Chapter 6

CHAPTER SIX

Huntley

I wake in a rush, my heart thundering behind my ribs, my instinct to kill fully unhinged. Why? What happened? I sit up with a jolt. Where the fuck am I? It takes a beat to realize I'm in the latest condo rental Francesco sent us to.

I feel like roadkill, and my neck…

I tilt my head from side to side, and the telltale ache of having my neck snapped brings things back into focus.

The little bitch. Seriously? Has she been waiting seven years to get back at me?

I force my legs to accept my weight and stand. Fuck. It's like I'm an underfed deer teetering on ice. Well, I refuse to Bambi onto the ground if Scotland McCullough is in the house to witness it. "Zane? Scotland?"

"There's no one here."

I turn to where Jaxon is sitting at the dining room table smoking a hand-rolled cigarette of haze. Nervy but hey, it's his funeral if he gets caught drugging on company time. "I grabbed us some takeout after dropping off Zane's fuck buddies and when I got back, I found you downed, and Zane gone. What the fuck did I miss?"

I breathe deep and an olfactory overload fills my senses: haze, Zane, sex, Scotland—she wasn't part of the sex, but I smell her blood. Lots of her blood.

"You better butt that the fuck out. The king will end us if he finds out I was unconscious, and you were toking while Zane's out there getting himself killed and Scotland is bleeding to death."

"Scotland? Bran's daughter? Was she here?"

"Yeah, she knocked on the door right before my lights went out. She snapped my fucking neck."

He barks a laugh. "Harsh. What did you do to deserve that?"

I clear my throat and stride over to the bar, unwilling to answer that question. "You saw nothing when you got here?"

Jax taps the ash off the end of his smoke and exhales a golden cloud of feel good. "Nope. I got back, parked the car, and came up to find you taking a nap. I figured the fastest way to find out what I missed was to wait until you woke up."

The royal blue face of my Tag Heuer glows against the darkness of the room. I squint past the pain spearing my mind and read the numbers. Almost midnight.

Hours have passed.

Fuck. Where the hell is Zane? And how the hell did Scotland McCullough catch me unaware? "I can't believe she snapped my fucking neck."

Jaxon chuckles, finishing his bonding moment with his smoke. "I wouldn't spread that around, mate. Makes you sound like a pussy instead of a royal guard."

I roll my eyes. He's one to talk.

Some days, I can't believe he's even a full-blooded vampire. Between his slender, jogger-fit physique, his aversion to killing, and his passion for online gaming, I'd swear he's got human in him.

My phone beeps with a notification, and I pull it out of my pocket. It's an unknown number. I read the message and the pounding in my head is joined by a searing sense of betrayal burning in my blood.

"Whoa, what does it say, dude? You're looking cray-cray right now."

I reread the text on the screen. The sender didn't register in my contact list, but there's no doubt in my mind that it was sent by Zane.

Turned bastards invaded the compound.

Bran and my father are dead.

Bran transferred his duty to Scotland.

The two of us are safe and formulating a plan.

I don't even know how to unpack those four sentences.

Bran transferred his duty to Scotland?

The two of them are formulating a plan?

I guess that says it all.

Opening the door and finding Scotland in the corridor earlier was a shock. Waking up knowing that she downed me is infuriating. But what adds insult to injury is that not only did the bitch drop me, but then she and Zane left me here to run off and regroup.

I've devoted every waking moment of my life to the Toronto prince and the guy just fucks off. I thought I meant more to him than that. But it's just like when we were teenagers—the moment Scotland is in the room, he sees nothing and no one else.

Does he honestly believe he's safer with his old human playmate than me?

Does Bran?

That betrayal is a dagger through my chest. Bran has been my mentor and father figure since he took me under his wing at fourteen. He was the one who brought up the topic of me succeeding him. He trained me to take his place.

And now he bestowed his Sacred Squire powers on Scotland? Not me—the vampire Viking emotionally and physically conditioned to take on an army to defend Zane—but his little girl.

Did she say something to him? Was this part of some plan to get back at me for what happened all those years ago?

Doesn't matter. However it happened, here I am, once again, on the outside looking in with those two.

Un-fucking-believable.

Bran choosing Scotland could be a good thing. I'm off the hook. I'm not bound to Zane, so I could pack a bag and disappear, leaving this royal posturing bullshit behind me.

The idea of leaving Zane behind spears my soul as if a dagger has just been plunged into my chest. No. There's no walking away for me. He might be able to flick a switch and be all about Scotland in the blink, but I can't turn off my feelings like that.

The two of us deserve more than that.

Wait, what?

It hits me then. The burn of my betrayal buried the lead in what Zane told me. "The compound was overtaken, and the king is dead."

" What? How did that happen?"

I meet the confusion in Jax's gaze and shrug. "I don't know, but we better find out."

"Where's Zane? Are we going to get him?"

I shake my head. "No. He made his choice. I'm more interested in who's coming after the Toronto seethe."

