Helena quickly slipped off her jeans, thinking to take advantage of Andrus’ shower and change into the baggy tee and yoga pants she’d bought at the clothing store.
“I see I’m just in time,” Niccolo said, suddenly appearing in the corner of the room. He took several rapid steps toward her and cupped her cheek. “To lovingly wash every square inch of your creamy skin.”
“Niccolo. How the hell do you keep finding me?” Helena hissed, but her heart rejoiced. “I told you to leave me alone, and I meant it.” Sort of.
His dark eyes narrowed. “I cannot do that, mio cuore. We are bonded, and until my last breath, I will think of nothing but you.”
“Good for you, Vampire. But not my problem, and considering you don’t love me, not sure it’s yours either.”
He frowned. “Please, my bride, let me explain. My heart is blackened by my world. It barely beats now, but you, you bring light to the darkness I’ve endured for over a thousand years. It is the closest thing to love I will ever know, and this has to be enough for you. You must—” he froze.
The water stopped running.
Oh hell! Andrus! She’d almost forgotten he was there. What would Niccolo do if he found out she was sharing a room with another man? She hadn’t wanted one room, but Andrus insisted and made it clear he’d be sleeping on the floor. No biggie. Until now. Niccolo would kill him.
“Go! Now!” she screamed at Niccolo.
“You—you…” he growled. It was a dark, deadly growl that made Helena shiver down to her bones. “Someone is here with you?”
Helena made a jerky nod. No use in lying. Niccolo could probably smell Andrus. But what the hell was she going to do?
Wait! He has no right to be here. He’s the one who threw your heart under a bus.
Suddenly, the bathroom door burst open. Andrus stood firmly in the doorway wearing nothing but a scowl and a white towel around his waist. He gripped a sword in each hand. Had he been carrying them when he’d entered the bathroom? Helena wondered. She didn’t recall seeing any swords. And who took showers with weapons? What the hell was Andrus?
Helena wedged herself between the two men, holding out her arms. She swiveled her head in Niccolo’s direction. “You have no right! I don’t belong to you!”
Niccolo, too, held a sword in each hand.
Where did he get those?
“Move, Helena,” Niccolo ordered. “I’m going to kill the son of a bitch. No one touches you and lives to take another breath.”
“Bring it, Vampire!” Andrus’ jaw flexed. “I’ve been hoping for another head—or in your case, ball of dust—to add to my collection.”
Helena noted that whatever Andrus was, being afraid of vampires wasn’t on the list. That only meant one thing: he was more dangerous. Or believed he was. In any case, Helena felt one hundred percent, bona fide pissed off. How dare Niccolo act like he had a right to her. After he treated her like a child. Manipulated her. Refused to trust her!
The two men raised their arms, weapons high in the air, and closed in—despite Helena acting as their buffer. At any moment, one of them would toss her aside and begin brawling. She had to think of something fast. Yes, she was angry at Niccolo, but she didn’t want anyone dying on her account.
Stupid men…males…dudes. Heck, whatever!
“Niccolo! No! Stop. Andrus isn’t…he’s…” She paused for a moment. “I may share a bond with you, but it isn’t real because my heart wants him! Don’t be such a sore loser.”
Her strategy was a huge gamble, but playing the one cord he valued—honor—might just get him to take a hike. She only had to convince Niccolo that Andrus had won her fair and square.
Arms still stretched, holding the two men at bay, Helena glanced at Andrus. His golden eyes were locked on Niccolo like two heat-seeking missiles. Would Andrus blow up her lie? Her head turned toward Niccolo who visibly seethed with anger.
Did he buy it? “Please, Niccolo. We’re through. Just go,” she begged.
Niccolo’s already dark eyes turned into pits of blackness. “Who the hell are you?” he asked directly to Andrus.
With a slight bow of his head, Andrus said, “I am the man who is going to collect your soul and fuck your woman. Not necessarily in that order, but both will involve screaming.”
