Thicker Than Blood (Blood Vice Book 5)

by Angela Roquet

  One of the wolves waited on the other side, moving toward the back end. I hurried across the lot on the balls of my feet, stepping lightly as I holstered my pistols. I wouldn’t need them for what I had planned.

  A large lever angled up from the corner of the truck’s bumper. It looked like something a trash guy might use to hang on to while the truck cruised through city alleys. I grabbed it with both hands and pushed off the ground, tucking my knees in against my chest.

  The momentum pulled me around the side of the truck as if I were a stripper on a pole. The rifle-toting wolf sucked in an alarmed gasp as my feet planted in the center of his chest, knocking him ass over elbows into the back of the trash truck. His rifle smacked against the bumper and landed in the street.

  “Ha!” I shouted, half in victory and half in surprise as the lever in my hand moved.

  The mouth of the hopper started to close, crushing bags of trash and corrugated cardboard down on top of the wolfman. He screamed and clawed at the garbage as it compressed around him. I turned away, unable to watch as it finished him off, his cries dissolving with a crunch of bones.

  The remaining creep was already moving my way, his rifle taking aim at my head. A bullet whizzed past my face as I reached for my pistols.

  “Move!” Mandy yelled through the driver’s side window of the truck. Her naked arm poked out, and she slapped her hand against the door impatiently.

  I skipped back a step as she threw the truck into reverse and stepped on the gas, slamming into the man. His last shot echoed inside the hopper of freshly pressed garbage and wolf scum before his rifle went flying across the street. It landed in the intersection just as the duke’s car pulled up to the light.

  I flagged my arms at Donnie like an idiot. Like maybe he didn’t notice the M4 or the banged-up car or the unconscious wolf behind the trash truck. Not to mention the one I’d rendered into hamburger not twenty yards away.

  Mandy whooped, and then I heard the unmistakable sound of her shifting. She was still naked, after all. A moment later, her wolf leapt through the truck window.

  It was somewhere between three and four in the morning, but a few early birds slowed to gawk at us as they passed by. One parked in a small row of spaces diagonal from the mess we’d made.

  “I’ve called the police,” they announced. Their tone was caught somewhere between good Samaritan and tattletale. I hiked both thumbs into the air as I panted, still coming down from the jolt of adrenaline burning up my insides.

  Donnie stopped the duke’s car in the middle of the street, and the back door opened.

  “Ursula?” Dante asked, his wide eyes taking in the carnage and Mandy’s wagging tail.

  “I’ve got her.” Murphy limped toward us. One of Ursula’s arms was slung around his neck, but she was conscious—if a little dazed.

  The sirens were louder now, and red lights flickered up from between the buildings. Dante waved his arm for us to hurry.

  “Get in,” he said, taking Ursula from Murphy. “Blood Vice will intercept, but it would be best if we are not here when the human police arrive—especially considering your history with them,” he added in my direction.

  He slid across the seat, pulling Ursula along with him until there was room for me. I climbed in and patted my leg for Mandy. Her tongue drew inside her mouth, and her ears lay flat against her head. I couldn’t imagine she was thrilled at the idea of lying across the laps of three vamps, but she hopped inside as Murphy dropped into the front passenger seat.

  The doors closed, and Donnie pulled away just as two police cars arrived at the scene. I glanced over my shoulder, attempting to see if the human who had called in the incident was redirecting the officers.

  “Make it snappy,” Donnie said from the front seat. He was on the phone, I realized. Probably with an agent from Blood Vice.

  Ursula groaned beside me. A cut sliced across her brow, nearly hidden against her red hairline, but I had a feeling her disquiet had more to do with the wolf in her lap. Mandy’s amber eyes slowly turned up to her, and she whined under her breath.

  “Trust me,” I said. “You don’t want her to shift on top of you.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Yoshiko was waiting in the foyer with a tray containing two blood pots when we returned to the manor. Dante had placed a call to Belinda on the ride across town, relaying our injuries to her, and like a grade-A assistant, she’d set to work making sure we’d be well taken care of upon arrival.

