Blood Wager (Blood Destiny #1)

by Connie Suttle

  -Lissa.

  "I think you missed your calling as a diplomat," Winkler said after I hit send on the second message.

  "I have some questions for you," I told Winkler. He sat down beside me after returning his laptop to the bedroom, his dark eyes focused on my face.

  "What do you want to know?" he asked.

  "Daryl said something about a Vampire Council," I said. "And he mentioned Enforcers and Assassins. He talked a little about rogue vampires, Winkler. What constitutes a rogue? What happens to them?"

  Winkler looked more uncomfortable than I'd ever seen him look. "Lissa, I really don't want to answer those questions," he said, raking fingers through his hair and then covering his face briefly with both hands.

  "I think you owe me those answers. Or the Grand Master does."

  "Yes, we both owe you those answers." Winkler removed his hands and studied my face before answering. "Every vampire that is successfully turned is registered with the Council by their sire, and their sire teaches them for a period of five years before they are considered a separate entity, able to go out and thrive on their own." Winkler watched me carefully as I digested this information. "Until that five year period is over, the sire is held responsible for his child's actions," he added, gauging my reaction to his words.

  "And if the sire," I pronounced the word with distaste, "fails to register his child?"

  "If the Council learns of it, they bring the sire in on charges and the child is considered rogue in most cases. Perhaps if the child is captured quickly, and fostered out with another vampire…"

  My heart no longer beats, so it cannot increase its pace. What happens to me when I become terrified is this: my skin quivers—over my entire body, almost. This time, in addition to the quivering, I wanted to cry. "How quickly is quickly?" My voice was quavering, too.

  "Perhaps a day or two. The new vampire will be feeding off the population, with no instruction or training. Many of the newly turned, or so I have heard, kill their donors if they are not taught to take blood properly. The killing of humans threatens the exposure of the race, just as it is with the wolves. In both cases the killers are deemed rogue and someone is sent to destroy them."

  "I'm a rogue." I got up from my seat and wobbled toward the French doors. Winkler didn't try to follow me. "I didn’t kill any of the ones I fed from, but I guess that doesn't make a difference, does it?" I put my hand on the door handle and walked out of the beach house.

  It was hard, but I managed to drag myself to the top of the guesthouse, which was taller than the beach house by at least six feet. The same word kept slowly revolving in my brain—rogue. I was a rogue. Did the Council know about me, yet? Were Ed and Serge still out there, desperate to find me so they wouldn't be brought in on charges? I wondered what their punishment would be for the charges brought against them. More needed information from the missing FVM.

  "Little girl, what are you doing on top of this roof?" Gavin seated himself beside me. I hadn't even heard him make the climb.

  "What are you doing on top of this roof?" I asked coolly. If I'd wanted company I'd have asked for it, but I didn't tell him that.

  "I asked you first."

  "Well, if you must know, I'm wallowing in self-pity. There. Happy now?" I kept my eyes straight ahead, watching the waxing gibbous moon rise over the gulf waters. Another full moon would come soon. It made me wonder if Winkler and his bunch would run with the Corpus Christi Pack or fly back to Dallas for the evening. Shirley Walker was the Packmaster here in Corpus Christi. I'd seen her at the meeting in North Dakota; we just pretended we didn't know each other. I also recalled that she hadn't come to the Grand Master's defense.

  "How are you feeling, other than sorry for yourself?" Gavin asked.

  "Are you asking out of politeness or because you want to know?" I answered his question with one of my own.

  "You're prickly tonight," he said.

  "Winkler just informed me that according to his knowledge of vampire law, I'm a rogue. How about that? I'm entitled to a little self-pity."

  "Winkler is a werewolf. And while he may be better versed than the average werewolf in the racial laws and politics of the vampire race, he may not know everything."

  "Honey, I wish I believed that," I muttered. "And I'm stiff all over, thank you for asking."

  "It may take a while for the poison to completely leave your system," Gavin rose and stretched a little. "I must go back to work." He walked over to the side of the roof and let himself down to the stair rail below.