"And how do we find that out?"

"Not how—where. I know a place where we can start."

Scottie

The next few hours are filled with heartbreaking images playing in an endless loop in my mind. I wake up crying more than once, the crushing pressure in my chest enough to stop my ability to breathe.

I miss my father. I miss him soul deep and the chasm of ache and emptiness the loss carves out inside me is incredible. It's dark and consuming and I swear it will swallow me up and I'll be lost forever.

Sleep is a fickle bitch, and moments of rest come in fitful snatches of time. Each time I wake, I'm more disoriented.

My body and mind seem separated by an ever-growing disconnection.

It's still nighttime—I can tell that from the darkness of the room—but it doesn't sound like my room.

I'm not in my apartment. Where am I?

The Toronto safe house.

Right. Then I can't be sure it's still night. Even if it was the middle of the day, the curtains wouldn't let light in here. Da created this hideaway for me, but we live in a world of vampires, so every precaution is accounted for.

He would never endanger Zane or Francesco.

Zane is safe inside these walls—unless the transitioned seethe finds us. If they have anyone within their ranks who is a daywalker, we could be in trouble.

Several of the Fondatori families can daywalk, but not the Vasaris. Whether by the gift of natural selection, a magical enhancement, or an enchanted ring, being free to walk the streets in the middle of the day is possible.

Rare… but possible.

As far as I know, the Vasari clan has never had that ability. Although, if I know my father, he looked into getting it for them. The thought of Da plummets me back into the dark chasm again.

I stir and groan. I feel like hell.

"Shhh, Scots, it's okay. I've got you." A gentle hand presses a cool cloth over my forehead, pulling me from the depths of a restless sleep.

Groggy and bleary-eyed, I blink against the darkness, trying to focus on the figure beside me. "Zane?"

"You're still bleeding," he whispers, his voice muffled and distant. "I need to close the wound and heal you."

I don't want that. Vampires have coagulation enzymes in their saliva to close the punctures when they feed. In a true-blooded vampire like Zane, it's powerful. There's no question that he could do it, but after what happened… it's too intimate.

"No. I'm fine." My voice sounds weak and slurred even to my own ears.

"You're angry and independent, but you're not fine. The sheets and mattress are soaked with your blood. It's either me or I'm calling an ambulance and taking you to the hospital."

"They'll find you."

"Then I'm your only option."

I'm about to protest, but panic flares in my chest. I'm in trouble. If our enemies were to break through the door right now, I couldn't lift my head, let alone fight to keep him safe. I can't fail Da on my first day as a Sacred Squire.

"Let me heal you, Scottie. Please."

I want to refuse, but the dizziness swaying my vision forces me to reconsider. I give him a reluctant nod, unable to muster the strength to argue.

Zane pulls back the covers gently, his touch surprisingly tender. The cool air of the room hits my heated skin, making me shiver. He carefully removes the makeshift bandaging I applied after my shower, then he curses.

"You should've let me do this earlier," he murmurs, his voice a mix of reproach and worry. "You're as stubborn as your father."

I can't argue with that.

I groan as a second damp cloth—this one incredibly warm—gently swipes across the planes of my belly and down my ribs to my hip. The contact is soothing the throbbing ache of the gash, but doing little to stem the flow of blood.

"Hold still."

If I had the energy, I would remind him I'm in no state to go anywhere. If I was, he wouldn't be about to press his mouth to my flesh.

The mattress dips as he leans closer, his warm breath giving me goosebumps as his tongue swipes over the exposed skin of my rib and hip. I think I hear him groan, but my head is spinning, and I might have imagined it.

Drugging pleasure leaches into my system and the ache and sorrow I've been drowning under for hours eases. His hand slides across the plane of my belly, his fingers splaying as he nuzzles and licks my wound. The sensation is erotic, and I fight to keep my heart in check.

This is about healing—nothing more.

When we were kids, it wasn't uncommon for him to lick my knee or suck on my finger if I got hurt while we were playing. It was no big deal. It wasn't even weird.

This doesn't feel like that.

With his body curled protectively over mine, the ebony silk of his hair brushes my navel as his tongue sweeps in languid strokes across my bare hip and side.

My eyes roll back as my hips raise to his attention. He slides his other hand under my butt, capturing me in his hold, locking me against his mouth.

A throaty groan vibrates against my skin, and a rush of heat hits my core. I'm so turned on… I can't help but…

No. Not again. Never again.

He broke me… my trust… my heart…

I fight the sensations and ignore how my cells tingle, how my blood warms, how my core thrums with kinetic anticipation… It's just a healing… means nothing.

This is a practical lifeline.

"Shh, Scots. Stop fighting me and let me take the pain away. Relax. I've got you."

I raise a heavy hand and rest it against his head, my fingers toying with the ebony silk. As his mouth moves over my ribs, his tongue strokes my flesh, and the pain of the gash is gone—replaced by pleasure.

