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

by Tamara Rose Blodgett

  Julia

  “Scott!” Julia shoves him away, freaking.

  He's been tortured and has a broken leg.

  She's all sorts of miserable.

  He laughs.

  “Oh, my God.” Her voice trembles, and she puts her shaking hand over her scorched lips. “So not funny.”

  Scott sobers. “Sorry. I guess I'm just a little fucking giddy about surviving Harriet's treatment, escaping and coming back here to you.”

  His hand finds her nape and applies a tender squeeze.

  Julia moans. “This is so bad. You can't be happy to come back to me. There is no us.”

  “No,” he whispers. “It's so good—right.”

  He leans down and peppers kisses on her forehead. His hot lips move to each eyelid, and she feels his eyelashes brush against her own.

  “And my asshole brothers. I was actually beginning to miss those guys,” Scott says softly with a smile in his voice.

  It's cold water on all Julia's senses.

  Scott doesn't know about his father. Brendan, Jen—Michael.

  Oh no.

  Scott watches emotions run across her face, fleeing for safety from his perceptive gaze.

  His fingers tighten on her shoulders, sensing her morbidity. “What the hell has you looking at me like that?” Dark eyes pull at her, and Julia's drowning in all that deep brown.

  Lightheadedness swims close.

  “Julia, I'm sorry.” Scott drags her over to the bed and gently lays her down.

  She notices his slight limp and smells the soap he's used since his return.

  What's wrong with me?

  He takes both her hands. “Now tell me what's happening?”

  “You noticed we don't have many people?”

  “Ah, no. I noticed we have an assload of Region Two Singers. And let's face it. Observation skills were on the down low.” His gaze moves over Julia's face, coming to rest on her eyes.

  Scott stands up, realization making swift work of his face. “Dad?”

  Julia doesn't look away.

  She counts it as the hardest thing she's ever done. “I don't have a good way to tell you.”

  His expression morphs to granite, and he touches the top of her head lightly to take the sting out of his words. “Spit it out.”

  “He's gone, Scott. Tony killed him.”

  “Tony? The apeshit Were that tortured my—Jacqueline?”

  Julia nods miserably. “Yeah,” she answers softly.

  Scott slowly lowers himself to the bed and puts his face in his hands. A full minute pounds by silently.

  He rolls his face in his hands to look at her. The bruises are already fading, but they're gruesome splashes of dying yellow on his skin. “I'm not ready for this shit.”

  Julia sits up, feels like puking, swallows, and plows forward. “What shit?”

  Scott gives a wan smile. “If he's gone, I am the head of Region One. Only royal blood can rule. And—” He clears his throat. “He will be missed. I can't believe he's gone.”

  They stare at each other.

  Scott's face changes as the wheels of his fine mind turn, no doubt thinking about what it would mean if Marcus were gone. She sees when he realizes her omission, and that his siblings are absent from the mansion.

  “Don't tell me, Julia.”

  Julia's tears don't even burn to warn her. Like escaped convicts, they run down her face, away from the prison of her eyes, then conspire together at her collarbone.

  She cries for them both, and it's still not enough.

  “What happened? What the fuck happened to my family?” He cups his large hand at the back of her head, keeping a grip on her nape.

  Julia begins speaking.

  When she's done, there's a void in her that wasn't there before.

  Julia recognizes it for what it is—that part of Scott that she owns, just as he owns a piece of her.

  He's empty, and now, so is she.

  So empty.

  *

  “Do you want something to eat?” Julia finally asks.

  Scott shakes his head.

  Julia puts a hand over her stomach. It still hurts. She looks at Scott.

  “I feel your hunger under all this.” Julia waves her hand around, symbolically encompassing all the weighted grief that's been aired between them.

  “Maybe,” Scott replies ruefully. “But who cares about the hole in your gut when the one in your heart's twice as big? Who gives a fat fuck?” he yells.

  Julia yelps in surprise, scooting back from him.

  Scott picks up the nearest thing and hurls it into the wall. Then he throws another. Glass shatters and flies. Shards embed themselves into whatever they can.

