"Holy shit." Lucian let out a low whistle to accompany his curse.
"How many know about this?" Alexander asked, taking in the lavish interior of a cabin that, from the outside, appeared to be falling down.
"Only my father," said the young female. "He assists Master Cruen in exchange for blood and...other things."
"Master Cruen?" Lucian uttered with a sneer. "That's what you have to call him?"
The female looked surprised. "It is how many Impures refer to the Purebloods who employ them."
Not my little Impure, Alexander thought blackly as he moved to the far end of the room where a small laboratory was set up.
"When was he here last?" he asked the female as he picked up a glass jar and examined the contents.
"Hasn't been this month at all."
"Does he come frequently?"
"Varies," she said, her nervous gaze continually checking the window. "There's never a pattern to it."
Frustration built within Alex. Without a pattern, it was going to be difficult to lay a trap. It wasn't as though they could camp out here and wait for the paven to show up.
He dropped the jar back on the metal table with little care. "How does he manage to get inside the credenti without being seen?"
"He is Order." As if that explained it all-and maybe it did. "But he was seen," she added cryptically.
Alexander's brow lifted.
She smiled shyly. "By me. It was how my father found out...how he got the job-"
"Alex, get in here." Lucian's call from the other room interrupted their discussion and had Alex on edge.
With the speed gifted to a morphed male, he was by his brother's side in under five seconds. "What is it?"
Lucian's eyes were strained, his mouth grim. "Check out the painting. Over the fireplace."
Alexander turned. For a moment he wasn't exactly sure he was seeing what his brain was telling him he was seeing. "Is that...Cellie?"
"Unless she has a twin we don't know about," Lucian said blankly.
"Why would Cruen have a painting of her?"
"No idea. It's fucking creepy, though."
"She's in swell."
Lucian neared the canvas, squinted at the bottom right-hand corner. "Look at the date."
Alexander moved beside his brother, leaning close to the wisp of black scribble, confusion assaulting him. "That can't be right. That's after Sara and Gray were born."
"Unless she had another kid," Lucian uttered.
Before Alexander could respond or even process, the young female burst into the room. "We have to go," she said, panic threading her tone. "Someone's coming, and the light of a new day threatens."
The bargain he'd struck with the Pureblood at his side made Gray fierce with anger, but at least he was inside. The Pureblood, who's name was Jem, had assured Gray that his mother was well and that they would have zero problems getting her out. Sounded great, sounded perfect-hell, it sounded too perfect. After the night he'd had-shit, the year he'd had-Gray wasn't trusting anyone.
Dressed in the uniform of a guard, Gray moved in the same brisk manner as Jem, trying like hell to mute the sound in his head. Like the Paleo, this place was a constant buzz of thought. He had to work hard to sift through the barrage and find the one he'd come for.
"How close are we?" Gray whispered tightly as they passed row after row of cell blocks.
"She's on this floor," the paven answered. "Down at the end."
Gray's hands balled into fists, itching for his blades. He sure as hell hoped so. Because if this paven was wrong or fucked him in any way, he was as good as dust.
When they came to the end of the hallway, Jem sank back into the shadows and Gray followed. As two guards walked past, Gray tried to pull in the thoughts of the male beside him, but he couldn't grasp on to anything except the chaos of level upon level of inmates.
"This way," Jem whispered, moving out of the shadows and back into the light. "Hurry."
As the din on the floor continued to grow, Gray followed the paven to the right, then walked down a length of empty cells.
Finally, the paven slowed. "Here it is."
Everything happened fast and furious then. Jem had the door of a cell pulled wide. Inside Gray's mind, he heard the cry of a woman, saw a blanketed figure inside the cell, and rushed at it without listening to his screaming instinct. The cell door slammed shut, the blanket dropped to reveal nothing at all, and the Pureblood who had screwed him was slowly backing up.
But not fast enough.
With a feral growl, Gray shot forward, thrust his arm through the bars, grabbed Jem and yanked him forward, clipping his forehead against the metal bars. "You fucking asshole."
The Pureblood struggled to get free, but Gray had her blood inside him, along with a torrent of adrenaline. He was every bit the Beast his mate was.
Jem looked terrified and confused as he tried to turn his head, twitching both ways.
"Looking for help?" Gray asked.
"Please," the male begged. "I'm sorry."
"I'm not," Gray uttered. In one rush of movement, he reached for the blade at his back, slammed it through the bars, and sliced the paven's neck.
When he tossed the body to the ground and stepped back, he found a veana in Order robes standing right behind the dead paven, a black circle around her narrowed left eye.
"Thank you," she said with a false smile, her long white hair in two neat plaits behind her back. "Saved us the trouble of doing it. He has betrayed us many times."
Gray wasn't interested. "Where is she?"
The veana pretended to look surprised, her clay-colored eyes wide. "You came to find someone? I thought you were here because you finally realized what a bad little Impure you've been and were ready to accept your punishment."
"Where is she?" he repeated, cold violence in his tone.
The smile faded and she walked toward him, the body of the paven disappearing with one wave of her hand. "You and your brethren have been trying to break into our frequency for some time. We have felt your push."
