Chapter 15
“What in the seven hells are you thinking,” Andras growls, "bringing Raziel’s daughter here?”
I grit my teeth. I have no desire to have this conversation. I didn’t even want to bring her home in the first place. And if I had known she was the Alpha’s daughter? I would have left her in the street to rot away with the ghouls.
“I hadn’t the slightest clue who she was when I made the call to bring her here.” I try to keep my tone even. Andras is already riled up; there’s no need to provoke him further.
“You knew she was a Watcher!” Andras yells, throwing a hand out to point back towards the common area.
He scrubs his other hand over his beard before grabbing a bottle of scotch and two tumblers from the drawer of his desk and pouring us each a finger.
He nods for me to grab mine before taking his own and downing it in one go.
I pick up the glass, but I have no desire to drink.
My ears haven’t stopped ringing since we returned home.
Narrow vision, shortening temper—all signs I'm far overdue to feed. I had every intention of taking care of it when we got back, but things happened so quickly and now here we are. I can barely concentrate on what he’s saying, barely focus on anything aside from the need for blood that is quickly taking over my body.
“Aamon,” Andras calls out. “Gods, boy, are you listening to me at all?”
“Y-yes,” I stutter, hating myself for revealing weakness to him.
Andras shakes his head, disappointment wrought in his features. “I don’t know what’s gotten into you lately. But you’re being sloppy.” He points at me, jaw clenching. “Reckless. You need to get your shit together before you make an irreparable mistake.”
My fists tighten at my sides, suddenly suppressing the urge to lunge at him.
It’s the blood, or lack thereof, making my emotions heightened.
Making me lose my control. He’s not wrong.
I am failing, in more ways than one. But his pointing them out for me to fix—as if I don’t see them too, as if I can see anything but them—sets me on edge.
He watches me for a moment, cocking his head. “You want to challenge me, boy?” He sets his empty tumbler glass down on the desk, folding his arms across his chest as a smirk tickles his lips.
“Stop calling me that,” I press, my anger building.
My nails grow to points, digging into the skin of my palms. I can tell by the tinge in the air that I’ve drawn blood.
He thinks so little of me. Isn’t even remotely threatened by my anger, despite how successful I’ve been for him in the rings.
Despite every order I’ve carried out for him, every life on my hands to protect what we have here. It’s all nothing to him.
But even as the urge to fight blooms within me, so does the magic that keeps me tied to him.
When I was too young to understand, I bound myself to Andras.
I was thankful to him, honored he wanted me that close.
I accepted the offering of his blood eagerly because I viewed him as a father, a savior, in those early days.
But time has shown what a mistake it was.
When a vampire accepts the blood offering of another, they are bound to them fully—the blood they take binding with their own and making them incapable of disobeying a direct order.
It’s a surefire way for Andras to keep his higher ranking members of the Blood Order loyal to him, no matter how far he goes.
His smile deepens, his head lifting the smallest amount as he catches the scent of my blood as well.
“Well, come on then.” He moves out from behind his desk to give me a direct shot at him.
Arms splayed wide, he stands and smiles at me.
He’s so full of pride, so sure that I wouldn’t take him on because of my rank, my respect for him as the Alpha.
As my father. Because of the magic currently fighting me to stand down.
And I hate how right he is. I let loose the tension in my fists, turning my head away to avert my gaze. Shame builds inside me, wrestling with the anger to take over.
He snickers, sauntering back over to the desk and pouring himself another drink. “I don’t know what you’re trying to prove by denying yourself the right to feed, Aamon. But you will never be a true threat to me so long as you punish yourself so.”
I don’t flinch, but gods do I want to. His words burn. Not because they aren’t true, but because I know he’s right.
I clear my throat, standing my ground but refusing to lift my gaze just yet. “What of the girl?” I ask.
I could admit to myself that I’d been drawn in by her—caught off guard. But it doesn't matter how intriguing she is, how much part of me calls to her. A male bloodbound to the service of the Blood Order—to the service of Andras—has only one allegiance.
Which makes the Daughter of the High Quarter Alpha my enemy.
Andras pauses for a long time, so long that I finally force myself to look back up at him. “Let her stay,” he says when I finally meet his gaze. His lips tip up to reveal a fang on one side. “For now.”
“Why?” I ask, unable to keep the defensiveness out of my tone.
“Why?” he repeats, chuckling. “Are you not the one that brought her here? I assumed you’d be happy with my gracious decision to offer her asylum.”
“Asylum?” I echo, confused. "Why would the daughter of the High Quarter Alpha need asylum? If anything, I thought you’d be anxious to get rid of her before her father finds out she’s here."
Andras places his hands on either side of the old wooden desk, atop the scattering of papers riddled with ungoverned district business. He leans in, lowering his voice as if he’s nothing more than a MidLand busybody sharing a seedy piece of gossip:
“My boy, who do you think brought her here in the first place?”
I storm down the hallway, towards the common room.
I need blood and the discussion with Andras has done little to distract me from that need.
Hunger has narrowed my vision so much that I can barely see through the fog of intent that has settled in my mind.
For a moment, duty fights with my more primal instinct to feed.
But first I need to warn them of what Andras shared, what we suspect.
That Evangeline is here as a plant by her father to collect information about the Blood Order.
I let my gaze sweep over the bodies littering the space, preparing the words, when it suddenly hits me.
Maybe it’s the lack of blood, but it takes me entirely too long to realize something is off. Sterling averts his gaze, something akin to shame blooming in his cheeks.
