Unleash (Vampire Erotic Theatre Romance Series Book 6) (6 page)

Snow lifted his hands, cupped Antoine’s cheeks, and pressed their foreheads harder together. There was so much that he wanted to say but he couldn’t find a voice for it. He settled for saying the only thing he could and, for once, it wasn’t a lie.

“I will.”

S
now ducked his head under the hot spray of water and closed his eyes as it soaked through his hair, washing away the shampoo.

He braced his hands against the black tiles in front of him in the double-width shower stall and hung his head forwards, letting the water hit his nape and cascade over his back. The heat soothed the last remnants of tightness from his muscles.

He had worked out in his apartment after Antoine had gone, putting his body through its paces to try to bring himself back to full strength, and had needed this shower. It completed the therapeutic and almost ritualistic process of putting the past three weeks out of his mind by erasing the evidence stamped on his body—the weakness, the bloodstains, and the fatigue. He always felt better afterwards. Almost normal.

Snow opened his pale blue eyes and stared at his feet. Rivulets streamed from the tips of his white hair and his chin and nose, catching the light and sparkling as they fell to the tray far below.

His lips parted and he sighed. Working out had felt good but a shower was always the best medicine after an extended period of captivity. It revitalised him, leaving him feeling alive and awake, and at peace.

He had already scrubbed himself from head to toe twice over, paying close attention to his wrists and ankles.

Snow straightened, the water beating on his broad bare chest, and removed one hand from the wall. He turned his palm upwards and stared down at his scarred wrist.

The marks would fade in time, his preternatural healing taking care of them and leaving smooth skin behind. They were always chafed though, permanent evidence that he had to spend his days wearing leather-lined steel cuffs attached to inch-thick chains that were secured to the industrial grade steel posts at the corners of his bed.

When they had first moved to the theatre, he had forced Antoine to purchase the strongest, thickest metal posts he could find and make a bed out of them for him. Antoine had protested but had done as he had asked in the end, arranging for the restraints at the same time.

His younger brother had told him countless times that he didn’t need to chain himself each day, and Snow had always countered that it was necessary and he did not mind it.

He did. He hated it.

That was beside the point though.

It was necessary, and ever since that fateful night centuries ago, he had always done whatever was necessary to protect others from himself.

Snow heaved a sigh, his chest expanding with it, powerful muscles straining, and ran his hand down his face.

It would have been so much easier if Antoine had agreed to do as Snow had asked that same night and destroyed him.

He deserved to be put down like the rabid beast he was.

Antoine was nothing if not stubborn though. He had been bleeding profusely from the savage wounds Snow had inflicted upon him, carving up his chest and arms so badly that Antoine had scarred rather than healed completely. Snow had thought he would seek revenge for himself and their family, or perhaps take his head as an act of mercy. He had dared to hope his brother would do what was right.

Antoine had refused to kill him and had even pressed him to promise that he would never kill himself either. Snow had agreed and regretted it the moment it had left his lips.

The past few centuries had been hell. Seeing Antoine every night and knowing what he had done to him, the fact he had almost killed the brother he loved with all of his black heart. Seeing Antoine and knowing that he had stolen everything from his brother in one night of madness. Seeing his brother and knowing that he had butchered their entire family.

Seeing Antoine’s face and seeing their mother’s pale blue eyes and their father’s dark brown hair.

It was enough to drive a man insane.

It was a good job he was already crazy.

Snow switched off the shower, ran his hands over his hair to squeeze the water out, and slid the glass cubicle door open. He stepped out onto the black tiles and grabbed a thick white towel. A very impractical colour, but he liked the touch of purity and lightness it brought into his dark world.

He scrubbed the towel over his hair and then dried himself off with one hand. He swiped his free palm across the clouded mirror, clearing enough to reveal his reflection and the main room of his apartment through the open door behind him.

He never liked to look at himself, normally hated seeing his reflection and seeing his mother’s eyes and hair, knowing what he had done to her, but he sometimes felt the need to look and remind himself of what he had done.

A twisted form of punishment.

He dropped the damp towel, pressed both palms against the edge of the black counter, and leaned forwards over the sink, staring hard at his reflection.

A face his mother had often called angelic.

The face of a cold-blooded murderer.

Snow growled and slammed his right fist into his face in the mirror, splintering the glass. Fire seared his knuckles and blood instantly ran down the shards of mirror. He pulled his fist back and plucked a sliver of glass from the soft flesh between his index and middle finger, and dropped it into the sink.

The scent of blood compelled him to taste it, stirring the darkness that constantly lurked within him, stalking just beneath the surface, barely restrained.

He rinsed his bloodied knuckles off in the black oval sink and then inspected them. Two of the cuts were deep. He lifted his hand to his face and sucked those two, drawing more blood to the surface. It tasted foul.

His stomach cramped and he spat the blood into the sink and then swiped his tongue across his knuckles to seal the wounds. The bleeding was already slowing. Within a few minutes, his flesh would begin to knit itself back together and heal.

He took a small towel and wrapped it around his hand, and then strolled naked into his bedroom. The bed loomed directly in front of him. He had promised Antoine that he would sleep and he meant to keep that promise.

He wanted to be sane enough to head down to the party even if it was only for a few minutes. Everyone was depending on him and he didn’t want to let all of them down. They had held off on celebrating the arrival of the twins so he could share in the joy of the event. He needed to be there.

He veered right, heading for the ebony chest of drawers that lined the black wall there next to his elegant wardrobe. He pulled out one of the smaller drawers at the top, fished a fresh pair of black boxers out, and shut it again. Someone spoke in the hall. Snow paused and listened. Callum was talking to Payne as they walked along the hall towards Callum’s apartment beyond Snow’s one. Discussing children.