Trying to break in. Gray sneered. Who was this veana kidding? "And you will continue to feel our push until we have what we want."
Her lip curled. "And what is that?"
"Ending castrations, choice within the Impure breed, equal rights."
A soft, gentle laugh escaped her throat. "The problem, my heart-beating friend, is that Impures are not equal and they never will be."
Gray reached out and grabbed her by the throat with one hand. Had his blade pressed into her temple with the other. Her eyes filled with amusement, and she placed her hand over his and squeezed. Gray felt an electric current run through him, but nothing more severe than that. His surprise was echoed in the veana's eyes, now completely stripped of her easy confidence and mirth.
She stared at him as though she were seeing him for the first time. Her eyes narrowed and he pressed the blade a millimeter deeper into her temple.
"Ending my long life won't get you what you're after."
"It's a start," he said aloud.
"It's a start to war."
Just as Dillon had said. He twisted the blade. "We're prepared for that."
"No you're not." She studied him, her gaze serious. "You will never have the army of Impures you'd need for an uprising. Not when they rely on the Order to survive."
The arrogance of that statement, of this veana and all who thought like her, made Gray's insides shatter. He was nothing; his father was nothing, Sara...No matter what happened to him, he was going down fighting for all of them.
"Impure slaves for eternity-is that it?" he said.
"It is what they excel at." Her eyes connected with his. "Most of them, anyway. Now, you are different. You have gifts, Gray Donohue. Unlike your father."
Gray pressed the blade into her skin. A trickle of blood snaked down the side of her face. "Don't speak of my father, or the rock at your feet will run slick with your blood."
But she didn't heed him. Her gaze traveled down the arm that held her-an Order member. "He was like-minded, yes, but he didn't have your mental gifts. Or this unusual strength you seem to possess." Her eyes lifted, locked with his. "He cried on the table, you know."
Every cell in Gray's body screamed at him to drill his blade deep within her skull and get rid of one more Order member. But his mind flared with warning and with the voices of the cell mates on the floor, some who were overhearing his conversation.
With sharp hatred, Gray drew back his blade and released her. "You want me to attack you."
She grinned broadly. "Not only do you have mental gifts and curious strength, but you have restraint as well."
"I'm done playing with you," Gray uttered. "Come back when you have something interesting to say."
"Like a bargain?" she whispered. "The Order stops the castrations of Impures, gives you equal footing as the Purebloods, equal rule, equal life?"
He sneered. "Yeah, something like that."
"I cannot."
"Then fuck off." He turned and started to walk away, back into the darkness of the cell.
"But you can."
Her words stilled him. And even though he knew he was dealing with the devil here, those words she'd just uttered were far too tempting to ignore. He glanced over his shoulder and caught her smug gaze.
She inhaled deeply. "Well, you can try."
"I believe I already am."
Her eyes narrowed and her fangs elongated. "We have a vacant chair on the Order."
His pulse jumped in his veins; his nostrils flared. "And?"
She drew closer to the bars until it almost appeared as though she were a part of them. "If you were to take that chair, you would speak for all Impures."
His heart slammed against the ribs that housed it. In his mind, the very logical place that knew this was at the very least a bluff, thoughts were forming. And possibilities, possibilities he desperately wanted to jump on at the very remote chance she was actually offering something real.
"The Order would never allow an Impure at its table," he said with a grunt of forced humor.
"Not just any Impure," she agreed. "No. But an Impure with gifts? Possible. Granted, solutions to issues raised must be fought for and agreed on by all." She tilted her head and sighed. "But it is a...voice."
This was madness. Complete and total insanity, and yet he was hooked like a fucking fish with a worm before him.
Thing was, the worm wanted something too. What was it?
She grinned, knowing exactly where his mind was headed. "Though we don't believe the Impures could manage to win a war against us, the Order does not wish to incur one. There is already enough discord and unrest in the breed." Her brows lifted. "With all these mutores on the loose."
As anger, sudden and deadly, burned within him, Gray feigned ignorance. "What's a mutore?"
Her snow-white eyebrows lifted in surprise. "A Beast, a shape-shifting vampire who has no place in this world, in our breed. They are a bad omen, a mistake against nature, and they bring bad luck to anyone who comes in contact with them." The smile that spread on her face was primitively devious. "With the Pureblood circles your sister runs in, I'm surprised you haven't heard of them before."
The true price of a seat on the Order was becoming clear.
Her eyes flashed. "I want the mutore you harbor. This animal. Dillon."
The way the veana said his mate's name nearly sent Gray over the edge. His fingers itched to toss the blade he still held in his hand straight at her head. But that would be foolish.
Instead he wrinkled his brow, shook his head, and said, "Who?"
"Meow." She laughed, her eyes bright. "It is funny that you should protect the very one who has betrayed you."
Something moved inside him, near his heart, but he ignored it. "I have no idea what you're talking about, but clearly you love hearing yourself attempt to be cryptic."
"Why did you come to Mondrar, Gray? Did someone tell you there was something here you might be interested in?"
His entire body flooded with heat, and the true mate mark on his hand burned.
