Blurred Bloodlines [2nd in Blurred Trilogy]

by Kallysten

  "Will you come with me to talk to Simon?"

  Marc forced himself to look at Kate. Her eyes were still very red, and the black-blue circles around them made her appear older. Grief shortened human lives faster than disease, hunger, or even fear. Unable to hold her gaze, he turned his eyes to Daniel again, and made a half gesture toward him.

  "I should..."

  He couldn't finish. He had been about to say that he had to be there for Daniel, but Blake was his Childe as well. He was more than that, even if they'd never had any use for the words.

  "Marc?” Kate said when he didn't reply. Her hand clasped his arm so tightly that her short nails bit into his skin through his shirt. “Please. We have to get him back."

  He covered her hand with his and nodded. “Yes. Let's go."

  They stood, hands reaching for each other and clasping at once. Marc glanced at Daniel again before leaving, and made the silent promise that he'd be back in time for his awakening. Until Daniel rose as a vampire, there was nothing Marc could do for him.

  He only wished he hadn't be so scared there wasn't anything he could do for Blake, either.

  Kate clutched Marc's hand all the way to Simon's room, two floors above his. She didn't know what she would have done if he hadn't been with her. She couldn't imagine not having him at her side when she had already lost Blake.

  Her own reaction had shocked Kate. She had always prided herself on her strength. She was a soldier, had always been a soldier, and she knew that losing comrades was part of it. She had never lost a lover before, though, and had been wholly unprepared for the pain she felt.

  As she glanced at Marc's expressionless features, she couldn't help but wonder—how much did he hurt? He wasn't only Blake's lover; he was also his Sire. They had spent much more time together than Kate had even been alive. Was his pain beyond tears? Or was he waiting to be alone, maybe? She squeezed his hand gently, a reassurance to herself that she wasn't alone, and to him that neither was he.

  She guided him to Simon's door, and only after she had knocked did she realize that she didn't know what time it was. Maybe Simon was asleep, maybe—

  The door opened after only seconds and Simon appeared behind it, his clothes as rumpled as his hair. Tear tracks had left his face red, and as she and Marc stepped inside, he scrubbed at his eyes. He didn't look like he had caught much more sleep than she had.

  "You've got to help us,” she said. Her voice cracked, and she cleared her throat, trying to make it firm again. “We have to get him back."

  Simon walked back to his bed, and he seemed to collapse more than sit. He grabbed a pillow and held it to his chest. “I can't."

  She had heard the same words many times, over the years. Simon was fantastic when it came to using magic, but his fear got the best of him in too many situations, stopping him from reaching his potential.

  "Of course you can,” she said, tired but convinced of the truth of her own words. “You just need—"

  "I can't,” he repeated, and there were tears in his words as well as in his eyes when he looked back and forth between her and Marc. “I tried. When you told me he went through, I tried opening the breach back up. I tried until the fight was wrapped up and they dragged me back to the truck. Ask the others. They tried to stop me, and I knocked Steven down."

  He glanced down at his fist as he said it, touching his knuckles gingerly. There wasn't a mark on him, but Simon wasn't prone to violence, and if he claimed he had hit the other mage, Kate could only believe him.

  "There was nothing,” he murmured, looking up at her again. His gaze went back and forth between her and Marc, as though begging them to believe him. “I could sense absolutely nothing. I did all the spells I could think of. I tried my best. My absolute best. The breach is gone for good, and Blake—” The tears finally spilled, racing down his cheeks and falling to the pillow he was holding to him even more tightly now. He paid the tears no mind, his voice dropping even lower until he sounded like he was talking to himself. “He's gone. There's nothing I can do."

  The floor felt like it was opening beneath Kate's feet. Without Marc's arm around her shoulder, she would have fallen to her knees. With quiet words she didn't comprehend, he guided her to the desk and made her sit down in the wooden chair in front of it. Simon's bag, the one that held all the ingredients he had ever needed for his spells lay there, knocked onto its side, the usually carefully lined up jars, bags, and bottles inside it in a jumble, some of them spilled onto the desk. And behind the bag...

