Eternal Beast: Mark of the Vampire (21 page)

Several members of the Order released sounds of irritation, even a call for severe punishment against the guards.

Feeyan raised her chin. “They have already been destroyed.”

The
paven
beside her nodded, pleased. “You have made quick work with their lives, Feeyan. That is justice.”

For a moment Feeyan wrestled with the idea of telling the true cause of the guards’ deaths, but she knew it would come out eventually, and she wouldn’t want to look like a liar and a braggart when it did. Especially when she was seeking the leadership position within the Order.

“Gray Donohue killed the guards,” she stated simply, then took in the fierce sounds from each member of the Order. “We must contact Celestine Donohue again,” she said over the din. “Press her further. We will have
the location of the Impure Resistance headquarters and her help with bringing in her son, or she will be joining these two simpering, thieving Purebloods before us in a cell at Mondrar.”

Before any member had the chance to respond, she raised her hand and swept it across in a rainbow curve, then trained her eyes on the lawbreakers before her.

Dillon was no fool. She wasn’t about to let anyone take her out mid-flight. She didn’t flash and remain at one location for more than a few seconds. Instead she quick-flashed from one place to the next—one country, one state, one city to the next, mountaintop, Disneyland, desert cave, ocean liner. It was manic, a total brain seizure, and when she finally touched down near the river in Eastern Vermont where her Beast brothers had found her, she dropped like a stone against the very maple tree she’d tried to hide within.

Her head spinning, she squinted up at Gray, at the blur of him as he walked toward her, seemingly unfazed.

“Why aren’t you puking?” she uttered, holding her head steady.

“When you deal with hundreds of voices and conversations in your head every minute of the day, you learn how to stabilize.” He crouched down beside her, utterly calm, collected, and clear. “Just breathe for a few seconds,
Veana
.”

Dillon dropped her head back against the tree trunk and inhaled deeply through her nostrils until the spinning stopped and the stars overhead stuck in their proper places.

“What the hell happened, D?” His tone was tense, intense and demanding.

She swallowed, her throat ached. “They found me mid-flash.”

“Who? Those Purebloods I lost my blades to back there?”

Her gaze shot to his. “You took them down?”

“Fucking right, I took them down. They’re bleeding out on the blacktop behind the club.”

“Oh good,” she breathed, feeling relieved, though far from secure. “At least we weren’t followed.”

As Gray stared at her, his mind working the questions behind his eyes, the sounds of the night, of the forest, of the river began to swell. “You gotta give me something here, D,” Gray said. “Something to fill in the blanks, a reason why were not in the Bronx headquarters right now. Who were those
paven
s?”

A problem. A big one that would no doubt be part of her present and future. “Sent by the Order, I think. They tried to lock on and capture me mid-flight.”

Gray’s face paled. “Before or after you dropped the Impures?”

The question bothered her more than she wanted to admit. He cared deeply about those Impures, and if his intense, scrutinizing gaze were anything to go by, he cared about them more than her.

She arched one brow. “After.”

“Shit,” he breathed, a sigh of relief.

She wanted to punch him. Actually, she wanted to bite him, then punch him.

“How do you think those Pureblood pirates knew where you were?” Gray asked, all business now that
his kind were back home safe and sound. “How to get to you at the exact moment?”

“The Order must be able to track the flashes of Purebloods,” she said, sitting up.

“Then we can no longer flash.”

She nodded. She’d been the thinking the same thing. “That’s going to be a problem if we ever want to leave here.”

He glanced around at the river, the dark forest. “Do you know where we are?”

“Vermont.”

He stood. “Too bad we don’t have a cell. We could’ve called the Romans for a ride.” He eyed her. “Or maybe not. If you’re being tracked, I think there’s only one way of getting home. On foot.”

“Getting home?” she repeated, her eyes narrowing, her body tensing. She’d been exhausted a moment ago, but now, with what Gray had just said, she felt a second wind coming on.

And it wasn’t blowing her back to New York City.

“We can rest for a while,” he said, his gaze moving to the river. “Then we should get going.”

