Chapter 13

Monsters with Refined Tastes

Echo’s training, to remain cool and calm in all situations, abandoned him as he remained rooted on the sidewalk, staring at the entrance of the Vittori Breeding Facility. The gilded doors revolved, as if trying to catch him and sweep him inside.

Echo was four years old when the rebels had come and rescued him from this place. His memories were few—mostly of fading images of his mother. Her long black hair like silk between his tiny fingers. His old name spoken in a soft and gentle voice.

Dante was nearly to the door when he stopped, realizing Echo hadn’t followed. Did he know? Is that why he asked Echo if he was a runaway or freeborn, because he knew it was neither? Technically, he was stolen—stolen property of the Vittori Family.

“Do you need to wait in the car?” Dante asked, striding back to Echo.

No, Dante’s expression was perplexed over Echo’s behavior. He didn’t know. He couldn’t.

Echo breathed, exhaling into composure. He’d come along for a look into the shadows of Dante’s businesses, to find anything that could be useful to the resistance.

Echo shook his head and started forward to meet Dante. “No, I’m fine,” he said.

To Echo’s relief, Dante didn’t press it, and they walked through the huge revolving doors together.

A change of air pressure, humidity, and temperature, and Echo found himself inside the breeding facility, where he had not been in sixteen years. The lobby stirred no memories, as the children probably didn’t frequent it.

They stepped over cream and ivory marble floors leading to a dark wood reception desk. A chandelier of twisting gold and dangling crystals hung overhead, heralding all the wealth and opulence of the Vittoris. This was where vampires came to spend obscene amounts of money on designer humans.

Echo was one of those humans. He may not remember, but Axel had told him. Before he became an A-ranked leader, Axel was part of the team that infiltrated the facility and rescued those four children. A younger Echo had hero-worshiped Axel after he’d heard the story. How brave the rebels were. How lucky Echo was.

A well-dressed vampire was waiting for them behind the desk, standing and looking a little nervous.

“Which room?” Dante asked.

“Well, sir… he declined to wait in a consultation room…”

“So where is he then?”

“He refused to leave the lobby until he saw you. But Mr. O’Shea arrived and convinced him to wait in your office. That is where they are, sir,” finished the vampire, clearly flustered.

“Thank you, Sawyer. I’ll have Lord Alexander out of your hair soon.”

Sawyer took a deep breath, and his shoulders relaxed, relieved. He nodded as Dante ushered Echo through a heavy door. Less ostentatious than the lobby area, the hallway was clean and sterile, with white walls and dark gray tiled floors. And familiarity began pulling on Echo’s subconscious.

“Sawyer manages the facility, and is exemplary at his job,” Dante said from one step ahead of Echo. “But occasionally, I’m called in, when a client needs reminding of the terms I set.”

Echo suppressed a shiver at the raw authority in Dante’s tone. He focused on the surroundings and taking steady steps.

They came to a wide window set in the wall. The glass was thick and dim, likely a one-way view. Inside the room, human children sat in rows of desks, writing fast on papers. An adult, also human, stood before them, reading aloud from a book, though Echo could not hear what she said. It was a classroom. Echo only caught that glimpse before they passed by.

More white walls and the clacking of Dante’s shoes on the tile until another window appeared with another one-way view. The children were younger this time, too young for school, too young for collars. A few adults watched over them while they played with toys on thick, colorful rugs. Echo stopped walking, his mind latching onto the scene through the viewing window. And Echo saw another scene superimposed, a memory crawling its way to the surface.

Of a rug turned blood red, a motionless body with tangled back hair, shouting, tears, and someone yanking him away.

“—Echo?”

He flinched when Dante’s deep voice splintered the images. They fell away in pieces as Echo returned. He was hunched low to the floor, his arms around himself, scratching and digging into sweat-sheened skin. He tried to breathe, but his chest felt too tight.

“Echo,” Dante said again, crouching in front of him. He put a hand on Echo’s shoulder, and it was big and warm, helping to ease the tremors wracking through Echo’s body.

Echo knocked the hand away. He forced himself to stand, only sheer will keeping his legs beneath him. Dante followed him up but didn’t touch him again.

“I’m fine,” he gritted out, pathetically unconvincing. He grasped for an excuse. “This place reminds me how monstrous you vampires are.”

Dante looked beyond Echo to the room of toddlers, playing and laughing, exhibiting real joy—because they were too young to understand slavery. They didn’t know their dark fates. And Echo ached, wishing they never had to find out. Would killing King Luther spare them? Would killing Dante?

“Never forget it, Echo,” Dante responded, his eyes boring into Echo’s. “All of this was built for our desiring of humans—their bodies and blood. Here, we even control human creation for our exacting pleasures. Monsters with refined tastes are all we are. It won’t stop on its own. On and on it will go, until someone strong enough brings it all down.”

This vampire, Dante Vittori, was giving Echo the means to do just that. To Dante’s own detriment, his own fall of power. Echo could only stare, wide-eyed and lips parted.

“Come,” Dante beckoned. “I have a vampire lord to handle. Maybe we can ensure one less monster in this world… Unless you’d like Mikhail to take you back to the apartment?”

“I’ll stay,” Echo said, squaring his shoulders. Now, more than ever, he wanted to uncover all he could of Dante—what he did, how he worked, and most of all, why?

So Echo stepped toward Dante. And the vampire guided the rebel deeper into his world.