Chapter One

Philandros (Landros) Mires stood across the street from a large row house. He'd been doing as much for nearly two hours and planned to continue for several more. For two weeks, he'd found himself paying visits to the location almost nightly. The only thing that had kept him away briefly was an overnight trip out of town that had been needed for work.

As a Paranormal Security and Intelligence Agency Operative (PSI-Op), he was often required to travel. His home base was Savannah, Georgia, but that hadn't always been the case. America was relatively new for him, considering he'd only been living in it for around fifty or sixty years, give or take a few. Before America, he'd mostly been stationed out of headquarters in Europe and Asia.

As one of the founding members of PSI, Landros tended to have his pick of locations as well as teams. It had been his choice to come to the United States. He'd hoped that by putting distance between himself and his past, he could avoid having history repeat itself.

So far, his move had paid off.

Everyone he loved was safe.

At least for now.

Recent events had left his niece—who had occupied the row house he now stood before, and whom he saw more as a daughter—moving from Savannah to an area just north of Richmond, Virginia. That meant she was an eight-hour car drive from him or an hour-and-a-half flight.

He missed having her close, knowing she was minutes away, but that wasn't what had drawn him to the row house. At least he didn't think so. As he stood there, continuing to stare at the home, he wasn't entirely sure why he kept feeling pulled back to the location or why he was logging so many hours outside of it.

Night had done nothing to lower the temperature or the humidity that hung in the air, making it feel heavy. He was used to it, having called Savannah home for just over twenty years. Before that, he'd lived in New Orleans. Since he tended to run on the cool side no matter what time of the year it was, he preferred the warmth the South offered.

The lowest-level door to the home was green and partially obscured by thick ivy that covered the brick walls flanking both sides of the door. The ivy then crept around and up the front of the home.

A large black trash can sat to the right of the door. A six-foot iron fence encased the home, with a gate out front. The main entrance was up one level, with a beautiful exterior staircase and porch that was accessible from the single-car driveway. The main entrance was hardly ever used by the home's occupants. In fact, he couldn't recall them ever mentioning even opening that door.

The home was a place Landros knew well. After all, he was the homeowner. It was one of many he owned. His main home was within the Historic District as well, sitting across from Forsyth Park.

The row house wasn't quite as large as his estate, which boasted eight bedrooms and eleven bathrooms, but it more than fit two young women. He'd purchased the property for his niece when she'd wanted to move onto campus to attend university several years back. The idea of her being in dorm rooms where he was sure nothing but orgies took place had left his inner darkness unsettled.

When he'd stressed his issues with the dorms to his niece, Nicolette, she'd heard him out, all the while looking as though she was doing her best to avoid laughing. She'd then offered to find a small efficiency apartment just off campus. One she could share with her best friend, Clara Reed. Landros had nixed that idea as well, wanting his niece closer to him while still giving her some semblance of independence. Since she'd refused to live in the carriage home on his estate, he'd done the next best thing and found the row house within the same district of the city.

Landros had more money than he could ever dream of spending. It was difficult for him to understand the lure of the apartment or the idea that Nicolette had craved living on her own, away from his homes. He didn't think he ran too strict of a house. His main rule had always been no boys— ever.

He wished that rule was still being enforced.

Since Nicolette was newly mated to a man he considered a friend, Landros had slight guilt about his views on the matter. Garth Ingersson, the man who was, for all intents and purposes, married to his niece, was a good and honorable man. One who hailed from the Viking age of Scandinavia and who had warrior in his blood. A man who could and would protect Nicolette from the evils of the world. That didn't change the fact Garth was a man, with all his male bits intact. The idea of Nicolette being intimate with anyone set Landros's darkness on the edge of breaking free.

As a vampire, he had to be mindful of his demon. It was stronger than most.

It had to be.

Had it been only average demon strength, which was quite powerful in itself, the demon wouldn't have been able to overpower the Fae part of him. Something that came from his father's side. That, combined with the gifts he'd gotten from his mother, who had been one of the Pythia in Ancient Greece, meant Landros had been born with gifts that far exceeded the gifts of those around him. As an oracle of Delphi, his mother had had a direct link to the gods. He'd grown up in a time when those around him believed fully in magik, in gods, and in monsters. Unlike today, where nearly everyone wrote it all off as nothing more than myths and legends.

In his day and age, humans feared the supernatural and worshipped it.

