Bound By His Blood

by Jennifer August

Brooks snorted. “Right. She seems that type.”

  McCallister shrugged and picked up the thread of their conversation before the odd happening distracted him. “Back then, before he turned, I think Barrett wanted only what was best for himself and Calliope. When he learned of his illness, it’s possible he went a little insane. He was so desperate for a cure that he took unbelievable chances. Underground drugs, electrical experiments, mechanical transplants. This was 1898 and half the things he tried were unstable at best. He tried everything and nothing worked. He was at his last hope when he came to me.” McCallister met Brooks’ penetrating gaze straight on. “I could not turn him, Brooks. I couldn’t.”

  The other man’s face softened. He clasped an elegant hand on his shoulder and squeezed. “I know that, brother. None of us blames you for what happened, least of all Calliope.”

  Calliope’s sweet, impish face poured into his mind. When she’d been a true twenty-three year old, she’d been full of life and grace and dreams. She’d viewed him as a big brother and sought his advice on everything from the latest fashions to horseflesh to marriage prospects. She’d been so much like Georgette he could never turn her away.

  “I could have saved them both,” he said harshly. “How can she not blame me?”

  “Because it’s not in her nature.” Brooks dropped his hand and stepped back. “I think the Brigade will probably send a few Guardians after Barrett. I suspect he’ll spend the remainder of his days cloistered in some tower.”

  McCallister felt sick. “They’ll starve him to death.”

  “They will do what is necessary,” Brooks said. “I feel the evidence Calliope has, coupled with your testimony, will give them the impetus they need to stop him before he hurts any more humans or vampires.”

  “Let’s hope so.”

  Brooks hesitated for a second.

  “What’s on your mind?” McCallister asked.

  “What’s it like? Sine Qua Non. Joining with the other half of your soul?”

  McCallister frowned deeply. He didn’t want to desecrate what he’d shared with Sheridan by blabbing about it.

  “I’m not asking for details,” Brooks said, flashing a wry smile. “I just want to know how you feel. How is it different?”

  McCallister shrugged. “Except for an interesting little light show, it really wasn’t all that different from taking a regular Consort.”

  Brooks frowned. “That doesn’t sound right.” He nodded to the stack of books he’d pulled down. “According to the literature, you’re supposed to be more connected than you’ve ever been with another. Do you feel any different? More powerful? More intuitive?”

  “Nope.” He rocked back on his heels and shoved his hands in his pockets. “There were some pink lights—I’m beginning to think that’s her signature color—and a surge of energy, but that’s about it.”

  “Odd,” Brooks muttered. “I don’t like it. You’re sure you did it right?”

  McCallister laughed. “For God’s sake, Brooks. What kind of question is that?”

  A light flush rose in the other man’s cheeks and he coughed. “Right. Strike that. Okay, I’m going to sit and prepare my argument for the Brigade for the morning. You should probably get home and find out if she burned your dinner.”

  McCallister grinned and spun around, heading down the long marble hallway. “If she did, I’m going to tan her hide.”

  As soon as he settled into his Mustang, McCallister picked up his cell phone and dialed Sheridan’s number.

  “You’ve reached Sheridan Aames. Well, not really since this is my voicemail. Leave me a message with your name and number and I’ll call you back. All story leads, sources, and tips are welcome. Confidentiality guaranteed.”

  He cursed and set the phone in the cup holder then hit the gas. A few minutes later, he called again.

  “You’ve reached Sheridan—”

  Sweat broke out across his brow and he dropped the phone to his lap as he increased his speed. His radar beeped just in the nick of time and he slowed down as he passed a BPD black and white. As soon as the Other Side cop was out of range, McCallister floored it.

  Tires squealed as he turned onto his street.

  Even from the far end, he could see her lunch box of a car wasn’t in his driveway. He slammed on the brakes, punched the ceiling, then viciously cranked the steering wheel and headed out of the subdivision.

  He dialed her one more time as he sped to her house.

