The Bloodline Series Box Set

by Gabriella Messina

“Say what?” Ben asked, shifting uncomfortably under the doctor’s intense gaze.

  “You were scratched, and came in contact with the Lycanthropic Virus, and nothing happened?”

  Ben glanced at Sam, then shrugged. “Yeah. A little off for a few hours, but then... nothing.” He shifted awkwardly again and hurried past Sam and up the stairs. Sam and Hudson exchanged a look, and quickly hurried after him.

  “I’m going to need to draw some of your blood.” Hudson paused at the entrance to the kitchen area, mercifully keeping his sweaty self out of range for those already eating. Ronne winced at the mention of blood and gulped some black coffee. Vincent sipped coffee, too, but his reaction was decidedly different. A thundercloud of a glare descended on his handsome face, and he directed the full brunt of it at Hudson.

  “What’s going on?” Vincent asked, and he glanced at each of them in turn.

  “I think you should field that one, Doc.” Sam grinned affably, and grabbed Ben’s arm. “Let’s eat.” She pulled him along to the other side of the kitchen island, and to the stove. She shoved a plate in his hand quickly and started loading it with food.

  “It seems young Benjamin here was infected with the virus, and obviously didn’t convert.”

  Ronne reacted immediately, his head shooting up off the counter as he attempted to focus on the conversation. He regretted the movement immediately and held his head carefully with one hand as he took a quick sip of his coffee.

  “And?” Vincent’s frown was still in place as he spoke, and Sam could hear the tension in his voice.

  “Vincent, you know how important this could be.”

  “Yeah. I also know what it’s like to be a test subject.” Vincent tossed his fork down, the clatter echoing through the room as he got up and headed upstairs. The silence that descended was tense.

  “Do you need to go after him?” Ben whispered to Sam, his voice sounding louder than expected because of the incredible quiet. Sam shook her head.

  “He just needs air, and a smoke. Eat.” Sam grabbed an empty plate for herself and began loading it up.

  “What did he mean, about being a test subject?” Ben asked, his voice barely audible.

  “He meant,” began Hudson as he crossed to the refrigerator and pulled out a bottle of cold water. “He meant just that.” He popped the top and took a long, slow drink.

  Ben looked paler than usual. He glanced at Sam, who kept her eyes averted. “I’m not too keen on it myself. I grew up with Ivan Karolyi... Being a test subject isn’t something I aspire to.”

  “Ben, you must realize—“

  “I’m not finished.” Ben heaved a heavy sigh. “I’ll let you have a couple vials of blood, but that’s it. And not until after breakfast, and the briefing.”

  “The briefing?” Sam chuckled, and slid into the chair beside Ben. “That sounds so official.”

  “Wait until you see,” Ronne chimed in, his voice sounding clearer.

  “Hang on, is this about all the data we grabbed last night?” Sam turned to Ben. “Good God, when did you go to sleep?”

  “Late.” Ben grimaced, then took a large bite of sausage, chewing for a few bites before tucking it in his mouth so he could speak. “And we didn’t get through everything by a long shot, but what we’ve found was well worth the loss of sleep.”

  “Eat faster,” Sam said, eager to see what they’d found.

  30

  SAM SANK INTO THE SOFA cushions, her cup of coffee nestled snuggly in hand. They’d finished breakfast in record time, and Vincent had eventually come back down, silent and sullen, though he nuzzled Sam briefly as he passed by on his way to the living room. Ronne had popped another dose of aspirin and resorted to an ice pack to calm the throbbing in his head. It seemed to be working, though, as Sam could see that spark coming back in his eyes, and in his speech. He’d settled into one of the chairs, one ankle propped on his knee, those silly patterned socks of his visible. Frank Ronne was a good-looking man, and a good dresser when necessity required him to be, but his choice in socks was always a bit on the eccentric side. Today was no exception, as the ankle area peeked out, featuring winged pigs in various stages of flight. Sam chuckled to herself and shook her head.

  Hudson had hurried off to shower and kept mostly to his room until the so-called briefing was ready to begin. He and Vincent were giving each other wide berth, and Sam found herself wondering if the two of them had ever come to blows over what had been between them... or if they ever would.

  “Okay.” Ben stood behind the other chair in the living room suite, using the ample back to lean on, as well as prop some cards and papers that Sam assumed were notes of whatever he was going to tell them. Ronne had said he was awake most of the night, too, and, while Hudson was silent, he didn’t seem anxious to find out what had been discovered. Probably because he already knows a lot of it, Sam thought, and glanced at the good doctor where he sat across from her.

  “We found a lot of stuff on those drives.” Ben flipped through a couple of the index cards. “Tons of financials, most of which I did not understand, but the ones I did showed some very interesting money movement going on, both in the amounts, and in where it was going.” He looked at Sam. “You remember what I told you about the neighborhood thing going on?” Sam nodded. Ben took one of the papers in front of him, looked it over quickly, then handed it over to her. “Found this last night. Donors to the Strong campaign. Look at the names I have highlighted.”

