All That Bleeds

by Kimberly Frost

  She answered wearily. “Hello?”

  “Still want to know what I need?”

  She froze at the sound of Merrick’s voice. It took a moment for her to answer. “It’s very late,” she managed. And things are extremely complicated and dangerous for me.

  “So the offer’s expired?”

  She hesitated, but finally said, “No. Like you, I keep my promises. What appreciation gift would you like me to send?”

  “Shut off the security system and come to the garden door.”

  She sat bolt upright, heart slamming. “Are you—? You’re not here.”

  “See for yourself.”

  Oh my God.

  Chapter 17

  When Merrick ended the call, Alissa’s mouth went dry, half in dread, half in anticipation. If he was downstairs, she shouldn’t open the door for him, but could she afford to leave him wandering around outside her house?

  She glanced down at her silk nightgown. She grabbed a pair of black slacks and a blue knit shirt. She changed quickly and hurried down. She disabled the security system and opened the back door.

  The quiet darkness was velvet smooth with no signs of movement, not even the wind. Had he been joking? She stepped back and began to close the door when he stepped into view.

  She gaped at him. His dark hair dripped onto the shoulders of a black wet suit that looked painted on. There was mud on his hands and feet and blood trickling down his left arm.

  “I need a shower, help bandaging my shoulder, and a place to sleep at dawn.”

  “I—you can’t stay here. You can’t be here.”

  He raised an eyebrow.

  “Of course you can take a shower, and I’m happy to bandage your shoulder, but you know you can’t be found here.”

  “I won’t be found. Shower?”

  “This way.” She closed the door, but he stilled her hand from bolting it.

  “One more thing. There’s a box that was shipped to the gardener.”

  “He doesn’t come until Tuesdays.”

  “I know; that’s why I sent it to him. Your staff opens packages sent to you, and I couldn’t ship something to myself at this address, now could I?”

  “What’s in the package?”

  “A duffel bag of my stuff. Where would the staff put something for the gardener? In the tool shed?” Merrick grabbed a handful of paper towels and pressed them against his shoulder.

  She stared at him. “You planned this? Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Because you would’ve asked too many questions and tried to say no. The conversation would’ve been really long.” He grimaced as he put more pressure on the shoulder wound. The paper towels were falling apart in his fingers. “Pointlessly long, since I would’ve come either way.”

  “It’s my house. You need my permission to stay here.”

  “Are you going to call Etherlin Security to drag me out?” he challenged.

  She frowned. “I might surprise you.”

  By his expression, he certainly wasn’t concerned.

  She grabbed a dishtowel, shoved his hand away, and pressed down hard on the wound. He let out a hiss of pain.

  “Toughen up,” she said lightly.

  He grinned. “You’re some peach. And after I saved your life. Twice.”

  “Saved it so you could ruin it.”

  “Would I do that?”

  “How should I know?” she said, pulling him with her. He followed her into a guest room. She turned on the shower and brought out a stack of towels.

  “I’ve lost quite a bit of blood. Maybe you should join me in the shower in case I need help.” His voice was pure seductive lilt. It almost made her smile, but she knew it wasn’t a good idea to encourage him.

  “I bet you’ll manage. Scrub that shoulder with soap and water while you’re in there.”

  He quirked a brow. “I wouldn’t have expected it of you,” he said, unzipping the top of the suit, revealing a chest of hard, perfect muscles.

  “Expected what?” she asked, glancing too long at his body.

  “Sadism.”

  She blushed, then glared at him. He flashed her a smile.

  “What are you doing here? You know I can’t possibly let you stay.” She said it softly, imploringly.

  “You will.” He pulled free a small packet that had been taped inside the suit. He unwrapped a scorpion amulet covered in black stones and put it over his head. The minute it touched his skin, the light shimmered and her eyes blurred. When she focused on him, she was staring at a younger, plain-looking man. Medium brown hair and eyes. Ordinary features and build. Nothing noteworthy.

