Bond of Blood

by Diane Whiteside

  Blanche had remained loyal to him after Ecija, had built the chapel, had prayed constantly, had established his legend, and been buried there, as close to his heart as possible in Galicia. A life of dedication to him—as he had prayed for her constantly, until the ice-edged sword had lanced through him, telling him of her death.

  Couldn't that have formed a conyugal bond between them?

  If Grania was Blanche reborn, then his heart and soul must have known her immediately, without any need for intellect's icy reality. How nonsensical that he'd made her prove herself to him when he should have known her immediately, as soon as their hearts touched in the raptor center's lounge.

  Grania must know of this, since she had mentioned reincarnation last night. So she must have at least some of Blanche's memories—joy danced through his veins for an instant at the possibilities—or his doctora would not be so certain. But Grania was different from Blanche in some ways, such as her never-ending inquisitiveness.

  If the conyugal bond had happened only because Grania was his delight and not because she was Blanche's reincarnation, he would be very happy. But if Dios santo had greatly blessed him and Grania was Blanche reborn, then life's joys were a cup full to overflowing.

  Rafael, his cónyuge whispered, Beau is here.

  And then, horror of horrors, he heard his enemy's voice, clearly saw the man pinning her to the ground.

  Grania at the mercy of that fiend, that annihilator of innocence and virtue?

  He leapt to his feet, a guttural shout of denial surging from the depths of his soul.

  Beau nodded mockingly. "Indeed. I'm glad I left you alive, instead of dining on you back then. It will be so much more satisfying to destroy Rafael's slut."

  "Why did you bring Emilio in here?" Grania demanded. "Let him go; this is just between you and me."

  "Don't be silly, sharmuuTa. He's the irreproachable witness, who'll tell Rafael exactly what happened." He looked over. "Go sit down. You will not speak or move until Rafael arrives, unless I say so. Do you understand?"

  "Yes." Emilio dragged his feet to the flight cage's edge, glaring at Beau the entire time, and sat down directly under Houston.

  The great horned ruffled his feathers and hooted his displeasure loudly before flying to another perch.

  Beau clucked his tongue. "Really, you'd think Texans had better manners, the way Rafael dotes on them."

  The breeze strengthened, stirring the leaves inside the flight cage. Clouds flickered over the sun, darkening the flight cage until Houston disappeared into the shadows.

  Beau smiled down at her, displaying long yellow fangs totally unlike Rafael's clean white teeth.

  She managed not to gag.

  The door tapped against the frame and creaked in the wind. It swung open slowly.

  Hold on, Grania, hold on! It was Rafael's beloved voice, through their conyugal bond. I can't reach the bodyguards but we're leaving now in the helicopters. Remember—Beau can't read your thoughts.

  "You will become my first bija, after which I'll leave you behind for Rafael to find and weep over. The fool can watch the woman he loves die, when you awaken to La Lujuria. Or he can see you run to me, your creador, when I summon you after he's tortured himself by nursing you. A perfect way to destroy him, don't you think?"

  She stared at him, shocked. Rafael's objections to vampiras were too deep-seated to be negated by sentiment. Otherwise, he'd have asked her to be his hija instead of his compañera. "It won't work. Rafael's too strong to fall prey to emotional tricks like that."

  "You never saw him with his wife and children. Losing you to his worst enemy, for centuries to come, will break him. Then I'll kill him, slowly of course."

  "If you touch him, I will destroy you myself, no matter how long it takes," Grania announced coldly. She didn't give a damn if it took ten thousand years. If Beau hurt a hair of Rafael's head, she'd ruin him. Utterly.

  Beau threw back his head and crowed in triumph. "Perfect! You love him too! He'll be heartbroken to lose you."

  She bucked furiously again but to no avail. An instant later, he had her jacket collar ripped aside and his teeth in her jugular.

  Fire slashed through her as he ripped the vein open and began to suck. Every pull was a vortex dragging her away from sanity and health.

  Grania, please focus on fighting him. Rafael was crying. You'll go insane if you let him take control of your emotions.

  She writhed, cursing Beau. Her eyes blurred, as her struggles grew weaker.

