20. Rowan
TWENTY
ROWAN
“Cris.” Rowan wasn’t even sure if the word was audible. His sire was here. How? He’d burned the man a century ago.
Rowan hadn’t cut him open to check his heart, but the entire manor had burned to the ground around him.
There was no way he hadn’t been completely charred.
Except here he stood, the same as ever, beautiful and cruel, no emotion on his face, his golden brown skin flawless and hair styled, regal even in grimy clothes.
The modern garb was disorienting, but of course, Cris would be dressed to blend in. He’d always been exceptional at fooling everyone around him. Rowan had been thoroughly taken in at first.
“Wondering where I’ve been?” Cris moved closer at a lazy pace, like he had all the time in the world.
Where were the others? Rowan should grab Lane and run, but he didn’t move. Why had Cris waited so long to make his survival known?
Lane’s magic flared, catching Cris’s attention.
He cocked his head in Lane’s direction, his eyes cold and calculated. “A pet witch? You killed one of mine. Tsk, tsk. Upsetting me as you always have—Stop it!” The last words were a shout, sudden and violent. “Cast that spell, and I’ll have them all killed.”
“Who?” Lane demanded, much surer than he’d been facing the Hillman witch.
“All Rowan’s lackeys.” Cris waved a flippant hand.
Lane turned in the direction indicated, but Rowan couldn’t look away from his sire. It was never smart to let his attention wander when Cris was in a killing mood.
Lane’s muttered curse didn’t bode well. Rowan only had to wait a beat until Cecile was dragged into view, unmoving in the arms of a damned Orlov vampire whom he’d sent packing nearly a year ago.
Cold rage broke Rowan from his stupor. What was that human-trafficking piece of trash doing in his city? He must be the sole survivor after the cursed coven’s last attempted resurgence failed.
“F-Father?” Lane’s voice broke.
At the sound of his distress, Rowan whipped around. There was Marshall Blackburn, staring dumbstruck at Lane. He held Jack, limp and unconscious, between himself and a man Rowan didn’t recognize.
“Get moving!” Cris shouted.
The unfamiliar man dragged Jack forward in a rush, jolting Marshall into action. He stumbled forward, moving like someone had knocked him over the head, his eyes locked on his son.
Lane had said Marshall hadn’t known he’d tracked the Hillmans to Shearwater Landing. Had Lane’s mere presence shocked him? He better not have known about the plan Lane nearly died to uncover, or worked alongside these men, thinking they’d killed his son.
Cris’s voice boomed. “No spells, witch, or we’ll rip out Rowan’s vampire-grunts’ hearts. Temporarily dead is better than the alternative, eh, Rowan?”
His attention returned to the greatest threat. The times Cris had killed him temporarily flashed across his mind. His fits of rage. The pain and soul-deep betrayal.
“What do you want?” Rowan ground out, fearing the answer was obvious. Cris wanted him, and Rowan might have to let him win. If he could get Cris to believe he’d given in, let the monster take him away, it would put Lane and the others out of danger.
“What do you care about what I want?” Cris scoffed. “I don’t need you, Rowan. I’ll get what I want without you. Well. Not completely. You, broken and dying, is part of it. Will you give it to me?”
Worthless, good for nothing. Cris’s voice echoed in Rowan’s mind, a combination of countless memories. You’re lucky I keep you alive. You’re a—
Rowan shut his mind to the onslaught of old abuse, his heart hardening. He didn’t believe the awful things Cris said about him and didn’t care if Cris wanted him dead. The feeling was mutual.
“If that’s all you want, where have you been the last hundred years?”
Cris’s dark eyes flashed orange. “Where have I been? How dare you? I’ve been suffering because of you.”
“From a little fire?” Rowan’s voice was so cold, it sent a shiver down his own spine. Beside him, Lane sucked in a sharp breath.
Rowan pressed closer to Lane, moving slow, so as not to draw attention.
He had to buy time to allow Evangeline and Kai to get into position, not pretend to give in.
This wasn’t over. He’d stand by Lane and protect him at all costs.
His sire was not standing in the way of his happiness, not even for a minute, not even as a ruse.
Never again.
“A little fire?” Cris’s eyes flared, his face flushed with rage.
“I was burned to a crisp. Thank all that’s damned the spells cast around my heart and brain saved me.
You weren’t aware of my protections, were you, you fool?
My limbs were charred to ash. Nothing left.
My body… Do you have any idea the agony it was to heal?
” A slow, deadly smile smoothed out Cris’s anger.
“Perhaps I’ll show you. Burn you as you did me.
