“I not know what you are meaning.”
“Yeah, right, and you suddenly forgot English again, too.”
Bel bit back a laugh—he wanted to keep on eavesdropping.
Uta didn’t reply right away. But when she did, it was with her shiny new mid-Atlantic accent, not her mail-order-bride one. “I fed from Derek Williams last month, before Kos and I went out to save Lena.”
“I heard.”
“I felt something similar then.”
“True. Feeding from a Hunter is like mainlining this juice. An intense flare that mellows out. What I’ve got now is this nice sweet buzz.”
“It is the same for me. But you are young, you live where Andre turned you. Imagine how the buzz feels to me—I have been in exile for nearly two centuries. I feel more powerful than I have since I left, even though I go back occasionally to recharge.”
She visited Croatia? Bel wanted to sit right up and extract a promise from her never to do that again. Hadn’t her sire done the very same thing—returning to one’s home was suicide. But that was probably why she did it, the selfish female.
Pedro’s fingers fidgeted over the dashboard, twisting stereo and aircon knobs. “So this is where it all began. Where our ancestors crawled out of the caves.”
Uta stretched her arms overhead, revealing the gentle curve of her breast. Bel’s mouth watered.
“It must seem impossibly long ago to you,” she said.
“Now that is an interesting question. Do you suppose it seems shorter or longer to you, since you lived it?”
She turned to look at Pedro and the lights from an oncoming car illuminated her glorious face. Goddamn, Bel wished she were just a woman. Hell, just a vampire, but not his bloody mate. What would have happened, if they’d met like that—fresh, without any attachments. Would he even have liked her?
She smiled wistfully at Pedro. “I’ve never thought of that, and I suppose there is no way to know.”
Of course, Bel would have loved her—she was so perfectly beautiful and absurd and brilliant and brittle and kind and—but was that only because he was made this way, for her? He could never know. Nothing could turn back the clock and erase what she and Mila had done. No scientific test could tell him if he would have loved her freely. But he sure as hell loved her—
“Bel, it is time to stop pretending you are asleep,” she said.
He laughed. “Not until Pedro turns off this shite music. Put on my iPod.” He handed over the device.
She rubbed her eyes. “Perfect. The sun is very nearly up, and you want me to die listening to Joan Jett. Show some mercy.”
That time Pedro chuckled.
Her words jolted Bel. He had never told her what kind of music he liked. She cast a glance over his shoulder, raising her auburn brows. But he had no retort.
She knew him. Bloody hell. She’d been watching him, loving him, from a distance for all these years. Suffering for him with the hope he might choose her. He reached for her, wrapping his hand around her bicep and grazing his knuckles against her breast.
“What is it?” she asked.
He had no words, but he held her gaze and dropped his emotional barricade, letting her feel the beginnings of acceptance settling in to his gut. Her mouth fell open before pulling into the sweetest smile he’d ever seen her wear. He leaned forward to kiss her lightly, just a brush of the lips. Not born of hunger, but choice.
He whispered into her ear. “Sing for us.”
And so, as the SUV climbed the steep mountain, Uta sang the Croatian folk songs of Bel’s youth. They nearly lulled him back to sleep, and Leo continued to slumber.
Damla had routed out their trip after examining the satellite images online. She’d suggested they turn off the main road just before they entered the Karagöl Lake Nature Reserve, and take a dirt road approaching the lake from another direction. Uta’s soprano suited the haunting beauty of the alpine landscape and the rustic architecture of the region—if it weren’t for the occasional car or tractor, Bel could have believed they’d traveled back to the nineteenth century of his youth.
Surrounded by evergreens, one and two story houses spotted the hillsides. Higher up, homes sporting flat timber façades were built flush against the steep slant of the mountain. As they drew nearer to the lake, they passed several crumbling homes, their wooden siding in disarray or their stilts leaning. But at the end of the road, one A-framed house jutted proudly from the mountainside.
Behind it, starlight shimmered on a placid lake and a jagged ridge loomed in the precise angles of Rize’s map. Some things did not change in eight hundred years.