Helena’s eyes went wide. What the…? Not only wasn’t Andrus going to blow up her lie, he was going to run to the hundredth-yard line, spike the ball, and call it his very own touchdown. Christ, he had a nasty streak.
Niccolo’s fangs stretched into tiny daggers that protruded from his mouth. “The only thing you will be doing is dying.”
“Well, Niccolo, The Executioner, I have yet to see a vampire best a Demilord.” Andrus smiled coolly. “Face it, asshole, your minutes are numbered, and I am the one with the stopwatch. Tick tock. Tick tock.”
With that, Niccolo shot a glare at Helena, his expression had moved from furious to betrayed.
He vanished.
***
“What the hell is a Demilord, Andrus? What. The ever-loving. God forsaken. Hell. Is a damned…Demilord?!” she half-screamed, half-blubbered. Anything that could scare Niccolo away certainly scared the bajeepers out of her. What had she signed up for?
“We must go. Quickly! Before he returns with his men. I can’t fight off more than a few at once.” He ignored her question, instead focusing on repacking his duffel bag.
“Who said you need to defend me? Niccolo doesn’t want to harm me. He wants me to be his submissive, obedient immortal wife. And why did you call him ‘The Executioner?’”
He ignored her, continuing to zip up his bag.
She tugged at his arm, forcing him to drop it. “What the hell is going on? Who are you, Andrus?”
“You…” He turned and gripped her shoulders, his eyes silently warned not to push him any further. “All you need to know is that you’re not safe with him…” He stalled for words. “They are violent creatures. We need to leave.”
She nodded stiffly. She had no idea what was happening, but she now knew she didn’t want to be a part Niccolo’s world. Or Andrus’. Too violent. But…Andrus was her only chance at an out from the stickier of the two situations—that much was clear.
But was she safe with Andrus? She wasn’t sure at all, though she felt strangely unafraid. The darkness he projected was some sort of armor he wore to hide his true nature.
“Okay. But you’re explaining everything in the car.”
***
The gentle glow of the dashboard illuminated Helena’s delicate face. He wanted to concentrate on the road, but it was impossible not to steal a glance or two of those pink plump lips or those sky blue eyes. They were mesmerizing. No wonder the vampire was crazy for her. Andrus didn’t even have a bloody bond, yet he found himself feeling drawn.
Maybe that’s why he’d blurted out what he had about taking her along with Niccolo’s soul. Something about her felt calming, and right now, he needed it. His mind was like a fucking Ferris wheel—thoughts, emotions going round and round. Anger, that was a big one. Fear of failure was another. And now there was a new one: guilt.
Helena didn’t deserve her hand in life, just as Andrus didn’t deserve his. They’d both been misled into believing they were getting something worth fighting for, but instead found themselves fighting to get their lives back.
“I don’t know what’s going on, Andrus.” Her hand shifted to the armrest between the seats, lightly covering his. “But I promise you can trust me. I’ll help you anyway I can.”
She wanted to help him? She felt sorry for him? Figured. The guilt factor just turned up ten notches. “Why? Why do you care?”
She shrugged. “I see it in your eyes. They didn’t just take something from you, they hurt you. Didn’t they? No one hates as much as you do without a reason, and I saw the look in your eyes. You really wanted to kill him.”
Smart human. Andrus would have to do a better job of keeping his emotions hidden.
“The o
nly thing I’m asking, Andrus, is for the truth. I can’t take any more of this—these secrets. My heart’s been broken, my life—the one I wanted, anyway—is gone. Now I feel trapped. All because I made one reckless choice to love someone I shouldn’t. It was one stupid mistake, and I want my old life back. I just want out.”
Andrus nodded as he contemplated what he should share. Too much information and the human might put the pieces together on her own. She was extremely bright. Not enough information, she might not trust him. Then she might try to escape or derail his plans some other way. But, if he could win her sympathy, that could come in extremely handy later on. A tiny twinge of guilt spiraled through his gut.
Helena squeezed his hand gently, “Please, tell me.”
The simple gesture and sweet tone of her voice made him feel worse than a vampire for what he’d planned to do to her, but there was no turning back now. Life was full of injustices. The way of the world. His story was no different.
