She couldn't suppress a small smile at the memory, nodding at Claire.
Claire returned the smile, although she couldn't have known its origin.
“It affords the kiss the greatest protection.”
Julia looked at the shadowed feet, crossing the glass with a foot's separation between their life and death. They never knew.
Julia shivered.
“The solution blocks the UV rays.”
“Couldn't that clever guy make a sunblock or something?” Julia asked, a little bit of snark creeping into her tone.
Claire's smile faded. “That was unsuccessful.”
Julia didn't press, but judging by the expression on Claire's face, there'd been a few vampire torches.
Julia withheld her smile. An image of William on fire came to her mind. Just a few days ago, that visual might have given her a lot of satisfaction. Now… her heart had shifted. And while she did not hate him anymore, she wasn't sure what she felt. She thought of flying over the meadow, leaving the Were that had attacked her behind, the claws bound to her shoulders like excruciating hooks. She thought of his fierce expression as he fought the vampires who would have bled her dry.
Julia was ashamed. He was what he was—a freak of biology. As she was. Jason was gone, forever.
It was in that moment that Julia decided for neutrality with William. He had not shown her harm. On the contrary, he had shown much more.
His yet unknown role made her uncomfortable, but that couldn't be held against him.
In the end, William had been right. Jason had been killed by the Were, not vampires.
Julia had sighed, looking once more above her head.
The cattle had moved across their concrete pasture, unaware of the vampires below.
*
The Present
William smiled down at Julia. Cautious hope took hold of his soul—if a vampire had such.
She looked infinitely better than after the attack. He was right as rain in less than a fortnight. But Julia's tenuous situation was held in the fragile balance of the twilight of death. It took much to kill a Rare One. But the two who had been in the race for betrothal might have ruined it by hurting her.
Forget that notion, William thought. They'd almost killed her. He could hardly bear to think upon it. He had already claimed Julia in his heart. He had not the right. But love chose its own pathway, mindless of the change.
Love hath no master.
He took in her lush mouth, the pulse that beat at the hollow of her throat more attractive than any show of flesh could ever have been. He swallowed, reining in his emotions. William had had two centuries to perfect his lack of expression.
He'd found that a year and some days with Julia had undone it all. The careful procedure of schooling one's expression in the way of the vampire was lost. He thought it might never be regained.
His heart seized with panic as a scent wafted through the night air.
In an instant, he pulled Julia against him, scenting their surroundings, her water bottle hitting the ground with a thud, the water leaking out over the black pavement like a crystal well.
Broken.
*
Julia
Julia's heart slammed into her ribcage. William’s hands wrapped around her arms like steel bands, cool against her fevered skin, which was still warm from the run.
“What is it?” Julia asked.
Pierce lifted his nose to the air. “Wolves, William?”
“I do not know. But”—he looked at the nine that were gathered together, his eyes glittering in the weakness of the lights that illuminated the street where they stood—“it is the only moment of my existence wherein I wish for their sense of smell.”
There was uneasy laughter even as the vampires looked around them for the perceived danger. A few tense moments passed, and William's shoulders finally dropped into a more relaxed posture.
“Well?” another vampire asked—Robert, Julia remembered.
William shrugged, his eyes tight. “I do not know what it was, but I very much wish to head back.”
They agreed, but Julia protested. “They would never think to find me here.”
William looked down at her, his face cut marble in the whitish-blue light of the streetlamp. “It is that mentality that will hasten your taking from our kiss. We do not underestimate the dogs. Their passion makes them dangerous.” He looked into her eyes then elaborated. “Sometimes I will have a moment of…” William deliberated on his wording. He finally settled on, “intuition.”
Julia looked at him. “Is that because of the Singer blood?”
He nodded. “The shifting to raven is the single most powerful element I gained from my genetics. Sometimes, although it is not always trustworthy, the moments of intuition have made me a better fighter.”
“How?” Julia asked, allowing herself to be tugged along as they made their way back to the underground city.
“Instinctive.”
“You fight with… training or…?”
He glanced her way then looked around again, still slightly tense. “I use what has been given to me. I know because of my Singer heritage that I can shift to raven form, and sometimes I anticipate.”
Julia had to ask. With nine other sets of vampire ears to the ground, honing in on her words, she forged ahead. “Anticipate what?”
He stopped, looking down at her for a moment. His gaze uncomfortably intense, he answered, “Danger.”
Oh. She looked around, sensing nothing.
“Let us be gone from this place.”
*
The Were's sense of smell allowed a great distance to be maintained while still triangulating the vampire position.
The Were came upon the plastic bottle that had been dumped.
It was too perfect to believe. The vampires had been sloppy by allowing anything she touched to be discarded by any means other than fire.
Of course, vampires did not like fire. A grim smile overcame Joseph's face.
He reached to pick up the discarded bottle, scenting it for the Rare One.
Julia Caldwell's scent floated around the mouth of the bottle like the most exquisite fragrance imaginable. He held the bottle triumphantly while motioning with his hand for the four other Were to gather round him.