In the light of only a quarter moon, even Bel’s human eyes took in three rows of brightly painted beehives lining the drive and a cone-shaped terra-cotta jar the size of a grown man leaning against the front steps. Trellised grapevines reached away from the house and vanished into the darkness.
Pedro crossed to the jar and flicked it with his finger. It rang like a bell.
“What is that thing?” Bel asked.
“It’s a qvevri, for fermenting wine.”
Though it rested on the muddy ground, the jar was spotless. In fact, the whole place possessed an air of tidiness. Excitement welled up his throat. Inside lived an ancient creature, even older than Uta, who knew the mysteries of Hunters and vampires, and who happened to be a halfling like him—the very first he’d ever met.
“The house is empty.” Uta stood at the bottom of the steps, her conjecture apparently based on data from one of her super-sharp senses.
Bel’s excitement turned to a lump he couldn’t swallow. But Uta could be wrong. “Maybe she is sleeping.”
“Perhaps.” But the strain on her face showed her certainty.
Chapter 36
THE LEVER OF THE FRONT DOOR gave way under Bel’s hand—unlocked. Inside, the air hung slightly stale and thick with a sweet spice. At least nothing had died. Uta found a kerosene lamp and lit up the dark space, a kind gesture for his and Leo’s benefit. Stairs led to a loft under the steep slope of the roof. The main room held only an iron stove, a kitchen, and a dining table. In the corner, a rocking chair perched beside a bookshelf and another kerosene lamp sat beside it.
Set in the back wall, a small red door led into what could only be the mountainside. He opened it to find a hallway so dark and deep that he couldn’t guess its length. He lit the second lantern while Pedro and Leo climbed into the loft. Uta sat at the table and bent over the image of the Hunter-vampire family and the letter from Rize.
A stab of betrayal tightened Bel’s gut. Finally, he’d chosen her, and still she kept something from him.
He stomped to the back door and entered a dark hallway. The passageway extended perhaps ten feet into the hillside, its floor simply carved from the stone. On each side, a door stood closed in a wood-paneled wall. If Ayal were like him, she could tolerate the sun, and yet, she’d taken precautions, digging out this safe place for vampires into the granite of the mountain.
Instinctively, he opened the door on the left. One more neat, small room, paneled in wood, its bed made. A note lay there on the lines of schoolroom paper. It was handwritten in several languages, including English.
“Uta,” he called out, even as he began to read.
I have gone. I heard in the village about the attacks, and I cannot wait here anymore. Perhaps it was foolish to stay so long, but this has been my home, and home is - well, if you know who I am, then you know what home is, but it will be mine no more. I do not know another like me, and it has been a lonely existence. I do not want to be alone anymore.
Uta took hold of the paper, yanking.
Bel didn’t let go. “Stop. You’ll rip it.”
She obeyed, dropping her hands and stepping closer to read. It seemed to take her a quarter of a second to absorb the words. Then she kicked off her shoes and flopped on the bed, arms crossed over her mouthwatering little breasts.
“Rotten goat entrails. What do we do now?”
“Sun’s coming up, so right now, you and Pedro hunker down in this bat cave. Then we make a plan.”
Out in the hallway, Bel jostled the opposite door. It opened into an identical room, but less personal—for Ayal’s vampire guests that had never arrived. Pedro and Leo finished bringing in the suitcases just as dawn shone on the surface of the lake. Bel grabbed his bag.
He returned to Ayal’s room to find Uta reclined on the bed with her eyes closed, so lovely in repose. Across the bond he’d allowed to open again, her frustration coiled tightly in his muscles. Underneath it, he sensed a hopelessness taking hold.
“Snap out of it, Uta. It’s a minor setback.” He pulled out his phlebotomy kit and found a new needle and vial. Then he searched for her vein. “We’ve lost our chance to interview a survivor, but we are still in the homeland. Pedro can search for his grapes. With this blood sample, I’ll be able to test how being here changes it—I can observe the effects of your osjećaj.”
She blew out an insulting little raspberry.
He ignored her. “Uta, this is a breakthrough.”
Her phone rang and Bel’s buzzed in his pocket seconds later. His screen read “Kos.”
