Eternal Demon: Mark of the Vampire (16 page)

“No,” Helo said simply. “Where is it?”

“He didn’t ask you to keep this from me?” Nicholas continued. “From us?”

Lycos sneered. “Who is ‘us,’ Brother? The Romans?”

Nicholas was amped up and worried about his mate, who seemed slightly despondent when he’d parted ways with her in France. He was anxious to get back, hold her close, fight by her side—fight for Ladd. He just had to get as much information as possible from these
paven
s first.

He stalked over to the wolf vampire and knocked over his cup of blood.

“Hey!”

“I don’t have time to play games with you, Lycos,” he snarled. “Kate is on her way to meet with the male who might know where Erion has disappeared to—where he’s taken this female we seek. Where Ladd might be at this very fucking minute!” He leaned down and got in the wolf
paven
’s face. “I need to know what you know.”

Lycos’s lip twitched, and he growled softly. “He never told us a goddamn thing.”

Nicholas backed up, sighed. He could never tell truth from fiction with Lycos; the
paven
was just a hard-core dick. Had Erion really been that secretive about his new digs?

“You’ve been to his home?” Phane asked, rounding the kitchen counter, his mismatched eyes concerned.

Now this
mutore
was different
,
Nicholas mused. The hawklike
paven
was fierce, guarded, but he always seemed to be pretty forthcoming.

Nicholas nodded. “But it’s not a home. It’s a castle.”

Lycos snorted. “No shit? You two really are twins.”

“If he has disappeared, we will find him,” Phane said, glancing at Helo. “We may be able to scent him.”

Helo nodded, then turned to Nicholas. “What about Luca?”

“Already on his way.”

“And Alexander and the Brit? Do you want to wait for them?”

Nicholas shook his head. He’d tried several times to contact Alex, but he hadn’t replied. “I don’t know where they are or when they’re coming back, but I don’t have time to search for anyone else.”

Helo nodded.

“We will leave word with your servant, Evans,” Phane said. “Let’s go, Ly.”

“If they get back in time from wherever the hell they are, maybe they can join us in this fight.” With the beasts behind him, Nicholas headed for the door. “If not, we can handle this just fine on our own.”

•   •   •

Why didn’t Hell have water?

Cold water.

The kind that froze the shit out of your skin and made icicles hang from your dick?

Erion stalked up the hill away from the Rain Fields, his anger and frustration both sexual and situational. He wanted Hellen desperately, wanted her beneath him right now, her legs wrapped around his waist, her sexy green eyes locked with his as he pounded into her.

He wanted to hear her come again.

Twice wasn’t enough. Not for him or his demon beast.

“Where are you going?”

His nostrils flared at her voice, coming at his back. He could detect the faint strains of lingering desire, and they made him want to round on her and kiss them away.

Instead he shouted over his shoulder, “Back to the dungeon.”

If he wasn’t mistaken, he thought he heard her sigh. He knew that sound. Liked it too. It was really hot when he eased a finger inside her and slowly worked her body toward climax.

Fuck.

He broke into a run, his beast roaring to life as he hauled ass toward the archway. As soon as he crossed over the barrier, he slowed. Dropping into a fighting stance, he scoped out every crack and crevice in the tunnel.

“You don’t know the way, Erion.” She was right behind him.

He stilled, growled. “Then take me there, woman.”

“Don’t start that again.”

“Take me there and tie me up and let me attempt to forget how you smell, how you feel, how you taste.” He turned to face her. Her eyes—her goddamn eyes—shimmered with lust and he reached for her, pulled her up in his arms. “And how, to save my
balas
, I must watch you give all those rare and treasured gifts to the most vile creature on earth.”

She stared up at him, desire in her eyes but sadness too. She was no longer her full demon self, and that made Erion mourn. For a moment, they just clung to each other, waiting for an answer to an impossible situation. But nothing came. Finally, Hellen broke from him and took his hand, led him down the tunnel.

They were quiet as they walked, even when they had to duck into another passageway to escape the detection of one of Hellen’s father’s henchmen. Holding her against him, Erion had forced himself to remain calm. His protective instincts flared when she was near, and ripping apart one of the males who worked for Abbadon might be just the thing to cool his ire.

Or at least satiate his bloodlust.

It was several minutes later when they finally reached the door to the Underworld’s dungeon. But Hellen went to stand before it, blocking the way.