  Her breath hitched in her throat when she saw it, and she had to blink to clear her vision and make sure she wasn't imagining things. The sword was dull against the pale wood of the desk, its blade and hilt marred by blood, but she had no doubt whose sword it was. She could see the inscription engraved near the hilt, and reached out to run a shaking finger over it.

  "Seneca,” she murmured, struck by another wave of grief.

  She had asked Blake what the inscription meant several times, and each time he had given her a different answer, his smile as teasing as his sparkling eyes. She knew the words were in Latin, knew also that Simon could read them, but it had never occurred to her to ask him. She had been sure Blake would tell her, eventually. And now...

  "I found it... on the ground,” Simon said behind her, his words as pained as her own. “Where the breach used to be."

  The tears resurfaced, and as strong as Kate wanted to be, there wasn't a thing she could do to stop them. So far, whenever she had thought of Blake, she had imagined him in that other dimension, surrounded by demons, trying to fight his way back to them—and in her mind, all they had to do was open the way for him to return. Somehow, the realization that he was without a weapon made her realize it wouldn't be that easy.

  It also made her admit to herself that Blake might already be dead.

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  Chapter 8

  Clutching the doorknob to her room in one hand and Seneca in the other, Kate stilled and slowly turned to Marc. “I'll be all right."

  Marc peered at her. He hadn't said a word since Simon had told them he didn't know how to reopen the breach. He cupped her cheek in his hand, running a thumb over her cracked lips.

  "I thought you didn't want to be alone."

  She shook her head slowly and tightened her grip on the hilt in her hand. “I won't be. I'm just going to clean up, and then I need to go down to Central Command. I'm still Daniel's—” Her voice started wavering. She swallowed hard and pushed on. “I'm still his second-in-command. I need to organize the patrol tonight."

  I need to keep busy, was what she meant. She was sure Marc could understand that.

  "Daniel will be awake tonight,” Marc started, but she shook her head again, stopping him.

  "But he won't be in any shape to fight, will he?"

  "Not tonight, no,” he conceded, dropping his hand from her face. “Maybe tomorrow."

  "Then he can help us finish the clean up. But we'll start tonight."

  Kate was surprised by how cold her words sounded, ice crystals glittering just out of sight. Marc's expression softened, taking an understanding cast that made Kate want to turn away and hide. She pulled the door open, started to step inside, but stopped when Marc's hand ghosted over the back of her head.

  "I can't go out tonight,” he said quietly. “Daniel—"

  "I understand. Tell him...” She glanced back at him over her shoulder. “Tell him I'll talk to him tomorrow."

  There was something in Marc's gaze—pain, grief, loneliness, need—that caused tears to sting the back of Kate's eyes. She wished she knew how to help him, what to tell him, how to reach out to him, but it was all she could do to keep her own pain at bay and not let it overwhelm her.

  She didn't want to say goodbye to him, would have felt silly saying goodnight when it was the middle of morning. She just nodded and pushed a smile to her lips—such a simple thing, and yet so difficult.

  The door closed behind her with the s
oft click of the lock. She looked around the room. It seemed different, somehow. Or maybe she was. She walked over to the bathroom, only realizing she still held Seneca when she started undressing. She rested the sword across the sink. Flakes of dried blood detached, falling down to stain the white porcelain.

  Suddenly, cleaning the sword was more important than cleaning herself. She didn't have proper supplies but at that moment she didn't care. She turned on the faucet and wet the blade, scrubbing at it with her bare fingers. She cut her fingertips and palm, but it didn't matter. She kept washing the demon blood off until the blade was gleaming, the way Blake always kept it. She dried it off carefully with a towel, barely noticing the pink stains her hands were leaving behind on the fabric. When she was done, she looked into the mirror behind the sink. Her braid had come loose; hair framed her face, tangled strands giving her an almost wild look. Without thinking, she gathered her hair in a ponytail, twisting it in one hand. Her other hand was already reaching for the sword. It sliced through almost too easily.

