Blood Thorn

by A. S. Green

  Pull away, she told herself. Now, before you do something stupid. But her whiskey brain had other ideas. As Alex’s powerful body held hers, his steady gaze enveloped her, ensnared her. There was another yank at the center of her chest and she let out an audible gasp.

  Alex’s eyes widened in response. Ainsley’s gaze dropped to his mouth.

  His lips were slightly parted. “Ainsley?”

  At the sound of his call, she had the urge to lunge upward, to press her lips to his. She imagined their tongues touching and his hands slipping down to cup her rear as he pulled her closer, arching her back as he bent over her. Just the thought of it drove a rush of sensation through her body—new, fresh, and exciting. The ground dropped away. Her stomach fluttered as that little leaf of her heart got caught in a whirlpool, spinning uncontrollably.

  It wasn’t just her feeling these strange sensations. She could feel him hard against her stomach now, and doing nothing to hide it. She licked her lips. He leaned down closer. Closer.

  Ainsley rose up on her toes, and Alex froze. He blinked. Then he suddenly—and somewhat roughly—pushed himself away from her.

  Ainsley staggered back, and they both stood there, staring at each other. His expression was shocked, bordering on horrified.

  Oh, god. She’d nearly thrown herself at a complete stranger. Had she completely lost her ever-freakin’ mind?

  “Uh, Lee-lee?” Tap, tap, tap. It was Harper. “Hon, my brother just texted. We have to go.”

  Ainsley turned, embarrassed and flustered and just wanting to run.

  Harper was wearing a shit-eating grin, completely unaware of Ainsley’s embarrassment but clearly liking the looks of Alex. “Sorry to interrupt, but my brother is waiting outside to drive us to the cabin. Are you sure you don’t want to go with us?”

  At that point, reality snapped firmly back into place, and the last bits of the fantasy world Ainsley’d been constructing crumbled around her in fiery bits of falling debris.

  She glanced up at Alex, feeling apologetic, mortified, and—regrettably—still incredibly turned on. “I’m sorry, Harp, but I really can’t.”

  “Well,” Harper said, “walk us out at least.”

  Ainsley blinked. “Oh, right. I should do that.” She glanced back at Alex. “Thanks for the…um…dance.”

  He pressed his lips together.

  Harper took Ainsley by the arm and led her away. “Even if you’re not going to the cabin, I’m not leaving you on the dance floor with that bit o’ honey. Not without backup anyway. He looks like he could eat you alive.”

  Ainsley didn’t want to disappoint Harper, so she didn’t tell her how badly she’d just humiliated herself. Alex Whoever-He-Was was probably relieved he didn’t have to come up with his own way to disengage.

  But even as Harper pulled her through the crowd, Ainsley couldn’t help but look back. The little green leaf of her heart was now released. The rushing current was pulling it far, far away.

  4

  Ainsley stayed on the sidewalk while her friends piled into the SUV. She pressed the door closed and Harper hung out the window and pleaded with her one more time to change her mind. “You’re going to regret being such a party pooper.”

  Judging by the magnitude of their projected hangovers, Ainsley doubted that. Still, she made a pouty face and said, “I’m sorry. I promised Professor Patel.”

  The other girls waved just as the light turned green and Harper’s brother hit the gas, launching the SUV away from the curb.

  Ainsley watched them go, and a shiver ran through her. It was May, but the remnants of winter’s chill still lingered in the air—this was Minnesota, after all—and though she appreciated its sobering effect, she wished she’d brought a jacket. That wish doubled when she rounded the corner and the wind rushed up the street, barreling toward her.

  “Good lord.” Ainsley leaned into it and pressed on. When she was nearly to the next corner, she cut down the service alley. The short-cut would shave a couple minutes off the walk back to her car, and it allowed the buildings to block the wind.

  It was just past dusk, but she knew the area and there were a few dim overhead lights. A paper coffee cup fell from an overflowing dumpster and rolled across the alley in front of her. She kicked it, scolding herself for having been such an idiot back at the bar.

