Embraced by Blood

by Laurie London

  “You didn’t think that deep down inside I still had a Darkblood agenda? No one takes the Oath without agreeing to die for what they believe in or suffer the consequences, which are pretty fucking awful. No one ever denounces the Oath. Ever.”

  “Why did you think we assigned Lily to be your contact? Dom told us that he and your father suspected you’d taken the Oath.”

  “Dom knew?” He rubbed his eyes. His head felt like it was going to explode.

  “Yeah, but we didn’t tell him about our plans to bring you on board as a double agent. Thought it best that he be kept out of the loop in case Darkbloods got suspicious about anything you did or said and started digging around.”

  No wonder his brother had never trusted him, despite anything Alfonso said to the contrary. It explained so much. If the roles were reversed and he’d heard his brother had taken the Oath, he’d have felt the same way. Then, of course, he’d really fucked up by bringing Pavlos to their parents’ home, thinking he could mediate a truce between the Council and the Alliance.

  “But how did he find out? I didn’t share that with anyone. It’s not something I’m proud of, you know?”

  “Dom said you told him.”

  “That’s impossible. I’d have never told him that.”

  “Well, evidently you did. I’ll bet there are a lot of things you didn’t know about during that time. Addicts have shitty memories.”

  He recalled that back then, in the early days of his involvement with the Alliance, there were many days when he had no recollection of where he was or what he’d done. High on Sweet. High on opiates. Who knew what he’d done or said? Could he have admitted to Dom at some point that he’d taken the Oath?

  Oh God, maybe he had.

  He rested his forehead on the cool wood of the piano, his temples aching, his brain pounding. He felt like puking. The black sheep of the family had demonstrated just how different he was. No wonder Dom hated him.

  “And you assigned Lily to me because of this?” he managed to choke out. “Why?”

  Santiago scoffed at him. “I’m surprised you even have to ask. There’s nothing that gets past that woman. If she detected even the least bit of sympathy toward them from you, smelled any sort of deception on your part, we’d have pulled the plug on our little arrangement immediately. When you approached us with your offer to spy on them from the inside, of course we checked you out. And part of that included talking to Dom.”

  He stared unseeingly at the piano keys and plunked out a couple of familiar notes. “Since you know about that, then you know the problem I face.” He lowered his voice until it was barely above a whisper. “I am tied in blood to a member of the Order of the Red Sword and he knows that I am the betrayer and that I’m alive. He carries my blood with him at all times to help activate my scent and track me down. And you know what that means, don’t you? He will not stop until I’m dead and, since I’ve taken Lily’s blood again, she’s not safe from him either.”

  He went on to tell Santiago about the intricate steps he’d taken in Europe to throw the assassin off his trail, knowing that sooner or later the killer would catch up to him.

  “You do know that our offices over there have the Order of the Red Sword under watch, don’t you?”

  “What?” His elbow landed on the piano keys, the sound filling the room. He had no idea. The thought of this secret order of killers being watched by the Council sent a thrill down his spine. Maybe the order wasn’t as powerful as it appeared to be.

  “Yes, in fact, let me give them a call now.”

  Within fifteen minutes, Santiago received confirmation that the Prague field office had Rejavik under surveillance where he’d been for the past two weeks. The ORS had a training facility located in an old monastery in the region. The Council had been watching it for years.

  “So you see? He’s over there. You’re over here. We need your help. It’s a simple equation. What do you say? Can you at least stay on until after we bust this big Night of Wilding party and deal with the aftermath? Dom will be back by then and we’ll be able to limp along like we always have.”

  Holy shit. Alfonso took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Incredibly, his elaborate false leads must still be working. Maybe he did have more time than he thought. And even if the assassin had followed him to the States, he’d probably be tracking him down in San Diego, for a while anyway. He’d been so careful when he’d decided to move up here.

  Relief washed over him as every muscle seemed to loosen. He felt light, free, more at ease than he had in a long time. Not since his wild days back in Paris, before he’d ever laid eyes on Rejavik, had he felt the absence of this heavy burden he’d carried with him all these years, weighing him down, stifling every decision he made.

