Blood Reunited

by Amber Belldene

  “Thanks,” Derek said, his voice hollow. His shoulders sloped and his eyes wavered. He was nearly unrecognizable from the Hunter Kos and Andre had captured a month ago. Everything about his appearance revealed Nceba’s bite had stolen the last threads of his conviction. Lucas only hoped those two females and one pair of fangs would persuade Derek to do the right thing.

  Once the threesome had gone ahead, Andre and Loki departed, leaving Lucas alone with Leo.

  “There’s something I need to ask you.” Lucas tugged the kid into the closet and closed the door.

  Leo glanced around the tiny cell, his guileless face revealing his surprise. “Yeah?”

  They’d spent several days imprisoned there weeks ago, when Lucas had learned Leo was gay and primed to defect from the Hunters for all the same reasons Lucas had. He’d seemed like such a boy then, clever with computers, but a naïve virgin. The thing was, Leo had a lovable openness. As soon as he met real, live vampires, all his Hunter programming had collapsed. And somehow, he didn’t seem so young anymore, although he had to be a virgin still. In the whirlwind of the last four weeks, who could have—

  The kid snapped in front of his face. “Lucas, man, what’s up?”

  “Sorry, I…” Lucas’s tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. Damn. Spit it out, cowboy. “Pedro wants to turn me.”

  Leo nodded, seeming unsurprised. “And?”

  “You know he has to feed from a Hunter, because I was his first blood.”

  “Yeah, I know.” Then the kid’s yellow eyes widened for a flash of a second, but he kept his face neutral. “Me, you mean?”

  “If you’re up for it.”

  Leo cracked a smile, making him a good bit more handsome. “Hell yes, I’ll do it. More than happy to help out.” He rubbed at his neck, grinning.

  Lucas didn’t like it. He wanted to yank the kid’s hand away and strangle him for saying yes, for having good Hunter blood that might nourish Pedro when Lucas wouldn’t be able to anymore. But he clasped his hands behind his back instead.

  “Thanks, kid.”

  Irritation flickered over his face at the hated nickname, which was a minor consolation to Lucas. Then Leo’s grin returned, even bigger now. “Are you guys…um…” He looked down at his toes. “Are you all, you know—open?”

  Lucas’s over-active imagination supplied him with an image of young Leo, cradled in Pedro’s arms and lost to the bliss of his bite. It sent shudders down Lucas’s torso, and he very nearly punched the kid.

  “No, Leo. Don’t even think about it.”

  Lucas crossed to the door. This thing between him and Pedro was raw, and real, and he did not want Pedro biting anyone else. Period. But Pedro was convinced something terrible would happen to Lucas if he didn’t turn right away. And given his fatigue and nausea, Lucas knew he might be right.

  Chapter 23

  BEL SAT AT THE ANTIQUE DESK in his room. His? Hell, when had it become his, not just a vacant one at his father’s house?

  Probably the day Uta had first arrived and explained that Andre wasn’t the bad guy after all. That day, Bel had yanked off the sheets he’d used to shroud the all too familiar furniture, like this desk, identical to the one his mother had perched at to write her correspondence. Maybe Bel wasn’t a full vampire, but Croatia still lingered in his heart—a haunting reminder of happy times, and devastating ones.

  The fingers of his left hand curled around a tumbler of bourbon, freshly refilled.

  Occasionally, an alien thought or emotion would course through him, distinct and clearly not his own. Uta had been right—he could feel her more acutely. In that infuriatingly mysterious way, his blood communed with the part of him now inside her, and he didn’t like it one bit. Each time her frustration tensed his muscles, he had to push it away and force himself to refocus.

  Short of showing his test subjects pretty pictures of their homeland, he’d had no epiphanies about how to satisfy a longing for the homeland, so he’d gone back to square one. With his right hand, he sketched angles and electrons—a molecular puzzle of bonds and receptors that might just fit together, hopefully proving Uta and her sentimental nonsense wrong.

  He wasn’t holding his breath, or—at the bottom of his third glass of bourbon—even bothering with his full mental faculties. He could go downstairs and ask for Lexi’s help, but what would he tell her? Sorry, doll, turns out this experiment is a waste of time. It all boils down to touchy-feely vampire shite. She would lose all respect for him, if she even had any left.

