“Yes, these are the unexpected results.”
Pedro took two stiff steps closer. “Are those the tests for—?”
“Gold. Yep.”
“Gold?” Andre repeated.
“It was Pedro’s idea—and a damn good hunch. I’ll admit I ran them twice, I was so shocked to get a hit.” Bel leaned over the printouts, and both vampires drew near to study the data. “It looks like the highest concentration of gold is in Lucas’s blood.”
“Is gold normally in human blood?” Andre asked.
“No.” Bel’s tone left no room for doubt. “Perhaps it’s a Hunter thing.”
“Whose blood is this?” Pedro asked, holding up another slip.
“Sample C—that’s you,” Bel replied.
If Andre was reading it right, it showed a high concentration of gold. “Perhaps this is an ignorant question,” he said, “but is gold normally in vampire blood?”
“No. I did broad-spectrum analysis on the components of vampire blood when I began my research. No gold, not a trace.”
“So Kos and Andre have small concentrations, and I’m practically made of gold,” Pedro said, looking at the printouts side by side. “Mine must have come from Lucas, but where did yours come from?” He frowned up at Andre.
Andre’s gaze flew to the expert in the room.
“It’s the wine.” Bel crossed his arms over his chest, clearly prepared to defend his hypothesis.
“What?” Andre said at the same time Pedro did.
“Think about it. Lucas’s blood satisfied your blood hunger in record time. Whatever potent mojo he’s got, what if it’s in the wine too?” A hint of uncertainty tinged his voice, but Andre observed his determination—Bel was convinced he was on to something.
“Damn,” Pedro said.
“Davo. Do I understand you correctly? You believe that whatever cures the wasting disease is the same…” Andre could not recall the technical word, although surely he had read it moments ago, in that tiresome textbook. He repeated Bel’s term. “Mojo present in Lucas’s blood?”
“If my hypothesis is correct, then yes.”
Andre asked the next logical question. “Why is it in my wine?”
“Good chance there is gold in the soil of your new vineyard,” Pedro replied.
“Exactly. Maybe there is some organic compound—like the hemoglobin or Hemocuprum that contains gold instead of the other metals. I don’t know. That’s just an idea.”
All three were silent, and Andre’s mind raced. Somehow, Hunters, gold, and his wine were tied together. For a blessed few moments, there was no room for Zoey in the lightning storm of thoughts firing in his brain.
Bouncing on his toes, Bel broke the silence, barely able contain his excitement. “I have a friend down at UCLA who has the right equipment. Maybe we can find the compound.”
To Andre, he looked impossibly young. “Bel. There is a bigger dilemma here. Why would something so important to the health of vampires exist in the blood of Hunters?”
“Could it be a coincidence?” Pedro dragged a stool from under the countertop and fell onto it, approximating the correct way to sit on a stool, even if he was sagging under the weight of becoming a vampire and why it had been necessary in the first place.
Davo. Andre’s household was becoming an asylum for the broken and miserable. He was a well-suited warden of such a place. “I don’t believe in coincidences,” he replied, attempting to mash out the muscles in his neck with his fingers.
“That reminds me—I’ve been wondering about something since Lucas got here. What do Hunters smell like?”
“What do you mean? They smell like Hunter. The sky is blue.”
“How do you feel when you smell it? Is it bad, like a skunk, or rotten food?”
“No. It is not…repulsive, exactly.”
“That’s for damn sure,” Pedro confirmed.
Astonished, Andre jerked to look at his new son, and under his stare, the baby vampire shrugged. “He smells amazing. I want to eat him alive.”
“Interesting…” Bel said. “You haven’t learned to be wary. You’re not conditioned to fear the smell.”
The lightning storm went off in Andre’s head again, as he grasped Bel’s theory. “We can smell it! The mojo. By the gods, Bel, you are a genius.”
Bel’s face transformed under the praise, and for a flash of a second, they were a father and his boy, back on Šolta. Andre wanted to fold him into his arms and tell him he was proud of him every single second of the day, not only once in a century, when he managed to say so.
