A Hunger Like No Other (Immortals After Dark 2)

Sun flooded the hallway, and he shoved them into a corner, covering her with his body. "Shut the f**king door!"

"My apologies," a familiar voice drawled from behind him as the door closed. "Dinna know there were going to be vampires about. You should have a sign."

Back in the low light, Lachlain turned to find Bowen, his oldest friend. His pleasure at seeing him dimmed when he noticed how much more weight Bowe had lost. Once Lachlain's size, he was now rangy and gaunt.

"And here I was surprised to see you alive, but looks like you've another surprise there." Bowe approached, rudely inspecting Emma as she lay in Lachlain's arms, picking up her hair and chucking her chin. "Wee beauty. Bit dirty."

"From sleeping under the stairs this morning." Lachlain shook his head, incapable of understanding her. "Meet Emmaline Troy. Your queen."

Bowe raised his eyebrows, demonstrating the most emotion Lachlain had seen from him since his mate had left him. "A vampire queen? Fate must hate you." More examination while Lachlain scowled. "Her ears are pointed?"

"She's half-Valkyrie," Lachlain explained. "Raised in a coven of them and kept from the Horde."

"Then things around here just got interesting," Bowe said, but he displayed little interest.

Emmaline shivered and buried her face in Lachlain's chest.

Bowe studied him. "Doona think I've ever seen you look so exhausted. Go bathe your freezing, wee...valkire and get some sleep." Though it was not yet eight in the morning, he added, "I'll help myself to whiskey."

Lachlain was out of his bloody mind, Bowe concluded by late that afternoon.

As he poured another scotch, thinking and drinking, Bowe admitted to himself that he should be the last one to doubt a mate being other, but this was too far-fetched. No two species were greater foes than the vampires and the Lykae, yet Lachlain thought to take one, or a halfling born of one, as his queen?

Wherever he'd been for the last one hundred and fifty years had clearly warped his brain...

Bowe raised his face, briefly distracted by the scents wafting from the busy kitchens. All who worked here were preparing for the rising of the full moon, cleaning, cooking in abundance, readying to vacate the castle. The smells from the ovens were just as he remembered from growing up here. In fact, the kitchens had been his favorite place. Now he frowned, trying to recall the last time he'd eaten. Perhaps he should commandeer the vampire's share of the food. She wouldn't miss it -

Lachlain greeted him with a censorious expression as he finally returned to the study. "Christ, man, you've been at it since morn?"

"Can I help it? Kinevane always kept the best liquor. Nothing's changed." Bowe poured a glass to the rim for Lachlain.

Lachlain accepted it, then sank down behind his desk, somehow appearing more exhausted than before, though his clothes were rumpled as if he'd just woken. And he had a nick on his neck. No. No way he'd allow that depravity. What the hell has gotten into him? Giving it a second thought, Bowe slid the decanter over the desktop to him as well.

When Lachlain raised his eyebrows, Bowe said, "Have a feeling you'll need it when you tell me where the bloody hell you've been that we could no' find you for decades." Bowe noticed he sounded angry. As if he blamed Lachlain for his disappearance.

"You never would have found me. No more than I was able to find Heath," Lachlain said, his voice deadened as usual when he spoke of his youngest brother.

Bowe shook his head, remembering Heath. Hot-tempered to a fault, he'd set off to avenge his father's death, not comprehending that those who set out to kill Demestriu didn't return. Lachlain had refused to believe he was dead. "You were in Helvita?"

"For a while."

"He was no' there?"

Lachlain's expression was bare - pure pain. "The Horde...dinna take him alive."

"I'm sorry, Lachlain." After a long moment, Bowe frowned and broke the silence. "You said, 'for a while.' "

"Then Demestriu decided on the catacombs."

"Catacombs?" There were rumors among the Lore that the Horde had an everlasting fire deep beneath Paris, kept solely for the purpose of torturing the immortals who could never quite die from it. Bowe's gut began to churn, the liquor roiling on his empty stomach.

When Lachlain said nothing, only drank, Bowe's face tightened. "The fire is real? How long?"

"The dungeon for a decade. The fire for the rest."

At that, Bowe had to drain his glass and snatched back the decanter. "How the f**k have you stayed sane?"

"You never did mince words." Lachlain leaned forward, brows drawn as if he was struggling to voice his thoughts. "I was no' when I escaped. I went from one rage to the next, destroying anything unfamiliar, experiencing few lucid thoughts. I still was battling these rages when I found Emma," he admitted.

"How did you get free?"

Lachlain hesitated, then hiked up his pants leg.

Bowe leaned forward to see, then whistled out a breath. "You lost it?"

Lachlain brushed the fabric down. "There was no time. The fires had abated and I scented her on the surface." He swooped up his glass and drew deeply. "I feared losing her after so long."

"You...took your leg?"

"Aye."

Seeing Lachlain about to crush his glass, Bowe changed the subject. "How are you with her?" After what they did to you.

"At first I terrified her. Lost control again and again. But I believe it would have been even worse if she had no' been there. I think I would no' have recovered at all. She calms me, and my thoughts are so focused on her, I've little time to think of the past."