The veana looked sympathetic. "Clearly your gifts have not extended into seeing the truth in those you love. Are you so disbelieving that someone like her would sell you out, and the four other mutores she is in contact with, just to pay for her freedom?"
No. Gray's nostrils flared. Not possible. She was a nightmare, a hellion, a ruin, and a bolter, but she wouldn't dive that deep into the soul-sucking pool of betrayal.
Even for freedom.
And yet a faint trace of doubt snaked through him.
"No, I see you're not." She reached up to her temple and smoothed the skin with her fingers. The nick, the drops of blood, gone in a heartbeat. "Think of what you could do for 'your' kind with a seat on the Order." Her chin dropped. "You father would be so proud, Gray."
He stood there, still as stone, legs apart like a gunslinger, and just let the chaos inside him reign.
"Think about it: Order Member Gray Donohue," she said. "I will return in an hour for your decision."
She flashed, as he suspected she'd been capable of doing all along-even in his grasp.
Alexander and Lucian arrived at the back door of the house in SoHo just as the sun was coming up. They'd narrowly escaped being seen by the female's father, who had been so surprised to see his daughter there he'd made a thorough sweep of the compound. The poor female had been so shaken up, Alexander had wished for the sun to heel and remain hidden for another few minutes so he could've offered the girl another meal of his blood.
But she'd had to make do with the bag of gold coins he'd forced into her small hands before they'd raced away.
Alexander heard his family before he saw them. Lucian too, and they both followed the din to the library, where the Romans and the Beasts were congregating. The massive pile of Roman brothers within the bookshelf-lined walls had become a custom as of late, and normally Alexander would've appreciated the warmth of the sight before him. But after being in his credenti, after seeing the painting of Celestine, he felt decidedly confused and shaken.
He wanted Sara, in his bed, her arms around him. But it was Sara who needed the comfort now. Nicky hadn't contacted them when they were inside the credenti, which meant no Titus, no Eyes, no way into Mondrar, and by the look on his true mate's face, she hadn't received any news either.
Kate and Bron bracketed her on the couch. "Nothing from Gray. Nothing from Dillon," Sara told him, paler than he'd ever seen her.
Alexander crossed to her at once, took her hand and pulled her to him, gathered her in his arms. "If they're not here by dark, I'll go and find them all."
"We will all go," Erion said, and when Alexander glanced over at him and at the Beasts, each one nodded in turn.
"We will invade the Order if we have to," Nicholas said, going to stand behind Kate.
"The Order," Alexander snarled, though he held his mate with a gentle hand. "The puppet masters of us all. Even our father seems to have abandoned us again. I'm beginning to agree with Gray and his movement, this Resistance. The Order's one-size-fits all, dictatorial, thumb-in-every-bloody-pie rule needs to end."
As the room erupted into a fit of opinions, facts, ideas, and strategy to deal with the Order, Alexander realized no one had asked him and Luca about the bunker, about Cruen. He glanced over at his brother, who at that moment had eyes only for Bronwyn and their child.
Perhaps he'd hold on to this news, he reasoned, tightening his hold on his beloved, especially the painting they'd seen, until he could question Cellie himself.
"You have a tracking device in your leg," Dillon said, her fingers prodding the older veana's skin behind her knee. "We need to remove it before I take you home."
Just like she'd done with Gray, Dillon had flashed Celestine to several locations before sticking the landing. She wasn't exactly sure what had made her choose the one she did. Maybe it gave her strength to sit beside the Eastern Vermont riverbank again; maybe she just wanted to feel close to Gray.
"You know how to do it?" Celestine asked, her eyes sharp as she straightened her leg.
Kneeling beside her, Dillon nodded as she retrieved one of the knives she'd taken from Gray's stash in the cottage. "But you need to hold really still."
She felt the veana's nerves take hold for a moment, but as Dillon made a small incision in Cellestine's skin, Cellie held firm.
"So you are the mutore the Order seeks?" she said, her tone a little breathless.
"Guess so." Figures, she mused drily, locating the small metal disk. Gray's mother would hate her already.
"And your name is Dillon." She jerked a little when she said the name.
"Please hold still," Dillon warned. "I don't want to catch a vein."
She did as Dillon asked, kept quiet for a moment or two, but clearly it was all she could manage. "My son has strong feelings for you."
Why did that statement sound as though it was the worst fate in the world for this veana? Jeez, maybe get to know me, then hate me, Dillon thought as she applied pressure under the disk, trying to gently pry it free.
"Strong feelings can make us do things," Celestine said almost piously. "Make us choose things that aren't in our best interest."
Dillon popped out the tracking device, tossed it in the water, and blew on the wound. Then she stood up and gave the veana before her a dark glare. "You bet your Pureblood ass it does," she snapped. "I should be a thousand miles away from here, from the Order, from Gray." She reached down and grabbed Celestine's hand, pulled her to stand. "But like you said, strong feelings can make us do things that aren't in our best interests."
Celestine's gaze softened. "Like rescuing the mother of the male you care for?"
Dillon sighed and got ready to flash the veana home. "No. Like rescuing the mother of the male I love."