But instead, a woman’s voice called from the cellar. “Andre?”
“In here.”
Lena appeared in the doorway. “Hey, where’s Zoey? I made her dinner.”
“She is in her room.”
“No, she’s not there. I just checked.”
“Davo.” The lightning started up again, jolting through his brain and stealing all reason. Even as he wondered where she was, he already knew she was gone.
Zoey thumbed through a restaurant supply catalog. Each item received her full attention—ramekins, baking sheets, and giant rolls of parchment paper. It would have been much easier to focus her attention on the catalog if she ever actually cooked anything.
The oh-so-friendly hostess rapped her knuckles on the door. “Hello?”
“Yeah?”
“Your ride just called. Justine is waiting outside for you.”
“Oh, thanks.” That was fast. Justine must have good traffic karma. Soon she would be back in San Francisco, ready to begin a new life.
When she opened the front door of the inn, she was surprised that it was already twilight. She didn’t see Justine’s car, so she took another step outside. A hand wrapped around her mouth and something sharp poked into her ribs.
“Hello, Ms. Porter, we’re so happy to see you.”
Chapter 37
WITH HIS PALM ON GLASS, Andre watched an excruciatingly slow sunset from his dining room window. He could have handled her rejection, but he could not stand for anything to happen to her. How could she be so stupid? Was his love so terrible?
“We know where their headquarters is. If they take her there, we can find them,” Kos said.
“That is why they will not take her there. Maybe she went to her apartment. Fuck, I don’t know her address.”
“Maybe Ani can find it.” Kos took off to find Bel’s computer whiz.
Ten agonizing minutes passed. Five more. The sun was finally dipping into the horizon. Soon he could go out to look for her, but where should he go?
Kos returned, placing a scrap of paper in his hand. “Ani hacked the Department of Motor Vehicles database. The address was entered a year ago, so hopefully it’s current.”
His jaw was clenched so tightly, he couldn’t have spoken. Stepping through the front door, he turned to looked at Kos before he launched. All his anger and fear must have been painted on his face, because his son said, “Go easy on her. I’ll organize Bel’s crew to provide cover when you bring her back.”
Thirty anxious minutes later, he walked up something called Russian Hill, scanning buildings for their street numbers. He found the building. Her flat had its own entrance, and he pulled the door open as quietly as possible, which wasn’t quiet at all since the deadbolt was in place. Even from down the stairs, he could smell her scent as if she was next to him, but the apartment was empty. Davo. Where was she? He walked upstairs to see if she had been there. Clearly not.
The apartment was full of classic looking furniture and pleasing colors, but it was right out of a catalog. It had no soul. Not a single item was personal. Except…
There was a green envelope on the table. He opened it. A greeting card, some white dog on a red doghouse. Inside, it said, “Best wishes on your birthday, Aunt Pearl.” He checked the postmark as the off key notes of a birthday lullaby drifted through his memory. Davo. It had been her birthday. The realization, coupled with the impersonal apartment, made him
sad for her.
When he peeked in her bedroom—which held no Ethan scent, thank God—an idea occurred to him. Kos had carried Lena’s dresser up to his room. Zoey would need clothes too. Because, damn it, once he found her she was not leaving Kaštel again until he could ensure her safety, no matter how bad she wanted away from him. Coming back here would not be an option for her.
Andre found two large suitcases under her bed, each marked with orange ribbons on their handles. He crammed as many of the clothes from her drawers as would fit into one, but hesitated over her underwear. Finally, he threw a handful of pink, nude and black panties on the top. They landed like fallen leaves. At the closet, he filled the second case. Before he zipped it, he realized she would need shoes. Turning back to choose from the pairs on the floor of the closet, he noticed a newly exposed felt hatbox, which had been hidden behind the clothing.
