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“Are you sure you’re still up for this?” Jackson questions me with a strong squeeze of my hand as his eyes scan a dark corner. He gazes back down at me and I see sweat forming at his brow as his jawbone tightens while he searches my face.
Exhaling the rank odor invading my nostrils, I affirm with a quick nod and strengthen my hold in his grip. We both turn to our left when we hear Dranoel pound on a thick glass wall.
“Get up. You have company,” Dranoel shouts.
Jackson firms his grasp on my hand, locking them together and wedging mine beneath his thumb. A tiny current of electricity rivets between us and a shocking sensation jolts my attention squarely aligned with Jackson’s eyes. The greenish-golden hue of his irises glow at me in the darkened corridor and a sweet gasp of his sweet and spicy aroma escapes his mouth. Inhaling it wholly, I can’t resist the alluring sweetness of his scent as I press my face up toward him, taking in every molecule of his fragrance. A small smile forms beneath his thick brunette goatee, and I feel myself giving in to the all-too familiar and slightly sensual gaze of Jackson Nash.
It’s the same look he had the night he lifted his paddle in the auction hall on the day we met. I’ve never been able to withstand that look.
“Should I wait until you two are finished your eye-cavorting or should I just stand here in the shadows and play third spoke to your wheel? Four, if you count how uncomfortable you’ve made Sir Dranoel for the last ninety seconds,” Keiron scoffs just after a faux cough as he wanders out of the shadows toward the glass wall.
An uncomfortable silence rests between us as Jackson and I share awkward glances. Although I know we need to deal with the matter at hand, I can’t help marvel at the revelation that what Jackson and I once shared is alive and well. But different. Of course I never stopped loving him, but I am somewhat surprised to find just how much he still affects me.
Even more, a deeper part of me believes he’s just as shocked as I am.
“Come into the light, brother.” Jackson forces his words through the void as he calls to Keiron, lightly loosening his grip on my hand.
Dranoel lights a small oil lamp and hangs it against the stone wall as Keiron walks further into the light.
I’m not sure what I thought Keiron would look like since last I saw him, but I know one thing. He looks hideous! Gone is his typical dapper but casual attire. Locked in thick chained cuffs and wearing a beige prison suit, his matted, chestnut hair drifts past his jawline, blending in with his bushy beard. Only a tint of gold rings through his grayish eyes as he locks eyes with both me and Jackson.
“Not quite what you were expecting, huh, my lady?” Keiron mutters, looking through the crevices of hair dangling against his forehead. A small smirk cowers beneath his grunge bearding and a familiar ire kindles within me in response.
“I have no expectations of you!” I snap back as thoughts of Keiron’s atrocities flash forward in my mind.
“And yet here you are—expecting something,” Keiron sneers with his smirk growing into a callous grin.
“She’s only here for answers, Keiron. We both are. We know you have answers about Dacari. Now tell Damina what you know!” Jackson barks, pressing his face against the glass.
Keiron’s eyes shimmer with defiance as he glares at Jackson. Tugging on Jackson’s shoulder, I pull him back and away from the glass wall, back to my side. Keiron grunts, shaking his head in annoyance before pulling a small round stool from the back corner. Jackson’s muscles tense as Keiron scrapes the chair along the cement floor and I hear a low rumbling snarl bellow from him as he carefully watches his brother’s movements.
Plopping down onto the stool and crossing his legs, Keiron brushes his hair away from his face and exhales loudly. He glances down at his fingernails for a moment before staring back up at us and over to Dranoel.
“Fine. I’ll talk. But only to you, Damina. I have nothing to say to the impotent troll who I once considered my kin, nor is there anything I wish to say in the presence of one who’s resigned his royal status to be nothing but a gatekeeper to these vile vermin,” Keiron lashes while peering over his shoulder toward Dranoel and nodding toward Jackson.
Both Jackson and Dranoel growl at Keiron’s defamation and Jackson leans toward the glass wall, but I place my arm over his chest. Dranoel’s defensive posture is almost surprising, but I’m quickly reminded he’s the sole trainer of all wolves in the Guardian. If I know anything about my limited time with both Dalcour and Titan, Dranoel must be worth his keep despite his seemingly demure posture.
“Then speak with me, Keiron,” I say quickly putting myself between Jackson and the glass wall.
“No, Damina! I will not leave you here alone with him!” Jackson shouts back, his face still aimed at Keiron.