  Sam glanced over the list and frowned. “What am I supposed to see?”

  “All the highlighted names are real estate developers and contractors, and all of them frequently work together on projects associated with Stenzel Development.” Ben leafed through, pulling out another paper. “And Harold Stenzel, who founded the company and is the CEO, is also one of Strong’s top supporters.” He paused a moment, letting the information sink in. “Now, the neighborhood in the Bronx was able to keep a lot of the crash-and-bash types out, preserving the buildings in the neighborhood, but Brooklyn wasn’t as lucky. A big portion of the neighborhood surroundings were torn down. And guess who was overseeing the development and construction of the new buildings?”

  “Stenzel. Sonofabitch.” Sam looked closely at the document in front of her, which included names, the amounts pledged, and the dates contributed. She looked closely at the dates for Stenzel’s “gifts”, struck by the timing, especially of one in March... “Benny, this one in March...”

  “Yeah.” Ronne piped in, his expression grim. “It was Havemeyer, where the warehouse was.”

  “So, we helped them with demolition?” Sam growled.

  “More or less,” Ronne replied. “What Ben found is more than enough to get her legally... in a normal situation. But, because this is decidedly not a normal situation, we had to find something else... And we did.” Ronne trailed off, sharing a meaningful look with Ben. Sam looked between the two quickly, her frown deepening.

  “Spill! What’s going on?”

  Ben hesitated and pulled out one of his index cards. “One of the biggest contributors to the campaign office the Bronx may be the reason the Arthur Avenue neighborhood didn’t get gutted. And he’s somebody you know.”

  Sam frowned thoughtfully. “Someone I know? Who?”

  “Mike Dushku.”

  Damn... Sam exhaled with a whoosh and glanced toward Vincent. He was still by the windows, partially turned away from the group, but the tension in his body had shifted slightly. He was listening, waiting to hear who this was, and why he would be important.

  Mikael “Mike” Dushku had been a presence in Sam’s life for more than a decade. Their relationship had begun in an academic setting, seated next to each other in an ethics class at John Jay, and had progressed from there. Ethics turned out to be something Mike had a few issues with, and his family business, which happened to be shipping and imports, put him at odds with Sam quickly. Oh, and it was common knowledge his family essentially was the Albanian mob in the Bronx and held a high po
sition on the East Coast. Once Sam had entered the police academy, any further relationship with him had been pretty much out of the question, though she remained friendly with his father. Mike had gotten into some nefarious dealings over the years, giving his father far more gray hairs than necessary, but Sam hadn’t seen him face to face in years.

  “You’re saying Mike gave a lot of money to Strong’s campaign? Like, how a lot?”

  “Like, a lot a lot.” Ben glanced at one of the index cards. “Between January and June of this year, he’s contributed close to one million dollars to her campaign through various means. He’s had soldiers in his organization contributing, local businesses in the neighborhood... It’s well coordinated.”

  Sam snorted. “I can see the years haven’t improved his grasp of ethics.” She sighed. “I need to go talk to him.” Vincent snapped to attention then, turned his back on the windows, and focused his glower at the group seated in the living room.

  “Why?”

  “Dushku doesn’t like being used.” Ronne’s voice was steadier than it had been all day. Whatever was plaguing his head, which Sam was beginning to think wasn’t a hangover, seemed to be fading, undoubtedly a combination of the aspirin and the ice pack. “A lot of the money he’s been contributing has been funneled out of the campaign for personal use... very personal use, in some cases. Plus, I’ll wager he’s not contributing out of the goodness of his heart. If Mikael Dushku is giving money to a political campaign, he’s either getting something out of it now, or expects to. We need to know what... so we can use it.”

  “Use it how?” Vincent asked, his voice deep and tense.

  Ronne glanced at Sam. “Use it to persuade him to join the Rebel Alliance.” He smirked. “Men like Dushku are concerned with two things: money, and power. Strong is guaranteeing him one, or both, to get his money and his vote. So... we need to find out which and give him more.”

  “Mike wasn’t stupid, that’s why he was able to take the reins of the business so young,” Sam said, and set her coffee cup on the table beside her. “As my grandmother used to say, he knows when his bread is buttered. If we can give him an opportunity to get whatever it is he’s supporting Strong for but give him the opportunity to be in control and play the good guy, he’ll bite in a minute... and the bulldog in him won’t let go.” Sam watched Vincent’s face as she spoke. He clearly wasn’t happy about the idea, but he was listening, and she knew he was appreciating what she was trying to say. “If we can get Mike onboard, we can collapse the campaign.” Sam turned to Ben. “Benny, you have all of this organized enough to give to someone?”

  Ben nodded. “Yeah, and what I don’t I’ll have ready by tonight. I just need a couple boxes of Kaboom, and milk.”

  “Kaboom?” Vincent asked, his expression somewhere between curious and alarmed, though a smile was twitching at the corner of his mouth.