  Santiago cleared his throat, pulling Alfonso from his thoughts.

  Alfonso reached out his hand and his arm felt strangely lighter. Santiago grasped it with gusto.

  “Sounds like a fiesta I won’t want to miss,” Alfonso said.

  “So you’ll do it? You’ll join the team?” Santiago’s face erupted into a huge grin.

  “Only temporarily. Just to get you past the Night of Wilding. The assassin may not be looking in the right place now, but that won’t last forever.”

  “Fair enough.”

  “Oh, and that blow job?”

  Santiago’s head snapped up, his eyes narrowing.

  “I think I’ll pass. But thanks. I really appreciate the offer.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  THE STREETS OF SEATTLE AT THREE in the morning were quieter than what Ventra Capelli was accustomed to, being from Mexico City. This was the only reason she heard that strange sound.

  She’d been checking messages to see if any member of her Darkblood cell had turned up a sign of the scent Tracker’s whereabouts. They needed to be extremely careful in how they conducted themselves, and she wasn’t entirely sure they understood the gravity of the situation. Not only did they not want the Tracker woman to detect their presence, but the city wasn’t their turf. If they were caught by the Darkbloods who worked this area, things could get messy. However, if things went according to plan, Ventra’s status within the Alliance would skyrocket. Everyone would want her; she’d have her pick of sectors. The big prestigious ones, not the shitty little areas that were more like outposts. It was worth the risk.

  The blinking crosswalk sign cast an orange light onto the touch screen of her phone when she heard a faint rumbling noise, like a heavy stone being dragged on the pavement. She jerked her head up and scanned the damp streets. It seemed to be coming from somewhere on the next block. Although some companies in this industrial area near the port were working second and third shifts, which could explain the sound, something about it seemed out of place.

  She stowed her phone, slipped into the shadows and scanned the night to see if she was being watched. A few cars drove past, including a slow-moving Seattle police cruiser, but they were all humans. Hardly a threat.

  With the Night of Wilding a few days away, she couldn’t afford to miss anything, especially since things had gone wrong the other night. When she heard Guardians had raided the hideout and destroyed everything, she wasn’t as upset as she might have been. The guy turned out to be a dud, not who they’d thought he was. Just some kid in training. But what did piss her off was losing a bunch of Sweet in the process. That was never acceptable.

  At this time of night, darkness was at its deepest point, so moving within the shadows was relatively easy and took very little energy. She hugged the brick building facades and moved like liquid tar, careful not to make a sound. Up ahead, a streetlamp illuminated the cracked sidewalk in the mouth of an alley, removing the darkness in her path.

  She stopped. She’d either go around or—

  Inside the alley, behind a Dumpster, the shadows seemed darker than normal, more concentrated. She flattened herself against the side of the building and held very still, not making a sound. Out of habit, she sniffed the
air, but as expected, she didn’t pick up anything unusual—the only downside to an all-blood diet—although her sense of smell was still more acute than a human’s.

  Could another vampire be hiding inside that small sliver of darkness, watching her? It wasn’t large enough for more than one. If so, what was his intention? Report her movements to his local cell and then what? Although she’d be long gone before others arrived, she’d be outed, raising suspicion among local Darkbloods that something was up. She wouldn’t be able to move about as freely next time.

  She’d take him out. Let them think Guardians had done it.

  Raising her hand in a mock greeting, she cautiously approached the Dumpster. If he didn’t recognize who she was, she’d tell him she was from out of town, just looking for a little liquid refreshment. No one ever expected someone dressed like this to be deadly. Soccer-mom chic didn’t translate into skilled fighter. It caught them off guard every time.

  Her eyes didn’t waiver from that dark spot. That was odd. She sensed no movement whatsoever. When she got closer, she saw why, and let down her guard. It was no vampire hiding in the shadows, just a passed-out drunk, lying in a heap underneath a black blanket. Oh well, it was better to err on the side of caution than to be caught off guard. She hadn’t gotten where she was by being careless.