She shook her head. “Are you insane?”

His gaze swept over her. “Maybe. But not about this. I have to make sure the Impures are all right and the warriors are warned.”

She leaned forward. “The Order doesn’t know anything about the Impures or the safe house.” She lifted her hands. “They want me. And if I’m not there, there’s nothing to go after.”

“You’re a smart
veana
, Dillon. Think.” He crossed his arms, the moonlight falling over his shoulder like a
shroud. “The Order will do whatever it takes to find out where you are. They’ll question, torture, or kill the Impures who knew you were staying there.”

“All the more reason to stay lost.”

“For you maybe, but not for me. I need to be there to help them and fight, if that’s what it takes.”

She stared at him. “You really love walking into certain death and/or imprisonment, don’t you?”

He didn’t answer that. “I won’t allow anything to happen to them—or to you,” he said resolutely. “Rest. We leave as soon as it’s light.”

When he walked away, headed down to the river, Dillon dropped back against the tree trunk again. She couldn’t believe it. He wanted her to go back to the very place where the Order would be looking for her. He didn’t care if she was captured—he only cared if the Impures were. Frustration screamed through her. She should’ve just taken off on her own instead of flashing back to him. She wasn’t a priority to him—even with the mark of her jaguar riding his hand.

The mark neither one of them had said anything about.

“A
fter we are finished here, will you show me where you lived?” Erion asked as they moved down the uneven cobblestone street, lit only by the early-evening moonlight.

“It’s not much of anything to look at,” Nicholas told him, his gaze searching for their final destination.

“Perhaps not, but it is something of value to me,” Erion returned, veering to the right, toward an ancient furnishings shop. “Here we are.”

A small bell jingled over the shop door as Erion entered, Nicholas behind him. Lycos and Phane had broken off from the group a few hours ago and had headed to Norway on a lead they’d received from a Pureblood who had worked as a guard in Cruen’s laboratory, while Erion and Nicholas had flashed on to this small French village to follow up on a rumor a member of the international sect of the Eyes had sold them for ten grand. But being in France, so close to where he’d been
born, Erion was finding it difficult to remain focused on their task.

He moved through the deserted shop. “I want to see where my mother gave birth to me.”

“To us,” Nicholas amended.

Glancing over his shoulder, Erion saw that his twin brother wore a cautious smile. “Us. Yes.” He nodded. “One who she kept inside in a cradle and the other who she brought outside and disposed of.”

“Exactly,” Nicholas said, his eyes now sympathetic. “Not kind memories, Brother. So why would you want to revisit them?”

Erion never got the chance the answer—and even if he had, he wasn’t sure what that answer would have been. Out of the shadows, a man—no, a
paven
—came toward them. He was short, thin, and very old, deep lines carved into his tired, suspicious features. He was no doubt a vampire, and yet he had aged like a human.

“How can I help?” the male asked in gruff French.

Nicholas spoke first, utilizing his own keen mastery of the language. “Are you Raine?”

The male’s brown eyes narrowed, and his jaw twitched. “Perhaps I am and perhaps I am not.”

“We seek information and will pay well for it,” Erion said, his own grasp of French not nearly as impressive as his twin’s.

“I do not sell information here,” he said, his entire body scenting of anxiety. “I sell furnishings. If that is not something you are interested in, then I suggest—”

Nicholas lowered his voice. “We seek Cruen.”

The scent of anxiety was quickly replaced with the scent of fear. “Don’t know who or what that is,” he said
quickly, turning around and scuttling back behind his long wooden desk. “I am about to close for the night, so if you don’t mind—”

“We have heard that you may know this
paven
,” Nicholas pressed, moving closer to the desk. His voice dropped to a whisper, though there was no one inside the shop but them. “That you may be related to this
paven
.”

Raine’s gaze was downcast as he pretended to be focused on his ledger, but his hand shook as he held his pencil. “I am sorry. There is nothing I can do for you. Good day to you now.”

Erion’s gaze narrowed on the
paven
’s hand. On his fingers, his nails. There was something his peripheral vision had picked up on. What was it— Suddenly, a low, slow growl leaked from his throat, and it caused the old
paven
to look up.

