Chapter Eight
Marcus
A thousand memories assaulted Marcus as he ran through Boston. He dashed past the clueless humans. Thank god for the early darkness. All they’d sense was a streak of light, or a strong breeze. They’d never see him or his swiftly increasing panic.
What had Briar seen? Which murder had he committed?
Had she seen him in Rome, driving his sword through soldiers as the streets ran with blood? So much blood it’d run to the aqueducts and into the water. Later, Marcus had drunk from fountains tinged pink with the lifeblood of his enemies.
Were they his enemies? Back then, any enemy of Asher’s had been Marcus’s as well. Had he had any will?
No.
Perhaps what Briar had seen was more recent? The destruction of a village of vampires, ones who’d created their own family group away from Asher’s control and megalomania? They’d lived peacefully until Marcus and his brothers had annihilated them.
“Or perhaps, I showed her Annie?” Asher’s voice was a silky whisper through the darkness. It was a ribbon of evil that wound its way into Marcus’s ear and around his heart, squeezing tightly. “Is that what you truly fear?”
Marcus slowed, waiting for his creator to reveal himself. He gave a quick glance around his surroundings to ascertain whether there were humans present. There were not. He’d made it to Mt. Auburn Cemetery. Without realizing it, he’d passed Harvard, followed the Charles River, and traveled west to the cemetery. It was the perfect place for a confrontation with a creature of death like Asher.
“I have too many fears when it comes to Briar to admit to just that one,” Marcus stated and Asher grinned. The vampire stuck his hands in his pockets and ambled toward him, looking for all the world like a hipster from one of the coffee shops near Briar’s old apartment. He wore a scarf slung around his neck, dark pants and a wool coat. A knit hat covered his long hair, but the ends blew around his face.
It was his face that would set him apart. He was so golden, so perfect. No one would ever mistake him for a human, no matter what uniform he wore to camouflage his true identity.
“I always appreciated your honesty,” Asher replied, coming to a stop an arm’s length away from Marcus.
“No, you didn’t.” Marcus snorted. The last thing Asher had ever appreciated was someone who disagreed with him. Kill the messenger? Asher inspired the saying.
The vampire shrugged. “Maybe I didn’t, but I do now. I’ve had years to learn the error of my ways.” He took his hands from his pockets and held them out. “I miss my family, Marcus. I want you to come back to me.” Marcus rocked back on his heels. A small line appeared between Asher’s eyebrows, a flaw on otherwise smooth skin. “You don’t believe me.”
“Of course not,” Marcus answered. He gazed around them, searching for the soldiers he knew would be waiting nearby, hovering. At the first sign from Asher, they’d attack. But for all his heightened senses, Marcus could not find them. Inside his head, he felt a slight pressure, as if his maker was pressing against his mind, digging. “Stay out of my head,” he said through clenched teeth.
At once, the pressure disappeared. “My apologies,” Asher said. “It is habit.”
“We are not returning to you,” Marcus said. There was no way he could believe such a thing might happen. Marcus and his brothers had lived without Asher for centuries. They would never be under his control again.
“See…” Asher walked around him, circling like a shark. “You say that, but I can’t help feeling like you’ll change your mind.”
He couldn’t help the laugh that burst out of him. After everything, Asher truly believed they’d come back? Fight his wars? Let him control their lives?
After what he’d done to Briar?
“You hurt her,” Marcus said. He would do no one any good if he managed to die tonight, so he forced himself to face Asher. Each time his maker moved, Marcus moved, refusing to allow the vampire to have his back. “You’re hurting her now.”
“Well, not now now,” Asher corrected. “But earlier today, yes. I’ll admit, I may have thrown her into a tree.”
Anger threatened to undo Marcus. No good to Briar dead. Asher was goading him. He had to keep his head. He unclenched his hands he’d fisted at his side and rolled his shoulders back to loosen tense muscles. “Must have been after she outmaneuvered you.”
Something flashed in Asher’s eyes, a spark of annoyance he was quick to dampen. “She is clever,” the vampire got out.
“Very,” Marcus agreed, forcing himself to adopt an air of affability he didn’t feel. “She’s as smart as Hudson, smarter than me by far.”
Asher narrowed his eyes but shook his head. “If you’re trying to sell me on her, I couldn’t agree with you more. The time I have spent with her has been…” Asher’s golden eyes studied the cemetery. He didn’t finish his sentence but instead strode toward a tombstone. He crouched in front of it as if to read the epitaph.
Marcus shut his eyes, his imagination filling in everything Asher didn’t say. The question flared in his mind again. What had he done to Briar? Her scent washed over him, as if she stood next to him. Immediately, Marcus spun to search the dark cemetery, expecting to see Briar.
“Sunlight, heat, apple blossoms, snow, the sea, wildflowers…” Asher whispered, his voice trailing into nothing before he stood. “She tastes as delicious as she smells, you know.” He shoved his hands in his pocket and cocked his head to the side. Waiting.
Kill him. The vampire inside Marcus took over, and he leapt. His fingernails raked Asher’s neck before the older vampire flung him aside. He crashed into an obelisk, pulverizing the centuries old monument.
Marcus attacked again. His vampire roared, lusting to kill. He sent image after image to Marcus. Rip his head from his shoulders. Asher was ready, but his vampire was primed. The tangy scent of ancient blood filled the air as Marcus tore through Asher’s clothes like they were nothing, into skin and past muscle. Asher roared, but Marcus didn’t give him time to regain the upper hand. He flung Asher away from him into a copse of trees before flying after him. But before he could get his hands around Asher’s throat, something caught him and pulled him away.
Lots of somethings.
Metallic and cold, the scent of soldiers stung Marcus’s nose. He hadn’t seen them but should have expected they’d stop him before he truly did any damage to his maker. Their clawed hands dug past his clothes into his skin. They weren’t trying to kill him, but weaken him.
“Coward,” Marcus got out in a thin voice. Asher let others do what he should have done. They’d weaken him, and then the vampire would step in, finish the job they started.
“I don’t want you dead, Marcus.” The voice breezed over his face, and he lifted a heavy hand to swat it away. “You’re my son. I want you. I want you to live by my side. Come back to me, Son.”
Marcus shook his head, but it flopped from side to side like a single flap of skin attached it. In the cold night air, he could smell his own blood. He felt it leaving his body with every feeble pulse of his heart. He would die here tonight. Something icy and familiar dripped over his lips and he swallowed.
This had been his chance to end Asher.
And he’d lost it.