  “What is that? And why do you look familiar?”

  “It’s an Ovid Medallion, created about a thousand years ago by a practitioner of magic who was a fan of the Metamorphosis stories. I acquired it about ten years ago. I look familiar because this image first belonged to Len Mills.”

  “Of course, Mr. Mills. The security consultant ES always uses in California. But if you had that, why didn’t you just come through the gate?”

  “They’ve got devices that can detect magical implements. I’d never have made it through the checkpoint.”

  “I still don’t understand what you think you’re doing here.”

  He lifted the amulet off and exhaled, his looks shifting back to normal. “Someone here betrayed you.” He set the amulet on the edge of the sink. “You need a bodyguard you trust.”

  She ran a hand through her hair. “You think I trust you?” she demanded.

  “Yes.”

  They locked eyes.

  Could she really let him stay in her house? Would that magic trick of an amulet really fool Etherlin Security? “I just don’t know,” she murmured. Seconds ticked by with him just watching her.

  “It’s James,” he said, unzipping the suit, causing her eyes to trail down. She forced her gaze back to his very dark eyes. He peeled the suit from his arms, leaving his entire torso bare. “You wanted to know my first name. It’s James.”

  “No one ever calls you that.”

  “No one but you.”

  Alissa found the box that had been shipped to the gardener and retrieved Merrick’s duffel bag. She set it on the bed in the guest room while he showered. She gathered first-aid supplies, and, when she returned, the bathroom door was open. Merrick stood with a towel wrapped around his hips, looking like an ad for an action movie.

  When she joined him in the bathroom with the supplies, he sat and turned his shoulder to her.

  “You’re ventala, so this will heal without scarring?”

  “Right, I don’t scar.”

  “That’s lucky. I do have that potential, so if I get even a tiny cut, the council sends a plastic surgeon rushing over as if one of my limbs were dangling off.”

  “You could say no.”

  “Not if I want to be Wreath Muse. Believe me, I’ve rebelled to the limit of what they’ll allow.” She rubbed peroxide onto his wound and peered inside. “This is pretty deep. And there’s a little pumper,” she said, compressing the small artery. “I can have the plastic surgeon give you a few stitches just to close it, so it doesn’t keep bleeding.”

  He shook his head.

  “Let me hold pressure. I’ll see if I can get it to stop.”

  He watched her with a steady, unnerving gaze. A dark lock of hair fell across his forehead and her fingers longed to brush it back and, in doing so, to sample its wet texture. She looked away, licking her lips.

  He’s the living embodiment of temptation. When she looked at him again, she found his gaze more intense than ever. She nearly leaned down to touch her lips to his.

  “Let’s see,” she said, examining the wound. The spurting blood had stopped, so she wrapped a bandage around his shoulder and upper arm, keeping the wound compressed. “How does that feel?”

  “Fine,” he said.

  “Have you ever been wounded badly enough to need stitches? Or surgery?” she asked.

  “I don’t re
member.”

  She smiled. “Is that a polite way of asking me to mind my own business?”

  He returned the smile. “No, it’s a way of saying that when you’re standing this close with your hands on me, I don’t care about anything else.”

  She stepped back. “I don’t want to waste my opportunity to talk with you, so let me know how far away I need to be for you to concentrate.”

  “Wyoming’s probably far enough.”

  She laughed softly and left the bathroom. In the bedroom, she sat on an elegant periwinkle velvet slipper chair, tipping her head so she could still see him.

  “Tell me one story about your life.”

  He rose and leaned against the doorway.

  “Tell me how you met Lysander.”

  “If I do, what will you give me?”

  “I’ll share one of my secrets in return.”

  “I met Lysander in jail.” He walked to the bed, unzipped the duffel, and pulled out a pair of black boxer shorts.

  “That’s not a story. That’s a hook. I want the whole story.” She closed her eyes as he dropped the towel.

  “The beginning will make you sad.”

