Guardian by Blood

by Evie Byrne

  Of course she couldn’t tell Wat any of this, because it would probably make him slit his wrists. So she just shrugged and said, “I really can’t say why they were here.”

  Wat poked at the fire, frowning into the embers. Eva leaned forward and rested her chin on her fists, thinking. These people were the victims of Halverson’s bad decisions. Her orders were to pull off a peaceful transition, if at all possible. She had no love for violence, though she engaged in it regularly. There had to be some middle path between absolute compliance and absolute destruction. Perhaps the terms of the treaty were too harsh—no, not too harsh, just incomplete. Maybe Wat and his people would move South peaceably if they had somewhere to go, some assurance that they could make their way in a city. They had to understand that there was life outside the forest, that feeding on humans wasn’t a compromise, but rather the path to a better way of life. Maybe she could show them the way. If only she could figure out how.

  Wat heard the water start to boil. He made the coffee, leaving Eva Sosa Padilla to her thoughts. She was a strange creature, very hard to read. Mostly she showed him nothing but a carefully composed mask, but just a moment ago, she’d opened up, just a crack. Christ, Wat, she’d said. It seemed there might be a heart under there somewhere. The silence stretched for the three minutes it took for the coffee to brew and for him to pour it into cups.

  “Do you take sugar?” he asked.

  “What?” she looked up at him, startled.

  He almost smiled. She’d been leaning so close to the fire that her face had turned pink. If she didn’t move away soon, she’d roast.

  “Oh. No thanks.” She took the cup from him.

  Their fingers brushed, and the sensation almost made him jerk away. It was like a static shock, but an erotic one—a power surge straight to the groin. He turned away, disturbed. Was this some strange reaction brought on by his too-naked confession? There was nothing sexy going on here. This woman was his enemy. He forced himself to look her direction again.

  Two red spots glowed on her cheeks, beneath her bright, dark eyes. Her hair was shiny, almost black, very much like her eyes. Pieces of it curved forward along her cheekbones, her jaw line, her throat, as if saying, look here. Touch here. Taste here. She took a sip of coffee and sighed. Her mask of stone dropped completely, her face went soft, and her eyes closed in unabashed pleasure. “Oh, this is good.”

  Hell and ice. He’d never seen coffee drinking made into a sensual act. Was it for his benefit?

  An unfamiliar step sounded on the porch. He spun around. A knock at the door followed.

  They put down their cups and went to the door. The man she’d assigned as the medic stood outside, guarded by two of Wat’s men.

  “I’ve done what I can for Flitch, but he’s hurting bad. I think his arm is broken. We need a doc.”

  She waved the man in and closed the door behind him. He looked around Wat’s house with the exact same expression she’d worn when she came in. Here you see the burrow of the elusive Northwoods vampire. Males construct these shelters for their mates and offspring solely in boreal habitats...

  Eva spoke. “You got a doc anywhere around here?”

  “We’ve got lay healers, but no facilities. If you’re wanting x-rays, you’d have to go down to Duluth. There’s a vamp doc there, Connie Curtis.”

  Eva put her hands on her hips and studied her feet, probably calculating how long it would take to drive to Duluth. A long, long time on these roads. After a moment, she said, “I’ve got to go back to the cars and make a call. Excuse me.”

  When they were gone, he stood in the center of the room, blank. Unsettled. He took a sip of coffee and found it too bitter. Everything was too bitter these days. He stirred in a spoonful of sugar.

  The door opened again, and Ivar entered, his front caked with snow.

  “You were up on the roof, listening.” It wasn’t a question, so Ivar didn’t answer, just found a cup and helped himself to some coffee.

  Ivar shifted the conversation to the old tongue, probably out of paranoia. “You told her a lot.”

  “I said what I needed to say.”

  “A lot.”

  “Paul fucked up. This is not a secret.” Wat switched to English to say “fucked up.” Their language was full of useful vulgarities, but nothing could replace that phrase.

  Ivar’s lip curled. “Paul liked to keep his hands clean.”