They did, each scenting the bottle, familiarizing themselves with her smell.
The scent of the Rare One, the Mistress over even the moon.
As her unique signature filled their flared nostrils, five pairs of eyes spun to gold in faces that were no longer quite human.
Joseph lifted his face to gaze at the moon, whose mocking form was halfway to full.
As small yips of excitement broke out in the circle of men, the tone changed to a quality that made the pigeons flee their roosts.
The noise caused the fear-and-flight reaction as surely as a primal alarm going off.
The Were returned to their den, an empty bottle as so much trash, carried in the fist of the Alpha.
Joseph clutched it tighter as he ran.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Two Weeks Later
Julia stretched until every vertebra cooperated by popping. Ah, so much better. She wasn't happy yet. But for the first time since Jason's death, she felt a form of contentment. She was sure it had a lot to do with the daily runs. Her body was knitting itself stronger each day, and she was thankful.
William had not pressed his advantage when it would have been easy to, and Julia had noticed.
William and she had lunch together each day now. Actually, she ate lunch, and he drank blood. It was an uneasy alliance, but he had to receive nourishment too. And she couldn't negate what he had done for her.
With his blood.
It was yesterday's lunch that rolled around in her mind. She couldn't believe what he'd told her—the revelation that Claire was his cousin. William was one-quarter Blood Singer. His ancestry lent him the paranormal stripe that allowed him to shape-shift, to have those little moments of awareness that
were other.
Julia had been curious, picking at the meal before her—salad and salmon. The coven provided only the finest meal for their trophy. Julia squelched the thought even as it formed. She needed to think of the coven as her benefactors, or she'd never achieve any happiness.
She sighed, and William's eyebrows rose in question.
“It's about Claire.” She looked at him—stared, actually, trying not to notice how handsome he was, how well built, how… everything. Heat rose to her face, and she knew without a mirror that she was blushing.
“Well, she is my cousin.” He dropped the bomb as though it was of the least consequence.
“Are you kidding?” Julia nearly shouted.
He shook his head, the corners of his mouth already turning up.
“You are!” she huffed, folding her arms across her body.
“I promise, I'm not having you on. It is true.”
Julia searched his eyes for the joke, and finding none, went on. “How is that? She looks like she's ten years older than me?”
William paused then said, “Once a Singer mates a vampire, if there is enough blood quantum, she takes on some of the properties of her mate. In this case”—his eyes met hers—“immortality.”
Julia thought about it, almost stunned into speechlessness. “So, Claire's like… hundreds of years old?”
“Technically, that is accurate.”
“Just tell me, William.”
“She is three hundred and six.”
Julia gasped. That makes William…
“I am only two hundred and twenty.”
So young, Julia rolled her eyes, stifling a giggle.
William laughed from his gut. Though he was usually serious, Julia found that she was able to lighten him.
“Yes, Claire is quite wise.”
Julia turned her fork over and under, over and under until William put his finger on the tines. He met her gaze. “What are you thinking?”
“I wonder why we look a little alike, Claire and I?”
William leaned back in his chair, drumming his tapered fingers on the bare wood of the table, thinking. He seemed unaware that he smoldered at her, in her. The blood share's tenacious grasp still clung like reluctant glue.
“Gabriel has said there is a common region that the Singers hail from in antiquity.”
Julia waited.
William shrugged. “It is just a hypothesis. But it may explain the similarities in their looks.” He looked at her briefly. Then, glancing at her half-eaten plate, he finished his thought. “Blood Singers are generally fair complexioned with some degree of red hair. But not all of them. Some can be quite dark.”
“How do you know this?” Julia was thinking that Jason hadn't had that coloring.
“It was a cross-checking method we employed as runners. If the scent did not convince us, the coloring, as it were… well, it was almost fool proof.”
Julia was fascinated, remembering her mother's hair ablaze with copper fire. She recalled it perfectly. Memories of the accident crowded the inside of her skull in a dull press, but she shoved them away forcefully.
“Gabriel is originally from Scotland.”
Ah. Julia had wondered about that brogue he spoke with.
“Have you heard of Stonehenge? Located in England?”
She nodded. It was pretty famous. In high school, they'd studied it briefly in World History.
“That is where the biggest concentration of Singers reside. They fan out in many directions, but it is there that they proliferate.”
Julia smiled, not withholding her sarcasm. “Then why don't you guys do a road trip and net them all?”
William's smile faded, and he shook his head. “In concentrations as big as the one at Stonehenge, they become powerful.” His eyes were serious again.
“So, they can bring a can of whoop-ass?”
William smiled at her vernacular. “Yes, they can bring whatever they please. That is why we concentrate on mostly immigrants, diluted by centuries of outbreeding. Sometimes, as in your case, we strike a pureblood. Any Singer over half-pure is worth acquisition.”
Julia thought about all that he'd said. “So, why am I not… psychic or some other cool thing like that?”
