Ellowyn Found: An MM Vampire Trilogy Omnibus Edition Books 1 - 3

by Kayleigh Sky

  The next day Otto hadn’t called, and now it was four days later.

  Maybe he’d feel better after he’d fed.

  He sat with his eyes feeling heavy, waiting for Isaac, struggling to come up with a reason to contact Otto. Something he’d discovered, something he remembered, but he ran into a wall. He didn’t know what he was looking for. He wasn’t any good at being a detective. His books filled his imagination but fell flat in real life. He wasn’t Jackson Stork. He wasn’t anybody’s irresistible love interest either. Now he wasn’t even who Wen had always thought he was.

  Opening his sleepy eyes, he stretched his arms over his head, dropped them in his lap, and stared at the doors leading inside. The sun hit the glass and spread across it like a glaze. A shape moved on it like the image of somebody approaching from inside, and for a moment, Jessa thought it was Isaac. But then it swelled as large as the door.

  Somebody behind him.

  Shock ricocheted through Jessa’s body. He jumped up and spun in confusion. Flowers leaped out at him in brilliant color. The sun was too bright and stabbed his eyes like a knife. He gasped until somebody grabbed him under the chin and jerked his head back. His feet left the ground as he kicked and clawed at the arm holding him. A grunt followed a hiss of pain, but it wasn’t his. His pounding heart flooded his brain with the last of his oxygen, searing every sense with sharpness. The bastard choking him to death panted. Jessa dug his nails deeper into the arm in his grip and got another hiss. Kicking up and pushing into the body behind him, he slammed his heels backward. More grunts.

  “Vile… crossling.”

  Even through the ringing in his ears, the venom came through.

  Jessa twisted, almost slipping loose. His lungs swelled as he drew in a breath before the arm crushed his throat again.

  A full vampire.

  He’d always lose against a vampire.

  Through a deepening fog, Otto’s voice floated close and curled around him. Wanna arm wrestle?

  Now a giddy giggle echoed in his head. Was he laughing about this? Wasn’t he dying? His memory fixed on Otto’s face, holding on, but the blackness thickened like pitch, drawing him down. Where was he going?

  Celestine?

  The grave?

  No!

  He thrashed, bombarded by memories of darkness and heat and airlessness and his mother’s bloody face.

  Not. This. Way.

  His knees thudded onto the ground, and he fell on his hands, face smashing brick, nose in the fragrant violets.

  “Jessa!”

  His lungs heaved, and he flung himself onto his back. A tangle of shapes clashed above him.

  Isaac hauled him up, and they stepped backward. Jessa gaped at the scene in front of him as Wen and the strange vampire fought. People poured out the back doors and ran toward them. The vampire shoved Wen backward and leaped over the box hedges. Wen staggered on the pebbled path, but Anya caught him, holding on until he stood steady again. “Dammit!”

  Jessa was startled. Wen never swore.

  Nor did he ever glare at Anya the way he was now. “How did he get in here?”

  “I don’t know,” she said.

  It wasn’t her fault though, and Wen ran a hand down his face and said, “Of course not.” He cupped the side of her head, fingers trailing through the white streak in her hair before he turned away and strode to Jessa and Isaac.

  Jessa’s legs shook and his chest burned. He held his shaky hands up, and Wen took them. Cool and dry, but Wen had fought for him. Worry filled the dark eyes that now probed Jessa’s.

  “I couldn’t get a good look at him in that getup. Do you have any idea who it was?”

  “No.” Jessa’s voice burned like fire, and he pulled a hand free to clasp his throat.

  “Let me see him.”

  Both Isaac and Wen turned. The house doctor approached, rested a hand on Jessa’s shoulder, and said, “Come inside.”

  Jessa didn’t want to go inside. It was dark in there. The sun fell warm, bright, and beautiful, and his shaky legs wouldn’t support him without Wen. He’d be dead without Wen.

  The touch of lips against his temple confused him. Wen nudged him, Isaac holding onto his arm, the yawning dark of the door swelling in his vision until it blocked the sun.

  Mama…

  She’d died in the dark. He knew that, but he’d never seen it before. The memory as hot and airless as though he’d been right there with her.