  One spears Julia's palm as she hides behind her hands.

  She hears a gasp but doesn't move. Julia rides out his justified rage in a safe spot against the headboard of the bed.

  “Oh, Julia, I'm sorry,” he says, plucking out the glass.

  A teardrop of blood wells from her palm.

  His eyes are bright with his sorrow. His cheekbones flame with the blood pumping so freely with the river of his anger.

  “It's okay,” she whispers.

  “No, I—let me heal this.”

  Scott breathes over her hand and the blood stops flowing. He kisses the center of the wound and it begins to close.

  “Oh, wow… wow.”

  “It's a bennie,” Scott says.

  “It's real, isn't it?” she asks, scared to look at his eyes for what she'll see there. She looks up anyway.

  He nods. “No one can heal you beside a Singer Healer.”

  She swallows painfully. “And… my soul-meld.”

  Something occurs to Julia, something besides the new mess she currently finds herself in.

  “You just made a bunch of noise.”

  He blows out an exhale, ripping a hand over his short hair, clearly not getting the relevance. “Yup.”

  “Nobody came.”

  Scott cocks his head. “You're right.”

  He stands, towing Julia with him. “You said Tony”—his chin dips, and Julia tries to notice everything but the standing water in his eyes—“killed everyone?”

  Julia nods. “Well, there were a handful of Region One Singers, but…” She spreads her hands away from her body. “I'm sorry,” she barely gets out.

  Scott's brows knit. “I don't understand why no one hid in the bunker?” He shakes his head.

  Pain flares in Julia's chest. Instant and sharp, it pierces her.

  Scott grabs her. “What? What is it?”

  “What bunker?” she whispers urgently.

  Scott blinks slowly. “The bunker that stays vacuum-locked for seventy-two hours after entry. No one gets in. No one gets out. Period.”

  “Julia!” Jason yells, rushing into the room.

  She turns with a guilty jump, and his eyes travel from her to Scott. They narrow, missing nothing and seeing stuff she can't explain. She doesn't want to.

  Scott drops Julia's hands, and she's grateful, even though she feels as if they've been amputated without his touch.

  Oh, God.

  “What—” She clears her throat, barely able to meet the eyes of the man she loves—or thought she loved. “What is it?”

  Jason walks to her and takes the hands Scott just dropped. “There's more survivors.”

  Scott says nothing. His silence speaks for him.

  Jason flicks a glance Scott's way and Julia notes the chill in that hazel glance.

  “Scott knows.”

  “Right. Well, his sister and Michael are alive. And Victor too. They were stowed away in some nuclear shelter thing.”

  Scott's instant grin is contagious.

  Before she knows it, Julia can't wipe its twin off her face.

  Jason throws an arm around Julia's shoulders. “They're prepared. I'll give them that.” His hand flips up, and his fingertips curl around her shoulder. “Victor says he gathered the royalty together, and as many women
and children that he could. They've been down there three days.”

  Julia makes a face thinking about that—but they're alive.

  Jason laughs. “Don't get all grossed out, Jules. They had a bathroom, food, running water. It's a damn underground Hilton.”

  Scott says, “I wouldn't go that far. It has only the supplies needed for the seventy-two-hour time frame and no more.”

  “Still!” Jason swings his hands up, piercing Julia with his hazel gaze. “Great news, huh?” He grabs her neck and pulls her against him, pressing a gentle kiss against her forehead, right over the crescent-shaped scar.

  It is great news.

  So why do I feel so sad?

  Jason keeps one of her hands and tows her out of Scott's bedroom.

  Julia glances over her shoulder. Scott's lips are in a flat hard line; his eyes are fixed on their joined hands.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Slash

  Slash is vaguely pessimistic by nature, but he would admit that seeing those Singers, twenty in all, climb out of a trapdoor in a well-hidden spot under the mansion lifted his sagging spirits. With so many Singers gone, there was no one left to alert them to the survival quarters. Scott returned, and the surprise existence of additional survivors brought levity to a grim climate.