“Have you some final parting words to offer, demon girl?” he said bitterly.

“Don’t believe I want this.”

His gut tightened. “I won’t if you don’t go through with it.”

“If it’s not me with Cruen, it will be one of my sisters.” She shook her head, her eyes razor sharp in their resoluteness. “I won’t let that happen.”

“I cannot watch you be the sacrificial lamb!” he roared.

“Then don’t.”

“What? Close my eyes? I can still hear, still scent.” His jaw went tight. “I have no choice.”

Her face fell. “I know. Neither do I. We love and protect our own, even at the cost of our own happiness.”

He dragged a hand through his hair, paced back and forth in front of the door. “Your father wants what from this union?”

“His foothold on Earth.” She added softly, “An heir he believes will have the power to remain in either world for any length of time.”

He stopped. “Then let me offer for you. I am vampire. I will give you one.”

She blanched, went white as snow. Something crossed her gaze, a sweet, pure unhappiness that had him cursing.

His voice dropped to a prayer. “Say yes.”

She shook her head. “Not possible, Erion.”

The softness within him fled, and he once again became a vampire beast with his hands tied. “Because I am
mutore
, right?” he spat out bitterly. “It must be that pure asshole’s
balas
for Daddy to be happy.”

“Partly,” she said miserably.

Erion froze, his eyes narrowed. “And the other part?”

She said something, mumbled something.

He reached out, put a finger under her chin, and lifted. He wanted to see her eyes, her mouth. It wasn’t a pleasing sight. The former looked grave; the latter trembled. “What did you say?”

Her jaw trembled beneath his fingers. “I can never have a child.”

Erion moved quickly, gathering her in his arms, and taking her inside his dungeon. He slammed the door with his boot and set her down to face him. “I don’t understand. You said your father wants you to have a child with Cruen, that it will be his chance at a true and lasting foothold on Earth.”

Her eyes lost every bit of their brightness. “Cruen will mate with me, thinking I will have a child, but by the time he realizes it’s not going to happen, it’ll be too late.” She turned away and walked past him to the wall where the shackles hung. “I will never allow my father’s genes to spread further. The dark magic I inherited from him is so strong, Erion. It is a curse, truly. I’m going to make sure it dies with me. Once Cruen mates with me, he cannot have my sisters. And when I turn up barren, my father will believe this union a failure, the vampire side not strong enough to merge with the demon side.”

She turned and found his gaze, gave him a shrug. “He will not embarrass himself or lower himself by trying again with one of his other children.”

Erion couldn’t believe what she was saying, how she had planned everything. In fact, he wasn’t entirely certain she had. “How can you be sure you can’t have a
balas
?”

A soft smile touched her mouth. “My mother was an incredible female, honest and strong. She brought me up to be the same way. She knew what I was facing with my father, my future, and when it was decided that I would mate with Cruen, I begged her to help me.” Instead of looking sheepish or sad, she lifted her chin and straightened her shoulders in a blatant show of pride. “She was a great proponent of magic, very gifted, and able to keep her talent a secret from my father. She fixed me, used a very strong potion to kill off my ability to have children.”

“Oh, Hellen . . .”

Her eyes flared. “Don’t pity me.”

“That’s not what I feel.”

“I’m grateful, Erion. You have no idea what is inside me, what should never be unleashed or passed on.”

For several seconds, Erion just looked at her. He couldn’t speak, could hardly put everything she’d just told him together in his mind. Finally, he turned away, went to the wall, placed his wrists in the shackles, then gave the stone his back. “Your father will return soon. Make sure I am the same prisoner he left.”

Silently, Hellen did as he asked, locking both sets of restraints, containing him once again.

When she stood before him, gazed into his eyes, she sighed. “Erion, please don’t,” she warned. “Your eyes, your demon hovering beneath, it’s the worst form of torture.”

Utter rage burned inside him, and helplessness gripped his dead soul. He could fight chains and demons, but how did he fight Hellen’s conscience? Her selfless ambition? The very thing he understood so well—the very thing that made her his demon girl?

And yet she was his to protect.

“You know I cannot allow him to touch you.”

Her eyes went hard, her tone too. “There is no choice here.”