  Mandy trotted off to her room to shift as I helped Murphy into a wheelchair. The accident had torn something in his knee—not that he’d let that hold him back in the scrimmage that followed. It was catching up to him now, though. Belinda took the handles on the backrest of his chair and gave me a small smile.

  “I have a donor waiting in the gym,” she said. Then she patted Murphy’s shoulder and turned him toward the north wing. “No stairs for you tonight, big guy.”

  Dante took Ursula’s arm and motioned for Yoshiko and me to follow them down the back hallway that led to his quarters. Dawn was a few hours off yet, so we were taking our morning blood earlier than usual. In our condition, I was sure the harem could forgive us.

  “It’s werewolf, O-positive.” Yoshiko set the tray down on the table near the fireplace. “Should fix you right up, Your Grace,” she said to Ursula as Dante deposited her onto one of the stuffed armchairs. He waved a hand at the other, offering it to me.

  “You want me to bleed all over your furniture?” I twisted my leg to the side to show him where a rogue round had sliced through my suit. Apparently, the big, bad wolves had been using silver. My thigh was still bleeding. The trail oozed down my calf and disappeared inside my boot. I could feel the tacky moisture soaking into the heel of my sock.

  “I’ll fetch a towel,” Yoshiko said, making for the duke’s attached bathroom. She was back in a flash and pressed a terrycloth square into my hand before pouring a round of the werewolf blood for us. “Is there anything else I can get for you, Your Grace?” she asked Dante.

  “That will be all. Thank you.” He fondly touched her shoulder and bid her a good day, likely out of habit, considering it was still pitch black beyond the sea of windows flanking the fireplace.

  Ursula’s hands shook as she lifted her cup to her mouth. Under the brighter lighting, I finally got a good look at her head wound. A glimmer of white bone peeked through the crusted blood, and I assumed that a piece of glass from the partition window was to blame. She drank deeply, and the gash contracted, the skin tightening until her skull was once again hidden from sight.

  I wasn’t so fortunate. Silver left a more lasting mark than glass, as evidenced by the tender, red line over my palm, and while the werewolf blood warmed my core and made my toes tingle, the ragged tear across my thigh would take a few days to fully heal. It stopped the bleeding, at least.

  I wiped my leg with the hand towel before taking Dante up on his offer and sitting down next to Ursula, folding my bum leg over the other to avoid staining his fancy chair.

  “Any guesses as to whom my secret admirer might be?” Ursula asked as she refilled her cup. She paused before setting the pot down, and then topped off my cup, too. The gesture would have felt more sincere if it weren’t so obvious how badly she needed friends right now.

  “Those wolves belonged to the Moreau Pack—Mandy recognized them,” I added at Dante’s skeptical frown. “And one was the assassin who attacked the duchess last week.”

  “Blood Vice should have them in autopsy soon.” He scratched his chin and turned to Ursula. “If I have them send over photographs, do you think you could identify the culprit?”

  “Absolutely.”

  I held up a finger and winced. “We may have a problem. I kind of…sort of…maybe crushed him in the hopper of the trash truck.”

  Dante shuddered, but Ursula merely cocked an eyebrow.

  “It was an accident. Mostly,” I added, not sure what to make of their reactions. Was that horror? Awe? Disgus
t?

  “Well, it’s not like he didn’t have it coming,” Ursula finally said. Dante nodded slowly, unable to disagree but still seemingly wigged out by my extreme justice—however accidental. I waited for him to look at me again before I asked what I figured he was wondering himself.

  “Kassandra?”

  Ursula choked on her blood and covered her mouth with one hand. “What?” she rasped.

  Uh-oh. Dante’s eyes swelled, and I realized a little too late that he hadn’t told her what I’d seen in Emma’s blood on All Hallows’ Eve. To be fair, he’d agreed to protect my secret—a secret that Ursula had only just discovered the night before.

  “She sired the assassin who tried to take out the queen last fall. I bit her, got an Eye of Blood peepshow, and then couldn’t tell anyone—for obvious reasons,” I said, summing up the short version of the story.

