“Wren,” he corrected. “Her name is Wren. And she’s…” There wasn’t a word for his feelings. The blood in his veins? The beat of his heart? The center of his soul? His emotions transcended romantic love. She didn’t just belong to him. He simply couldn’t live without her. “She’s mine.”
The whiz of a book heading his way snagged Griffin’s attention and he plucked it from the air, shooting a glare at Brom.
“No shit, Sherlock. Wanna know what the fuck you’re doing to yourself?” Brom flung another tome at him and he repeated the process, snatching it from its path.
“Brom.” Carac’s voice held a warning, but it seemed the other vamp was ignoring their Sovereign’s tone.
“What? I finally get to be useful as something other than clean-up or destroying Broken and I’m sure as shit gonna get the most out of it.” Brom let one final book fly and then strode toward them, slumping into a nearby chair.
Griffin curled his lip, exposing a single fang. A glance at the books in his lap revealed three titles written in what could have been Latin…but not quite. He’d never been big on languages. The covers were solid, yet unmarred, pages stiff from lack of use. Old words, but new books. “What’s this, man?”
“The reasons Carac hasn’t lopped off your head.” Brom smirked at him. “I’m ready for you to bow before me whenever you are.”
Griffin snorted and took a closer look at the pages he held, thumb tracing the words gracing the cover. “Explain.”
“Those, puppy…”
Griffin glared, but didn’t interrupt.
“…are translations of a few ancient scrolls currently residing Rome. Not the ones that have been sanitized by the Ancients along the way, but originals.”
“Translations? I know a little Latin, but this shit is—”
“No interruptions.” Carac cut him off.
“Damn straight, man.” Liam bust in. “Brom’s been saving up for something like this for years.”
A glare was passed around by Brom, but the vamp continued. “It’s actually Old Latin, translated from Sumerian. The point is—”
“That’s fuckin’ old.”
“Carac.” Brom’s face had reddened. Griffin had never heard that particular growl from his brother Protector before.
“Silence, Griffin. Before I decide to follow through with my original plans and find a lovely beach.” Carac smiled, a blood-chilling row of teeth revealed, capped off with lengthening fangs.
Griffin swallowed past the dryness in his throat. He’d behave and wouldn’t give his Sovereign a reason to Release him.
Brom resumed his explanation. “As I was saying. The texts were originally recorded in Sumerian and I had a friend visit the tombs and, uh, borrow them for a while. He translated them to Old Latin since he’s old. Plus, not many speak the language and it’d be difficult to translate had someone gotten a hold of the books. The gist is… Wren is your Fire.”
Silence descended, the quiet surrounding the room in a blanket of stillness and Griffin’s thoughts whirled within his mind.
“Come again? That’s a fairytale. A myth. A flimsy excuse the Broken vampires use to justify exchanging with humans and forever binding them.”
Carac drew his attention then, leaning toward him, eyes intent. “It’s not a myth. It’s reality. The Ancients recorded our history and along the way, politicians distorted the truth. From what Brom has discovered, the Broken vampires did take advantage of humans long ago and violated our laws under the guise of hunting for their Fire. In retaliation, humans who’d been partially bound had begun hunting and killing those vampires. At the time, it was decided that rewriting history was necessary and exchanges were outlawed. But a vampire’s Fire is real, Griffin. And, based on Brom’s research, and your behavior, you’ve found yours.”
* * *
Wren shivered and clutched her cup of coffee, hugging it close and spreading her fingers to absorb the heat. She was so freakin’ cold. And if she wasn’t cold, she was hot. Her body bounced between the two ends of the spectrum, refusing to even pause in between.
In the last two weeks she’d been to two doctors along with one lovely visit to the emergency room. So far, no one had been able to tell her what was wrong. Though, she had endured a fun conversation where a doctor told her there was nothing to be ashamed of if she was going through alcohol withdrawal. There were places that could help her…
Physically, they hadn’t found anything wrong, but Wren knew she just wasn’t right.
The buzz of the intercom forced her to release her mug and she poked at the phone, answering her admin Lynn’s page. “Yes?”