“Fine. I will tell you what’s going on, but don't blame me if you don't like what you hear…”
Chapter 11
The Story of Andrus:
When she came to him on their very last night together, three hundred years ago, it had been a night like many he’d spent with her—filled with sweat-slicked skin, words of raw passion, and endless fucking. There was never any shame or hesitation with her. She gave herself willingly, in every possible way a woman could physically give herself to a man. And he took. And took.
It began when Andrus saw her standing in the dark corner of the lavish crowded ballroom at his uncle’s estate during another stuffy formal ball in Paris. Their eyes met and an instant, smoldering connection formed.
When he took her to bed that evening, he knew he’d never want to stop gazing into her large mahogany eyes, running his hands through her vibrant red hair, tasting her smooth skin and every part of her body in between. She tasted like wild flowers and sweet vanilla mixed with the forbidden. He found it simply addictive. He didn’t know why. Didn’t really care. He wanted her so badly it scorched his soul.
Months of passion filled nights flew by, yet his craving for her would not abate. He came to realize that it wasn’t her full red lips, nor her generous round breasts that he burned for. It was that hidden corner of her soul she refused to open to him.
Each night, with his sweet words and passionate bed play, he tried to coax from her that which she kept locked away. Her heart, perhaps. But no matter how hard he tried, there was no emotion when she said she loved him. Nothing he did truly made her vulnerable to him as he was to her.
But he was determined. He would not relent until she was fully his. Being the son of a powerful family from Eastern Russian—a country plagued with war and corruption—taught him all about persistence and pain; especially how to endure it, which was ultimately his downfall.
Their nights of passion turned into demented one-sided quarrels filled with his irrational accusations. “You love another!” he would scream. “You are using me for my money!”
She would demurely sit on the edge of the bed while he hurled the delusional insults. Her dark eyes would remain sterile and untouched until she’d finally say, “Are you going to calm yourself and take me to bed, or not?” Eventually, he would. He had no choice but to give into his lust, to feel her velvety skin writhing beneath him as he pumped his hard flesh into her.
On the last night, he went to her lavish apartment in Paris. He was broken, beyond repair from the torment of being unable to conquer her heart. She was the one woman he loved and held above all others. He would do anything for her. Anything.
“Anything?” she asked. Her red silk dress hugged her tempting curves and full breasts as she strolled across the polished marble floor of the Rococo style bedroom. Red velvet cushions topped the ornately carved couches and chairs. Exotic floral arrangements and expensive cognac topped the side tables. She’d never told him how she came into her money, but he didn’t ask—what if she’d once been married or had lovers? He couldn’t bear the thought.
She stopped in front of the fireplace, staring into its glow. It was winter now, and the snow fell in a soft, thick blanket outside. She stretched out her pale arms to warm her hands.
“Yes,” he answered coldly. “Anything. Just say you love me and mean it. Truly, mean it!” His long dark hair was a disheveled mop, his shirt was rumpled with several buttons missing. “Money, my horses and homes, I don’t give a shit. Just say the words and mean them. Give me this one thing, that is all I ask.”
Boldly, she turned. “I want your sworn loyalty. Forever.”
He didn’t bat an eyelash. To devote himself to her forever? He could ask for nothing more. “It is yours. Always has been.” At the time, his heart filled with the deepest joy, believing that she truly loved him the entire time but had been simply waiting for him to declare his undying love. So simple, he thought. So damned simple!
“Are you certain, my precious Andrus? Because there is no turning back.”
Oh God, yes. He marched across the room and claimed her soft lips. Like the rest of her pale face, they were warmed by the fire. “I said anything, and I meant it. Now, tell me. Say the words,” he demanded. His heart pounded with anticipation.
She pulled away from him just enough to see his eyes. Her face was filled with sorrow. “Hold still, my love, I’ll try to make it quick.”
Confused, Andrus attempted to pull back, but she immobilized him in her iron grasp and tugged him close to her body...before sinking her teeth into his neck. She drew deeply from the gash. Andrus jerked and flailed against her impossible strength until he was too weak to move.