  Wat grunted in agreement. They couldn’t agree enough on how much they’d disliked Paul Halverson and his cowardly tactics. “Gunnar is different, thank the Father. I don’t think anyone will call him Raven Starver behind his back.”

  “We won’t live long enough to find out if the fates have their way.” Ivar swallowed his coffee in one gulp and headed toward the door. His hand flicked in a signal that said he was off to do some reconnoitering.

  “Be careful.” It was a needless caution. No one saw Ivar if he didn’t want to be seen, but Wat had to say things like that—Ivar was his little brother.

  Ivar turned back. “It’s not too late. We can all go into the woods. Slip out at dawn.”

  “This is no time of year to be living in the rough. The old ones, the little ones—”

  “I’d take care of them.”

  “If anyone could, it would be you.” Wat closed the distance between them and clapped his brother on the shoulder. “Those who wished to go have already left.”

  “I know.”

  “The time has come. We have our charge.”

  “I don’t like it.”

  “The gods protect their own.”

  Ivar rolled his eyes. “I protect my own. Speaking of which, you do know she’s their sharpest blade?”

  Wat didn’t have to ask to which “she” Ivar referred. His fingers tingled with the memory of that brief contact with her skin, and his answer was more snappish than he meant it to be. “Do you think I’m an idiot?”

  “You know I do.” Ivar flashed a smile at him and slipped out the door like a shadow.

  Wat paced until he could stand it no more, and then went back outside to see what was happening.

  As he passed through the brush blind, he searched first for Ivar, spotting him beneath one of their SUVs. Their vehicles were—of course—black, shiny and new, with tinted windows and all the trimmings. Eva stood in a knot of her people, but broke free when she saw Wat and came to meet him. Of all the people standing there, only she looked happy. Well, not happy—just not completely pissed.

  “Wat. You got a place for me to stay?”

  He blinked in surprise. “You’re staying?”

  “Seems we’ve got a lot to talk about. I’m sending my men to Duluth with Flitch. I want them to start now. They can make it to that little town back on the main highway, what’s it called—Moose something?—by dawn. Then they can get a good start on better roads tomorrow night.

  One of her men said, “I want it recorded that I’m going under protest.”

  She glared at him. “I’ve got Dominick’s go-ahead, so I don’t know what you think you’re protesting.”

  If he recalled correctly, Dominick was Adad’s second.

  “Dominick isn’t here. He hasn’t seen what we’ve seen.”

  Wat didn’t like the belligerent looks of this man. Suffice it to say, he wouldn’t invite him hunting.

  Eva didn’t seem to like him much either. Her dark eyes flashed with irritation. “If I’m not in perfect shape when you return, you have my permission to burn this place to the ground. Is that satisfactory?”

  The man considered her words. “It’s a start. But we should take the boy as insurance.”

  “No. He’s staying. He can live or die with the rest of them. Get him out of the car, now.”

  Now her people were staring at her is if she were insane.

  Welcome to the club, Miss Sosa.

  “Do it,” she said, and though she did not shout, the power of command in her voice rang out clear and strong. Perhaps she wasn’t as disposable as h
e’d first thought.

  A pair of them went to the center car and opened the door. A lanky figure climbed out, stumbling, but shoving aside their hands. Seemed like little cousin Gunnar had grown near a foot since Wat had last seen him. The boy looked around and found him.

  “Wat!” he cried.

  Wat took one step, then another, and then he had Gunnar in his arms. The boy clung to him as if he were drowning. He couldn’t imagine what this kid had seen the night his parents died, or what he’d been through since.

  “You’re okay, boy,” he muttered into Gunnar’s hair. It smelled like store-bought shampoo, like motel rooms and chlorinated water. “You’re going to be okay.”

  Eva got her men into their cars and on their way in a roar of engines, leaving her standing in the tire treads with two small bags at her feet and a cloud of exhaust circling her like fog. They’d left one of the SUVs behind for her use. A few of his people stood at a distance, watching the show.

