Department 57: Bloody Crystal

by Lynne Connolly

  One morning when she was on late shift, they indulged themselves with staying in bed. Although Gareth’s house was farther away than her flat, they’d taken to going there. No nosy neighbors and a shower built for two. She’d bought supplies, made him eat something she’d cooked. Admittedly she wasn’t blue-ribbon level, but she could cook plain Welsh food well, and he seemed to enjoy it. He hadn’t tasted anything so good since his mother was alive, he told her, making her feel sorry and glad at the same time.

  Being a made vampire wasn’t all it seemed, an escape from mortal worries. He’d gone through two world wars and a few petty skirmishes, and he’d kept his principles intact. Right there that told her something—that he had an unbreakable sense of justice and loyalty. It only made her love him all the more.

  But their bliss couldn’t last forever. She knew that too. That kept her on edge. But he’d made it clear she couldn’t ask for more, nor did she want to. She might drive him away.

  *

  They’d bonded. He hated lying to her, but he would do his best to make this right. He had to know she was all right, even when he wasn’t close, and he’d bonded with her in full knowledge of what they’d done. It couldn’t be reversed. But he could block her, take all the pain on himself. A small price to pay to ensure her safety. And one day he’d come back to her.

  Rhodri decided they would use his house for a week, but one night he picked her up after work and they stopped at her flat. He could feel her aching legs as if his were aching too. Sometimes even vampires felt tired. He shouldn’t have done it, shouldn’t have bonded with her, but he’d been alone for so long he’d done it in a moment of weakness, so overwhelmed with wanting her that he couldn’t prevent it. But he’d heard of one party to a bonding fighting it. He’d do his best to shelter her and get out of the link if he could, because he’d done something selfish.

  He ushered her inside the shower, left her to herself, but waited with a towel for her afterward. He dried her off, made her put on a long nightshirt, and put her to bed, only then seeing to his own needs, wondering at himself all the while. Since when had he become soft? She’d be taking him for granted soon, assuming he was hers.

  No, she wouldn’t. He felt her concern that he’d leave. She thought she was hiding it well, and she did everything to persuade him that he wasn’t important to her, but he wasn’t buying it. He cared for her too, enough to worry about her once he left. Which was stupid, because in her vampire form she could thrash most people without breaking a sweat. She worked the night shift for the most part and slept away a lot of the day. Better for her. And nobody knew, except Will Grady, and Rhodri knew he’d keep her secret. For one thing, it was one less Talent to worry about, and as the head of the Department, Grady worried about all the Talents in his territory. And beyond.

  It wasn’t Rhodri’s job to worry about other Talents, apart from the team he worked with on a given assignment. Then they worked together or died separately. Not to worry; he was thinking too much.

  He dried off, the best he could in such a confined space. He’d let her sleep, even if it killed him.

  Wrapping a towel around his waist, he walked into the main room, using another towel to scrub his hair dry. He tossed it back in the bathroom when he was done. He’d take it to his place later and throw it in the washer. One thing she didn’t have to do anymore was take a trip to the launderette.

  Coming back from the bathroom, he glanced out the windows, then back at her. She’d placed her bed opposite the window in the room. Because this was the attic of a large house, the windows were low but wide, giving a beautiful view of the sea from the bed. She liked the curtains open, she said. The moon was full tonight. According to legend, werewolves would be about. Not that they existed, not in this world. But he might see a dragon fly across the face of the moon. He could see them, but anyone else would see a kite or a dirigible or even a large bird. Something they expected to see. Very clever.

  He turned around to look at Cerys. So lovely in sleep, so small and vulnerable. He watched her, enjoyed the sight.

  Something gleamed. An independent light, something that shouldn’t be there. Just above the window, a flash.

  At that point, the moon wouldn’t hit the whatever-it-was.

  The whatever-it-was turned out to be a small lens embedded in the wall. Normally the frieze of yachts jauntily bobbing on the sea, a few fishes leaping at them, would disguise it. Someone had drilled a hole precisely through one of the fish. He cursed, remembering to keep his voice low. What he really wanted to do was yell it to the heavens, then tear the place apart looking for the bastard who’d done this.

