Page 93 of Burn for Her

Lena realized how very loved Dorian was here. For a child who didn’t belong to them, or even their species, they made him part of their family as if he was of their own blood.

Emily stood in front of Lena. “Are you okay? That had to have been terrifying.”

“I… I don’t know what I am.” Lena pulled herself off Bane’s lap and swiped the tears from her face. Her throat was sore from screaming so loud. Her head throbbed. “I don’t understand what just happened. I thought he was going to k—” She stopped right there. The words kiss and kill both fought to come out first. To make it worse, Lena wasn’t sure which she wanted to say.

Dorian’s actions contradicted everything his gaze reflected. He wanted her to stay away, yet his black eyes begged her to come closer. He shoved her down on the ground, and she welcomed everything his body promised to deliver. Yet his hissing and growling were clear warnings to get up and run.

Dorian…

She closed her eyes, concentrating on his name.

Dorian…

Who knows what the hell she expected to have happen? It’s not like she could summon him back to her. She didn’t even know where he would have gone. But he’s not ash. That’s all her brain could compute.

There was still time to save him.

Oh hell no. Not here. Dorian had reformed in a place he never wanted to step foot in again. He recognized his old home immediately—the atmosphere held the energy of his past and it made him want to scream in terror as he stood on the ground that once took part in shaping him into the monster he was now. Even though the shack had burned long ago, with everything including his father in it, the land remembered. As if even fire couldn’t purify and absolve this place of all the sins committed here.

How the hell had he flashed here? Flashing was never a gift of his. Not all vampires were built the same, but anyone who could flash had royal blood in them. Oh. Wait. This must be residue leftover from taking Malachi’s vein. Yeah, that made sense.

How long will the power last in his system?

It was a convenient skill. One he understood the gist of from other vampires. All one had to do was think of a destination and go. Never thought he’d get the chance to try it though. And why, of all places, would he have come here? It made no sense.

Unless his subconscious was messing with him? All this talk of the past had clearly rattled his brain and glitched his circuits.

He needed to get out of here and go back to Lena. Yet his feet remained rooted to the spot.

His nostrils flared. Turning slowly, he took in his surroundings. It was fitting that he landed right here of all places. The shack was long gone, but the footprint was still there. He could feel it, like hallowed ground—or more like haunted territory. A slight breeze blew through his hair, forcing some of his hair to fall into his eyes. He was colder than usual. Sick. Twisted up.

Biting his inner lip, Dorian let that sweet release of pain and blood ground him as he swallowed the blood welling in his mouth. He knew why he was here.

To remember.

Crouching, Dorian touched the forest floor where once a table and stools had been. If he closed his eyes, his memory could fill in all the gaps, erecting the walls of his old, dilapidated shack, the hay beds, and even that mildew coated well bucket.

His eyes flicked to the right. A squirrel skittered up a tree. These woods were now protected land. No one could build on it and by the looks of things, no one came this deep into the woods still. It was completely untouched. Dorian might have laughed if it hadn’t been the exact reason his disgusting father chose this particular spot to set up shop. No one ever came this deep into the forest. Into the mouth of the beast…

His gaze swung to the left and Dorian’s heart seized when he saw all the flowers. It made his skin crawl and stomach twist. Those blooms grew because of the fertilizer scattered on that side of the property. Fertilizer, like the ashes of his father’s victims.

When Dorian was a kid, he plucked seed pods in the woods as he foraged and scattered them along the mounds of the dead—his pathetic way to cover up what his father had done.

No… what they had done.

Dorian’s guilt for being a part of his father’s murders would forever plague him. It didn’t matter how weak Dorian was back then. How frail or helpless he was. It didn’t matter that he’d been forced and beaten to near death if he didn’t obey. It. Didn’t. Matter.

Because he should have used that knife sooner to pierce his father’s neck. He should have set fire to that shack long before those victims were dragged into it and tortured. Before they were drained. He should have—

Dorian squeezed his eyes shut and took a breather. He could smell his father’s rancid odor. Hear his deep growl. Smell the dried blood on all the tools that bastard used on those humans.

Bile rose in his throat, but he didn’t dare give it another inch. Fuck that.

He let his father have power over him when he was a kid, and that tight leash never really disappeared. Everything Dorian did now, was because of his father in some way. Even the way he killed … it was fashioned from the way his father had taught him to do it.

But instead of for fun, Dorian killed on behalf of his king. He did it to protect his race…

Still made him a monster though. A murderer.