  * * *

  "Honored One, the Grand Master lives because of her efforts, although she was poisoned by the bites of many in his defense. I can only imagine that she is a formidable fighter already, as I was told she took down at least twenty Packmasters, receiving grievous wounds in the process. Only now is she making a recovery, which is practically a miracle.

  G"

  * * *

  "Lissa, this is Kathy Jo Greene." Winkler brought the woman into the guesthouse the following evening. She was a werewolf; I could now tell the subtle differences between a human and a werewolf in human form by scent.

  "I'm a nurse at the hospital in Corpus," Kathy Jo approached and held out her hand. She was around five-six and slender, with long, straight dark hair. She was pretty, too. I shook her hand, wondering why Winkler had brought her in.

  "Kathy Jo knows how to give massages," Winkler was grinning at me, answering my silent question. "You're moving pretty stiff there, so we thought we'd see if a massage helped."

  I wanted to roll my eyes but thought better of it. Kathy Jo didn't deserve my sarcasm. I didn't even know her yet. She had lotion and a variety of massage oils in the bag she'd brought with her and asked me to get undressed.

  "Winkler," I nodded toward the door.

  "I saw every bit of what you have already," he was still grinning.

  "I wasn't awake to lodge a protest when you saw it," I pointed out.

  "Werewolves lose their modesty pretty fast," Kathy Jo informed me as she pushed me toward the bed. "Now get undressed."

  "Not a werewolf, and I'm sure you noticed that already," I said. The good news was that my red lines were fading to pale pink now and barely visible. I was hoping they'd disappear, at least before the Council's Enforcers or Assassins came to call. I wanted to look my best when I died for the last time.

  "I did notice. Doesn't bother me a bit," Kathy Jo smiled. "I met some very nice vampires about three years ago. Worked with them a little, too. You don't scare me. Besides, Winkler told me you almost made the ultimate sacrifice for the Grand Master. I don't know of any other vampire who'd do that."

  I was hoping fervently that she didn't correspond daily with any of those vampires or I was dead meat. Or ash, or whatever it was I'd be when the Council got done with me.

  "Your secret's safe," Winkler assured me as Kathy Jo pulled my top over my head.

  "Your body is somewhat the same, but your cells are denser and more closely packed so your skin is harder to pierce," Kathy Jo informed me as she rubbed knots and sore muscles. "I'm hoping that by stimulating the muscles, the poison still in your system will drain out of it faster. Someone told me that your body reacts to werewolf saliva in the same way that a human body produces histamines in reaction to something it's allergic to. Did you know that your tears—a vampire's tears, that is, are almost clear blood serum and not water?"

  "Wow," I said.

  "A vampire's tears would likely taste good to another vampire," she told me.

  "Good information to have," I said, my voice a little wobbly as she worked on my shoulders. Winkler leaned against the wall while I received my massage, apparently enjoying the show.

  I did feel better after Kathy Jo was done with me and I thanked her for the help. What I didn't know was that Daryl had arrived and was waiting inside the beach house for Winkler and me. Kathy Jo came in with us so she was introduced to Daryl. If I'd ever seen a case of love at first sight, I think I saw it then. Daryl
was fawning all over Kathy Jo, who I learned was a widow. Her husband had been killed three years earlier, after they'd been married six months. I knew that pain, all right. Daryl looked me over, seemed quite happy with my apparent health and promptly took Kathy Jo out to dinner.

  "Well, there you go," Winkler muttered as Daryl and Kathy Jo walked out the door together. "Shirley was all over the males down here, forcing them to back off so Kathy Jo could make up her mind on her next mate. And there I thought Daryl and Whitney would be good together."

  "Daryl's too old for Whitney," I looked at Winkler. "She's still young and she needs that youth that Sam has."

  "Do you know how old I am?" he asked, his eyes searching my face.

  "No. Daryl told me he was forty-eight."

  "I'm eighty-four," Winkler said, shocking me a little. "Whitney was a late-life baby for my mother. My father was the Dallas Packmaster before me. Do you know what that means?"

  I went perfectly still. The term challenge came to me then and I knew this was going to be bad. "You had to challenge your own father?" My voice was barely a whisper.

