Promised in Blood (Broken Bloodlines Book 2)
Promised in Blood: Chapter 40

I am unsurprised to find Giorgios already in the library waiting for me. His request to meet was full of urgency, so much so that I stopped feasting on Ophelia to answer him. Whatever he needs to see me about must be of the utmost importance, given our father’s visit the other day and our subsequent agreement that we would limit our face-to-face interactions.

I take a seat across from him and study his face. The lines of worry marring his expression make me wary. “What is it, brother?”

His eyes dart nervously around the almost-empty library. “I believe I know where Lucian is.”

I rear back, feeling like I have taken a hit to my solar plexus. Surely I misheard him. “Lucian?”

He nods solemnly, his tongue darting out to moisten his top lip.

I screw my eyes closed for a second, trying to fight off the barrage of questions that immediately plague me, or at least get them into some semblance of order. “Where is he?”

“Europe. In the old country.”

I am eager to find my son, but I know that Giorgios cannot be right. “The old country? No. He would not risk living under the nose of the Order. He is many things, brother, but he is no fool.”

He rubs his fingertips through his beard, the simple action one of the few things about him that reminds me of our father. “Believe me, I thought that too, but what better place to hide than in plain sight?”

I shake my head. It cannot be true, although I wish it were. “Where did you come by this information?”

“From someone I trust. Someone who still has ties to the old country. After you told me he was alive, I reached out to some of them⁠—”

“You did not mention Ophelia, correct? The wrong words in the wrong ear could have grave consequences.”

“I said nothing of the girl. Nor of my meeting with you. I simply told some old friends that I suspected he was still alive. I believe I know where he is, Alexandros.”

A seed of suspicion is planted deep inside me. I search his face for the truth. His mind is unavailable to me within these walls, not that I would search it without his permission. “So why are you telling me this?”

He jerks back like he is stunned by my question. “Why would I not?”

My hands curl into fists. “Because your hatred for my son⁠—”

“Is not stronger than my love for my brother.”

I twist my head from side to side and pull at the collar of my shirt. “And what if we find him, Giorgios? You expect me to take his head?” I have no idea how I will respond when I come face-to-face with my son again. I may well take his head for his betrayal. I should. But I might also kneel at his feet and beg him to forgive me for being such a terrible father that he became more monstrous than any creature I have ever known.

He clears his throat and leans back in his chair. “I will leave it up to you to decide his fate. But if he is a risk to the girl …” The rest of the sentence hangs in the air, coating my tongue with bitterness. I cannot risk him discovering Ophelia. I would tear Lucian’s head from his shoulders with my bare hands before I let him harm her.

“If we can find him, perhaps he can lead us to the Skotádi.” My brother’s tone is almost a plea. “He must certainly play a role in all of this, Alexandros. Surely it is fate that we have learned of his survival at the same time we learned of Ophelia and what she is.”

Fate! Instinct makes me want to dismiss his notions, but I cannot. Because the more I learn, the harder it becomes to ignore the fact that something much bigger than any of us is at play here. And as for what Ophelia is … A shiver runs down my spine. “I spoke with Nazeel Danraath.”

His blue eyes widen, and her name must throw him for a loop because his lip trembles. We have never really spoken about the night he almost died or Nazeel’s choice to go against the rules governing her position in the Order by saving his life, and now is not a good time. But I make a mental note to be a better brother and find a way to talk to him about that night when things settle down a bit. A laugh threatens to bubble from my throat at how much Ophelia has changed me, but I school my expression and lock back into the conversation. “Alexandros, are you okay? What did she say?”

“She met with Ophelia. Behind my back and against my will.” My rage comes hurtling back at the memory, but I suck in a breath and soothe my temper. “It was she who saved her at birth. It was also Nazeel who was responsible for Ophelia’s attendance at this college.”

He leans closer, hands clasped between his spread thighs. “Why did she have such interest in the girl? Did she know who or what she was?”

I wrestle with my conscience, battling my desire to protect Ophelia against the need for answers that will surely help to keep her safe. I lower my voice. “Nazeel spoke of the Prophecy of Fiere. The one mother used to recite to us as children.”

I do not miss the spark that ignites in his eyes. “The child borne of fire and blood?”

I nod. He was always eager to believe in such fairytales. And I suppose that I was at least open to the idea once, but that was a long time ago. Before the Skotádi stole my faith in anything that I could not touch with my own hands.

“What does that have to do with the girl?” he asks, although he surely knows the answer.

I simply scowl at him, refusing to say the words aloud.

My brother shifts in his chair under the scrutiny of my gaze and whispers, “She thinks that Ophelia may be the one?”

I snort. “It is ludicrous.” But perhaps it is not. In fact, it makes more sense than anything else I have considered up to this point. Still, I refuse to admit it. Refuse to allow her to be the one the world has been waiting for because she is who I have been waiting for—even if I had no idea that anything was missing. She belongs to me and my boys.

Undoubtedly recognizing the stubbornness stamped on my features, Giorgios does not say anything more on the subject. Instead, he returns the conversation back to the reason he is here. “We need to find Lucian, Alexandros. Before he causes any further harm.”

My jaw tenses. I told nobody of seeing my son’s face for the first time in five hundred years when I searched that young Onyx vampire’s memory, and I have no intention of starting now. “What harm do you speak of?”

“The harm he caused our family, Alexandros. Our mother. Your wife. My nieces.” He hisses the last word. “And I have no doubt that his black heart is responsible for many more crimes against our kind since.”

I swallow down the retort on my tongue and inhale a deep breath through my nose.

“Come to Corinth with me,” he pleads. “We will use the witches’ portal. It will take us but a day at most.”

A day during which I will be away from her. Thousands of miles away.

“You can use the portal to be by her side at a moment’s notice,” he says, reading my mind without actually needing to.

I lean back in my chair, a heavy sigh leaving me. If Lucian is in the old country, then he could have used the portal to get to Montridge. The portals are monitored, but he is gifted enough to have found a way to remain undetected.

“Alexandros?”

“I will go.” There is no other choice. I must find Lucian, although the thought of confronting the son who betrayed me brings me nothing but anguish.