“Your what?” Lysandro said so softly, so dangerously, but Vesper didn’t hear him, so into his own monologue.
“I only take the strongest. Those who can survive without being coddled. I will feed you until your blood sustains me. Do you hear me, Ego? And if that means I have to kill your anchor, then so be it.”
Ego was off the couch in a flash, flinging himself toward Vesper instead of waiting for the asshole to come at me, but Lysandro was there first, throwing Ego back to me.
“What are you doing, Lysandro? Me and mine are no business of yours.”
“How many do you have?” Lysandro asked silkily.
Vesper got in his face and huffed. “More than you’d know what to do with, you decrepit piece of shit.”
Lysandro drew his head back like Vesper’s breath smelled, and asked, “And you get them all the same way? Without consent?”
“We don’t need consent,” he screamed. “I’ll never know why our mother chose you. You’re too soft for this life.”
Claws extended, he grabbed Lysandro around the waist as if to throw him off, when he was met with a surprise. We all were. Lysandro gripped his shoulder, then punched his other hand into Vesper’s body.
Then my friend, the kind librarian, the ancient vampire who’d been so patient with Ego, leaned forward, bit down, and ripped Vesper’s throat out. His hand punched through Vesper’s chest and pulled out quickly, flinging blood and guts around the room as he jerked his head back, along with his hand, holding Vesper’s cold, undead heart.
The other’s vampire’s eyes were wide with shock. As his body fell, Lysandro spit the remnants from his throat onto the ground. “Maybe not as soft as you thought.”
He no sooner got the words out when Ego’s whole body convulsed in my lap. Holding him with one hand, I patted him with the other. “Ego. Honey. Baby. Are you okay? Ego,” I said frantically.
Lysandro turned toward me, swaying slightly on his feet, when Benji came up to his other side to support him. The ancient vampire’s eyes flashed with surprise—and was that pleasure?—before he said to me, “He’ll be okay. The line between him and his Sire has been broken.”
Ego coughed before his body finally went still. “Fuck,” he grumbled, rubbing his hand over his chest.
“Are you okay, fledgling?”
Ego’s head whipped his direction. “You…you killed him. You severed the bond. I can…” He trailed off.
As if superimposed across the room, I saw a shimmering thin line between Ego and Lysandro, growing thicker as I watched. I glanced around the room, but no one else seemed to see it. They were all quietly riveted by the interaction playing out between Lysandro and Ego.
Ego tried again. “Did you just…”
“Yes,” Lysandro said, staring down at his bloody hand. “By killing your maker, I have made you mine. I might not have sired you, but all attachments and responsibilities are mine.”
Ego’s face glowed, making him appear more like the pop star I first thought I knew. It didn’t take away from how handsome I thought he was now, or what I knew of his heart, but it lightened him up. I could already tell that with the death of Vesper; Ego’s depressive spirals were over.
“So should I call you…Master?” Ego asked.
“Absolutely not,” Lysandro snapped.
He might as well have struck my baby vamp. He blanched back, and I felt the phantom pain of heartbreak crack open in my own chest. Holy cow. This anchor stuff was starting to get much more real—and so fucking cool. But first I needed to take care of Ego.
As I sat up to hold him close, Lysandro approached the edge of the couch, still leaning heavily on Benji. Lysandro smiled gently, then said, “You may call me Father.” He paused. “If you wish.”
Ego fell into his arms, sobbing, and I sought out Sky. His green irises glimmered with tears as he met my gaze. We both knew that Ego needed this. To feel protected. Important. Chosen. And Lysandro had just given him that.
We all remained silent until Lysandro let Ego go, and he curled into me. Lysandro looked at the bloody body on the ground and the mess beside it, cringing. “I’m so sorry about that, Chance. Jetty. I don’t know what came over me.”
“I do.” Rosie cackled. “Don’t you worry your pretty head about it. That blood sucker needed to die.”
“Gran!” King gasped, sounding mortified.
“What?” The old woman threw her hands in the air, and turned to her spirit-husband. “It needed to be said, didn’t it?”
Mr. Harry hurried into the room with a bucket and a scrub brush. “Never fear. This old place has seen her share of violence. I’ll have it cleaned up in no time.”
