Chapter 4

Aiden woke again and took a quick inventory of his body. The jackhammer in his skull had subsided to a dull throbbing, but he still didn’t want to open his eyes. He didn’t feel like he was going to lose his lunch any longer, and it didn’t hurt to breathe. Well, it didn’t hurt as bad as it did a few hours ago. Progress could be a beautiful thing.

As a first generation half-breed vampire, his healing skills far surpassed humans and other vampires. What he did feel in his body was the undeniable clench in his stomach that signaled he needed to feed.

He needed blood.

He opened his eyes and the first thing he saw was Holly standing over him, looking at him with a scrutinizing "I'm a medical professional" look.

“You need to feed,” she announced. She didn’t wait for an answer, but turned away and brought up a needle.

“What the fuck is that?” he asked.

“The way I feed,” she said mildly, as if she were showing him a grocery list.

She swabbed his arm to insert the needle, but he jerked away.

He didn’t even know what to say, he just stared at her. Vampires fed from live sources—humans. Vampires who were committed to each other for a long-term relationship fed from each other as a way to seal their bond. He had never, ever heard of a vampire going the IV route.

She rolled her eyes. “Are you afraid of needles?”

He shook his head. “What are you doing?”

“This is the way I feed. I need to stay under the radar. I can't hunt live prey because it makes my scent so much stronger, so I manipulated some medical records to get access to blood. I get the blood; vampires can't smell me. It's quick and painless and I get the nourishment I need."

She grabbed his arm and held it in place. He watched in disbelief as the needle pierced his skin and she turned the valve to allow the blood to flow into him.

He tracked the red liquid sliding down the clear tube, awed by the lengths this female had gone to protect herself. Of course she would need to feed via the IV. If she were to feed out of a live source, her scent would be easily detected by all vampires—especially male vampires. All female vampires either smelled of lavender or eucalyptus. He took a deep breath to see if he could smell either scent, but he only detect a faint trace of lavender. To anyone who didn't know she was a female vampire, it would have smelled like a lotion or maybe a shampoo. She had lied and manipulated to keep herself safe from her own race, and he was shocked at how fucked up the whole thing seemed to be.

The blood race through his veins nourishing him as it seeped into his muscles, his fibers, his cells. It wasn’t nearly strong enough though. This transfusion bullshit she had going would nourish him for a day or so. He wondered how she had lived like that. She looked healthy and strong. He wondered what her abilities would be if she fed like she was meant to, out of a live, breathing being. He imagined she would be a force to be reckoned with. Well, hell. Who was he kidding? She was already a force to be reckoned with. With live, fresh blood cells coursing through her, she would be unstoppable. He certainly wouldn’t want to be in any path she swathed.

She tracked the blood draining from the bag she had hooked up to the top of the bedside lamp. Her face was clinical as she began to change the bandage on his head.

She had showered while he slept. Her face glowed with that just washed clean, her short hair lay almost flat against her scalp. Almost. His eyes traveled further down and noticed her white t-shirt—the glow from the lamp outlined the fact that she didn't wear a bra, and her breasts were small, full and round and utterly perfect.

He tried to remember the last time he had laid eyes on a female vampire, which was about seventy-five years ago. It was just a vague recollection. He had been sent to kill the female vampire's mate because he had been killing humans. Once he had done his job, she had been overjoyed. Apparently her mate had beat her, so there wasn't any love lost. He was leaving when she offered him sex in return for the "favor" he had done her. Yeah, his last interaction with a female of his race hadn't left him with much confidence in his race's future. Holly was different—he knew that immediately. She was kind and good and everything that one of the Vampire Nation should hope to be.

As he stared at the outline through her shirt, he felt his cock come alive for the first time in ten years, and lust tore through him, lighting fire through his body. He felt like a letch, but he couldn’t take his eyes off the outline of her breasts. Visions of her straddling his hips, those beautiful breasts swaying as she rode him, danced through his head.

Really, where the hell did that come from? He hadn’t even had the smallest interest in anyone since Natalie died.

“I think that's enough,” she said as she turned the dial to stop the blood flow. He wasn’t sure if she meant the blood or him staring at her chest with fantasies running through his head.

