Chapter 17
Igo straight to the fridge, grabbing a bag of blood and not even stopping to close the door before marching right up to Aamon and shoving it at his chest.
“Eat,” I order. And there’s shock in his eyes.
He’s not used to taking orders from me. Nor am I used to dishing them out.
But he’s out of control. And if it was anything else, I’d let him work it out on his own.
Let him tear apart the whole fucking Blood Order for all I care.
But I can’t stand to see what he’s putting himself through.
It’s been Aamon’s battle for as long as I can remember, punishing himself for a nature he didn’t choose. Like he’s ashamed of what we are.
Me? I revel in what the Arcane gave me. I was dying inside the MidLands. An orphan on the streets, fighting to find my next meal, or even a shelter to sleep in. I was nothing. No one.
But then I was touched by the Arcane and I’d never tasted a power so sweet, so strong. I didn’t even wait for Raziel and the Watchers to find me and exile me. I left the city on my own—willingly walked into the lion’s den in hopes they would accept me.
I was young, but not as young as Aamon was when he joined the Blood Order.
He was my saving grace. Andras and his club would have thrown me out without spending even a second worrying over the decision.
Or killed me for having the audacity to show up here at all.
But Aamon and I found something within each other.
It was the first time I think either of us knew such a thing could exist. An opportunity to not feel so alone, an opportunity for friendship unlike anything we’d ever had before.
And for whatever godsforsaken reason, Andras listened to him. Let me in.
And now Evangeline is here and I can already tell Aamon has caught her scent.
Whether he will admit it or not, he’s drawn to her.
And the idea of that excites something in me.
It feels like it did all those years ago when I showed up on his doorstep.
Like there’s an opportunity here that I can’t let pass.
And I won’t let him burn whatever this could be to the ground before we even give it a fucking chance.
I fight the urge to wince at the thought, hating how one girl has worked her way under my skin so easily and in such little time.
Half a fuck and I’m already hooked. I need more, I crave it.
There’s something about her, something unlike I’ve ever tasted before.
Sterling senses it too. I can tell by the way he’s already glued to her side, how he’s so protective over her despite only knowing her for half a day.
And I’m wondering for the first time in a long time if we could maybe have something worth building here. Something different.
Aamon’s shock gives way to irritation as he stares me down. But he must see the intent in my eyes because he doesn’t argue as he takes the bag and tears into the plastic. Blood trickles over the sides as he sucks it down, marking his fingers and dripping onto the carpet.
“Happy?” he asks when he’s done, letting the ripped bag fall to the floor.
His lips and teeth are stained crimson, and he sneers, giving me a perfect view.
My eyes hook on the sight and I lick my lips.
“Or would you prefer I drain the whole fucking fridge?” He steps forward, letting his form loom over me—despite the fact that we are nearly the same height.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” I ask, shaking my head.
“You want me to play nice? To not inhibit your opportunity for a piece of ass, Quentin?” He cocks his head in challenge. But I don’t back down. “My apologies if Order business takes priority over your extracurriculars. Go find a different whore to fuck within the Market Ebon.”
My eyes flare wide, my body tensing as I try to resist taking his bait. “Bullshit. This isn’t Order business, Aamon. This isn’t some intricate plot to infiltrate our ranks. This is your fucked up head making problems where there are none.”
My gaze cuts to Zeke. He’s taken up residence against the wall that opens up into the common room from the hallway, no doubt waiting for Sterling to join us. “Tell him I’m right,” I urge him. But I know it’s a lost cause. Zeke isn’t the kind to get involved in this shit.
“This is none of my business,” he drawls, unbothered. He doesn’t even look up at me when he answers, and I roll my eyes in frustration.
“Quinn,” Aamon half growls, half yells, bringing my attention back to him.
“She’s the daughter of the High Quarter Alpha.
We throw her out, we lose a valuable opportunity to learn more about Raziel’s network.
We accept her, we risk being played by the High Quarter Alpha.
Or worse, we risk his anger when he realizes his daughter suffered at the extent of our carelessness.
Not to mention the reaction of the ungoverned district when they find out we are housing the daughter of our number one enemy.
Meanwhile all you can think about is how you can fuck her.
This is the definition of Order business and I won’t let you and Sterling fuck up such a delicate situation because neither of you know how to keep it in your pants. ”
I fold my arms over my chest, narrowing my gaze at him.
“Do you truly think Raziel would willingly send her here? What, to fuck us? To spy on us? To sneak around on the off chance she can find anything worthwhile out and somehow smuggle it back to him? After everything their kind has done to not interact with ours?” I shake my head, scoffing. “Even you can’t be that thick.”
I turn to walk away, but jolt forward as his hands come down on me.
His strength is fueled by the blood now pumping through his body, his appetite momentarily sated enough to give him the ability to focus his power elsewhere.
I fly forward, sprawling out on the ground, and turn to glare back up at Aamon, bewildered. “Did you just fucking shove me?”
“So what if I did?” He shrugs.
“You are such a child, Aamon,” I seethe.
Aamon opens his mouth to argue, but he doesn’t get the chance. I blink, and Sterling is suddenly on him, rabid.
“Sterling!” I shout. And even Zeke has left his spot on the wall, rushing forward to pull him off Aamon.
Or perhaps to lend Sterling a hand. I can’t tell.
