Page 97 of Immortal Bastard

Shutting his eyes, he tipped his head back against the stone wall and continued to breathe, intentionally filling his lungs and letting the air out slowly. He was safe. Cybil was safe.

Gracie was safe. The children were safe. Larissa was safe. He did not dare to think about Jonas, the male who had disrupted their world and led them here. He kept his mind only on those he loved.

Ezekiel and Faith. Annalise and Adam. Cain and Destiny. Adriel—and even her shithead son, Christian. They were all safe.

His mind strayed to Christian’s tattooed mate and he snickered. “Good luck working that out,” he muttered, pulverizing a piece of gravel into dust as he pinched it between his fingers.

He hoped Delilah made Christian’s life a living hell, at least for a little while. Eventually, she’d accept this place as her home, just like they all did, even when everything inside screamed they didn’t belong here.

When Dane had been told of his lineage, Christian had been present. It was a surprise to both of them. But Dane would never forget the look of disdain in the eyes of his self-righteous half-brother.

“Prick.” He picked up another broken piece of stone and tossed it into a pile of gravel.

They were not brothers and they never would be. Christian was a dick, and he deserved everything his almighty god had sent him.

Maggie taught Dane everything she knew about their hybrid kind. She opened her vein to him along with a world of pleasure, and he was grateful for the softness she provided during such a bleak and confusing time.

Their ongoing friendship proved a convenience and solace to both of them. He hadn’t meant to hurt Grace, but what was he supposed to do? Wait out his entire life as a virgin until she ran off into the sunset with her full-bred, flawless mate? Fuck that.

Gracie’s day would eventually come, and he hoped to be long gone by then. If not for Cybil, he would have left this place long ago. There was nothing here for him anymore. At least Maggie appreciated the little comfort he could offer. No one, aside from Grace, faulted him for having natural urges.

Picturing the way Gracie’s dark wavy hair sometimes escaped her kapp had him shifting his weight and adjusting himself. Perhaps he needed to visit Maggie tonight after all.

As a healthy, twenty-year-old man, why wouldn’t he bed a willing and attractive female? Maggie offered him blood and her body. There was nothing wrong with them finding comfort in each other. They weren’t hurting anyone. Not really.

Fury built and his jaw locked. Eventually, Gracie would willingly give herself over to a perfect stranger, mind, body, and soul. What right did she have to judge him?

Females—regardless of the species—were willful creatures, and Gracie was no different. The foolish girl had been sold a fairytale, and she planned to live her life according to tradition. She planned to be a pure and compliant wife to her true mate, no matter what it cost her. No matter how long she had to wait for destiny to intercede.

Dane’s fists clenched. He definitely needed to visit Maggie tonight. Only Maggie’s body and warm touch could subdue his anger when it flared like this.

His thoughts were interrupted by the subtle shift in the cell before him. Cybil, his younger sister, once so gentle and kind, now an unhinged transition sick with bloodlust, slept on a pallet in the corner of her cell.

Sentenced to a nocturnal circadian rhythm, she typically woke this time of night, and Dane had become versed at sensing the shift in energy that preceded her stirring. The hair on his arms lifted and he sat straighter, prepared for anything.

He didn’t understand how or why the atmosphere tightened or even what changes took place, but he could always sense the shift in her vibration just before she woke. The air throughout the cellar warmed, and dark tension pulled tight like the burning strings of a devil’s fiddle. Humidity rose as the vile scent of male desire replaced the dank earthy scent that usually filled the space.

Chains rattled and dragged as blood red eyes flashed in the shadows. Isaiah. A low, territorial growl purred from the cell next to his sister’s.

He glared back. “Go to hell.”

Chains dragged over the dirt floor as the bastard moved closer to the connecting wall. Closer to Cybil’s cell.

“Get away from her.”

A wet snarl clapped through the air as Isaiah’s jaw snapped with the speed of a viper and the force of a shark.

“Fuck you,” Dane snarled.

Cybil was too wild to move. Two years ago, the elders added chains to Isaiah’s cell after he gnawed the arm off the bishop’s right-hand man. So there was no chance of relocating either of them as easily as they’d moved the witch. But Dane would be damned if the fucker that killed his mother was also going to deprive him of his only time with his sister.

And he didn’t care what everyone else said. That girl in there was still his flesh and blood. Still his little sister.

But the sweet child Cybil had once been was gone. He’d forgotten her voice and the dulcet tone of her laughter. Now, she only growled like a rabid animal, trapped in captivity, dangerous, emotionless, hungry, and driven by her baser instincts.

Her body was no longer that of a child’s. Her mind now tortured and deranged. But she was blameless in the horrific outcome of what she had become.

Dane was not.

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