Isadora (Masters Among Monsters Book 2) (4 page)

“Drink.”

Present Day - Thanos’s bedchambers

DIOMÊDÊS STOOD IN the shadows of the somber bedchambers where he’d been keeping vigil over Thanos and his Ancient for the past several hours.
 

Eton had extinguished all the candles after the final slither of silver had been extracted, and he’d taken up as a permanent fixture beside his ailing protégé. The room was grave, the mood bleak, and although Thanos’s life had been spared, the agony of getting him to that point had taken a toll on them both.

After Vasilios had left to search for Alasdair and the infinitesimal human, Diomêdês had moved to his current locale and tried to reach out for Isa to no avail. Her mind was shut down to him, and if the discomfort radiating up his forearms was any indication, she was in deep distress. Unlike a punishment, which they could control and isolate, mortal wounds tore at both the Ancient and the first-sired.

It had been many years since he’d felt her in such a state. In fact, he could only remember feeling it once before—the night they’d first met. Unlike that night, however, her panic and emotions were tied to him now. With every passing minute he stood idle, Isadora’s presence dissipated. He needed to locate her. But for now, she was unreachable.

A tortured groan shattered the silence as Thanos shifted atop the large bed on the far side of the room, settling the best he could. They were in a world of trouble. The kind they’d never seen or dealt with in the past. Not only was Thanos indisposed, but Eton, who was a ghastly image of his former self, was close to being of no use also. Now, more than ever, he had great cause for concern over his first-sired and himself. For, if the insistent ache in his extremities was any indication, the two of them had very little time.
 

Having decided he needed to do something as opposed to waiting around for their demise, Diomêdês walked over to the door to go in search of Vasilios and Alasdair. They were the healthiest of them all at this stage, and he needed them to go back to where Isa had been taken. Back to where Thanos had been slain and overpowered. He needed Vasilios to allow his first-sired out of his sight, even with the danger at hand, which he was aware would take some heavy convincing.
 

As he reached for the handle so he could hunt his brother down, he finally felt her. Isadora’s mind became one with his as she drifted back to where it had all began.
 

Neda’s Waterfall—31 BC

DIOMÊDÊS STARED AT the woman lying by his feet and pondered his next move. If he were to go through with this and turn the female, she would be bound to him for life. If he did not, she would likely die at her brother’s hands.

He’d been watching her for days, making certain she would best fit him, and tonight, he’d had no choice but to come out of the shadows or watch her perish—for he hadn’t been the only one hunting her.

When she stirred, he faded to the other side of the clearing, not wanting to frighten her when she woke. As it was, she’d been terrified when he’d found her, having run for her very life. He gazed down at the beautiful legs bared to him by the tattered remains of her skirt and found that he wanted to comfort her.

Knowing how intimidating his appearance could be, he raised the heavy fabric of his cloak over his head and waited for her to come to. He didn’t have to wait long. A soft moan whispered across the night air as the woman shifted and then raised a hand up to her head. She touched dainty fingers to her forehead then winced from the pounding that was likely taking place behind her eyes. Fading from one location to another did that to a mortal.

She pushed herself up until she was sitting and then looked in his direction. Her hair, a mess of knots and tangles, had leaves and branches strewn throughout. She looked like a wood nymph, which was fitting considering how and where he’d found her. Her wide, blue eyes searched the darkness as she unknowingly stared directly at him. She had keen senses for a human. They would do her well once she became one such as he.

“Vges exo,” she demanded of him. “I know that you are there.”

Diomêdês studied her in quiet contemplation. She was courageous given her current circumstance. “And how do you know that, agapi mou, when you cannot see me?”

She brushed her hands together to rid them of the dirt and then cursed from the bite of pain caused from the cuts. “I can…”

“Yes?” he asked, the frown of confusion on her exquisite face bothering him.

“I can…
feel
you.”

Surprised for the first time in many years, Diomêdês took a step forward and then stopped. If he were to show himself and she refused him, then he would have to end her. As her eyes sought him out, he realized he was disturbed by that thought.

“I think it is best if I stay hidden for the moment. We have much to discuss, Isadora.”

She swiped at the dried dirt on her tear-streaked cheeks. “Why did you save me back there? And…how do you know my name?”

“All fair questions and ones I am more than happy to answer if you decide the correct path going forth.”

Isadora got to her feet, her lips tightening in discomfort at the scrapes on the bottom of her soles. “The correct path? I do not understand.”

“I know, but you soon shall.”

She took several tentative steps forward, and for the first time in his existence, Diomêdês shrank from a human. This woman—she frightened him.
 

He wanted to bind her to him.
 

He wanted her loyalty.
 

But he was only able to offer her half of what he once was. Though that might not be such an issue after what he’d seen earlier.

“You told me to trust you,” she said, shuffling closer again.

“I did.”

“How am I to trust you if you will not step out from the shadows?”

It was time. He knew that it was.
 

Walking forward into the slither of moonlight, he watched her eyes travel up the full length of him. As they met his face, she took a hasty step backwards and stumbled. A hand flew to her mouth, and she gasped.

