Angelic Blood (#5): Alpha Warriors of the Blood (The Blood Series)

by Tamara Rose Blodgett

  “I say we stake him,” Brynn says.

  Julia blinks. The sun has sunk behind the trees, but the vampire stays in the shadows, offering his opinion safely out of the dangerous final rays of daylight.

  Both Cyn and Jacqueline wear Julia's blood. As if she's made of glass, Jason carefully lowers Julia to the ground. Then Cyn's hands fall away from her body, revealing smooth unscarred skin, healed perfectly except for a black smear to the upper left of her belly button. It itches, but she's alive.

  Julia inhales deeply, painfully, as she looks at the loss all around her. The casualties of her people fill the field.

  But more bodies of the demonic lay testimony to the Singersʼ victory.

  Her eyes come to rest on Tony last. His sightless eyes seem to gaze at her through a fog as if accusing her.

  She tries to feel guilt or remorse, but she can't. This is the being who massacred nearly all the people of Region One. He raped Jacqueline and Lacey Greene. He was the horror that had plagued her and many others from the beginning, and now he's dead. Julia releases the breath she was holding, and the throbbing of her belly is her only physical distraction. She slowly lowers to her butt, exhausted.

  Julia turns to Brynn, William's successor. “Stake Tharell?” she asks.

  Domiatri comes into Julia's field of vision as Jason comes underneath her again, and she leans back against his knees. A knotted rope of scar tissue is a light-mint line across his neck. It appears to shine in the whitewashed daylight. Julia realizes it's healing before her eyes. The bumps integral to the scar tissue begin to smooth, and the shine begins to fade. Domi's skin rights itself in color, becoming grass green again where the pale-mint of the scar had bisected his throat. It's hard to look away.

  “It will not be true death for Tharell until his body is burnt to ash.”

  All who are gathered look at Tharell, whose mouth is a gaping hole of silent screaming.

  Julia backs away, and for the first time, she recognizes what she hadn't noticed before while pain rode her.

  Tharell's alive.

  She says the thing that damns any chance of her claiming to be the angel she supposedly is.

  “Do it.”

  The men move forward to collect the pieces of Tharell, stepping over the fallen Tony as they do.

  *

  Tharell

  Tharell's agony is so acute that he has no voice for it. No sound emanates from his ruined body to articulate his pain.

  Domiatri has pinned his palms and feet to the ground with stakes a full foot in length. The agony of iron courses through his tortured body as it fights to heal the constant affliction of metal.

  The scarred Were assists Domi in his torture as, for a fey as pure as Domi, touching iron ore would have been akin to handling acid.

  Tharell understands he will reap what he has sown. Intellectually, he understands his part of the deceit. He did not want to do what he did. However, blood dictates all. Humans need it to live, and supernaturals are governed by its crimson pull.

  A crude approximation of a reattachment of his head has Tharell's tendons and muscles stinging as they reassemble pathways severed by the decapitation.

  However, the pain is nothing compared to the condemnation he receives from every quarter, every set of eyes set against him.

  The blame is deserved, of course. None knew the black blood that flowed within his veins is master over all others because the angelic blood is dominant to those Singers who possess enough of it. Tharell closes his eyes in weary resignation.

  A moment later, his face rockets backward with a slap, the sound of which fills the meadow. Though he does not cry out, Tharell groans from the worst physical misery of his life. A Sidhe warrior would rather die than admit weakness.

  Tharell meets the dark gaze of the death bringer head on.

  Of course they would use him, the strongest of all supernaturals.

  The vampire Tharell had been a part of finding smiles down at him coldly. “Ah, to have a fey to torture,” the vampire muses happily.

  Tharell readies himself.

  However, Julia is the one who comes to stand before him. His demonic blood riots in warning at the proximity of an angelic, especially one as pure as she is.

  Natural-born enemies.

  “Blooded Queen,” Tharell manages from his healing throat and around the searing heat of his punctured palms and feet.

  “You've been crucified,” she says almost absently, though her eyes seem dull to any pleasure due to his pain.