Closing his eyes again, he tried not to think about his throbbing cock. Holly slipped the needle from his arm and put a bandage over the entrance and cleaned up the makeshift IV stand.

“Thank you,” he said, his voice stronger now that he had blood.

“You’re welcome,” she said softly.

He opened one eye and watched her walk into the bathroom. She had on a pair of pink sweat pants that said Juicy across the butt. Her sweet little ass swayed back and forth as she walked, making him think that Juicy was a perfect description for it. His cock got even harder, if that was possible. He closed his eyes again as she looked over her shoulder at him, as if she felt his eyes on her. He didn’t want to get busted staring at her again. The blood was making him tired and lethargic, but he couldn't get his mind off of Holly. Images swam through his head of his hands running up and down that ass, his lips on her breasts.

Guilt consumed him, making his body twist in pain. Well, more pain. He felt that just thinking about Holly was desecrating his memory of Natalie, but there was a small voice in his head that told him it was time to move on, to start living again. That scared him a bit. In the ten years since her death, he hadn't allowed himself to get close to a woman, let alone be alone in the same room with one. Yet, here he was in bad shape, naked in a woman—no, a female vampire's—bedroom. He wasn't ready to move on. Not yet. Maybe never. He reminded himself of the oath he had taken—he would never get close to another female. Period. End of story.

Jesus, he was tired.

As he drifted off, his mind took him back in time, to the past of his people, to his childhood. After most of the pure-bred vampires had been eradicated from the planet by the humans, there were five pure-breds left, which formed The Council. The Council, made up of four males and one female, his mother Rusalka, had decided that to help the Vampire Nation meld into the human population, they needed to merge the two species. The four male vampires repeatedly raped human women to bring the hybrid species into existence. Rusalka was in charge of bearing the warriors of the race. The warriors would do The Council's bidding. They would be the strongest among the Vampire Nation, and Rusalka took her job very seriously. She scoured the Earth for human men that fit her qualifications of what made a good mate: strength and brains.

He realized at an early age that his mother was evil. The way she mated with humans was to cloak herself to whatever appealed to her potential mate. Pure-bred vampires could do this—make themselves look human, which they weren't even close to. They were thin with long bony heads, pasty white skin, and large black pits for eyes. Their fangs hung over their lips, their claws protruded from their long talon-like hands. They were nasty creatures.

Once she was cloaked as a potential mate for the male she had chosen, she would take them to her bed. When she was certain she had conceived, she would de-cloak and reveal her true nature. Then she would kill the sire of her child. She did this over and over, until there were nine brothers. She had killed one of her sons for falling in love with a human female, so now they were down to eight.

Aiden's father had been a tribal leader in Africa. He had been a strong male, one with a sixth sense of knowing when danger was coming. Aiden never understood why his father hadn't sensed his mother coming his way—she was the poster child for danger—but he didn't. His father had paid the price, and Aiden had gotten the bonus prize of this wonderful trip here on the Earth.

His first recollection of his childhood was when he was about six or so. Being the first-born son of Rusalka of The Council was a hard role to be thrown into. He remembered when it became crystal clear at age six that his mother did not, and would not, ever love him, and that he had two purposes in life. First, he would to take care of his siblings. Second was that he would be a straight-up killer. From that point on, he had never shed a tear again, never begged his mother for affection. He did as he was told and did so to the best of his abilities.

It was at that time that he also shut himself down emotionally, especially toward Rusalka. He became cold inside, and he believed that emotional detachment from just about everyone helped him in his training and kept him from the pain of wanting that emotional attachment. Better just to shut down.

His mother began training him the day he began walking. Walking quickly turned to running. By age four, he was learning martial arts. At age five, he began to handle guns. At age eight, he was an expert marksman. His blade training didn't come until age ten, but he excelled at that as well. At eleven, as his mother looked for the sire of her next child, he found himself caring for his younger brother Thaddeus in jungles of Africa. He had been responsible for making sure the kid got back to the cave where they were living for the time being, as well as feeding him. Aiden found he excelled at hunting and killing. He had the patience even at an early age to wait for his prey, and he killed with brutal efficiency. One night, he and Thaddeus had dined on monkey. It certainly didn't taste like chicken. He wouldn't recommend it, but when you were hungry you ate what you had to.

