Crimson

by Jordan Summers

  “What are you doing out here?” Raphael asked.

  “The same thing as you, I suspect,” Michael said.

  “I doubt it.” Raphael replied. “What happened to you?” he asked, taking in Michael’s torn clothing and scraped knuckles. He looked as if he’d been on the losing end of a fight. Raphael thought about the dead nomads they’d encountered.

  Michael glanced at him. Cold swept over Raphael despite the heat.

  “Michael, tell me what’s happened so I can fix it,” he said, sounding desperate. He needed to reach him. He hadn’t found his brother after all these years only to lose him again. Michael was his only family.

  Raphael glanced over his shoulder at Catherine. Her hand rested casually on her weapon, but there was nothing casual about her stance. He willed her to stand down, even though she was only trying to protect him. Something in his chest softened. It was evidence of how shaken Raphael was that he’d forgotten he could mentally communicate with her.

  “I can smell the woman on you. Her scent covers you like cologne,” Michael said. This time his gaze was assessing. “She is prepared to shed blood in order to protect you.”

  “So? A woman’s scent on me is nothing new.” Raphael shrugged and kept his expression placid, even though he was feeling something akin to panic inside. Catherine was his. He wouldn’t share her body or her blood. Brotherly love wouldn’t change that fact.

  “She looks familiar.”

  “You’ve run into her in passing.”

  Michael grunted in response. “When do you plan on dumping her?” he asked. “She won’t be able to keep up the pace we set.”

  “I’ll release her when the time feels right,” Raphael said. It would never happen.

  “Typical,” Michael said.

  Raphael shook his head. His brother wouldn’t understand. “There is nothing typical about this one,” he said.

  That got a rise out of Michael’s left brow. “You’ll have to tell me all about it, brother, especially what makes this one so special. She doesn’t seem like your . . . type.”

  “I have a type?” Raphael asked.

  Michael laughed. “Not that I recall.” He opened his arms and walked forward.

  Raphael stepped into the embrace. “I’ve missed you,” he said, relaxing. Michael seemed normal enough. Contrary to Morgan’s assessment, he wasn’t showing any signs of distress. Maybe things weren’t as bad as Raphael thought.

  “Me, too,” Michael said. “Now tell your woman to get her hand off the gun stock. I’m not going to bite.”

  Raphael shook Michael’s hand, then waved to Catherine.

  Chaos came forward cautiously. Raphael’s expression was one of relief. She wished she could say the same for his brother’s. Something about Michael Travers left her cold. She didn’t know whether it was his black eyes or his pale gray complexion.

  She glanced at Raphael, who had the same features, but somehow less defined. Raphael was a rough draft to Michael’s polished finish. Chaos continued to stare, cataloguing each man’s features. She decided it wasn’t the color of the eyes that told the real story; it was what she saw in them. Death.

  If Michael Travers felt anything, he didn’t show it. Looking into his eyes was like staring into the abyss. Chaos didn’t like what she saw reflecting on the calm surface. A shiver traversed her body despite the heat of the evening. He was everything Raphael described and more. How could she have ever thought he was incapable of murder?

  Michael practically vibrated with barely leashed violence.

  Raphael said they’d be safer traveling together, but Chaos wasn’t so sure now that she’d gotten a good look at his brother with his tattered clothes and wild eyes that burned with madness.

  “Come here,” Raphael said. “I know you’ve met my brother briefly, but I’d like to introduce you properly.”

  “Catherine Meyers, I’d like you to meet my brother, Michael Vega,” Raphael said.

  “I thought you said your name was Travers,” she said, staring past Raphael to meet Michael’s black gaze.

  “It is. I changed my last name long ago, when I thought . . .” his words trailed off as he looked at Raphael.

  “We thought we’d lost each other,” Raphael said. “We only recently reunited. It was a joyous day for us both.”

