บททั้งหมดของ The Pack's Hybrids: บทที่ 71 - บทที่ 80

Concordia, Nine Hundred and Forty Years BeforeThaelen stood by the window and watched the sun rise. He had been restless through the night, despite being physically and emotionally drained. When he had drifted to sleep, his dreams had been broken and uneasy, frequented by ghosts. He had had dreamt conversations with both his parents, which had seemed intense and important in sleep, but the content of which had vanished upon rising, and had swum with Gera in the bay of the past, only to lose him in the water, waking gasping into the darkness, sucking in the air that his lungs had been denied in nightmare.It was only natural that his mind would be on the past and his many losses, he told himself as he squinted against the glare of the bright sun as it speared over the ocean with sharp flares. He was grateful to have spent the night in Gunnar’s stronghold rather than making the journey back to his own. Sleeping in his bed without Gera would have been harder.He had ruled for one and a

Concordia, Nine Hundred and Forty Years Before“How have you found being regent?” Thaelen asked Sigrid, wincing as the priest with his sharp tools and ink worked the pattern into Thaelen’s skin. It was a fascinating process of piercing the skin and pushing ink into the wound over and over again in order to leave the vampire wearing the symbols of his people.The priest had positioned Thaelen under the fall of light through a window for the process, and had four acolyte assistants – one supervising the equipment needed, one helping to hold Thaelen’s skin taut, another which marked the pattern on Thaelen’s skin ahead of the priest’s needles, and the final holding the design so that all could see.Thaelen was reconsidering the rash decision to have the tattoo done, however it had been offered and he had been intrigued. Sitting for the hours required for it’s completion, however, was tedious and he had been relieved when Sigrid had joined him. She had brought with her a set of throwing bo

Astreau, Nine Hundred and Forty Years BeforeThey stayed out from the Alden coast, trying to avoid contact with the humans of that country, although there were a few days where, on the horizon, an Alden ship seemed to contemplate whether to pursue or let them be, when the rolling sand-dunes gave way to lush forest the ship let them sail beyond visual contact.As they sailed past the gorgeous greenery and pretty fishing villages with the sleekly attractive people watching from the sand, Thaelen contemplated the possibility of taking them again. With a period of quarantine, vampire blood, and care, it might be possible, he thought.“They settled well into Concordia,” Meguitte commented, guessing the direction of his thoughts. “We could take more, with caution. If we keep them isolated, treat them with blood, before taking them to shore, as we plan to do with anyone else that we take…”“It is a thought,” he agreed. “However, we have suffered so many losses, I find myself reluctant to tak

Havermouth, Two Weeks BeforeAislen leaned her hip against the table and set a folder down in front of Heath, leaning over to flick it open. He looked up at her and wondered if she knew that he could see straight down her top and she wasn’t wearing a bra. He met Talen’s gaze across the table and saw that the vampire’s eyes danced with suppressed laughter, his lips fighting the curve.Heath smothered his smile, knowing that he’d been busted looking and gave a slight, rueful, shrug.Aislen’s attention was on the folder, and the paperwork within it. “So, my father fancied himself a bit of a PI, I guess,” she explained. “He and Chris Arrens were part of a group of parents who have noticed that werewolves are f-king their way through their daughters with reckless disregard for the girls involved. Here’s a list. The girls, the boys, and…”“F-k,” Heath turned his attention to the paperwork. There was a spreadsheet, each column neatly titled and each row containing a girl’s name, her parent’s

Havermouth, Two Weeks BeforeTyler, Heath assumed. Heath wasn’t sure what he had expected from a vampire’s blood slave, but the tall, gangly man in a band-t-shirt and jeans, somehow fit. Tyler’s eyes were shadowed, his hair was overgrown, there was a week’s growth of stubble on his jaw, and his clothes were wrinkled as if he’d slept in them but there wasn’t a sense of distress to accompany the dishevel, rather the opposite, as if they’d caught Tyler on a lazy weekend at home in front of the TV.He stepped inside and put the carton of beer that he held against his hip down on the kitchen bench. “I’m Tyler. Talen’s just bringing in the wine.” Around his neck, just showing above the collar of his tshirt, he wore a leather collar lazer-cut with the same design that Aislen’s necklace had woven between the glinting diamonds – a statement of Talen’s ownership, but one that had been done in just such a way that it fit Tyler’s overall aesthetic perfectly and would never make anyone wonder why