  The inside of her mouth still tasted coppery from her last feeding. Although she wasn’t hungry, vampires were opportunistic feeders and an easy mark was an easy mark. Maybe he had an interesting blood type. When she leaned over him, he belched, the smell of alcohol and vomit thick on his breath.

  “Oh for—” Not in a million years would she ever be desperate enough for that.

  She pulled out a stiletto, and with a quick movement, sunk it deep into the man’s chest. A moist, choking sound spilled from his lips as she pulled it out and wiped it on her pant leg. She was glad she’d worn these dark leggings. Her blade came away cleaner than if she’d worn jeans.

  Back out on the sidewalk, she paused at the next intersection. The scent Tracker had to live somewhere in the area—her people had followed the woman a few times, but they always seemed to lose sight of her here in Pioneer Square. What was around here, anyway? Slowly, she turned a circle, looking up at all the buildings that surrounded her, surveying each one. All of them were old, probably with a lot of history, so it wouldn’t surprise her that the Tracker lived here. With their long life spans, vampires were attracted to such places, felt more comfortable, more at home.

  And then she heard that sound again—faint, but slightly louder this time.

  She cocked her head and tried to focus in on its precise location, while the taillights of a car disappeared in a distant intersection. Determined to find the source, she slipped into the street, over the tiny median with its spindly, leafless trees, and stepped onto the uneven surface of the cobblestone sidewalk. After passing a few darkened shop windows, she started to think that maybe it was nothing, that she just wasn’t used to the indigenous sounds of the area, when something moved out of the corner of her eye, drawing her attention.

  On the next block, the building seemed to—

  Oh gods, it wavered a little—the edges going slightly out of focus like a mirage or 3-D movie. The movement was so subtle that if she hadn’t been looking directly at it, she’d have missed it. Fascinated, she stood frozen in place and watched.

  In the center, along a blank wall, the energy seemed to shift, displacing what she’d seen a moment ago. An ornately decorated entrance appeared, complete with twin gargoyle statues, two carved columns and a huge arched door.

  Then there was that sound again.

  Slowly, the door slid open and a man appeared. And if that wasn’t shocking enough, as soon as he stepped onto the sidewalk and the door closed, the entrance disappeared—the outside morphed into just a plain cement-sided building again.

  She sucked in a jagged breath. How the hell—?

  The man wore a long black cloak that swirled around his legs. Old World and elegant, he looked as if he’d just stepped out from the gaslit streets of Victorian England. No one here, vampire or human, dressed like that any longer. Not even the old-timers.

  A little thrill of excitement shot down her spine. He appeared to incline his head in her direction, but since she was still part of the darkness, she doubted he’d seen her clear over here. Light from a streetlamp shone in his jet-black hair and accentuated the shadows of his face. With his chin up, he had a regal air about him, like a prince, or someone important.

  He turned on his heel and strode down the sidewalk at a fast clip. The amount of confidence and strength he exuded, combined with the fact that he chose not to shadow-move, compelled her to follow him and find out who he was. She stayed a good half block behind, hidden in the shadows.

  She knew the Agency used highly advanced cloaking techniques. Was he coming from the Seattle field office? If so, then it stood to reason he was a Guardian or a member of the Council, but as she followed him, she realized that assessment didn’t fit. He walked with the slightly superior air of someone at the top of the food chain who wasn’t afraid to admit it. Moving with such power only came from being exclusively a blood drinker, and yet he didn’t carry himself like a typical Darkblood either.

  She turned the corner and he was gone.

  Damn. Where did he go?

  She could’ve sworn she’d seen him walk under the pergola and past the park benches, but he definitely wasn’t here. Scanning her surroundings, she jogged under the domed walkway that snaked along the sidewalk. On the far side she again surveyed the area, but there was no sign of him.

  It was as if he’d melted into the night.

  Disappointed, she leaned against a lamppost to regroup.

