Twenty-Seven
Marcus
Avalon collapsed into Varos’s arms, and Marcus leaned over to seal his bite. He went to the bathroom, dampening a cloth and returned to the room. Varos had moved to the couch, where Avalon sat clenching her thighs tightly. He could see how uncomfortable she was, so he hesitated on approaching. Lysander, however, took initiative. He grabbed the cloths from him and gently coaxed Avalon’s legs apart. She allowed him to clean her before he pulled her sweats back up her legs.
“Would you like me to run you a bath?” Lysander asked, helping her onto wobbly legs.
“I’ll just shower.”
“I was hoping that Marcus and Varos would allow me to steal you for dinner.”
“I didn’t know they weren’t invited to join us in the kitchen.”
All three of them grinned, and Avalon dashed from the room. Lysander followed her, refastening his towel around his waist. He and Varos stayed behind, both grinning from ear to ear.
How did they even deserve her? Never had he experienced anything like their relationship with her. And honestly, he never wanted to experience anything else. This was perfect—just as perfect as she was .
A little while later, he sat on the counter next to Avalon, watching her cut vegetables. She was quiet, though he could tell it was out of embarrassment rather than her being upset.
“I have a confession to make,” he admitted, his gaze crossing Varos’s before finding her again. While she took care of Lysander, they’d discussed coming clean to her about Troy. “But you might hate me afterwards.”
“You might condemn all of us,” Varos added.
“Keep me out of your fuck ups,” Lysander growled, slamming meat into the pan so hard that oil splashed over the sides.
“Fine—you might hate me and Varos. Lysander didn’t know about it until it was already done.”
“It would be nice if you told me so I can make up my own mind.” Her tone was reserved, but not rude.
“Troy is still alive, and we are holding him in a cell.” Avalon froze. Her eyes zeroed in on the tomato she’d intended to slice. He gave her a moment, then continued, “I beat him within an inch of his life after I saw what he’d done to you, but then I thought you might want your own revenge. So, I healed him.”
“We didn’t want to keep it from you any longer,” Varos added. “We don’t have to keep him alive, but we didn’t want to take the choice away from you. He hurt you, nearly killed you. Now you can decide his fate.”
“He did.” Her voice was heavy, her words making no sense. “He did kill me. I’m dead.”
“Technically yes,” Varos answered, with carefully considered words. “But you are alive and you can choose his punishment.”
There was a long silence in which Lysander was able to finish cooking his meal. Silently, he took her hand and guided her to sit next to him on the couch. Almost in a trance, she watched Lysander eat, sipping on a glass Varos had handed her.
He was relieved when she finally spoke.
“What can I do to him?”
“You can do whatever you like, but his end game is death. How long he lives—and what he has to live through —is entirely up to you.”
“What if I don’t want to see him again?”
“I’ll have a little fun with him before I drain and burn him. Maybe I’ll just let him burn alive—depends on my mood.”
With each word, Avalon’s eyes got wider. Then as she considered them, her eyes turned blood red and her fangs peeked out from behind the devilish grin forming on her lips.
“He’s yours, little dove. He lives and dies at your mercy.” He’d never seen this side of her, and though he’d promised to protect her from harming others, this was different. “You don’t have to make up your mind right now.”
Avalon nodded, stood, and set the empty glass in the sink before disappearing down the hallway. He heard the sound of her flopping down in her bean bag, then the page of a book flipping. Lysander retired as well, wiped out from his shift. A moment later, Varos did the same. He was left alone with his worried thoughts. He listened to Avalon. Though she’d grabbed a book to read, she hadn’t turned a single page. He hadn’t meant to upset her, but he knew that keeping that secret could be a death sentence to their relationship.
Eventually, he couldn’t help himself. He stood up and went to the library, his body drawn to her like a magnet. He hesitated—briefly—before walking over, scooping her up into his arms, then laying down on the beanbag with her.
“We don’t need to talk,” he said. “I just want to hold you.”
