“Aamon,” Andras calls out. “Gods, boy, are you listening to me at all?”
“Y-yes,” I stutter, hating myself for revealing weakness to him.
Andras shakes his head, disappointment wrought in his features. “I don’t know what’s gotten into you lately. But you’re being sloppy.” He points at me, jaw clenching. “Reckless. You need to get your shit together before you make an irreparable mistake.”
My fists tighten at my sides, suddenly suppressing the urge to lunge at him. It’s the blood, or lack thereof, making my emotions heightened. Making me lose my control. He’s not wrong. I am failing, in more ways than one. But his pointing them out for me to fix—as if I don’t see them too, as if I can see anythingbutthem—sets me on edge.
He watches me for a moment, cocking his head. “You want to challenge me, boy?” He sets his emptytumbler glass down on the desk, folding his arms across his chest as a smirk tickles his lips.
“Stop calling me that,” I press, my anger building. My nails grow to points, digging into the skin of my palms. I can tell by the tinge in the air that I’ve drawn blood. He thinks so little of me. Isn’t even remotely threatened by my anger, despite how successful I’ve been for him in the rings. Despite every order I’ve carried out for him, every life on my hands to protect what we have here. It’s all nothing to him.
But even as the urge to fight blooms within me, so does the magic that keeps me tied to him. When I was too young to understand, I bound myself to Andras. I was thankful to him, honored he wanted me that close. I accepted the offering of his blood eagerly because I viewed him as a father, a savior, in those early days. But time has shown what a mistake it was. When a vampire accepts the blood offering of another, they are bound to them fully—the blood they take binding with their own and making them incapable of disobeying a direct order. It’s a surefire way for Andras to keep his higher ranking members of the Blood Order loyal to him, no matter how far he goes.
His smile deepens, his head lifting the smallest amount as he catches the scent of my blood as well. “Well, come on then.” He moves out from behind his desk to give me a direct shot at him. Arms splayed wide, he stands and smiles at me. He’s so full of pride, so sure that I wouldn’t takehim on because of my rank, my respect for him as the Alpha. As myfather. Because of the magic currently fighting me to stand down.
And I hate how right he is. I let loose the tension in my fists, turning my head away to avert my gaze. Shame builds inside me, wrestling with the anger to take over.
He snickers, sauntering back over to the desk and pouring himself another drink. “I don’t know what you’re trying to prove by denying yourself the right to feed, Aamon. But you will never be a true threat to me so long as you punish yourself so.”
I don’t flinch, but gods do I want to. His words burn. Not because they aren’t true, but because I know he’s right.
I clear my throat, standing my ground but refusing to lift my gaze just yet. “What of the girl?” I ask.
I could admit to myself that I’d been drawn in by her—caught off guard. But it doesn't matter how intriguing she is, how much part of me calls to her. A male bloodbound to the service of the Blood Order—to the service of Andras—has only one allegiance.
Which makes the Daughter of the High Quarter Alpha my enemy.
Andras pauses for a long time, so long that I finally force myself to look back up at him. “Let her stay,” he says when I finally meet his gaze. His lips tip up to reveal a fang on one side. “For now.”
“Why?” I ask, unable to keep the defensiveness out of my tone.
“Why?” he repeats, chuckling. “Are you not the one that brought her here? I assumed you’d be happy with my gracious decision to offer her asylum.”
“Asylum?” I echo, confused. "Why would the daughter of the High Quarter Alpha need asylum? If anything, I thought you’d be anxious to get rid of her before her father finds out she’s here."
Andras places his hands on either side of the old wooden desk, atop the scattering of papers riddled with ungoverned district business. He leans in, lowering his voice as if he’s nothing more than a MidLand busybody sharing a seedy piece of gossip:
“My boy, who do you think brought her here in the first place?”
I storm down the hallway, towards the common room. I need blood and the discussion with Andras has done little to distract me from that need. Hunger has narrowed my vision so much that I can barely see through the fog of intent that has settled in my mind. For a moment, duty fights with my more primal instinct to feed. But first I need to warn themof what Andras shared, what we suspect. That Evangeline is here as a plant by her father to collect information about the Blood Order. I let my gaze sweep over the bodies littering the space, preparing the words, when it suddenly hits me.
Maybe it’s the lack of blood, but it takes me entirely too long to realize something is off. Sterling averts his gaze, something akin to shame blooming in his cheeks.
I give the suspicion no room to breathe as I turn, heading down the hallway towards Sterling’s bedroom. There’s voices behind me, footsteps too. But I don’t let them register. Instead, I walk right up to the door, am neither cautious nor careful as I throw it open and storm into the room.
She’s asleep in Sterling’s bed, or was. Now she’s waking with a start, gripping at the sheet and pushing herself as far back as she can against the headboard. I open my mouth to speak, but the scent lingering in the air hits me all at once.
There’s no fucking way.
I turn back towards the open doorway, where Sterling, Quinn, and Zeke are now trailing in. “You fucked her? Already?” I ask, exacerbated. I was posing my question towards Sterling, but Quinn’s the one opening his mouth to respond.
“Aamon, it’s not a big deal.” His hand is at the back of his neck in that annoying way it always is when he’s nervous.
“Actually, Quentin,” I say as I step up to them. “It is a big deal. We don’t even knowwhyshe’s here. So maybe you should spend five seconds using that fucking head of yours before jumping into bed with the daughter of our enemy!”
“Aamon.” Sterling puts his hands up, trying to get in between me and Quinn. “It wasn’t his idea, okay? It was mine. I thought it would help her settle some. I’m sorry, I didn’t think it would be an issue.”
I scoff. Because as much as I would love to believe that, I know Quinn. He will use any excuse he can to fuck the closest thing that’s moving and consenting. But then the thought occurs to me, and before I know what I’m doing, I’m facing the girl again. They may have fucked her, but I know these boys too well to think they would have ever forced something on her. Which means she wanted it, too.