  It wasn't long before her lavender scented soap joined her hair in the trash basket. Also not long before she walked out of her room again, her hair still damp from her shower, Seneca gleaming in her hand. The first thing she did was find a scabbard for the sword and strap it at her waist. Then she got busy.

  By the time night fell, she had contacted her superiors, reported fully on the previous night's battle, received orders and transmitted them to the squad. Everyone who was fit to fight climbed into trucks and left for the mainland. The breach was closed, but demons still infested the region; it would take days, weeks maybe, to secure the area so that civilians could start reconstructing. Kate intended to see every last demon dead, however long it took.

  She just didn't know what she would do after that.

  Daniel awakened to his new life with the dying day. Sitting on the edge of the other bed, Marc had been watching him for hours, waiting for the first signs that he was waking up. Most newly-turned vampires first awakened at nightfall, but not always.

  When Daniel first started stirring, Marc stood and approached him, already rolling up his sleeve to bare his wrist. Daniel blinked very fast several times. When his eyes finally remained open, they were burning with gold, with hunger.

  "Bite,” Marc said, offering him his wrist. “Drink as much as you want. You were hurt; you need blood to heal."

  Daniel blinked again before doing as Marc said. His fangs sank in, tearing skin and flesh. Marc closed his eyes and gritted his teeth. Decades earlier, Blake's first bite had been just as rough.

  The similarities continued playing out through his mind for the rest of the night, and the next days as well. With every new thing he taught Daniel, Marc found himself remembering Blake's first days as a vampire. Every memory was like a wooden stake plunging into his body, missing his heart only to leave gaping wounds.

  When the squad returned that first morning, Marc sat in on the meeting between Kate and Daniel. New vampires sometimes had trouble controlling themselves, especially in the presence of blood, and Kate was bleeding. Scratches on the back of her hand, a nick on her forehead, a bruise on the side of her head, and matted blood in her newly shorn hair. Daniel's eyes flickered to gold every so often, but he never moved from behind his desk.

  Marc found it difficult to look at her that morning; something inside her seemed to have been switched off: her warmth, maybe, or her liveliness. Even when she told Daniel she was glad he was fine, her mouth never even twitched toward a smile, her eyes never lit up. She barely even looked at Marc.

  The next night, the squad was back to its cleaning duties, Daniel on the front lines, Kate at his side. Just yards behind them, Marc couldn't figure out which of them he ought to keep a closer watch on. Daniel's wound was all but healed, but he would need time before he became used to his new abilities. As for Kate, she was fighting with Blake's sword. When Marc had pointed out that it was too heavy for her, she had simply given him a flat, lifeless look. He could have taken it from her, but he hadn't managed to talk himself into it, not if it risked making her cry again.

  She barely said two words to him that night. He didn't know what to tell her, either. He wanted to say he understood how much she hurt because his pain was just as deep, but every time he tried, the words remained stuck in his throat.

  Days and nights succeeded each other, each identical to the last. It was ten days after the breach had been closed when Kate's battle fatigue caught up with her. She had been refusing to take nights off, going out with each patrol to hunt down the last of the demons. That night, she was hurt. Not badly—she had been wounded much worse before—but the injury to her arm was still serious enough that she was taken to the hospital on a stretcher.

  Standing next to Daniel by the truck, Marc watched her go, hands fisted tight enough to draw blood from his palms.

  "It can't go on like this,” Daniel said, drawing Marc's eyes to him. He was rubbing at his nose, like he did every time he smelled blood. “I told you it'd end badly.” His tone was as dark as his expression.

  Marc shook his head. “Don't."

  The quiet plea didn't deter Daniel, and Marc found that didn't surprise him much. A second later, he understood why he wasn't surprised—had Blake ever listened to him?—and a pang of loss echoed through him.

  "She's hurt,” Daniel insisted, now reproachful. “And I'm not talking about her arm."

  Marc stared at him for long seconds until Daniel dropped his gaze. “So am I,” he said quietly. “Don't twist the knife even more."

