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permanently tattooed on his tongue. Maybe he was the biggest idiot on the planet, but he wasn’t looking to alter that fact until he had to, was forced to. He was about to give himself over to the Cause, wholly and willingly, but there was one part of him that would always belong to her.
    Deservedly or not.
    Cruel, nad-crushing words, or not.
    He trotted down the long hallway and when he reached the heavy metal door, he knocked. Six times, then a pause, then three more. At first he thought that no one was there, that perhaps they’d abandoned their home, their training grounds, or shit, they were just ignoring his empty-headed ass. But then the metal latch inside clicked. Then again. And Piper’s face, then body, appeared on the other side.
    She lifted one pale brow. “Back so soon?”
    They weren’t going to make it easy and that was fine. He didn’t really deserve easy. “You know where I was, Piper?”
    “In the back of a limo, right?”
    “After that.”
    Riordon showed up beside her, his massive frame strange so near to Piper’s petite one. “Yeah, we know, Impure. Did the Order take your . . . blood?” He said the last word like it gave him just a touch of pleasure.
    The hulk of an Impure would come to heel in time, Gray knew. He’d have to. Not only were they looking at their final puzzle piece, but the one with the most to lose, to gain—to discover.
    “What they took is far more valuable than my ability or desire to fuck,” Gray told them in all seriousness.
    Riordon sniffed. “Is anything more valuable than that to you, Gray?”
    “Yes. My family, my father’s life. My love for my sister.” He paused, looked at each one in the eyes. “And the success and implementation of the Impure uprising.”
    Riordon’s brow lifted, Piper’s mouth kicked up at the corners, and from behind them both, Gray heard Vincent’s words, both in his head and out, “Get in here, Donohue .”
    The pair before him opened the door wide and Gray walked through. This time it was out of choice, out of care and thought—and out of a deep and unabashed need for vengeance.
    As all three Impure warriors watched with amazed expressions, Gray went to stand over the symbol carved into the floor. He held out his hands to them, then closed his eyes and opened his mind.
    He was ready. Ready to work, ready to lead.

Please read on for an excerpt from
    ETERNAL CAPTIVE ,
     
    a brand-new book in Laura Wright’s
Mark of the Vampire series.
Available from Signet Eclipse in February 2012.
     

Mark of the Veana
     
    Boston
     
     
    Present Day
     
     
     
     
    Her fangs had been inside him only once, and yet they had left an unseen mark on his skin, his blood, even his breath. In consuming his blood she had consumed his very soul and now—every day, every moment he existed, she moved inside him, her unending hunger deafening as she searched and slithered through his veins, circled his muscles, squeezed until his brain threatened to explode.
    Lucian Roman sat perched, as he had for the past seven nights, on the snow-crested roof of Bronwyn Kettler’s brownstone. Still and menacing as a gargoyle, he ignored the vibration of his cell phone in the pocket of his coat and stared without purpose into the heavy snowfall, which dropped bride-white over the silent Boston credenti landscape. An hour ago, the streets had been alive with Impures, running about, adorning the doors of their master’s dwellings as well as the gates, fences and lamposts leading up to the Gathering Hall. The tasteful bunting and subdued winter flowers were a testament to how the Boston community viewed the binding ceremony of its true mates; with serious and reverent celebration.
    Now, the streets were empty and silence reigned, as did the snow, and Lucian sneered in appreciation as the decorations for tomorrow’s Veracou were quickly being buried in heavy white frosting. Would a blizzard annul the binding ceremony between Bronwyn and the paven who claimed her mark?