  A slight rustling noise came from somewhere above her head. Before her brain could register that it wasn’t the sound of a pigeon or a seagull, the man dropped onto the sidewalk in front of her.

  She stared, slack jawed, too stunned to say anything.

  With eyes the color of obsidian glass, his intense gaze was almost tangible, hot upon her face. His cloak flapped wildly in the wind, as if it were alive, while his hair remained perfectly still.

  The blood from her last feeding stilled in her veins. He was the most captivating individual she’d ever laid eyes on. When he opened his mouth, she detected the faint smell of Sweet.

  “You follow me. Why?”

  She wasn’t prepared for the raw power of his voice and took a half step backward. “I’m looking for someone who lives in the area. Another vampire. She’s an Agent and her name is Lily DeGraff.”

  Normally, she’d never admit this to a stranger, but this man was so out of place and had such an air of importance about him that she felt compelled to tell him the truth.

  He smiled, close lipped and controlled, and pulled something from an inside pocket. With long, somewhat bony fingers, he handed her a black-framed picture. “Is this who you seek?”

  She took it from him and held it up to the streetlight. The photograph was of an attractive woman with ultra-straight blond hair, who held the hand of a dark-haired, female youthling. Ventra’s fingers gripped the frame tighter and she looked up at him excitedly. “Yes, I think so. But how did you know this is the woman I’m after? Where did you get this picture?”

  “Why are you seeking a scent Tracker?” he asked, ignoring her questions and keeping control of the conversation.

  When she started to answer, it occurred to her she hadn’t told him that. “Do you know her?”

  Amusement danced in his eyes. “We have never met. At least, not yet.”

  “Then how do you know she’s a Tracker?”

  “Because I am one, of sorts.” He smoothed back his hair, and that’s when she saw what dangled from his fingernail.

  She almost choked.

  A prayer box.

  This man was a blood assassin.

  And fact that he wore this ancient relic could only mean one thing. His was hunting for h
is quarry.

  She could hardly contain her excitement. He was involved in one of the highest, most respected levels of the Alliance. Making a good impression on him could be the key to her success. A positive word from him to the elders would do wonders for her standing within the organization.

  Bowing reverently, she offered him her hand. “I am so honored to meet an esteemed member of the Order of the Red Sword.” She told him her name, but he didn’t reciprocate, nor did he take her hand. She straightened, clasped her hands behind her and tried to keep the disappointment from showing on her face. “You’re looking for this Agency Tracker, too? Can you tell me why? Did she betray the Alliance somehow?”

  He laughed and held out his pinkie finger. “This is not of her. But she will lead me to him. Again I ask, why are you seeking her?”

  “We— I’m the new sector mistress up north. I wanted to start things off with a bang. Do something really special for the first Night of Wilding party I’m in charge of. In addition to getting the word out to the vampire public in untraditional ways, trying to reach more who might become sympathizers, I’d like to bring in a Class-A Tracker in order to more effectively and efficiently locate sweetbloods.”

  He steepled his fingers and nodded.

  Encouraged, she continued. “Nothing brings in partygoers like the allure of Sweet. Preferably off the hoof, don’t you think? I’m banking on the fact that vampires will pay exorbitant amounts for the chance to suck one dry. Also, I’d like to do a lottery of sorts. For every vampire guest you bring, your name will be entered into a drawing for a sweetblood. At the appointed time, I’ll draw a name and the winner gets to take his prize. In front of everyone.”

  A hint of a smile formed on his lips. “Tell me more.”

  “We’re constructing several viewing rooms that would house the most attractive sweetbloods we find. The plan is to drain the ugly ones and sell the blood as we do now. You may say there’s nothing new about this plan—we’ve been draining sweetbloods for years—and I agree.” She was talking faster, but she had no idea how much time she had to make an impression. “What I’m doing is giving our people a chance to have what they really desire. Taking a sweetblood. Live. Not from some vial. The beautiful ones will be kept in individual rooms to be sold to the highest bidder. Then everyone can watch while the winner takes possession of his purchase.”