He'd been born in Hellas, or the Greece of old. Attica, to be exact. His father's largest estate had been in Athens, where Landros had spent a portion of his youth before his mother had insisted that he be sent to live among the Spartans until he was twenty years of age. Since Laconia and Attica often stood in opposition to one another, his father had not been on board with the idea to start with. It wasn't until his mother said the gods willed it so that Landros was sent off—barely seven years of age— to be trained and treated as if he were Spartan by birth.

To this day, Landros wasn't sure how his father had managed to persuade the Spartans to accept him into their fold. However, "accept" was a strong word. Most looked down upon him. They saw him as less than them because they knew the truth—that he was not one of their own. As a small boy, he'd not yet come into his powers, or even fully understood what his parents had been.

All he'd thought was that they did not want him.

That he wasn't enough.

That shame had driven them to send him to live in Laconia. The Spartans were harder on him than on their own, and it wasn't as if they were known to go easy on anyone. For years, he'd hated his parents for subjecting him to the brutal upbringing while his peers in Athens lived what looked to be a charmed life in comparison. His own sister, whose name he'd tweaked slightly and given to his niece, had been held in high regard at their home. Something that wasn't entirely common in Athens back in his day.

Women in Athens did not hold the same weight and power as their Spartan counterparts. But his sister had been the apple of his father's eye. Younger than Landros by fourteen years, their age gap was significant. She'd been born when he was off, training with the Spartans. By that point, he'd already spent seven years enduring the hell around him and was barely fourteen, yet hardened to the realities of war and death. He couldn't help but be jealous. Harboring ill will toward a small child he'd never even met had eaten at him.

He'd spent another six years beyond that with the Spartans, until the day of his twentieth birthday, when he found himself being cast from their midst and sent home to Athens.

He'd left Athens a boy of seven and had returned a man of twenty, to a family he barely knew or recognized anymore. And the disdain he'd felt for his sister faded the moment he'd lain eyes upon her. She'd been six years old when he'd first met her. She'd had huge brown eyes and a head of wavy dark brown curls that bounced as she ran. While other women who resided within the grounds of his father's estate looked upon him as if he was a stranger, no longer one of them, his sister stared at him with nothing short of adoration and love in her eyes.

She had apparently begged to hear stories of him from their mother. And he learned she'd idolized him from a very early age. It was hard to be jealous of her when she was so full of unconditional love for him. Before he knew it, he found that she'd managed to worm her way into his hardened heart.

In many ways, he began to view her as a daughter, despite the fact he was only fourteen years older.

His sister kept him grounded within a city he no longer felt at home. Friends whom he'd had as a child were no more than names and faces to him as an adult male. He was a warrior, battle tested and ready for war. They were soft, spoiled, and pampered. They enjoyed taunting him with their superior educations, always wanting to have a battle of wits because a hand-to-hand match would have seen them defeated with ease.

They'd spent their youths with tutors and being groomed for high society. He'd spent his in hell.

They'd been forged in two very different fires.

He'd known nothing but hardship and endurance. Next to them, he was stone, an emotionless void in comparison. At first, their sneers and taunts had gotten to him. But he had shown them. He'd sought out the finest of tutors and devoured everything he could, learning from the greats along the way.

He may have had a later start in life with an education but that had not taken from his ability to learn. He soaked in everything he could, becoming versed in multiple languages and being able to hold his own with philosophers who would later go down in history as masters of their craft.

And during that timeframe, his sister had grown into an amazing young woman. One who, like many women in that day and age, found herself wed early. The match had been a good one and his sister had known real love from her husband. When news that his sister was expecting a child of her own had reached Landros, he was on the battlefront, preparing to stand against the Persian army.

He'd been happy for his sister, but worried, as childbirth was dangerous and she was young. But he'd pushed aside his fears and focused on the task at hand.

Defeating an enemy of Athens.

And Persia had been the ultimate enemy back then. Shared hate of the empire had been the catalyst the city-states of Greece needed to work together when they'd spent so long fighting amongst themselves. And it was that shared hate that forged lasting friendships with men he was still close to today.

It didn't matter how much time had spanned since the wars of old.

Immortality had a way of making time irrelevant.

And the losses he'd suffered at the hands of one Persian, in particular, were still as fresh today as they had been thousands of years ago.

Mirza had been unlike anything or anyone Landros had ever encountered. To this very day, he couldn't fathom what had drawn the man to him. All he knew was that he'd found himself the center of Mirza's attention, and with it came nothing but death and darkness.