  He tries a nod and finds it unmanageable. “It appears that way.” The irony of his physical positioning does not escape Tharell's notice.

  Julia's golden hair is plaited, and many of the hairs have escaped the braid. Her eyes flash, and her veins, their power awoken to his ancestry, pulse like liquid gold and silver, mingling at the surface of her skin with every beat of her heart.

  It is a standoff. Tharell knows Julia will want answers. And only he can decide their worth to him. He could always die again by her hand, to be resurrected again and again.

  His immortality has proven to be his greatest weakness.

  “I will confess the reasons for all my deeds for one thing in return.”

  Her eyes hold his in the bright light of the rising moon.

  She gives a small despairing laugh. “Like you've got a bunch of options?”

  Tharell has never seen so much grief in one gaze. He waits as the seconds pound by.

  “What is it?” Julia finally asks with bald distrust.

  “Kill me when I am through.”

  Julia stares at him for a full minute. She swipes at her face, flicking away a lone tear like a gem of resignation.

  “Done,” she says so softly that only the Were gathered nearby could have heard her.

  Tharell hears her answer perfectly.

  He begins to talk, knowing that a quick death by the Blooded Queen's mercy is better than the torture Praile would inflict upon him.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Julia

  “I am a vessel,” Tharell admits, grimacing. “We who possess the blood of the demonic all are.”

  Julia crosses her arms, wincing at her still-tender stomach. Cyn did a lot to alleviate the worst part of the wound, but when she gets closer to Tharell, Julia’s mostly-healed injury flares like a lit match. She tries to dismiss the black smear that remains on her pale skin like an evil smudge. Its presence tugs at her subconscious.

  She backs away, and the biting pulse lessens. “Don't lie.”

  As Tharell raises his head, the horrible scar like a streak of lavender lightning bulges across his throat, and Julia swallows her gorge.

  “The fey do not lie, Blooded Queen.”

  “Oh, horseshit!” Cyn yells, tramping over to where he lays. She moves to her knees, careful not to soak them in the continuous seep of blood that courses out of the pads of Tharell's palms. “You lie by omission, you fucking grape. You made us believe there was some kind of treaty between the Singers and fey, and the entire time, you were just some lackey of the demonic, doing the plotting prick program.”

  Adi flashes a smile at Cyn. “Not to sound dumb, but who's your leader?”

  “That's Michael's line,” Julia says sadly, looking down to hide her tears. Jason puts his arm around her, and she looks up, way up into his changed face. His green eyes rotate slowly, and though it's hard to ascribe human emotion to the partially changed, Julia thinks he looks sad.

  None of the Were have changed back to human—that’s too dangerous. Holding the wolfen form doesn't take the energy that full wolf form does. And the majority of Weres can’t achieve full form unless the moon is full.

  “Let's not take all day here,” Truman says, dumping another demonic corpse on top of the others.

  We've got a pile of demons. Julia shudders and squelches a bubble of laughter.

  “We don't want to be caught with our drawers around our ankles, swapping spit and shit.” Julia frowns at Truman's comment, though
it's the truth. Point for him.

  “It does not matter. You can kill me. Burn me to ash and sprinkle my essence in a swift-moving river to rid me from this place.” Tharell’s azure eyes latch on to Julia's, and she shivers in Jason's protective embrace. “But Praile will come for you. He will use whoever and whatever has the blood of his kind to serve him.”

  “I'm tired of this douche,” Jason growls in his strange part-animal timbre.

  “Why?” Domi asks suddenly.

  “We do not have time for this, Domiatri,” Jacqueline reminds him quietly.

  “We don't have the time to kill his ass, either,” Truman says thoughtfully. “We need to beat feet outta here.”

  “I can do it,” Brynn offers.

  Tharell gives him a neutral look.

  Julia knows it'd be impossible for her to be as calm as Tharell appears if she were presented with certain torture and death. That composure speaks to the nature of Tharell’s existence.

