Read Online Veil of Midnight by Lara Adrián - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Lara Adrián
Ads: Link
still burned to know that his father—his only living kin—could think so little of him, but the heat of constant, blatant rejection had at some point become less painful. It was simply how things were. And Lex was stronger for it, in fact. He was his father’s equal in ways the hard old bastard could never imagine, let alone stoop to acknowledge.
But Lex knew his own capabilities. He knew his own strengths. He knew without any doubt that he could be so much more than what he was now, and he yearned for the opportunity to prove it. To himself and, yes, to the son of a bitch who fathered him as well.
The snick of the metal latch as the door finally opened brought Lex’s pacing feet to a halt. “About fucking time,” he snarled at the guard who stepped aside to let him enter.
The room was dim, lit only by the glow of the logs that burned in the massive stone fireplace on the opposite wall. The lodge was wired for electricity, but it was seldom used—no real need for lights when Sergei Yakut and the rest of the Breed had preternaturally acute vision, especially in the dark.
The Breed’s other senses were also keenly sharp, but Lex suspected that even a human would be hard-pressed to miss the combined odors of blood and sex that mingled with the tang of woodsmoke.
“My apologies for the interruption,” Lex murmured as his father came out of an adjacent room.
52
Yakut was naked, his cock still partially erect, its ruddy length bobbing obscenely with his each swaggering stride. Revolted by the sight, Lex blinked, started to look away. He quickly thought better of it, refusing to give in to a weak impulse that was sure to be counted against him. Instead he watched his father enter the room, the old vampire’s eyes glowing like amber coals set deep into his skull, pupils reduced to narrow vertical slits at their center. His fangs were huge in his mouth, points fully extended and sharp as blades.
A sheen of sweat coated Yakut’s body, every inch of him livid with color from the pulsing hues of his dermaglyphs, the unique Breed skin markings that spread from the Gen One’s throat to his ankles. Fresh blood—unmistakably human, yet weak-scented enough to indicate a Minion source—smeared across his torso and flanks.
Lex wasn’t surprised by the evidence of his father’s recent activity, nor by the fact that the trio of muffled voices in the other room were those of his current stock of human mind slaves. Creating and keeping Minions, something only the most powerful, purest bloodlines of the race were capable of doing, had long been an illegal practice among polite Breed society. However, that was among the least of Sergei Yakut’s offenses. He made his own rules, dispensed his own justice, and here, in this remote place, he made it clear to all that he was king. Even Lex could appreciate that kind of freedom and power. Hell, he could practically taste it.
Yakut aimed a dismissive glance at him from across the wide space of the room. “I look at you, and I see the dead standing before me.”
Lex frowned. “Sir?”
“If not for the warrior’s restraint and my intervention tonight, you would be lying beside Urien on that warehouse roof back in the city, both of your corpses awaiting sunrise.” Contempt edged every syllable. Yakut picked up an iron tool from hearthside and stabbed at the logs on the grate. “I spared your life tonight, Alexei. What more do you expect I owe you this evening?”
Lex bristled at the reminder of his earlier humiliation, but he knew anger wouldn’t serve him well, particularly not when he was facing his father. He gave a deferential bow of his head, finding it a damned hard struggle to keep the edge out of his voice. “I am your faithful servant,
53
Father. You owe me nothing whatsoever. And I ask nothing of you but the honor of your continued trust and confidence in me.”
Yakut grunted. “Spoken more like a politician than a soldier. I have no need for
But Lex knew his own capabilities. He knew his own strengths. He knew without any doubt that he could be so much more than what he was now, and he yearned for the opportunity to prove it. To himself and, yes, to the son of a bitch who fathered him as well.
The snick of the metal latch as the door finally opened brought Lex’s pacing feet to a halt. “About fucking time,” he snarled at the guard who stepped aside to let him enter.
The room was dim, lit only by the glow of the logs that burned in the massive stone fireplace on the opposite wall. The lodge was wired for electricity, but it was seldom used—no real need for lights when Sergei Yakut and the rest of the Breed had preternaturally acute vision, especially in the dark.
The Breed’s other senses were also keenly sharp, but Lex suspected that even a human would be hard-pressed to miss the combined odors of blood and sex that mingled with the tang of woodsmoke.
“My apologies for the interruption,” Lex murmured as his father came out of an adjacent room.
52
Yakut was naked, his cock still partially erect, its ruddy length bobbing obscenely with his each swaggering stride. Revolted by the sight, Lex blinked, started to look away. He quickly thought better of it, refusing to give in to a weak impulse that was sure to be counted against him. Instead he watched his father enter the room, the old vampire’s eyes glowing like amber coals set deep into his skull, pupils reduced to narrow vertical slits at their center. His fangs were huge in his mouth, points fully extended and sharp as blades.
A sheen of sweat coated Yakut’s body, every inch of him livid with color from the pulsing hues of his dermaglyphs, the unique Breed skin markings that spread from the Gen One’s throat to his ankles. Fresh blood—unmistakably human, yet weak-scented enough to indicate a Minion source—smeared across his torso and flanks.
Lex wasn’t surprised by the evidence of his father’s recent activity, nor by the fact that the trio of muffled voices in the other room were those of his current stock of human mind slaves. Creating and keeping Minions, something only the most powerful, purest bloodlines of the race were capable of doing, had long been an illegal practice among polite Breed society. However, that was among the least of Sergei Yakut’s offenses. He made his own rules, dispensed his own justice, and here, in this remote place, he made it clear to all that he was king. Even Lex could appreciate that kind of freedom and power. Hell, he could practically taste it.
Yakut aimed a dismissive glance at him from across the wide space of the room. “I look at you, and I see the dead standing before me.”
Lex frowned. “Sir?”
“If not for the warrior’s restraint and my intervention tonight, you would be lying beside Urien on that warehouse roof back in the city, both of your corpses awaiting sunrise.” Contempt edged every syllable. Yakut picked up an iron tool from hearthside and stabbed at the logs on the grate. “I spared your life tonight, Alexei. What more do you expect I owe you this evening?”
Lex bristled at the reminder of his earlier humiliation, but he knew anger wouldn’t serve him well, particularly not when he was facing his father. He gave a deferential bow of his head, finding it a damned hard struggle to keep the edge out of his voice. “I am your faithful servant,
53
Father. You owe me nothing whatsoever. And I ask nothing of you but the honor of your continued trust and confidence in me.”
Yakut grunted. “Spoken more like a politician than a soldier. I have no need for
Similar Books