“He’s right, my lady. We can’t allow you to be alone with this traitorous feign!” Dranoel protests.
“Allow me?” I bite back. Boiling heat rises inside me and streaming electricity blankets my skin.
“Damina, please he’s just looking out for your safety,” Jackson pleads, grabbing my shoulder to keep my attention on him and away from Dranoel.
“I don’t need him or anyone to allow me to do anything, Jackson!” I counter.
“I know, Damina. I know,” Jackson calmly replies as the coolness of his breath prickles my pores, dousing my growing frenzy. Watching me intently, Jackson catches my eyes, locking us in place. “I know more than anyone you are capable of taking care of yourself, Damina.”
While I know it shouldn’t, Jackson’s words disturb me. Not only am I surprised by his sentiment, I am taken aback that he’s not trying to control the situation.
Who is this man?
Jackson parts his lips before squeezing them tight and blows out an air of frustration. Keiron huffs behind us as Dranoel growls back, shining the oil lamp directly in Keiron’s face. Ignoring their posturing, Jackson keeps his sights squarely on me, gripping my shoulders to return my focus to him.
“Listen Damina, Dranoel and I will be just at the top of the stairwell. If even for a moment he causes you even an ounce of distress—”
“I’ll call for you, Jackson. I promise,” I softly reply, lightly twining my fingers through Jackson’s thick, long mane. I’m still a tad shocked at how much his hair has grown while I slept. Looking at him, I know more than his hair has grown. There’s maturity in his manner to me that is both unfamiliar and reassuring. I could get used to this Jackson.
Jackson smiles back at me warmly as he takes my hand from twirling his hair and kisses my knuckles. “The top of the stairwell. Just say the word,” he affirms once more before turning back to Keiron as he issues a faux cough.
“I mean, I have nothing except time on my side. But I thought you wanted to know the whereabouts of your precious cousin, Damina,” Keiron adds.
“Make it quick.” Jackson keeps his attention on his brother and waves Dranoel to his side without turning away from Keiron.
“I’ll be fine, Jack. And don’t worry, I have no intention of spending any longer with him than is necessary.”
As Jackson and Dranoel make their way toward the stairwell, I lean against a tall pillar adjacent to the glass wall and raise my hand, gesturing Keiron to begin. I need to get this over quickly.
“Tell me what you know, Keiron. Speak fast.”
“Well, before I tell you what I know it would help if I knew what you knew. I mean, it’s apparent you’re just coming out of your month-long slumber. And seeing as though you are traipsing through the mansion with nothing save your nightwear, it would appear you rushed down here as soon as you learned of her disappearance.”
“You are correct,” I answer, clenching my trenchcoat tight by the belt.
“But if all you know is that Dacari has disappeared you barely know half the story.”
“What does that even mean?”
“Well, my lady, aren’t you remotely interested in my reason for coming to the mansion? Or even my involvement in breaking up your engagement with my brother—though from the looks of things I barely sullied your affection for one another—seeing as though you nearly died to save his wretched life and you two still can’t keep your sights off one another,” Keiron scoffs, annoyed.
“I know all I need to know. You are jealous of Jackson. You want to be the alpha and conspired to end our marriage. Oh, and you tried to have your own brother killed! Did I cover all the high points, Keiron?”
“Quite the contrary. You’ve barely grazed the surface of the truth.”
“What truth is there?”
“The truth is, I’ve actually been trying to save your life—and my brothers for what it’s worth.”
“How dare you even presume to make yourself some hero in this, Keiron! I saw you with my own eyes! You tried to kill your brother! You sent that wench as a changeling to end my engagement! What hero does that?” I snap. Just the sight of him raises my fury to new heights.
“Let us be clear,” Keiron shouts back, pressing his hand and forehead against the glass wall. “Mikkel tried to kill my brother. I only wanted to fight and take his rank. Just because I don’t put on an ill-fitted onesie, wrap myself in a cape with an insignia etched across my chest, doesn’t make me any less of a hero. Sure, my tactics may seem vicious, but I alone did what needed to be done to protect this world from the carnage you will inevitably inflict!”
“Me? What carnage could I possibly inflict on anyone?”
Keiron glares at me, gently pulling his forehead from the glass wall, his face softening as he rests his palm against the wall. “Yes you, Lady Damina can cause more harm than any of those two lovesick fools care to admit. And while they insist on parading about with their noses wide open, too smitten with thoughts of you and too fearful to learn which one of them you’ll choose. I have done the hard and dirty work to keep us and all the world protected from the lot of you!”
