Bel took hold of Leo’s arm with his free hand. “Compress his chest, like CPR. Pump the blood out of him.”
Leo pressed with his palms, clumsy and careful. Bel held the open, un-bleeding wound tight against Uta’s neck.
“Damn it, Leo, harder!”
The kid straddled the man and pounded on his chest—not a technique that would resuscitate an unconscious human, but the brute force of it worked. The blood came faster, spurting and coating her torn-open wounds.
Bel didn’t know what to look for. No one on his crew had ever been injured like this. He’d thought he’d seen every kind of vampire death. A clean decapitation, a fire, the sun, the wasting disease. Would hers be a new variation?
If so, the pain clawing at his gut and tearing through his muscles might kill him. His heart labored to beat.
Would she survive? Would she begin to breathe? Would her flesh knit back together?
Nothing happened. Distantly, he feared for Andre and Kos. But with the roar in his ears, the slow thud of his straining heart, the raw fear for Uta’s survival—he couldn’t sustain the focus on anything but her.
She was slipping away, and in turn, his world began to rock with the undulations of a slow-motion earthquake. He needed to puke. He closed his eyes and lay down.
Leo gasped, and Bel sat up.
Her eyes had opened. Rigor mortis?
“Uta?”
She blinked. He breathed. She’d fucking blinked.
“Are you—?”
She wriggled her jaw, clamping and digging into his flesh. He grunted, jerking from the pain. Then her tongue swiped over the ache, soothing and healing the place where he’d bitten himself. She released his arm from her mouth. Dried blood obscured his view of her wounds, but altogether more skin covered her muscles and veins, sinews and arteries.
Good enough. He pulled her into an embrace, his own equilibrium returning slowly with her in his arms. The smell of her blood, thick and potent, stirred him—not quite desire, just the promise of their bond, of an eternal connection.
Uta was alive, so the world was all right.
She whispered in his ear. “I told you to stay put.”
He stiffened, then laughed. It may be all the thanks he got for saving her life. He’d take it.
But then she pulled back to look him in the eye. “Thank you.”
With those words came the knowledge that she did see him as her equal. She’d meant it before, but he hadn’t believed it.
“Fuck, I am glad you are alive.”
“Hurt, did it?” She raised one eyebrow.
It had, worse than he ever could have believed, but that wasn’t why.
His cheeks spread into a smile. “I’ve had splinters that hurt worse. But someone has to deal with my father now, and since you’re an official member of the Justicia—”
Andre emerged from the hatchway, staring up at the bright blue sky. Behind him stood the ruins of his house atop the ashes of his vineyards. He turned in a slow circle, arms wide, his head thrown back, and let out a deep, loud laugh. Bel drank in his father’s joy along with the sight of him in the sun.
Uta stood and yanked Bel up. She kept hold of his hand and they marched toward his father.
Zoey’s dark head peeked out, and she exited slowly then ran to Andre, wrapping her arms around his waist. He lifted her up, spinning. Pedro appeared, supporting Lucas with one arm. Bel couldn’t tell whose smile stretched bigger. Then came Kos and Omar, carrying a body between them.
Bel’s stomach dropped—who could it be?
They put the man on the ground and circled around him as the rest of the household and crew stepped out of the cellar.
Bel leaned over to examine the man’s face. Ethan, dead. Good. “Who killed the son of a bitch?”
“Lucas.” Pedro grinned.
Lucas’s smile was somewhat more circumspect.
Leo joined the circle at Omar’s side, and the vampire rested a hand on his shoulder.
A strange, quiet calm settled over the valley. Bel’s nerves settled; it might all be okay. All the fire trucks and police vehicles had disappeared, but soon they would have to deal with a lot of dead Hunters.
Feet scuffed the earth and Bel looked up. Everyone tensed, on alert as Gwen approached from the direction of the road. She must have been at the Hunter’s command center.
Uta’s hand stiffened in his.
“She has a gun,” Lena said.
She had Bel’s gun, in fact, which he’d set aside to care for Uta when he’d thought the last Hunter was dead.
Damn it.