  "He demanded it," Winkler paced a little, his hands doing a nervous rake through his hair. "And he didn't even fight that hard. He was old—nearly a hundred and sixty and that's old for a Packmaster. Phil was just about to challenge him and dad was worried about Whitney and me. My baby sister was eleven at the time. We were all concerned that Phil would take her if he took the Pack. I wasn't about to let that happen so I took down my own father. Mom killed herself three days later with a bottle of pills."

  "Geez, Winkler, that's awful," I said. "Sit down honey. Maybe you should have gotten Kathy Jo to give you that rub instead of me." I almost had to push Winkler into a seat at the breakfast table.

  "Lissa, I know I have you over a barrel, not only because you don't have legitimate ID but now you know I could turn you over to the Council at any time." Winkler stared up at me. "The truth is, you're the best thing that's happened around here in a long while. Phil's a devoted Second now, just as he was for dad. And Davis and Glen would make good Seconds in any Pack. Phil would have taken over, Lissa, if you hadn't found me in the wheat field that night. I would have run out of air. The kidnappers drugged me when they caught me—shot me with a tranquilizer that would have brought down an elephant. Werewolf metabolism is fast so the drug didn't kill me, but lack of air would have. Phil would be in charge of the Dallas Pack and he would have forced Whitney to marry him. It would be his right as Packmaster."

  "Winkler, look at me," I sat back down, taking his hand. "Phil doesn't need to be in charge of anything. There's something wrong with him and I'm not saying that because he shot me in the back three times. I thought that before then. And I would have killed him myself before I'd let him have Whitney."

  Winkler blinked a few times before nodding—he appreciated the fact that I'd have protected his sister. But Winkler was werewolf, through and through. "Phil has been a good Second, Lissa," he defended Phil for that. "I disciplined him after he shot you while trying to hit Sam. He expected the discipline and accepted it. That whole incident was too soon after the full moon. Our tempers and emotions flare that entire week."

  "Must be hard to deal with, at times," I said.

  "It is. We don't schedule anything important during that week if we can help it."

  "It was quite the surprise when I figured out what all of you were," I muttered. "And right in the middle of five hundred werewolves on top of that. Daryl thought it was funny."

  "Lissa, I'm sorry we put you through that. But Weldon Harper is still alive, thanks to you."

  "Yeah, how about that," I said. "It's not every day I carry naked men up and down tall pines, just so we can avoid a pack of rabid Wolves."

  "Is that what you did?" Winkler laughed.

  "Yeah. When I carried him down to get him home, I told him he was obligated to tell his grandchildren how he was rescued from a tree by a cookie baking vampire."

  "You know, most vampires I've met are secretive and reserved and I've yet to meet one with a sense of humor, except for you. Maybe it's good that you're rogue, Lissa. They didn't spoil you."

  "Yeah. That's me all right. Lissa Hood, the outlaw vampire."

  "Are you still mad at me?" he asked, more seriously.

  "A little. Maybe more than a little. Too many people knew things and they weren't sharing. I've made this up as I went along. If I'd known what werewolf saliva would do to me, I might not have fought so hard to stay alive. That was worse than burning in the sun after I dug you out of that field."

  "Lissa, I'm sorry," Winkler took my hand that covered his and kissed it.

  "Don't be sorry. I think I've been sorry enough for both of us. Self-pity is now a regular destination," I said, taking my hand back.

  "I don't expect you to go back to work until you feel like it," Winkler said, lifting his arms over his head and stretching a little. "Leon's helping Gavin at night and James is holding the fort in Oklahoma City, still. Both are werewolves, in case you didn't know."

  "I figured it out," I shrugged. "I think I'd like to go into Corpus Christi tomorrow evening. I need more books," I said. "And I'd like to go by myself. Don't worry; your little puppet should be safe."

  "Lissa, I wish you'd stop calling yourself that."

  "What else should I call myself? Willing captive? Voluntary suicide? The stupid twit who's waiting for the Vampire Council to catch up with her?"

  "You're not stupid, Lissa. Don't say that to me again."

  "You and Gavin. 'Don't walk into the sun, Lissa. Don't call yourself stupid, Lissa'." I mimicked both of them as I walked out the French doors.