  “You’ve rea—”

  Disconnecting, he gritted his teeth so hard, he thought he might bust a fang. Relaxing his jaw took massive concentrated effort which gave him enough time to calm down. She has a perfectly reasonable explanation for not being at my house as instructed.

  He’d known she was a wild submissive. Her need to buck authority and ensure she didn’t lose her sense of self was something he understood completely.

  But when he gave an order, he expected it to be obeyed.

  He pulled into her drive and idled behind her toy car for a long moment before killing his engine. Relief made him weak. He refused to acknowledge the tremble in his hands or the untwisting in his gut. He’d been worried about her as he would have been any of his previous Consorts.

  He swallowed the lie down. Sheridan wasn’t like any other Consort. Not only physically, but emotionally.

  And that scared the hell out of him.

  Love was not in his future. Ever.

  He would never love a human only to watch them die while he continued on for what would amount to a painful eternity.

  McCallister shoved the car door open and stepped out. He’d moved only a few feet when her front door opened.

  McCallister’s anger dissolved in a new burst of worry. She looked like hell. She looked beautiful, too. Her blond hair was mussed like she’d run her hands through the mane a dozen times, she didn’t have a lick of make-up on, and the circles beneath her eyes were as dark as baseball black. Dressed in skimpy cut-off jean shorts, a bright pink tank top, and striped black and hot pink socks decorated with skeletons, she stood rigidly in the doorway.

  “Scram, McCallister,” she said. Fists propped on her lush hips, she glared at him as if he was the cause of every ill in the world. “I’m done with this baloney. You and the rest of your friends can figure out what to do because I am D-O-N-E done. Do you hear me?”

  He strode up the sidewalk and crowded her, hoping to force her back into the house. “I hear you and probably everyone in a three mile radius can, too.”

  She didn’t give an inch. Her blue eyes were wild and stark and deep with fear.

  His breath caught in his throat. McCallister hauled her into his arms, stepped over the threshold, and slammed the door shut with his foot.

  Sheridan’s squeak was quickly muffled as she put her forehead to his shoulder and her arms around his neck.

  He strode through the house, taking in the haphazard piles of paper, pens, books, magazines, and movies. His quick glance into the kitchen showed gleaming countertops filled with all manner of bake ware and accessories. Nearly every horizontal surface in her house was covered with some little something. Only the large farmer’s table sitting against the far wall was devoid of clutter. Instead, a computer monitor, wireless mouse and keyboard and a tidy sheaf of papers lay upon it.

  “Are you okay?” he murmured into her ear.

  “Shut up,” she replied with a sniffle. “I’m not talking to you. “I didn’t ask you to come in, you know. You can’t just bully people like this.”

  Her entire body quivered in his arms and he was damn positive it wasn’t his sexual prowess that had her quaking.

  He found the living room. The wide, spacious area held a long, navy blue couch with cushions piped in white and topped by three ridiculously over-stuffed pillows. A low, intricately carved coffee table sat in front of the sofa. Her laptop stood open and humming atop it while an e-reader, three remote controls, and a basket of butterscotch candies littered the rest of the tabletop.r />
  A matching loveseat anchored the left side of the room and a massive flat panel television hung on the wall. A sweet electronics set up staggered below on a metal, stair-step display. Cheery, white, lacy curtains covered a sliding glass door just to the right of the television. A carved hutch that matched the coffee table stood silently on the other side. He caught a glimpse of delicate figurines made of lace, shiny crystal animals, and a plethora of Dick Tracy related memorabilia.

  He settled onto the couch, grimacing as the cushions pushed at his back. He shifted into a more comfortable position and stroked her spine. He probed lightly at her mind but the only thing he found was a giant tower shield with a yellow piece of lined paper taped to it. Keep Out was boldly slashed across the paper in black lettering.

  He chuckled.

  “Didn’t I tell you to hush?” she grumbled.

  “Didn’t I tell you I give the orders around here?”

  That got her attention. She pulled her head from his shoulder and glared but didn’t move from his lap. Her hands flexed at his neck.

  “Trying to decide if you’re going to strangle me?” he asked, hoping to lighten the mood.