  She pushes stray hairs out of her face, more for an excuse to do something than for neatness. “I promised I would,” Julia says. Everyone looks at her, and she feels her face grow hot.

  “He tried to kill Jolly Green over there,” Jason says from above her. Domi frowns at Jason.

  “Guys, let's not set up a testosterone palace,” Cyn remarks, throwing her arms up. “We still kill grape-boy, but on our own timeline, Julia didn't say when she'd do him.”

  Julia flinches.

  Ignoring her, Cyn goes on, “Let's get together the Singers who want to come back to Region One. The Tony threat is gone, because he got his weenie chopped off.” She flashes a grin and lets out a manic chuckle. “A great trend to dissenting dudes.”

  Adi snickers, and Julia dumps her face into her hands. Cyn is alarmingly practical, and it's somehow not cool right now, with Tharell being staked and a bunch of dead demons piled up on a death hill. It's too gross to be real. Yet it is.

  Singers need to be buried, and the rest need to get back home, or what's left of their home.

  “Cyn,” Julia says.

  Cyn lifts her shoulders. “All right, I know the whole dick comment was a little over the top…”

  “At least we know where ya stand,” Truman says thoughtfully, shooting her a wary glance.

  Adi laughs.

  Julia looks between the two. “Enough. Thank you for healing me.”

  Cyn rolls her eyes. “Of course, doll. Like I wouldn't have?” Her palms flip out and away from her body. “Doy.”

  “But I need less sarcasm and more action.”

  Cyn huffs, crossing her arms. “I say leave the demons for the vultures—and wonderful Tony. That's better than that mongrel deserves. We get whatever Singers want to come back to the Region One stomping ground.”

  A tear races down Julia's face, and she gives it an angry rub. She has no time for grief. “I want to take stock of survivors.”

  Domi turns to her. “I can bury the dead.”

  Tharell clears his throat. Domi frowns.

  Julia presses the heels of her hands in her eyes, hoping to erase the vision of everyone casually discussing things over Tharell's staked body.

  But he's still there when she lets her hands fall. The bodies of the dead still cant in an unbalanced way in the center of a field that was awash with blood during daytime and is now black tar all around them.

  “No way!” Adi says, looking from Tharell to Domi. “This guy—this guy is such a backstabber.” She narrows her gaze at Tharell, whose expression remains neutral, despite the horrible pain he must be in.

  “We need him for speed. To bury the dead.” Domi admits.

  Julia rolls her bottom lip between her teeth. It's so unfair. But she can't leave the dead Region Two Singers to have their bones picked clean by scavengers. She just can't reconcile that move, not with everything else.

  “Can he be…” Julia puts a hand on her forehead, tired to the bone. “Can he be contained?” she finally asks.

  Brynn steps forward as darkness swallows the daylight and the moon's brightness sharpens above them. The two mingle in a kiss of time, twilight bridging night and day, and a smolder plays over his skin.

  “That's better,” he says, looking around at the darkness, where the daylight still leeches at the edges of the field. “I can handle the fey.”

  Domi frowns. “What assurance do I have that you'll not make a try for my life or Jacqueline’s?”

  Her fingers tighten around Domi's forearm, and Julia's eyes go to Brynn's face. But it’s blank, like William's could be, every feature outlined as if it were carved in bleached ivory.

  Brynn's fangs elongate, shining like ready knives. “None.”

  “Ah, I don't know,” Cyn says, her eyes following the fey-vamp verbal ping-pong match with interest. “Brynn might not be a team player, Jules.”

  “We can't do much better than this. He was William's guy, right?” Truman turns to Julia for confirmation.

  “He was William's second from the Southeastern Kiss. There's no motivation for allegiance, really,” she confesses.

  Brynn gives her a look so weighted, she stops breathing.

  “What?” Truman barks.

  “No vampire would harm the Rare One.” He looks at each one of them, and Julia fights to make out his eyes in the swelling darkness. “In fact, it's my belief that Praile of the demonic is not the only one making a bid for the top echelon of supernaturals.” Brynn spreads his hands to the side.

