A Hunger Like No Other

never quite able to pull back from the razor-thin boundary—or to reason as clearly as he needed to. Vampires had Emma, and the Valkyrie had Garreth.

The curse of the Lykae. The strength and ferocity that they carried into battle was a detriment in all other scenarios, and the more they cared for something, the more the beast wanted to rise up to protect it.

He was gambling that they'd taken Emma to Helvita, back to Demestriu, though it could have been to Ivo or even this Kristoff. He'd dispatched Cass to find Uilleam and Munro and as many Lykae as they could readily assemble to travel to Kristoff's castle. Lachlain knew she would do it. She'd taken one look at his eyes after Emma was gone and finally understood.

But what if Lachlain was wrong about where they'd taken her? What if he couldn't find Helvita this time either? He couldn't seem to think now that the full situation had hit him.

The full situation. Garreth had been taken, too. Somehow captured. Somehow? After palpable demonstrations of Lucia's skill, Regin's strength, Nïx's speed, and Kaderin's single-minded malice, Lachlain knew he'd underestimated an enemy.

'They have Garreth,' he'd told Bowe, calling from the car as Harmann sped down foggy Scottish roads. 'Get him back.'

'Bloody hell. It isn't as easy as that, Lachlain.'

It was that easy. Lachlain wanted Garreth free. Bowe was a powerful Lykae known for his ruthlessness. 'Free—him,' he'd growled.

'We canna. I dinna want to tell you this, but they have goddamned wraiths guarding them.'

Garreth, last of his blood family, behind the guard of an ancient scourge, in the hands of an insane, vicious being.

And…Emma had left him.

Purposely left him. Made the conscious effort to forsake him, and crawled to a vampire's fucking outstretched hand to do it.

Haze.

No, need to fight it. Again and again he struggled to examine everything he knew about her, looking for a clue as to why she would do this.

Seventy years old. College. She'd been hunted by the vampires. It was her they wanted all along. For what purpose? Which faction? Annika's her foster mother. Emma's blood mother was of Lydian descent, she said. Helen. That's where she got her looks from.

As they neared the airport, the sun rose. Lachlain roared with frustration, hating it, wanting never to see it rise again. She was out there without him to protect her, could be staked to a field at this moment. His palms were bloodied from his claws digging into them, his arm wound unchecked.

Think! Replay anything he'd learned about her. Seventy years old. College…

He frowned. He'd met Lydian women before. They had pale skin like Emma's, but dark, dark hair and eyes. Emma was fair-haired, her eyes blue.

Then her father would be as well—

Lachlain froze. No.

Not possible.

'What if he's my father?' Emma had asked.

And Lachlain had answered…he'd answered that Demestriu's issue would be malevolent, filthy parasites.

No.

Even if his mind could assimilate that she was the daughter of Demestriu, Lachlain couldn't accept that she was in his power right now, could have been pushed there by his careless words.

Pushed to go to Helvita, to Demestriu, who would tear his own daughter limb from limb while she begged for death, and never blink his red eyes.

If Lachlain didn't reach her quickly…Now he had to not merely find Helvita, but find it fast. He'd hunted and tracked through that region of Russia with no success. He might have gotten close to it last time, just before he'd been discovered and beaten bloody by a dozen tracing vampires.

He would fly to Russia and get that close again—

The memory arose of her beneath him just yesterday when her head had thrashed on her pillow, sending him awash in the exquisite scent of her hair. He would never forget her scent, had taken it into him forever from the first night he recognized her. The memory came as a reminder for him to use it.

He could find her. He had before. Put him anywhere in her vicinity, and he could track her straight to Helvita.

She was meant to be found by him.

A deep voice in the shadows said, 'So let's see what my general's been after.'

Her eyes followed the direction of the sound. She knew she'd been alone as of a second ago, yet now she spied him sitting behind his large desk even before he lit a lamp. The light glinted off red eyes.

Tension seemed to radiate from him, and he stared at her as if seeing a ghost.

She'd been forced to wait alone here in this eerie castle, with the screams from below erupting every so often, until hours after sunup. In that time, she'd gone through a type of catharsis, her thoughts calming, her resolve sharpening till crystalline. She felt the way she imagined her aunts did before a great battle. Now she waited patiently to end this one way or another, and knew only one of them would leave this room alive.

Demestriu summoned a guard. 'Do not let Ivo in when he returns,' he commanded the vampire. 'Not for any reason. Do not speak of finding her. If you do, I'll keep you years without viscera.'

Well. She'd grown up hearing the threats so popular among the Lore—the ones that began with if this action does or doesn't occur, and ended with then you'll suffer this consequence—but this guy was good.

Demestriu traced to the door to bolt it behind the guard.

So…no one can trace in or out, and now no one can walk out either?

When Demestriu returned to his seat, any surprise he might have shown was gone. He studied her with dispassion. 'Your face is exactly like your mother's.'

'Thank you. My aunts have often said so.'

'I knew Ivo was up to something. Knew he searched and that he'd lost dozens of our soldiers—three in Scotland alone. So I thought to take from him whatever he'd gotten close to. I didn't expect him to be after my daughter.'

'What's this guy want with me?' she asked, though she had a pretty good idea—now that she'd realized her freaking pedigree.

'Ivo's spent centuries plotting, eyeing my crown. But he knows that the one thing the Horde holds sacred is its bloodlines. He knows he can't rule without a royal tie, and he just happened to find one. In my daughter.'

'So he thought he would just kill you off and force me to marry him?'

'Precisely.' A considering pause, then he asked, 'Why have you never sought me out before this?'

'I just learned you were my father about eight hours ago.'

Some emotion flickered in his eyes, but was so fleeting she thought she'd imagined it. 'Your mother…didn't tell you?'

'I never knew her. She died right after I was born.'

'So soon?' he asked in a low voice, as if to himself.

'I was searching for information about my father—you—in Paris,' she said, irrationally trying to make him feel better.

'I lived there with your mother. Above the catacombs.'

Any impulse to kindness vanished at the mention of the catacombs from which Lachlain had clawed his way free.

'Look at your eyes fire silver, just like hers.' His red gaze flickered over her appraisingly for the first time.