  He shoved his wrist into her mouth, pouring his tainted blood down her throat. She choked and tried to turn her face away. Ruthlessly, he imprisoned her jaw and forced her to drink. Her hands and lower arms were free, since he was holding her face. But they felt heavy, as if they were slowly turning into stone.

  She grew dizzier, and her stomach cramped. She started to hallucinate, images whirling past of Beau, wearing horns and capering in triumph, as Rafael broke into pieces. Beau's foul poison continued to pour into her mouth and he laughed triumphantly.

  She struggled weakly against him once again—and her knife slid into her hand. She opened it instinctively and shoved it into his thigh, the closest part of him. She twisted it, as Tom had taught her before her first long field trip, to cause the maximum pain.

  Beau shouted and started to pull back, grabbing at her wrist and the knife.

  Suddenly, someone hooted in the distance. Beau's head and shoulders fell forward to within inches of her face. Blood gushed over her. He screamed, released her, and sprang away.

  She choked and desperately spat out his foul blood.

  His scalp hung halfway down over his face, obscuring his eyes.

  Long, deep, bloody gouges marked where the great horned's talons had ripped his head open.

  Houston launched himself again, eyeing the disturber of his territory. The winged tiger swooped once more, knocking Beau to his knees and slicing his head open like a razor blade. Then he escaped to freedom through the open door.

  Behind him, the winds sent leaves swirling across the flight cage.

  Blood flowed over the vampiro's head, obscuring his features almost completely, and he waved his arms wildly. "Yixrib beetak!" he cursed, trying vainly to put his scalp back into place.

  Grania pressed her fingers over her jugular to slow the flow. As a doctor, she knew damn well it was a mortal wound by normal standards and it was amazing that she was still conscious at all. Perhaps drinking Rafael's blood last night was helping her.

  Rafael, she whispered.

  Just a few more minutes, mi alma, he promised.

  Emilio's eyes were anguished, his movements clumsy and ineffectual as he tried to stand up. Any recourse would be up to her but how? She tried to rise but fell over.

  "Give me your clothing, sharmuuT" Beau ordered Emilio angrily.

  Emilio rose clumsily and staggered directly toward Grania, stripping off his weapons. She glanced back at Beau but he was trying to wipe the blood out of his eyes.

  Was mind control extremely literal, like a game of Simon Says? Maybe Emilio could walk in her direction because Beau hadn't explicitly forbidden it.

  "I don't care what you do with the rest of your things. Just get the clothes to me fast!" Beau screamed in frustration.

  Emilio rapidly dropped his sawed-off shotgun and pistol, with their ammunition, behind Grania. Their eyes met for a moment, his agonized. She nodded understanding. Then he stumbled toward Beau, unbuttoning his shirt.

  Three minutes, Grania…

  Beau efficiently bandaged his head with Emilio's shirt, his once glamorous countenance and clothes now covered in congealing blood.

  He stood up cautiously, his blue eyes a hideous contrast to his ravaged beauty.

  "At least you've had El Abrazo." He chuckled, the sound both husky and blood chilling. "Should you survive it, I'll enjoy fucking you on Rafael's bed after he's dead."

  He started staggering away as he hummed a jaunty pop tune. Lightning cracked in the d
istance, followed by a low roll of thunder.

  She was not going to let the bastard get away so easily.

  Grania swung Emilio's sawed-off shotgun out, thankful for the pistol grip. Pressing a standard stock against her right shoulder would have been very awkward, given the blood still running down from her jugular.

  All she had to do was point and shoot, as if she was aiming down her finger. That was easier said than done, especially when her vision was so very gray around the edges. If she was lucky and the shotgun was loaded with slugs, a single shot to either the head or heart would kill the bastard. A heart shot would be better; if she missed, there was the rest of the torso close by to bleed.

  Strength surged into her suddenly from Rafael. Her lips drew back in an approximation of a grin. Thank you, mi cónyuge.

  You can do it, mi vida. He sounded as if he was speaking through gritted teeth.

  Just point and shoot, she told herself again. Just point and shoot.