  A horn blared out front. His gaze jerked to the window—darkening in the last minutes of sunlight. The horn bleated again. Three long blasts. Then three more. Lexi’s car stood in the center of the drive. What the hell? She was supposed to be safe in the house somewhere. Last he’d seen her, she was catching up on work at the extra desk in Kos’s office.

  He tore down the stairs and through a gathered crowd of vampires who couldn’t venture out into the late day sun. They retreated from the light as he swung open the door, sprinting toward the car just as a second vehicle peeled out in the direction of the highway.

  He halted at the sight of Lexi struggling in the passenger seat, her mouth covered in duct tape, her hair fallen over her eyes. Then a sign in the window came into focus. A gift for Marasović is in the trunk.

  It would be a bomb. Lexi, locked inside a car bomb.

  What would trigger it—her door, the trunk, a remote device? He scanned the surroundings for a Hunter spy. Fuck, he couldn’t think, and he cursed the bourbon.

  “They want us to get the message,” Uta called out. “They will not have booby-trapped the trunk.” She stood inside the door, too close to the edge of the light, and he fought the urge to rush back and push her further inside.

  “Do you know how to dismantle a bomb?” she asked.

  He was already at the back of the car, feeling for a latch. “Depends on the bomb,” he muttered.

  There, the emblem was a button. At least the Hunters had thought to unlock the damn thing.

  The device was a nest of wires tangling out of a double slice of C4. And just like in the stupid movies, the timer began to race, counting down from sixty seconds. His bourbon-soaked brain had time to grate at the Hunters’ lack of originality before it descended into panic. The back seat was down and a messy braid of wires stretched into the car. He didn’t have to check to know they connected to Lexi and her door.

  “Describe the device, Bel,” Uta called.

  Forty-five seconds. He ignored her. Lexi contorted her neck to see him, and the fear in her eyes shamed him. His hands trembled.

  Focus. A manila envelope labeled “Marasović” lay next to the explosives. He frisbeed it toward the house, and went to work unraveling the wires. Goddamn it, a vampire could just fly the thing off into the open expanse of burned up vineyard, which is why the Hunters appeared right before sunset. More of Bennett’s head games.

  This was the part he hated—the reverse engineering of a bomb involved a lot of psychological guesses. This design itself was a mind-fuck, or else they’d have locked the damn thing into a box and set it to go off when they wanted it to.

  Thirty seconds. Lexi whimpered. His beautiful, brilliant Lexi. If she was going to die in this car, he sure as hell wasn’t leaving her alone to do it.

  “Davo, what the hell is all this?” Andre roared from inside the house.

  A loud conversation transpired in about a dozen languages, but Bel paid it no mind.

  Uta shouted again. “You pig-assed fool, tell me about the bomb.”

  “Pig-headed,” he hissed into the trunk of the car and yanked one red wire. Nothing happened. He yanked a black one. The timer still raced down.

  Fifteen seconds.

  “How much C4 is it?” The pitch of her voice had risen slightly.

  “Two blocks.”

  “No, Bel. I smell much more. A dozen at least. Those two are decoys. Get back in the house.” Uta was nearly hysterical, no doubt considering her own suffer
ing if he got incinerated. And it echoed inside him, amplifying his heart rate and tightening his throat.

  Lexi sobbed.

  “I’m not leaving her here,” he said.

  It happened all at once—the weight of someone crashed into him at high speed as the car flew into the air. Uta’s flowery smell told Bel she had tackled him. With his cheek pressed into the cement, he searched for Lexi. Her legs protruded from under Kos’s torso, which was wrapped in his thick gray coat, its hood pulled over his blond head.

  Still aloft, the car exploded in a fireball over the vineyard as a dark, cloaked figure darted away from it.

  “Infernal sunshine.” Uta sprinted into the house with Kos on her heels. Andre literally flew through the door behind them.

  Bel scrambled to his feet and hurried to Lexi. With a nod, she consented to him pulling the tape off her mouth.

  “Are you okay?” he asked, embracing her.

  She only nodded, leaning into his chest.