He couldn’t resist opening it: a wedding album, rings, some stray photos, a death certificate. She had been a gorgeous young bride, married far younger than most career women those days. Her husband was handsome and impossibly youthful—tall, thin, and smiling. The man’s image made Andre feel a million years old. Every snapshot of them showed a friendly intimacy few lovers ever held for long. The contents of the box made him ache for her and for himself.
It shocked him that she’d kept the box. He had burned everything of Mila’s; there was only Kos to remind him of her appearance. How did Zoey manage to keep her detachment with all her grief tucked away in the closet?
More importantly, what should he do with the damn thing? Since she could never come back to the apartment, it would be lost to her. That wasn’t his decision to make. He found a belt and strapped the box to the smaller suitcase. No other items of sentimental value leaped out at him, so he went out to the street. When it was clear of pedestrians, he bent his knees to launch himself. But his phone rang in his pocket.
“Andre?”
“Who is this?”
“It’s Sam Carr, from the Inn.”
Andre had a bad feeling. “Sam. What is it?”
“It’s your friend, Zoey. She just left here. Something wasn’t right.”
“Where is she now?”
“I don’t know. She asked if she could use the phone to call for a ride. She waited in my office. Just now, two men showed up. She walked with them to the car and got in, but it didn’t look right.”
Fuck. Ethan and Stephen? He would rip them apart with his fangs. “What did the car look like?”
“Black sedan, heading north.”
Away from their headquarters. Davo. Where were they taking her?
“Thanks, Sam. Really. Thank you.”
Gripping her suitcases, he flew into the air, praying she would survive to wear her clothes again.
Zoey sat in the back seat of the car, her chest so tight that her lungs had no room to expand. Short on oxygen, her brain was a jumble of fears. She was going to die. She would be tortured first.
Then a whisper broke through. If she could think straight, maybe she could save herself. She focused on her breath, slowly bringing down her heart rate. Her body calmed, and ideas formed.
Stephen Bennett had Ethan’s build; he was large and fit. She had no chance of overpowering him directly. His weird gold knife pointed at her, but limply. Clearly, he didn’t see her as a threat. Maybe she could gain the upper hand.
It was a dangerous move, but anything was better than what they had done to Pedro. If she succeeded in disabling Stephen in the back seat, the driver would have to pull over and she could run for it. The driver was on the downhill side of middle aged and pudgy. She had a fighting chance to outrun him.
Three. Two. One. With her left hand, she grabbed at his knife, while she went for his eyes with her right. He was caught completely off guard. The knife fell to the floor. Her thumb poked into his eye, and he cried out in pain. Hopefully she’d done serious damage.
Her success was empowering, but short lived. As she went for the other eye, he threw her down onto the seat and dug his knee into her belly. He punched her in the side of her head and her ears rang.
“Bitch.” Another punch landed, to her jaw that time. “Vampire whore.”
Her words rushed out before she could stop them. “Can you blame me? There’s no choice at all between Andre and Ethan.” It felt good to piss him off, even if it would earn her another blow.
Instead of striking her, Stephen grabbed her breast. “We know what to do with whores, don’t we, Mick?” His threat stole her boldness. She imagined herself restrained by the one called Mick, Bennett straining and grunting over her, and it made her stomach twist. She would fight with everything she had not to be used like that.
She flailed her fists but couldn’t land a blow against the big man. Her squirms and kicks had no effect. Stephen’s eye was red and swelling, but it didn’t stop him.
“She’s a pretty one, Mick. The boys will have fun with her when we’re through.”
“Won’t Ethan be pissed if we turn her over to the initiates?”
She froze mid-flail. Would Ethan protect her?
Stephen probably sensed her hope; he looked her dead in the eye and said, “Ethan? Now that she’s turned vampire whore, he’ll enjoy watching.”
Like a popped balloon, the fight rushed out of her and she fell back on the seat.
“Is he on his way?”
“Yes, but he said he would be another hour. In the meantime, we’ll check into the Motel 6.”
“Better gag her. I’ll bet she’s a screamer. No doubt she’s got some fight left in her.”
That was good to hear, since it sure didn’t feel like she had any left.