  Love shined in Raphael’s face. It was so bright that its brilliance nearly blinded Chaos. She’d never had any siblings or parents for that matter. She’d never had anyone to call family besides the clones she was raised with, and even then, she knew she’d never really be one of them. Chaos hadn’t been created, she’d been born. Her parents just hadn’t wanted her. She’d gotten over it, but every once in awhile, when she witnessed this kind of love, it drove home all she’d missed.

  Chaos stuck out her hand. “Nice to meet you,” she said.

  Michael grasped her fingers and she felt a mental push that didn’t feel like Raphael’s gentle presence. You don’t have to pretend, the voice said. I sense the truth.

  She knew it was Michael, but didn’t understand how he was able to speak directly in her mind. Yes, I do, she said, responding in kind. For Raphael’s sake.

  His lip canted into what Chaos guessed was supposed to be a smile. “It’s a pleasure to see you again.” I know you don’t care for me, he added mentally.

  Do you blame me? The last time I saw you I ended up drugged out of my mind. She didn’t add that she went out and killed people afterward. Your boss is a real piece of work.

  I had nothing to do with that, I assure you.

  Raphael said you’d say that, she said.

  But you don’t believe him.

  Now that I’ve gotten a look at you, no. She shook her head.

  It’s the truth. I don’t act in such covert ways. Once you get to know me, you’ll find I’m quite direct. It was said nonchalantly, but the threat was apparent.

  Really? Then what are you doing here? Chaos asked. Taking in the sights?

  Michael gave her a real smile this time. “She’s clever, brother,” he said. “You’d better watch her closely. I know I will.”

  Raphael’s grin seemed forced. He pulled Chaos close. “I rarely take my eyes off her.”

  “That’s evident,” Michael said, acknowledging their embrace. “I’ve never seen you quite so taken. She must really be special.”

  A slash of red covered Raphael’s cheeks. He released Chaos as if she had singed his fingertips. “Well, I . . .” he stammered.

  “Eloquent as always.” Michael slapped him on the back and chuckled. His warm gaze moved from his brother to Chaos, where it quickly cooled. You better not hurt him, he warned.

  Funny, I was about to say the same thing to you, she said.

  The dust continued to grow, its ominous brown plume billowing up as the vehicles barreled toward them. The sound of the engines rumbled like thunder.

  “We have to make a stand,” Red shouted to Morgan.

  “There’s no cover,” he said. “It would be a slaughter.”

  “I’ll try to talk with them,” Demery said, giving Red a quick smile. He kept approaching the Sand Devils.

  “What if they aren’t in the mood to reason?” Red asked. “They may know about the reward, too.”

  “Probably, but it doesn’t matter. The sun will be down soon.” Demery said. “We aren’t going to make it to the rocks in time and even if we did, they know this area ten times better than I do. It’s where they hunt. Besides, they have something of mine.”

  Her heart stuttered in her chest at the thought of being hunted and she tripped as she turned back to Morgan. Red barely kept from falling. She’d always been the predator, never the prey.

  Morgan’s gaze fell to her. She was the reason they couldn’t make it to the mountains before the Sand Devil vehicles reached them. Red knew it and could see the blame clearly in his amber eyes. Once again her inability to control her Other was putting them in danger just like back in Nuria. Despite all her progress, nothing had chang
ed.

  I’m sorry, she mouthed, then looked away unable to meet Morgan’s gaze for fear she’d see condemnation. Red turned to face the group approaching from the west.

  They didn’t have much left to trade with, but they could part with a few items. She hoped that would be enough, because they didn’t have the firepower to fight their way out.

  The Sand Devils came to a halt thirty yards away. The windows had been replaced with metal, leaving slits for the drivers to see out.

  Red couldn’t spot any of the people. They remained tucked in their vehicles like turtles inside of metal shells. Demery stepped forward in his protective suit and held his arms wide. Morgan moved closer to Red, positioning his body between her and the group.

  “Who’s in charge here?” Demery shouted through his suit.

  No one in the steel convoy replied.

  “My name is Demery. Perhaps some of you know me,” he said, loudly. “I seek Reaper.”

  A door to one of the vehicles in the rear popped open and a long-limbed beautiful woman with skin like the night sky poked her head out and looked at them.

