Blood Wager (Blood Destiny #1)

by Connie Suttle

  "Lissa, this is my baby sis," Winkler said, pulling her around to introduce us. Her name was Whitney. Whitney Wynne Winkler. His name was William Wayne Winkler. And I thought my dad had a horrible sense of humor. Whitney took my hand and shook while I smiled at her. That warmed things up a little, I think. She was pretty, with the same shade of dark hair that Winkler had and stood about a foot shorter than her brother. Only Gavin was taller than Winkler, who topped six-three. That put Whitney just a little taller than I was and Davis, Phil, Glen and the two guards treated her like royalty.

  Davis offered drinks and snacks to Gavin and me as we took seats inside the spacious family room. The others were engrossed in a Mavericks basketball game playing on the giant flat screen television mounted on the wall. Gavin asked for scotch and soda; I settled for a glass of wine. Alcohol has no effect on a vampire if they drink it straight. Mine had to be laced with blood and come directly from the source. In my limited experience, anyway. Gavin also had a quiet conversation with Whitney and she was smiling and laughing with him in no time. Go figure.

  "Whitney wants to go shopping tomorrow evening at the mall in Corpus," Winkler informed me later. "I want you to go with her and Sam." Sam was the second guard that met us at the airport.

  "All right," I nodded. Winkler and the rest of them went to bed around three; Gavin and I began our guard duty then. I enjoyed walking that perimeter—the ocean was beautiful and the sound of the water quite soothing.

  The fog hung around all day and the weather was cooler than it normally was at this time of year. It served to hide me quite nicely when I rose the following evening and found a tourist to feed from. The young man tried to hug me as I drank from him. He even smelled nice—not covered up with suntan lotion or anything else—the scent was all him. I thanked him before telling him to forget me, sending him on his way down the beach.

  That night was when I chose to wear the second outfit that Davis had brought to me in Dallas. I wore the short-sleeved plum top, along with the charcoal slacks and kitten heels. Winkler was appreciative of the clothing when I showed up inside the house a bit later. I'd passed Gavin on my way out the guesthouse door and noticed he was wearing a deep frown on his face, his arms crossed over his chest in obvious disapproval. Well, I was willing to let him take Whitney shopping while I stayed there and watched the house and the ocean.

  Sam drove us in one of the SUVs. He and Whitney both sat in the front and kept up a teasing conversation during the entire drive into Corpus Christi. Sam was young, I thought, in his early twenties and quite a handsome kid. The blackest hair with eyes to match, coupled with a wolfish grin that came easily plus a great sense of humor. Whitney relaxed around him but always seemed a little tense around Phil, Glen and Davis. Maybe she was just sick of Winkler's bodyguards. I don't think it hurt any that Sam smelled three quarters human and one quarter warm puppy. Perhaps Whitney was responding to that, too. Phil always smelled like a wet dog to me. Could be his aftershave—how was I to know?

  Padre Staples Mall is right off South Padre Island Drive and easy to find. We parked by Dillards and walked inside the mall, where I discovered quickly that Whitney was a shopaholic. Sam had to walk away while she rummaged through the lingerie section inside Dillards, talking about this bra as opposed to that one and loading the sales clerk down with underwear. "What do you think?" she held up a leopard-print bra in front of her small breasts, asking for my opinion.

  "Well, that looks sexy," I said. "If that's your goal, mission accomplished."

  Whitney's dimple showed in her cheek as she smiled at me. "I'll take it!" She bounced over to the clerk and added it to the growing pile. I hoped Winkler had as hefty a bank account as I imagined he might, he was going to need it. Whitney also picked out two pairs of panties that matched the leopard-print bra before turning to other colors. She spent fifteen hundred dollars on underwear in the first store alone.

  Sam ran the bags out to the truck while Whitney and I ventured into the mall. Next came a small, exclusive dress shop where Whitney tried on dress after dress and then slacks and pretty blouses, most of which were silks or other expensive fabrics.

  "I really want to look good tomorrow night when we go out," she dimpled again. I didn't ask her where she was going, I really didn't want to know. Wherever it was, it meant that Gavin and I got the night off to do as we pleased and I was looking forward to it. I'd already thought about climbing onto the roof of the beach house just to sit up there and watch the waters of the gulf. I'd only been to the beach twice before in my entire life and I'd never gotten to stay on the beach. Those hotels and condos were just too expensive for Don and me to afford.