  Ivar loped up and slapped Gunnar on his back. While they exchanged greetings, Wat went to Eva.

  “You’ve got balls, Miss Sosa.”

  She grimaced. “It was shitty for you to pull this stunt, but nonetheless, I’ll listen to what you have to say. I warn you, though—I doubt anything I learn here will make much difference to Alya. I’ve never seen her change her mind once it’s made up.” She brushed her hair out of her eyes and looked up at him. “I sent them all away so no one else would get shot, and so I can have some peace. I trust that if you intend to kill me, you’ll do it now, and save us both the waiting?”

  Kill you? I could kiss you. Now he could do some real convincing, maybe take her on a hunt, make her understand that he and his people could not be separated from their land. “I guarantee your safety. On my honor and my name and my life.” He touched his heart, lips, and brow. “A threefold promise. Tell that to your Dominick.” She gave him a queer look as he picked up her bags. “Come to my place.”

  Once home, he led her through the great room to the rear part of the house, where the walls smelled comforting, of earth and roots and old wood. Four bedchambers lined a narrow hallway. He opened the door to his grandmother’s room and motioned for Eva to step inside. A year after his father died, Wat had claimed his parent’s room, which was just across the hall. He liked sleeping in the big bed he’d been born in. Ivar’s room was next door, stripped down and stark as a monk’s cell. Gunnar could have Wat’s boyhood room.

  He walked around the room, pulling dust covers off the furniture. His amma had been a tidy woman, and he’d tried to keep her room clean in her honor. No one had slept in it since she’d died there. The Hand didn’t need to know that. He showed her the bed, which was set in the wall, hidden behind a pair of carved doors.

  “It’s…uh…cozy,” she said, sounding unconvinced.

  The bare mattress did look a little forlorn, the sleeping cabinet stark. It had been cozy, a long time ago. He’d cuddled in that bed with his amma while she read him stories. Now it was just furniture. A few of her things remained, like the china dachshund on the mantle, once-loved objects that were now bittersweet to look at.

  He cleared his throat. “I’ll get you some bedding. Be right back.”

  In his room across the hall, he rifled through the cupboard for clean sheets and a pillow, sniffing and rejecting those that smelled musty. While rooting, he found a rolled-up bear skin and took that as well. She’d appreciate the extra warmth. Or maybe not. Maybe she would find fur offensive. He hesitated. City vamps had a lot of strange notions. After some contemplation, he decided to give her the quilt off his bed, as it was the biggest and warmest in the house. Wrapped in it, she wouldn’t need to use the skin.

  The scent of wood smoke caught his attention as he folded the quilt. Way too much smoke, and it was coming from Eva’s room. Fumbling the bedding, he dashed across the hall and found her stabbing at the fireplace with a broom. Smoke blanketed the ceiling.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Trying to put the damn thing out!”

  “What the…? Let me take a look.” He dropped the bedding inside the door. She backed up, holding the smoldering broom at arm’s length. Gunnar and Ivar poked their heads in the door and helped matters not at all by sniggering. Wat took the broom from her and handed it to Gunnar. “Take that outside—Your Highness—and stub it in the snow. Ivar, why don’t you help him?”

  Gunnar marched off, holding the smoking broom before him like a flag. Ivar sauntered behind.

  The problem was that none of the smoke was going up the chimney. He reached up and opened the flue. Eva leaned over to watch. “You ever hear of a flue?”

  She frowned. “No.”

  Surprised, he said, “Really?” He’d been being sarcastic.

  She shrugged. “I don’t have a fireplace. My parents don’t have one in their house. I’ve only built fires on the beach.”

  “I see. Which is why this one was as big as a bonfire.”

  “I was cold.”

  “You’re cold because you’re not acclimated to our climate and because you’re not properly dressed.”

  “Not properly dressed?” She made a sweeping gesture down her front, over her tight little black jacket and even tighter technical pants. “This is from Patagonia.”

