Page 25

The sound of scraping chairs and rushing feet filled the room as prime and vamps rushed out to start the game that was only a precursor to the nightly orgy that would ensue.

Amaros got up and started in the opposite direction of the lusty herd.

“Sire.” Marceline, who, a moment ago, was at the far end of the table, now stood before him. The wisp of black smoke dissipating let him know she had teleported, not simply moved in a flash to get in front of him.

Coming up short, he stared at her. Waited.

“Where are you going? The fun of the evening is just getting started.” She set a hand on his shoulder and dragged it down the front of his suit jacket.

They had not allowed the disaster of the catastrophes to alter their dress style. From the time they woke, they clothed themselves as if they were on their way to a formal affair. It was why vampires enjoyed the nineteenth century, all its glorious trappings that accompanied the apparel.

“I’m not in the mood for games tonight.”

“If you’d like, I can give Ciaran the lead for the game and join you for something more private.” She angled her head to the side and leaned a little closer. “You’ve had that look in our eyes for a few days. Let me help ease it.”

When his Vices’ hand continued over his abdomen and flirted along the top of his slacks, fingering the fastenings with no sign of stopping, he grabbed her wrist tight. “Or anything else.”

With a slow-arched brow, she stared at him. “What is wrong? Conversation between us has always been easy. It is why we have worked so well guiding this coven side by side.”

Side by side. Hm .

He could correct Marceline and remind her that he was the Leader and that she was his second and not his equal.

Fuck, most of the vampires under the massive roof had been a Leader of their coven on one of the continents before human errors brought them all together.

Because of that, all seven leaders fought for two solid weeks until he’d reigned victorious as the Leader.

During the battle, he’d carried Marceline, his final adversary, high into the rich, lavender sky above the space where planes had once flown only to drive her back to the ground, the impact shattering her spine and skull.

He’d reigned victorious but tended to Marceline, his most fierce competitor, over the next few weeks until she had healed completely. They’d talked for long hours during that time and had become friends.

“Nothing. And everything,” he admitted honestly. Amaros released her and stepped back, allowing more space between them. “The next council meeting is coming up soon, and it weighs on me.”

“Because of the rogue wolf or the lack of mates.”

He waved her question about the wolf away. Chanin would sort that all out. “Without mates, we can’t grow. If the humans ever decided to push beyond their boundaries, I want our coven to be ready and strong.”

Marceline guffawed. “We are vampires. No human can beat us. A stake in the heart is a tickle, and I eat garlic sauteed with my first meal of the day.”

She was correct; it was damn near impossible for a human to end the life of a vampire, not without a silver-coated sword and decapitating them.

“Our strength is more than just our abilities but numbers, too. It has been over two centuries since the last mate was turned.” Amaros hated to admit that out loud.

It meant he had to reconcile himself with the fact that a single one of the marked humans would be a blood mate to any of the nine leaders, which was next to impossible—a Pegasus sighting.

“Primes can fight,” she declared, setting her fists on her hips.

“Yes.” He didn’t feel that anything more needed to be said.

Changing a human soldier into a prime would only take a quick bite and a few hours.

Primes were not just for feeding and slacking lust, but because of the vampire blood in them, they were three times stronger than a human, but a stake to the heart would kill them.

He stepped around her and started toward the door down the hall from the dining room.

“Where are you going? Can I at least get that much since you have blocked me from your mind, Amaros?” Pouting didn’t sound good coming from a fem vamp as fierce as Marceline.

He kept his thoughts to himself. He didn’t want a fight tonight, even if it would help expel some of his gut-wrenching chaotic energy.

“I’ll walk the catacombs and perhaps see the sunrise from the top of Mount Logan.”

Marceline sighed and came from behind him. “I’ll have a prime in your chambers when you return.”

He knew his Vice said it because of the body of water now covering the northwest of Canada.

He could only get to the mountaintop by teleportation.

Teleporting any distance was draining, even if a vampire fed a great deal beforehand.

Since he’d only consumed a sparse amount of pig blood that night and wasn’t partaking in the games, he would be wiped when he got back.

With a raise of his hand as thanks, Amaros left the dining room for the stairs that led to the path below the above-ground residence.

He didn’t know how much longer he could take the unease that resided inside of him.

The disturbance within him that broiled and stirred at the root of his soul.

Even though the myths of the humans argued they didn’t have one.

Vampires were a creation of the Great Spirit, a type of earthly angels, and they had been placed on earth, one on each continent, to protect humanity.

In return, the angels blessed each vampire with a single mate.

The heavenly angels would tinge the core of a unique child’s blood of a child at birth with a trace of vampire.

Over the centuries, humans had grown exceptionally and became villainous in their actions. It was often hard for vampires to determine who they protected humans from.

As Amaros took the stone stairs two at a time down into the deep, dark caverns, he was sure about one thing: if he didn’t find peace soon, he’d go mad.

~YH~

She wanted to die. Everything inside her wanted to shut down on her with every step she took.

She couldn’t take it. The gnawing, aching, spine-splitting pain made her hope to die.

Her insides were on fire and consuming everything inside of her.

Every step she took was a struggle to end her, bring her to her knees, to the ground, and snuff out her very existence.

Not for the first time, she wondered why she had not stayed in the small room in the lab and allowed death to claim her.

It would have been better than the agony of hope that fleeing had caused.

Back at the lab, when she heard her roommate struggling as some weak-minded asshole attacked her, Mich had mindlessly grabbed her metal tray and struck out at the dark shadow hovering over the other bed.

But now, the reserved fight that had helped her flee with her friend and get them away was gone.

It was the reason she’d urged Ava to go her own way.

She didn’t want to slow her roommate’s escape down, so she convinced Ava that it would be best for them to split.

Michaela didn’t lie to her roommate. If they released the evil that she’d glimpsed, it would have to choose which of them to follow.

Mich knew it would be her. She had what it wanted, what they wanted.

She would save Ava’s life and allow her friend to survive even though neither of them knew what lay in the wilderness beyond the Wall.

As she’d traveled further and further away from the human compound, all she’d seen was what appeared to be a wild, uninhabitable landscape.

The trees, which they had none inside the wall.

They had all been cut down and used for one purpose or another, leaving the land between shanty homes, rusted-out buildings, and broken shops a barren wasteland—a hopeless sight.

Now, the vegetation around her was dense, but it was still lush and vibrant in color.

Proof of the lies their government propagated about what lay beyond the wall.

Leaflets and flyers littered the streets of the Dispatch district with warnings about crazed, half-human, animal-like people who ate their way through the dead to survive the wars and natural disasters, that those people were vicious, untamed cannibals who were starving and lie in wait to cease anyone stupid enough to travel beyond the wall.

Then call me stupid.

Her government had filled her body with death, and she welcomed anyone who would take her out of her misery.

She groaned and clutched at her stomach, balling the thin, cloth gown in her fist. Each shuddered breath took an effort until even that was excruciating, and she stopped.

She held her breath and tried to lock her body down, resisting the gripping pain.

Pressing her lids closed, she sightlessly reached for the large tree beside her, towering over her.

When she made contact with the rough bark, she dug her nails into it and felt a bit of pain as slivers of the tree burrowed under her nails.

She welcomed the outside agony and attempted to focus on it instead of the searing that sliced through her belly and tried to drag her to her knees.

Her whole body quaked, and sweat no longer beaded on her skin but rolled down in rivers and streams, making her skin slick and sensitive.

It caused the thin hospital gown to irritate her—chafing her skin.