“I thought you had something worth sharing, but now you’re just wasting my time. Putting the blame on Jackson, Dalcour or even me does not absolve your treachery, Keiron. Now, if you have nothing to add about my cousin, you serve no purpose. God knows it took everything in me not to end your life that night. You live as you do now out of courtesy for Jackson. However, I would not test the bounds of that courtesy.”
“Then, I’ll speak plainly,” Keiron responds in a grubby tone, folding his arms at his chest and narrowing his eyes.
“Finally.”
“You are Fated.”
“What? What does that even mean?”
“As I’m sure you now know you are of the Duacin Elders—in the Order of the Altrinion.”
“Yes, I know my lineage.”
“Ah, I see. Well, did you also know who is the sole progenitor of the Duacin? Have you heard of Anuel? Nuhtlus?”
“Of course. They were the first blood drinkers. The first vampires.”
“And do you know how—or rather why they became so?”
“They feared death above all things,” I whisper, recalling Dalcour’s account of the legend. Once more the foreboding dread locks me in place, like a snake coiling around my throat.
Keeping his gaze on me, he loops his leg behind him and drags a small stool beneath him and plops down. He sighs loudly and continues. “Not only did they fear death, but they feared the death of their one and only true loves. You see, Damina when the Changeling Order was cast aside to only the darkest depths of the world by your lineage, the Altrinions, they cursed every house of elders. The Fated Ones are remnants of that very curse.”
“What curse?”
“A curse of inconsolable insanity. Almost akin to a magnetic melancholia, the Fated Ones are destined to love so deeply that the separation of that very love drives them past the brink of madness!”
“You’re lying!”
“Oh, how I wish I were! But just like Anuel and Nuhtlus, Fated Ones sink to such a depraved state not only will they turn to the drinking of blood to endure their lives, but they become the progenitors of savage predators like the Scourge—vampires! And since you are Fated, you are bound to the same curse!”
“Stop it! I’ll hear no more!”
“Don’t believe me? Fated Ones are so laced within the fabric of human history you can hardly tell fact from fiction!”
“I’ve never heard of any stories of Fated Ones!”
“Oh sure you have, my lady, you just didn’t know it. Pompei. Elizabeth Bathory. And by far the most infamous of your Altrinion kin, Vlad, or should I call him Drac—”
“What does any of this have to do with me? Or my cousin?”
“It has everything to do with you and those two besotted buffoons who made their home at your bedside these forty-odd days. And your cousin, well, she may just be the only saving grace in this whole matter. That is, if it isn’t too late!”
“Quit your riddles and your stalling. Speak plainly, Keiron. Do it fast!”
“Fine, I’ll speak plainly, my lady, but you won’t like it,” Keiron shouts back, rising from his seat, pressing his face once more into the glass. “You bear the sacred crest of the Great Oak and you are Fated to be with one true mate of equal lineage. In this case that would be Lord Marchand. While I didn’t know for certain that it was Marchand who was to be your equal, I learned you were Fated when my brother received the approval from your father, Lord Duacin after some digging of my own. Now, while your father didn’t reveal that truth to my brother—I knew I had to put a plan in motion before you succumb to your fate.”
“How so?”
“For one, my brother is maddingly in love with you. His love toward you is unrelenting. When I discovered you were fated, I knew my brother would never do what needed to be done. His heart—his love toward you would not allow it.”
“What needs to be done?” I almost hate to ask.
“This is the part you won’t like. But first, a brief history about the Primes. There are three Prime Packs. My brother and I are Alphas. Prime Alphas are the higher, earthbound order, put in place to maintain the balance of every creeping thing and protect the Order of Altrinions. Beta Primes are the foot patrol. Guardians, if you will. That’s why Sir Dranoel and the others are so keen to reclaim Guardianship for the Beta Primes through their young alpha, Mark. There’s more to that story—but I digress.”
“You said there were three Prime Packs?”
“Ah, yes. So you are listening. Well, the third is more complicated. The Omegas are what all primes hope to ascend. You see, as the alpha of the Prime Alphas, my dearest brother can one day rise to Alpha Lord status as an Omega. While it’s way more complicated than I can explain the bottom line is that only an Alpha Lord can correct the curse of the Fated Ones.”
“Correct?”
