Shades of Red

by T L Christianson

  Alexei could not speak Spanish, and I listened as he gave directions to the man in English.

  The safety of the vehicle was questionable, but I took a seat next to Alexei in the back anyway. His masculine scent stirred something inside me as our hips and bare arms touched.

  Working with humans for so long, I’d become immune to the lure of their blood—but with Alexei—his unrepentant, masculine scent seemed to chase all rational thought from my head.

  Behind the trees, the last rays of the fading sunlight shone as we neared a boat dock on a wide river. Stepping carefully on some well-placed pieces of wood laid over the mud, I found myself on a small boat that swayed side to side precariously. The craft had a canopy to cover the central portion of the seating area and a single motor off the back.

  The bounty hunter tossed my suitcases, none too gently, into the bow of the boat, before hopping on and pulling in the plank of wood, setting it under his feet.

  The boat driver took off into the twilight over the wide river. Alexei and I sat across from each other in the front near my luggage.

  “Is he speaking Spanish?” I asked, “I can barely understand him.”

  “Yeah, I think so.” He scratched his chin and lit a cigarette.

  “Where are you from?” I asked over the noise of the motor.

  “St. Petersburg…that’s in…”

  I cut him off, “Russia. When did you learn English?”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know, it just seems new to you.”

  “It’s not. I’ve been speaking English for almost fifteen years. I think my English is pretty good?” His shrewd gaze seemed to assess me. “Maybe you’re hard to please.”

  “Maybe I just know how it’s done,” I told him with a raised eyebrow.

  His chest rumbled with a laugh. The engine noise made it difficult to talk, so we remained quiet after that.

  The sky lit up like a rainbow before the sun finally dipped into darkness. I watched in awe at the beauty and magnificence of the trees and night sounds of the jungle.

  Soon, full night surrounded the boat and the sky sparkled with stars, reminding me of diamonds laid out on black velvet fabric. However, the clear sky didn’t last, and before we came to a stop, drops of rain began to thud the canvas canopy above our heads.

  I didn’t like the water, not since I’d jumped all those years ago from the Queensboro bridge into the frigid East River.

  Alexei leaned forward and squeezed my knee, making me flinch.

  “We’ll have to walk—do you have any better shoes than that,” he said, pointing to my stiletto covered toes.

  “No, they’re all like this. Why, where are we going?” My heart sank.

  He’d pulled my suitcase from the front of the boat, and I gave him a sassy expression. “There is no way in hell that you’re doing anything with my suitcases!” I told him in no uncertain terms.

  “I was pulling it toward you.” I could see him laugh, but the sound was blown away on the wind and muffled behind the engine noise. “So that you could choose something more practical to wear. We’re going to have to hike a little way.”

  “Hike? Hike through the jungle? In the rain?”

  “Yes, it’s the dry season, and we can’t take this larger boat to the camp. We’ll have to hike and then take a smaller boat.”

  “Did you just say that it’s the ‘dry season’?” I asked him. He nodded, and I wanted to punch him right in his big mouth. “Seriously? It’s raining right now.”

  I raised an eyebrow at him before unzipping and throwing open my suitcase to find the only pair of pants I brought. “A hike!” I murmured to myself before unzipping the small cloth bag that contained a pair of yoga pants and a single pair of cotton shorts I planned to sleep in.

  Carefully standing, I pulled the pants on under my skirt. The boat rocked, and Alexei reached out, gripping my fingers to steady me. I unzipped my skirt, folded it in half and then rolled it carefully before placing it into my empty “dirties” bag.

  “Do you have proper socks and shoes in there?”

  I closed my eyes on a long blink before answering. “Like I said, they’re all like this. It’s fine though. It’ll be fine.”

  It was his turn to raise his brows at me. “You’re moroi, of course you’d be impractical.”

  “I figured. I should’ve known.” His mouth curved into a sarcastic smile.