Kos stepped in front of Lena, and all the vampires followed suit, taking positions to shield the humans. Uta looked at him, and he shook his head. She stayed put.
“Is it him?” Gwen asked.
At the question, Uta stepped aside, tugging Bel with her so that Gwen could see the body.
Her gun came up so fast that Bel flinched. But she pointed into her own temple.
“No! Gwen, don’t,” Lena shouted.
Gwen looked to Uta, who might just be fast enough to pry that gun from her hand.
A wordless communication between the females stretched out for long seconds.
“I chose him over everything,” Gwen finally said.
“But you have a different choice now,” Lena insisted. “It can get better, Gwen.”
“No.” Gwen wrapped her free arm around her ribcage, shaking her head and staggering backward.
Uta dropped Bel’s hand to hold up her palms. “Gwen—”
“Uta, you don’t understand. You never did.” And then she pulled the trigger.
Bel flinched, turning his head. He had seen quite enough blood and brains for the day.
Uta sagged.
A question formed on Bel’s tongue—a question that meant everything. Could Uta have stopped her? Or did she let the woman make the choice she’d been prevented from making herself?
Was his mate glad to be alive, or not?
He took hold of her elbow, leaning close. “Did you let Gwen—”
A telephone rang. Bel jumped at the strangely surreal noise, sounding amidst the desolate scene. Everyone’s faces were drawn tight as they patted their pockets.
“It’s mine,” Lucas said, and pressed the phone to his ear. “Bennett.” He glanced at Andre. “It’s Derek.”
His expression gave no clue of what the Hunter said, and Bel envied the vampires who could hear both sides of the conversation.
Finally Lucas replied. “Yeah. The son of a bitch is dead. Leo’s texting you a photo right now.”
A few more seconds passed.
“A cease-fire?” Lucas shifted his eyes to Uta, and she nodded. “Done.”
He slid the phone back into his pocket. “He says he has a bit more work to do before he’s ready to negotiate a treaty, but he has an agreement from some key players on a truce.”
“Please let this be the end,” Uta whispered so reverently it sounded like a prayer.
“The end?” Andre asked. “Uta, old friend. We are standing in the sun. It is only the beginning.”
He held out his arms to her, and she went to him laughing.
Bel glanced at Zoey, who winked back at him, smiling. One big happy family.
Vania inched her way up to him. “There’s something we need to tell you.”
The look on her face sent his heart right into his gut, and he scanned the gathering for the members of his crew. Only one was missing. The realization hit him like a punch to the face. He stepped back, reeling.
“Trys?”
“Gwen killed her to take down the shield.”
He’d never lost a member of his crew, and the death settled into his gut like a heavy stone.
Vania wiped at her eyes. “Me and the boys would like to take her body back to London.”
“Of course.” Bel pressed his hand against his mouth to hold back his grief. He trained his eyes on the charcoal and ash.
“Where do we go now?” Kos
asked.
“I do not know about the rest of you all.” Andre released Uta and stepped back. “But I would like to go home.”
“Yes,” Uta said. “You are all welcome to stay my house.”
“Home?” Kos lifted Lena in a hug. “Sweetheart. Let’s go home!”
Pedro cleared his throat. “I’m sorry to miss the party, but Lucas and I have some things to take care of, just the two of us. We are going to stay at my place for a while.”
“Son?” Andre frowned.
“It’s okay. Uta gave me some pointers on the plane.”
Andre nodded, but Bel didn’t miss the flash of grief that tightened his eyes.
“But,” Pedro continued. “I wouldn’t mind some detailed instructions.” He offered Andre his hand, and the old guy clasped it, pulling him closer. Not long ago, Bel might have resented the easy intimacy between the males, but no more.
The stood in silence, as a new reality settled into Bel’s bones.
It took him a long time to realize everyone was waiting on him to announce his plans, every face turned to him in expectation. All but one. Uta looked at her shoes.
London? Šolta? Hell. He wasn’t ready to decide.
“I think I am going to hook up with Lexi and try to finish our experiments. Uta brought back some wine from Ayal’s house, and I want to analyze it. You know, in case home doesn’t work out for you all?”
