Forged in Blood: A Dark Paranormal/ Fantasy romance (Broken Bloodlines Book 1)

As soon as I step foot inside the house, the sound of the boys arguing in the den rings in my ears. I close my eyes and draw in a deep breath, trying to ease the tension that feels like it is solidifying my muscles. Their noise may not be responsible for said tension, but it has not helped.

No, this started earlier while I was teaching class. The class during which I felt Ophelia Hart’s eyes on me the entire time, and even now my skin prickles at the mere memory of the heat of her gaze. The girls sitting next to her looked at her with such disdain, and it took all my resolve not to tear all three of them to pieces after feeling the anguish radiating from Ophelia when I stepped into the lecture hall. She drew my attention immediately, as she always does. And then, as keenly as I felt her hurt, I experienced her calm when her eyes locked with mine.

I swallow down my unease and step into the chaos of my three deviant offspring bickering about the Trials. Sensing my presence, they fall quiet.

Axl releases Xavier from a headlock and sits down on the sofa while the latter brushes his thick dark hair back from his face. He’s just as captivating as he was the day we found him stealing from a bakery, practically starved. As skinny as he was, his high cheekbones and turbulent blue eyes stopped me in my tracks.

“Hey, Professor,” Malachi says with his usual smile.

I only nod in greeting. “How are the pledges faring in the Trials?”

“Last night went well. We won.”

I shrug off my jacket and remove my cufflinks. “Unsurprising. We always win the Maze. How many fell?”

Malachi leans forward. Hands clasped between his thighs. “Two of ours. Four from Onyx, and another three across Lapis and Opal.”

I slip my cufflinks into my pocket before rolling up my shirt sleeves. We have so few pledges across all four societies, we cannot afford to lose so many. Whilst the honor of House Drakos and the Ruby Dragon Society is paramount, it does not fare well for all of vampirekind when so many from the other societies fall. I pinch the spot between my brows. “So how many pledges do we have left?”

“Twenty-six,” Xavier answers.

“And how many do you expect to make it to the end of the Hunt and be suitable for recruitment?”

Axl tucks a cushion behind his head and leans back against the arm of the sofa. “I’m guessing about nine.”

I frown. That is a higher percentage than normal, which is at least some good news. “More than a quarter?”

Xavier nods. “We had fewer pledges this year, but the standard was up.”

“Do any of them stand out?”

Axl’s throat works as he swallows. “Why? Are you going to turn one yourself this year?”

Unease rolls off the three of them, and I have no need to read their minds to know what they are thinking. For decades, pressure has been applied from House Drakos for me to turn some of our pledges for my own, but I have no desire to have any more beings dependent on me than the three men sitting in this room. I leave the turning of new vampires to my cousins, and very occasionally, if one pledge shows exceptional promise, my brother. And on the rare occurrence they show the kind of unparalleled cruelty that runs in the veins of House Drakos, my father. Many of my kind turn as many as possible, desiring an army of sireds to protect their own immortality. But the truth of it is, I would be happy to die tomorrow. Only these boys stop me from breaking an oath that would bring about that end. And when they are gone, so shall I be.

I shake my head. “You three give me more than enough trouble without adding more to our unit.”

Relief washes over them, and I am grateful that they, too, are content with the status quo. Perhaps I have been cruel in not allowing them a bigger family unit, but I barely have room in my head for these boys, and far too little in my heart. There was once a time … I bring a wall of granite crashing down on those memories, ones that lurk far too close to the surface these days for my liking.

I clear my throat. “Are you still keeping a close eye on the girl?”

Malachi answers first, his delight palpable. “Yeah. We’re still watching her.”

Her effect on them is not unnoticed, and I wish there was more I could do to prevent it, but the risk of them getting too close to her is far outweighed by the risk of another discovering what or who she might be. “And Ronan is keeping his distance?”

Xavier nods, but Axl speaks. “This Penelope chick is trouble though.”

I am aware there were issues between the two of them in high school, but I would not have expected that to have followed them here. Rarely do students, even those who blossomed under the glory days of homecoming and prom, carry such trivial matters with them to college. I motion for him to continue.