  Maybe she should’ve gone with Harper and the girls, just so she could debrief the whole scene with them. Yes, she wanted Professor Patel’s recommendation for the Eaton-Jackson grant, but he would’ve understood if she’d explained the importance of her best friend’s bachelorette party.

  She made it past the alley’s first few service doors—the steel kind marked with reflective stick-on letters and numbers for each business—when she heard a sound that stopped her in her tracks.

  It was a moan, or rather the combined moan of a man and a woman. Just her luck that she’d stumble across some grimy back alley tryst. She kept her head down to give them privacy, and had just come to a brick alcove between the Starbucks and its abutting building, when a wet gurgling sound met her ears.

  Ainsley’s head jerked to the right, and she saw them. The man was slight of build but obviously strong, judging by the way he held the woman’s weight with her back arched over his arm. His face was tucked into her neck; the woman’s head was turned toward Ainsley.

  Then the man straightened and released his grip. The woman fell like a rag doll to the ground. She made no attempt to catch her fall.

  Ainsley didn’t move. She couldn’t. She didn’t scream because there was no air. The man staggered a bit, then his body flinched, and his head jerked toward Ainsley.

  He stared at her with glowing eyes that pierced the darkness—one light brown, one hazel. His chestnut-colored hair hung to his shoulders, and his lips were dark and shiny with what Ainsley instinctively knew was blood.

  She wanted to run, but she couldn’t find her feet.

  The man reached out for her with a look of recognition in his eyes. He curled his fingers in a desperate gesture, but then he staggered again and collapsed against the brick wall.

  That’s when a surge of adrenaline hit Ainsley’s bloodstream and she raced out of the alley like she’d been shot from a cannon. She wouldn’t have thought her feet were even hitting the ground, except for the slap, slap, slap of her sandals. God, why hadn’t she worn running shoes?

  She had no idea if he was following. She didn’t dare look.

  She raced to the mouth of the alley, then across the busy street, dodging traffic, to the corner lot where she’d left her car. When she finally made it, her heart was pounding. Hard. Fast. She fumbled her keys, dropping them, and they bounced under her car. “Frick!”

  Ainsley dropped to her hands and knees while pulling out her phone and calling the cops.

  “Nine-one-one,” said a woman’s calm voice. “What is your emergency?”

  For the first few seconds, all Ainsley could do was pant into the phone. “I think I just… Oh, god. I think I just witnessed a murder.” She swept her hand back and forth under her car, feeling for her keys.

  There was a beat of silence, then the woman said, “Okay, ma’am. Calm down. Can you tell me your name?”

  “Ainsley Morris.”

  “Are you in a safe place, Ainsley?”

  “No.” She glanced toward the sidewalk on the opposite side of the street. “I’m in the outdoor lot on Seventh Street, between Second and Third Avenue.”

  “Police are on their way to you.”

  “There’s a girl… in the alleyway behind Starbucks. The one on…um…Seventh. Between that and the bank. I think she’s dead.”

  “Did you see anyone else?”

  “Yes. A man. He…” What had he done exactly?

  “Can you describe him?”

  “Young? White.” There was no way she was going to mention the blood on his lips; the operator would think this was a prank call.

  Dang it. Where were her keys? She glanced toward the oppo
site side of the street again. “He had longish ha—”

  Ainsley’s voice cut off as her breath left her. The young man she’d seen in the alley was now staggering down the sidewalk. And he wasn’t alone. He was being kept upright by a taller, stronger man whose face was furious. And that taller man…was Alex.

  “Are you still with me?” the operator asked.

  “Yes.” Ainsley curled into a fetal position between her car and the building. She had to be seeing things.

  “Did you see anyone besides the one man?” the woman asked.

  “No,” Ainsley said. “No, there was only one attacker. He was alone. I didn’t see anyone else.” Her stomach clenched at her lie. She should tell the operator about Alex. She knew his name. She could describe him. Maybe he used his credit card at the bar. What was stopping her?