“Of course there’s a choice. There’s always a fucking choice.” He laughed bitterly. “After this, after everything we’ve shared, my demon beast will not sit idly by while another male mounts you. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“Even if I’m restrained, I will kill myself getting to you.”

Her eyes went wide, fearful. “Please, Erion. You would do anything for your
balas
, your family. Just as I will do anything for my sisters.” She grabbed his face with her hands and kissed him, hard and desperate and no doubt for the last time. Then she turned away just as brutally and headed for the door. But when her hand hit the wood, she paused and glanced back. Her demon flashed, but she shook it away, held it back just long enough to say, “Tomorrow eve I will mate with that bastard, and you will take your son and get the hell out of Hell.”

“Y
ou seek a female?”

Alexander nodded, his gaze shifting momentarily to the
veana
on his right. Celestine appeared uncomfortable. For many reasons he imagined, one of which was associating with the Eyes. She didn’t trust the street clan who bought and sold information in the vampire world. Hell, Alexander didn’t either, but when you’ve exhausted all other avenues and they are the only ones left, you put aside your mistrust.

At least until they attempted to overcharge you.

“Is this female you seek Impure?” Whistler asked, leaning across the chipped chess table in Washington Square Park. A favored spot for the Eye the Romans frequently used when seeking information.

“She would be Pureblood,” Alexander told him quietly, knowing his words—even the mention of the female being alive—were no doubt a knife in Cellie’s unbeating heart. “But if she exists, she might not be sure where she belongs.”

Whistler tapped his temple with one dirty finger. “A little funny in the head, is she?”

A sound came from Celestine then, a soft groan of ire. Alexander continued quickly, “She may not have been raised among vampires.”

“Ah. Well, if she’s with humans, she might think herself a little nuts.” Whistler glanced over at Celestine and shrugged. “The need for blood and all that.” When she hissed at him, the Eye turned back to Alexander. “To help the process along, I’m going to need something of hers. Blanket, clothing, anything from when she was a
balas
. Something I can give to the trackers.”

Alex turned to Cellie, and he didn’t even have to ask. Her eyes, mournful and hard, told him everything. “As you know, Whistler, we aren’t even sure if the female’s alive. We have nothing.”

It wasn’t the answer the Eye had been hoping for, and he sighed. “With no description and no scent to track, it may take some time.”

Alex fought the urge to push away from the table and get himself and Cellie out of the moonlit park. He had to make this happen. It wasn’t just for Cellie. Shit, it was barely for Cellie. The truth was, his mate, Sara, was in
swell
, months away from giving him a
balas
, nervous and exhausted but happy now that she had her mother in her life full-time. He couldn’t stand the fact that he had kept this from her—that he’d actually lied to her.

Whatever he had to do, however much cash he had to part with, he would. Sara could have a sister she knew nothing about, and before she brought their
balas
into the world, she would be given the truth—at the very least the truth about Celestine’s pregnancy and relationship with Cruen.

Alex narrowed his gaze on Whistler and thrust a bag of cash at his chest. “This should keep your mouth shut about our request, not to mention help things move along in the search. Don’t you think?”

Slipping the money inside his jacket, Whistler gave Alexander a lopsided grin, flashing the tips of his rotting fangs. “Always does, brother. Always does. ’Course, it can’t make miracles, but it helps.”

“What about blood?”

They both turned to look at Cellie. Her anger and melancholy seemed to have dissipated or at the very least had gone inside to hide. Leaning forward, her eyes pinned on Whistler, she continued, “Could the trackers use the blood of her kin to find her?”

The Eye stared at her. He looked momentarily mystified. “If we had access to that kin, yes.”

“Tell anyone of this, and you will die a horrific death.” She raised her wrist to her fangs and bit down. As soon as the blood began to flow, she presented her arm to Whistler on the center of the chess table. “Now. Let’s see if this changes anything.”

•   •   •

Erion rarely slept. From early on in his
balashood
, he’d realized he wasn’t very good at it. Whenever he would try, he couldn’t seem to shut off his mind. And for a vampire, unplugging mentally was key to allowing one’s body to rest and recharge. Granted, Pureblood vampires needed very little rest, but an hour or two a night would assist in creating a powerful body and solid brain function.

For Erion, if he was lucky and lay out on the floor near an open window, there was a chance he’d get in a solid fifteen minutes.