  Sitting back down, I looked up at him as I searched in my other suitcase for some high heeled sandals. I weighed them against a pair of lower heel nude pumps I’d just bought on sale at Bloomingdales—my staple shop of many years. Slipping the shoes on my feet, I smiled.

  “How did you get involved with the moroi?” I asked the bounty hunter as I pulled an umbrella from my handbag in preparation.

  “I was born to it,” he told me flatly. Unfortunately, not all moroi were as forward-thinking when it came to humans as the New York Clan. He could’ve been the child of a kept human or servant human or even the child of a blood slave.

  Or…

  I studied his gray eyes, “I’m sorry.”

  “No, it’s okay. My parents are moroi…Well, my father was, and now they both are.” A derisive snort burst from his mouth, “Although, like you, they both look a lot younger than me.”

  I smiled and couldn’t help but eye the telltale signs of aging on his still youthful face.

  “They were turned recently?” I asked out of polite curiosity.

  “No.” His silver eyes sparkled in the night sky, “My father was born in 1678, my mother in 1962 and here I am.” He held his arms out wide. “Part of both.”

  Are you lying? I wondered, but the truth in his eyes brought me up short. I’d heard that some moroi could have children, but it was very, very rare.

  “I thought it was a myth,” I told him.

  My eyes roamed his well-built body; he wore a slightly dirty button up safari type shirt, open at the top with rolled up sleeves. A silver cross hung around his neck along with some cord style necklaces that held a few beads with symbols. On one wrist were similar cords with beads, notching up my curiosity. Army green pants and leather boots completed his jungle look.

  When our gazes met, I assessed his age around 35 to 40. He still had that fresh look but with those tiny wrinkle’s humans begin to get around the eyes.

  “Did you get a good look?” Alexei asked me before leaning across the boat toward me, “Smell me. I’m human.”

  Raising one brow, I sniffed. He was human, but I’d like to taste the bounty hunter's blood to be sure. Of course, he was probably full of shit about his parentage. His “moroi” father was perhaps not his biological father.

  I pulled out my phone and tapped out a quick text to Sarah for when I had service again: Can moroi have children? Is that even possible?

  Chapter Four

  We neared a muddy river bank, and I braced myself for the challenge of making it to land. We’d left the wide flat river and had motored down one of the tributaries of the mighty Amazon river.

  While I was debating between going barefoot or wearing my sandals, Alexei called out to me, “Hazel?”

  He pointed to my suitcases, which I cautiously handed to him over the muddy board and dark water. Before the bounty hunter turned back to me, I’d settled one foot on the board and began a careful shuffling tread. My beautiful strappy high heel sandals weren’t designed to transverse mucky river banks.

  Before long, the boat motored off into the distance. I stood there, sandals sinking into the muck, watching my lifeline to civilization grow farther and farther away, as the sound of the motor faded.

  Alexei turned to me, the full moon reflecting off his face. “Okay, so now, I’m going to be completely honest with you. I just don’t want you to be mad.”

  I raised one eyebrow and frowned. “Alexei?” I asked sternly, giving him a flinty expression, the one I saved for troublesome clients.

  Turning his back to me, he rubbed his hands together in
thought before facing me again. “The boat we need to take is too small to hold both of us…and your suitcases. We can’t take them.”

  My eyes widened. “What?”

  “I figured I’d tell you now before you trudge them through the jungle. We can’t take the bags. Either of them.”

  Running my hands over my face, I heaved out a sigh.

  “Look, I’m just trying to save you the trouble. You can buy more clothes, but we can’t buy more time. The bags are just going to slow us down.”

  “I could leave them here and get them on the way back.”

  “We aren’t coming back.” He slapped a hand on his own pack, “I have a satellite phone. When I catch the criminal, I will telephone GC, and they will send a helicopter to retrieve us.”

  “This is a fine mess. I suppose I should’ve asked more details,” I told him, sinking into the mud, my red polished toes already covered by the gunk.

  “Most people would pack hiking shoes in their luggage.”

