Damn. And here I thought my supernatural drama couldn't get any more epic. Apparently, I need to start brushing up on my Bible studies because this shit just went from zero to Old Testament real quick.
"So she's basically prehistoric? Like, 'I watched the Dead Sea when it was alive' ancient?" The scientist in me is already calculating timelines, probably with a wild look in my eyes. "No wonder she's impossible to kill—she's got more centuries than a history textbook. Wait—does this mean every vampire out there is her demonic offspring? Because that would be one hell of an Ancestry.com update."
"No," Rhyland grumbles, his powerful hands working the tension from my feet. "Only those she's made directly—which has only been us four—" He stops, pain flashing across his features. "Three."
The unspoken name hangs heavy in the air.
Adrian.
The fourth musketeer of their dysfunctional little brotherhood. My heart does a painful little twinge at the memory—the brother who betrayed us, who chose darkness—but then wanted to change and ended up dead in the end. My heart aches as I watch Rhyland wrestle with that particular demon.
My inner nerd suddenly takes over, DNA sequences and genetic markers already dancing through my head. "So not every fang-bearer out there is part of your family tree?"
"If every vamp was rocking Mommy Dearest's premium vintage blood, we'd all be one big happy telepathic family," Lucian snorts, sprawling in his chair. "But nope—it's just us three bromigos sharing the mental party line. There are other ancient bloodsuckers out there, old as Satan's retirement plan."
"The blood bond only connects the three of us," Erik clarifies. "Which suggests multiple progenitors of the vampire species."
My mind drifts back to my time as Lilith's prisoner—her arctic indifference, that superiority complex that could rival Mount Everest. Now I understand why she acted like God's gift to vampires. She literally predates the Bible. Talk about your original mean girl.
"Her obsession started right after she turned me—I was her first," Rhyland's voice pulls me from the memory pit of horror. His jaw clenches. "Said I had a 'unique aura' and that she'd found her perfect counterpart."
The three brothers paint a picture darker than a black hole—how Lilith used her Maker's command like a puppet master, forcing them to perform her twisted desires—sex, murder, stealing innocent lives. According to them, babies are her favorite targets. My stomach does a violent flip at that particular revelation.
Lucian's usual smartass demeanor cracks, showing the trauma beneath. Seraphina wraps herself around him like a celestial security blanket, her angelic presence trying to soothe decades of psychological wounds.
"Found a witch willing to break the Maker's bond," Rhyland continues, his hands stilling on my feet. "She managed to free Erik and me, but Lucian..."
"The witch met an untimely end before Lucian's liberation could be completed," Erik interjects, but I catch the rage simmering beneath his stolid facade.
"So what was Adrian's deal in all this?" I ask, unable to resist poking at that particular hornet's nest.
"Adrian made his choice." Erik's silver eyes turn cold as steel. "He preferred Lilith's leash to freedom."
Well, isn'tthatjust a fun little plot twist in this family drama.
The pieces of this puzzle are starting to click into place like some sort of horror story.
"Then my noble Viking brother here went all self-sacrificing hero," Lucian drawls, but the gratitude beneath his snark is evident. "went full martyr mode like some pornographic Jesus. Offered up his body as a sacrificial dick appointment to that Bloodwhore just to save my fabulous ass. After that, these two tactical fuckers pulled off the ultimate 'fuck you.'"
My stomach turns at the implication. The thought of Rhyland forcing himself to sleep with that monster, enduring God knows what kind of twisted games, just to save his brother...The sacrifice makes me want to simultaneously hug him and hunt down Lilith to introduce her face to my fist.
"Don't you ever fucking forget who had your back, dickhead," Rhyland growls at Lucian, his tone lowering with that signature alpha-male authority. But beneath the harsh words, there's an undercurrent of genuine affection—the unbreakable bond of brothers who've been through hell together.
I clear my throat, desperately trying to bleach my brain of any mental images involving Rhyland's dick anywhere near that couture-wearing cockroach."Yeah, your bat-shit crazy maker gave me the cliff notes version of her tomb vacation during her 'evil villain explains it all' speech. Though she was a bit light on the details while she was busy auctioning me off like some expensive take-out order."
"Indeed. The Hawthorne witch's magic was essential for the binding spell," Erik confirms.
My brain screeches to a halt like someone yanked the emergency brake. "Hold up—Hawthorne?" Every head in the room snaps toward me like I just announced the apocalypse. "That witch working with Lilith—Morgan? She's claiming Hawthorne lineage and apparently has a massive hate-boner for all of you."
Sable's sharp gasp cuts through the tension. Emily whips around to face her. "What's got your witchy senses tingling?"
"The Hawthorne's..." Sable's voice trembles with awe. "Their bloodline traces back to the Salem trials of 1692—they were the real deal, not those poor souls who were wrongly accused. The Hawthornes were some of the most powerful witches in history. Their magic is... legendary. Everyone thought they'd vanished centuries ago."
The temperature in the room plummets like someone cranked the AC to Arctic blast.
"The facial structure, those amber eyes—I should have recognized the Hawthorne traits immediately," Erik states, clearly irritated at missing such a crucial detail.
"We didn't have a fucking choice," Rhyland growls, rage and old guilt warring in his voice. "Couldn't trust they would keep the treaty—they had already threatened to release her. So…we slaughtered every last one of those witches to keep that bitch locked away. Or so we fucking thought..."