  Anthony Laurent moved through the Region One Singers, using his demonic saber like a knife through butter. Tony struck down Victor, but the Were was apparently in a rush—he missed Victor’s carotid artery by a fraction. Victor laid in a pool of his blood while the Were kicked him in the balls.

  Thinking about Tony makes Slash's blood boil. He would kill him again if the chance was served up.

  Fortunately, he's gone, and Victor has mighty recuperative powers.

  Slash had barely managed to heal himself enough to function when he saw what Tony was doing to the others. Victor cut his losses.

  Cold but pragmatic, Victor headed straight to where he assumed the most important Singers would congregate. He was able to save Jen and Michael.

  Slash scans the faces of those who survived. Everyone is somber, as they should be.

  That's how Slash would feel if he'd listened to the screams, begging, and pleas for mercy while Tony rained death down upon their heads.

  “This is so sad,” Adrianna says and he takes her hand in his.

  She squeezes Slash's fingers. Unfamiliar heat blooms in his chest where an emptiness was before. It hurts, though it feels right.

  Slash won't discuss their evolving relationship. He can't. It'll make the hope into solid reality by speaking of it. Instead, he discusses more neutral matters. “It's better that they're alive. More Singers survived than we presumed, important ones.”

  He studies Julia as she greets everyone, and Slash inhales sharply. Something is off with her scent—he can't place it. He takes in the survivors, and his eyes come to rest on Jason, who was formally feral. He frowns.

  Finally, his attention shifts to Scott as he scoops his sister into a tight embrace. Slash smells healing injuries. But they're faded, scenting of old wounds, though Slash knows they're not. A Combatant can heal almost as quickly as a Were. Good thing for him.

  As if Scott intuits Slash's thoughts, Scott gives a chin lift over Jen's shoulder, meeting Slash’s eyes. He bares his teeth slightly, sucking in a few quick chuffs. He scents something that makes his eyes snap to Julia.

  Their scents have mingled—Scott and Julia's.

  Slash's chin lowers, and he breaks eye contact, exhaling in frustration. This will complicate things. And he knows just the person to discuss it with. The others probably haven’t scented anything yet. As a pureblood Red, Slash’s scenting abilities far surpass anyone's.

  Julia and Scott will already be aware of what's happened. Whether they've told anyone outside of their pairing, Slash doesn't know. He glances at Jason again, and the tight set of his jaw and his standoffish posture tells Slash that Jason suspects something is brewing.

  “What is it?” Adrianna asks, searching his face, following his gaze like a tennis match gone wrong.

  He cracks a smile.

  “Besides the obvious?”

  One side of her mouth lifts, and he's reminded of why he loves her. She's not classically beautiful, more like a pixie—cute and feisty. Still, she's the female for him. Blood calls to blood. There's no denying the primal absolutism of blood.

  “Yeah,” she replies softly. “You're looking awfully down for a buttload of Singers to have been found. I mean, this is great news. A Combatant is alive. Scott's brother and sister…”

  “Michael's an asshole,” Slash says without rancor.

  “True.” She smirks. “But we need all the color we can get right now. He's a smart ass, and he's obsessed with candy, but there's worse things.” She shrugs.

  Julia disengages from the little circle of rejoicing Singers and slowly walks toward Slash.

  “Hey,” she says with a smile.

  Do you know your soul-meld is back online?

  “Hi,” he replies.

  Adrianna looks between the two of them. “Got some serious shit to sling? Okay, I know when I'm not wanted.”

  “Adrianna—” Slash begins.

  She twirls around, grabbing his hand. “It's cool, stud. Chill. I'll make myself busy.”

  That's what I'm afraid of.

  Julia watches his eyes on Adrianna as she walks off. “She'll be fine, ya know.”

  He nods. But because he’s an Alpha Red male, his instinct isn't a light switch to flick on and off. He will worry. When Adrianna is not in his presence, she will be on his mind.

  Slash gives a rueful smile. “The wolf in me can't accept that.”

  Julia nods, frowning.

  “What's on your mind?”

  “Scenting,” she replies immediately.