Life with the Spartans had prepared him for war, but it had not readied him for battle with evil. With a demon so vicious and so focused that eternity didn't seem long enough to break his grip.

Living in the past was something Landros swore he'd not revert to, but it was hard. The last week had proven more complicated than most. Dreams had haunted him, bringing with them memories best left buried deep down. More than once he'd dreamed of Mirza—whom he had not seen in hundreds of years—being here, in Savannah.

At first, the dreams had felt so real, so alarming, that Landros had woken and instantly gone on the hunt for the male. Tracking an original demon, one who had been born from the first darkness that was whispered of in nearly every religion out there, was easier said than done, but Landros had thousands of years of experience.

He'd found no signs of Mirza in the area, and that should have been enough to set Landros's mind at ease. It wasn't. He still couldn't shake the feeling his maker, the man who had turned him into a vampire, was close and that he was still a threat.

That the monster was coming, once again, to murder all those Landros held near and dear—as he'd done centuries ago.

Lowering his head, Landros touched his temple, trying to will away the memory of the carnage he'd returned home to find on the night he'd been sired against his will. To the end of days, he'd never forget the sight of his parents, sister, and her husband slaughtered. By the gods' grace, his sister's child had been spared. The baby had been hours old and had only lived because a household servant had taken the babe to be washed and tended to, allowing his sister time to rest. That meant the child had not been within the main dwelling at the time the devil himself had shown.

The baby had not been there when Mirza had taken it upon himself to rid Landros of his human ties. To wipe out his entire family so he could concentrate on being one with his newly acquired demon side. So he could embrace the darkness and forgo all past relationships and concerns.

In one fateful night, Landros had lost his life and his entire family and found himself sharing his body with a demon. It had taken everything he had not to give in to the blood that had been everywhere upon his return home.

He could still smell it to this very day.

Horror had gripped the human side of him, but hunger had beat at the vampire portion. The demon within him, which was powerful, wanted to feast in the aftermath and bathe in the carnage.

It had nearly done just that until Landros had found his sister's dead body. Seeing the one person he'd ever truly cared about dead had been enough for him to hang on and deny the demon in him what it wanted most. And it had given him just enough willpower to seek out his sister's baby and take it to safety.

Far from him.

Far from Mirza.

The child had grown into an adult and had a child of its own. Shortly thereafter, Mirza had found them and Landros had barely managed to get the newest baby to safety, hiding it away so that it could grow to be an adult and have children of its own. The cycle continued with Mirza finding each member of his family line and killing them. Finally, Landros had realized he had to put as much distance between himself and his family line as possible. He'd made the choice to cut any and all ties with his past. It wasn't until twenty years ago that he'd found himself crossing paths with someone from his line once more—Nicolette. He'd found it impossible to abandon her in her hour of need and instead of sending her away to be raised by humans as he'd done to all from his line in the past, he'd kept her with him, raising her himself.

Chapter Two

LANDROS HAD to rip himself from the memory of it all or risk his demon surfacing. On that night, it had yielded, permitting him to do what he must to safeguard the baby before forcing him into the shadows to live for decades before he'd learned to find something close to a balance with the demon.

That had been nearly two thousand five hundred years ago.

The scars his heart bore were still fresh. They'd never heal.

As Landros continued to stand outside, just out of reach of the streetlamp nearest him, watching the row house, he couldn't help but recognize how absurd he was being. That didn't change the unexplainable pull he'd had to the home as of late. The need to be close to it had always been there, just below the surface, but he'd managed it, believing it to be his overprotective side. That his concern for his niece and the dangers that lived in the world around her had been pushing him to check in on her.

But she was in Virginia with her mate and had been for just over two weeks.

Yet here he was.

In actuality, he'd spent far more time at the row home since Nicolette had left with Garth than prior. He had a sneaking suspicion the pull had less to do with his niece and the home than it did with the woman who still occupied the residency.

Clara.

The green door opened, and the second it did, the smell of raspberries, daisies, and sugar found him. The scent eased around him, sluicing over his skin, making him painfully aware of who was about to emerge—Clara.

The very thought of her sent waves of awareness thundering through him, making his pulse sound like the hum of hundreds of hoofbeats, all going full speed ahead. His mind moved just as quickly, leaving far too many thoughts firing all at the same time for him to sort through or bother to make sense of.

The only clear thought he could latch on to was how good the owner of the scent smelled to him. How that very smell had tempted him for nearly seven full years now, causing physical reactions in him that he was ashamed of. Ones he kept hidden from everyone he knew for fear of what they'd think. Hell, he already thought the worst of himself for the carnal need that devoured him whenever she was near.