Erion’s nostrils flared with understanding as he saw the
paven
’s eyes, saw the quick shift from
paven
to Beast.

His own Beast perfectly in control, Erion flashed the
paven
a quick look at his demon self. Instinctually, Raine gripped the counter, claws digging into the wood.

“A
mutore
knows a
mutore
, monsieur,” Erion said softly.

The
paven
leaned forward. “And a relation of a mad
paven
knows one of his many
mutore
children.”

Nicholas cursed. “You knew.”

The
paven
sniffed. “From the moment you walked through that door. But there is still nothing I can offer you.”

“What about what we can offer you?” Nicholas said with calm, cool ease.

“What does that mean?” Raine asked with an air of apathy—though Erion could see the
paven
’s almost desperate curiosity leaking through. “I don’t want your money or your silence. I have remained in the shadows for a long time—and will continue to do so.”

“It appears as though your time is running out,” Erion remarked, his gaze trained on the male’s aged features.

Raine nodded, said begrudgingly, “Yes. We seem to age faster than a normal Pureblood, and more painfully.”

“Why?” Nicholas asked.

“Our line was used as an experiment,” Raine explained. “We were never meant to breed with another race.”

“Only to breed with one another?”

“Yes.”

“What line are you talking about?” Erion pressed, his skin prickling.

“The shifter,” Raine said in a hushed whisper. “The animal within. It is how we all began—”

“How your brother began,” Nicholas said quickly.

Raine gave a small gasp, as though he’d never expected them to know this. “No. He is not my brother. Whoever gave you that information was wrong.”

“But you are related,” Nicholas said.

The
paven
’s mouth thinned. “He is my uncle. He forced one of those Breeding Males he created onto my mother. She was a true shifter.” His shoulders sagged.

“But you look so much older…” Nicholas shook his head.

Raine nodded sadly. “I told you. It was not meant to
be. In a way, the Order is right about that. About the
mutore
s.” His eyes shifted to Erion. “You will know. And if you are truly unfortunate, you will someday be faced with the horror of leaving your family, your mate, and your
balas
before you have even had a chance to watch them grow.”

Nicholas turned to Erion, lifted his brow. Erion could almost hear his twin’s thoughts. Family,
balas
—Erion hadn’t embraced either, and according to this
paven
that was a good thing. Jesus, this
paven
…He could barely swallow all that Raine had just offered him. There was a true shifter lineage, a breed unto itself—and Cruen had decided to mess with it. For what? His master race? Or were the
mutore
exactly what the Order, the Purebloods, the vampire breed had always believed them to be?

A mistake.

“What if we could offer you that?” Nicholas said, turning back to face Raine. “A life extended.”

The
paven
sniffed, shook his head. “A magical cure? If there was such a thing, I would know of it.”

“Because your uncle would have offered it to you?” Erion said. “You truly think there is some kind of family loyalty within that monster?”

The
mutore
in Raine hissed, his reptile eyes blinking furiously, his body sagging with misery.

“We believe Cruen may have many treatments and antidotes in his possession,” Nicholas said. “If you help us find him, if he has this elixir, we will bring it to you.”

“Why should I trust you?” Raine asked bitterly.

Erion shook his head. “You shouldn’t.” Then he
caught and held the
paven
’s gaze. “But what choice do you have? What choice do any of us who managed to live past our birth have?”

She was running through the woods, past barren trees—toward something. Within her, she knew it was something vital and hopeful, something that would give her peace at long last. Tears streaked down her face, her jaguar’s face, soaking the golden fur. She wanted it so desperately. She could taste the sweet essence of happiness, and she believed herself so close to it that she quickened her pace.

Down a hill she ran, darting to the right to follow the river. It rushed quickly, over stones and into deep pools, where small fish and frogs gathered. Just a little farther, beneath that footbridge.

There it was. Salvation. Rebirth.

And then suddenly the scene shifted—both in structure and in feeling—and she was no longer running toward her freedom, but away from certain capture.