  “Come inside. I’ll cut this tape off your wrists.”

  Lucas strode out of the door. “What can I do?”

  Bel nodded toward the ground. “Grab that envelope, would you?”

  Inside, their rescuers were nowhere to be seen. But Uta’s reassuringly seething anger over the bomb reached him from somewhere in the house. Good, if she was angry, she was alive.

  When Bel’s gaze landed on Zoey, she nodded, grimacing. “They are rather singed, but Loki assures me they will be all right. They’re taking a cold shower.”

  “What?” Bel’s stomach clenched at the image of Uta naked with his father and brother.

  Loki chuckled. “I believe she means three, separate cold showers.”

  Pedro brandished a pocket knife and sawed the duct tape from Lexi’s wrists. She’d regained her composure, although her mascara had run down her face. She never used to wear the stuff, and the raccoon eyes left her looking incredibly vulnerable.

  “Who the hell let her out?” Bel shouted. He searched the room for someone to blame, but the truth was, she wasn’t a prisoner. He hadn’t told anyone to guard her. “Lexi, why did you leave?”

  “I overheard Omar say Hunters attacked here last night, and I freaked. I thought I would be safer if I got out.”

  He inhaled. “Lexi. Trust me. This is the safest place you could possibly be.”

  Uta appeared at the upstairs balcony, rubbing her hair with a familiar dark green towel. Maybe all the towels at Kaštel were green, but Bel had the sinking suspicion she’d used his shower. Wordlessly, she descended. Aside from rosier than usual cheeks, she seemed fine—no burns, not even a flaking sunburn. She extended her palm, and Lucas handed her the envelope.

  Andre bellowed from above. “I believe that is addressed to me.”

  She scowled, but waited.

  “Who’s she?” Lexi whispered. Oops—he hadn’t explained super hearing.

  Uta stepped toward her, a haughty tilt to her head, which already stood at least half a foot higher than Lexi’s. “I am Uta Ilirije, Bel’s godmother.”

  He could have kissed her for not saying mate.

  Lexi extended her hand. “I thought godmothers were always four and a half feet tall with matronly bosoms, knitting needles, and magic wands.” She smiled with the same warmth she’d always bestowed on Kos and Andre—a genuine affection for Bel’s family.

  Uta huffed, pinching her lips. “Magic wands only exist in fairy tales.”

  Lexi frowned, glancing at Bel. Only then did he realize he’d moved toward Uta like a bloody magnet. Their arms touched, as if his body had required tactile proof that she was all right.

  “You’re the one?” Lexi asked her.

  Uta’s eyes softened, and her regret hit Bel like a punch to the gut, telegraphing the truth right into his brain—she hadn’t relished the way she’d come between Bel and Lexi without them knowing it. He licked his lips, searching for the name of the other bitter emotion he sensed in Uta—jealousy, carefully controlled.

  His hand reached for hers of its own accord. “Yeah. She’s the one.”

  Lexi offered her hand again, valiantly. “Good luck with him. He’s a piece of work. And, as you saw out there with the bomb, he doesn’t take instructions well.”

  Uta returned the handshake with a grin. “No. He never has.”

  He should have been irritated by their condescension, but instead, God help him, it was oddly comforting. Bollocks—he was really in trouble.

  Andre ripped open the envelope with shaky hands. “Davo.” He passed it to Uta. “He’s nearly through the alphabet.”

  “Yes. But, look again. He doesn’t have everyone. At least half of them are missing.”

  “Small consolation,” Andre said into Zoey’s head, which she had tucked under his chin.

  A pink tear trailed down her cheek. “I led them to the slaughter.”

  “Ssshh,” he said, and nothing more.

  What else could anyone say?

  Uta cleared her throat. “Loki. We must redeploy the units. Split them up if need be. The refugees are sitting ducks.”

  “They’ve been encouraged to flee, Uta.”

  “Loki, please.” Her lip trembled and she pressed the back of her hand to her mouth.

  “All right. I will make the call.”

  Uta squeezed her eyes shut and then opened them to look around. “Now, you bleating goats, go get dressed. It is time for a party.” Her heels clicked loudly across the hardwood floor of the foyer.

