Cain outlawed the creation of hybrids somewhere around my two hundredth birthday. He believes that they dilute our species. Half of all lycans who are turned have the weaknesses of both lycan and vampire, and the other half have none.
If this one isn’t burning in the sunlight, he’s one of the latter.
More importantly,my brain argues,he smells like dessert.
“We can take care of ourselves,” he continues.
“No one survives when Cain decides he wants them dead.”
He pushes away from the doorframe and begins edging towards me, hands outstretched in a pacifying motion. “A lot has changed in eighteen decades, Princess. Hurting yourself isn’t going to accomplish anything.”
My eyes finally leave the stake and focus on his calm hazel ones. He has pretty eyes for such a huge, rough-looking man. Soulful. Wise beyond his years.
The distraction is enough to give him the element of surprise. He disarms me in one swift, controlled explosion of movement and pins my wrists together behind me before I can even struggle.
“Never,” he growls. “Nevertry to hurt yourself again. I can protect you from everything else, fight any battle you ask of me, but you damn well better fight for yourself as well. You hear me?” I flinch, and his brows draw together before he flings the stake to one side, embedding the tip in one wall. “Promise me.”
The intensity of his eyes burning into mine is too much and I look away. His free hand cups my jaw and drags my head back. “Promise.”
“I can’t.” He has no idea what he’s asking of me.
“You can. Trust us.”
I shake my head. “Trust gets you killed.”
“Betrayal kills. Trust saves lives. We’re bound to you now, Princess. You can feel us in your soul, can’t you? We’re your fucking thralls, so trust that, if nothing else.”
It’s the wrong thing to say. “Thralls are just as capable of betrayal as anyone else,” I mutter, flinching back in his hold. “Let me go. I’m going back to my…”
“No. You’re not.”
Using a move that’s all sorts of illegal against someone as weakened by silver and starvation as I am, the hybrid turns and throws me over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.
“You won’t be left alone until you promise not to try something like that again. That means you’re stuck with my brother, Silas, while Draven and I sleep.”
He strides from the kitchen and through the room I came from. Only my coffin is already gone. My anxiety cranks up a notch as I search for what they’ve done with it.
I hate the thing with every fibre of my being, but it’s the one familiar thing in this insane new reality I’m stuck in.
The hybrid, however, grunts in approval. “‘Bout time they got rid of it.”
I don’t have a chance to respond before he continues into a different room.
This one is messy, disorganised and very, very male. Clothes are strewn across the bed and steam billows out of the adjoining door, along with the sound of running water.
The hybrid dumps me on the bed, gives me a stern warning look, then turns and strides through the open door into the steam-filled room.
A few seconds later, I hear the sound of water flushing, followed by cursing.
“What the fuck, Vane? That’scold,you asshole!”
So the hybrid’s name is Vane?
“It’s your turn. Keep her out of trouble and don’t take your eyes off her for a second.”
“She’s out?”
Their voices turn subvocal, completely inaudible over the noise of the water. They must be talking about me, about what I tried to do in the kitchen.