  “Ha. I’d need the strength of a bear for that.”

  He winked and pulled one hand down and kissed the back of her fingers. “You’ve gotten pretty strong, Sheridan. I bet you could do it. Wanna try?”

  She sniffed. “Don’t tempt me. I’ve had a very hard day. A very trying day and it’s all your damn fault.”

  McCallister nuzzled her unkempt hair. Her heart beat strongly against his chest, her breath came and went with deep regularity. She was okay. Safe. McCallister tamped his shiver of fear, glad to put away the terror that rode with him to her house. Holding her helped even more. He didn’t care she wasn’t at his house, he was damned relieved she was all right. “Tell me what happened.”

  Tension spiked her fingers into talons and her breath dropped into ragged, wet gasps.

  McCallister tipped her head back, wiping away the tears forming in her eyes. “Come on, sweetheart, talk to me. Let me help you. Is it the Joining? Are you feeling...weird?” He groaned inwardly at his choice of words but he really didn’t know any other way to describe it.

  “Yes, it’s the Joining,” she said. “Of course it’s freaking weird and...”

  Her blue gaze met his again, washing him with apprehension. “And what?”

  “And I think we’re in big, big trouble, McCallister.” Another shudder wracked her. “I don’t mean just us, either. If what she said is true, ‘we’ could mean the entire human and vampire races.”

  He frowned. “Whoa, whoa, whoa. Let’s take this a step at a time. Who is she?”

  Her heartbeat increased and she looked over her shoulder then all around the living room. She leaned closer to him. “Desdemona,” she whispered.

  A sledgehammer the size of a jumbo jet impaled him dead center in the chest. Dread encased his entire being. He held her at arm’s length. “What did you just say?”

  Sheridan wriggled on his lap. “It’s a long story.”

  “We’ve got time,” he gritted out. He swept her entire body with another long, penetrating glance. Whisking his hands down her arms, along her ribs, and down the lean strength of her mostly-bare thighs. She giggled, albeit rather hysterically, when he touched her knees. He filed that away for future reference.

  “You’re okay? That bitch didn’t hurt you? How in the hell did you meet up with her? And where, for that matter? And why the hell didn’t you call me?”

  Sheridan caught his roaming hand in hers. The warmth of her fingers oddly soothed him. Let him know she was alive and well. Again.

  “No, she just wanted to talk.”

  His mind whirled and he found himself gnashing his back teeth again. “Start from the beginning and talk fast.”

  Sheridan frowned. “Hey, this damn meeting wasn’t my idea, so don’t get all pissy with me.”

  “Sheridan,” he said on a long drawl. “Start talking.”

  “God, you’re bossy.”

  McCallister couldn’t help his strangled laugh. It was either that or go absolutely bat-shit crazy and wreck everything in the house to vent his anger. Somehow, he didn’t think she would appreciate her little figurines in a zillion pieces on the floor. Not enough super glue in the world to put them back together.

  “I told you so seems appropriate right now,” he said with as light a tone as he could manage.

  She gifted him with an impish smile and quick hug. He felt like he won the damn lottery. Except millions of dollars could never make him feel as good as a single, sweet glance from Sheridan Aames.

  Hooboy, you’ve got it bad, bucko.

  “Tell me what happened, sweetheart,” he said in a desperate attempt to outrun the truth in his thoughts. He stroked her cheek. “Talk to me.”

  “All right. It was the weirdest thing.”

  As Sheridan detailed everything that happened, McCallister forced himself to remain calm and not put out an immediate APB for Brian the Bastard. He’d make sure the Other Side dealt with that little weasel properly. Losing his job was not enough for the danger he’d put Sheridan in.

  “I left the club, went back to the office to gather my stuff, and came home. Been here ever since.”

  “You would have been safer at my place,” he said.

  She shook her head and wiggled off his lap. “You don’t get it, do you, McCallister? I just got a bomb dropped on me. I needed space, familiarity, and my own damn shower.”

  He held up a consoling hand. “I’m sorry, I do get it. I can imagine how terrified you were. Desdemona is very, uh, forceful.”