“She hates Ophelia. Like really hates her. And she’s up to something. I can feel the rage inside her.”

Mere high school rivalry, or is it something more? My mind races with possibilities. “You bit her?”

Axl nods. “So I could keep closer tabs on her. Something’s definitely off with her.”

I arch an eyebrow. “Then perhaps you need to do more than bite her.”

Xavier holds up his cell phone. “We’re tracking her phone too. If she goes to Ophelia’s dorm, the Onyx House, or anywhere suspicious, we’ll know.”

“If she becomes more of a problem, you know how to deal with her.” I catch the way their eyes light up at the prospect. “Only if she becomes a problem that cannot be dealt with another way.” The last thing I need to be dealing with is smoothing over a human death or drawing attention to Montridge for any negative reasons. The university frowns upon the killing of their kind, and with good reason. Whilst they are often chosen because they are considered easy prey, the university ensures that they graduate alive and without any lasting damage. Thereby ensuring a healthy and constant supply of fresh food for the vampire food chain.

“How long do we have to keep doing this?” Xavier asks. “Babysitting this girl and not being able to bite her? Because if we could just⁠—”

“You will not be biting her,” I snap. “Ever.”

He slumps back in his seat with a frustrated grunt.

“You will continue to monitor her for as long as I tell you to.” The truth is, I have no idea what my next step is or how long I can expect them to keep this girl out of trouble when she is so intent on finding it for herself. Nor why I am so desperate to.

Except that—in my heart—I know exactly what she is.

I close my eyes and concentrate, searching for the one man I can talk this through with. It takes me only five seconds to find him.

I need to talk to you.

His reply comes swiftly. Of course, brother. I shall be there as soon as I can.

This place has changed not a bit. Still smells of ink and parchment. Giorgios’s voice resounds in my head, and I look up to see him weaving his way through the shelves of the old library, the one deep in the bowels of Zeus Hall.

“Why would an ancient library need to change, brother?” I give him a brief hug before pulling out a chair for him.

He glances around and takes a seat. “It need not change. It was not a complaint. I find it nice to have some familiarity in a world intent on changing.”

“Well, it is nice of you to visit. How long has it been?” I tilt my head as I take a seat across from him. “Seventeen years?”

He arches an eyebrow. “Sixteen, and you know it.”

“Close enough.”

“Is it my fault that you choose to hide out in these old university buildings rather than face the real world?”

Annoyance prickles at my skin. “Not hiding out. Securing the future of our species, Giorgios.”

“And that would be admirable, brother, if you ever permitted yourself to leave these grounds. If you experienced any of what life has to offer.”

I run a hand over my beard and sigh. “I am over two thousand years old. I figure I have experienced enough of this thing called life to last me an eternity.”

His laugh brings back too many bittersweet memories. Even without our bond, he must sense my sorrow because he changes the subject. “So, tell me why you asked me here. I cannot recall the last time you needed my help. Or at least admitted that you needed my help.”

I glance around the almost-empty library. Built into the bedrock of the mountain, it is reserved for faculty and is rarely used. The library is protected by demon magic and is impenetrable. Even a bond cannot be felt in here. The secrets of millennia have been shared and kept within these walls, and I trust nobody else in the world with what I am about to discuss with my brother.

“I need you to tell me that I am not crazy.”

His blue eyes narrow. “You are the least crazy man I know, Alexandros.”

I scrub a hand through my hair and rest my forehead on the table for a few seconds before looking into his reassuring face. “So tell me why I am having such ludicrous notions.”

He edges closer, his forearms resting on the table between us, hands clasped tightly. “What kind of notions?”

“There is a girl. No, a woman.” I shake my head, recalling her sitting in the front row of my class today. How drawn I always am to her. How her essence calls to my soul like no other ever has before.

“Alexandros, are you falling in love?” He grins at me.

I roll my eyes. “Please, brother. Refrain from such absurdity.”

He looks visibly surprised by my refutal, like he actually thought I dragged him halfway across the world to tell him that I am in love. “But I thought I felt a little …” He clears his throat. “Passion?”