I give the suspicion no room to breathe as I turn, heading down the hallway towards Sterling’s bedroom. There’s voices behind me, footsteps too. But I don’t let them register. Instead, I walk right up to the door, am neither cautious nor careful as I throw it open and storm into the room.
She’s asleep in Sterling’s bed, or was. Now she’s waking with a start, gripping at the sheet and pushing herself as far back as she can against the headboard. I open my mouth to speak, but the scent lingering in the air hits me all at once.
There’s no fucking way.
I turn back towards the open doorway, where Sterling, Quinn, and Zeke are now trailing in. “You fucked her? Already?” I ask, exacerbated. I was posing my question towards Sterling, but Quinn’s the one opening his mouth to respond.
“Aamon, it’s not a big deal.” His hand is at the back of his neck in that annoying way it always is when he’s nervous.
“Actually, Quentin,” I say as I step up to them. “It is a big deal. We don’t even know why she’s here. So maybe you should spend five seconds using that fucking head of yours before jumping into bed with the daughter of our enemy!”
“Aamon.” Sterling puts his hands up, trying to get in between me and Quinn. “It wasn’t his idea, okay? It was mine. I thought it would help her settle some. I’m sorry, I didn’t think it would be an issue.”
I scoff. Because as much as I would love to believe that, I know Quinn.
He will use any excuse he can to fuck the closest thing that’s moving and consenting.
But then the thought occurs to me, and before I know what I’m doing, I’m facing the girl again.
They may have fucked her, but I know these boys too well to think they would have ever forced something on her. Which means she wanted it, too.
My movements are too fast for her to track and I’m beside the bed, looking down on her before her next breath.
She squeals when she finally cuts her gaze to my new position beside her, trying to scurry away like the prey she is.
But I like that. And suddenly I’m grabbing her arm and wrenching her up off the bed.
Quinn and Sterling step forward, but I throw up a hand, the only warning they will get to stay back.
“Since you seem rather interested in becoming so . . .” I cock my head to the side, watching the way her neck pulses as her heart rate spikes. “Intimate with the members of my club, I thought perhaps you’d like to tell them why you’re really here.”
“Aamon,” Sterling calls out, a quiet plea to let her go.
But it only makes me grip her tighter. She squirms beneath my grasp.
There’s a layer of irritation in her features, anger and frustration staring back at me as she claws my hand to get free.
But I can see the other emotions too. The pain, the fear.
“Tell them,” I command again. But she doesn’t listen, fighting harder to get away.
“Fuck you,” she spits, a fire burning in her amber eyes. A fire I want desperately to stoke.
“Fine, then I will.” I discard her on the bed, her form crumpling so easily I’m suddenly all too aware of just how weak she is.
“Evangeline here wasn’t just in our streets by chance,” I call out, turning back to the boys.
“Isn’t that right?” I ask her, plodding on before she can reply.
“No, she was brought here intentionally.” I shake my head, hating that we had played right into the trap.
“Left here by her father. To infiltrate the club and feed information back to him.”
“No,” she protests. "That's not—"
“Oh yes.” I turn back to her, leaning on either post at the foot of the bedframe. “Andras told me all about how your father drove you through the ungoverned district, practically parading you for all our people to see. Before he left you at the border of the WildLands.”
“You're wrong," she seethes through gritted teeth.
“But what I don’t understand is how either of you thought you’d get away with it.
” I cock my head, taking in the sight of her.
It does something to me, seeing her so weak and helpless, yet still so eager to fight.
My nostrils flare, eyes lighting with the hunger driving through my body.
My skin feels close to on fire, bloodlust spurring my anger on.
“Aamon, please. Let’s end this.” Sterling is talking behind me again, a grating noise that has me rolling my neck to suppress the urge to react.
“You really thought you’d just be able to waltz in here, fuck us, take whatever scraps of information you’d find in the process back to your father?”
“No,” she breathes out. Tears begin to fall and she swipes them away angrily.
Good. Let her crack.
“Well, I hate to break it to you, Angel.” I rush forward, jumping on the bed to cage her in as I wrap my hand around her throat and lift her against the wall.
I can feel her pulse, feel the blood flowing just beneath her translucent skin.
It would be so easy to break her. To take what I want and toss her away without a second thought.
I lean in and grin, intentionally revealing my fangs.
“But we don’t share Order business with High Quarter whores. ”
Sterling is on me in an instant, but I knew to expect him.
I could feel his temper, too. I drop her and spin just in time to catch his fist and push him back over the bed and into the wall.
But Zeke is there immediately, always Sterling’s defender.
He gets a punch in—the last thing I remember before my vision goes red.
I’m on him, fists flying, rage finally free.
He dishes just as much as he takes. Distantly I hear screaming, crying.
Something deep within me is calling out for me to end this.
To shut down whatever monster within me has taken control.
But all I can see is blood, and I won’t stop until it’s satisfied.
The smell of iron floods my senses and Zeke takes the opportunity to shove me off of him. I land against something firm. No, someone. And before I can protest, Quinn is wrapping his arm around me, shoving his bleeding wrist in my face.
I take it desperately, sucking down the offering.
He’s in my ear, whispering something, but I can’t make out what it is.
The only thing I know is this connection between me and him.
My crimson lifeline. It’s all that ever exists, what I spend my entire life obsessing over.
What I need, what I hate. What I can’t get enough of no matter how much I deny myself of it.
No matter how much I allow myself to consume.
My entire world, my entire existence. Everything I have ever been and will ever be is blood.