  “I don’t care. Tell me anyway, James.” She liked the intimacy of using his first name. She liked being able to tease him with it, the way he teased her by calling her by her last name alone, which no one ever did. She was always Alissa or Miss Alissa or, most frequently, Miss North, the valuable Etherlin asset and longed-for muse and mentor. She never got to be just a girl. Except, perhaps, with him. The irreverent way he used her last name made her feel like she’d been released from the role she always played.

  “Please keep going,” she said from behind her closed lids.

  “My father married my mother and had me to save himself. Before she got involved with him, she was a biochemistry professor. Afterward, she was in a coma.”

  Her smile melted away. She leaned back, resting her head against the chair so her face tipped toward the ceiling. Did she want him to keep going, she wondered. Yes. She wanted all of it. No matter how awful. This was her chance to really know him.

  “He made sure there was no one for the court to put me with except him. The body count was high. When he realized that the Human Preservation Act was going to pass without Paragraph Seventeen, he was jealous. He was going to die, while I got to live. He hated me for it, though that didn’t make me special. He hated everyone.

  “I was a kid, so I did what kids do. They try and try and try, no matter how futile something is. I wanted to win him over, but since he couldn’t have what he wanted, no one should.

  “He tried to beat me to death, but I was the son of a vampire. Hard to kill. When he came for my head with an ax, I ran away from home. Living on the streets was easier. By then I was numb. I met a lot of nasty characters, but no one more vicious than him.

  “I got in trouble. I was in and out of the juvenile detention centers and headed for an early grave. I didn’t care.

  “One night, I fought off some guys. Lysander was on a nearby rooftop. Afterward, he told me he recognized me from a prophecy I was going to help him fulfill.

  “Since he had watched me fight four guys alone and hadn’t bothered to help, I told him to go fuck himself. That was the beginning of our close friendship,” Merrick said with a rough laugh. “Anyway, I got scooped up on a B&E, and Lysander got himself thrown in jail with me. Assaulting a police officer, I think the charge was. They couldn’t hold him. He slipped out whenever he felt like it. They had no idea the scars on his back covered wings.

  “I was the only one who knew that, and the only person he talked to. In fact, I could not get him to shut up. Most of the time he spoke Latin and other dead languages. After a while, I couldn’t take any more. I told him I’d join any fight he wanted if he’d just stop talking about things that happened five thousand years before I was born.”

  She opened her eyes, expecting him to be fully dressed, but he wore only the black boxers. Apparently he thought that nearly naked suited him. The trouble was that she agreed.

  “How old were you when you met him?”

  “Fourteen.”

  “Whatever happened to your mother?”

  “She passed away without waking up.”

  “That’s why women and children are safe in your territory. You protect them the way no one protected you and your mom.”

  “Who says women and children are safe in my territory?”

  “Everyone.”

  “Oh, that guy again. He talks too much.”

  She smiled. “Thank you for confiding in me. Since your usual participation in our dialogue consists of sending gifts…or shooting things, I appreciate the extra effort.” She offered a sly, teasing glance as she stood.

  “Where do you think you’re going?” he asked.

  “We’re moving upstairs. I can’t have the staff finding you like Goldilocks, asleep where you don’t belong.”

  She pulled the bathroom trash bag from the bin and knotted it. She bunched up the towels and his wet suit and walked out. He stayed with her as she disposed of the wet suit and trash and put the towels down the laundry chute.

  Upstairs, she took him to the room that adjoined her suite.

  “Beige,” he said, glancing in the guest room.

  She quirked an eyebrow, her gaze dancing over the stunning hand-painted Napa Valley mural that covered two walls.

  “Well, it’s not solid eggplant, like being cinched up in a Chivas Regal pouch, but we manage to soldier on,” she said, bolting the door that had hallway access. “If you keep this locked, the only way they’ll be able to get in here is through my room, which they won’t come through without my permission.”

  “What about when they clean?”

