She was, after all, my greatest weakness.
Rowena ran in front of me, grabbing my arm and digging her nails into my skin as she sought my attention. “I get it, brother, I really do. I’m just as worried about what could happen, but Calia is smart and resourceful.”
“This has nothing to do with beingsmart,” I snarled, ripping her hand away and storming past. Power rippled through my blood, and I felt the maelstrom of rage fighting for control. I never understood why I was like this. Why my emotions took over, blinding me to everything save for rage. I possessed no logic, no rational thought. I allowedfeelingsto make my choices, and those choices nearly always ended with bloodshed.
My mother certainly never cared—forcing me further into that darkness with each abuse rained down upon my flesh.
But I would let my emotions guide me now, holding the line between complete madness and utter desperation and hoping itwould be enough to ensure Calia’s safety. Maybe it would be, because now one of the emotions was love.
I paused, turning to face my sister. “Leonora will stop at nothing, Rowena. You know it just as well as I.” A combination of the two was sure to spell disaster. She had shown her hand and had nothing left to lose. “Do not ask me to sit by in hopes the others are enough to stop her.”
She took a step forward. “And what would you do if I did?”
Was I in any shape to take on the full force of our mother? Of course not. I knew that. Felt every single ache and twinge of pain with the slightest movement. Fighting would be near impossible, and it very well may mean my death.
But to sit here and hope and do nothing? That death was inevitable.
Especially if we arrived too late.
I pulled her body to mine in a bone-crushing hug. “You cannot stop me,” I whispered, feeling her tremble beneath my touch. She pulled back, staring into the face of a monster who would stop at nothing to save the person they loved most.
Rowena realized too late that my embrace was not of comfort but necessity. She fought against my hold as I let my instinct take over and guide me. No matter how mad she would be with me when I got back, it would pale in comparison to the havoc I would unleash should anyone keep me from my wife.
Before she could blink, I sank my elongated canines into Rowena’s arm and allowed the blood lust to take over.
I racedthrough the streets of Kallistos at break-neck speed, ignoring the chorus of ‘fuck yous’ and squealing brakes thatfollowed. Rowena had relented calling me after her other twenty-five calls had gone unanswered. She undoubtedly attempted to reach Jasper or Sloane to warn them I was coming, but it did not matter now.
Perhaps if they had not wanted me to follow them, they should not have left the map of the safehouse location behind like utter idiots.
And then there was Rowena—face gone slack as I gained sustenance from her. I had never taken blood without consent, let alone from another vampyre. Consuming the blood of our kind was often frowned upon, though not against the law, and was often only used in dire situations.
Imbued with the natural power flowing in our veins, vampyre blood was so much richer than that of any other creature. It increased our healing powers tenfold. We did not need to take much. In fact, the amount required was equivalent to a spoonful. I had taken far more than a spoonful.
My fingers flexed around the steering wheel, testing for signs of weakness. Despite what I had taken from Rowena, my body had not returned to its normal state. As though it had not wanted to heal at all.
Or perhaps it had been unable to, prohibited by whatever trap my mother had laid.
The small estate loomed ahead. My stomach dropped at what I beheld. Though I did not have the opportunity to explore much of the area when I had been here previously, I could sense the rotten magic coiling through the land all the same. Where there had once been lush, wild fields of tall green grass, now stood thick black weeds. If it had not been for the absence of smoke, I would have thought the earth charred.
The cottage stood untouched in the derelict space, its cheery exterior becoming an ominous beacon of the evil lurking within.
My car came to a screeching halt next to Jasper’s, sending a cloud of dust billowing into the air. I was out in an instant, prowling toward the doorway without consideration of my surroundings. I paid no heed to how my skin began burning beneath the last of the setting sun, the flaying pain inconsequential compared to the thought of being too late.
The house was deathly still. Through the door, the living room looked as though it had been hastily searched before being abandoned. Drawers jutted out from their confines, some broken and splintered on the ground. Their contents had been rifled through, now littering the space. It was ordinary junk—the type amassed by people who had spent their life living. Oddly disturbed, I realized how little ofmefilled the mansion I called home. It could have been a museum.
Nothing in that prison was mine except for the bad memories that haunted the halls.
The basement hatch was wide open, a discarded rug pushed to the side. I stepped closer, peering into the inky darkness below, recoiling as the overwhelming scent of copper hit my senses.
Blood.
There was no time to question whose it was as a scream pierced the evening air and rattled the cottage windows.
Gods… Oh, gods. Was I too late?
I took the basement stairs two at a time, allowing the resonating agony of my footfalls to guide me where I needed to go. It was Calia, I knew it in my fucking bones. But where was she? Where was?—
Overhead, the stream of light from the cottage cut off, plunging me into complete darkness. The hatch had been shut—the telltale sound of a lock clicking into place. I stumbled on the last step, barely avoiding a face-first tumble to the ground with an outstretched hand.