  Whitney spent another two thousand in the dress shop before going to look for shoes and handbags. An exclusive handbag shop got twelve hundred for two purses. The least expensive thing she bought was a pair of running shoes. We found heels, flats, sandals and flip-flops in Dillards on our way out. I could almost hear Winkler's credit card weeping pitifully from the abuse.

  Whitney was hungry afterward, so we stopped at a seafood restaurant on the other side of the highway. She and Sam both ate like there was no tomorrow. I had no idea how she kept her pretty figure; they had appetizers, salads and three entrees between them. Whitney must have the metabolism of a body-builder, I mused while sipping my wine and watching the two of them eat and tease each other.

  "Texas A&M, Corpus, is not the University of Texas," Whitney poked at Sam, who grinned and tried to tickle her. "I go to the University of Texas."

  "Where they don't know a damn thing about agriculture," he shot back, tussling a little with her. "My dad owns most of the land south of here and we supply quite a bit of the U.S. with cotton and spinach," he grinned. "Come on, tell me you hate spinach." Whitney giggled as he successfully tickled her ribs.

  "I hate spinach," she said, sitting up and straightening her long black hair. Sam laughed.

  "We also grow avocados," Sam went on. "Tell me you don't like guacamole."

  "I love guacamole," she offered a very pretty smile.

  "See, there is something to love about me," he said.

  Sam drove us home after that. Whitney was happily showing Winkler her purchases once we were inside the beach house. Except for the underwear, that is. That gave me the opportunity to slip out of the house. After changing into my normal uniform of jeans and athletic shoes, I took up my duty as guard. "Have fun?" Gavin grumbled as I passed him on my counter-clockwise walk around the perimeter.

  "You have no idea," I rolled my eyes a little. He almost smiled. A good friend would have heard the tale of the bras and underwear, but Gavin wasn't a good friend. I didn't know what he was, truthfully, running hot and cold most of the time. He seldom showed any emotion, watching the rest of us covertly, at times. I didn't know what to make of that. As usual, I had to force Gavin out of my thoughts—that street went nowhere. While I worked my shift that night, I wondered if Winkler knew about the attraction between his sister and Sam. It was probably none of my business anyway, so I shrugged it off.

  The following night off wasn't all mine to do as I pleased, I discovered. Winkler left a list of things to pick up at the grocery store in nearby Port Aransas, and the inside of the beach house looked like a hurricane had come through. The trip to the store came first, and (no surprise) the list was filled with snacks, junk food and sodas. Just as a practical joke, I threw in a couple bags of salad, fruit juice, bananas and apples, plus a few gourmet cheeses. I used to love Gruyere. A wedge went into the shopping cart. I also picked up ingredients to bake oatmeal cookies. At least those cookies had fiber in them.

  I baked cookies later while I cleaned up the kitchen. With no cleaning staff in residence, things inside the beach house went downhill as quickly as a loaded truck with no brakes. It was a beautiful kitchen, too, with granite countertops and island along with a very nice cooktop and double ovens. The cookies were done in no time. I let them cool before piling them on a platter and covering them with plastic wrap
so the others would see what they were.

  The kitchen was as clean as I could make it before starting on the living area and media room. There was popcorn between the sofa cushions, so I vacuumed the whole thing out. The rings on the glass coffee table were wiped off and I even dusted a little. No way was I touching the bedrooms, though. I figured those were in an even bigger mess. I did clean the main bathroom. It needed it already; it smelled like men.

  Then I went to do my roof sitting. The peak of the roof was a good place to settle and watch a full moon rise over the gulf waters. The light cast a wide path over the ocean, which twinkled with the constant movement of the water. The sky above me was a deep, clear blue that nearly sparkled with crispness. Gavin didn't make a sound as he climbed onto the roof, sitting down about a foot away from me. My knees were drawn up to my chin while I sat there, my arms hugging my legs. Gavin didn't say anything as he settled nearby.

  "Bored?" I finally asked to break the silence.

