Blood Type

by K. A. Linde

  When he pulled back, he inspected the cut on her forehead. “It’s minor. Hold this to it.” He offered her a handkerchief, because of course he had one, and she held it to her head.

  “You found me,” she breathed.

  “I’ll always find you.” He kissed the top of her head, and then reached down for her hand. “Let’s get out of here. I don’t want another close encounter.”

  Beckham tightened his grip on her hand and then shouldered his way through the crowd. It took forever before they finally reached a city block that had thinned out. By then she had a headache. Her clothes were rumpled and one of her sleeves was torn. Nothing she could do about that right now.

  “This way,” Beckham said, directing them back toward the center of the city.

  “How did you find me?”

  “I could smell you,” he told her. “Your blood.”

  “Oh.”

  She removed the handkerchief and stared down at her own dried blood. The cut had stopped bleeding already. It had been small to begin with, but still that vampire had been able to smell her. Beckham had been able to smell her.

  “Here.” She offered the handkerchief back to Beckham.

  He frowned, taking the handkerchief from her. “We should burn that.”

  “Burn it?” she asked in confusion. “Beckham, what is going on? That woman had the same reaction to my blood the vampire had outside of the club, but you claimed it didn’t smell any different. Does it?”

  Beckham was silent for a few more blocks. She was starting to wonder if he was going to answer. This was the treatment she was used to having from him after all. She had known it was too good to be true for him to start telling her everything like he had promised. He was used to his secrets. Perhaps he had too many to divulge them all.

  “Yes,” he finally said. “Your blood smells…I don’t know. It’s hard to describe. Sweet. But not sweet. Powerful and enticing. It draws you in.”

  “So, I smell like a steak?”

  Beckham laughed the most beautiful laugh. “I suppose you do, but a hundred times more desirable.”

  “Is that…uncommon? I mean, doesn’t other blood smell good? I don’t think all our food smells the same. I really don’t know how any of this works.”

  “It does all smell different. Some is more or less potent. If it’s tainted by drugs, alcohol, disease, death…each has its own smell, besides the human pheromones attached to it. But you…” His eyes cut over to her and she saw hunger written all through them. “You have the most amazing smell in the world. It’s alluring and hypnotic. Which is exactly why we need to burn this handkerchief and get you cleaned up. I don’t want anyone else to smell you. If they smell you, they will want to taste you.”

  “But not you?” she asked, thinking of all the times he had smelled her blood and not been tempted.

  He inhaled deeply. “I couldn’t imagine what you taste like.”

  Reyna tried to hide her smile, but failed. “You could…if you wanted.”

  “Don’t dangle temptations in front of me, Reyna. I have very little control.”

  She snorted. “I disagree.”

  “I lost count of the number of lives I took because I lost control or didn’t want to stop.”

  “I think those two things are really different,” she told him. “Before the cure…you didn’t want to stop. That was the animal in you. Now you have control in spades, I might add, and you wouldn’t do it again. I’d bet you haven’t done it since the cure.”

  He shrugged. “I don’t like to take chances. It’s easier.”

  “Well, you’re taking a chance with me, and I trust that you won’t lose control.”

  He didn’t respond, but he didn’t have to. She wasn’t frightened, because she knew he wouldn’t hurt her. He was doing everything he could to protect her at this point. If he ever drank from her, she was sure he would find this control he claimed to lack.

  She was totally lost when Beckham stopped in front of a boarded-up store on a random street corner.

  “Come in here.”

  “In where?” she asked, sizing up the building.

  He opened a black gate and gestured her inside. They went up a flight of stairs and into an empty one-bedroom apartment. The only objects inside were a mattress on the floor and a safe in the corner. Beckham pushed Reyna toward the bathroom while he found a lighter in one of the kitchen drawers. He lit the handkerchief on fire and then threw it in a metal trash can on the floor.

  Reyna just stood there, wide-eyed, wondering if he’d done something like this before. He was so precise. “What is this place?”

  He shrugged. “Safe house.”

  “Safe for who?”

  “Right now, you.” He rummaged through the medicine cabinet over the toilet.

  Finding what he was looking for, he tilted her chin up so she’d look at him. She stared into those bottomless onyx eyes, lost to his touch. How gentle he was when he swabbed the cut clean, how precise he was in all of his movements, how much he cared for her pain and discomfort.

  When he finished, his eyes found Reyna’s. They locked on each other for a split second, understanding passing between them. This was the real Beckham Anderson. This man was hers.

  It took all of five minutes from the time they busted into the safe house to when they were back on the streets, but everything had changed.

  * * *

  —

  A short cab ride later, Reyna and Beckham were standing in front of the enormous skyscraper for the Visage Incorporated headquarters. They hurried past the polished floors, people clad in pressed suits, and the crazy body scanners at a fast clip. This place was terrifying in and of itself, but add in the fact that she was about to meet with the most powerful vampire in the company, and it made it all the scarier. But she kept her chin up and stuck close to Beckham.

  “What exactly are we walking into?” Reyna asked once they were safely out of earshot.