  They were in the lounge now, following Dr. Cameron down a hall to the other end of the building. Jessa didn’t like the doctor. He was as pretty as a Hollywood movie star but as cold as the vampires of myth. Isaac said he wasn’t bad though. He took care of them. And that’s why Isaac was late, Jessa remembered. He’d been getting his monthly exam.

  “I’m okay,” he said.

  “Let’s check anyway,” said Wen, tightening his grip on Jessa’s arm as though he feared Jessa might bolt in a post-attack panic.

  “I don’t—”

  “Humor me,” Wen murmured.

  They turned a corner and headed toward a bright window. The room they entered at the end of the hall was small with only a sofa, a few chairs, and a stack of books on a coffee table.

  The doctor disappeared through a doorway.

  Isaac glanced at Jessa, his face furrowing with worry. Jessa grimaced at him. “You don’t have to stay.”

  “You still need to feed.”

  “Later,” said Wen. “Sit.”

  Jessa dropped to the sofa and stared out the window on the parking lot. Wen motioned Isaac to the door with a jerk of his chin. “Wait for the police up front, please, and bring them back when they arrive.”

  Isaac went, and Dr. Cameron returned. “Take this, please.”

  He stood over Jessa with a glass of water and a pill on his palm, and no expression on his face. Maybe he hated drainers. Jessa took the pill.

  His head pounded now, and the pill threatened to spew back out with all the bile in his belly, but he let the doctor feel his throat and check his heart, while his gaze tracked Wen’s pacing on the carpet. Head down, hands on his hips. The bile surged again. Did Wen love him? Had Jessa misread him all this time?

  “I’m okay,” he rasped.

  Wen stopped in the middle of his march across the floor and clasped the back of his neck. “You aren’t safe.”

  “You got there in time, Wen. And it could have happened to anybody.”

  Wen let out a gusty laugh. “Apparently, you don’t know what an assassin looks like.”

  Dr. Cameron straightened. “Are we in danger here?”

  “No.”

  “I want to discuss this later,” said the doctor. “In the meantime, your prince will recover.” He turned his gaze on Jessa. “Get some rest.”

  Jessa glared at him, but he was already walking away.

  Your prince. His old restlessness rose, but he bit it back. You aren’t Wen’s prince.

  He cleared his sore throat. “An assassin?”

  The word sounded ridiculous, and even Wen backed away from it now, waving a hand as though brushing it off. “He wore a mask. It just… threw me.”

  An image of the attacker rose in Jessa’s mind. Of course, he was a vampire. His strength had been… too much.

  A chill raced over Jessa’s skin. He wanted to throw up. Comity House wasn’t a bank. People robbed banks in the middle of the day. Or jewelry stores, but this… The guy had worn only black and a mask with slits for the eyes. A vampire. Strong and quick and not a robber. Wen was right the first time.

  “Why me?”

  “You were there.”

  True, he didn’t usually sit outside by himself. Usually Isaac was with him or—

  The minute Uriah’s name entered Jessa’s head, he appeared, headed over, dropped to a knee, and clasped Jessa’s hands in his.

  “Prince.”

  “I’m okay.” He was tired of saying that. He was plain tired actually. “I just want to go home.”

  “
Go,” said Wen. “I’ll bring Isaac to you.”

  “You’ll be safe in the castle,” said Uriah.

  Wen nodded. “We’ll get to the bottom of this soon and put it all behind us.”

  Uriah stood, waiting, and Jessa rose shakily. His unsteadiness came more from Wen’s words and the meaning underneath them. What did Wen know about Jessa and Otto? His grip on Jessa’s arm was gentle, his kiss on Jessa’s cheek, light and honorable. But under his civilized façade was a vampire who’d fought off an assassin. Or a robber willing to kill. But he’d done it for Jessa.

  And now they had to move on.

  Wen wasn’t waiting anymore.

  And Jessa owed him.

  34

  Wen’s Ultimatum

  Wen stepped into the study, and Rune closed the door and gestured to a chair by the hearth. Flames leaped in the massive fireplace, and shadows danced on the walls. Thank God, Jessa didn’t have his brother’s compulsion to live in a furnace. The room was thick with heat. Rune wore jeans without shoes and a shirt opened in front. After he sat, he ran his fingers through his unruly hair, picked up a glass of wine, and said, “Get yourself a drink.”

