nipple. Her sharp intake of breath had him grinning, had him desperate to strike into her hot skin—bite her hard and ravenous. His mouth watered at the thought. Goddamn, he could do this all day—hold her, stoke her, taste her, his hands playing her until she cried out, his mouth playing her until she screamed—slow and easy until neither one of them could stand it anymore.

“I love you like this,
Veana
,” he whispered into her neck, pressing his fangs lightly against that spot—his spot. “Soft, hungry…”
Mine
.

She turned in his arms then, forcing him to release her, her hand reaching for his fly. In under three seconds, the metal was down and Gray’s cock was out. Her eyes closed, Dillon felt her way down his stomach until she wrapped her hand around him, then placed her other hand under his balls.

Gray hissed at the possessive heat of her grip. “God. Dillon. Baby.”

He wanted her mouth, wanted to taste her, wanted to touch her while she touched him, but when he pulled her close and drew her in for a kiss, she moved away from him and crawled between his legs.

Curious and completely amped up by her touch, Gray watched as she raked her nails down his abdomen, then yanked the waistband of his jeans to get better access. Gray cursed as she stared hungrily at his prick. There was nothing he wanted more in that moment than her mouth on his cock, her sweet, full lips taking him deep. Shit, he would’ve begged for it. Not that she ever would have made him. Not this D—this
submissive creature before him with no attitude, no bark or bite.

The thought stilled him, made his mind work—made him wish like hell he could hear inside that brain of hers. He continued to watch her, her expression, her movement. Something wasn’t right, wasn’t right with her. Granted, everything she did, the way she gripped him, stroked him, the movement of her body—it was all hot as hell. Thing was, she hadn’t looked at him once. Not even close. Her eyes stayed on her work, on his straining shaft, as though there was nothing attached to it.

He watched as she held the root of his cock in one hand and lowered her head, pressed her mouth against the tip. The sound she made in the back of her throat made cum bead at the head, and when she parted her lips and let her tongue lap at the salty wetness, he moaned.

Fucking hell, he wanted to force her eyes up, make her see him as she licked him back and forth, soft, feather-light sweeps. But then she opened her mouth wide and sucked him in deep. All doubts fled as heat shot through Gray’s lower half, and his hands threaded in her hair, flexing and curling his fingers against her scalp.

“Yes, baby,” he uttered as she gripped his thighs, his balls, and began slow, even thrusts in and out of her mouth. “My hungry D.”

Gray jacked up his hips, meeting each stroke, his cock growing even harder as he touched the back of her throat. Nostrils flaring, he stared at her, at her raw hunger, at his prick, so wet and stiff moving between her
lips. He was going come inside her, then flip her on her back and return the favor—eat and suckle and drown in that damp pussy he scented.