Page 3 of Eternally Theirs

Calam nodded and moved away. Ever finished his wine quickly then made his way through the crowded bar and up the wide marble staircase, trailing his hand over the gilt-edged wrought iron railing until he’d reached the top floor. Down the plush carpeted hallway, everything pristine, silent, the sounds and the energy from the bar and the sex rooms and the dungeons fading. He approached his own doors, a wide pair of heavy, black lacquered wood, each with the insignia of the club—a dragon head done in fine gold filigree, with lashing tongues in red enamel, the eyes a pair of burning garnets.

A brief pull in his chest. He usually had his matched set standing guard at his doors, but he’d had to let them go, hadn’t he? It wasn’t fair to keep them there, acting as no more than guards any longer. It was his duty to satisfy those he Turned, as much as it was theirs to satisfy his needs and desires. He simply didn’t seem to have any lately.

Why did he feel so hollow? So lost?

As he pulled the door open and slipped into his office, he flashed back to his lovely, lost Vérún: her lithe figure going into the sea, her long, waving blonde hair floating around her like a mermaid’s before she went deeper, under the water…

Don’t think of her now…

But he couldn’t help wondering if perhaps he was beginning to lose his mind, as she had, as the older vampires sometimes did when the weight of the world rested too heavily on them. It was one reason why he’d begun grooming his dear friend Aleron to assist him with the management of the London club, or perhaps even to replace him one day. He was older than any of the others who’d given in to too many centuries on the earth—older than any he was aware of, other than perhaps Vérún herself had been. It seemed inevitable.

With a sigh, he moved to his enormous antique French desk, carved and trimmed in gold, trying to shake his mood. He had important work ahead of him tonight. He ran his fingers over the edge, letting the old wood bite into the hard flesh and bone of his hand. He pressed harder, a small sense of desperation filling him.

Need to feel something.

He heard Aleron in his head before he turned to see the old vampire coming through the doors. He was beautiful, his spiky blond hair so pale it was nearly white, his brilliant blue eyes like two piercing pieces of sea glass. He crossed the room in a few long strides and reached to take Ever’s hand, pulling him in for a kiss, and Ever tasted that faint stone-like flavor that was common in the older vampires. It was nothing more than a friendly brush of lips, but Ever was glad when his body heated a little. Perhaps he wasn’t entirely dead after all.

“Come, sit down,” Ever told his friend. “Shall I call for drinks?”

“No, thank you.” Aleron’s voice still held a faint trace of a French accent, even though he’d been in London for some time, had traveled all over Europe in his three hundred years. “Calam met me downstairs to let me know they’ll be arriving in a few minutes. Is there anything I should know before they come?”

“No, no more than we’d already spoken of.” He listed the facts aloud, if only to force himself to focus on the task at hand, to shift his mind from his morbid musings. “That this girl, Mercy, was Turned by a rogue who abandoned her almost immediately. That she met and Turned her companion Deo only days later. I hear they are both quite young. Innocents, especially the girl. They didn’t even know how to feed properly.”

Aleron shook his head. “A terrible state of affairs.”

“She has no idea of our rules, I am certain.”

“No, of course not. Tragic, that any of our kind would Turn another and leave them so suddenly.”

“That is why they’re known as rogues, my friend.” Ever smiled at Aleron. “A different sort of rogue than you were known for being in your day.”

“Ah, my Meeraj has cured me of that.” A smile spread over Aleron’s face.

“I am glad to see you happy.”

“So am I. I would wish the same for you, Ever.”

“That kind of happiness is not meant for me.”

Aleron raised one pale brow. “Never?”

“I’ve lived for over a thousand years. If it hasn’t happened yet, then…”

“One never knows.”

“Perhaps.” Ever shrugged, not really believing it.

“Perhaps.”

Aleron smiled again, his eyeteeth catching the light, and Ever felt once more that small spark of desire for the alluring, masculine vampire.

No, perhaps not dead yet.

Not entirely. But he’d felt dead for months, had lived with the fear of his mind going. He’d had too many of those moments when, alone in the darkest part of the night, he almost thought it might be best if his mind did go and he slipped into some sort of dream, or sought a true death the way his dear Vérún had.

He ran a hand over his sleek ponytail and forced himself to straighten his posture. Tonight would not be that night. He had responsibilities. And as he tuned his mind’s ear, he heard that they were just about to come through the door.

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