  “Except for Dante?” Ursula blinked at him suspiciously.

  “Except for Dante,” I echoed. Truthfully, I wasn’t sure why I’d spilled my guts to the duke. I could have tried harder to keep up the charade, but outing Kassandra to him had made me feel…safer.

  The duchess’s breath grew heavy, and her eyes welled. “You don’t suspect that she…”

  “We have no proof.” The worry creasing Dante’s brow made me wonder if there had been another reason he’d kept the information from her. “All we know for certain is that she sired the assassin who attacked the queen. Nothing more.”

  “But she could have done this,” Ursula snapped. “She could be the one responsible for Morgan. And these attacks on me could be her trying to finish the job.”

  Dante knelt in front of her chair and pulled her hands to his chest. “You cannot let these dark imaginings consume you. We must focus on the task the queen and council have assigned to you in order to mend your reputation.”

  “What if I can’t?” Her breath labored again, and this time she turned her stricken gaze to me. “What if I ruin her the same way I ruined Raphael and Scarlett?”

  “Impossible.” He shook her hands clasped between his own. “I will be here to assist you every step of the way.”

  Ursula didn’t seem convinced. “What good is that? You’ve never even half-sired anyone.”

  She wrenched her hands out of his and stood suddenly, pacing across the room to stand before the span of glass overlooking the pool. I knew it was only a matter of time before she had another outburst. She was like a demonic jack-in-the-box. One second consumed by eerie melancholy. The next, an explosion of fury and resentment.

  “You are right.” Dante sighed and rose to his full height. “But I have read many books on rearing scions, and I have a household full of loyal subjects. That must count for something, cousin.”

  “You have no need to convince me,” she scoffed. “We are bound together by law. The choice is out of my hands.”

  “Then make your peace with it by Imbolc,” Dante said. “And prepare yourself for Kassandra. Whatever else she may or may not be responsible for, she did attempt to murder the queen. She cannot be trusted, but until we have proof and a well-laid trap set for her, we must appear none the wiser.”

  “You’ve gotten too good at playing the fool, cousin.” Ursula turned on her heel and stormed out of the duke’s room, slamming the door behind her. Such drama.

  “That went well.” I finished off my cup of blood, anticipating his dismissal.

  Something crashed in the hallway—likely one of the framed sunsets—and Dante snorted. “Swimmingly.” Then he shook his head and offered me a weary smile. “Thank you for keeping her safe tonight—for defeating our enemies so…thoroughly.”

  “The one in the truck really was an accident,” I said. “And the roadkill victim was Mandy’s doing.”

  “I’ll be sure to express my gratitude the next time I see her.”

  I stood and inspected my leg again, fingering the hole in my suit. “Shark-resistant, huh? Maybe the council could convene at the beach next time.”

  A dry laugh slipped from Dante. “Let us hope that there is no next time in our near future.”

  * * * * *

  I didn’t see Ursula at all the next evening. I wasn’t sure if she was avoiding everyone or just me. I didn’t care either way. I’d take the peace and quiet while I could get it.

  The duke loaned Mandy out to the Cadaver Dogs again, this time for an extended stay through the full moon, and Allen Cable collected her the night before we planned to leave for the queen’s Imbolc celebration. I hated being left behind, but I had a previous engagement.

  Boredom set in quickly when Mandy wasn’t around. I’d already packed for the trip to Denver, and I even bit the bullet and unpacked a few of my personal possessions stowed in the plastic tubs I’d been living out of. Belinda had found a new shade for my mother’s fire hydrant lamp, and though it didn’t exactly go with the subtle, feminine theme of the room, the duke seemed pleased when he noticed it on the bedside table.

  “Mr. Murphy said you were looking for me?” he said, pausing in my doorway.

  “Yes.” I crossed the room to the small desk in the corner. It was cluttered with stubs of charcoal and crumpled pages—another attempt to keep my boredom at bay. The drawing I retrieved for him was of the werewolf whose remains now filled a five-gallon bucket in the supernatural morgue under the Blood Vice field office in St. Louis.