  What he did was go into the bathroom and find a bandage in the bathroom cabinet, then return and tape up the hateful thing. He shouldn’t, he knew, because that would alert whoever was watching. He removed the bandage and walked to one side of the camera, out of vision. He counted to ten. Then he counted again. It helped, but barely. At least his training kicked back in.

  He glanced at Cerys. She’d covered her delectable body. Otherwise he’d have done it for her.

  Two possibilities—someone was spying on Cerys, or someone was spying on him.

  It took a lot more effort to control his fury this time. What an utter, fucking bastard. When he found out who’d done it, he’d tear him limb from limb. No, he’d feed first and hold back the anesthetic and the endorphins. He could do that, so whoever it was would feel the pain and the terror of having a fully mature vampire feed on them. Then he’d strip him, make him kneel. Then he’d tear him limb from limb.

  It still wouldn’t be enough. How long had this person been watching her? Fucking pervert should be strung up. By the balls, preferably.

  Wait, Rhodri. Think.

  He’d been an agent for thirty years, and he’d never felt like this. Not this angry, close to running out of control. Did the perv want that? Want him unnerved? Well, he’d learn what a furious vampire could do.

  Enough. Get a grip.

  He sent out his senses. Nothing. Nobody awake in this house. That didn’t mean Cerys sleeping wasn’t being recorded somewhere for someone’s delectation later. No fucking way would she stay here any longer. Not another minute. But he had to make it look good. Then he’d come back and tear this place apart.

  He’d leave it for now, in case he alerted whoever was spying on her to the fact that he knew. Best to contact the geeks in the Department and get one to come over and check it out. If they were spying on him, it could be his quarry, and in that case he was trying to draw the bastard in, not alert him to the fact that he knew.

  Meantime Cerys wasn’t spending another night here until he’d resolved the problem. And he had to tell her something, warn her. But not the camera, not yet. Not until he knew for sure what it was.

  Looking at her helped him so much. Brought him a peace he’d rarely felt before, a deep pool of tranquility that lay at the heart of every passionate coupling. Shit, he had it bad. So bad he didn’t care. He crossed the room and sat on the bed, reaching out to stroke her hair back off her face. She woke immediately and smiled up at him. “Aren’t you coming to bed?”

  “Come to my place. I want to make you scream, and you don’t like doing that here.” He added a mock growl.

  She laughed, a sound he’d never tire of, and sat up. Quickly he covered her, lifted the sheet to wrap around her. “It’s not too warm tonight,” he explained at her questioning look. But he had to let her dress; he knew that.

  He took care to stand between her and the camera while she put on her underwear, T-shirt, and jeans. Despite knowing someone was spying on them, he still found it hard to keep his hands off her. “Good enough to eat,” he murmured. “Come on.”

  *

  After grabbing her jacket and her bag, they left. She was careful to lock the door behind her.

  He made her scream in his bedroom at Gareth’s house and nearly made himself scream too. He held her in his arms all night, watching over her, thinking.

&n
bsp; The next day, he woke her with a kiss. They snuggled down in the soft duvet together, watching storm clouds scud across the sky. Now. He had to tell her. “You like this place better?”

  She turned from watching the weather to watching him. “Oh yes. Much better. It only needed living in.”

  “And a bit of tender loving care.” He dropped a gentle kiss on her lips with every word. “It’s better than your flat, yes?”

  “You know it is. But I made a home there. It’s not that bad, is it?”

  He kept his mind away from that camera. “It’s a great place. Snug.”

  She laughed and punched him gently in the chest. “I watch you stoop when you come in. You’re just too big for that place.”

  “So stay here.”

  Her eyes widened, and her hand stilled on his skin. “What are you saying?”

  He saw hope in her eyes. He couldn’t let her think that. Not that they had anything more than they had now. Except that he was. But until they caught Wilkinson, he couldn’t risk it. He wouldn’t let that happen to sweet, adorable Cerys. He couldn’t let anyone know about her. About them.