  Slash's eyebrow jerks up. “For what?”

  He smells her nervousness like a faint perfume in the air. He wonders if Julia knows his suspicions or if she’s come to him for something entirely different.

  “I—I need to know who is actually dead. A head count of sorts.”

  “I see.”

  Julia's face becomes apologetic. “I know it's a gruesome request…”

  “Yes.” It's the truth, and Slash won't sugarcoat it.

  Julia's face falls.

  “But I'm the Were for the job.” His eyes scan the grounds, instinctively looking for Truman. He finds him hanging around with the sharp-tongued Singer-Were, Cynthia.

  “Truman would be an excellent choice—or Zeke. Between the two or three of us, I think we can account for the casualties.”

  “I need to know, for closure,” Julia explains in a voice ground down by tears and heartache.

  “I understand.” His face smoothes as he changes the subject. “Good news about the Singers.”

  She nods, and a soft sigh escapes. “It is, but—” She runs a hand over hair that's still damp from a shower. “I don't want any more surprises.” Her luminous, cat-like eyes lock with his.

  Slash folds his arms and dips his chin with acquiesce. “If there are supernaturals to find or save—ones who may still be living? We'll find them.”

  Another relieved breath leaks out of her. “Thank you, Slash.”

  “Welcome.”

  His eyes narrow on her. Anxiety fills his nostrils. “I know,” he admits quietly.

  Sudden color splashes against the pale skin of her face. “Oh.”

  Julia's head lowers, and long, champagne-colored hair swings forward, obscuring her expression.

  “When will you tell him?” Slash asks.

  She glances at him. “Pretty soon. He'll eventually scent the change anyway,” she mutters.

  Slash tenses. Serving up raw truth always feels wrong, but he doesn't know another way. “That's not what I'm asking.”

  Her chin jerks up, eyes fierce. “Do you think I like this back-and-forth shit? I hate it.” Her voice hits the last word like a punch to the gut. “But there's nothing I can do. Tharel
l told us that the magic of faerie negated the soul-meld.”

  “Tharell's a liar, fey or not,” Slash grinds out, still pissed the Sidhe was allowed to live. Better to lop off his head and burn his ass to ashes.

  Julia meets his eyes. “The fey don't lie.”

  Slash jerks his head back at those words and the silence stretches between them.

  “So you think he told you what was true for that time?”

  Julia nods. “Exactly. By the time faerie's proximity was less, so was its hold on our bond. Then Scott was taken. We never found out until now.”

  Julia grapples with her emotions like a wrestler losing on the mat.

  Finally, she appears to win the momentary struggle with her feelings. “And when Scott came back, I believed I was just glad to see him. Yʼknow—relieved.” She twists her hands.

  Slash's lips lift, painfully pulling the pucker of scar tissue in his cupid's bow. “But you were too relieved.”

  Julia bites her lower lip and nods. “It's terrible. I'm the worst person on the planet.”

  Slash doesn't comfort others. He receives no comfort, either. He tries something new. “Maybe not the very worst.”

  Julia laughs. “Gee, thanks. You're a real prince.”

  Slash frowns. “I was trying to offer a little…”

  “Salt in the wound?” She laughs, and it sounds like despair making a run for it.

  “No,” he says gravely. “I don't take pleasure in your pain. For someone so young, you have a lot on your shoulders.”

  Slash steps closer, putting a light hand on her upper arm, in defiance of his earlier sentiment. “Listen to me. These huge responsibilities won't lessen. They'll grow more complex, bigger. Take a mate.” His eyes implore her to see reason. “Drop this human attitude and culture. It doesn't apply to us. You need a mate to help you carry these things that need attention.”

  “I can't choose between them, Slash.” Her eyes meet his, and he's momentarily startled by the swimming bourbon irises. “I can't believe I'm blabbing all this stuff to you.” She heaves a little self-conscious laugh.

  Slash shrugs. “I scented it. There's no denying”—he taps the side of his beak—“the discernment. Besides, I'm not a chatty guy.”

  Julia breaks into a grin. “That, I know.”

  “Good.”