Chapter 26

Tobias's POV

The ache of my betrayal still burns, as sharp as the first day I felt it. Nicholas reports she is managing, and Brant sometimes catches sight of her, but it is never enough. When we are home, Atlas and I run to the academy at night and sleep under her dorm window, close enough to breathe her scent but never close enough to be seen. We cannot make contact. It is killing us slowly. The frustration boils over and I slam my fist into the wall. Stone splinters around the crater my knuckles leave. Daemon flinches behind me but stays silent.

I snarl and turn away from his concerned eyes. At the wardrobe I pull out a black shirt, strip off the grey t-shirt I am wearing, and pull it on. Normally, I’d ignore the blood smeared across my hands, however we are living with vampires. So, I quickly wash my hands, my knuckles already half-healed. My jeans are clean enough, and I cannot summon the care to change them. My hair hangs too long now, brushing my shoulders. Mother despises it, but I cannot be bothered to cut it. I tie it up in a rough bun at the crown of my head and head for the entrance hall. Daemon falls into step beside me without a word.

The others are already gathered, their speed always beating ours. Vampires are like that, always ready, always waiting. Alistair stands with his sister Persephone, Jensen at his right hand and Santiago at his left. They are his second and third, though their hierarchy is not the same as ours. Daemon greets them with a nod. I do not. I can feel Persephone’s eyes strip me bare. My skin crawls beneath her gaze.

We pile into the waiting limo and the driver takes us toward the city. The vampire castle clings to the edge of their sprawling capital, their people spread through its streets with only a few living out in scattered villages. They are fewer than us, but they are strong and fast, each one dangerous. Since the Council outlawed the turning of mortals, their numbers have slowed. Vampires can be born, but births are rare, and a born vampire always stands above a made one. That distinction rules their world. Only a born vampire can sit the throne. Alistair’s line has held power since their independence, and they guard it fiercely.

The club stinks. The air claws at my nose—alcohol, perfume, sweat, vomit, pheromones all blended into a rancid fog. The burn catches at the back of my throat. Daemon is less affected, his bear senses blunter, and the vampires do not scent the way we do. They taste the air, and can easily ignore the stench. I am the only one drowning in it. I hate it here.

The noise is worse. Bass thunders in my bones, lights strobe until the edges of the world blur, and I am too aware of everything. I despise this, but at least it shoves my thoughts of her into the background. Discomfort is better than obsession.

Alistair guides us up a narrow stair to the VIP floor. A wall of glass overlooks the dance floor below. There is a private bar and curved sofas, already occupied by a scattering of vampires who bow their heads when their prince enters before turning back to their night. We take our seats near the bar. A waitress glides over, all black dress and pale skin, and waits with pen poised for our order.

“What can I get you, handsome?” she purrs, bending low enough to give me a full view of her cleavage.

“I’ll take a moonshine whiskey,” I answer. She nods, flashing another suggestive smile before turning to the others.

They all order, and Daemon raises his brows at me. I shrug. “Well, if I am going to be here, I may as well try to enjoy it." And maybe the moonshine will knock Atlas out long enough for me to get some sleep.

The waitress returns with our drinks, setting mine down with another flirty smile and far too much cleavage on display. Persephone edges closer, her leg brushing against mine. I suppress a groan of annoyance.

“Right then, Tobias,” Alistair says, amusement written across his face. “Let us find you a distraction. The dance floor is full of talent tonight. Or I could order you a lap dance?” He is entirely genuine. He has no idea. I have never told him that I have already met my mate. He thinks my temper and my darkness are because I have not found her yet, while everyone else has.

Daemon watches me over the rim of his glass, silent.

“I am not interested,” I say flatly.

“Nonsense. You clearly need to unwind, blow off some steam. What better way?”

Persephone slides her hand down my forearm as she leans in. “I could help you blow off some steam,” she whispers, voice sultry. Atlas growls in my mind, teeth bared at her touch.

I jerk back from her. “No thanks. I am good.”

“Tobias, come on, loosen up a little. You need to get laid. You are so uptight.”

“No,” I snarl, the word sharp and loud enough to cut through the music. Alistair laughs.

“See? So uptight. Come on, would you prefer a guy? I am sure there are plenty who—”

“I said no!” My voice rises, irritation sparking hot in my chest. “I am not interested.”

“What, saving yourself for your mate?” Alistair smirks into his drink. Heat rises to my face.

“Wait… you're not? Please tell me you're not actually waiting for your mate?” His voice is full of incredulity, a smile tugging at his lips.

I do not answer. I sip my drink instead, refusing to meet his eyes.

“You are telling me that the mighty Tobias Ashbourne, crown prince of the werewolves, is still a virgin?” His voice climbs, gleeful now. I feel the weight of every stare in the room. The moonshine is already warming my blood, loosening my tongue.

I look straight at Alistair and meet his gaze. “Yes. And I will maintain that until I find my mate.” I throw back the rest of my drink and fix my eyes on the dance floor below, bodies writhing in time to the bass.

Persephone scoffs beside me. “But how will you satisfy your mate if you don't even know what you are doing?”

I ignore her. She presses harder. “I could help you. Teach you a few things. Show you how to rock her world.”

“Penny,” Alistair snaps, his voice sharp now. “No, you will not.”

Daemon finally cuts in, voice calm and firm. “Leave him be, all of you. There is nothing strange about waiting for your fated.”

But Alistair, Jensen, and Santiago, are all snickering into their glasses. I decide I have had enough of their judgment. I push up from the sofa and head down the stairs into the press of the main dance floor.