His legs gave out again as he entered the kitchen and he had to crawl the rest of the way, hauling himself along the floor until he almost tore the door that barred the way between him and the blood that he couldn’t wait another second to devour. He didn’t care what he ate, he tore at anything that he could, one, two, three, four . . . five bags and still he reached for another.

“What the fuck? Flint! Are you all right? What the heck is wrong with you? I’ve never seen any Vampire feed so much.” Talon’s shocked voice finally wrenched Flint from his feeding frenzy.

He looked at the floor, seeing the empty bags, counted and shook his head in shock. “What the hell?” He couldn’t believe it either. What the hell was wrong with him?

“Flint, do you need me to get someone? A Healer, perhaps?” Talon asked warily, his tone low and Flint noticed the shifter kept the countertop between them. His muscles were bunched tight, rippling beneath his suit, obviously ready to defend himself.

Shit, he didn’t blame the guy. He must look like a crazy son-of-a-bitch. “I’m okay. I think. I’ve no idea what just happened. It’s never happened before . . . well, something did, on the plane when we flew over Edinburgh, but then it went and, shit. I apologize, Talon. I’m not going to attack you. I promise.”

Flint scooped up the empty blood bags, rose, kicked the fridge door closed and got rid of the garbage. Talon stood with his dark eyes watching him carefully. The shifter’s body language was on full alert, every muscle taut, his arms hanging loose but away from his body . . . ready to protect himself. Shit. This was not the way he wanted the evening to go.

“Are you ill?” Talon eventually asked after several awkward moments of silence, his head tilting to the side. “Is that even possible? Do Vamps get sick?”

He saw the shifter inhale, knew he was scenting him for . . . what? Deceit, illness? Flint guessed probably both.

“I’m not ill. We don’t get ill. Or I don’t think we do. I’ve never heard of it. The only time I’ve seen anything like this is . . .” He stopped, a coldness settling inside him but he pushed the thought away.

“What?” Talon prodded. “You remembered something there. I saw it, Flint. Tell me.”

Talon’s voice was cold and hard. One that certainly brooked no argument but Flint shook his head. Refusing to voice what had fleetingly crossed his mind and looked over at the man and lied with practiced ease. He could fool even the most adept Directive interrogator so Talon was not going to be a problem. “It’s impossible, so forget it. I’ve no idea what happened but I feel fine now so let’s get going. I’m looking forward to seeing more of your beautiful country and Edinburgh in particular. I’ll bet you know the best places to go and I’m in the mood to meet some local gals.”

The Scotsman scowled briefly before he scratched the thin covering of hair on his chin before shaking his head. “Don’t say that. Gals? No, definitely don’t say that. You sound like a . . .”

He stopped, obviously about to say something he deemed inappropriate. Flint strode toward the front door, laughing. “So, not gals. And what did I sound like? It’s okay, I’m a big boy . . . I can take it.”

He didn’t slow, or wait for Talon, in fact, he sped up, desperate to be on his way. Something inside of him whispering hurry. Flicking off lights as he went, knowing the man following would see clearly enough with his shifter’s eyes, he was outside in seconds and saw a jet-black Range Rover . . . top of the line, of course. Again, he didn’t wait for his companion, opening the passenger door and hopping up and settling himself into the soft leather. He looked around, admiring the vehicle when Talon joined him.

“Wouldn’t you rather be in the back?” He canted his head. “That’s where the guests normally ride.”

Flint could feel the other man’s unease at him being up front but he had no intention of sitting in the back like a guest. Hell, he was the bodyguard at home and he was used to being right where he was. “I’m fine here, thanks. It’s where I’m used to sitting so don’t worry ‘bout me. Now, why don’t you tell me a bit more about your homeland? I’ve been quite a few times with Victor but it’s mostly been on business. That’s not to say we didn’t manage to fit in some play, but it was limited, and I didn’t get to see a lot of the country.”

He’d hit the right spot . . . Talon drove off and as he did, he started to talk and boy, could the man talk. He didn’t seem to take much time to breathe as they wove through Quinn’s estate, which Flint noticed was pretty dang big, and then out onto a road that was long and winding for several miles. It wasn’t lit but that didn’t seem to bother his driver who didn’t slow down, even on some sharp bends, and they never met any oncoming traffic, not until they came to a junction that took them onto a larger road. That one was busier and after a few more miles, they were on a motorway, and the entire time, Talon spoke about Scotland and his love for his homeland. Boy, he’d heard about the Scots and their fervor for their land, but now he was hearing it up close and personal, and it was something else.

Finally he managed to get a word in, chuckling as he did. “I see why you love it here, but can I ask . . . what kind of name is Talon for a Scotsman?”