  “I’ve sent a unit to the victim; I’m sending another one to your location.”

  Ainsley could already hear the sirens. She took another peek. Alex and the other guy should have only made it to mid-block by then, but they were gone. Vanished. The businesses on this block were all closed. Had they jumped into a parked car?

  “Okay, Ainsley. They’ve found her. You should see a unit any second now. They’re going to want to ask you some questions.”

  There was a flash of red and blue lights to Ainsley’s right as a car pulled into the lot from the opposite end. She didn’t flag them down, but they found her. She was still curled up against the cinderblock wall. They had to practically pry her away from it as they led her to their car.

  One of the officers opened the back door and Ainsley sat sideways on the seat with her feet on the ground. The other officer used a flashlight to retrieve her keys, then he wrapped something around her.

  “Can you tell us what you saw?”

  “I saw a white guy, early twenties, longish brownish hair. Different colored eyes.”

  “Different colored eyes?”

  “One brown, one green. And he…” She shuddered at the bloody image, so clear in her memory. “I don’t know what he was doing to her, but she fell down and she didn’t get up.”

  Ainsley put her head in her hands, now wondering if she’d imagined the whole thing.

  “Did you see anyone else?”

  She shook her head. “No. Nobody else.”

  At that point, all she wanted to do was go home. She needed her bed. She needed something warm. She needed to get away from the squawking police radio. She needed to shake off the image of the young man with his glowing eyes and bloody lips, reaching out so desperately, reaching out…for her.

  5

  The Campbell Estate

  Saturday morning

  Alexander Campbell stood in the entrance to the empty ballroom at his family estate. The early morning sun shone through the windows, angling panels of light across the parquet floor and illuminating Rory, still dressed in his blood-stained shirt.

  It had been a struggle for Alex to get him back home, nearly unconscious and glutted as he’d been. Now he was slumped in a wooden chair in the middle of the cavernous room, just where Alex had left him six hours earlier.

  With a wide stance and arms crossed, Alex watched his youngest clan member. It was no surprise Rory’d lost control, and Alex had only himself to blame. If he’d been more vigilant two decades ago, this wouldn’t be such a fucking disaster.

  Alex and his five brethren—bràithrean in the old language—were the last surviving ba’vonn-shees—an ancient race of blood-drinking fae from the Scottish highlands. Alex had been their chieftain since his parents’ deaths, and it was on his watch that they’d lost their one surviving queen.

  Without a queen, he’d had to watch his kind wither and die until only six remained. Six survivors from several original clans, now joined out of necessity under the Campbell banner.

  And, by the looks of Rory, there would soon be only five.

  Rory’s head lolled forward and his reddish-brown hair fell over his face.

  “No,” Alex growled. “I won’t let you die.”

  Alex had vowed to learn from his mistakes. He’d promised this new makeshift clan that he would find them a new queen, then protect her at all cost. That was Plan A. There was no Plan B. And last night, despite the odds, he’d finally done it.

  He only prayed Rory’s recklessness hadn’t ruined everything.

  Rory groaned, low and throaty, and Alex heard two pairs of steady feet coming down the hall. He glanced over his shoulder to see the only other survivors of his original clan: Callum Campbell, with his thick auburn hair, trim beard, and thoughtful expression; and Finn Campbell, with his unruly mop of jet black curls.

  “What d’ye say, McKee?” Finn asked in the old language and using the nickname that ba’vonn-shee chieftains always bore. “Should I help him wake?”

  “Aye, mo bhràthair,” Alex said, using the same language. “It looks as though he’s nearly burned off the effects of his gluttony.”

  A smile stretched across Finn’s mouth, and the three of them entered the room. Alex stopped five feet from the chair. Callum and Finn went closer. Finn pinched Rory’s nose shut until the youth’s legs jerked, his eyes bugged out, and his mouth gaped open like a fish.

  “Snap to,” Finn said, letting go of his nose. “Your chieftain’s here.”

  Rory’s eyes—one the color of weak tea, the other hazel green—darted wildly around the room before settling on Alex. “McKee!”