  “I’m offering you this house. I can’t offer you anything else, Cerys, not now. You know that, don’t you?”

  “Then I don’t want anything.”

  “Please. Take it.”

  She swallowed. “No.”

  He sighed. “Listen. You have to stay here, have to stay hidden. I’m not completely off duty here. Yes, I had this house to sort out, but our enemy—a man called Wilkinson—likes to attack us through our weakest point. Our civilian partners, to be precise. It’s a pattern. So if he discovers I’m here, he’ll find you, and that flat just doesn’t have the security. If I have to leave, then I want to know you’re safe. I’ll arrange for some security people to come and see it, beef your safety up a bit. Okay?

  “So stay here until it’s safe. Pay me rent. The same as you pay now. I don’t want you in that house, Cerys. That day I broke in to your apartment, I did it to see if I could. You have to know I can do that kind of thing, but I hardly had to work at it. You have two locks—one credit card in one and a few twists of a pick in the other. If you insist on staying, then you have to let me get your security sorted out.”

  “The landlord won’t allow it. I have to ask him to change the locks.”

  His senses pricked. “Who’s your landlord? I thought your parents owned the place?”

  “He’s a local property developer. He bought the place when my parents died and I found I couldn’t afford to keep the place on.” She shrugged. “Council tax, energy bills, it all got too much. So I sold it on condition I could keep the top floor. He was fine with that, since he intended to turn the place into bedsits and flats.”

  “Does he live in the house?” A lead. The landlord had all the access he’d ever need.

  “No, but he visits once a month to check the place over.”

  “Is he due to visit soon?”

  She bit her lip. “Yes. Next week.”

  Rhodri would be be waiting. “Cerys, please. Move in here. You like it. You can have carte blanche. Buy what you want to brighten the place up. Think of it this way: if I have to go, then I want someone living here until I have time to sell the place. I was going to put it on the market, but I was thinking of other possibilities. Making it into a hotel, a convalescent home for Talents wounded in action. All kinds of things. But I can’t think about it now.”

  “You keep saying that, and yet you’re still here.”

  He smiled, lifted his hand to trace his finger down her cheek. “I know. I’m waiting. If I get the call, I have to go, but I don’t want to leave you in that place. It’s not safe. You know that. Didn’t you say something about the creeps in the house?”

  She nodded but glanced at him wryly. “I can cope with them if I have to.”

  “I don’t want you to.”

  “Getting a bit protective for someone who might leave any minute, aren’t you?”

  Fuck, yes, he was. But he couldn’t help it. “Right now your anonymity is your best shot. If they’re watching me, they’ll know I’m with you, but they won’t know what you are.” Unless, he thought with a sinking heart, they had sound as well as vision on her apartment. What had he been thinking? Truth was, he hadn’t been thinking with his brain. Only his cock. “And something else, before I forget. The members of the team I belong to, Team Crystal, have a special sigil. Department operatives have one as well. So if anyone approaches you with these, you’ll know you can trust them.” He showed her the glimmering sigils, elaborately designed and difficult to reproduce. “May I put them in your mind?”

  “Can’t I take them?”

  He shook his head. “I have to put them there. They have all kinds of safety measures. A recent development, but I like it.”

  She opened her mind, and he took great care to plant the sigils deep. “If anyone approaches you and shows you these, don’t say or do anything until you’ve compared them to the ones I’ve given you. If there’s any deviation, get far, far away. If they match, then they’re okay. Right now the people who might contact you are men called Bryn, Kai, Domenici, and a woman called Esti. I’ll let them know about you, that you’re here and under my protection.”

  “So I’m your woman?” Typical to focus on that part.

  He grinned. “I don’t do multiples. When I’m with someone, it’s monogamous. That was the way my mam brought me up.”

  “To be a good boy?”

  “Sure.” Unable to resist, he drew her closer and kissed her. She opened her mouth for him, so sweetly, so naturally, and he sank right in. But before he lost his mind completely and rolled over and into her, he lifted away. “So you’ll move in? At least for now?”

