Chapter 4
ALEXANDER
Alexander’s night had certainly not gone as planned, and dragging himself home to Rothburn was the last thing he’d wanted to do.
Draining Aubrey wasn’t intended, but he’d been so starved by the time he’d arrived that his control had slipped unforgivably, and now a man he’d enjoyed spending time with over the last several months had paid the price.
He felt terrible about it – his control was nearly always impeccable, and he knew he’d be haunted by the vision of the light leaving Aubrey’s eyes for decades to come.
Guilt churned in his stomach over the loss of self-discipline.
He tried to shake himself out of it by blaming Tobias.
Barely five minutes with the man and he was lost in a way he never had been with any other conquest. Alexander had spent hundreds of years enjoying the sexual and romantic company of humans, but they were never more than dalliances given his father’s proclivities for using anything that Alexander cared about as leverage.
Besides, of course he could never spend a lifetime with someone who would age and die while he stayed young – it would raise too much suspicion within society, even if his spouse was cut in on the secret.
But now, with Tobias, he felt an inextricable pull, a total clouding of his mind that made it hard to think about anything else.
The scent of Tobias’ skin was still haunting him.
He was half aware that the attention he’d given to Tobias was verging on obsession already, which wasn’t like him.
At this point in his life, he should be able to stay level-headed, calm, not giving in to the passions that could so easily rule him.
It must have been a sign of his growing irritation with his father; his mind was desperately trying to latch on to something – anything – else.
At least Tobias made for an incredibly beautiful distraction.
This kind of loss of control that had killed Aubrey hadn’t happened since he’d been young, the bloodlust gripping him so much harder now than it ever did.
He’d behaved, at times, more like the rare made vampire than like Vladimir Damianos’ son.
Those made vampires always had to be put down.
They were too erratic, too bloodthirsty, and far too likely to imperil them all by ruining the secrecy that the vampire world hid behind.
But when Alexander acted the same way, Vladimir had just laughed, paraded his blood-covered son through the court, and crowed about how vicious his heir was.
Maybe his father would be far less displeased with him than he was now if he’d continued in that vein, as opposed to mastering most of his worst impulses.
He’d always tried to explain it off to Vladimir as the fact that you couldn’t be entertained by humans if you killed all the interesting ones straight away.
But truthfully, he felt utterly guilty ending the life of a person with hopes and dreams and a future, not when there was another way.
Not when he could drink just enough to live, while keeping his donor alive – and giving them pleasure in return.
Humans were deeply fascinating to him, their sorrows and joys and frustrations so much more acute than what vampires ever experienced.
Alexander couldn’t help but want to live vicariously through them, as a way to escape the monotony of an endless life with enough power and influence and money that nothing was ever truly hard.
Maybe that was why he was so into self-denial – it at least offered something of a personal challenge.
The empty acres of land in the Cotswolds flashed by, but he couldn’t even enjoy the rolling hills or any of the villages that he drove through.
Usually, he would at least admire the architecture of the jewel-box-like towns – many of which he’d watched being built – but his focus was shot.
Sighing, he turned onto the gravel drive of Rothburn and pulled up to the front door of the manor, a monstrously large thing in sandy coloured stone that was set in the middle of an enormous lawn, a fishing pond off to one side and the formal gardens off to the other.
Tossing his keys to a waiting servant, he somehow managed to drag his feet up the slick marble steps to the door.
Maria was standing right inside the entrance, waiting for him with crossed arms and an impatient expression mirrored on all the ancestral portraits that hung in the dark entranceway. “Do you even know the day I’ve had because of you?”
Alexander pinched his eyes shut. This was what he hated about Rothburn, the constant pressure of expectation and appearance, the way that politicking pressed in on every side.
If only he was brave enough to permanently leave the Damianos clan, and his father’s house.
“I take it my indiscretion didn’t go unnoticed? ”
Maria snorted. “Not by the girls I sent to clean it up. I owe the three of them favours on your behalf, as if that’s what I needed right now. This is a normal part of life, Alex. You should be able to take care of bodies yourself in the proper way.”
She had the same dark hair as him, which had been pulled into a chignon as severe as her attitude, but she’d gotten their mother’s eyes. Alexander had always marvelled at the way they went completely dark when she was angry, from an icy blue to a colour somewhere past navy.
Her recriminations made his stomach churn again at the way he’d lost control with Aubrey.
He couldn’t understand why the loss of control had made him continually imagine Tobias lying there with blank eyes and pale skin, another victim of Alexander’s loss of self-control.
And truthfully, he didn’t really want to think about it, because that image made him sick in a way that was hard to describe.
He tried to brush past her to go up the curved staircase that led to the second level, which housed the room he’d occupied while growing up and which he still stayed in most nights, at his father’s insistence.
But she put a surprisingly strong hand in the centre of his chest, stopping him from moving forward and then moving him bodily in the other direction, towards the south wing of the manor, where his father’s study was located.
The heels of his shoes slid forward on the parquet floor.
“And where do you think you’re escaping off to?” She was glowering at him, now. “You think that Father forgot what happened this morning? He’s waiting for you in the study, Alex. He sent me to make sure you got there.”
The pleasant buzz that the feeding and sex had left in his limbs vanished in half an instant, and he fought back the urge to put a hole in the red damask wallpaper.
He’d be lucky if his father didn’t insist on taking a taste of his blood, ostensibly to make sure that Alexander’s obstinance wasn’t because of some coup plot against him, but really just because it was a punishment that Alexander hated and which always made him feel sick and weak.
It was only Maria’s tugging on his favourite jacket, threatening to tear the weave with the tips of her acrylic fingernails, that got him moving forward.
The navy-painted walls of the hallway felt like they were closing in on him, the nearly identical faces of his family members – half of whom he suspected of being Vladimir dressed up in different outfits, just to fuck with them – staring at him with an intensity that could have stripped off his skin.
Anxiety made his body weightless, and not for the first time he hated how tense his father made him feel, and that it was only getting worse by the decade.
As Maria towed him up through the halls and into the wing of the mansion that housed his father’s study, curious eyes peeked out from the various rooms lining the hall and more than a few cell phone camera lenses flashed in Alexander’s vision.
He would have snarled at his father’s hangers-on, lesser members of the Damianos family and other vampires who had been absorbed into the clan, but the only thing worse than an embarrassing picture of him on social media was one where he was clearly irritated at being photographed.
Instead, he smoothed his features into the most neutral mask he could, counting the steps to the second level of the southern wing in groups of five to calm the frantic pace of his heart.
Incredible, really, how much of a hold Vladimir had over him, especially when he was forced to be in Rothburn.
When they reached the double doors at the end of the corridor, his sister practically shoved him into the arms of the steward waiting there.
The woman was nearly as ancient as his father, although the only sign of age was the faintest of creases around her eyes and a few strands of silver in her hair.
Her attitude, though, was clearly honed by centuries of dealing with Damianos family shite.
“Master Damianos.” Her voice could have broken glass with its sharpness. “Your father has been looking for you for quite some time. As his hours are precious, he would thank you to prepare for an immediate audience.”
“Fuck him,” Alexander replied, even as he stood up a little bit straighter and fixed the collar of his shirt. “He’s immortal. He has as many hours as he’d like. The man barely even sleeps anymore.”
It was clearly the wrong thing to say, because the steward’s fangs flashed at him before retracting. She managed to hiss at him even while opening the door, bowing, and saying, “Right this way, Master Damianos.”