  * * *

  I had a pile of books on the café table inside Barnes and Noble, sipping hot tea and flipping through some of the hardcovers to make sure I really wanted to buy them. The weather was a little stormy outside, too. It was the eleventh of April, prime time for unstable conditions. The Cadillac was sitting in the parking lot so I hoped it wouldn't hail and dent it up. Spring weather in tornado alley is always unpredictable—it's just a fact of life.

  "Mind if I sit?" A man walked up with a stack of books in his arms. All the other tables were taken so I slid my books out of the way to give him space. "Thanks. I'll be right back, I need coffee," he said and went off to stand in line at the counter. He was back in less than five minutes, sitting down and doing the same thing I was doing—flipping through his books to see if he wanted them. I sipped my tea while I kept going through my books, reading beginnings as well as the flaps in some cases. Money deserts me swiftly inside a bookstore if I'm not careful.

  "I read that one," the man pointed at the front of my book. "It was so good I read it twice."

  "Wow. That's a recommendation," I said. "Do you read this author?"

  "No, not normally," he told me. "I think I've read one other by her. I liked it, too."

  "I'll give it a try," I said, putting it in the keep pile.

  "Do you live here?" he asked.

  "I'm a temporary resident," I said. I wasn't sure I wanted to get sucked into a conversation with this guy, even though he was attractive. He was also young—looked to be around thirty-five or so and that wasn't a plus in my book.

  "I'm just here for vacation," he said. "I took a whole six weeks. Actually, my boss made me use some of my time since I had too much vacation built up."

  "Yeah? What do you do?" I asked.

  "I work for the government," he said. "My boss thinks I'm about to get burned out so he sent me out the door and told me not to come back for six weeks."

  "And what did you think about that?" I couldn't help it; I was beginning to like this man.

  "I think I called him a name," he said as he sipped his coffee with a smile.

  "Oops."

  "Yeah. So here I am. Forced vacation."

  "Poor thing."

  "Am I whining?"

  "I think I like it," I said, smiling for the first time in days.

  "You're welco
me to whine back if you feel like it," he said. "Any chance I might run into you on the beach sometime in the next few weeks?"

  "Probably not. I work nights and sleep days," I said.

  "A night job?"

  "Security," I said. "You know—the kind that carries flashlights." He laughed.

  "Tony Hancock," he held out his hand.

  "Lissa Haddon," I took his hand and shook.

  "Lissa? For real?"

  "Yeah. Everybody thinks its Melissa, but it's not. I blame my parents."

  "Mine almost named me John Hancock instead of Tony Hancock." He had dimples. I love dimples. He also had black hair and grey eyes. I usually didn't see that combination outside of Irish actors.

  "Having John Hancock for a name might be unconstitutional," I said, grinning helplessly at Tony.

  "Nah, I think they made an amendment," he replied.

  "You know, it's nice when the entire country goes out of its way for you."

  "You know it. And my boss didn't even fire me, when I called him a dick."

  "And his name's not Richard, is it?"

  "No. It isn't."

  "He must like you," I said. I was smiling again. The most I'd smiled in a long time. His eyes were almost dancing with humor.

  "He says he doesn't, but then I don't get fired, so what do you make of that?" he said.

  "I think he likes you, or your work, or both," I said. "And he's a liar on top of that."

  Tony laughed out loud. "Come on. Let's pay for our books and then go find a drink somewhere."

  "You're kidding?"

  "Not. Come on." He had my arm in his hand, almost dragging me toward the register. He'd picked up my books, too.

  "Your car or mine?" he asked after we'd paid.

  "The last time I picked up a male, he stabbed me," I said. "So you drive. That way I can slap a knot on your head if you get out of hand."

  "Fair enough. If I ask, will you slap a knot anyway?"

  "No, and don't misbehave, I don't want to hit you."

  "Did somebody really stab you?" He was serious, suddenly.

  "Yes, he did. I threw him out of the car and had to go get the wound cleaned out. That wasn't fun." We walked toward his rental. The weather had let up and the clouds were blowing away as Tony unlocked the doors of his compact SUV. He even opened the door for me. The rental was nearly new and smelled it as I slid inside and buckled up.