Finally, she dropped him like a sack of wet sand to the floor and bit down on her own wrist, drawing her blood into her mouth. Slowly, she bent to him then kissed him hard, letting her blood spill into his mouth. A trickle escaped down the side of his cheek as he hacked and sputtered.
Andrus stared up at her, his eyes burning with confusion and betrayal, his heart pumping wildly. “What did you—you—do to me?” he gasped.
She hovered over his paralyzed body, the life slowly seeping from his muscles. Her eyes were cold as ice. “Andrus, I love you and only you. I’m sorry.” The words did not touch her eyes, and he screamed as the darkness took hold of his soul.
***
Helena covered her mouth and pushed back the tears of sympathy. “She—she made you into a vampire? That…bitch!”
Andrus’ lips curled for a fraction of a second. “Yes, she’s a bitch.”
“So, you’re a vampire?”
He shook his head and continued staring at the road, clumps of snow pelted the windshield. “Not exactly.”
“Then what ‘exactly?’” Helena’s phone suddenly beeped. “Oh. Jeez. Not now.” She glanced at her phone. The message was from Jess: Hey Lena, WTF? Ignoringyour day-turnal frenz again?
Helena froze for a fraction of a second. Jess knows about vampires? Wait…she had texted them while on the bus earlier that day, saying she’d be working nights for a while so not to call during the day. She thought it might cut down on having to lie so much.
Helena released a breath and responded: Can’t chat now. K? Catch u ltr.
Jess responded: Loser!
She glanced apologetically at Andrus. “Sorry. My friends. I don’t want them to worry and say something to my mom.”
Andrus nodded, but didn’t continue speaking.
“Please, I want to hear the rest.” Helena thought her head would spin off if he didn’t tell her.
He shot her a look.
“Please?” she whined.
His jaw worked for several moments before he spoke. “Days later I woke and was a vampire. Thirsty and cold, I could think of nothing but killing. Women, children—I didn’t care who—I just wanted blood and lots of it.”
Helena’s eyes were wide. “You ate…children?” Please say no. Please say no. Please say…
“She was there to stop me. The queen’s fi
nal trap. Reyna knew how much I hated her for what she’d done. But I hated myself more for what I craved. I didn’t want to kill innocent people for survival. Yet, that was all I could think of doing. I was a depraved monster. So, instead of informing me that I could learn to control the thirst, she offered me an out.”
Helena didn’t move or breathe.
“Reyna said if I did what she asked and served loyally, I would never thirst and, therefore, never kill a Forbidden: an innocent soul.”
Helena looked down at her hands, fully comprehending his situation. “So, you agreed?”
Andrus nodded. “Yes.”
“What was the deal? What did she make you do?” Helena almost hated to ask. His story was already too hard to hear.
“Reyna locked me in an iron box and shipped me off. I didn’t know where I was going or if I’d survive the madness from the hunger. It was months of hell, unimaginable pain. When the box was finally opened, I found myself in the jungle, somewhere in Mexico. That’s when I saw them.” He shook his head, clearly pained by the memory. “They were so beautiful, I thought they were angels coming to save me.” He stopped talking for several moments.
Helena’s face was filled with anguish. “Andrus?” she prodded.
He didn’t respond, his jaw grinding again.
“Who were they?” she pushed.
He continued on, “They threw me into a cenote, an ancient Mayan ceremonial pool, their portal. They dragged me to the other side to make me like them. Well, half anyway.”
Helena was thoroughly confused. Why wouldn’t he tell her? “Who were ‘they?’”
“The gods. They put their light inside me,” he said, almost sounding ashamed.
Gods? What the…? No way! “Sorry? Did you say ‘gods?’”
“Yes. Obscuros were out of control because that bitch of a queen is useless. The gods were finally fed up, about to kill her. So she offered up an alternative to save her skin: to help them create a powerful race that could kill Obscuros and whom they could command—the Demilords. She bartered our lives for hers.”