9
Declan
For speed and maneuverability,he chose his motorcycle for the ride to Dublin. He’d go to Riley’s hotel, pack a few of her clothes, and then stop at one of the local markets for food. Fuck. He hadn’t asked her what she liked.
His mind raced as the wind tore through his hair, stinging his cheeks and reminding him that he was, if not alive, at least present in this reality.
The past three centuries had left him cynical. Knowing he would exist forever—barring someone or somethingkilling him—robbed his existence of the preciousness his previous life had held.
But with Riley, he felt a spark he had not since he’d woken up in his sire’s prison, half-feral and desperate for blood. Stifling his shudder, he let out the throttle and pushed the bike faster. He did not wish to leave Riley for long. He’d read the truth in her eyes. She would stay this night. But he’d also seen her fear. She’d handled the truth better than most, though he supposed being attacked and fed from did rush one through the denial stage.
The sight of her in chains, ravaged and weak, made his blood boil, and he turned the bike towards Patrick’s lair.
He did not care that this was a terrible idea. That he could encounter more Hunters. Or worse. Patrick’s gang hell-bent on revenge. Those monsters would pay. Every single one of them.
* * *
The wooden doorhad not been replaced, and the long descent underground was eerily quiet. Declan moved carefully, not making a sound, until he came to the metal outer door. Still ajar. The scent of blood—both human and vampire—choked him, and he breathed through his mouth as he pushed into the room.
Finding the switch, he turned on the overhead lights. A human would have thought a massacre had occurred here. Declan knew better. Scanning the walls, the overturned table, and the floors, he counted fifteen bullet holes. The Hunters had put up a good fight.
Dropping to one knee, careful to avoid the large pool of tacky, black blood where Patrick had been, he sniffed. The vampire had looked close to death. What had he said? He could not feel his hands and feet. He was burning from the inside out. Why?
Declan dipped his index finger in the blood, then brought it to his nose. Something was definitely off. He risked a taste, then cursed and spit as the blood seemed to singe his tongue.
Vampires were not susceptible to illnesses. They did not catch colds, develop cancer, or suffer dementia. Despite being clan-less, and trusting very few in this world, Declan maintained a small network of fellow vampires who believed as he did—that humans were to be protected and not killed for food. If a new illness had sprung up, he would have heard about it.
His bloodlust thrumming just under his skin, he continued his perusal of the room. Patrick’s gang was small. Six or seven vampires total, but there had only been four here the previous night. Declan identified three separate vampire blood pools, one he thought was from the vampire he’d killed, indicating the Hunters had wounded all but one of them. But as the bodies were gone, he had no idea if any of the monsters who’d hurt Riley still walked the night.
With a growl, he approached the cage. Her blood had long dried, and he could scent her fear lingering inside the tiny prison. By God, she would not have even been able to sit up.
A bit of brown leather caught his eye as he stood. Her bag. She would need it. Want it. And perhaps if her hotel key was there, he could avoid glamouring anyone on the staff. He disliked using hisgifts.He needed them to survive, but the memories of his own making always floated to the surface when he did so.
Slinging the bag over his shoulder, he headed back out into the night.
* * *
On his wayto his bike, he caught the scent of Patrick’s blood along with the unmistakable smell of decay, and frowned. Based on the size of the blood pool in the gang’s lair, the vampire should not have survived.
When a vampire perished, the body decomposed quickly. In days, rather than months or years like a human. But for perhaps forty-eight hours, a corpse would remain before disintegrating into dust. Had the Hunters simply dragged Patrick’s body out of the lair and left it somewhere to rot?
Following his nose, he crept from the alley out onto a quiet street. His ultra-sensitive vision picked up on the faint scorch marks of vampire blood that had combusted in the previous day’s sun.
Down another alley, he stopped at a dumpster behind a butcher shop. Had the Hunters truly been so careless? If they’d left the corpse out in the open, it would have burst into flame at sunrise. Storing it in a dumpster was…risky at best.
Declan lifted the lid. Patrick’s sightless eyes stared back at him, though their black orbs were cloudy and shriveled now. “What happened to you?” he muttered. The vampire’s mouth was open, and Declan flicked one of the male’s fangs. It fell from his gums. Tucking the tooth into his pocket, he slammed the lid on the dumpster. In another twenty-four hours, the body would be mostly gone, and Declan did not care who discovered the corpse. But he did, very much, want to know what had killed the monster.
* * *
At Riley’s hotel,he shoved two changes of clothes into his satchel, trying not to picture her in the red lace panties and bra set he’d found in her suitcase. Her luscious body had felt so good in his arms when he’d fed from her, and his fangs descended, arousal churning in his gut. He did notneedher blood at present. Or anyone else’s, for that matter. But he wanted it. Yearned for it. For her.
Being in her room, surrounded by her scent…it soothed something inside him he hadn’t known needed soothing. A restlessness he’d carried with him since his making. If only she weren’t human. Or he weren’t vampire.
By the time he returned to his castle, it was well after 3:00 a.m. He expected to find her pacing or exploring, or anywhere other than where she was. Naked. In his shower. Singing.
* * *
Riley
