Claiming Marcus (Lords of Discord 1)

Introductions were made, though Ethan didn’t catch all the names. Including Lola, there were two women and three men prepared to rescue Marcus and his brothers. But he did take notice that one of them had the name Arsenault. Marcus had mentioned them recently as a clan that could help with bringing a more peaceful order to the vampire world. He was hopeful that his assistance meant that they were open to Marcus’s initial overtures.

On the table, Ethan found what looked to be blueprints for a very large house and grounds.

“I was just telling them that I saw that useless bitch Roland with the group that dragged out Rafe,” Lola spat.

“Ethan said that Marcus called one of them Zale. It confirms that this strike was headed up by the Black Wolf clan,” Bel said and then looked over at Ethan. “They’ve argued for the death of one or more of my family on several occasions over the years. They’ve accumulated a great deal of wealth over the centuries and seem to believe that it alone is enough to buy their wishes on the Ministry.”

“And when it didn’t, what? They started killing off members?”

“Quite possibly.”

“Have you heard from Winter?” Lola asked.

Bel shook his head. “Nothing. But we can’t wait. If Winter is still free, he’ll be working his own angle and will possibly join us later.”

“Tonight, we get Marcus and Rafe, and we end the Black Wolves,” Arsenault snarled. From his bloodthirsty tone, Ethan was willing to guess that the Arsenault clan had suffered their own run-ins with the Black Wolf clan.

Ethan wasn’t sure Marcus would approve of the scorched-earth approach this vampire was planning, but Ethan wasn’t going to argue with him. They were very likely outnumbered and heading into hostile territory. These bastards had taken the man he loved, and Ethan was willing to do whatever it took to get his lover back in one piece.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Marcus awoke in a large open room with no windows. His hands were still manacled behind his back. Pain throbbed and ached through every part of his body. He was so damn thirsty. He needed to fucking feed. To grab two or three humans and just drain them. He’d lost too much blood. As he shifted, he could feel it crusted on his neck. His shirt was stiff and sticking to his skin from where it had soaked up his blood.

“Marcus! Marcus!” The voice kept repeating his name in a low, harsh whisper. He blinked his sandpaper-coated eyes and tried to look around, but he couldn’t see anyone. At least there were no guards in front of him.

“Goddamn it, Marcus! Say something.”

Marcus almost smiled. This time he could clearly tell who the grouchy speaker was. Rafe.

“I’m awake,” Marcus grumbled. His voice sounded as if his throat had been rubbed raw by the same sandpaper that had left his eyes sore and gritty. Fuck, he felt like hell. “Where are we? How long have we been here?”

“I’m guessing the Black Wolf clan house,” Rafe murmured. “They dropped you off at least an hour ago. They must have hit you damn hard. Your hair is soaked with blood.”

“Winter? Have you heard—”

“I’m here, Marcus,” Winter said, his voice weary and full of disgust.

“Bel?”

“Not yet,” Rafe said in what sounded like a mix of pride and fear.

Groaning softly, Marcus pulled his knees up under his body and pushed against the floor with his uninjured shoulder. It was slow going, but he finally managed to get himself into an upright position. The room swayed for a moment, and Marcus sucked in several deep breaths through clenched teeth while focusing on a clump of dirt on the concrete floor.

When the nausea finally subsided enough that he wasn’t in danger of spilling the contents of his stomach, Marcus slowly looked around. Just over his shoulder, he found Rafe manacled to the wall. Blood covered one side of his face in a grisly mask while more blood soaked through his pants on his left thigh. Winter was seated on the floor, his hands bound in front of him with the same thick steel manacles, but his were chained to the floor with what looked to be a heavy steel bolt.

The entire room stank of old blood, urine, and sweat. Lovely. The Black Wolf clan had their own torture chamber.

“Ethan?” Winter asked softly. The one-word question was fearful, as if his baby brother didn’t want to cause him more pain.

“Escaped. Sent him to Bel.”

“Good,” Rafe said. “Now that we’ve determined who our rescuers are, maybe we should do something about making their job a little bit easier.”

“Really, Rafe?” Winter snapped. “You didn’t want to hang around and see if they were going to offer room service? Maybe a massage?”

“Fuck you—”

“Enough!” Marcus snarled at his brothers and then groaned as fresh pain washed through his skull. God, he needed to feed to get rid of some of the throbbing in his skull. It was muddling up his thoughts, making it so damn hard to concentrate. For now, he didn’t want to think about Ethan and whether he made it safely to Bel’s. Didn’t want to think about whether they both escaped the bastards that had gone after Bel. He had to cling to the idea that his brother and his lover were safe and plotting to save them.