Pained and embarrassed by his body's reaction to the young woman, he attempted to think of anything that would take his mind from his growing erection. Nothing worked. The second the brown- haired female with huge green eyes stepped through the threshold of the home and into the night, all reason left him. His pulse sped, his cock hardening to the point he was sure it could hammer nails.

He stiffened as arousal moved throughout him, centering in his groin.

She was beautiful. There was no denying as much, notwithstanding Landros's best efforts. Finding her attractive was beyond wrong. She was the same age as his niece. He'd seen her grow up. It was wrong to view her sexually now. It didn't matter that she was technically an adult or that his longing for her had not developed until she'd come of age. All that mattered was that she was far, far too young for him. And totally and utterly off-limits in the romance department. She was his niece's best friend since they were tiny.

He'd known her since she was just shy of four years old, when he and his fellow PSI-Ops had discovered a secret facility in the basement of an arms dealer's mansion. Within the facility had been several labs. One held children who had been tested upon and put through unspeakable tortures at the hands of madmen who wanted to create a master race of supernaturals.

Throughout the ages, they had gone by many names, most notably the Nazis, but most recently, The Corporation.

His hatred for them knew no limits.

He couldn't tear his gaze from Clara as she turned and closed the door with one hand. The other hand contained a mug that smelled like tea to him from this distance. She was in a snug tank top without a bra on under it, showing off her pert nipples.

He closed his hands into fists, digging his nails into the pads, hoping to stave off the burning need racing through him.

She tossed her head up, sending her long brown hair cascading over her shoulders in the process, as well as releasing her scent even more. Even with the thick humidity and barely any breeze in the Georgia heat, he could smell everything about her.

He couldn't help but focus on her breasts. The way they bounced as she padded barefoot down the walking path to the front gate.

Wait.

Barefoot?

Why was the woman walking around outside, at night, by herself, let alone without shoes? Did she not realize how close to death she'd come only two weeks prior? The enemy had had their hands on her and would have succeeded in doing whatever it was they'd wanted to do, had Landros's brothers-in- arms not arrived in time to assist. There was no telling when the enemy would strike again. He could only hope that the few who had made a move against Clara and Nicolette had acted alone, not with the full backing of The Corporation. If they did follow orders from on high, the enemy would continue to come.

That meant that while Nicolette had Garth to protect her, Clara had no one.

She was alone.

And outside, at night, barefoot.

His ire stirred, and he found himself stepping out of his hiding place and into the light of the streetlamp.

Clara glanced both ways before hurrying across the street toward him, her breasts bouncing more and more as she did.

It took all he had to keep from reaching down and adjusting himself at the sight of her there.

She came right for him and held out the mug of tea. "Here."

"What are you doing out here at this time of night?" he demanded.

She raised a well-defined brow. "I had the same question for you."

With a huff, he squared his shoulders. "Me? I'm more than capable of taking care of myself. You're not. Anything could happen to you. The enemy could have been out here, waiting to grab you— again."

She simply stood there, blinking up at him. It didn't seem as though she were taking the threat very seriously. If anything, she appeared annoyed. "Uh-huh. Or there could just be a guy I've known pretty much all my life out here, staring at the house —again."

He grunted. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"So it's not been you out here every night for the past two weeks?" she asked, her voice saying she already knew the answer to her own question.

The cords in his neck popped as he struggled to find the right words. "Well, no. I mean, yes. You're all alone here. Anything could happen to you. Pack a bag. You're coming to stay at my house."

She didn't so much as budge. Instead, she pushed the mug of tea toward Landros more. "Sure I am. Here."

He glanced down at the mug. "What?"

She snorted. "If you're going to keep loitering out here, at least have something to drink."

"Loitering? I'll have you know I'm doing no such thing," he protested.

She moved in closer, putting the mug to his chest. "Want me to call it what it is? You know, you being creepy and basically staring at the house, missing your niece, all while pretending you're totally worried about me being alone. Dude, we need to get you a life. Or, um, whatever you vamp boys refer to living as. What do y'all call it? Un- living?"

She thought he was watching the home because he missed Nicolette?

While he did miss his niece, that wasn't the reason he was at the home.

"Take the tea, Landros," she said, showing no fear of him even though she'd only recently confessed to knowing what he truly was.

A creature of the night.