  “Demi, is that you?” she cried and bounded out of the vehicle toward him. She wore a long skirt and top that matched the desert. It flowed around her slim frame. Her feet were bare and callused from walking on the sand.

  “Melea?” Demery rushed forward and caught the woman as she leapt into his arms. “I’ve missed you so much,” he said, holding her close.

  “I knew you’d come back for me.” She hugged him like she’d never let him go.

  Demery pulled back and brushed her long braided hair away from her face. “Are you well? Has he been—” Demery’s voice broke. He glanced at Red and Morgan as if remembering that they were still there.

  “I’m fine,” she said, tears filling her big brown eyes.

  “Melea, time to return to your rightful place,” a baritone voice boomed. “Your blood and I have business to discuss.”

  Red and Morgan looked at each other as a massive man stepped out of the same vehicle Melea had been in only moments ago. Standing head and shoulders taller than the roof of the vehicle, the man’s body was corded with muscle. A snake tattoo started at his neck, then curled down around his arm before its head ended at his closed mallet-sized fist. Metal piercings twinkled in the fading sunlight, protruding out of his shaven head like horns. He was not a handsome man. From his pulverized appearance, Red could tell he had participated in plenty of fights. The altercations had left his nose winding like a potholed road down his face.

  “I’m not going to ask you again, Melea,” the man growled, flashing teeth that had been filed into sharp points.

  Demery held the woman tighter. “We had a deal, Reaper,” he said.

  “And I’ve kept my side of the bargain,” Reaper said. “Your woman is in more or less the same condition you left her in.”

  Demery pulled Melea back to have a good look at her.

  The woman was a little underweight and scraped up, but otherwise appeared fine as far as Red could tell.

  What in the hell was going on? Who was this woman? Was she the item he’d needed to pick up? What had Reaper meant by blood? Red didn’t like the sound of that, considering that a vampire was involved. “Demery,” Red called out.

  He shook his head, warning her to remain silent.

  “Who are your friends?” Reaper asked.

  “No one of consequence,” Demery said. “I believe we have business to discuss.”

  Red didn’t like this, and from the tension pouring off Morgan, neither did he. Demery obviously knew these people, but why had he left this woman with Reaper? Did he have a choice? She thought about everything Demery had told her at the Sand Mole compound. He hadn’t shared much beyond his love for zigzag quartz. He’d made the arrangement with the Sand Devils sound casual. Yet if the woman was involved, their business here was anything but casual.

  Morgan reached back for her hand. “We may have to make a run for it,” he whispered under his breath. He’d obviously been thinking the same thing as she had.

  “What about Demery?” Red asked.

  “He can take care of himself,” he said.

  “But he’s the only one who knows where the outpost is located,” she reminded him. “We can’t leave him with these people.”

  From his sour expression he must’ve forgotten and hadn’t appreciated the reminder.

  “We can’t outrun these vehicles,” Red said, judging the distance to the foothills of the mountains.

  The man approached Demery and plucked Melea out of his arms. Reaper shoved the woman back toward the vehicle and demanded she get inside. She fell to her knees. Her shoulders were slumped and it looked as if she were about to cry. Demery tensed like he wanted to stop him, but he didn’t act. His hands curled into fists until his knuckles popped under the pressure.

  Red’s free hand moved slowly to her laser pistol.

  “I wouldn’t if I were you,” Reaper said, indicating to the armed people who’d left their vehicles and taken up position behind him.

  Red flexed her fingers and forced her hands to relax.

  “Let’s talk,” Demery said, stepping forward. The movement took Reaper’s attention off Red, whether by accident or on purpose, she didn’t know. “I’ll be right back,” he said.

  Morgan and Red watched Demery disappear into a far vehicle with the big man following behind.

  “What do you think they’re discussing?” Red asked.

  “No idea, but I wish like hell I did,” Morgan said.

  “Do you know what Reaper meant when he called Demery blood?”

  “No,” Morgan said, but that wasn’t entirely the truth. He had an idea of what “blood” meant, but didn’t want to say anything to Gina until he was certain.

