Page 8 of Tears of Revenge

“She has agreed to meet with us on Friday afternoon after her shift. I was thinking of taking her to an art gallery or a painting class.”

Varos agreed with a smile. “I’m sure we can find something.”

“Maybe we can give her a few options and she can choose whatever she likes.”

“That’s a good idea. We don’t want her to think we are forcing anything on her.”

Lysander shook his head, burying himself in his paperwork. Varos went to his computer and began searching.

Seeing Avalon had been quite a pleasant surprise. Since her rapid departure four years ago, Marcus had always wondered what had happened to her. Once they were sure she’d cleared the building, they’d had quite a bit of fun with her captor. They’d fed from him first, then beat him within an inch of his life—only to bring him back. He’d survived but would never forget what happened that night. Of course, they’d made sure only to feed on him when he was unconscious, which left his few conscious moments filled with pain. There wasn’t an inch of his body that hadn’t been mutilated by the end.

“I see Avalon has left you in a good mood,” Varos said, indicating for him to come closer.

“I was just remembering what we did to that piece of dirt.”

“Oh, yes. That was quite fun, but maybe we should keep that to ourselves for now. I’m not sure how it would make Avalon feel. I don’t want to drag up bad memories.”

Marcus agreed, stepping around the desk to peer at the website on the screen. It was the homepage to an art studio one could book to have private painting sessions.

“What do you think?” Varos asked.

“I’m sure she would love that.”

“I’ll book it then.”

Lysander let out a displeased grunt—which the other two men ignored. Instead, they continued to search for activities for their date. By the end of the day, they had four options for her to choose from.

Lysander was unpleasant all the way home, casting a dark cloud over their vehicle. Marcus was quite happy to retreat to his private room when they arrived at the house. He sat in his room, thinking about all they’d survived before crossing the ocean. Over hundreds of years, they’d accumulated many homes in various locations, but with Lysander’s past they preferred to stay in the New World.

A knock at the door pulled him out of his reverie, and he looked up to see Varos standing in the doorway. Though they were close, they always respected each other’s private spaces.

“It’s time,” Varos announced, offering him a glass filled with dark red liquid.

Marcus sighed, but nodded anyway. He gulped down the blood, missing the feeling of sinking his fangs into warm flesh. He then wiped off his mouth, setting the empty glass aside and following Varos to the dungeon.

The underground shelter was the entire reason they’d bought the house. The previous owner was what they called a “doomsday prepper.” He’d built a solid, underground bunker beneath the house—and then died in a car accident. After they purchased the house, they’d configured it to fit their own needs.

Lysander was already kneeling on the floor, head bowed with his dirty blond hair falling into his face, and his hands folded in his lap. Goosebumps covered his naked body as he mentally prepared for the torture that would fill his night.

Though Marcus’s skin could no longer pebble itself, it tingled in a similar way as he approached his friend. The silver-ladened walls weren’t there to weaken Marcus—but the beast that lurked within his friend. Though silver could burn or even kill a vampire, Lysander’s kind was far more vulnerable to it.

Varos kneeled next to Lysander, soothing him with encouraging words while Marcus checked the security of the silver chains hanging from the walls. There was also silver lining the insides of the walls, serving as a back-up plan in case the chains ever failed.

“We’ll be right here when you wake up again,” Varos promised Lysander, who’s heart was racing in his chest. “We’ll be watching over you the whole time.”

Their words had become a ritual that had manifested itself over the years. While Varos stayed by Lysander’s side, Marcus grabbed a silver collar and stepped up behind him. Marcus barely felt the burn as he concentrated on Lysander’s vibrating body, the beast slowly awakening.

Varos, sensing the same, grabbed one of the wrist chains. Lysander’s bones swelled and the joints cracked, his skin stretching and tearing with the rapid growth. Bare skin grew fur and his fingers formed sharp claws. With a gut-wrenching scream, Lysander’s facial structures twisted, breaking apart and reforming into a beast-like form. His teeth elongated into canines while his legs widened to the size of tree trunks.

As soon as Lysander’s transformation was complete, Marcus snapped the collar around the lycan’s neck. Before the beast could retaliate, Marcus sank his fangs into the carotid, draining him of his blood. Varos attached the chains with inhuman speed and joined Marcus in draining the lycan. They fed until he was unconscious, then waited for the night to pass.

Four

Avalon

Friday seemed like ages away. And when it came, it felt like the day passed even slower. Each minute that crawled by felt like an hour.

And though she wanted the time to go faster, she also felt more anxious with each passing second. Those butterflies hadn’t died down since her coffee date. Though they were much calmer, they were still there, fluttering away each time she thought of the men.