Page 23 of Hot Vampire Next Door: Season Four

I drift off quickly, held safely in Bran's arms. But it doesn't feel like I'm asleep for long.

A pounding at the bedroom door forces me to lurch awake. Bran is out of bed before I can orient myself in the sleepy haze.

"This better be good," he says when he whips the door open.

Jimmy is on the other side. "Get dressed,” she says. “And hurry.”

“Why?” he asks on a growl.

“Because Damien is awake. And something is wrong.”

Episode 60

You Flatter Me, Alpha

BRAN

In 1737, a strain of flu found its way through Aquitaine, and Damien was the only one to fall ill to it in our household.

There is something unsettling about seeing your older brother slowly dying in his bed, a certain helplessness at not knowing how to fix it.

As much as Damien and I war against each other, we have always stood solidly at each other’s backs when it mattered most.

He is my best friend, and he is the only true thing that remains of who I was when I was human.

Damien is awake and something is wrong.

I will burn the Renshaw House to the ground for what they’ve done, just as soon as I know what it is they did.

When I burst into Damien’s bedroom, the door slams against the wall. Bianca is at his bedside, her hands hovering over his prone body. Jimmy is at the foot watching carefully, her arms crossed over her chest.

Sky is there too and I have to bury the urge to snap her neck and toss her out with the trash. I suspect Sky might be the new weak link in Duval House. How else did the Renshaw witches get through our defenses and take Kelly captive?

But I’ll deal with her later.

“Get her out of here,” I say to no one in particular.

“Me?” Sky says. “I’m Damien’s assistant. Why wouldn’t I be here?”

I snap my fingers at the two vampires who’ve been put on guard and the big guy takes Sky by the arm.

“Bran!” She tries to yank out of the big guy’s grip, but his fingers are like a vise and I can hear Sky’s bones crack. “What the fuck, Bran?”

I go to Bianca’s side. “I thought he was awake?”

“He was,” Jimmy says.

“So?” I’m impatient for answers.

I was the only one who visited Damien when he was sick all those years ago, the only one willing to risk their life to see him.

I remember the smell, the burn of the tallow candles and incense to drive away the scent of death.

But I remember the rattle of his chest the most.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he’d said to me when I brought him a fresh bottle of brandy.

“And you shouldn’t be in this fucking bed.”

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