  BAM! went the shotgun.

  Beau went down on his face, blood pouring from his left side.

  The shot's vibration slammed through her, momentarily blocking El Abrazo's tearing agony. It deafened her and sent her sprawling in the dirt, as loose limbed as a broken doll, blood pumping faster than before from her jugular.

  She fought the ringing in her head to open one eye, just one, to see her enemy. Overhead, helicopters were coming in fast and low.

  Beau was running out the door, his face contorted in pain and anger, as he pressed Emilio's T-shirt and trousers against his shoulder. Shots rang out from below, followed by men's voices, "He's getting away!"

  That bastard was somebody else's problem now.

  Thunder boomed overhead.

  Madre de Dios, Grania, hold to a single thought. It will help when you awaken. Another minute and I will be with you, I swear.

  Grania allowed her head to settle onto the ground. Emilio was safe now. He'd be able to talk and move again, once Rafael arrived. Please, God, let none of the birds have been hurt…

  Sluggishly, she brought her hand back up and covered her jugular again. Blood leaked out, dripping over her collarbone and into the dirt.

  She had only one thought left.

  Carefully, each fragment a temporary victory against insanity, she began to picture Rafael's beloved face as he'd made love to her last night, pledging himself to her for centuries to come.

  Rafael raced up the hillside, leaving his bodyguards—even Luis and Caleb—far behind. He'd left Compostela fully armed, but he'd crumbled his MP5 submachine gun into fragments, while linked to Grania. Luis had sat next to him, the only man brave enough to come within arm's length of Rafael as he was now.

  Lightning sparked and sizzled across the sky. The winds howled in his face, as if reproving him for delay. Dios me salve, if Grania dies during El Abrazo…

  At the top of the path, the big flight cage's door whipped back and forth. Rafael burst through it and saw the scene he'd watched unfold, while he'd sat helplessly aboard the mechanical bird.

  He stood in a great, roofed cage, hundreds of feet long, with the storm's shadows dancing through it. Emilio was stiffly seated in the center, tears streaming down his frozen face. Grania was lying in a crumpled heap, where she alone had been able to fight.

  He dropped to his knees beside her. "Grania, mi cónyuge," he whispered, lifting her hand to his lips. Madre de Dios, she was pale. He would not think, not now, of how everything in this cage reeked of Beau. Her heartbeat was the faintest whisper through his veins.

  "Rafael," she breathed. Her eyelids fluttered. He gathered her against him and willed strength into her through the conyugal bond. He knew bitterly it couldn't last, not when her body was being ravaged by the beginning of El Abrazo.

  Behind him, Luis helped his foster son rise, with a quick word of rough encouragement. Then he and Emilio left them alone.

  Grania's dark blue eyes slowly focused on him. "Rafael, my love. Thank God you came." Her long fingers tightened on his. "Bob?"

  He'd guessed she'd ask that. "He's safe at home. His wife called, wondering what had happened. I'll talk to them later and smooth their memories. But enough of that. Por Dios, Grania, how can you look at me? If it hadn't been for me and my enemies, you wouldn't have been attacked."

  "I'm sorry I didn't kill the son of a bitch when I had the chance," she murmured.

  "You did the next best thing. It will take weeks for Beau to recover the amount of blood he lost."

  "You should let me die. That would be better than worrying about me following that bastard's orders, now that he's my creador."

  Everything in him revolted against the thought. It fitted the ruthless logic he'd followed since founding his esfera, that of taking no chances lest he become a slave of Diego again. But to lose her… "No!"

  She stared at him, wide-eyed.

  He sought a quick way to convince her, knowing she should have already lost consciousness. "You are different, Grania. You are my cónyuge."

  "You finally accept it." She smiled like an angel, her eyes soft and reminiscent. For a moment, her expression was exactly that of Blanche's effigy. And for the first time, his heart didn't ache when he remembered that echoing crypt.

  "Sí." He kissed her hand. "Your memories are mine and mine yours, both in mind and body. They will help guide you through what is to come. Also, you drank my blood last night, which is protecting you now. Not halting El Abrazo …" ¡Maldita sea, if only it could! "But it will help you fight off Beau's commands."