“I can think of much better things to do with her pretty mouth.” She turned her head, but he gripped her chin roughly, forcing her to see his cruel leer.
If she could stay calm, surely an opportunity would present itself. Could she bargain? Reason? Would they let down their guard again? Unlikely. They pulled off the road into a lot. With Bennett holding her down, she could see the roof of the motel.
As soon as Mick got out of the driver’s door, Stephen slithered over her. “Alone at last. Tell me, did you like the way Ethan fucked you?”
She didn’t respond, and kept her face bland so she didn’t provoke him. Her pride refused to let him see the fear he wanted.
“Maybe you’ll like me better, and then Mick, and then me again.” He pressed his pelvis against her, unmistakably erect. Minty, antiseptic breath blew across her face. “And if we’re not enough for you, then all the kids will surely satisfy.”
There must be something she could say to shut him up.
Mick tapped on the window and barked. “Come on.”
Stephen hit her again. “You scream and we’ll leave you bleeding in that motel room faster than you know what hit you.”
Obediently, she walked with them toward the motel. Mick had secured a remote room across the lot from a self-storage place. The other rooms were dark and the parking lot was empty. No one would hear a call for help. Once inside the room, they shoved her in the bathroom and closed the door. It was a relief to be alone.
“Weren’t we going to have some fun?” Mick asked, his voice only slightly muffled through the door.
“Ethan will be here soon. I don’t want him walking in on us.”
It took all of her concentration to just keep breathing.
The television came on loudly. Voices were cut off one after another as someone changed the channel. Finally, one was permitted to continue, the droning anchorman of a news show.
Andre had no news from Bel’s crew. It was too damn hard to track a Hunter in a car. That was what it came down to.
“I can’t stand waiting. I’m going to fly, look for the car.”
“I’ll go too,” Kos said. “We can cover more ground. And I’ll suggest the same thing to Omar. He’s been anxious to test his wings.”
Over the phone, Omar said he would take the eastern side of the county,
sweeping from north to south, because he was already near Santa Rosa in one of the vans. Kos offered to take the coastal side, leaving him the central stretch, in which Kaštel was located. He wasn’t hopeful, but he was grateful for something to do. They went their separate ways.
When he left Kaštel, he imagined looking for a black sedan in a haystack. But as he scanned the rush hour traffic from the air, it was so much worse—every twelfth car fit the description.
Twenty miles or so north of Kaštel, a shiny new four-door Toyota was carelessly parked on the side of the highway, its nose protruding into thick brush. He inhaled, trying to catch a hint of Zoey’s scent. All he smelled was acrid burning plastic, which alerted him to the smoke curling up from under the hood. To be certain, he landed in a shadow, thudding into the soft earth. A rotund gray-haired man spoke into his cell phone, calmly describing his location. Fury boiled up in Andre and he wanted to rip the door off the car and shake the man for not being Zoey and not being a Hunter. The only thing that stopped him was the decision to reserve the fury for his enemy.
Above an isolated farmhouse, the scent of garlic and butter and Zoey wafted into the sky. But through the kitchen window he spied a woman nothing like his love stirring a pot on the stove. Closer, her smell was similar, but not quite Zoey’s natural essence, and his ears told him no one else was in the house. His fury redoubled, and he shrouded himself in a dark shadow before launching himself into the sky once more.
He was almost to the northernmost city of Cloverdale, chilled to the bone, pissed as hell, and scared to death, when his phone rang. Descending abruptly, he hit the ground too hard and jarred his knees. Please let it be good news.
“Not sure—faint scent.” Huff, puff. Omar was out of breath.
Andre gasped for air too. “Where?”
“North side of Santa Rosa—” huff, puff “—I’m flying—” huff “—Both vans are circling—” puff “—We’re homing in on something. Hurry. I’ll call Kos.”
Zoey had to get out before Ethan showed up. Her toes curled at the memory of Pedro’s mangled feet. And her captors had threatened far worse.
Blood Vine Page 26