William chuckled, crossing his legs at the ankle. “You will be many things.” He shrugged. “It is different with each Singer. A Rare One is an anomaly—hard to find, and more difficult to speculate about.”
“What can Gabriel do? He's the coven leader. He's a Rare One,” Julia said, thinking he may have mojo. A buttload of it.
Julia watched William think about his words and was struck anew by how very deliberate he was with his thoughts. He never just blurted stuff out. The way she did.
She smiled unconsciously, and he returned her grin, his fangs hidden.
“He is male.” William looked down to his long-stemmed glass, the bagged blood distributed inside the glass as an affectation. Like a beer out of a frosted mug as opposed to straight out of the bottle.
She waited, and he continued. “He has some paranormal talents… but it is the females who possess all of what a Rare One could offer. Eventually, you will be many things. Manifest many things.”
Julia looked at him. “Besides being able to make vampires choke on my blood and heave helpful people against walls, what else is there?”
She was only half joking. Julia wanted to know what to expect.
William shrugged a muscular shoulder, the button-down shirt hiding nothing. She'd give vampires this: they were all pretty spiffy to eyeball.
“It has been some time since a Rare One has been in residence. It will be all conjecture at this point. But… there have been things in legend. Those are telekinetic ability, telepathy, super-human strength.” He finished, ticking off each ability on his fingers then resting his hands on his thighs.
Julia liked the last one and smiled.
He chuckled, guessing her transparent thought process. “That's usually reserved for males.”
Oh.
“Limited healing. And of course, there are the genetic properties of the Rare Ones. They will allow the supernaturals to become more, better.” William leaned forward, all intensity. “Just think of the ramifications of being vampire but not ruled by bloodlust, by the night.” He swung his palm to encompass their immediate area.
Julia watched an internal fire ignite in his eyes and realized the vampires felt trapped by their existence. That what made them other also stifled them in isolation.
It made Julia profoundly uncomfortable to realize two factions thought of her as a savior. But she hadn't asked to be a Rare One. Instead, she had just wanted a normal life.
She looked in William’s earnest eyes and sighed. At least she hadn't been taken by the Were. From what William told her, they cared very little for the Rare One's comfort. He had told her about this on one of their many runs before she'd been able to do much but shuffle along.
*
William
On one of those early runs, William had looked down with tenderness at the top of Julia's head. He'd allowed himself that luxury when she was not aware of his regard. She'd looked up, and he'd instantly schooled his expression into one of neutrality and adopted a teaching tone.
“You ask of the Were. They also find the Blood Singers critical. Even a Singer who has as little as one-quarter blood quantum can give them additional days to make the change. They cannot aspire to be moonless changers. But they can have more days to use her call.” He kicked a random pebble, and Julia stopped, turning to look at him.
The streetlamp reflected off the damp patches of asphalt, the city still humming all around them. The deadest hour of the night had the least people but cars were still rushing past, dim noise and the smells of a city that never quite rested a backdrop to their hushed conversation.
She crossed her arms and huffed out a breath while the other vampires formed a loose circle around them, maintaining an ever-vigilant protective perimeter. “So, wha
t you're saying is that vampire and Were compete? They run around, gathering up the purest of the Singers—to what? Make sure they have more power?”
William thought it sounded dire when she put it like that. “It is for the betterment of both. We think their methods are heathen. But the consequence is identical. What they gain, what we gain…” He let his sentence trail off.
“What do we gain, William?” Julia asked, her eyes searching his, her palm on the center of her chest.
He held her gaze but with effort. There was little that the Singer gained except that her mate would be devoted. There was additional protection. He sighed, raking a distracted hand through his hair, frustrated.
“You have the security and protection of the coven,” he finally answered.
Julia snorted. “Oh, yeah! That's worked so well. I could tell how secure I was when those fangs sank into my collarbone—on top of my scars from your raven claws. I feel so protected.”
William gripped her shoulders, cupping them firmly in hands that wrapped them front to back. “There will always be rogue vampires. There will always be vampires among our kind who take, who do not follow rules or hierarchy. You do understand that? Is it not the same in the human population?”
“It's true,” Julia responded, squirming a little in his grasp. “But if I'm so special, why did they try to hurt me? Believe me, it hurt.”
William knew. He had been barred from giving blood a third time. As her kind said, the third time would have been the charm. It would bind her to him without choice, without consent. A union filled with resentful compliance was not acceptable.
Not to him.
In the end, she had been given a transfusion. She smelled off for two weeks afterward. He had told her that she smelled like someone else until her body's natural cycles and rhythms had righted themselves.
“I'm so sorry that I didn’t smell tasty for a week or two,” she'd said, rolling her beautiful eyes at him. William had smiled.
“It is better for me. Not your pain and suffering at their transgression,” he added quickly to avoid confusion as her brows came together in a frown. “But because their attack on you proved my mettle. You know the man I am.”
Julia shook her head in correction. “You are not a man. You're something else.”
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