  “Well, I have to find out why I wasn’t informed of everything going on. In particular, I want to set Rowland straight about goading me. He knew what this was about and he knew what the crowd would look like.”

  “I don’t understand what his motives are. Aren’t you working toward the same goal for the company?”

  She despised Rowland, but she didn’t think he was an idiot. Cassandra was crazy, but Rowland was cunning. He had planned for Penelope to show up that night of the fires in the hopes of getting Reyna alone. And he had planned for Beckham to get caught up in the crowd today. There was more to the big picture than what they were glimpsing.

  “Obviously, this is personal. He’s upset because I got the better of him in the club…and probably because you turned him down, if I had to guess.”

  They stepped into the elevators and the doors closed behind them.

  “Well, he was out of line and deserved everything that happened to him.”

  Beckham turned toward Reyna and cupped her cheeks in his hands. “You know I agree with you, but you’re going to have to stay very tightly coiled through all of this. You can’t react to anything. He’s made it personal, but you have to stay professional even when you don’t want to. He will be expecting you to act out.”

  “Becks, we just need to get everything out in the open so we can move forward.”

  “That isn’t the way this works. It’s politics. You’ll have to trust me. Do you trust me?” he asked. His eyes pleaded with her, but she wasn’t sure if he wanted her to agree or disagree. It showed how much he was still warring with himself.

  “Of course I trust you.”

  He nodded, kissed her once on the lips, and then released her just before the doors opened. She took a deep breath, allowing the feel of his lips to give her strength to move forward. She could do this.

  They walked through glass double doors an
d a receptionist awaited them. “Hello, Mr. Anderson.”

  “I need to speak with Harrington,” Beckham said. “Is he in?”

  “Yes. He just arrived back in his office. I’ll let him know you’re here.” The woman picked up the phone and pressed a button. “Yes. Mr. Harrington, Mr. Anderson is here to see you.” She waited a second with a demure smile on her face. “Of course. Thank you.” She hung up the phone. “He will see you now.”

  “Thank you,” Beckham said courteously, even though it felt like he was walking into a trap.

  Reyna followed Beckham into Harrington’s massive corner office, straight into the lion’s den. Seated behind a hulking desk was the frail waxy leader of the vampire world and CEO of Visage. Harrington greeted Beckham with a smile, which would have been more reassuring if Rowland and Cassandra weren’t likewise seated to either side of him.

  She drew up short, not wanting to get any closer to the intimidating trio. Beckham stood two steps ahead of her, and she tried to remember to heed his advice.

  “Hello, Beckham,” Harrington said.

  “Harrington,” Beckham acknowledged.

  Harrington steepled his fingers in front of him and leaned forward slightly in his chair. “I’m glad you’re here. How fares your dear Penelope?”

  “She’s stable, but she will never be the same. She will begin reconstructive surgery on her face as soon as she is able. The mayor has already said he will take every measure.”

  “How unfortunate,” Harrington said.

  “Yes,” Cassandra agreed. “We always love a pretty face.”

  Beckham bristled at the trite tone and the implied meaning that they liked their food to be pretty. “Yes, it is very unfortunate, but we’re all just glad that she is alive.”

  “Undoubtedly.”

  Thus far, Rowland had remained silent, but Reyna felt his gaze on her. She refused to make eye contact with him. She would not give in to his ruthless and ridiculous behavior.

  “At least Reyna wasn’t harmed,” Rowland spoke up finally.

  “Yes. Luckily, we were outside before the fires began,” Beckham said, staring Rowland down hard.

  “I wouldn’t exactly say she wasn’t harmed,” Cassandra singsonged. She sniffed and turned her nose up. “She looks as if she has just rolled around in the dirt, and honestly, what is that outfit?”

  “We were in the midst of the crowd at city hall,” Beckham said as explanation.

  Reyna should have known someone would say something about her state of dress. They were so bent on dressing their Permanent Subjects up like dolls. The whole thing sat with her wrong. At least Beckham didn’t try to justify anything. He gave a reason for her state of dress and nothing more.

  “So, you did make it,” Rowland said, seemingly pleased with himself.

  Beckham didn’t bat an eyelash. “That was a brilliant performance out there. It’s nice to know we’re finally getting somewhere with the government.”

  Reyna reined in her frustration. She knew this was politics, but it was the opposite of how she felt about the situation. Granted, she didn’t know how Beckham felt about the whole thing. She just couldn’t believe that he would be okay with it all. He hadn’t seemed okay with it anyway.

  “I told you he would think so,” Harrington said to Rowland.

  “Why wouldn’t I?” Beckham asked. “It’s exactly what we wanted. Glad the fires made it so you could push it through.”

  “Indeed,” Harrington said. “Unfortunately, we have some unpleasant news to discuss now that you’re here.”

  “What unpleasantness?”

  “I knew you were busy with Penelope this weekend, which is why we didn’t include you in the discussions ahead of time, but you should know, Beckham, I trust you implicitly,” Harrington said.

  Beckham tensed. “As you should.”