  All eyes move to Tharell. “Let me up, and I will help for as long as my life serves a purpose.” His bright gaze moves to Julia. “And then you will kill me.”

  Julia shakes her head in vague denial and his crisp blue eyes narrow on her.

  “It must be by your hand. You gave your word.”

  I can't do it.

  Julia's throat constricts, her breaths squeezed like frozen gasps inside her throat.

  Domi strides over to stand next to Tharell's prone position and jerks out each stake with a meaty, wrenching suck. Tharell's face tightens but not a sound emerges from his lips. Domi steps away, and Tharell stands without assistance. Holes fill with fresh, pale-lavender flesh, and his unearthly blue eyes blink slowly.

  Julia clamps down on her emotions. There’ve been too many traumas in a short span of time. She’d almost been murdered, countless more Singers had died, and that meant the death of so many from the one place where she was beginning to feel as though she belonged.

  She blinks, realizing her lashes are wet. Jason gives a few soft, comforting snuffles against her neck.

  Everyone backs away from Tharell as though he has the Black Plague. His eyes meet each of theirs.

  “I deserve your disdain.” His voice is low and full of emotion. “But if Praile comes again, he can force me to do his bidding. He could compel anyone who has sufficient blood of the demonic. And the Red Were are not immune to being used by the Master's summons.”

  Truman harrumphs in disbelief.

  Tharell lasers a look of pure certainty at Truman. “Believe that I lie—I care not. Why should I warn you? What does it gain me?”

  “Why not?” Cyn says. “You're obviously a stand-up dude.”

  Tharell’s brows cinch.

  “Not,” Adi adds with a smirk.

  Domi and Brynn step forward. “We take care of the dead Singers and find the ones who still live and wish to accompany us back to One—and faerie.”

  Domi’s and Tharell's eyes lock in a battle of unspoken words.

  *

  “Julia,” Jacqueline calls.

  Julia stops, Jason a shadow beside her.

  “I wish to find Gallagher. Perhaps he survived the blow.”

  Her head bows, and Julia knows, as sure as she's standing there, that Jacqueline's guilt is all for Victor. His brother is wounded and possibly dead, and Victor still remains unaccounted for.

  Jacqueline can't atone for all the bullshit of her past. But she has a right to try.

  Julia sighs, knowing she can’t do
anything about the epic mess. But Gallagher would be an important addition to One, though his desertion would leave Two leaderless. However, since all of One is decimated, the whole of Two would be better off returning with Julia than trying to piece together the Swiss cheese of their region. Their regions are more protected if they stand together than if they are apart.

  “Let's try to find him. And”—Julia's eyes meet hers, though in the thick of the night, she can barely see anything but the whites—“I want a head count of all the Singers who still live and whether they want to come with us or not.” She adds, “Convince them.”

  Jacqueline smiles as though she has a secret.

  Julia thinks Jacqueline is perfect for the job. Part of what made her Jacqueline still peeks out through all of the changes since her time within faerie.

  “Jules?” Jason rubs the back of her neck, and she wants nothing more than to sink against him, revel in his closeness, and enjoy the fact that she didn't die today.

  But she can't. She has a duty to her people—and maybe a sister she doesn't know. But the thought of finding a sibling is a faraway wish. They're all still in survival mode.

  Not to mention Scott and Lucius. The list goes on. Julia doesn't have time for the pity party she wants to throw for herself.

  The dead are being entombed by a corrupt fey. Though her people have been annihilated, her promise to faerie still stands.

  She's hungry, tired, and still healing. She's also in charge.

  Julia says none of what she's thinking. Instead, she walks after a weary and pregnant Jacqueline in search of the one Singer she believes can help her and whatever Singers they can convince to accompany her.

  Julia's not sure she would come if she were in their shoes. Violence holds claim to her, and death follows.

  Not a great combo for a long life.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Tessa

  Tessa drives until she's nearly out of gas.

  A 1950s neon sign flashes from a few blocks away as she heads up highway 99.