Breathless (Steel Brothers Saga #10)(76)

I wanted to remember her like this—soft and innocent and beautiful. So fucking beautiful.

I’m sorry, I said silently. I’m sorry I can’t be what you deserve.

One more light kiss to her silky forehead.

Then I laid the note on the nightstand next to her.

I walked out of the bedroom.

Out of the guesthouse.

Out of Marjorie Steel’s life.





Chapter Fifty–One





Marjorie





The note was callous.

The words were cruel.

Even the sheet of paper was crisp and unsympathetic.

Bryce Simpson was heartless.

I’d fallen in love with a heartless man.

My purse sat on a chair on the other side of the room. Still naked from our night of passion, I rose and grabbed it. Inside the hidden pocket was something I kept, even though I’d promised Mel I’d trashed it.

It was a reminder.

It was a security blanket.

Right now I needed it.

Stop.

I could walk to the kitchen. Open the refrigerator. Let the blast of cold air ease the unpleasantness from my mind.

Yes, it would be easier.

Much easier than…

I unzipped the pocket slowly and withdrew the sharp razor blade. I sat back down on the bed and regarded the scar on my upper thigh. It was still red, but it had healed. If I left it alone, it would eventually turn white and then gradually fade over the years.

Slowly, I lowered the blade to my flesh.





Epilogue





I shine my knife. I polish my gun. Always keeping one eye on you.

And I remember.

You will pay.

You will all pay.



* * *



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Continue reading the Steel Brothers Saga with book eleven: Ravenous





Available October 29, 2019! Preorder Ravenous.





Keep reading for an excerpt from Unchained: Blood Bond Saga Volume One





Prologue





Dante





I used to dream of severed human heads.

They hung above me, their skin gray and pasty as the elixir of life flowed out of them. I inhaled, and the metallic scent of iron infused itself into my cells. It was the iron and other nutrients in blood that our bodies needed, but that wasn’t the scent that drew us, the scent we craved.

Humans don’t realize they each possess their own scent beyond perspiration and pheromones, a fragrance that comes from their very life force—their blood.

From one neck, a drop of citrusy blond female fell onto my tongue. From another, the leathery and musky flavor of a brown-haired male, this one muscular and full of testosterone. A third fed me with the floral flavor of a female redhead. Redheads were rare, and their blood tasted better than the finest Bordeaux. Redheads with green eyes tasted the best—a lusty concoction laced with essence of lavender yet acidic enough to make a vamp’s mouth water for more and more.

Then there were the dark-haired ones with light skin—those who, somewhere hundreds of generations ago in their family tree, were descended from a vampire. Their blood was the ultimate concoction, the Champagne of plasma. Bold and tannic yet fruity and divine. Peach, plum, blackberry. Leather, coffee, the darkest of chocolate. Tin, zinc, laced with violet and apple and estrogen. Even the men smelled of traces of milky estrogen.

All this plus the one-of-a-kind flavor unique to every human.

I lapped it up, gaining strength, finally able to pull hard enough to release my leather bindings.

I roared, flexing my muscles, ready to bolt—

But before I could escape my prison, my eyes would open. I always awoke.

Those fragrances had been denied me for years, perhaps decades. But I remembered, my memory exaggerating each aroma. The only scents in my enclosed space were the remnants of the two human servants who fed me. Who tortured me.

She would be hovering above me, gazing at me with her cold, evil eyes before she bent down and sank her fangs into my neck.

She never drained me, only took enough so she could maintain her control over me and keep up her own strength. The worst days were when I had to feed.

She forced me to drink from her. I had no other choice. I needed blood to survive, and hers was my only option.

Feeding from her kept my muscles from atrophying, even though I couldn’t move much while in captivity. A good thing. The only good thing.

The dream of sustenance pouring into me and giving me the strength to break free recurred again and again, but escape was always only that—a dream.

Until the day it wasn’t.





One





Dante





Somehow—still, as I crouched in an alleyway, starving for blood, I didn’t know how—I’d drawn on all my adrenaline and broken the bonds that had detained me for so long. I’d stumbled a little getting out of the compound, but my muscle memory had now returned.

Unchained.

Finally.

Free from her.

I’ll find you, Dante. You’re mine forever.