Uta glanced up, her lips pursed. He couldn’t read the expression on her blood-smeared features. Good. He didn’t want to. He needed to figure stuff out for himself. Alone.
And that was how he felt, as soon as everyone began to sort out the dead bodies and make arrangements without him: alone.
Chapter 51
THE REDWOOD SHINGLES HAD FADED to a dull gray, and the porch needed a good sweeping. A layer of pollen and grime covered all the windows. It could have been worse, considering Pedro hadn’t been home in two months.
The last time he’d approached the door, it had hung open, a Hunter ambush awaiting him inside. Pedro slid the key into the lock and froze, shivering.
Gray faced and stiff, Lucas took his hand and stepped into the dark, musty cottage first. “Cute.”
Dust motes flew in the watery light filtering through the dirty windows.
Lucas flipped a switch. The room remained dim. He smiled. “It’s got crappy light, but otherwise, I like gingerbread houses.”
“Shut up.” Pedro had loved this little house once, before he’d been attacked there.
Lucas ran his hand along the dark wood paneling beside the door. “I’m serious—I love this old Victorian style—the funky details. Every home needs more scallops and finials and fringe.”
“Nice try. You’re not that gay.”
“Oh no, I am.” Lucas leaned against the wall. He must have felt unsteady, but still he joked. “I just go in for the über-modern style, not a flourish to mess up my feng-shui.” He sat down, straightening a pillow on the couch. “I told you I wanted to be an architect, once upon a time?”
“No. You didn’t.” Pedro pressed his lips together and considered the aspiration. “You’ll have time to be anything you want to be.”
Lucas pulled his chin, leaning over to inspect Pedro’s book shelf of techno CDs and Spanish paperbacks. “I guess I will, although for now it seems I’m needed to forge a peace between our warring tribes.”
“You master-minded it. I think it would be fair to bow out now.” Pedro grinned, hopeful. A quiet little life somewhere, until everything blew over—nothing sounded better.
Lucas glanced up and shook his head. “You know I couldn’t. They’re going to need me.”
Yeah, they all needed him. A rush of pride welled up in Pedro—his man, the hero. And it was Pedro’s job to make sure Lucas would be there, fit and ready to help.
“You remember what it was like when I turned, right?” Pedro tossed his keys into a bowl on the shelf.
Lucas clutched at his gut even as he stood to examine a pair of watercolor paintings of Pedro’s family vineyards in Argentina. Pedro wanted to demand he sit down.
“I remember you being very pissy with me,” Lucas said.
Pedro snorted. “That was totally your fault.”
“It was Ethan’s fault. You just took it out on me.” Even in profile, Lucas’s smile curved, subtle but evident. Mierda, it was anything but funny, yet somehow they had moved on and could joke about it.
“I’m sorry about Ethan.”
Lucas stood straight and cocked his head. “Hell, I’m not.”
“I never had a brother, besides Kos and Bel. But I’m pretty sure it’s not supposed to be like that. So I’m sorry.”
Lucas exhaled a burst of breath through his nose. “Not much in life turns out the way it’s supposed to.” He crossed the room, peering into the bedroom. Then he strode to the kitchen and swung wide the cabinets. His unabashed curiosity reminded Pedro of their lazy explorations the first times they’d had sex. He leaned against the doorjamb and watched his man, letting a cautious contentment settle over him.
Finally, Lucas looked up and grinned. “This will do for now.”
“I’m so glad you approve.” Pedro rolled his eyes. But really, he wasn’t sure he wanted the house to do, wasn’t sure the cottage could be his home again after what had happened here. There would be time to sort that out later, too.
He dropped into his favorite chair and kicked his feet up on the coffee table. “How do you feel?”
“I told you, I’m not sorry. I feel like a hero.”
“I meant, are you tired? Hurting?”
Behind the kitchen counter Lucas stilled and crossed his arms. “The truth?”
“Uh, yeah.”
“I’m about to keel over, but I’m not looking forward to getting this party started.” He leaned forward and put his elbows on the counter, resting his chin in his hands. “I remember everything about when Andre turned you—you were supposed to be crazed with blood lust, only you weren’t because of my blood. Then, you were miserable for days, with a headache, and a major case of overstimulation.”