He'd hidden the truth of being a vampire from Clara and Nicolette for years, worried it would scare them or bring danger into their lives. He'd played out the reality of them knowing the truth a thousand times over the last twenty years, each time ending in hysterics in his mind. Seeing how calm Clara had been with it all was unnerving. He'd expected screaming or fear.

She had given none.

In fact, the little minx had confessed to knowing his truth since she'd been ten years old, but she'd kept his secret all these years.

She confused him on a base level.

He eased the mug from her hand gently, his fingers brushing hers, causing warmth to spread through his arm. Swallowing hard, he tried but failed to draw his gaze from her full lips. He managed to pull his gaze upward, soaking in the sight of her high, full cheekbones and thick dark lashes. The green of her eyes reminded him of the plain of the Eurotas River.

Landros was nearly six and a half feet tall, making Clara seem short in comparison when she was actually above-average height for a woman, around five foot nine inches.

She stared at their fingers, which neither seemed inclined to remove from the mug, her lips parting. "Cool. Are you doing that, or am I?"

He dipped his head, his body having a mind of its own when it came to her. His lips wanted to be pressed to hers. The next he knew his head was level with hers.

She met his gaze, and her eyes widened. "What are you doing?"

He jerked upright, spilling some tea on himself in the process. "Nothing."

"Were you using your vamp powers on me?" she asked, excitement in her voice. She touched his arm. "Do some now. Levitate or something. Can you do that? Is that a thing?"

He stared down at her. "You've had a lot of sugar today, haven't you?"

She grinned. "I ate a huge bowl of sugary cereal for breakfast. I followed that up with some candy for my midmorning snack at work. Then at lunch, I had a milkshake with my cheeseburger."

His lip curled as she continued to rattle off all she'd put into her body.

Eating wasn't something he was required to do in order to survive. He did on rare occasions because he missed the tastes of certain things. Never did he put anything on her list into his system. He couldn't imagine anyone willingly doing so. It all sounded horrible to him.

She hit his abs lightly with the back of her hand. "I can tell by the look in your eyes that you're as taken aback by my diet as your niece always is. She's not a fan of my love of junk food either. I should have known the apple didn't fall far from the health-nut tree. Question for you, though, do you have to work out and be all healthy to stay this hot and sexy, or are you locked in this state for eternity since you became a bloodsucker?"

Landros couldn't stop the smile that spread over his face. She thought he was sexy?

Clara mused up at him. "Dude, the look you're sporting right now says you're sexy, and you know it."

A laugh bubbled up from deep within him.

She sighed, and her eyelids fluttered. "Wow. Your laugh is wet-panty material. That a vampire thing too? The few I know are all super-hot with great bods and sexy voices too."

That sobered him instantly. She thought other vampires were sexy as well? "Which ones?"

"Which ones what? Which do I think have sexy bods?" she questioned.

He gave a small nod. It was all he could manage in his state of mind.

She shrugged. "Nicolette's sperm donor is pretty hot."

Landros stilled. "You mean Auberi?"

She glanced at him. "Yes, but I wasn't sure I was allowed to say his name around you. I know y'all are having a lot of issues right now adjusting to the fact you basically lied to Nicolette all her life and to your friend. He was your friend, right?"

She wasn't wrong.

That didn't mean Landros liked hearing as much.

He nodded. "Auberi is my friend."

Clara tipped her head. "How is that going for you? When I talked to Nicolette last night on the phone, she said that Auberi is still refusing to speak to you, and that you only give her cryptic answers when she asks you why you did what you did. I know that our supposed sit-down that we were going to have two weeks back was a bust. I was hoping you'd managed to get your side of it told."

Landros held the mug of tea with one hand and boldly took Clara's hand in the other. He nodded to the house. "This conversation is best had inside."

Her fingers laced with his, and she leaned against him. "Oh, you're cooler. It's hot out here. Are you okay? Are you sick? Do you even get sick?"

With a sigh, he released her hand and bent slightly, careful to keep from spilling the tea she'd taken the time to make him. He grabbed her around the waist and lifted her before walking across the street.

Clara squeaked and then laughed as he carried her all the way to the door before setting her down. She twisted around to face him, still giggling. "You're crazy strong. Like a shifter."

He grunted. "Shifters are pussies."

"Such a mouth," she teased before opening the door. She hesitated. "Do I have to invite you in?"

He snorted. "Uh, no. I own the home."

She winked and snapped her fingers in his direction before making finger guns. "Right you are. Loophole!"