Avalon set the book aside and nuzzled into his neck. His hand slipped under her shirt, drawing circles on her silky skin, his thoughts calming with every passing second.
“What would you do?” Her voice was raspy, and he wasn’t sure if it was from thirst or because she’d been quiet for so long.
“I would enjoy making him suffer. But I’m a fucked-up bastard so I wouldn’t recommend it for you.”
“Does he know I’m alive?”
“We let him assume for a while, then we told him. He could also think we’re just messing with him.”
“What will happen if I see him?”
“You might lose control. The thirst will enhance your blind rage.”
“So, I’ll kill him?”
“You might, but we will only let that happen if that’s what you want.”
“You can stop me?”
“We can.” He knew it would be hard, but he would let her rip him apart if necessary. Her innocence was precious to him.
“I might hurt you too.”
“I think we can handle a few scratches.”
“You’re downplaying it,” she scolded but didn’t move away from him. In fact, she sought out more of him, slipping her fingers beneath his shirt. Her hand paused over his frozen heart as if she could still feel its beat.
“I am, but if it keeps you from killing, I’ll let you butcher me. I’ll heal again after all, he won’t.”
“I want to hurt him like he hurt me, make him pay because thinking of it all makes me furious . But I don’t know if that is what I want .” She sighed with annoyance spilling into her next words. “I know that doesn’t make any sense. I just don’t know how else to explain it.”
“You want him to pay, but you aren’t sure you want to do that. If you want to see him suffer, I’m happy to get my hands dirty.”
“So, this wouldn’t be new to you.”
“As I said: I can be a sick bastard.” Avalon’s silence made him feel guilty for not sharing his past, but he had his reasons. He had blood on his hands—and he’d enjoyed it. “I want to tell you who I am. Especially since you’ve been so open with me. I’m just afraid you’ll resent me.”
“I guess torturing and holding people prisoner is part of that? ”
“Yes.”
“I won’t judge you or run away. Maybe before I would have been afraid of you, but I have a feeling I could hold my ground now.”
“I would never hurt you.”
“I know you wouldn’t, but just a few weeks ago it would have haunted me that you would’ve been able to do it.”
“Now you’ll just kick my ass while Lysander and Varos cheer you on,” he chuckled, the image far too vivid in his mind.
“If you want to share your past, I will listen.”
He sighed, then relented. “Before the lycans caught me, I was an assassin for my maker—the one who turned me. Vampires used to live in clans. Though they still exist, clans aren’t as present now. The New World is making it harder to hide so we don’t act as vicious and brutal as we did then. He turned me for that reason. He wanted someone he could groom to his will, to be his trusted blade.”
“Why you?”
“Because I was already full of hate. Even as a human, I had been raised to fight–to kill. I was born as a slave, trained to entertain the rich and free in arenas. I learned quickly that my life was worth nothing to them. After I had turned, Lorell allowed me to take down my previous masters. I hunted, drained, and killed them in the most gruesome way one could imagine. I only agreed to be freed by Lysander because he allowed me to make his family pay.”
“If not, you would’ve just stayed in captivity?”
“Gladly so.”
“Why are you different now?”
“The older I got, the more I could manage my anger. Varos and Lysander are quite peaceful beings, so I guess they rubbed off on me.”
“They do say old age calms people,” Avalon giggled.
He snorted. “You didn’t think I was old a few weeks ago.” Then he sobered. “Varos and I still hunt occasionally. That’s when I see a shadow of my old self again.”
“Thank you for sharing that with me.”
“So what date should I mark for you to leave me?”
“I’m not leaving you. I guess we’re all different. It’s odd because I still think in terms of human laws and societal expectations, but you grew up in another world. You’re also not human— we’re not human—so can I really judge either of us as I would have before? Probably not. I just need time to wrap my head around everything. The fact that the whole world bows at my feet still overwhelms me.” Avalon stood, but not before kissing him on the cheek. “Don’t move.”
A few moments later, she returned with two glasses and curled back up in his lap, settling in for the night.