Uta darted up. “It’s Andre.”
Both at the same time? That couldn’t be good news. “You take it.”
“No you. I will hear through your phone.”
He nodded, already answering. “This is Bel.”
“Is she with you?” Kos asked.
Bel locked eyes with her. “She is.”
“It’s Loki. They ambushed his car on the way to the airport.”
She flashed to Bel’s side. “Is he—”
“He’s dead, Uta.”
She opened her beautiful mouth and shrieked a frightening cry. Bel’s heart nearly stopped in sympathy. He reached for her, but she slipped from his grip and he staggered forward. Shite, he couldn’t let her get outside.
A freezing mist of dread fell over her from above.
“He’s dead, Uta.”
Dead.
Her best friend, her mentor, the only one who truly cared about her.
A cry tore from her throat, even as an unimaginable weight lifted from her shoulders. Her lungs filled with the relief. She didn’t have to fight anymore—Loki wasn’t there to make her. She could give up, could follow him wherever vampires went when they died.
She sprinted to the front of the house, ripping off her jacket to expose more skin. To get it over with as fast as possible. She was nearly at the door, reaching out her arms, just a little farther—bam! She rammed straight into Pedro’s chest. She pushed, but the young vampire stood impossibly strong, catching her in a surprise choke hold.
The sobs came then. “Let me go.” She writhed against his grip. “Please, Pedro, let me go.” She didn’t want to live in a world without Loki, in a world without hope, with only Hunters and hate and unending longing for Bel. She had fooled herself to think there could ever be anything else.
A needle pierced her low in the back and filled her muscles with a raging burn.
No. Not this again. Not another failure. She slid onto her knees and turned to face Bel.
“Please, Bel. Let me go.”
Her voice echoed in her mind from a great distance and shadows crept into the corners of her eyes.
He shook his head.
“I beg you. I need it to be over. Drag me outside now. With the drugs, I will not even feel it. You will survive, and you will be free…”
His eyes widened in obvious understanding. She slid down the black tunnel into unconsciousness, comforted by the hope she might never wake up.
Chapter 37
BEL DROPPED ONTO HIS ASS next to Uta’s limp legs, finally able to breathe.
Pedro cradled her torso in a distant, awkward embrace as if he preferred not to touch her at all. He staggered into the shadows, away from the weak light creeping around the heavy curtains of the front windows.
“Jesu Cristo, what do we do with her now?”
“Hell if I know.”
“You’re not thinking of taking her outside?”
Actually, Bel was.
Goddamn it, how could he not, with the hurt he’d seen in her eyes, the emptiness, the longing? Echoes of his mother’s misery bounced inside him, and a double wave of pity doused his anger at them both. He could almost bring himself to carry Uta into the daylight, no matter how it would rip him apart. But the world without her—it wasn’t someplace he wanted to live. With Loki gone, the vampires would need her to kick ass, now more than ever. And, if he was honest with himself, he wasn’t ready to give up on her, on them, quite yet.
“Not a chance,” he lied. “We’ll do everything we can to keep her alive. But Loki said she’ll wake up even more determined to sun walk.”
“Esta madre is too powerful to restrain.” Pedro eased her to the floor and brushed his hands free of her cooties. “Too bad all that superstitious mierda about silver binding a vampire isn’t true. I was surprised I could hold her off. She flew like a rocket to shield you from that car bomb.”
Uta’s limbs splayed like a lifeless marionette, deceptively vulnerable.
Pedro was right. Bel had no idea how to tie her down and keep her there. “I’ve seen Andre pick a car off the ground like a hawk with a field mouse. She could probably fly off with a whole locomotive in one hand.”
Pedro’s mouth quirked into a grin. “So, dude, I gotta ask. Do you think that’s hot? ’Cause she kinda scares me.”
Bel was not about to dissect the complicated anatomy of his feelings about Uta. “Bugger off, bro.”
Pedro sat back on his heels and looked Bel over, his expression turning grave. “You can talk to me, you know. If you want.” Pedro’s golden eyes warmed with the invitation.