  “Not moroi,” I told him honestly. “I didn’t think we were climbing Machu Pichu or anything like that. I thought we’d be at least in civilization, with roads.”

  He squatted down, elbows on his knees in front of one of my cases. “I’m very sorry about not telling you the details.” He frowned, his Russian accent thick, “I should have known. I mean, look at you, you’re very fancy, and you are a city person.”

  I softened a little at his sweet if maybe backhanded apology. “Well, it’s just clothes and shoes, it’s all replaceable…” I bent to open the case nearest me.

  “Here,” Alexei had slogged toward me, “Take this.” He held out an empty packable string bag. “You can put what you can in this.”

  I didn’t have an attachment to the stuff, but I was a practical person, and the thought of leaving several thousand dollars of my personal belongings in the middle of the Amazon jungle made me grind my teeth.

  The clothes were no problem. I took my sleeping shirt and shorts, but when I came to my toiletries, I hesitated. Pressing the tap on the cap to pop the bottle of shampoo open, I inhaled the mint and rosemary scent before tossing it back into the suitcase with my makeup.

  Standing, I frowned at the two piles on top of my beautiful antique cases.

  “If it makes you feel better, this is a traveled road, someone will pick up your things and use them.”

  I looked up at him through my lashes and shrugged, “Maybe a little.”

  “I can see it in your eyes. You’re not materialistic.”

  I laughed at that as I struggled to close the zipper on the small pack. “Yeah? I thought you just called me a city-girl?”

  His chest rumbled without sound as a smile curved the corners of his lips. “Yes, but that’s the social environment you’re in—not who you are.”

  “Smooth, quick thinking,” I told him.

  “Hand me your shoes, I’ve got an idea.”

  I unbuckled one of my sandals and handed it to him, then gasped as I watched him chop the three-inch heel off with his machete. I flashed back to one of my favorite 80’s movies, where the hero chops the heel off a woman’s shoe in a jungle very similar to this.

  “Oh my goodness…what have you done?”

  “Your heel will get stuck in the mud. I thought this might be better.”

  Pursing my lips, I examined the shoe before buckling it back into place at my ankle. “These were designer,” I told him, quoting the movie.

  “Now they’re practical,” He replied. Our gaze met and a sizzle of electricity surged between us. He’d known exactly what movie I was quoting to my utter delight.

  “Is anything I own sacred to you?” I asked.

  “Only your 500 dollars,” He replied using the lines from the movie again.

  Holding out my other shoe for him to do the same, his fingers slid over mine.

  “Thank you, it’s actually not a bad idea with these.” I tapped the gold leather strap.

  “You’re welcome. I actually got the idea from the movie.” He had one of those smiles that made me soften towards him.

  “I thought that Romancing the Stone would’ve been before your time.”

  “Maybe, but it is one of my mother’s favorites.”

  I actually rolled my eyes, a gesture that drove me crazy when Sarah did it.

  The path remained level and relatively wide in some places. I managed well on the slick surface with my modified shoes. When a river glistened ahead through the trees, I knew we’d come to the next stage in our journey.

  A steep muddy bank led down to a small and narrow canoe tied to a water sodden stump.

  The bounty hunter had been right. This rickety little thing would be questionable with two passengers, let alone baggage.

  Alexei slid down toward the mud and held his hand up toward me.

  Grasping his fingers, I managed to step carefully down the bank and sit on the farthest plank. Alexei pulled the rope free and kicked against the shore before taking a position behind me along with the paddle.

  Our tiny boat drifted out onto the smooth surface of the creek.

  His strokes were steady and rhythmic, and his arm muscles and chest flexed with each movement. After a bit, I offered to row and took the oar from him.

  Watching ripples across the black surface of the water, I wondered aloud. “Are piranhas in this river?”

  “Yes, they’re easy to catch and eat. We’re almost there, give me the paddle.”

  I handed the battered oar back, and he aimed us toward a small wooden dock.

