A Hunger Like No Other (Immortals After Dark #2)(99)

In an astounded tone, Lachlain said to Emma, “Your family’s adding in-laws like him?”

The vampire’s gaze fell to Lachlain’s hand clutching Emma’s, and he raised an eyebrow. “Indeed.”





35


“M ovie!!” someone shrieked, and to Lachlain’s great unease, he heard the Valkyrie begin to stir throughout the manor.

Lachlain was exhausted from his injuries and from having to help hold up the house while a suitable Lore contractor was found who could stabilize the damage. He’d barely been able to stumble back up to Emma’s bedroom so they could rebandage each other. He’d sunk into her bed, pulling her down with him with the crook of his arm, just minutes before, and had almost fallen asleep with her resting her head on his chest.

Now he stared, arm tightening around her, wishing he had a weapon, as they filed into Emma’s room from all corners of the house.

Some had gotten popcorn, none of them eating it. They curled up on the windowsills, on top of the wardrobe, and one even hopped to the foot of the bed after a casual hiss at Lachlain’s legs had prompted him to move them.

Lachlain found it disturbing that they were all so insouciant about this. Here a Lykae lay with the youngest member of their household in his arms, in their home. In her bed.

He waited for them to realize this at any moment and attack.

He was as weak as he’d ever been, and they surrounded him like a swarm. Garreth and Lucia were conspicuously absent. She’d returned with the video, but apparently had been so shaken by something that had occurred within the clan that she left directly after. Garreth had followed. Unbelievably, Lachlain was almost relieved when Wroth arrived in the room with Myst, but didn’t hesitate to return the bastard’s scowl.

Just before the video played on Emma’s TV, she plugged in her old “outdated” iPod so she couldn’t hear, then buried her face against his chest because of the “scary parts.”

Unlike the others, Lachlain had no problem tearing himself away from the screen to think on all he’d learned, because he’d replayed this again and again. Lachlain had first viewed the video beginning with Demestriu’s entrance, because Harmann had programmed it to start there. But Lachlain had actually been able to go back and see Demestriu in the hours and even days before Emma appeared. Lachlain had seen Demestriu staring out the window, dropping his forehead into his shaking hands, lashing out in madness—just as Lachlain had done.

Lachlain shook his head. He didn’t know how to feel about everything—how to reconcile his past and his losses with what might have been a brief flare of pity. And Lachlain realized now, with Emma here, that he didn’t have to know. Not yet. They’d figure it out together.

He turned from his thoughts and studied the Valkyrie’s reactions as they watched. They laughed uproariously at the fact that Emma, a vampire, was spooked by the blood on the floor. During the fight, they tensed and leaned toward the TV, eyes wide when Emma shattered the window. “Ballsy,” Regin muttered, and others nodded in response though none shifted their gazes from the screen. At one point, N?x yawned and said, “I’ve already seen this part,” but no one bothered to ask how. And when Demestriu told Emma he was proud, some cried, making lightning split the sky.

Proof that Furie was alive was met with cheers, and Lachlain didn’t douse their happiness by saying that at this very moment, Furie was praying to great Freya to die.

When it was over, Emma pulled her earbuds out and peeked up from his chest. The Valkyrie merely nodded at him and Emma the Unlikely and filed out, with N?x predicting that The Demise of Demestriu would outsell One Goblin’s Night in Paris among the Lore.

As Regin exited, she summed up what seemed to be the attitude of the rest of the coven: “If Emma wants the overgrown Lykae bad enough to go drop Demestriu, then she ought to be able to keep him.”



Annika alone remained.

“You don’t have to decide right now, Emmaline. Just don’t do something you’re going to regret for the rest of your life.”

Emma shook her head, dismayed to see Annika hurting, but resolved in this. “I kept thinking it was about my choice, but it’s not. It’s yours. You can choose to accept me with him. Or I leave.” Lachlain drew her hand into his as though for support.

Annika clearly strove for a calm demeanor and her face was like marble, but lightning fired behind her, belying her efforts. She was torn about this.

“Annika, I’ll always run to his arms.” There was no defense against that, no argument to refute it—and they both knew it.

Finally, Annika, with her chin up and shoulders back, faced Lachlain. “We don’t recognize matehood”—she spat the word—“or whatever you Lykae call it, as a bonding union. You will have to exchange vows. Mainly I’m concerned about the one where the Lykae vows he won’t use this union to harm the covens in any way.”

Lachlain grated, “The Lykae has a name. And if you’d like Emma to share it, nothing will please me better. I’ll make that vow.”

She faced Emmaline with one last pleading expression. When Emma shook her head slowly, Annika ordered, “Do not trace him here any more than is absolutely necessary.”

As she strode from the room, she mumbled, “Coven’s gone to hell on my watch.”