  “Is this John Wolf number three?” Dante asked, taking in the sketch with a furrowed brow.

  “It was the best I could do with how briefly I saw him.”

  “The detail is striking. I will forward this to Blood Vice for their investigation.”

  I sighed and bit my bottom lip. “I don’t suppose there’s any chance that I could join the investigation, is there?”

  “All in good time, vampling. Let us get through Imbolc first.” He nodded his thanks and disappeared down the hall.

  Maybe I was reading too much into his apologetic smile, but I wanted to believe him. I couldn’t stomach the idea of staying cooped up in this manor for fifty years with the likes of Ursula, and I was having a hard time containing my jealousy regarding Mandy’s adventures. Thwarting royal assassins had only whetted my appetite—and I wouldn’t be satisfied until I proved who pulled their strings.

  I took to the gym to release my frustrations, sparring with Murphy. He teased about a rematch, though we were content to take turns holding the boxing bag for each other for now. His recounting of the trash truck park battle—as everyone had come to call it—seemed to impress the other guards. They had been civil before, but now they regarded me with a new level of respect. I liked it. It made the manor tolerable, but only just.

  I still felt as if I were sitting on my hands when I should be out doing something more, like hunting down Arnie Moreau and beating the information we needed out of him. The task sounded so much more productive—and so much easier—than playing dress up at some hoity-toity vamp party.

  Especially when I didn’t know whether or not Roman would be in attendance.

  That we’d be in the same city would be hard enough to push from my mind. And even if he didn’t show, I had no doubt that someone from House Sorano would be there. They were allies of the royal family, and half of an essential partnership that I’d threatened by not keeping my fangs in my mouth. Which made the queen’s decision to initiate me into her household extra peculiar. Unless she assumed that House Sorano would see serving under a nightmare like Ursula punishment.

  I certainly did.

  Ursula was neurotic and reckless and hateful—and she had no concept of privacy, as I discovered after returning to my room.

  The duchess stood near the desk, her back to me as she flipped through my sketchbook.

  “Are you lost?” I threw my sweaty gym towel over my shoulder and folded my arms.

  “I was, but now I’m found. Thanks to you.” She paused her snooping to smirk at me. “Ironic, isn’t it? How you thought bringing me in would buy your freedom. But, instead, it impri
soned us both—together.”

  “I wasn’t trying to buy my freedom.”

  “Oh, no?” She held up the drawing of Roman, seductively reclining in bed, and my breath hitched. “Handsome blood doll, wasn’t he? I anointed him a time or two myself back when he belonged to Scarlett and she became a bit…overzealous. Or forgetful.”

  I ground my teeth and glared at her through the thickening screen of my blood vision. If I opened my mouth, I was sure to say something she’d make me regret. To Ursula’s credit, she didn’t seem to take pleasure in my contained outrage.

  “I kept him alive, even when he begged me not to.” She turned the sketchpad around to take another look at my rendering of Roman. “The council wouldn’t have allowed Scarlett to keep him as a scion. She was but a vampling herself. They would have demanded his ashes—like the one she accidentally turned before him.”

  I remembered Roman mentioning something about an unsanctioned scion being fed to the sun and delivered to their sire in an urn. What had Scarlett made him endure that he considered true death a better fate?

  “I didn’t set out to create a monster, mind you,” Ursula said, carrying on the conversation despite my refusal to be a part of it. “I didn’t set out to create her at all.” She sighed and folded back the cover of the sketchpad, revealing the angry portrait I’d drawn of Raphael.

  I braced my shoulders as an unbidden shudder rocked through them, and then I took a step closer, refusing to let her see how much her scion—my sire—still haunted me. The Eye of Blood had shown me what a true siring should have been like. The way Lilith had turned Lili, and even the way Kassandra had turned Emma, had been humane. Gentle and with some notion of reverence even.

  Raphael had not wanted to sire me. He’d wanted to bleed me dry and burn his first illegitimate scion’s abandoned brothel down on top of me. And he nearly did. I was an accident. A redheaded step-scion.