  The mud splattered upward when Alexei jumped out and began to tie our small boat up to a decrepit piece of timber.

  Tilting my head, I asked, “Do you really think Amy is out here? What made you think she was here?”

  “She’s not too hard to find, but hard to capture. She’s purchased some scientific equipment and had it taken to a remote village nearby. Then there have been human disappearances. The problem is she’s able to blend in with humans and avoid other moroi.”

  “Also, this area is difficult to access. It’s only accessible by boat or air,” I commented.

  The boat rocked a bit too much for my liking as Alexei stood. He replied, his voice low, “Yeah, it’s a good location—if you’re a criminal.”

  “So, why Amy? Huh? Is it just for the money?”

  Grabbing my wrist instead of my hand, he pulled me to level ground. I’d looked into his background and found the bounty hunter rarely left eastern Europe. Also, Alexei usually only tracked down human criminals, with the occasional moroi only once in a while.

  Why Amy? Why now?

  Looking down and fiddling with a leather bracelet—the one with the strange symbol—he chuckled, “I need the money.”

  Narrowing my gaze, I assessed him. His English was decent, his parents were supposedly moroi and his clothes were expensive—dirty, sure—but quality. “You don’t need the money.” Hesitating, I tilted my head. “But you’re part of a clan.”

  His long strides had taken him several feet away, toward a structure up on the hill.

  “You’re not here to figure me out—it’s not going to happen. We have a deal. You help me, I give you a cut.”

  “We collect the bounty together,” I told him. “Are you trying to get away from your clan?”

  The forest floor was dryer here and my quiet steps made no sound as I neared him.

  Swinging around and stepping up to me, he let out a guffaw. “My father is Vladimir Vasiliev, the Clan leader in St. Petersburg. He doesn’t keep humans or anyone against their will.” His warm breath, scented with mint and cigarette smoke blew across my face. He intrigued me, and I found myself wanting him to touch me again. Goosebumps ran the length of my spine. “It is a great honor to be part of my Clan,” he told me. “But yes, I want my own life outside of Russia.”

  The air between us electrified, an invisible force pulling me into him.

  Leaning forward, I whispered into the charge space, “You want your ow
n life. I get it.”

  Our gazes met with unblinking intensity until the scent of his earthy rich blood began to call to me. There was no way I could get involved with a human.

  Turning away and bending down, I adjusted the strap on my sandal trying to avoid the intimacy.

  “I’m taking a sabbatical for a while. I love my clan and couldn’t imagine joining another, but yeah, sometimes I’m tired of everyone. I get wanting a fresh start…” My words trailed off as I thought of the new identity and the impulsive death of my former one. Had Aurev sensed something in me? Did I really need a change? Was this really about me, or about him? Was something going on at Chronos or had he been honest? “Hmmm.”

  “What? What just came into your head?”

  Turning back to him, I said, “Nothing.” I began pawing through my large shoulder bag that hung across my body, on top of the string bag. The search for my water bottle proved too much trouble, so I zipped it up. “I’m being forced to start from scratch; the sabbatical wasn’t my choice.”

  He hesitated, chewing on his lip ring, “My parents want to turn me, but I’m not sure if it’s what I want.”

  “To be a moroi?”

  “Yes. I’ve lived with it and around it my entire life, but I don’t know if I could do it.” He made a fang motion with two fingers.

  “Drink someone’s blood?” I asked.

  “Not just that, becoming a vampire changes a person. You know what I’m talking about. Moroi are moroi, no matter what part of the world you’re from. Humans are used, sometimes drained for pleasure…played with.”

  “Not my Clan.”

  “Your Clan doesn’t have blood slaves?”

  “I… I don’t think so. The bottles of blood show up in my refrigerator along with cans of oatmeal stout and white wine. I don’t really think much of the blood part because I never drink live.” I cringed and felt a bit embarrassed.

  Alexei just looked at me with raised eyebrows and an ‘I told you so’ smile on his full lips. “You see? I don’t know if I can live with that.”