  “What happened last night?” Alex demanded.

  Rory remained silent—apparently not knowing what to say—that is, until Callum gave the chair a swift kick.

  “I know I was supposed to stay in the house,” Rory blurted out apologetically. “I only went into the gardens for some air, but— McKee, I felt like I was turning inside out and… I had to get out of there. I went into the city and… You should’ve tasted her.”

  Rory’s eyes fluttered closed with the lingering remains of his rapture. “I wanted to stop sooner. I tried.”

  Alex’s veins strained at the insinuation; his control was still very much intact, but for the last decade, he and the other survivors had been depriving themselves of warm blood sources, for the safety of everyone involved.

  “You lost control,” Alex said as if reading criminal charges. “And that puts our clan at even greater risk than we already were.”

  Rory hung his head. “Did she die?”

  “No. The question is, will she remember?”

  “I don’t think so. I was careful about that. McKee, I really am sorry.”

  “So am I.” Alex put his hands on his hips. “But things are about to get better.”

  “They are?” Rory asked, looking up.

  “They are?” Finn and Callum echoed.

  “Meeting. My office,” Alex said, addressing the duo. “Rory, you’ll stay inside the house until I tell you otherwise.”

  Rory bowed his head in submission.

  Alex jerked his chin toward Finn and Callum, and they followed him out of the ballroom, then down the dark corridor to his office at the back of the grand house.

  The room was paneled in mahogany. A thick rug woven in scarlet and navy floral patterns covered the floor. The three-paned window was criss-crossed in muntins. In front of the window was a wide desk with sturdy legs. Everything on the desk was meticulously placed, nothing out of order. Just the way Alex needed it.

  He gestured to the two wooden chairs that faced the desk, suggesting they sit. Alex took his own seat behind the desk in the ornately carved wainscot chair that had been the seat of Campbell chieftains for centuries past. The setting was formal, but they had been clan mates for over three centuries. There was respect for Alex’s position, but his bràithrean spoke freely.

  “Thank Christ you never brought Rory into the business,” Callum said, sitting and crossing one ankle over the opposite knee. “If the police identify him, at least there won’t be any blowback on the company.”

  Alex nodded, but he hadn’t brought the
m in there to discuss the clan’s business interests. Right now, he was more concerned with family. “How are you two doing?”

  Callum's head jerked, and he glanced quickly at Finn. “Hanging in there, McKee.” Then, apparently feeling self-conscious, he scratched his fingernails through his beard. “But I am worried.”

  Finn lowered his gaze to his clasped hands. His black curls hung over his pale gray eyes. “I have to admit, I’ve had inklings of what Rory was describing. I might have a year left before things get dicey. Two, if I’m lucky.”

  Callum nodded once in agreement.

  Alex stayed silent, waiting for Finn to look up and make eye contact. When he did, Alex took a breath. What he was about to say would rock them, though this time for the better. “I’ve found a queen.”

  Callum’s foot dropped from his knee, and they both sat back in their seats, their shock apparent. Neither of them spoke, but their furrowed brows asked if Alex was sure.

  “It’s true,” Alex said.

  “But…” Callum said, giving his head a little shake. “Who fathered her? Where has she been all this time?”

  “She told me her father abandoned her.”

  Finn grimaced, and Alex felt much the same. With their numbers dropping, it was practically treasonous to abandon a child.

  “Could one of us have fathered her and not known it?” Callum asked. He wasn’t wondering about himself, though. Callum had been celibate since his bloodwife’s death.

  “No,” Alex said. “Her father must have known she existed; she said he left because he couldn’t handle the responsibility.”

  “A stranger, then?” Finn asked. “Could there be another ba’vonn-shee wandering around that we don’t know about?”

  “It’s crossed my mind,” Alex said, “but the thought of someone surviving this long on his own without a queen or a clan... It defies logic.”

  “What’s her name?” Finn asked, getting to the point. It didn’t matter how she came to be, only that she had.