  She sighed. “You don’t give in, do you?”

  “Nope.”

  “Okay. You win.”

  He rolled them so he lay over her, between her legs, the scent of their combined sexes drifting up from the covers. “Oh yes, I’d say I win.”

  Chapter Eight

  Two weeks later Cerys stood pulling pints when Dave passed by her workstation. He glanced at her, then stopped and leaned against the bar. “Did your boyfriend say good-bye before he disappeared?”

  She glared at him. “Of course.”

  “You’re lying.”

  “No, I’m not.”

  Yes, she was. The day after she’d accepted the keys to his house, Rhodri hadn’t come to collect her after work. Neither did she find a note when she returned. No e-mail, no text on her phone. Not even a tweet. Nothing. She knew he’d have to leave; he’d warned her. But she hadn’t known how much she’d miss him, how his absence left a space nobody else could fill. And how the lack of any contact, not even a “have to go, sorry” note, would hurt her.

  He’d asked her to trust him, but surely he’d have had time to leave her something?

  At first she’d expected him back soon, but the days merged into a week, then another, and he didn’t reappear or send a message. So that was where she fitted into his life. She’d have to accept the fact, or dump him. An occasional, fun lover.

  And here she was, pulling pints, fending off amorous customers. Same old, same old.

  But it had hurt too much to live in the house. She’d closed it up and moved back into her flat. Without a car, she’d had to do it bit by bit. Either that or get Dave to drive her, and she didn’t want to do that. He was already trying to console her, and she didn’t want anyone feeling sorry for her.

  Rhodri didn’t owe her anything, and he’d made her life brighter for the three weeks he’d been in it. That was what she told herself. She’d cried. At the end of the first week, when it was as if he’d never been there, she cried. But she never told anyone, and after that, she determined to put it behind her. Nobody would know except her and her pillow. And that bit of memory foam wasn’t about to talk.

  She’d bought books, rented videos, but nothing held her imagination that first week. The next week, she
began to listen to melancholy music. Then she decided she was out of it. So he’d gone. So what?

  All the stages of mourning, she realized as she carefully pulled another pint. Back to being a mortal, as far as anyone was concerned, locking her Talent away as her parents had taught her.

  She glanced up to see a remarkable man standing in front of her, waiting for his turn. Oh, silly her, he wasn’t waiting at all. The other customers in her section of the bar seemed to melt away, even though this was a busy night of the week and they were usually waiting three deep.

  But this man was in a class of his own—long, silvery blond hair caught back behind his head, penetrating, light blue eyes, and a height that would banish all but the most intrepid antagonist. And yes, the word antagonist came to mind.

  He stared at her, the merest twitch of one eyebrow indicating he wanted her attention. Commanding and arrogant, he should have repulsed her. But he fascinated her. The next moment she had an inkling as to why. He blinked and at the same time unveiled two sigils in his mind, sending them directly to her so she couldn’t miss them. This man was a Talent. More she wouldn’t admit right now. Rhodri had told her to compare the sigils carefully before she let anything slip. “Can I help you, sir?”

  “A small scotch, please.”

  “Single malt or blend?”

  “Glenmorangie. On ice.”

  She went to fill his order, giving herself a chance to compare the sigils. She didn’t have to concentrate on getting the scotch from the optics, so she took her time.

  Color, shape, everything matched. Even the small shadow at the bottom of one. Okay, so he was legit. “What do you want?”

  “I want to talk to you.”

  She still wanted to be sure. “In public. Here.”

  “Very well. I have a friend with me, a woman.” “Could you make that two, please? I’ll be at the table in the corner.”

  She glanced around to see him heading for the table with a blonde. From the back, she noted that the blonde was tall, her hair smoothly brushed into a French pleat, not a hair out of place. She walked with a confident sway that spoke of finishing schools and exclusivity. Instinctively Cerys didn’t like her, though in truth she was perhaps jealous. A Talent usually got that kind of treatment, not the upbringing she’d had, although her parents loved her.