  “However,” Harrington said, “we cannot overlook Reyna.”

  “Me?” she asked, confused.

  Beckham gave her a fierce look, and she clamped her mouth shut.

  “What unpleasantness is there regarding Reyna?”

  “Show him,” Harrington directed.

  Rowland reached down and retrieved a large black camera out of a bag. “Can you explain this?”

  “That’s my camera!” she cried. She couldn’t help herself. How had he gotten her camera?

  “Well, there’s her admission,” Rowland drawled.

  “Admission?” she cried. “Admission to what?”

  Beckham placed his hand on her arm. “For what exactly? What is she being accused of?”

  “Isn’t it obvious?” Rowland asked. He stood smoothly from his chair and walked around the desk. He still held the camera in his hand. “She’s part of Elle.”

  “What?” she asked in disbelief.

  They thought she was a rebel. What was on her camera that made them think that? When was the last time she’d had it? It had been a tumultuous weekend, to say the least, and she hadn’t had time to work with her images since…the rooftop? No, the park.

  Oh shit! Rowland had filched the camera from her when they had left the restaurant for lunch. That was the only explanation. She was certain that she had removed all the images from her camera that were on her website. Nothing on there should have connected them to her or incriminated her, but still it was terrifying.

  “She’s been feeding the rebels information about us since she arrived. She’s a plant.”

  “That’s insane!” Reyna said.

  “I’d have to agree with Reyna,” Beckham said, sticking up for her. “I’m with her all the time. I’ve even been with her while she’s been out shooting. What images make you think she’s part of Elle?”

  “The images themselves don’t show rebel activity,” Rowland said carefully. “However, the style of the pictures taken match an Elle website we’ve been monitoring.”

  “The one that has been causing all the trouble in the news? Perspective?” Beckham asked.

  “Yes,” Rowland said.

  “And you’re sure they match them. You have exact matches?” Beckham asked.

  “Stylistically, yes.”

  “That’s bullshit!” Reyna cried. She couldn’t hold back any longer. Even if the images were hers, there was no way she was going down as a rebel just because of the images on a website. She could be a voice without being part of the Elle alliance. “My images are my own. They’re not on some website. If there’s no exact matches between them, then you have nothing but speculation.”

  Rowland glared at her, but it was Cassandra who spoke up. She furiously stood. “Shut up! How dare you speak to us like that!”

  “Cassie,” Beckham said soothingly.

  “There is more proof, Beckham. Felix confirmed that she was one of the Elle rebels. He said he had been in contact with her about the organization.”

  Reyna’s mouth dropped open. Felix had told them that she was an Elle contact? How preposterous! If Felix was a rebel, then he was likely a horrible one. The only time she hadn’t seen him look completely drugged was at their very first introduction.

  Beckham stood very still. He refused to look at her. “And where is Felix now to give this testimony?”

  Cassandra glanced away from him. “He’s no longer with us.”

  “He died in the fires,” Harrington confirmed.

  Reyna gasped softly. She couldn’t believe he was one of the ones who had died. She didn’t even really know him and it was a tragedy.

  “And when did he tell you this,” Beckham probed.

  “Before he died.”

  “So…we’re supposed to believe the word of a dead man?”

  “What more proof would you like before you believe that she is working against us?” Rowland demanded.

  Beckham shook his head in disgust. He was piss
ed. She could see it all over his face. He knew what was happening. Rowland was upset and had worked against him to get rid of Reyna. Perhaps he would even try to claim her as the prize. No…they couldn’t allow this.

  “So, by questioning Reyna’s allegiance are you also questioning my allegiance?” he growled.

  “I already said I trust you, Beckham,” Harrington said. The old man looked as if he wanted Beckham to believe him, but there was something hard and fierce in his eyes that said he would burn everyone to the ground before letting them beat him.

  “I’ve done nothing but serve Visage and the company’s interests faithfully for years. I was one of the loudest voices for Visage in the early years. I helped the company get off its feet during the trying times during the initial wave of blood type matches. I’ve done everything for you, and now this?” he asked. “I vouch for Reyna, and since when is my word questioned?”

  “I don’t question your loyalty, Beckham,” Harrington said. “You know I think of you as a son. You’ve proven yourself, but the evidence is incriminating and I won’t take the chance.”

  Beckham laughed humorlessly. “A few pictures that you think match a website yet unconfirmed as an Elle sympathizer let alone part of Elle itself. No matching images, and I was there when they were all taken. Plus, the word of a dead man that Cassandra probably drained for fun.”

  Cassandra tried to look indignant, but Reyna could see he had struck a chord.

  “Don’t try to deny it,” Beckham said. “We all know it’s not the first time.”

  Cassandra shrugged her lithe shoulders and sat back down demurely.

  “Your evidence is circumstantial at best. Let’s lay it out there and say what all this is really about. Rowland is pissed that I kept him from Reyna at the Vault and then beat him at his own game. He thought he could get back at me through Reyna, through this ruse, and he used you, Harrington, to do it. Let’s discuss his actions if we’re going to throw out accusations.”