  He’d known a few vamps over the years, but other than Raphael Vega, they’d kept mainly to themselves. Morgan had heard rumors about blood bonds, but they were rare from what he could gather. Not because of any kind of fear on the donors’ part, but because a bond was rumored to make a vamp vulnerable to attack.

  Morgan didn’t understand how they worked, but knew it was some kind of symbiotic relationship. Hurt the donor, hurt them both. He looked at Gina. He may not understand a blood bond, but he was well aware of the pain he experienced when he’d thought he had lost his mate.

  “What do we do now?” Gina asked, looking at him as if he held all the answers.

  Times like these Morgan wished he did. “We wait,” he said, taking a seat on the ground.

  “That’s it?” she asked.

  He grabbed her hand and pulled her down next to him. “That’s all we can do until Demery comes out.”

  Demery sat next to Reaper and waited for the big man to settle. It was difficult to be in the same space with the beast. Even inside his protective suit he could smell the taint of cruelty wafting from the behemoth’s skin.

  “It’s been a long time,” Reaper said.

  “Yes, it has, mon,” Demery agreed. “I tried to get back here sooner, but I had to locate the goods for holding up my part of the bargain.”

  “And have you?” he asked.

  Demery’s gut twisted over what he was about to do, but what choice did he have? Melea wouldn’t last much longer out here with the Sand Devils, and if something traumatic happened to her while he was so near, Demery would experience it, too. He had to get her away from Reaper so he could get his life back. He just hadn’t had time to broach the subject with Morgan and Red yet. He was sure once they understood the seriousness of the situation they’d be more than happy to help. “Did you notice the man I’m traveling with?” Demery asked.

  “I miss nothing,” Reaper said, eyeing him cautiously.

  “He carries what you need, mon,” he said, hoping he could at least keep Red and his blood safe. Demery didn’t want to leave the sheriff behind, since he’d been kind to him, and wouldn’t if he could avoid it, but this was no-man’s-land. The rules of survival were dif
ferent here.

  “Are we talking wolf blood?” Reaper asked.

  He nodded. “Yes.”

  “He was a wolf soldier?” he asked.

  “Yes,” Demery repeated. “He’s one of the originals, mon.”

  “What about the woman?” Reaper asked. “She looks like she holds some potential.”

  Demery kept his expression blank. His protective visor helped conceal the tension thrumming through him. “She is a pureblood I picked up for feeding purposes only.”

  “Pity.” Reaper smiled, his sharklike teeth menacing. “Does the wolf know about our deal?

  “Yes,” Demery lied, ignoring the bile rising in his throat. He forced his thoughts back to Melea. Soon the sun would be down and he’d be able to remove this tiresome suit and feel his blood’s skin in his hands. Taste her essence on his lips. The moment would be bittersweet given the price of the privilege.

  “The wolf doesn’t look like someone who’ll readily give up his blood,” Reaper said, anticipation lighting his features. “I may have to take it.”

  “Since when has that ever stopped you?” Demery asked.

  “Never!” Reaper threw his pierced bald head back and laughed. “Force makes the blood taste better. It makes a lot of things better.” His gaze flitted over the women standing nearby.

  Demery’s stomach pitched. He did not envy Morgan. He needed to talk to the sheriff. Convince him this small sacrifice was their only way out of this situation. “This concludes our deal,” he said. “Melea comes with me and so does the other woman.”

  “Getting greedy in your old age,” Reaper said, watching him carefully.

  “No,” Demery said, sadly. “Just hungry.”

  chapter sixteen

  R

  aphael watched Michael as they made their way south. He’d been looking for any odd behavior. A twitch, a flash of anger, anything to explain his brother’s reluctance to be near them. Thus far he’d seen nothing. Had Roark lied to Morgan? It wouldn’t be the first time.

  Michael hadn’t said much since they joined him on his journey. Not that he had ever been chatty, but this was too quiet, even for him. Michael was thinking and that made Raphael nervous. When his brother focused his thoughts, people died.