Blood Bond

by Heather Hildenbrand

  George came out of the bathroom and stared at me. The bruise stood out starkly against his skin, and his hair was wet at the edges as if he’d splashed water on his face. “My eyes …”

  “It’s going to be fine. We’re here now and we’re going to figure it out.” My tone held way more certainty than I felt, but it did the trick in satisfying his worry. For now.

  “All right.” He took a deep breath as if setting it aside. The fact that he counted on me so absolutely both warmed and terrified me. “Did I hear talk of food?” he asked. His light tone sounded forced.

  “Yeah, the butler said to meet in the sunroom.”

  He raised a brow. “Dude has a butler?”

  “His name’s Mathias. He said Astor would be in there, so let’s go.”

  I started off at a quick pace, eager for another chance to get answers, and hoping Astor was a little less insane this morning. “Whoa there, tiger,” George called from behind me.

  I waited while he caught up, his steps slow and stiff. “Ran over by a bus, remember? What’s the rush, anyway? The food will be there when we get there.”

  “I know, it’s just … we don’t have a lot of time left.”

  “You think I’m going to change again?”

  I stopped and held my arm out. The small hairs stood straight up.

  “I’m doing that?” he whispered. I nodded. “So you can sense me now?” I nodded again. He let out a breath and rubbed the back of his neck. “Okay, yeah, I get it. We need to hurry.” We started walking again.

  “That … and my mother is probably on her way.”

  “How do you know?”

  I filled him in on the events of the previous night. He looked a little wary when I got to the part about Astor’s craziness and frowned when I told him about Professor Flaherty.

  “Do you think we can trust her?” he asked. We’d almost reached the sunroom. I could smell the flowers from here, just as Mathias said. I stopped before we reached the doorway and dropped my voice.

  “I don’t know, but it’s not like we’ve got much choice. We’re out of options. We just need to get our answers before my mother tips off the others and sends a posse.”

  “You’re assuming Cambria didn’t already crack and tell them our exact location. Your grandma scares me,” he said.

  “True.” Cambria hadn’t answered either time I’d tried to call her, which could mean she was afraid to admit she’d failed, or Grandma was torturing her in a basement somewhere. “Either way, we need to make the most of the time we have left.”

  He craned his neck side to side, as if stretching it. It was a gesture I’d seen him use many times before a game. I heard a small pop, and he rolled his shoulders back and straightened. “All right. Let’s get in there.”

  The sunroom was true to its name in a way I hadn’t imagined. Somehow, through the maze of halls that made up the house, we’d ended up in the rear. The exposed wall was done entirely in glass that curved upward well past where it met the ceiling. The sunlight against all of the bright green and purples and yellows of the plants was gorgeous. All that was missing was a hammock.

  In the right corner, near a wall covered in hanging vines, a table had been set with bowls and platters of what looked like every breakfast food imaginable.

  Astor sat in the chair at the head of the table; at least I assumed it was him behind the newspaper. I cleared my throat before approaching, not wanting to startle him. The paper jerked aside and he eyed me sharply. The bathrobe he’d worn the night before was gone, replaced with a long-sleeved shirt, lopsided and misbuttoned, and khaki slacks. He still wore the slippers. His white hair stuck out, as if he regularly ran a hand through it the wrong way.

  “Jeremiah’s daughter,” he muttered. Then louder: “You’re still here, I see.”

  “I was hoping we could talk,” I said, taking a tentative step forward.

  He didn’t have time to answer before Professor Flaherty breezed in, stepping around me and heading for a seat at the table. She sat closest to Astor, looking fresh and ageless in her black pants and flowing halter.

  “Aren’t you two hungry?” she asked, pouring coffee from the carafe on the table.

  That was all the encouragement George needed. He shuffled forward and took a seat. “Starved,” he said, digging into the closest bowl.

  Professor Flaherty raised a brow at the purple-and-yellow coloring of his face. “Tara?” she prompted, gesturing toward the empty seat beside George.