I have been thinking about her a lot. The only woman I have ever chosen to bond with, and therefore the only one I will ever be capable of loving. Perhaps that is what he felt. But passion would not be a word that I would associate with what I felt for her. Our love was tamer than that. Gentler. “This is about something else.”

“The girl?”

“Yes. The girl. She …” I run my tongue over my teeth. Saying this aloud makes my ridiculous notion somehow more likely to be real, and I am unsure that I feel ready for that. But I would be surprised if I ever felt ready, and he is the one man I can share this with. He is also brutally honest. Our father taught us well. “My boys brought her home one night. Her scent—” The memory of that first encounter is as fresh in my mind as the day it happened. “She smelled familiar. She smelled like … like one of them, Giorgios.”

He frowns.

“It rains when she feels sad.”

His Adam’s apple bobs. He opens his mouth, but I continue before he can speak.

“She started a fire that burned down an entire building. No trace of accelerants was found, and she walked out without a mark on her skin.”

“Alexandros.” He drops his voice to a whisper and leans as close as he can with the table between us. “Are you really saying that you think she is one of them?”

“No.” I shake my head, adamant. “No, that is impossible. Their entire line was erased from existence.”

Giorgios pinches the spot between his brows. “If an elementai had been born, then we would know. Our father would know. There would be no hiding that kind of power. Not from him.”

I take a breath before I tell him my other suspicion. “I think someone bound her powers.”

He recoils. “What? That practice died out so long ago, and with good reason. Why would you think that?”

“Because whatever or whoever she is, she has power, Giorgios. I can sense it. I can smell it like lightning in a storm cloud. But she has no idea.”

He shakes his head, his jaw slack as he digests the insanity of what I am suggesting. “But there are so few capable of binding powers. Nobody but the Danraath witches, and they are healers.”

“I know, brother. It makes no sense.” The Danraath all but died out with the elementai. Those who remained retreated to Europe, and their line has lived in near solitude since.

Giorgios leans back in his chair, his blue eyes twinkling with unsuppressed excitement while he works through what I just told him in his usual methodical way. I might be the one hiding myself away within the walls of this ancient university, but my brother is the scholar. He looks so much like our mother, who with mastery over air and water, was one of the most powerful elementai who ever lived. Still, even she was not strong enough to withstand the armies of witches, warlocks, and wolves that came for her. The elementai never stood a chance. Grief threatens to drown me, but I hold it back, closing the dam in my mind before it can take hold. Now is not the time for sentiment or emotion.

“You were right to summon me here, Alexandros,” he finally says. “This girl of yours is most definitely worth keeping a closer eye on.”

“Do you think she could be a demon? She is no witch, and she’s certainly not a wolf. It is unusual for a demon’s powers to be suppressed in such a way but possible, no?”

His brow furrows. “Why would you think she is a demon? Does she smell like a demon?”

Because I am grasping for any other explanation. Because even as the thought of her being one of them lights a fire in my veins that I assumed had long been extinguished, I want nothing more than for it to be impossible. “No,” I admit. “But perhaps there is some witch in her blood somewhere and that is what’s behind her unique scent. The fire magic would be more consistent with demons.” Still grasping. Some of the most powerful elementai have possessed fire magic, but I am not ready to face that truth. Not yet.

“I do not think she’s a demon, Alexandros. I think you know exactly what she is or you would not be seeking my counsel. But I also understand why you are unwilling to face your true suspicions.” His blue eyes soften. “So I am willing to let you live under the illusion that she is not what you fear she is for a while longer. But she must be protected at all costs. If you bond with her⁠—”

I slam my fist onto the table. “I have no intention of bonding with her, or with anyone, Giorgios.” I snarl, my fangs bared.

He continues without flinching or any visible reaction whatsoever. “Our father must never learn of her existence.”

On that, we are in absolute agreement. Whatever her power, she is something different. Unique. And even if I will not allow myself to believe in the impossible, it has brought me a measure of comfort to have shared the burden of Ophelia Hart. The enigma who has burrowed her way under my skin like a splinter.