By age thirteen he was not only in charge of Thaddeus, but Cyril, another brother, as well. His mother had been so impressed with the human male that sired Cy that she decided to stick around and see if she could find another intelligent German to give her the next child.

Since they were all approximately five years apart, that put Thaddeus at around eight and Cy at three. Thaddeus could pretty much take care of himself, but still relied on Aiden to help him hunt, to help him get his training down so that he wouldn't be beaten by their mother when she returned. Thaddeus had a hard time with authority and often ended up being smacked around by good old mom. If that didn't work, then she often put him in a room for a few days with no other contact. Solitary confinement.

"You make sure Thaddeus has those knife moves down, Aiden," his mother had hissed at him before she left.

Aiden nodded. He said as little as possible to his mother. When she turned around, he gave her the one finger salute. He used to try to get her to love him. When that didn't happen, he hated her with a passion so deep it frightened him sometimes. He just wished she would cease to exist.

Aiden hated watching his brother being beaten, so he worked hard with Thaddeus.

"Thaddeus, you don't spin the knife like that. You spin it like this. And if you keep doing it the way you're doing it, you're going to stab yourself. Then we'll both be in trouble. Please. Just do it the way I'm showing you."

Thaddeus rolled his eyes and sighed. "I'm tired of doing this, Aiden. Can we work on guns for a while? I like the guns. Who cares what she does."

"No, Thaddeus," Aiden said forcefully, knowing full well that Thaddeus would be caring a lot when their mother began to beat him. "Mommy Dearest is going to want to see this when she gets back. Come on. Try it one more time."

And Thaddeus did, and he finally got it.

"Now do it again, Thaddeus. Make it so you can do it in your sleep." Just then, Cyril started crying, and Thaddeus moved to go see what Cyril wanted.

"No, Thaddeus. I'll get him. You keep practicing." As he walked away, Aiden beamed with pride at his brother, but also at himself. He was pretty certain he had just saved his brother from a beating.

He realized that being so hard on Thaddeus was twofold. First, he didn't want to watch or hear Thaddeus get struck. That was self-preservation. Second, he knew Thaddeus had a hard time with authority, and often got a little mouthy with their mother. A couple of times, Aiden had fully expected her to just kill him instead of put up with him. He felt he was saving Thaddeus' life.

Perhaps it had been because Thaddeus was the second born. Maybe it was because Aiden had invested so much time and energy into Thaddeus. Or maybe it was because Aiden had been in charge of him since Thaddeus was born, but whatever the reason, he did have a soft spot in his heart for the male. Thaddeus was the brother he was closest to.

It became apparent to Aiden that he had absolutely nothing in common with their little brother Cyril, or Cy for short. Cy preferred his books, while Aiden relished in the physical hunt.

That didn't mean he didn't worry about him.

Aiden had feared Cy would be knocked around next if he didn't get his shit together and start learning the physical aspects of training, but it rarely happened with him. Their mother encouraged the boy to learn all he could through his books. Sure, he was still responsible for learning the guns, knives, and hand-to-hand combat, but she didn't expect as much from Cy as she did from Thaddeus.

By the time the next brother, Rohan, came along, Aiden was a killing machine. Their mother didn't expect much out of Rohan. She called him her greatest failure. Unlike Aiden, Thaddeus, and Cy, Rohan looked more vampire than he did human, but acted fully human. He could even go without blood and spend short amounts of time in the sun. No one was sure what to do with Rohan, but Aiden, Thaddeus, and Cy trained him to the best of his abilities to keep mom off his back. Aiden may have detached himself from everyone except Thaddeus, but one thing was certain—he was bonded to his brothers by blood, but also because all of them worked together, the were able to survive. They were bonded by a hate of their mother, and a will to survive.

As the resident killer, Aiden loved going out into the wilderness of whatever country they were in and bringing home meals. Deer, bison, rabbits . . . it didn't matter. One time he had gone hand-to-claw with a bear, and won. The more challenging the hunt, the more he relished in the kill. Nothing much had changed in four hundred years.

As sleep finally overtook him, he hoped it would be peaceful. His mind was always churning and agonizing, and it coughed up some pretty messy dreams. Some scared the hell out of him, and some just destroyed him over and over again.