“Oh did I say correct? I suppose a better word would be, kill.”
My mouth gapes open and Keiron keeps his piercingly grey eyes fixed on me. I can almost feel my heart plummet to the cold floor beneath me, but I do my best to maintain my composure. I refuse to give Keiron the desperate response he so obviously craves.
Slowly his hardened gaze softens as he continues searching my face. He allows a small smile to creep beneath his beard, but I remain guarded.
“Damina,” he begins quietly, his voice more delicate than ever. “Listen, I do not say these things to bring you pain.”
“How can you say that? You just said that Jackson’s sole purpose for living is to one day end my life!” Oh no! I’m giving him more emotion than I wanted.
“No, I said, Alpha Lords are the only ones capable of correcting the curse should it arise. My initial goal was clear. Strip my brother of his status—have him abjured if need be—anything to keep him from doing the one thing I know he’d never have the power to do.”
“Kill me.”
“I said you wouldn’t like it. Now in all fairness it could just as easily be Lord Marchand that would bear the brunt of that charge. Yet and still I know my brother could never even harm Lord Marchand if even the thought of it would bring you pain—or if nothing more than out of respect of his endless affection toward you.”
“But you could? Without question—”
“I’m afraid so, my lady. Only because I fear the cost of not doing so much more.”
“And so what? You align yourself with the likes of Mikkel to kill me!”
“Mikkel had his own charge with you that is not my own. But his claim was still the same—end the Fated Ones—protect the world.”
“Well I melted his bones to ash, so I doubt he’ll be protecting anyone.”
“I’m afraid he wasn’t alone. There are more like him. The Vitreous Altrinions.”
“Vitreous?”
“Yes they are an old faction of Altrinion Vampires. They claim to be the first made from the wretched house of Nuhtlus. Their main goal is to ensure they are the only elder house of power. They want to wipe the remaining Fated Ones from the house of Anuel from the earth and purge any Scourge that remain. Most have always considered them the Nazis of the Altrinion-vampire race.”
“Fine. You’ve covered wanting your decision to correct what you feel your brother incapable of doing.”
“More like unwilling—”
“Whatever. And now that you’ve shed some light on the Vitreous, I still don’t understand what Dacari has to do with any of this!”
“That’s just it! She is the anomaly. The wildcard if you will.”
“Wildcard?”
“Damina!” I hear Jackson call to me from behind while Keiron holds my attention between the glass. I’ve wasted enough time with him.
Ignoring Jackson, I push away from the pillar and move closer to the glass wall. “Explain! Quickly!” I yell.
“Well, I’m afraid there’s no expedient path to the truth behind her story, but I’ll attempt a simpler path for the more impatient mind,” Keiron says over my shoulder, staring at Jackson. Although I feel Jackson inching close behind me, I do not turn around. I need to know more. “As you are aware, it’s not just the Duacin who account for your Altrinion lineage, but also the LeClaire. That would make the ever lovely Dacari Altrinion as well.”
“Of course, so she’s Altrinion. So what?”
“Damina! We really need to go,” Jackson says, now resting his hand on my shoulders. I feel the same kinetic energy spike through me at his touch as I did before, but I dig my feet into the cement, hopeful to douse his pull.
“And then there’s the Peyroux lineage,” Keiron continues, ignoring Jackson’s plea. “The Peyroux were Dunes Paw until good old Elias Peyroux paid his penance to Saint Roch and had the Dunes curse lifted from his family’s bloodline. The lifting of the curse created a new lupine strain not captive to the Order of the Primes nor marred by a doomed state. Something different entirely.” Once more the foreboding fear within me looms about as Keiron’s mysterious and dark tone matches the new darkness covering his face as he steps back from the light.
“Okay so she’s a hybrid. There are other hybrids. Right?” I ask over my shoulder to Jackson.
“Just what are you implying, brother?” Jackson questions, pushing his voice through Keiron’s calculating silence. Our angst is making this too fun for him.
“I guess you could say she’s a hybrid—on her mother’s side. But then there’s her father side of the family,” Keiron replies, keeping his attention aimed at me, ignoring Jackson.
“Her father’s side? But Dacari has never met her father.” The words whisper from my mouth, meeting Keiron’s shadowy scowl.
He offers a broad and wickedly cagey half-smile in response before he answers.
“Hasn’t she?”
My heart sinks at his words, but I have no time to dig further as Jackson lifts me in his arms and carries me away.