Growls echoed around the building, accompanied by the rhythmic scratch of claws against perfectly polished marble as Werewolves violated every room. Whining of iron, cracking of wood, banging, hisses, growls, bloodcurdling wails—a crescendo of noises filling a house that was never a home.
Panic and confusion poured over me, swept through me. So much energy bombarding me at once.
Threads of consciousness snapped in my mind, and even though I held no bond to the owners—not the ironclad links I held with my own Bloodlings—each break, each thread that withered and turned to ash, surprisingly slashed at me.
Roars, cries, screaming, even the cracking of bones met my ears. Leonardo’s large hands wrapped around my shoulders. He pulled, but I remained rooted to the spot, my focus fixed on the three people situated on the floor at the other side of the room, my gaze unmoving even though I could no longer see them due to the constant shift in my Bloodling’s attention as he looked to the open doorway, the Werewolf who battled with Marie, and our escape route at the back of the room.
Leonardo pulled me again. I resisted, listening to the agonizing exchange of words coming from the males, then the slice through flesh and muscle, and then the scent of blood so fresh and different from the stink that poured from my Colony.
This moment had dominated my premonitions for so long, it felt almost surreal that it should finally be playing out before me, and funnily enough, I wasn’t witnessing it through another’s eyes, but merely listening, sensing, knowing. Seeing didn’t matter, for I had seen everything that was happening around me a hundred times or more. This moment was a vivid dream stuck in my endless memory.
This moment, this exact point in time, would finally decide our fate, guarantee our success.
“Come, Master.”
Leonardo’s voice, though soft, rumbled like thunder in my ears, but I couldn’t move. Not until I knew for sure, until I had witnessed it in the flesh.
One beat of her heart. Faint, weak, but all I needed to hear.
* * * * *
~ Galen ~
Sestiere San Polo, Venice, Italy
7.18 a.m.
Darkness snapped into place, hard and fast. My body tensed, back arching as I tried to grasp hold of the whirlwind of consciousness spinning about me—each stream a vivid colour in my mind’s eye, twisting and turning, slithering like millions of grass snakes in a bucket.
“Galen?”
A soft voice called to me through the rush of incoherent noise which invaded me every time I tried to make a connection. Flashes of scenery flickering in and out of focus as I sought out the owner of the gentle voice trying to break through. The mattress dipped beside me as she took a seat, her thigh pressed against my own. Her soft hands touched my cheeks, cradled my face.
“Ηρεμα, Μαστορα. You are with us once more.”
She placed a tender kiss to my head, so sweet and innocent; the type of kiss I imagined my mother might have once gifted me as a child. She was asking her Master to be calm.
Emerging from the slithers of colour arose a thick thread of ebony, and like a snake hypnotised by its charmer, it reached for me. Clasping, entwining with my own consciousness. I gasped, once, the action irregular, but the need to breathe, to catch my breath, was an overwhelming feeling and one I hadn’t experienced in over six hundred years.
The hustle of thoughts stopped as I was pulled into the present. My own face filled my mind: two white orbs gazing up at a face I couldn’t see for myself, but one I knew so well after centuries of seeing her through everyone else’s eyes. Her hair was a shade of chestnut brown and had once been long and wavy. She had styled it in all sorts of fashions throughout the ages, until this present time, when she had decided to cut it shorter. I knew it sat at her shoulders in a multitude of layers. And her eyes, the same shade as her hair, bottomless pools of wonder—the kindest and warmest eyes I had ever been blessed to gaze upon. Her skin, a paler shade of mocha, her features pointed, and her frame petite and slender. She was an angel. My angel, who had come to me in my hour of need, and I in hers.
I watched as her sweet feminine hands moved to my head, felt the gentle caress as she smoothed down my mess of black hair.
“You were frantic, Γλυκιε μου.” Her Greek accent still teased the words when she called me ‘Sweet One,’ though it had faded long ago.
I dropped my head to Sorina’s shoulder, revelling in the simplicity of her hands stroking my hair and neck. Her presence was the closest I ever felt to home, to what I imagined home and family felt like.
She placed her cheek on top of my head, holding me close. “Did you see her again?”
Her gaze rested on the corner of the room, to my private chambers which I had decorated in a multitude of blues to ease my curiosity of the daytime sky. The thick navy curtains were drawn. A strip of dull light stretched across the bottom of the floor-length curtains indicating that it was indeed dawn, the beginning of a new day, the beginning of everything we had been waiting for.
“The Wolf has joined her,” I muttered against her skin. “They are coming.”
Everything was about to change. Ten years of planning were about to come to fruition.
“Then what would you have me do, Master?”
Everything was also about to get complicated, dare I say dangerous. One wrong step and it would all be ruined.
“We must reach her first, before all others, the moment night has fallen.”
“It shall be done.”
