Dev had talked to Romaric and Damian and both were seeing similar patterns of abductions in their Regents. It was clear Xavier was experimenting again. Trying to procreate using human females. It couldn’t be done. Only human females who were bonded to vampires could bear vampire children, but that didn’t stop the evil rogue from slaughtering young, innocent women in his quest to try.
He must be stopped. They were out of time. Devon would make sure he killed the demented vampire himself this time.
The vampire he once called “brother.”
If Ms. Martin was truly a dreamwalker, her world was about to change. Drastically. Forever.
Not his problem, though. He would delegate her care to his staff. He had to make difficult decisions every day in the best interest of his Regent and all of the vampires under his care who relied upon him.
So as Dev stepped into the closet-sized observation room, he had no qualms, no compunction whatsoever, about using Ms. Kate Martin as a means to his selfish end.
Until he laid eyes on her.
He froze. “Jesus H. Christ.”
She was The One. The woman he’d been looking for.
He stood frozen, drinking in her every perfect, exquisite feature from head to toe. Wearing her dark, glossy hair in a twisted, messy bun atop her head and dressed in incredible curve-hugging, dark jeans with a fitted ivory sweater that bared just the top swell of her luscious breasts, she was simply…breathtaking. Her striking green eyes shone like emeralds. She was the most exquisite, desirable creature he had ever laid eyes on in his very, very long existence.
And. She. Was. His.
The desire, the possessiveness pulsing through his body and soul was so fierce, so intense, he nearly crashed through the flimsy barrier that stood between him and his Moira. His cock was hard as granite. His fangs had burst through his gums. He only had a single-minded intention of getting inside that sweet, hot body. Now. The savage need to mark her as his was all consuming and unlike anything he’d ever felt. It took every ounce of his stalwart control to stand there, taking no action.
Fuck. This changed everything.
Xavier relaxed with a tumbler of fifty-year-old Dalamore Scotch in his hands. He lounged in his overstuffed black leather club chair, made from the finest available Italian leather in a dark maple frame. His one luxury piece of furniture in this hellhole he called home these days. At least he could have a good Scotch.
Rage always seethed just beneath the surface. Vampires were meant to rule the world, were the superior species on this planet, yet he spent his days in hiding, like vermin. His plans constantly thwarted by his former brethren, who dubbed themselves Lords. They were why he was in this hellhole, cowering like a petulant child. They’d completely destroyed his last compound. He was lucky to escape with his life. Lesson learned.
He fingered the ragged scars marring the left side of his previously perfect face, courtesy of his last encounter with the Lords. A sinister smile played across his thin evil lips as he reflected on his current plans in motion. Plans that would come to fruition. Devon and the rest of the insolent Lords may have won the last few battles, but he would be victorious in the war and that was all that mattered in the end. They had no idea how close he was. A low, harsh laugh escaped.
Successful procreation of the vampire race was something he’d been working on for over five hundred years. That, and the diametrically opposed views he had with Devon and the others regarding the superiority of their race, had led him to where he was today. When he’d parted ways with Devon, he’d gone into hiding and needed an army of his own making if he was going to fulfill his ultimate plan. An army born of his own ideals, dedicated to serving him. Dedicated to his objective of world domination. Doing what he alone commanded. And while he was making progress, it wasn’t fast enough. It was difficult to have world domination without enough vampires.
For vampires to reproduce, however, they had to be bonded with their Moira’s, their destined mate. And finding one’s Moira was not an easy task, so he’d had to use other means to build his army.
The doctors in his employ had made progress in creating a therapy allowing for any human female to conceive and carry a vampire babe, not just a vampire’s Moira. So far, the concoction only had a five percent success rate, but that was a vast improvement over the tenth of a percent they had just a few short years ago.
Unfortunately, that also meant they went through a lot of females. He made sure to get them young, while they were in prime childbearing years. If they couldn’t conceive after three years, they were disposed of. After they were thoroughly used, of course. They were only a means to an end. Nothing else. When their usefulness ended, so did they.