  "Occasionally," he said. "Not now."

  "I came up to watch the moon over the water," I said.

  "I came up to watch, too."

  My chin was now resting on my knees as I watched the water. Gavin had unwittingly disturbed my peace when he climbed up to join me. Now, instead of the soothing sound of the surf, Gavin's scent hung thick in the air. That unsettled me and eventually brought me to my feet. I dusted the back of my jeans and walked over to the edge of the roof, climbing down onto the frame of the wooden deck. That's how I'd climbed up to start with, so I decided to go down the same way. Gavin didn't follow.

  * * *

  "Those cookies were so good, I think Winkler ate half of them," Davis told me the following evening. "Does this mean you know how to cook? I mean for real?"

  "Yeah, I know how to cook for real," I said. "Why?"

  "Well, a meal might not go amiss, now and then," Davis was almost begging. "You know what a big deal it is for all of us to go out and eat."

  I did know that. It was almost a circus, with Winkler surrounded by security at all times. That had to bother him. It would me.

  "If you'll let me run to the store, I'll fix something tonight," I said. "In fact, I'll make Winkler a chicken-fried steak. Maybe the best he's ever had. At least it'll be authentic."

  "Tell me what you want to drive," Davis was very interested now. There was a four-year-old Cadillac in the garage in addition to the two SUVs. I took the Cadillac and picked up everything I needed, along with enough chicken breasts and thighs to do fried chicken for them in a night or two.

  Winkler got his chicken-fry, plus mashed potatoes and gravy, baby peas and Texas toast. I made chocolate pie for dessert. No, I can't taste it anymore, but I'd been cooking for nearly thirty years. I knew what I was doing. I did eat a little of the meal to make things look normal, but I had to get rid of it later, which was a shame. I had the memory of what it all had tasted like. It was a good thing I made three chocolate pies; Winkler ate half of one by himself. And he loved the chicken-fried steak.

  "What do you do to the mashed potatoes?" he asked. Those were a specialty.

  "A lot of butter and half and half, and then you whip them," I said.

  "Do you know how to make egg custard pie?" Whitney asked, her eyes pleading.

  "Yeah. My mother taught me," I said. "I use half and half in that, too, instead of milk. It makes it creamier."

  "Will you make one for me? Please?" She was begging.

  "Tomorrow," I laughed. "I'll do fried chicken and make a custard pie."

  "Can you make enough for two extras, tomorrow?" Winkler asked. "We're expecting guests."

  "I think so. Do they eat as much as you do?" I teased.

  "Probably," he grinned. "Thanks for cleaning up, by the way. Phil wasn't looking forward to vacuuming."

  "We probably need to clean some more if company's coming," I put my hands on my hips, just like my mother used to. Gavin was standing in a corner, snickering at my antics. "Are they spending the night?" I asked, glaring at Gavin. He schooled his face into a blank expression.

  "No, not spending the night," Winkler said. Sam and Todd came into the house then and helped themselves to what remained of dinner. There wasn't anything left to throw out or put away when I loaded up the dishwasher the second time. I hauled out the mop, cleaned the kitchen floor and then did a little vacuuming after that.

  "I think these guys were raised in a barn," I told Whitney later, making her laugh.

  My rounds came next. Gavin and I passed each other three times before he said anything. "They'll expect those things from now on," he pointed out.

  "I know." I sighed a little. "I don't mind cooking and cleaning. At least I know what I'm doing."

  "You don't know what you're doing now?" The question and his gaze were almost gentle.

  "I have no idea what I'm doing," I told him. "I've had to make this up as I go along. It's isn't like somebody handed me a manual, or anything." That was a double entendre but he didn't know that.

  "And what if the manual doesn't exist?" he stepped a little closer and I felt his breath fan the hair at my temple.

  "Then somebody screwed up," I said tartly. "If there isn't a manual, then somebody needs to write it or show up. What's that old saying—when the student is ready, the teacher appears? That's all idealistic bullshit." I watched his lips quirk a little.

  "I'm not sure they meant a physical teacher," Gavin was smiling now.