All Fondatori royals have a gift that runs through their bloodline. Some can shift, others can fly. Some have command over one of the earth elements.

Francesco and Zane possess mind abilities… something to do with dream manipulation and telepathy. I'm not sure—because Zane never spoke of it—but being with someone every moment of your life, you pick up things.

On top of that, all true-blood vampires can call blood.

When he draws on his power, the answering call in my clit has me arching my back as my blood responds. The pain of the day is blocked out by a tidal wave of pleasure.

I need to stop this—to tell Zane to leave my pain intact.

I push that thought away. There has been pain lodged in my soul for so long, the absence of it is an exquisite relief.

His power is building and my blood sings in response. It makes me so sensitive it almost hurts. I need more, but it can't come from him.

Zane made his feelings crystal clear years ago. I am nothing more to him than a friend of convenience in a world where he wasn't free to go out and find his own.

And so I slide my hand down my belly and beneath the elastic of my underwear. I'm swollen and wet and the moment I make contact, fondling myself and running my fingers through my folds, I detonate.

I orgasm hard, every nerve ending within me lighting up. It might be the blood loss, but I'm pretty sure I exit the physical plane for a time.

Zane's fingers tighten against my skin, still pinning me down. He doesn't stop with his healing. He bathes the flesh of my hip, ribs, and belly until my wound is healed and my flesh knits back together.

As the pulsing waves of my orgasm recede, I close my eyes and let myself get lost in the peace within. Today was tied for the worst day of my life. We lost time because of the injury, but when I wake up, I'll be back in fighting form.

This was a sound tactical decision to get me on my feet again. Nothing more.

With the pain gone, I sink into the safety of his caress, rising to the surface of consciousness a few times before sleep finally claims me for good.

Today shattered my life.

Tomorrow won't be any better.

Zane

"No. Not again. Never again. He broke me… my trust… my heart…" As Scottie's words slip out in a mumbled whisper, I curse myself a hundred times over.

Such a fucking bastard.

We grew up being two sides of the same coin. We liked the same books and movies. We shared the same sense of humor, defiance, and need to seek mischief. We always imagined how our lives would look when I was king, and she was my queen.

And then came her twenty-first birthday.

I swallow, and the ambrosia of her blood coats my tongue the way it could have for the past seven years—the way it should have—if I had handled things differently.

She's the perfect match for me.

But I didn't want perfection. When the dark impulses of my coming of age broke open, I wanted to feed like an animal, to fuck like a beast, and to fight anyone who stood in my way, to ravage lovers and have their blood glugging down my throat.

As the heir to the seat of Toronto, I wanted to consume my world and live wild and free to do as I pleased. The beast within was hungry and violent, and I didn't want that part of me anywhere near Scottie.

And so, I rejected her.

I lick at the seam of her healing wound. It's knitting back together now, but I can't bear the thought of stopping. Instead, I call her blood and take her pain away… replace it with something better.

Tonight, she trusted me enough to heal her body, but I need to figure out how to heal her soul.

I broke her… her trust… and her heart.

Closing my eyes, I can see that night in perfect clarity. I returned to my suite after we'd all celebrated her birthday. She was waiting for me, standing at the foot of my bed. The spicy tang of her anxiety spiked the air as she opened her robe and revealed her blood-red panties and bra.

She was so fucking fearless.

It took a lot for her to offer herself to me—to officially cross the boundaries of our friendship. I'd flirted with the idea a million times, and we had always talked about the future as us being together, but she took the leap to make it happen—and I handled everything wrong.

I felt the beast inside of me growing and didn't want to ruin what we had. What if I lost control and hurt her? What if the wildness of my cravings for sex and fighting disgusted her? What if the ugliness of the vampire mafia touched her life? She was too precious for that—too precious to me.

And so, I did what I thought was right. I gathered the two sides of her robe and closed them to cover her up. I told her I loved her, but we were from different worlds. I was destined to be a vampire king, and she wasn't of my world.

She had never lived outside the walls of our compound.

She had the chance to have a different life.

She could be free.

She could travel and explore her interests and maybe there was someone out there who was better suited for her than me. Someone who wouldn't lose control and drain her life essence in a frenzy of hunger.

I thought I was sacrificing my happiness to give her the chance of finding her own. In reality, I was ashamed of who I was and afraid of ever seeing that shame reflected at me through her eyes.

I was a fucking coward.

As her body releases the last of its pain and tension, I ease back and watch her sleep. Bran transferred his duty to her and bound us—why?

Was Scottie right? Was Bran unsure of whom to trust given the betrayal within the compound? Or did he know that with him and my father dead, the two of us would need each other? That I will love her and protect her like no one else can. That I will raze the earth and bathe this city in blood before anyone ever hurt her again—including me.

Whatever his reasoning, Bran entrusted me with his daughter, and I will honor that trust from this day forward.

She might not know it yet or want it to be true, but before this is over, everyone will know—Scotland McCullough is mine.