Pedro swallowed, trying to moisten his dry mouth. “I wish I could make it easier.”
“Yeah, me too.” Lucas rubbed his mouth. “You can do one thing for me—I want to feed from a girl.”
“Already taken care of. Ally and Susan are on call. They’re staying with a friend in Guerneville, and more than happy to oblige.”
Lucas’s Adam’s apple bobbed, looking far too prominent in his thin neck. Soon vampire blood would heal him, return him to his natural strength, filling out his emaciated muscles. But first Pedro would have to almost kill him, draining him of blood. Andre had given him a ceremonial blade—the one he’d used to turn Kos decades ago. The sharp steel curved oddly, designed to remain in a vampire’s skin and keep a wound open while his blood poured into his new offspring. Compared to the sexy business of feeding and fucking, this reproduction stuff was gory.
Lucas filled a glass of water from the tap and set it on the counter with a bang. “Are you scared?”
Should Pedro lie? Probably. But he couldn’t, not after everything they’d been through. “Yep.”
“Me too.” Lucas drank a long swig of water. “Let’s get it over with.”
Pedro sent Susan a text, then took Lucas by the hand and led him to the bedroom.
Pedro knelt and reached for Lucas’s fly. But Lucas covered Pedro’s hands. “If you are going to suck my dick and then kill me, will you at least put it away before the girls show up?”
He looked up Lucas’s long, lean body. “Sorry, I can’t. That was the deal. Their blood for a good, long look at your dick.”
Lucas’s eyes went wide in the split second it took him to realize Pedro was joking. “Damn.” He dropped onto the edge of the bed with his jeans around his knees. “And I’m signing up for forever with you and your jokes.”
“Uh huh.” Pedro swallowed Lucas’s cock whole, teasing the tip with his tongue. Lucas groaned, h
ardening. In an instant, Pedro’s own erection pressed against his zipper. Astonishing, given the strain of the task before him.
After a few moments of sucking and licking, Lucas bucked, grabbing at the bedspread. “Damn. This isn’t what I want. Fuck me, Pedro. One more time.”
Pedro needed it—needed to be inside him, needed the reassurance of Lucas’s whole body against him, quaking with pleasure as he took him and his blood. He shucked off his clothes quickly and moved between Lucas’s legs. He reached into the bedside table until he found a dusty bottle of lube and began a slow, gentle kiss as he worked his fingers inside Lucas.
“Jesu Cristo.” His man felt so good, and he had never wanted anything so much as he wanted to possess Lucas, now and forever. Pedro sank his fangs into Lucas’s neck at his carotid artery, just as Andre had instructed. The blood came faster than any other bite, and he nearly gagged trying to swallow it down.
“Please, Pedro. Now,” Lucas mewled on a breath.
Pedro gripped his cock and slid all the way into his man. Home.
Lucas grunted, pushing back harder, before angling to receive another thrust.
“Jesus, I’m dying and it feels so good.” His voice floated, reedy and weak.
The blood flowing into Pedro’s mouth slowed, confirming Lucas’s words. Pedro wished like hell he could offer some reassurance.
But Lucas did it instead, with a whisper. “I love you. I love you. Make me yours forever.”
The words took Pedro over the edge and he pounded Lucas until he came with a soft splurt on his skinny stomach—an instinct of his nearly dead body, a cry of pleasure frighteningly absent. It was all Pedro could do not to cry.
When the blood finally stopped, Pedro sat up. The sight of Lucas, still and gray on the bed twisted his gut, and he nearly vomited all the blood filling his stomach. He remembered Zoey’s turning, with Kos’s prayers, and Lena’s fussing—a room full of well wishers—and he longed for his family. He’d been a fool to try this alone.
Andre’s words came back to him. Your courage will waver, but you must take heart. Do not give up.
Pedro sliced a diagonal incision across his wrist, wedging the sharp crescent under his skin. The narrow trough funneled blood in a clean stream. It spilled onto the bedspread before he got Lucas’s mouth open.
Blood Reunited Page 29