  "Then they need to say what they mean and stop talking in circles," I grumbled. We were standing in front of the house where we usually passed each other on our rounds. Gavin lifted his hand, just for a moment, as if he were about to touch my cheek and then thought better of it. That wasn't him and we were standing in front of the house, even though all the lights were out and everybody was probably asleep. I started walking again. After a few seconds, Gavin did, too. We didn't speak again the remainder of the night.

  * * *

  "Lissa, this is Weldon Harper and his son, Daryl," Winkler introduced his guests. Weldon Harper was tall and almost as broad across the shoulders as Gavin was. Dark haired and eyed, he had rugged good looks and I imagined he might win the tough man competition should he ever decide to enter. His son Daryl looked very much like him. Maybe half an inch shorter, if that. Two others had come in as well—Shirley Walker and Daniel Carey. Here was the elusive Shirley Walker, and she didn't fit any of my expectations. Shirley was nearly six feet tall and looked like she could give Weldon Harper a good run for his money. Daniel Carey was tall and lean; he had to be at least six-six with a military bearing about him.

  Thankfully, I had enough fried chicken. I'd asked Winkler if he wanted a sit-down dinner or if he wanted it buffet-style. He opted for buffet style, so everybody helped themselves. Phil, Davis and Glen almost fell over each other, offering drinks to Weldon and his son. Sam was there as well, keeping his eyes on Whitney most of the night while everybody else pretty much ignored him and Todd.

  It didn't take a genius to figure out that Weldon was important, although nobody ever said how or why and I knew enough not to ask. Whitney hugged me after she ate her first piece of custard pie and then had another slice. She might have eaten more than that but all four pies were gone by that time. "I'll make more, sometime," I promised. That got me another hug. Go figure. Female Vampire-Security Guard-Cook. I wondered how that would fit on a business card. That brought me to the thought about vampires in general. I knew Ed and Serge had come to the bar together. How did they know each other? How had they met? Was there a vampire network out there somewhere? Some way to connect? There was no way of telling.

  The fog settled in again that night as I cleaned up the kitchen and left Winkler and his guests talking and laughing in the media room. Afterward, I went off to make my rounds in the mist. The fog thickened as the night wore on, bringing up something I'd forgotten. Was it a possibility, (it was, according to fiction and folklore) that vampires could turn to mist? I thought that it was likely just as ridiculous
as a vampire turning into a bat. It might not hurt to try, though, just for fun, since I was surrounded by mist as I walked the perimeter.

  When it was time for my nightly break, I walked out toward the water, standing there and concentrating. I know, I thought it was ridiculous, too. I was ready to give up on my concentration after a couple of minutes, but that's when I noticed the change. Looking down, I could no longer see my hands. Or my feet. What the hell? That shook me a little, causing my limbs to rematerialize. Taking a couple of deep, calming breaths, I decided to try again. I think it took roughly five minutes or so, but I felt light as a feather after that, discovering I could move around just by willing it. I floated over the house. Man, this was something. I wish I'd known about this before. I returned to the foggy beach and concentrated on becoming solid again. It took another five minutes. Okay, not good as a weapon if you wanted to jump somebody—it took too long. But if you wanted to slip inside somewhere, or had time to turn and then turn back again, it had possibilities. Too bad I didn't have any vamp friends with whom to discuss this. Or the FVM, to explain all the ramifications. Actually, I was too excited about the whole thing at the moment. I could turn to mist and fly.

  "Who was visiting?" Gavin finally asked as we passed on one of our rounds.

  "Some guy named Weldon Harper and his son Daryl," I said. I wasn't expecting his swift intake of breath. "What? Who is he?" I demanded, stopping short and staring at Gavin.

  "It's better that you don't know," Gavin replied enigmatically. "For your own safety."

  "Crap," I mumbled. "Was I in danger tonight?"

  "No more so than you usually are," Gavin replied cryptically. "Don't ask any questions about him, Lissa. This is important." He gripped my shoulder—hard.

  "All right," I huffed, pulling away from his grasp. His fingers digging into my skin hurt a little. We finished out our shift and I was more than glad to get a shower and climb into bed just as dawn was announcing its arrival.

  "Are you going to cook for us tonight?" Whitney had a hopeful look in her eyes when I walked into the house the following evening.