  Dios mediante, this would come true.

  "Two different bonds of blood, and mine came first," he finished. She was silent, her head against his shoulder, her soft braid tickling his chin. "Grania?" She didn't move. "Grania!"

  * * *

  Chapter Fifteen

  The nightclub's elevator doors whooshed open, revealing a furious Madame Celeste. Her evening gown, a splendid example of Milan's most cutting-edge evening wear, had clearly been donned in a hurry. "You fools! You lazy, incompetent asses, who don't even know enough to hide your traces from prosaicos. I should have sent a pair of mules from the French Quarter instead: They'd at least have more fashion sense than you two do."

  She disdainfully surveyed the two bedraggled vampiros in front of her.

  When Beau had raced out of that hell-born birdcage, Devol had been responsible for piloting the helicopter to take them both back to New Orleans. However, Rafael and his men had arrived so quickly that Devol and the helicopter had been badly shot up. Devol had lost enough blood that he'd nearly died, which would have stranded Beau in Texas.

  They'd managed to land in Galveston just long enough to feed for their escape from Texas; they'd killed the women, of course. They hadn't lingered to clean up either themselves or the corpses, simply jumped back into the helicopter and flown on, desperate to reach Louisiana and safety.

  Beau's shoulder burned like the fires of hell, where his arm was trying to grow back but couldn't, due to his blood loss. He was so hungry that dizziness was repeatedly sweeping over him. A growl built behind his teeth, in rhythm with her shoe's impatient tattoo. It would take so very, very little to crush that white throat between his fingers and silence her vituperative tongue forever.

  Devol dropped to his knees in a well-practiced move, landing within inches of her Versace evening gown. Patience worn thin by exhaustion and pain, Beau sneered privately at the man's blatant worship of his mistress. It was honorable for a man to follow another man, but to take orders from a woman?

  "Madame, please forgive us," Devol begged, his tone genuinely plaintive. "This trip to Texas was a mistake but we'll do better next time."

  "Bah!" she spat, twitching her satin skirts away from him. Devol flinched.

  "Are you refusing to provide us with shelter? And food? That we may recover from wounds we took in your service?" Beau asked carefully, grasping at his fraying temper.

  She swung to face him, black eyes flashing. "Both of you fools are badly inj
ured and will require a great deal of blood. Providing enough to do so will draw attention, even here in New Orleans. It's not Mardi Gras now, when the streets are packed with prosaicos eager to be bled like cattle, in exchange for a few minutes' seduction."

  "Are you refusing?" Beau repeated, sharpening every syllable.

  "Why should I feed you? Is Don Rafael dead? Non! So I owe you nothing."

  "Would you prefer that I tell your sister where you live?" Beau asked, softly but perfectly clear.

  She turned white. "I have no sister," she asserted. But her hand gave her away, as it closed around her throat, the most instinctively protective gesture of all vampiros. Her unease was further confirmed when Devol, her most trusted confederate, staggered to his feet to take up a guardian's position beside her.

  Beau raised an eyebrow at her, ignoring his shoulder's agony. "Did you truly think I wouldn't investigate you thoroughly before I came here?"

  She tensed, her fingers curving into claws.

  "I know exactly who you are," Beau went on, well satisfied by her reaction, "who your sister is—and what she believes happened to you. Do you want me to tell her where you are? Then the two of you could enjoy that family reunion you've been avoiding for the past two centuries."

  Her breasts rose and fell rapidly under the fragile silk. "Salopard!" she hissed.

  He shrugged, smelling victory. He wished he could brace himself against the anteroom's walls, until the current bout of vertigo passed. "Or you could occupy yourself by making sure we heal quickly and quietly. Don Rafael is now waiting for the woman he loves to wake to La Lujuria. Do you believe he'll survive her death?"

  Her expression promptly turned greedy and triumphant. "Magnifique! He'll have no thought for anything except grief. Then we can destroy him and claim Texas, and I will dance on his grave."

  And my father will finally be avenged. Beau's fangs ached with the need to bury themselves in Rafael's neck.