Tonight, however, he was heading into the four-hour mark. And not just that; he was actually dreaming. At first he thought he was awake and back in the Rain Fields with Hellen, but the appearance of the dog who’d followed him home in France caused him to pause and reassess that assumption.

He was running through the Rain Fields, the dog bounding along beside him, barking as Erion took down rogue after rogue. Then Hellen appeared, scooping up the dog in her arms and kissing it, rocking it slowly. His bow at his side, Erion stopped to watch, amazed and content at the sight of Hellen smiling and cooing at the mongrel. Suddenly, everything changed. The sky turned purple and the clouds at their knees broke with hot rain. Hellen looked up, her eyes confused, sad.

“This is the only one we’ll ever have, Erion. We must protect him.”

Erion tried to move toward her, toward them, but his feet wouldn’t budge. He was sinking into the black ash; it swallowed him inch after inch. He called to Hellen, to the mongrel, who whined and wriggled in her arms, but neither responded. He kept on sinking, his legs pinned, the ash up to his waist now.

Hellen’s eyes were filled with tears as she watched him, as she pulled the mongrel closer to her breast and whispered in the most haunting of voices, “Your father abandons you to death.”

“No!” Erion roared. “Ladd!”

Erion woke with a start, almost relieved to feel his hands and feet bound. He had never dreamed in his life. Not once. Perhaps because he’d never slept long enough to accomplish it. But if this was what he had to look forward to, he’d remain content with the unsatisfying fifteen minutes.

It was then that he realized he was no longer in the dungeon. He was still bound, perhaps even tighter and more restricted than before, but the cage he dwelled in now had no bars or walls and was a hundred times larger than his circular stone prison. It was a theater, arenalike, with seating all the way around. But the seats, which were empty, were more like short benches with plush red fabric and high backs. From his spot in the first row of the balcony, Erion’s gaze finally settled on the stage and the primary set piece in the center.

A pallet.

“I designed it myself.”

Rage bubbled inside Erion, but he continued to stare at the pallet with its satin gold bedding and solid gold frame.

“Long ago we used this arena for blood sport,” Abbadon continued. “I miss those days.”

The Demon King sat beside him now, his foul, ancient breath registering in Erion’s nostrils.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” he prompted.

“Barbaric.”

“Well. As I said, we used it for blood sport, and that is beauty to me.”

Erion ripped his gaze from the pallet and directed it to Abbadon. There was no denying it. The Demon King was the most imposing, terrifying being Erion had ever encountered. Besides having skin the color of blood and snowy white eyes that looked right though you and tempted your soul, he oozed the promise of death if crossed. And not a quick death. Even so, Erion could not keep his tongue curbed.

“What can I give you to stop this?” he asked, his tone impressively cool, even to himself.

The Demon King relaxed back on the bench and sighed. “Nothing.”

Erion’s eyes narrowed. He didn’t believe it. Everyone wanted something. Even the Devil. “I would give you the child you require.”

His ridge of an eyebrow lifted. “She has told you.”

“I would remain here with her. You would have your foothold on Earth and your family at home.”

Mirth lit the white eyes of the Demon King.

“I am the better choice,” Erion continued, straining at bindings, his tone resolute. “I have vampire and demon blood. A child of both strains might take better inside Hellen’s womb.” That might have been too much, but he was desperate. Once Hellen stepped on that stage, once Cruen touched her, the beast inside him would attack. Anything and anyone who got in his way—including the red one before him—would feel the wrath he could not possibly control.

Putting Ladd in even graver danger.

Abbadon was studying him, his features, his obvious brawn. And for a moment, Erion believed in the possibility of claiming Hellen as his own—with her father’s blessing.

Which just proved him a fool.

“If you were pure, I would perhaps consider it,” Abbadon said with deep-seated arrogance. “But you are a mistake, Erion. You are the sad evidence of a broken-down experiment. Something that should have been extinguished long ago.” He inhaled deeply, his snakelike nostrils barely flaring. “Not to mention, you are something I would never be able to control.”

A rush of electric anger surged within Erion. Not because the bastard in front of him had just called him a mistake. Shit, he knew that. But because Abbadon had denied him. It was over. He’d lost. They’d all lost.

He cocked his head and growled. “And you think you can control Cruen?”

Abbadon grinned broadly, like the most hideous cat imaginable. “I already do.”