  I sat down and eyed the choices. The table was covered with eggs, bacon, fruit, and dishes with stainless steel tops that, when lifted, revealed pancakes and waffles within. I decided on coffee and toast.

  “You must be George,” Professor Flaherty said, extending a hand across the table. George dropped his spoon and hastily shook her hand, openly staring as he took his attention off the food long enough to notice her face. “Your heroism in the cave gives you a reputation to be proud of. Friends that loyal are hard to come by,” she told him.

  He smiled, appreciating either the compliment or Professor Flaherty herself, or both. “Tara’s my best friend. I’d do anything for her,” he said.

  “As it seems she’d do for you.” She looked at Astor, who’d gone back to hiding behind his newspaper, and laid a hand gently on his arm. “Darling, Tara’s come a long way for your help. Won’t you hear them out?”

  He lowered his paper barrier and blinked at me. “What?”

  I scrambled for words, unsure how long his attention would last; he seemed impatient. At least he hadn’t screamed at me yet. “My friend George,” I said, nodding at him, “was injected with a serum that will turn him into a Werewolf. The thing is, he’s human, so his body can’t handle the change. It’s hurting him, and if I don’t figure out a way to fix it, he’ll die, or become some sort of monster. I was told you could help.”

  “What is it you think I can do exactly?”

  “For starters, give me answers. Miles—”

  “That DeLuca kid isn’t quite right, you know. I’m not getting into bed with the likes of him or his associates.”

  “Me, either,” I agreed. I spoke quickly, hoping to make it clear I wasn’t in league with Miles before Astor lost it again. “Miles only injected George as a way to get to me. Miles was evil, and all I want is to fix the damage he’s done.”

  “Anna says he’s dead,” he said, still eyeing me. His brows furrowed into a thick knot spanning his forehead. He looked half suspicious, half curious.

  “He is. One of my friends killed him.” I tried not to hesitate over the word “friend,” especially referring to Cord. We were something, but I wasn’t sure it was friends. “Before he died, Miles told me the only way to save George from becoming a monster was to give him my blood.”

  “So do it already. What do you need me for?”

  “I don’t trust him. Everything he ever told me was a lie. He said I should come to you to verify it, so here I am.” Astor’s frown deepened. He didn’t answer. “Look, you’re my last hope. I have no idea what else to do, and if I give him my blood, and it kills him, it’ll be my fault, not Miles’s anymore. I can’t live with that. I need you to tell me if it’ll work.”

  “And what makes you think you can trust me?”

  I sat back, pausing to consider what was actually a very valid question. Why did I trust him? I didn’t even know him. And I couldn’t say Professor Flaherty’s vote swayed me much, since I still wasn’t entirely sure whose side she was on. “Well, for starters, Vera trusts you.”

  “And that’s enough for you?”

  I shrugged, frustrated. “You’re my family. My father trusted you. That counts for something.”

  “We’ll see if that holds,” he said.

  I ignored that. “Will you help?”

  “Come with me.” He pushed back from his chair so abruptly the table shook. The salt and pepper shakers toppled. Professor Flaherty righted them again. He looked down at her, looking ready to issue some sort of a
pology.

  “Go on,” she said waving her hand. “I’ll tidy this and catch up with you.”

  “Call Jeeves. He’ll handle it.” Astor spun on his slipper-clad heel and headed for the door. I motioned to George to follow. He grabbed a handful of bacon before stepping up beside me.

  Astor didn’t seem to notice, nor did he look back to see if we still followed. He wound through hallways and cut through rooms like a mouse in a maze headed for cheese. He muttered to himself, but I pretended not to notice. Finally, when it felt as if we’d walked the length of the house and back again, he stopped in front of a door marked “Lab” and threw it open.

  I stepped inside after him and halted.

  It was huge, the size of five of my living rooms. Stainless steel tables ran the length of the room in neat rows, each of them covered in glass beakers, scales, Bunsen burners, and bottles of various liquids. As I passed, I caught sight of labels that advertised types of acid. Buckets lined the shelves bordering the room. These, too, sported labels marked with acid.