Either way Sterling is wailing on Aamon, throwing punch after punch and pinning him to the wood panel wall at the far end of the common space.
Aamon should be able to break free easily, should be fighting back at all. But he isn’t.
“You foolish, arrogant ass!” Sterling’s hands wrap around Aamon’s throat.
Aamon’s eyes cut to mine over Sterling’s shoulder as I jump to my feet, and I can tell in the look that passes between us he doesn’t want me to intervene.
And normally I would oblige, normally I would rely on the fact that Aamon hasn’t met a creature he couldn’t take down in a fight.
But the way he’s refusing to lift a finger, to raise a fist, has my gut churning.
“Sterling,” Zeke growls under his breath in warning. He’s beside him now, just off to the side. His eyes flicker between Sterling and Aamon, trying to decide which he should go after.
“You don’t harm her again, do you understand me, Aamon? You do not fucking touch her.”
Alarms ring in my mind. While Aamon may have placated me and my order for him to feed, I know he won’t extend the same courtesy towards Sterling.
They aren’t blood bound and Sterling has no business trying to give our leader an order like that.
The four of us are close. As close as members of the Blood Order can be.
But there’s a hierarchy we follow, one that vampires take rather seriously.
And Sterling just got Aamon’s full attention by disrespecting it.
And sure enough, that’s all it takes for Aamon to send Sterling flying.
He soars backwards, landing hard atop the coffee table and shattering the wood beneath his force.
“Don’t you fucking dare tell me what to do,” Aamon spits.
He lands a challenging look at Zeke, knowing the male is debating standing up for Sterling.
But to my surprise, Zeke doesn’t move. Just clenches his fists at his side as he fixes Aamon with the same bitter glare.
Sterling struggles to get up, crawling out of the pile of old, splintered wood and dragging himself back to his feet. “She’s not here to spy on us,” he says through ragged breaths.
I lift my hands, gesturing towards his bent over form as I look at Aamon. “Thank you!”
“It doesn’t matter,” Aamon scoffs. “Regardless of her reasoning for being here, the situation is delicate and needs to be handled as such. As in we aren’t fucking the girl.
” He has blood trickling down the side of his face, his own breath heavy from the beating he let Sterling give him.
“You’re as delusional as Quinn if you think you can talk your way into me letting you near her again. ”
But Sterling shakes his head, swallowing hard as he straightens and pinches his eyes shut. “You don’t get it. She was attacked, you asshole.”
The room goes quiet, the three of us waiting for him to explain. But I already know I’m going to hate the next words out of his mouth.
“Her father, he . . . exiled her. For being raped. Or nearly so.” He takes slow, calculated steps toward Aamon.
“By our kind. We did that to her. And now she has no home. Because her father left her at that border to die.” He lifts his bloody hand, pointing a finger towards the direction of the WildLands.
“And you have the audacity to attack her, to spit your accusations at her face and wish her harm before even giving her the chance to explain.”
Aamon takes several moments to respond, Sterling standing in the middle of the common room with his hand raised like some sort of bloody omen. Finally, Aamon steps up to Sterling, setting his hand against his arm and lowering it.
“We did nothing, Sterling. We do nothing. This isn’t our problem to fix.”
Sterling bristles, taken aback as if Aamon has just slapped him.
And he may as well have. The words that roll off his tongue are so simple, so clean.
But they are sharp as steel, as cold as ice.
And I know we are talking to Aamon, the leader of the Blood Order.
The son of the ungoverned district Alpha.
The hardened fighter that was raised in this life and conditioned not to bat an eye at such violence.
Not Aamon, our friend, our brother. Not the Aamon I’ve shared females with and watched let loose in the Market Ebon or bask in the feel of a bike beneath him and the wind in his face.
“Nothing?” Sterling whispers. There’s heat in his cheeks, fire in his eyes. “Is this not our job, Aamon? To ensure peace remains amidst the ungoverned district? To keep vermin like whoever attacked her from walking our streets?”
“Order,” Aamon responds.
“What?” Sterling is frenzied, wild. His hands are in the air, his feet shuffling as if he’s trying to stop himself from throwing another punch.
“We ensure order. We take care of our kind. We keep the district running smoothly and currency coming in.” Aamon’s voice drops a level, a piece of that predatory creature within slipping out to reveal itself.
“We do not play savior for pretty little girls that had no business being within our territory to begin with.”
Sterling shakes his head. “I cannot believe you. You are better than this, we are better than this!”
“You do not speak for the Order,” Aamon sneers, stepping right up to Sterling.
“But since you seem so keen on giving orders . . .” He reaches up to wipe away a drop of blood on Sterling’s forehead from where he hit the table.
“I will reiterate yours.” He smears the blood between his thumb and his index and middle finger, before wiping it on the collar of Sterling’s shirt.
“Do not touch her again without my say-so,” he says at last, talking down his nose to Sterling.
He turns his head slightly, to look first at Zeke, then at last to me.
“Is that understood? No one fucks her, no one so much as touches her without my permission. Not until we figure out what happened and why she’s here. ”
“I’ve already told you—” Sterling starts, but Aamon holds up a hand, cutting him off.
“My order stands.” And without another word, he steps past Sterling, through the room.
He pauses only to fix me with a glare that is laced with threatening intent, drilling home the severity in his order.
He lifts his shirt, using the material to wipe away the blood still dripping down his face, and then disappears into the dark halls of our home.