Erion stilled, his guts twisting. What had Cruen done? What had that mad vampire promised in exchange for filling Hellen’s womb?

He watched as Abbadon rose to his feet, a magnificent beast in bloodred. What could Cruen possibly gain for creating this child? A child he would never see? It had to be something vital, impossible to achieve any other way . . .

And Hellen
,
he thought with icy dread. She was naive to think that her father and Cruen wouldn’t make her pay for not producing the one thing they both desired.

“It won’t be long now,” Abbadon said, rising. “I suggest you sit back, relax, and, when the lights go down, enjoy the show.” He smiled. “I know I will.”

Erion’s demon flashed and he pulled against his bindings, hungry for blood, for the Devil’s blood.

“It is a shame,” Abbadon said, clicking his forked tongue. “You have much passion, a drive to take and protect. And you think her pleasant to look at.”

“She is the most beautiful female I have ever seen.” Erion snarled at him. “You are the true beast, Abbadon. The mistake. The one who should have been eliminated at birth.”

But the Demon King was gone, his soft rumble of demonic laughter the only thing left in his wake.

•   •   •

Raine stood behind his counter, clutching the wood panel, as he watched the group of vampires file into his shop. He hadn’t expected a crowd. In fact, he truly wished he’d never come out as a
mutore
to Nicholas and Erion all those weeks ago. But they’d forced his hand and promised him a possible antidote to the gene that had been granted him at birth—the one that had aged him so rapidly as of late. If he didn’t find something to stave off the problem, he would be dead before he saw his children’s children born.

As three
paven
s—
mutore
, Raine was pretty sure—drew closer, he heard them bickering back and forth.

“I can’t believe him,” said one, who looked as though he might be crossed with a wolf shifter. “A castle. What a fucking romantic.”

Another, who seemed to have avian blood, reacted coolly to this comment. “We do not own each other’s thoughts and choices, Lycos.”

“He is family, Phane,” the
paven
retorted, leaning back against an eighteenth-century chaise. “Of course he doesn’t have to tell us dick. But he should!”

“I believe he has always wanted what his twin brother possesses,” the third
mutore
added. “Castle, mate,
balas
, family . . . We cannot fault him that.”

The
paven
was very tall, his hair shaved close to his skull, and under his skin there were pale-striped markings.

They were markings Raine wasn’t familiar with.

Just then, a
paven
Raine did recognize walked through the shop, paused between the stand of
mutore
, and entered the conversation. “It seems my true mate is not here. It took too damn long for you bastards to decide to come, and now she’s probably returned to this castle you go on about. And for the record, brothers, it matters not what Erion bought or lived in or kept from any of us. He is gone, missing, and so is Ladd. We need to find them.” Nicholas turned his attention on Raine. “Where did Erion take the woman?”

The bell over the door jangled furiously and two
paven
s entered, one dark haired, the other pale.

“Sorry about this, folks,” called the pale one. “I couldn’t stop him. The stupid Brit has a death wish.”

The dark one stormed down the aisle, barely looking at the
mutore
or at Nicholas. His eyes were trained on Raine.

“You know Cruen, then?” he demanded in a thick British accent.

Momentarily stunned, Raine glanced from the Brit to Nicholas, then back again. The dark
paven,
though thin
,
was fierce and formidable like the ones behind him—a true pureblooded vampire, but he was much more than that. He was something that didn’t care if it survived, something that lived and fed on hatred.

When Raine didn’t answer, the Brit circled the desk and came up on him, assessing him, scenting him.

He bent down, got close to Raine’s ear, and whispered one word—but it was the foulest of sounds. “Speak.”

“I know him,” Raine uttered nervously, glancing up at the
paven
with the utmost caution. “He is my uncle.”

The
paven
’s mouth twitched, not into a smile, but into something feral. He turned to Nicholas. “Did you know this?”

His jaw tight, Nicholas nodded.

“And you kept it from me?” His rage, which Raine heartily assumed was very near the surface of his skin at all times, exploded, and he dropped his fangs. “That is not the help I was promised, mate!”

Nicholas didn’t flinch. “He cannot get to Cruen, Synjon.”

The violent
paven
, Synjon, laughed a frighteningly bitter laugh. “He is family.” In one quick stroke, he unsheathed a knife and placed it in front of Raine’s nose. “Tell me how you communicate with your dear old uncle.”