  Wen poured himself a fungali and took a sip, savoring the rich porcini flavor on his tongue. He topped off the glass and took his seat, gazing into the dark stare of the slouching Rune.

  “What the fuck, Wen?”

  A flare of fury turned Wen’s eyes red, and his fangs itched to drop. But not in front of Rune. Power poured off the quiet body, and Wen clamped down on his emotions.

  “I wonder the same, prince. Your cop is useless.”

  Rune chuckled. “My cop?”

  “I want Jessa. I can take care of him.”

  “Wasn’t Jessamine with you?”

  “I put stock in Jones—”

  “Who wasn’t there. You were. What. The. Fuck. Happened?”

  “I don’t know. I was working upstairs. I heard a commotion outside and jumped down. A vampire was dragging Jessa away.”

  “And you didn’t recognize him?”

  “I didn’t see him. He was covered.”

  “But male. You’re sure?”

  “Well—” Wen paused and let his mind drift back. The bell-clanging rush of adrenaline sped through his veins again. The swelling of his head. Vivid colors on the perimeter of the vampire. Black clothing and mask. Not a hint of skin. Rock hard blows, but slippery, wily. Wen hadn’t been able to get a grip. He shook his head. “I think male.”

  He took a sip of his drink.

  Rune stared with a sullen glower. “That donor Jessamine likes.”

  Was it a question? A statement.

  “Isaac,” Wen said.

  “I want him brought here from now on. This is the second act of violence in Comity House.”

  “As soon as the murder is solved—”

  “Maybe.”

  “Maybe what?”

  God, Wen was going to roast to death. He fidgeted in the heat, sticky under his shirt. The air lay against his chest like a blanket of stone. He thought of rocks raining down and the roof of the earth cracking wide.

  Rune’s lips twisted, a scrunch of thoughtfulness narrowing his eyes. Stunningly beautiful. Not so Jessa, who had too much human in him for Wen’s taste. Still…

  A good match.

  A necessary match.

  “The threat to Comity House is thin. Ellowyn drink from humans. Always have. We’d have no blood whores otherwise. No,” Rune mused. “This is darker. And hidden. I won’t risk Jessamine to an enemy I can’t see.”

  “Hidden? What are you saying? I run a reputable establishment. This isn’t about Comity House.”

  “No, I agree. Thin evidence, remember? Yet, two attacks have occurred on your grounds. If not the house itself, then someone in the house…” Rune got up with his empty glass and strode to the bar. He poured more wine, drank, and returned. “Too risky for Jessamine. I want Isaac brought here.”

  Wen sighed. “That’s tedious.”

  Rune smiled and cocked his head. “Really, Wen?”

  “Will you keep him locked up? Clearly your cop isn’t up to the task.”

  “Your tone,” Rune said, and though his voice was mild Wen went cold despite the heat.

  “What if it’s Isaac?”

  Rune laughed, and his face became more impossibly beautiful. “Jessamine loves Isaac. I trust his opinions. Otherwise Wen, I would suspect you.”

  The heat evaporated with the shadows, and a breath of ice froze Wen to the marrow. Wen swallowed. “I am loyal to the Ellowyn.”

  “Only the Ellowyn?” Rune murmured.

  “To you, my prince.”

  Rune smiled again and inclined his head. “It was good of you to visit, Wen.”

  Startled at the dismissal, Wen rose awkwardly and set down his glass. It wasn’t until he was in his car, heat blasting, that he began to thaw.

  35

  Caving In

  Otto clamped his head in his hands, elbows on sticky wood. Music banged in his ears. Unpeeling his eyelids from his dry eyes, he looked around.

  A bar.

  Dark and crowded. Not a dance bar, though a few couples stood plastered together in the open spaces between tables.

  He had a glass in front of him, melted ice, no color to the liquid. He had no memory of drinking it, no memory of walking in here. Did he drive? Fuck, he had no idea.

