Page 43 of Claimed

And I am not the only one killing vampires.

I’m aware that some of the younger warriors are starting to get out of hand due to my influence. I’d call it a bloodbath, but there’s no blood. Just the dust of long-dead creatures being returned to the earth.

“We should go back to the castle and regroup,” Vlad says. “There is much to talk about, much strategy to be addressed.”

The remnants of sanity in my mind know that he is correct. Vengeance and the murdering of every vampire we can find is not the most strategic of responses, though it is the most satisfying.

I allow myself to be led out to the vehicle that Vlad came in.

“It’s good to see you, brother,” he says when we are safely ensconced. “I should have come back earlier.”

“You didn’t need to come back at all. But it is good to see you.”

Usually the oldest sibling is the most serious, but Vlad has always been a responsible, analytical sort. He’s not alpha material, but he is reliable.

The ride back to the castle is a long one. Hours. I fall asleep a few minutes in, exhausted from running long distances tracking in my wolf form. I do not wake up until morning is breaking and we are back at the castle.

Every time I wake up, I have to yet again remember that Anya is missing. It is one of many brutalities inflicted by the tyranny of memory.

“Get cleaned up,” Vlad says, nudging me out of the car. “We need to talk.”

“We can talk like this.”

“I’d rather you put your clothes on,” he says with a slight sniff. Vlad doesn’t like shifting, and he certainly does not like the animal aspect of being naked in the aftermath of a transformation. “And I’d rather you showered.”

I realize I don’t know when I last bathed. Days ago, certainly. I suppose I probably do stink to high heaven right now. Can’t say I care. But he’s going to keep bitching about it, so I decide to humor him.

I go and get showered, and I put some clothes on. A shirt and pants, socks and shoes. Enough to satisfy his need for civility.

When I emerge, he has a meal waiting for me. Borscht, a beet soup swimming in steak and vegetables. It smells delicious. It smells like home. This is the food we were raised on.

“Eat,” he says. “You’re looking gaunt.”

“You’re fussing, Vlad.”

“Someone has to,” he says disapprovingly. “I know you’re under some stress, but having your mate taken is just part of being an alpha. You can’t go to pieces every time someone strips away something precious to you. You know very well that life is about losing everything one piece at a time until there is nothing left.”

Our father used to give us pep talks like this.

“You expected to meet the love of your life and enjoy yourself? You spent too long in America.”

“I was in America for less than a week.”

“Too much time,” he says. “Remember who you are. Who we are. What our life is made to be. We are beasts in the cold. We are survivors of a curse. It is not a good thing to be able to turn wild, brother. It is something put upon us, something un-survivable, something that poisons our children if we have them…”

I eat my soup while Vlad gives a speech Tolstoy would be proud of. He reminds me of the arrogance and childishness of expecting to be happy in love. It should not make me feel any better, but somehow it does. There is a kind of joy and freedom in giving up hope.

“You have to get a grip, Alexei. You are creating the war we are trying to avoid.”

“They created the war by taking Anya.”

“Then you are being provoked into conflict. Don’t be stupid, Alexei. Use your brain. Is she weak?”

“No. She is not. She got into this trouble by consuming two vampire thralls.”

“If she is not weak, then she is probably taking care of herself. Trust your mate instead of mourning her.”

CHAPTER 12

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