  Bel wanted to go after her, to comfort her, to surrender to her pull—he put one boot on the floor to follow her footsteps and froze. So what if she’d just saved his life. So what if she was kind of funny and sweet when she wasn’t being a total bitch. He was bigger than this goddamn blood bond, and he would not let her lead him around by his cock, or an invisible sentiment that might not even exist.

  Lexi cleared her throat, trembling. “I guess I need to tell Mister Doctor we need to buy a new car.”

  “How about we wait on that for a while? It will only worry him.” He took her elbow. “Right now, I want to tell you what I’ve learned about the wasting disease. I’m stuck all over again, and you always see the angle I overlooked.”

  She raised her chin as he’d hoped she would, comforted by the promise of a problem to solve.

  She was real. What they shared in the lab, and in the past—that was real. Uta, on the other hand, was smoke and mirrors and head games, and not to be trusted.

  Chapter 24

  UTA SWUNG OPEN THE DOOR of her room, on a mission. Five minutes later, every outfit in all five of her suitcases was strewn across the yellow-painted room. What was wrong with her? It should be easy to decide. They all looked fabulous on her. Bel’s emotions vibrated inside her like hornets in a jar—a complicated push and pull she knew all too well. It was enough to give her hope. Maybe he would come for her.

  Finally, she chose a burgundy dress, the only shade of red that flattered her auburn hair. Then she surveyed the shoes she had dumped onto the floor. A pair of sparkling gold, open-toed Jimmy Choos called to her, even though she hadn’t had time to get her pedicure fixed. She slipped them on anyway. As if anyone would be looking at her toes in this dress.

  She paused, allowing herself one longing look at her knitting needles. They lay in a cockamamie X on the bed, a new sweater just barely cast on. In the old days on Šolta it had been a joy to spend her hours of waking rest lost in a card game, allowing her brain to process and unwind among the easy company of friends. Since then, she had changed, developing the need to rest alone with her yarn. But she held by her assertion that the Justicia needed a party. A bit of relaxation would make the decisions easier come morning. She licked her teeth so that her lips could manage a smile. There—party face applied, she blurred down the stairs.

  In the parlor, Zoey gave her a thoroughly masculine once-over. She put her hands on her hips and laughed. “If you told me you wanted to torture Bel, I would have just given you a live wire.”

&
nbsp; “This old thing?”

  Zoey snorted. “He doesn’t stand a chance.”

  “Cards?” Uta sat down to a game of poker in play. “I hear you are something of a dolphin.”

  “I think you mean a shark,” Zoey whispered.

  Uta squeezed her eyes shut and pictured the tiny line drawing in the dictionary she’d studied. “Stupid dorsal fin.”

  Zoey’s snicker wasn’t quiet enough to escape Uta’s notice. That was okay. If Zoey was a card shark, Uta was a sabertooth tiger—she’d teach the youngling to laugh at her.

  Only it didn’t work out that way, because she couldn’t keep her eyes off the door. She missed plays, failed to notice tells. Good thing only livestock was at stake—no matter how many sheep she lost, Norway had more. And the somber atmosphere of anxious vampires made for low-stakes bets regardless.

  Five hands of Texas Hold ’Em and still no Bel.

  Zoey leaned in and whispered, “I can sense Andre yards away. I’m sure you’ll know he’s coming well before you see him.”

  “He’s not coming. I can feel that he wants to, but he resolutely resists.”

  Zoey twisted her shoulders away from the others to face Uta full on and lowered her voice. “Well then, surely you’re old enough to know what to do when a man ignores you.”

  “As a matter of fact, I do not. No man has ever ignored me before.” Uta’s lower lip jutted, and she knew she sounded ridiculous, even if she told the truth.

  Zoey laughed as if Uta were a child. “Then let me enlighten you. Ignore him right back. Make him wonder if you want him after all. Pretend every other male is more fascinating. And if all else fails, sit on their laps.”

  Music started playing, and Uta turned to see Kos at the stereo. Big band music blared—his attempt to turn the solemn gathering into an actual party. In the corner of her eye, she noticed bodies beginning to dance. She focused all her tension on her cards and wouldn’t have been especially surprised if they’d ignited in flames from the heat of her effort.