  “I do these rooms myself most of the time. I like having a place to myself, where no one pokes around in my stuff.” When she returned to her room, he followed. She put a hand out to stop him, but he kept coming until their bodies nearly touched.

  “It’s almost dawn, Merrick. Let’s get a few hours’ sleep.”

  He moved her out of his way and proceeded to lock the door to her bedroom that opened to the hall.

  “You didn’t need to do that. They don’t barge in on me.”

  “Which bed?”

  She laughed. “You’re kidding, right?”

  He glanced between the rooms. “Guest room’s darker.”

  “Merrick, I’m not sleeping with you.”

  “You owe me a secret. If you want to leave after you tell me one, you can.”

  In the guest room, he pulled the covers back and got in bed.

  “What happened to ‘People talk too much’?”

  “Change into whatever you wear to bed and get in here.”

  She stared at him. His audacity just kept knocking her off balance.

  “If you force me to come and get you, Alissa, you won’t get off with just telling me a secret.”

  She flushed, her belly tightening. How did he make threats sound delicious?

  She went to her room, dug through the drawers to find the pale blue flannel pajamas she’d worn for a “sleepover” photo shoot when she was a teenager. She put them on in her bathroom.

  When she returned, he shook his head. “You just ruined every fantasy I’ve ever had of going to bed with you.”

  “That was the idea.” She lay on the bed next to him, and within moments, he maneuvered her against his side. His right arm felt solid against her back and the bare skin of his chest and stomach invited touching. She closed her fists to restrain her hands from wandering over his gorgeous body.

  This was the closest she’d been to anyone in a very long time. It made her hungry for foreplay…and the things that followed.

  She licked her lips and resisted. His fingers on the back of her head beckoned her close. She rested her cheek against his chest. He smelled so good, of warm, freshly washed male skin. Her teeth wanted to nibble, to tease a reaction from him.

  She clenc
hed her jaw. Don’t be insane. If you start anything, you will not be able to stop it. He’s a ventala. He can’t be played with.

  “So, a secret?” She closed her eyes, enjoying the feel of his muscles against her cheek. “You fascinate me,” she murmured.

  “That’s not a secret.”

  She laughed. “You’re so arrogant. I didn’t realize it before, but you are.”

  “That’s not a secret either. The whole Varden knows that.” His fingers pressed against her side, creating a riot of sensations throughout her body. “It’s almost dawn, North. Get on with it.”

  The challenge rattled the gates inside her, and almost without a thought, she unlocked one. “I let the wrong man seduce me once.” She let the statement hang on the air, but he didn’t reassure her that the same thing was not happening again. Nor did he pull back in any way.

  “Go on,” he said.

  “I was struggling to prove myself as a muse. My dad was very sick, and I was having trouble sleeping. This smart, powerful, respected older guy gave me sleeping pills and comfort. He gave me advice at a time when I needed it. The people I was closest to had abandoned me for an extended business trip and family vacation. I was on my own, which I’m sure appealed to him as much as it terrified me.

  “He coerced me into doing things I didn’t want to do.” She paused, thinking back, then continued softly, “I sacrificed pieces of myself and sobbed through every shower afterward. And later, after I’d done everything he wanted, he treated me worse than I would ever treat a stranger, let alone someone I’d claimed to love.

  “He went on to undermine people’s confidence in my skills. He claimed I’d exaggerated my muse successes—which I never did—and that I was promiscuous, which I wasn’t. I’d worked so hard. I’d trusted him so much. I felt betrayed. Very badly betrayed.

  “The emotions built into a fury that consumed me. I thought, ‘I’ll show him. Let’s see who really has what skills.’ So I went to see him, and I used my power to make him despair. I watched him push aside the draperies, open the fourth-story window, and lean out. I very nearly let him jump.” Her lashes were wet with tears as she blinked. “The only reason I held back in that moment was because I wanted him to realize how powerless I’d made him. So he would know how it felt.”