Talon bristled, his shoulder’s stiffening as he glanced over, glowering. “What? Should I be Angus? Or Dougal? Or something like that?”

Flint held his hands up. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to insult you. I was just wondering. It’s an unusual name, that’s all.”

“And what about you? Flint isn’t? And your accent . . . you might sound all American but I’ve got a good ear and there’s somethin’ else there, laddie. I can hear it,” Talon shot right back.

“Touché, you’ve got me there. Okay, I’ll tell you mine . . . and I don’t do this, with anyone.” Flint exhaled, remembering back to his childhood and how he’d been forced to fight for food as a young boy in the streets as an orphan. He’d been on his own until a group of street urchins had taken him in and he’d thought he was safe. Wrong. He’d had to prove himself and that had been tough. So tough that he’d ended up closing down and turning into one of the hardest members of the group. So hard that he’d earned the nickname . . . Flint. He was American, born and bred, but his mother had been French and before his parents had died and he’d ended on the streets, he’d been bi-lingual. But he needed to win over Talon, especially after his earlier lapse and he thought this might just do it.

“Let’s hear it. I’ve also got a good ear for lies,” Talon grumbled as they neared Edinburgh.

Flint could now see the lights from the castle set high atop the mound, the sight setting off an uneasy feeling deep inside his belly. He forced his eyes away and settled them on his lap where he fisted his hands and started to relate his childhood, albeit a watered-down version but with enough details that it would satisfy the disgruntled Wolf. Talon grunted in several places, especially when he admitted his mother was of French origin, and again when he told of what he’d had to do to gain admittance into the street urchin gang to survive. When they’d given him his name, and the reason for it, Talon let out a long whistle through his teeth, followed by a curse word in Gaelic . . . or that’s what Flint surmised it was by the cadence of his voice.

“So that’s the story behind my name. The only other person that knows my story is Victor Strong. I’ve never told anyone else. Nobody, Talon, and I don’t expect it to get around. If it does then I’ll know exactly where to come.”

Talon was deathly quiet for several minutes. The only sound in the car was their breathing as they hit heavier traffic, the car slowing as they weaved between other vehicles. Flint kept his eyes on the windscreen, looking straight ahead and averting his eyes from the lure of the castle that seemed to be pulling him toward it . . . was it the castle itself or just the area? He wasn’t certain, all he knew was that something up on that mound was drawing him there and whenever he glanced its way it set off feelings he most definitely didn’t want . . . not in the confines of the vehicle with Talon right next to him.

“That was a hard start in life, laddie,” Talon gruffed out. “I’m sorry to hear that and I’m afraid my story isn’t near as colorful as yours.” He paused, squinting over at him and raising a brow. “Apparently when my mother was carrying me I was always moving around and in her words, I was ‘trying to claw my way out’ for weeks before I was born. So much so that when I was born she decided to name me Talon, even though my dad argued for days saying it wasn’t a name for a Wolf, or a Scotsman. But my mother, well, she’s a force to be reckoned with and she wouldn’t be swayed. She told him that if he didn’t agree that he could, and I’m told these were her exact words, ‘Go fuck a sheep for the rest of his life because he’d never lay a hand on her again.’ And knowing my mother, I think she meant it.”

Flint’s head spun around and saw the steely set of Talon’s jaw, and the mischievous glint in his eye. “As it’s your name, I assume she won the battle.”

“Aye, she did that, and I’ve got a wee sister that’s barely seven months younger than me.” He chuckled. “As well as a horde of other siblings. My father was, and probably still is, a randy bugger. That was the ultimate threat and she knew it. I’m convinced she still uses it against him whenever she wants her own way. She’s a canny woman is my mother.”

“What? Seven months?”

“Shifter pregnancies are shorter and she came early.” Talon shook his head. “I’m amazed my mother could put up with all of us. The woman has the patience of a saint, but she rules with a rod of iron. She’s named some of my siblings with normal Scottish names, but there’s other weird ones thrown in. I’ve a brother named Odin, yeah, after the Norse God, and I’ve a sister named Buffy . . . yes, after that show. Then there’s another brother who she thought it would be a good idea to call, wait for it, Lucifer. Thankfully, he’s huge, larger than me and tough as hell, no pun intended. Anyone who starts anything with him is soon put in their place, but I’ve no idea what goes through her head when she decides on a name for us. I’ve asked her and she just looks up and says, ‘Divine inspiration’, mad woman.”

Flint was flabbergasted. “Lucifer. Isn’t that, I don’t know, against your religion or something?”