  “What does this guy do?” George whispered in my ear.

  I shook my head. “No idea.”

  We weaved in and out of rows, peering down at tables and the strange instruments that littered them. Astor stayed in the back of the room, apparently content to ignore us for the time being. I found bowl after bowl filled with clear liquid and metal rods. George met my eyes with raised brows.

  Finally, Astor beckoned us to the far end of the room where two large vats stood bolted to a slab of concrete. Connected to the lid were lines of tubing, feeding something in or out, I wasn’t sure. A swishing sound similar to a washing machine came from one. Astor opened the lid on the one that wasn’t making watery noises and peered inside.

  He picked up a pair of tongs and reached into the barrel, extracting a long, shiny piece of silver. He closed the lid and carried the silver to a container on the table. I watched as he dipped the bar into clear liquid and swished it around a few times before picking it up again and holding it out to me with the tongs. “Take it,” he said.

  “What is it?” I asked.

  “A test.”

  “A test for what?”

  “To determine whether or not your blood will help your friend.”

  He shoved the metal at me, clearly impatient at having to explain himself.

  I stared at the shiny, silver bar. It looked like a stake without the point and was made entirely of some kind of steel. I exchanged a look with George, who shrugged. I reached out and took the bar.

  I turned it over in my hands, inspecting it, looking for something that made it special, meaningful. I knew all about the way Hunters used metal as weapons, though I didn’t fully understand the why. Was this supposed to be some sort of weapon? Did he want me to use it?

  I frowned at the same moment Astor laughed. It sounded closer to a giggle, and promptly led into a raucous bout of cackling. I stared at him.

  Astor tossed the tongs aside and clapped his hands.

  “What?” I demanded.

  More cackling laughter.

  “Astor!” At my look, his laughter died off. He fumbled with his shirt, trying to straighten up and appear serious, but the grin was there, just beneath the surface. “What’s so funny?”

  “You passed!” He broke out into a dance, both feet jumping and hopping, arms swinging. No laughter this time, only ear-to-ear grinning.

  “What do you mean ‘I passed’?”

  “The test, the test, you passed the test.” His knees rose and fell with the rhythm of his words.

  “Altogether now, say it with me, loony.” George’s breath tickled my neck where he’d leaned in close to whisper to me.

  I shushed him and shook my head, frustrated. I was afraid to snap at Astor too hard, in case it set him off like last night. “Astor,” I said as calmly as I could, “I’ve touched metal, or steel, or whatever, many times, so I don’t understand why this is a big deal. Can you please explain?”

  He danced back over to me, still obviously thrilled. “Of course, of course, but you’ve never touched this.” I cocked an eyebrow at him and he went on. “The material you just held is called Unbinilium. It is one of the newer members on the periodic table and one of the purest metals on the planet. That bar is especially pure because of the extra leaching I’ve given it.”

  He was hopping in place. I was losing him.

  “Leaching?” I repeated. “What is that?”

  He sighed, but it was dramatic rather than impatient. “I see I better start from the beginning. You know the weapon of choice against a Werewolf is anything laced with or tipped in metal, yes?” I nodded. He seemed relieved, and I assumed I’d earned a little redemption from my ignorance. “Right-o. And metal works best when it is purified. Now, most metals manufactured by CHAS, or at least the convenient and cost-effective sorts, are comprised of aluminum, copper, or if they feel like splurging, titanium.”

  “CHAS manufactures metals?” George asked.

  “Not the metals themselves. Gah! Why do I always get the clueless ones? CHAS, the powers that be, the head honchos, they manufacture all Hunter-approved weapons.”

  “I get it,” I said. “CHAS pays for the metal and they’re cheap spenders.”

  “Right. And cheap metals equal cheap reactions. You’ve got to wield it better, stronger, and get a clearer shot for optimum results. Now, if they used the good stuff like iron, gold, silver, that’s something else. Stronger metals equal a stronger reaction. On both sides. The Werewolf could be taken out with a less-than-lethal blow because the material would do the work. And the Hunter would feel it too.”