  He had been about to finish that admonition with a quiet “Childe,” but he couldn't make himself say it. That was what Daniel was, but in Marc's mind, the word applied first and foremost to Blake.

  "Sorry,” Daniel said, although he didn't sound as chastised as a new vampire should have when he was being reprimanded by his Sire. Again, Marc couldn't help but compare Daniel's attitude to Blake's, and found it all too familiar.

  They remained silent for a little while, until Daniel finally cleared his throat and said, “Half the squad is leaving tomorrow morning."

  Marc turned a frown to him. “What?"

  Daniel shifted his stance. He seemed vaguely uneasy and wouldn't meet Marc's eyes. “My superiors sent orders. Half of us are leaving, the rest will stay until we're sure all the demons are dead."

  Raking his fingers through his hair, Marc looked back toward the bridge that had taken them to the mainland for so long. He could barely imagine it without the blocks that obstructed it—could barely imagine leaving the place where he had lost Blake. There was nothing left here, though.

  "Where are we going?” he asked, looking back at Daniel.

  Daniel shook his head. “You don't understand. You're not coming."

  Marc stared at him. It didn't make any sense, and he would have said as much if Daniel had given him time. Shoving his hands in his black khakis’ pockets, he spoke fast, as though to get over an unpleasant task more quickly, his eyes directed at something above Marc's shoulder.

  "Simon's been trying to reopen the breach. He tried to enroll the other two kids to help him. Needless to say my superiors aren't too keen on that. And I don't like the way Kate has been fighting these past few nights. I need to get them both away from here."

  "That might be best,” Marc said carefully, “but what does that have to do—"

  "My superiors were not as understanding as I expected about our... arrangement. They want to be sure I'll obey them and not you."

  Marc took the words as he would have a punch. “You can't,” he said, almost stumbling on the words. “You need me. There's so much you need to learn still, and you must—"

  "I'll have to learn it on my own,” Daniel interrupted him, and finally met his eyes again. “Believe me, I didn't think it'd go this way. I know I've got to stay close.” His hand rose and clutched at his shirt right over his heart; he didn't seem to notice. “I can feel it. But it's not up to me. I may be your Childe, but I'm a sol
dier first. I've got my orders. We part ways tomorrow."

  Everything Marc was, everything he had ever learned or experienced told him this was a mistake. A fledgling couldn't be left alone so soon after being turned. It was his responsibility as Daniel's Sire to teach him all the little things that had changed: how to feed and how much, how to use his new strength, how to stay safe from the sun and resist the temptation when a human was bleeding somewhere close to him. He had to teach him about the Pacts also. He had to explain that their lives had a purpose greater than themselves. His clan had always held to the Pacts, even when humans had forgotten them. Marc was sure Daniel would understand. He wasn't as stubborn as—

  He jerked back the instant he realized what he was doing and stumbled away from Daniel without a look back.

  He wasn't trying to cling to Daniel because he was his Childe. He was clinging to him because he was his only Childe. Because Blake was lost to him, as much as he had tried not to think about it. Because, and it hurt to finally admit it, Kate was just as much beyond his reach.

  Her right arm was still immobilized in a sling, so it was Kate's left fist that pounded on Marc's door that afternoon. She hadn't come back to his room since the night Blake had...disappeared. She hadn't been able to. Now though, she wouldn't leave until she talked to Marc.

  It seemed to take forever before the door finally opened. Bare-chested, his hair tousled and his eyes very red, he appeared to have just been pulled out of sleep.

  "Kate?” He blinked in surprise, his gaze dropping to her arm. “Are you all right?"

  Tears pricked her eyes. She swallowed them back. “Daniel told me you're leaving."

  He passed a hand through his hair, now frowning. “Funny, he told me the same thing about you."

  He opened the door more widely. After hesitating for an instant, Kate walked in. She went to the desk and leaned back against it, while Marc sat at the foot of the bed, hands linked in front of him. He gave her a questioning look. “What did he tell you, then?"

  "He said the squad is leaving Lakeview in the morning and you're not coming."