Talon’s shoulders shook, a rumble of laughter breaking free as they took a turn off the motorway, now they were almost grinding to a halt as the traffic built up around them, causing Flint’s insides to churn and his stomach to spasm painfully. He pushed it away, forcing himself to focus on the Scot who managed to gasp out. “No, we don’t follow any traditional religion and even if we did, that wouldn’t stop my mother. She’d thumb her nose at anyone, or anything, if her mind was set. She’s . . . unique, yes, that’s the only word to describe her, and fierce. She’s the fiercest She-Wolf I know. She’d stand up to anyone, or anything, without blinking an eye.”

“Your family sounds great,” Flint replied honestly. He’d never had that. A large loving family that he could rely on. It was something that sounded . . . shit, what was the point of dwelling on what he’d never had. What he never would have. He had a family of sorts. He had Victor, who was the brother he’d never had, and he loved him as such. Now there was Kimber too. Although he didn’t feel the same for her as he did Victor, he knew he would die for her as he would Victor. He’d protect her with his life and the young Dragon did bring a smile to his face and brighten up his life . . . now and again. And now she was carrying Victor’s child and there would soon be a baby within their fold. That would be . . . interesting. But he knew without a shadow of doubt that he’d protect that child with every fiber of his being. He also knew he would never, not in a million years, change a dirty diaper. That was above and beyond his call of duty.

“Mad, that’s what it is, but I wouldn’t change them for anything.” Talon chuckled.

Flint bet he wouldn’t. Neither would he if he were given the chance. Both fell silent as Talon took a right turn, heading off into winding side streets that were barely wide enough to accommodate their vehicle, but it didn’t bother the Wolf at all. He kept going and soon Flint had completely lost his bearings, his head snapping back to try and see where they’d come from, but he stood no chance. The buildings were tall and close together, old and some appeared to lean over and blocked out all signs of where they’d been. There wasn’t a hope in hell he’d be able to make his way back if he and Talon were separated, not quickly anyway.

Some of the buildings were magnificent, some not so much, looking run down and in a state of disrepair, but the feel of the area wasn’t in doubt. He could sense the history as they drove deeper into the city, drawing nearer and nearer to the castle . . . and with every passing second his body was reacting. To what he was still clueless, but something was going on and he had to get to the bottom of it before he lost his goddamn mind. His insides started to churn, and he felt as if he hadn’t fed in days . . . a thirst burning in the back of his throat and his head started to pound as if an army were inside with sledgehammers trying to break their way free from his skull. His hand shot up, rubbing his temple to try and ease the pain, but it was no use and the agony increased as they rose a sharp incline. His other hand pressed the button to roll down the window, gasping as the cold hair blew into the interior, cooling down his scorching hot skin. Talon shooting wary glances over at him.

“What the hell is going on with you?” the shifter asked, his tone sharp. “And don’t fuck with me, Flint, because it’s obvious there’s something wrong.”

“How long ‘til we get there?” he barked out instead. Knowing he had to reach his destination. That was the only thing he could focus on. That was the only thing that was important. How, or why, he knew that was a mystery to him. Hell, he knew nothing about this damn city, but deep inside him he was being drawn to the castle . . . or nearby and the closer they got the more certain of that fact he was.

“We’re there, just about,” Talon replied. “I need to take these back-streets to get to the club. There’s no parking anywhere else, it’ll be a few minutes at most. Why? What’s so important about getting there? You’re worrying the hell out of me. You’re not going to lose it. Are you?”

Flint shook his head but in truth he wasn’t so sure, nonetheless he couldn’t allow that fact to be known. He didn’t feel in control and that scared the shit out of him. He’d never felt like this, not even when he’d first been turned and Victor had found him as a new Vampling and taken him under his wing. At this moment though . . . he was on the very edge. He could feel his bloodlust simmering beneath the surface, almost taste it in his mouth as his fangs fought to break through his gums. But he forced them back, using every ounce of his willpower to halt their determined effort to free themselves in readiness to slice through soft skin and feed. No! he screamed in his mind. Refusing to buckle beneath the onslaught against his body, his mind, his freedom.

He would not fail. He would not become a mindless monster that rampaged through the streets killing and gorging on the blood of innocents. That wasn’t who he was, that wasn’t the man he was. He was Flint . . . hard, strong, and . . . what the fuck was that? Talon had pulled to a stop, parking down an alley. “We’re here, the club is around the corner and the castle is five minutes’ walk. What do you want to do? The castle isn’t open at this time, but then again, if you want in, I’m sure you can get in.”

Flint shot out his door, almost losing his footing in his haste as his entire soul burned with energy and something else that he had no name for. It was a unique sensation taking root deep inside him, synapses firing to life all at once and his nostrils flaring to catch the scent he’d barely caught a trace of moments earlier. His head snapped around . . . there. “Down there,” he snapped out, his feet moving off into the darkness of the alley.