  I remembered the night I’d fought with Leo and how much it affected me, using that steel beam on him. Then I thought about Liliana. I’d barely felt a reaction then, or at least from what I remembered. “So different materials cause different reactions?”

  “Precisely.”

  “And the metal I just touched is more powerful than any other metal?”

  “Right-o.”

  “And you thought I’d … what? React somehow?”

  “You are a perfect mix, are you not? A completely blended cocktail, half of each kind?”

  I wasn’t sure how I felt about his calling my blood a cocktail, but I answered, anyway. He was finally starting to make sense. Sort of. “Yes.”

  “And you’re Jeremiah’s daughter?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then, you’re non-reaction is exactly as it should be. You’re her. The one. Your father succeeded. And more to the point, your blood is exactly what he needs.” He pointed at George, then made a face as if he’d only now caught sight of George’s colorful jawline. “With your DNA cocktail in his veins, his second spirit will not rule the first.”

  I shook my head, totally confused despite the fact that he’d just told me what I wanted to hear.

  “So, her giving me blood … it will cure me?” George looked torn between relief and disbelief.

  “There’s no way to stave off the change, if that’s what you’re hoping for. It will curb the monster, keep your first spirit, your human spirit, in control of your wolf. And what you can’t control on your own, the bond will control for you.”

  “Bond?” I repeated in a weak voice. I didn’t love where this was going.

  “If you give him the transfusion, it will bond the two of you. Your wolf side is strong. I can sense it.”

  “You can?” An acidic taste rose in the back of my throat. Panic.

  “I sensed it the minute you walked in last night,” he said.

  “But …” I looked at George. “Do you sense it?”

  “I didn’t want to say anything,” he said, a look of silent apology creeping over his features. “It started yesterday when you almost …”

  “What does this bond entail, exactly?” I asked, focusing on Astor again. I refused to think about the fact that I now registered on the supernatural radar as a Werewolf. There’d be plenty of time to freak out later.

>   “It’s similar to a pack dynamic, but stronger, more visceral,” Astor said. His voice caught on the last word. His expression was neutral, but I could see him straining to keep it that way.

  George looked confused. “What does that mean?” he asked.

  Astor sighed, his impatient expression returning. “What do you play, jock? Baseball? Badminton?”

  “Football … what’s badminton?” he asked.

  Astor threw up his hands.

  I spoke up, hoping to get the subject back on track. “So, if I give George my blood, it will bond us, giving us some sort of emotional tie to the other, but it will ensure he stays himself, even when he shifts, correct?”

  “Someone’s finally catching on,” Astor said. He shot George a pointed look.

  “And that’s it?” I asked.

  “Hardly,” he said, “but it answers your initial question.”

  “And only leads to more,” I shot back.

  “I hate questions,” he said.

  I ignored that. “What did you mean when you said my father succeeded? And how did my non-reaction to that piece of Unbiliu-whatever tell you I was so special?”

  “It’s Unbinilium. And the best way to explain is to show you.” He held out his hand. “The rod, give it to me.”

  I held out the bar and set it in his hand. His fingers closed around it and almost immediately his hand began to shake. Then his arm. Then his entire torso. What began as tiny tremors quickly turned to violent shakes as the reaction spread through his body, into his legs. One of his knees buckled, and I reached out and snatched the rod away from him. As soon as his body lost contact with the material, the shaking subsided. He took a deep breath, let it out slowly, and shoved his hand through his disheveled hair. Energy crackled in the air, raw and smelling of ozone.

  His voice shook as he spoke again. “As you can see, the purer the metal, the more heightened the reaction. George, on the other hand, well … See for yourself.”

  I looked where he pointed and found George. He’d wandered away, apparently to nose around at the different containers and instruments littering the tables, and was bent over a see-through tank, sniffing the liquid. As I watched, he reached out and touched whatever was in the tub. As soon as his finger made contact, he pulled back and yelped.