Had it only been two months since Bel had met him? He’d witnessed Pedro’s turning, worked side by side with him to discover the mysteries of Blood Vine. They’d been on a hell of a ride in those eight weeks. Yeah, he could tell him.
“Sometimes I think it’s hot. Sometimes she scares the shit out of me. And mostly, I just hate that I never had a choice. When I want her, when I enjoy being around her, I wonder if it’s because I have to like her—you know—because she made me this way.”
“Not on purpose, though. Verdad?”
“Yeah.”
“Do you think we ever really have a choice? I mean, I liked Lucas all right when we met, but we wouldn’t be what we are now if hadn’t gotten addicted to his blood. Or Andre and Zoey, did they have a choice?”
“This is different.”
“Sure, dude. If you say so.”
Bel’s molars came together, gnashing hard enough to grind down diamonds. It was a lot more fun to watch Pedro work his ninja psych-outs on Andre than to be on the receiving end.
“So, where should I put her?” the sneaky vampire asked. “In your room?”
“Our room?” Bel hissed through his clenched teeth.
“Dude. I said your room. Take it however you want.”
Too tense to think of a snappy reply, Bel just opened doors to clear Pedro’s path.
He set her on the coverlet with surprising care, like a father putting a child to bed instead of a grossed out vampire. “She weighs nothing, for someone so tall.”
Asleep, she seemed delicate and lovely—a china doll. And calm, like she had been in the days of his childhood, lying on the beach and looking up at the stars by his side.
Leo scuffed to a halt in the doorway. “Is she asleep? I thought you guys didn’t do that.”
“We don’t. She’s out cold, sedated.” Pedro withdrew from the bed, his tone a touch envious.
Bel raised her eyelid; she didn’t stir and her pupils remained dilated from the paralyzing knock-out drugs. His palm curved to cup her face, a chance to touch her, unaware. Maybe it was creepy, but he didn’t care. Her cheek filled his hand, soft and delicate, so fragile for such a ferocious creature.
Pedro cleared his throat, and Bel’s cheeks fla
red with a rush of embarrassment.
“Um,” Leo began. “You guys should check out the cellar. It’s full of stuff for making wine, I think.”
There was a cellar? Bel spun to face the kid. “Where?”
“This way—the door was hidden behind that carpet hanging at the end of the hall.”
To be sure, Bel evaluated Uta’s condition once more. Her chest rose and fell with the long breaths of someone under deep anesthesia. Surely she would remain asleep long enough for him to poke around downstairs.
Leo raised a kerosene lantern, and Bel followed the pair down stone stairs, carved into the granite mountain. Toward the front of the cellar, where the house protruded from the hillside, the floor turned to gravel, interrupted by several odd circles of stone.
“What the hell are those?”
“These are her qvevri, buried in the earth.” Pedro knelt next to one of the rings.
The word sounded familiar. “Like the big jar we saw outside?”
“Exactly. This is the lip of the terra-cotta jug.” Pedro ran his finger around the rim. “And it’s been capped with a lid. She’s aging her wine here. It’s an ancient Georgian technique, one of the oldest ways of fermenting wine, but I’ve never heard of it being used…”
Pedro kept talking, but Bel didn’t hear a work. Wine. Aged in the soil. This had to be important. Whatever power was in the earth might seep right into the wine. Power? Shite. When had he gone all new-agey? Probably the day he hired Trys to generate magical shields.
“Do you think this wine is special, like Blood Vine?” Leo reached for a jug, knocking down a tube and a stack of perforated tin cones.
They clattered on the hard floor and Bel flinched. Shite. Any unexpected sound could indicate Uta was making another run for it.
Pedro punched Bel’s shoulder. “Go back to her. I’ll crack open one of these babies and investigate.” He pantomimed gulping from a cup with his pinky finger in the air.
The jugs pulled Bel, like they’d lodged little grappling hooks into his gray matter and yanked. It felt like a moment of wide open possibility like when he’d found gold in Blood Vine. Surely he was getting closer to the answers they needed. Would that wine cure the wasting disease? Was there hemoaurum in there? Did the soil of the homeland make it more powerful?
Blood Reunited Page 21