  The street looked dark through the windows, but people strolled by outside so it couldn’t be late. He thought he might be hungry, but his stomach was on fire. Squinching his eyes half shut, he forced his memory backward until he was at home again, turning to gaze at his police scanner, freezing at the sound of Comity House.

  His stomach turned, and he clamped a hand to his mouth, cramming his lips against his teeth. Jessa.

  He hadn’t been there for him. Exactly like he’d known he wouldn’t be.

  He swallowed the ice water in his glass, desperate for the taste of bourbon. He got nothing but a thin bitterness.

  “You ready? Though I doubt it’s gonna help.”

  He blinked at the woman standing on the other side of the counter with a bottle in her hand.

  “I don’t need help. Jus’ that.”

  She smiled. “Tough guy.”

  She gave him a clean glass, fresh ice, and a good pour. A momentary gratitude softened him to her. “We’ve all had our hearts broken,” she said and turned away, not expecting him to answer.

  He picked up his glass in a shaky hand and clamped his other one around it too. The first swallow went down hot and sweet. Gazing around, he found nothing recognizable about the place. Where the hell was he? A sudden panic raced through him.

  “Hey!” The bartender turned back. “What day is it?” he asked.

  “Tuesday.”

  Fuck. He’d lost a day. A whole day.

  The glass shook. He took another swallow to keep from losing his drink. By the time he got to the bottom he didn’t much care what day it was. He swayed, slapping his hand down on the counter to brace himself.

  “Enough.” Somebody had a hand on his arm, squeezing gently. “Give me a name.”

  “A name?”

  “A friend to come get you.”

  “I don’ gotta friend.” Jessa. No. No friends. No family. “I’m poison,” he muttered.

  “No, sweetheart. You’re just drinking it.”

  He had another drink, but the sweetness of it turned his stomach. “Wha’s this?”

  “Sweet tea.”

  “Fuck for?” he muttered.

  “Want coffee?”

  “A drink.”

  “That is a drink. Time to sober up.”

  Too late. Past time.

  He’d let his angel of a vampire down.

  Wen was better for him. Wen had been there.

  Otto got up, staggering down the hall to the bathroom. His bladder ached as though he hadn’t emptied it in days. And his stomach knotted again. He splashed water on his face and shuddered at the cold.
Acid rose into his throat. Somebody had choked Jessa in broad daylight for fuck’s sake. Had he just been in the wrong place? Was it that easy? That explainable? The same set of meaningless actions that had sent Jessa on a flower hunt the same day Otto had been at the warehouse? And if Jessa hadn’t been taking pictures…

  It was fate.

  Fated.

  No. That was a silly, romantic story.

  Otto gripped the edges of the sink, holding on with all his strength, his arms shaking, his head pounding and throbbing. No good. He was no good. And he needed a goddamn drink.

  But when he went back into the hall he paused. He wasn’t getting a drink here. He stared through the muggy bar and past the swaying dancers to the front door. Forget that. He turned and exited into a half-used parking lot.

  Pale stars twinkled in the sky.

  Holding onto the wall of the building he worked his way around to the street, hunting for his car.

  The air was cool, the buildings familiar now. He was in a part of Comity once called Pittsburg. Hell was he doing here? He blinked, trying to focus and get his memory back. Jewelry and glass. He’d gotten some books from the library, but not much of it dealt with the Ellowyn. Had he found something? Not likely. Not one twinkle in the mass of clues lit his way. Jesus Christ. He was fucking lost. He shook his head and staggered.

  “Hey, you okay?

  “Fuck off.”

  “That’s not nice. Slow down, okay? Let’s talk.”

  Fucking hell.

  He turned with a glare and found himself face to face with a cop. Shit. He patted at his pockets.

  “Hands in the air. Where I can see ’em.”

  For fuck’s sake. “I’ma cop.”

  “Sure you are. Why don’t you lean up against the car here, and I’ll take a look.”

  The cop had a hand near his holster, tab unsnapped, weight even on his legs. Otto smeared a hand down his T-shirt. Tan spots smudged the dingy white. “I gotta go,” he said.

  “Up. Against. The. Car.”

  Would the guy shoot him? Would it matter?

  Fuck it.