Page 9 of The Guardian's Curse

The scent of blood awakened the hunger in him, but he gritted his teeth. He’d at least gotten a snack from the dirty scumbag in the alley before Paris so rudely interrupted him. This Thomas seemed like a nice enough fellow, and the blue pocket square signified he was vetted as a veravin. That meant he wanted to be bitten, and he underwent regular health screenings to ensure his safety and prevent unfortunate accidents. Poor Thomas didn’t need to have Alistair’s true face seared into his memory. He’d probably never leave his house again, let alone return to the vampire club.

“Allie, won’t you taste?” Zephyrine asked. “He’s very well-nourished.” Her tongue darted over her lip. “You must take your vitamins, Thomas.”

“I do,” he said dreamily. “Extra vitamin B every day.”

“I’ve eaten,” Alistair replied. “You enjoy.”

With a shrug, she returned to feeding on Thomas. She drank a while longer, then gently nicked her thumb with one sharp fang. Dabbing the dark blood over Thomas’s pierced neck, she kissed his cheek lightly and continued to stroke his hair absently. “I think I found a lead on the witch. I could kill her for you.”

His stomach plunged through the floor. “Stay far away, Zephyrine. It isn’t worth it.”

“I wish I could fix this for you,” she said with a sigh.

There was a knock at the door, and this time, a cluster of vampires bustled in. Nikko was at the front, talking animatedly on his phone, with Dominic close behind. Paris followed, with a woman in a tight red dress clinging to his arm. And at the rear, much to his surprise, was Julian. His eyebrows lifted at the sight of Alistair. He carried a bottle of whiskey in one hand, balancing a stack of glasses in the other.

“Zephyrine,” Julian greeted warmly.

“Hello, handsome,” she purred. “Bite to eat?”

“I’m satisfied, but thank you,” he said. “Eduardo’s finished with his business if you’d like to see him now. He’s in his office with Valentin.”

She beamed. “I’ll return later.”

“Can’t wait,” Dominic said quietly.

“Silence your tongue or I’ll tear it out for you, Cattaneo,” Zephyrine said, as sweetly as she had spoken to Thomas. She beckoned to the human man. “Come, sweet Thomas. Let’s find you something to replenish those lovely red blood cells of yours, shall we?”

Dominic just glared after the woman as she left the room. He’d never understood if Dominic disliked Zephyrine because of her inability to tolerate silence, or if there was something deeper and more personal between them.

It was difficult to be there among his brothers, tied together by the ravages of the Midnight War. They all bore scars, and each of them endured a curse that was uniquely painful. But the others were as beautiful as they had ever been. Women and men alike would watch them pass, not understanding why their bodies were suddenly aflame with desire. They could move comfortably through this world’s shadows.

Not Alistair. Awkward and out-of-place as a gargoyle in a boudoir, he perched at the edge of the couch, pressing himself tight into the corner. He wanted nothing more than to retreat to the solitude of his home, where he could play the piano and read in peace.

Paris plopped onto the couch and patted his muscular thigh, giving a wicked grin to the girl in red. She sank onto his lap, doing her best to kiss his neck. He ignored her, though one hand stroked her thigh gently while he spoke. “Got a hunter in town,” he said in French. “Likely a team, two or three. They wrecked a nest downtown.”

“Any of ours?” Dominic asked.

Julian shook his head. “Some of the remains were burned, but we found personal effects. It seems that most of them were connected to the Casteron.”

“That’s good, then,” Alistair said.

Nikko’s pale eyes narrowed as he tucked his phone away. “Not if they were killed by hunters.”

The door bumped open again, and a pretty redhead in a glittering white dress entered. Her red curls were piled in a bun atop her head. “You bastards started without me,” she complained.

“En Français, Safira,” Paris said, tilting his head toward his human companion. “I brought a snack. Come and eat with me.”

“You know I love a redhead,” Safira said, flashing a fanged grin at them. “Good evening, boys.” As she crossed the room, she sidled to Alistair and kissed the top of his head. He cringed as her touch pressed the hood against the bony protrusions on his skull. “Good to see you, love.”

“Be on time and it won’t be an issue,” Julian said.

She shot a glare at him. “I apologize. I was explaining to a couple of idiots from Casteron that they can’t send their thralls to rob a blood bank in broad daylight. I swear to God, these morons don’t deserve their immortality.”

“Explaining?” Alistair said. “With your words?”

As she settled onto the other couch with Paris, she examined her nails. “Yes, go with that. With my words.”

“Careful, Safira,” Julian said. “The last thing we need is conflict with them.”

---