Payne had taken responsibility for the witch’s youngling? Snow had never pictured the young vampire as a father. He had always imagined him to be more of a bachelor forever type because of his incubus blood.

Was everyone going to settle down and produce offspring now?

Snow tugged his boxer shorts on. They were all going to leave him behind. Everyone had a female now, something warm and tender in their lives. They were complete.

Where did that leave Snow?

With a frustrated growl, he pulled his wardrobe doors open, grabbed fresh bed linen from the stack he kept at the bottom, and slammed them shut again. What did he care about females? No female in her right mind would want him, and he certainly did not want a female.

He could never trust himself with something so weak and breakable.

He lumbered across his room, bare feet thumping against the wooden floor, and dumped the black linen beside his bed. He stripped the soiled covers off and focused on replacing them with fresh ones to keep his mind off a topic that had often angered him.

He had warred with himself many times about finding a female, debating the pros and cons of such a mission, and all the possible outcomes. It was highly likely that a female would leave him the moment she discovered the ugly truth about him, his bloodlust, and his horrific past.

He would probably react to her betrayal by losing his head to bloodlust and killing her.

He had a tendency to react violently whenever someone sought to hurt him.

Breaking his heart would cause him the ultimate pain.

Snow shook that thought away and smoothed the edges of his black covers down, neatening them. He grabbed his black robe and slung it on, but didn’t bother to fasten the belt.

Darkness swirled inside him like a rising tide that he was powerless to hold back. He breathed slowly, trying to work past the tightening knot in his breast, hoping to calm down before he lost himself again.

He sat on the bed and lay with his back against the pillows and his head against the steel bars of the headboard. He cast a glance at the restraints that rested on the pillows on either side of him. They were there if he needed them and that gave him back a fraction of his control, but didn’t quell his rising bloodlust.

His heart galloped, refusing to heed his attempts to slow it, and he closed his eyes and focused on positive things. The battle between his darker hungers and his desire to remain sane intensified and he breathed harder, drawing deep and filling his lungs with cool air. The soft scent of lilies and snow lingered in that air and his mind drifted to the lyrics of the song.

Calm swept through him, driving back the darkness for a brief second before it surged forwards again, obliterating the sense of peace.

A breeze washed over his bare flesh.

Snow frowned. There were no windows in his room. The breeze carried the unmistakable scent of snow yet it felt warm, and familiar.

Someone was in his apartment. He felt their presence as a soft caress that reached right down to his tainted soul and chased the black shadows from it.

Snow drew in a deeper breath of lily of the valley and snow, the pure feminine scent stirring his body and soothing the tension from it. He held it in his lungs and slowly opened his eyes, settling them directly on the dark beauty standing at the foot of his bed.

She was stunning, with a fall of glossy raven hair that playfully curled around slender shoulders and contrasted against her milky skin, heart-shaped rosy lips, a button nose, and the most incredible yet familiar eyes. They were turquoise around the outside but faded to a brilliant blue at their centres, around the dark mesmerising chasms of her pupils.

A pure white dress clung to dangerous curves and full breasts that would make any man’s eyes linger on her, evoking images in his head that he shouldn’t entertain but couldn’t keep at bay. He had never seen a female like her.

The white layers of her dress criss-crossed over her torso, forming a zigzagging line downwards from between the swell of her creamy breasts to the point above her navel. They flowed from there, free and untamed, drifting down to caress her ankles and her small bare feet.

Beautiful.

It was the large black wings furled against her back that eventually stole his attention away from the sublime innocence of her face and the wickedness of her body.

An angel.

“I never thought I would see one of your kind.” Snow had meant it to come out strong and forceful, but the words left his lips as an awed whisper.

She moved a step closer and the scent of her grew stronger, and while that pleased him, his senses screamed of danger and his bloodlust reacted violently to her proximity. A seething, vicious hunger to launch himself from the bed, capture her head in his hands and smash it hard against the unyielding wooden floor of his room bolted through him and he struggled to resist complying with it and satisfying his need to render her unconscious in order to make himself safe once more.

He ground his teeth and shot her a glare when she appeared to consider moving another step closer.

“What do you want?” It came out snappish this time, as dark and menacing as the twisted desires that taunted him.

The angel moved back a step and surveyed his room in silence. Ignoring his question was not the wisest move she could have made. Until he understood why she was in his room, he would feel threatened, and he would eventually lose his fight to retain control of himself.

Her striking eyes settled on his bed.

“Your bed is strange.” Her voice was melodic and light, a sound that curled around him and soothed his ears but not his bloodlust. That worsened, as though it despised her presence. She played havoc with it, and with him, and he was haemorrhaging patience. She pointed to the thick steel bars at the corners of his bed and the cuffs attached to them. “You have strange tastes. Why?”

Her gaze lit upon him, bright and curious, and Snow had the feeling that she was testing him for some infernal reason.

He could ignore questions too. “What do you want?”

She walked in a shallow circle, those curious eyes flickering around everything, cataloguing it and then coming back to take every inch of him in.

“I want nothing,” she said and drifted across the room to his dressing table.

Her fingertips danced over everything on it, from the lamp to the candles, to the stack of books. She leaned forwards, cocked her head to one side, and ran her fingers down the spines. The action shifted her black wings, causing the longest feathers of the right one to graze the floor.

She straightened and turned back to face him. “I felt you suffering again and was unable to ignore it, even though I know I should have this time.”

Snow frowned. “You were here with me… before. It was you.”

She nodded and walked towards him, her steps so light even he couldn’t hear them. She twirled her black hair around the fingers of her left hand and smiled at him. It hit him square in the chest and knocked the wind out of him.

“If you were here… then you know why my bed is the way that it is, and why I must chain myself. So why did you ask?” He growled the question, growing tired of her cryptic behaviour.