He pushed the hood away from his face and allowed her to absorb the extraordinary scope of his snowy skin. When she lowered her hand and licked her lower lip, his own twitched. So he wasn’t completely unappealing to her—just unexpected.

“I know you. I have seen you before.”

He inclined his head. “Yes. You have.”

“You were there. At my father’s banquet.”

“Again, you are correct. Though I doubt anyone would remember as you do, mikri mou polemistria. My little warrior.”

Isadora angled her head to get a better look, and instead of fleeing, she asked, “Who are you? What do you want with me?”

Diomêdês extended a hand to her and replied, “Everything.”

THE VISION OF when he’d turned Isadora disappeared, and when her guileless eyes and her soft cries for him faded, Diomêdês cursed. Wherever she was, she was no longer even able to dream.

Some commotion to his left had him turning to see Eton looking his way. From the white pallor of his flesh to the cracked skin around his once smiling eyes, the most genial of them all now looked as if nothing—bar his own grave—would bring him any joy.

“Are you okay, brother?” Eton asked.

Diomêdês gave a swift nod. He didn’t wish to burden Eton with his troubles. Not when Thanos lay bloodied and mangled, trying to heal.
 

“Do not concern yourself with me. You have enough worries of your own.”

Determined to find his Isa, he opened the door, ready to track Vasilios down and devise a plan. Before he was over the threshold, though, Eton said, “You will find her.”

Without turning back, Diomêdês vowed, “Yes, I will. And I shall destroy whoever has dared to harm blood of our own.”

After shutting the door behind him, he halted in the east corridor and shoved his hands into the pockets of his long, black trench coat. He now wore black from head to toe. In his own way, he was mourning, and until Isadora had safely returned, he would continue to feel her absence in the most fundamental way.

The clothes were a stark contrast to his silver hair and his smooth, ivory complexion. Add in his height of nearly six feet seven inches and he was always startling to observers when they first encountered him.
 

He knew that his presence was impactful, and though Vasilios had appealed to him to temper his appearance, he saw no reason to change it. It was not in his nature to put others at ease like the eldest of them chose to. He preferred to stay away from society, and if he did need to enter it, humans were always quick to make up a reason for their fear. Words such as albino, freak, and unusual had all been used in conjunction with him. However, there was always an underlying fascination running parallel to their fear.

He made his way down the corridor, and as he got closer to Alasdair’s bedchambers, the distinct sound of sex came from within. Groans, growls, and grunts of pleasure emerged, and usually, he’d take a moment to stand where he was and listen. But there was too much going on, too much at stake, to wait outside while Vasilios and Alasdair fucked in celebration over the death of a pesky mortal. So, with no thought other than bringing Isadora home, Diomêdês opened the door.

And froze.
 

The ache in his limbs turned to a hellacious burn as his rage boiled to the surface. His eyes latched on to three naked males on the bed in the center of the room, and where he’d thought he would see one lifeless and thrown aside, the
human
was very much alive and sandwiched between the two vampires. He was gripping Vasilios’s forearm, his knuckles white from the strain, and had his mouth fastened to the Ancient’s wrist as he greedily drank from him.

 
Alasdair’s eyes were glowing at his sire as he drew his tongue up the side of the human’s neck, and when he gently bit his ear, the human bucked forward and Vasilios’s arm shifted up and down, no doubt working the male’s cock.
 

The vision was lewd. It was all arms, legs, lips, and cocks, and when Vasilios tensed and looked over his shoulder, his lips kicked up in sensual invitation. “Diomêdês. Just the man missing from this little party of ours. An audience always heightens the pleasure. Would you like to sit and watch?”

Diomêdês curled his fists inside the coat—and then he snapped. He was on the bed in a flash, throwing Alasdair aside, as the black, woolen material swirled around his body like a dark cloud.
 

Alasdair landed on his hands and his feet in a crouch and growled at having been pushed out of his position in the threesome. Diomêdês paid no heed as he gripped the human by the neck and yanked him off Vasilios’s vein.

“Uh ah,” Vasilios said, shifting off the bed to stand. “Don’t be too hasty, brother. If you kill him, you will not hear my genius plan to retrieve Isadora.”

Diomêdês didn’t spare the human a glance as he kept an eye on Vasilios, who was now next to Alasdair. Weak fingers tried to pry his hand loose, but he didn’t care enough to tell the man to cease.

“You saw what was taking place here before you so rudely interrupted, did you not?”

“You were feeding him.”

Vasilios’s tongue licked a path along his wrist, sealing the vein, and let his eyes trace over the man he still had in a chokehold. “Hmm. That I was, and any second now…”
 

The human started to twitch. When Diomêdês looked at him, the man’s eyes rolled to the back of his head and then all of his limbs stiffened. He dropped him to the mattress and then watched as his naked body began to convulse.

“As I was saying,” Vasilios began as if nothing unusual were taking place.

Diomêdês glared over at him, and Alasdair too was aiming a fulminating look at his sire.
 

“Any second now, we shall see if he lives or dies. If he lives, we shall be with your Isadora within hours. If he dies, you will be no closer to your first-sired but at least slightly more jovial, no?”