  She dropped back down to the sofa. “And by forceful, you mean a raging beyotch?”

  “Yeah, something like that. You’re sure she didn’t hurt you?”

  “For the hundredth time, yes. I’m positive. She never physically hurt me. Didn’t try to bite me or anything.”

  “Hm, too bad.”

  She shoved his shoulder. McCallister rocked backward and stared at her in surprise. The Texas girl had a little bit of strength to her.

  “I told you, I’m not a weakling. Why is it too bad?”

  He smiled. “Couldn’t resist, huh?”

  She lifted her fist again. He caught it, tugged her forward so she sprawled face down on his lap, and smacked her ass a couple times. She gasped and jerked, raising his dick and his lust, despite the discussion topic.

  He smoothed his hand over her butt, fingering the silken curve of her bottom beneath the frayed fringe of her shorts.

  “It’s too bad she didn’t try because I’m fairly certain something unpleasant would have happened to her.”

  She twisted around and peered up at him through a curtain of honey blond hair. “Yeah? Why?”

  “We’re Joined, Sheridan. You’re not as susceptible to the allure and commands of other vampires regularly. But you and I are Joined by Sine Qua Non. We have the unbreakable bond. She cannot destroy it and should she try, she herself could be destroyed.” He lifted a shoulder. “At least, that’s how the legend goes. And I’m coming to realize these legends hold a lot of truth.”

  Sheridan’s expression went dark and her heart rate increased to the speed of jack rabbit. She nibbled her bottom lip and slowly sat up. “Uh, yeah. We might have a problem there.”

  He frowned. “What are you talking about?”

  “Set aside your prejudice involving her for a minute, okay?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Come on, McCallister. I’ve had to deal with a lot of whacked out stuff the last couple of days, the least you can do is try this one thing.”

  “Fine, fine, fine. I’ll listen.”

  Her pulse hitched upward another notch. “She said I reek of your smell.”

  He nodded sharply. “Good.”

  “Spare me the machismo. She also said our Joining was not complete in the way you think it is.”

  “Bullshit. You were there.” He cupped her ti
t and squeezed. “Do you need a repeat performance?”

  Sheridan wrenched away and stood. She stalked to the television and faced him, arms crossed. “Do you trust me?”

  The question hit him like a two ton semi. The way she phrased the query, the intensity in her eyes, and the fear in her voice made him choose his words carefully. “If I didn’t, do you think I’d have let you leave the house this morning? I know you’re not going to shout the news of our existence to the masses, Sheridan.”

  Her head started shaking after his first few words. “That’s not what I’m talking about,” she said hoarsely. “I mean—do you trust me? Trust me in every aspect of our relationship, such as it is.”

  Sweat pooled between his shoulder blades, dripping down his spine leaving a trail of icy fear. “Why?”

  She inhaled deeply, fingers knitting wild, random patterns. “Both times we’ve had sex, you’ve been behind me. You’ve been in control. I’m nothing more than an object for you.”

  He shot to his feet, the fear morphing into a solid lead weight in his gut. “Sheridan—”

  She held up a hand and shuffled backward. “She said because you don’t trust me, our Joining is not complete. It will never be complete.” Her gaze lifted to his and he was sucker-punched by the depth of pain she showed him. “Don’t you understand? I’m not fully protected. And you...well, you’ve never been truly Joined with a Consort. Not in the way you told me about. Not in the way we need to stay alive.”

  McCallister’s knees weakened and he dropped down to the sofa, cradling his head in his hands. Could this be true? Could this be why I never felt anything beyond affection for my previous Consorts? Why it was so easy to let them go into the Heavens when it was their time?

  But he felt deeply for Sheridan. He’d never been as attuned to another woman as he was her. Had never felt as much passion and need for anyone before her. No, Desdemona is wrong. It’s some kind of trick.

  “McCallister?”

  He looked up. Sheridan stood across the room, honeyed hair in a wild tangle around her shoulders, wary sadness in her light blue eyes. His gaze drifted down to the two small puncture wounds at her neck.

  His mark.