  “Don’t people in Patagonia wear hats? You need one. And you can’t wear your clothes so tight in this weather. You need air space between your body and your outer layer.” He tugged at his open coat to illustrate. “You’re jacket is very…er…but it’s too tight, like I said, and too short. It needs to come down lower, should at least cover your…your hips.” As he said this, his gaze locked low, admiring the magic feminine ratio of waist to hip, and for a moment, he was entranced. Then he broke free and continued more sternly. “And whoever made those boots should be shot.”

  “Okay, so I’m a fashion victim. Everyone knows that. Can I start the fire again, or are you going to lecture me until I freeze to death?”

  “Let me do it.” He poked the logs apart and started laying in kindling. “You put on the big logs too soon. That made the smoke. This is all dry wood here. There shouldn’t be smoke unless you do something wrong.”

  She sighed. “Where’s the bathroom?”

  “There’s an outhouse in the back.” His hands busy, he gestured with his chin. “Or all the forest beyond, should you prefer to be at one with nature.”

  “And if I have to pee in the middle of the day?”

  “There’s a chamber pot under the bed. Just empty it come nightfall, or it will start to stink.”

  “A chamber pot?” She crossed her arms. “You can’t be serious.”

  “We don’t have power, either. This is how we do things. You want to head for Moose Junction now?”

  She spread her hands. “Oh, no. This is an adventure. Like camping.”

  “You like to camp?” Hope kindled. Love of camping meant a rapport with nature which meant—

  “Never done it in my life. I don’t like bugs. Or dirt. Or living without hot showers.”

  “Ah. Well.” He could promise her no bugs or dirt. Hot showers though…well, there was the sauna. She’d like the sauna. He forbade himself from imagining her in the sauna. “We’ll try to make you comfortable.”

  She gave him a tolerant half-smile, as if he’d proposed the impossible.

  Finished with the fire, he stood and brushed off his hands. “There’s a basin on that stand for washing and drinking. We’ll fill it up for you, but there’s a pump in the work room if you need more. If you want hot water, you can put it in that pot to warm.” He pointed to a little kettle on the hearth. “See the hook over the fire? Or ask me to heat some up for you. And here—”he shoved the assembled bedding at her—“Get under all this, put the skin over you, and you’ll be plenty warm.”

  “Oh my god.” She unrolled the bear skin and shook it out. He held his breath, hoping she wouldn’t be offended. “Is this real?”

  “Well, yes.” Why would anyone
want a fake bear skin? “It’s warm, you see.”

  “I’ll bet,” she purred, stroking the fur, her eyes gleaming with pure, animal sensuality. “I’d love to sleep naked between two of these.”

  Okay, so no fur objections. That was good. But the image of her sleek, naked body, glowing like a pearl on dark fur…that was bad. “There are sheets, too. And a pillow. And a quilt.” He was babbling. Where’d her stone face gone? He’d like it to come back now.

  “What I really need is a human,” she said, still caressing the pelt.

  “Pardon?”

  “They’re warm.” A long sigh. “Such amazing body heat. It’s so nice to sleep wedged between two of them.” She must have caught his surprised expression because she smiled to one side, revealing a deep dimple. “They’re better than bear skins, I suspect. Come on, you must have had human lovers.”

  He’d never had sex with a human. Ivar hadn’t even had sex with a human—or Wat was pretty sure he hadn’t. “We keep our distance from humans. It’s best.”

  “You sure about that?” She swiped her cheek against the fur, a cat marking her territory.

  That sealed it. Ivar was right. She was a weapon.

  He backed out the door. “You’ll be wanting to settle in and rest, I expect. Tomorrow I’ll have coffee ready at sundown. Join me by the fire, and we can talk then about what we’re going to do.”

  She nodded. “Is Gunnar is staying here?”

  “Yes. And my brother, Ivar, lives here, too.”

  “That’s good. Gunnar shouldn’t be alone. He has nightmares.”

  As Wat closed the door, he said, “Sleep safe.”

  She smiled. “You, too.”