Then I’ll bury you in the ground so you can’t feed even after your broken bits stitch themselves back together. ”
Rowan’s stomach dropped, leaving him impossibly hollow. Was that what had happened? Had someone from the village buried what was left of Cris’s body?
Without blood, healing such extensive wounds would have taken years.
Perhaps decades. He’d have been far worse off than Emile if only protective spells had saved him.
Even when Cris’s body finally healed, he’d have been starved to the point of madness, his strength diminished to almost nothing, trapped underground and doomed to suffocate to death and come back to life, slowly scratching his way to the surface bit by bit.
It was the kind of horror that turned eternal life into a curse. A fate worse than death. But Cris deserved it. He deserved a century of torture for what he’d forced upon Rowan, and he deserved worse for all the unfortunate souls he’d killed and discarded.
“I wonder how long you’d take to heal,” Cris mused. “And when you finally crawl from the earth, I’ll be waiting. To do it all again.”
Cecile stirred, and the Orlov vampire snapped her neck, smirking at Rowan as she was rendered temporarily dead once more. “Doesn’t look like this is your city any longer. This is the end of the Valeros.”
Rowan clenched a fist, his fangs lengthening. “You sure?”
Cris charged forward with a snarl, and Rowan shoved Lane behind him with lightning speed. To the side, a blur of motion flickered, and Evangeline tackled the Orlov vampire with a scream, plunging her hand into his back and tearing out his heart.
She threw the bloody organ at Cris, her eyes glowing bright with fury. Cris stopped short and turned with a hiss. In a rush, Marshall dropped Jack and lunged for the other man who’d been holding him. Light flashed as spells burst through the air. It was chaos.
Rowan tackled Cris, taking him out at the knees. Bones cracked as he hit the concrete floor, but it didn’t hinder Cris, who whirled on Rowan faster than he could react, and snapped his wrist.
The pain was nothing. Rowan bared his fangs in a roar and clawed at Cris’s eyes with his good hand, as his other wrist healed. There was a sound of a neck snapping somewhere behind him, then Lane’s shout.
Cris’s hateful hands closed around Rowan’s throat.
An overwhelming sense of loyalty crashed into Rowan, and he stilled.
He couldn’t hurt this man. He owed Cris everything.
What was he doing? Emotion swelled within Rowan, sick and twisted, but more potent than anything he’d ever experienced.
He loved Cris. Every cell in his being screamed this truth at him.
Rowan went limp, and Cris chuckled in his ear. He had Rowan right where he wanted him, flooding him with burning shame so potent he could hardly think.
This was why he’d had to catch Cris by surprise to kill him.
He’d set a trip wire and lay in wait. That act of defiance was excruciating enough on its own, taking a mental toll as Rowan’s intent to end his sire raged against the loyalty in his blood.
But it had done the trick. The trap had rendered Cris temporarily dead and set off an explosion.
He’d burned Cris without having to lay a finger on him.
Rowan couldn’t fight when Cris asserted his control, even when the truth lived deep within his soul. He didn’t love this monster, no matter what Cris forced him to feel, but the illusion Cris created was so strong that Rowan was helpless to act against it.
Lane roared somewhere in the distance, and Cris jolted on top of Rowan. His eyes went wide, and the barrage of emotion cut off. Cris slumped, and there was a sickening sound. Blood appeared at the corners of Cris’s mouth and ran down his chin.
Rowan gasped for air, his vision blurring.
Lane rolled Cris off him. “Rowan!” He cupped his face. “You’re okay. I’ve got you.”
Rowan shook like a leaf in a thunderstorm. Was Cris dead? Was it over? Words wouldn’t form. He couldn’t even move. What was happening?
“I’ve got you,” Lane said, smoother now. “I’ve got you. You’re safe.”
He was? Everything within Rowan was scattered, broken pieces everywhere. His ears rang. Blood roared through his veins, but Lane’s voice cut through it all and pulled him back, telling him he was safe again and again.
Rowan gripped the front of Lane’s shirt, and Lane smiled so sweetly it hurt.
The pain allowed Rowan to focus. His gaze fell on Cris’s crumpled form. Had Lane ripped out his heart? He couldn’t see it anywhere, and Lane’s hands were clean. A long, bloody metal shard lay nearby, and Rowan’s blood ran cold.
Cris might be temporarily dead, his emotional attack interrupted, but this wasn’t over. Why the hell couldn’t Rowan make his tongue work? He had to warn Lane!
Cecile marched over and kicked Cris onto his stomach, peering at the wound Lane had inflicted. She caught Rowan’s eye. He couldn’t reply, but didn’t need to. She’d take care of this. Between Lane and his coven, Rowan would be all right.
“Hold him for me,” Cecile said to the others.