I lifted my head, only sitting still once I could see myself through her eyes. “The task is dangerous and must not be taken lightly.”
Sorina rested her hands on my shoulders. “I understand.”
I watched my brow furrow. Watched the way my eyeballs moved as though I were able to study her face and actually see her expression. “If you are caught, then everything has been done in vain.”
“I will not be caught.”
Taking her hands from my shoulders, I held them tightly. “You, I trust before all others. You hold our immortality in your hands. It is a great responsibility I am placing on you.”
Her grip tightened. “I hold our existences dearly, for everything you have ever done, you have done for us all.”
“Αγγελε μου. Φιλη μου.” I lifted our hands and pressed a kiss to her knuckles. “Μητερα μου.”
Angel. Friend. Mother. All these, she has been, and still was, to me.
“Καμια λυπη.”
No regrets… I agreed with her words…
I glanced back up, looking at myself, at a face that never aged, never changed. A face so young, containing eyes which held too many years, too many secrets, too much knowledge and yes, lifetimes of regrets.
Footsteps sounded in the hallway. Letting go of my hands, Sorina stood up then leant down and kissed my forehead. “Γιε μου.”
A smile, faint and brief, touched my lips at her endearment. She had called me her son. Sorina moved around my day bed, stopping at the side of the black metal frame. Swinging my legs off the mattress, I sat straight with my back to the room and watched through her eyes as the door to my chambers opened.
Leonardo stepped into the room. He was a broad man, robust. He reminded me of a bear—proud, protective, and strong. His black hair was shabby, and he sported thick eyebrows, which relaxed the moment his gaze landed on Sorina.
Even from this distance, I could see his dark eyes light up at the sight of her. A twinge of envy spiked through me, quickly replaced by anger as Carlos and Kiya followed on his tail. The smirk that had sat on Carlos’ lips died as he moved his attention from Kiya to Sorina, and then to me. I kept my back to them, my attention locked onto Kiya’s swollen lips. Her long, raven hair somewhat untidy, stray strands sticking out in places. Sorina’s focus moved to Carlos and I noted that his usually neat hair was also somewhat dishevelled.
They stopped and it hit me—the scent of blood and sex tinged the air about them. My jaw tensed, spine went rigid. My gums throbbed as my fangs emerged. Need surged through me, fast and violent, sickening me. I curled my growing talons into the material of my daybed as I gripped hold of the frame, anchoring myself into place.
“I am pleased to see that we have all had an eventful night.” The words came out punched through my lengthened fangs. “If we are quite finished indulging ourselves...?”
Sorina’s gaze moved over Kiya who looked as regal and beautiful as she had the first day I met her. A pauper in Egypt, I’d thought she looked like a princess even in her rags. Eyes like a liquid sunset, the smoothest skin, fullest mouth, and hair that cascaded like a river down her back—she was the most perfect creature I had ever seen in all my lifetimes.
“You were meditating,” Carlos answered.
He was everything I longed to be. Everything I imagined I could have been if Marko hadn’t found me. Tall, muscular, with chiselled features, eyes the colour of blue steel, and dark brown hair. He was a man. A man she had wanted, had begged for, and I had given him to her.
Metal whined as my grip on the bed tightened.
“Spare me your excuses. We had a deal,” I spat, hating the hurt and desperation in my voice. Hating the disgust I saw on both their faces, the disgust I felt for myself, for how I was, what I was, what I wanted from them. Disgust for what Marko had made me.
I disconnected from Sorina, allowing darkness to consume me. Ignoring the scents which penetrated my nostrils, I focused on the blackness, on the slithers of consciousness until I felt my body relax, until I felt the retraction of my fangs and the pinch of my skin as my talons shrank back into place.
“Events have begun,” I informed them. “The Ancestor will be here soon. We must reach her before anyone else, especially because Marie is undecided on what she wishes to do with the girl.”
She wanted revenge. She wanted to torture the Slayer slowly, kill her slowly, but if she were to act on those understandable impulses, she would be at Marko’s mercy, and if there was one thing I knew for sure, Marie had never wanted to displease her Maker. She had loved him once. Would love him forever, and no matter how many playthings she had to amuse herself, she never wanted to anger her ancient lover. So although she was displeased to hear that Marko was pleased to know his Ancestor was still alive, and even though I was willing to bet the soul I no longer had that she wouldn’t kill Heather Ryan, capturing her so she could beat her to near death proved another matter entirely.
“Regardless of Marie’s feelings, Marko wishes for his Ancestor to remain alive, for now. No matter what, her survival is necessary if we wish to be successful in our endeavours.”
Ten years’ worth of planning would soon pay off. Everything was falling into place perfectly.
Standing, I turned in their direction, my family. “It is nearly time, Αγαπημενοι μου. Our long wait is almost over.”