  “Yup,” Ben replied. “Best. Cereal. Ever. I need the marshmallowy goodness.” Vincent laughed at that, and Sam was relieved to see some of the tension draining from his face and body. The next few days were going to be heavy duty, filled with planning and preparation, and she need all her guys on-point, especially her wolf.

  Sam saw his eyes flash toward her as she thought the words, and more tension eased out of his face. He liked them... he was easily roused, this enigma of a man, and, though he tried to exude this façade of calm and control, she could see the volatility. That wolf was there, lurking beneath the surface, anxious to come out again after however many years it had been. Sam hoped this would work, and going after Strong and the rest of the Pack more like a cop would be effective... If not... She watched as Vincent joined them, watched as he leafed through Ben’s notes, his head nodding as he read. If not, it would mean confrontation, physical confrontation with this Pack, and the outcome of that was likely to be bad. Bad for who, Sam wasn’t sure, but she was gut-certain of one thing...

  The Full July Moon... the Thunder Moon, a friend of Algonquin heritage had once called it, was on the rise... and either she or Vincent were going to change... maybe even both.

  31

  JACK HUDSON RELAXED into the chair in his office area and watched the preparations in the living room. Ronne had made a trip back to his own apartment for clothing and his service weapon... Vincent had argued, understandably, that a conventional weapon, and a police-issued one at that, probably wouldn’t be the best weapon to have under the circumstances, but Ronne was adamant that he wanted his own. Sam had stepped in to defend him, using her use of the Lorcin in the past as an example. The passive argument had faded away, and now the Wolves and Ravens gathered quietly in the living room, checking weapons, checking information, and preparing for their evening’s assignments.

  Hudson smirked to himself... amazing how quickly they’d become a unit, cooperating, playing off each other’s strengths, and compensating for weaknesses. He looked at Ben, his black-ringed eyes fixed on the computer screens in front of him as he downloaded more files from the drives while searching for addresses and street maps. Sam’s assignment tonight was a simple one: a meeting with Mikael Dushku. Ronne had said he had a way to set it up and did so during his excursion home. Hudson could tell Vincent was unsure about it, but was holding his tongue, likely for Sam’s sake. For Sam’s part, she seemed perfectly at ease, almost too calm, and Hudson wondered if her past relationship with this hood would be a hazard. He shifted his gaze to her, and Vincent, watching them as they checked their weapons. They touched each other often, making physical contact in subtle ways that only someone keenly and deliberately observing them would notice. Hudson felt some of his apprehension about Dushku ease... Sam and Vincent were most assuredly bonded, and it would take a great deal more than a meeting with an old boyfriend to break that. He smiled now, watching as Vincent bent to get something off the table, nuzzling Sam on the way. In all the years he had studied the Lycanthropic Virus and its effects, Hudson never ceased to be amazed at the wolf-like behaviors that were exhibited, and how many were already a part of our human nature. Though we may have the highest intellect, as humans, we all were truly animals. It wasn’t an excuse or justification for bad behavior, as so many tried to claim when they stated it. No, cruelty and violence are not characteristics of an animal... they must be taught, learned.

  Hudson sighed, focusing on the group again. Vincent had set up his own personal assembly line of sorts, loading the mercury-filled bullets with a syringe, while Ronne sealed them and loaded them into clips. Vincent seemed set upon loading every bullet he had available, doubtless his way of compensating for not being permitted to go with his mate. Sam had been insistent that she needed to sit down with the mob boss alone, and Vincent had reluctantly acquiesced after the two spoke privately. Hudson had respected the block they put up, but he was still exceedingly curious about the exchange.

  The Ravens seemed unusually calm about it as well. Hudson felt comfortable calling them that... Ronne was, of course, already bonded to Sam, but the boy... he focused on Ben again. The news about Ben’s contact with the virus, and his not becoming infected, was astonishing, and Hudson’s fingers were literally itching to get some of his blood under a microscope. For decades, he’d been searching for something, anything, which would give him the breakthrough to subduing this virus, using it, controlling it. And he knew, from his years of studying virology and genetics, that the notion of an individual being immune to certain diseases was not far-fetched. There had been a gentleman in Europe, found to be immune to plague, an immunity likely passed down through the generations of his family from the time of the Black Death, even before. And viral immunity was not unheard of. Most humans have been exposed to, and carry, various strains of the herpes simplex viruses, but a small percentage actually suffer from lesions or illness of any kind. Some people have even been found to have an apparent immunity to HIV, something fellow scientists and doctors were certainly taking advantage of when—-

  “Jack? Sorry to break into your scientific reverie, but I need a w
ord.” Sam was standing in front of him, her arms folded, and Hudson wondered just how long she’d been standing there.

  “Of course.” He gestured for her to step into the makeshift office, but Sam shook her head.

  “In private.” Before he could reply, she turned and jogged up to the third floor. Hudson glanced at the men in the living room, and made brief eye contact with Vincent, whose eyes darkened slightly as he glared, then returned to his syringe and preparations.

  Hudson jogged upstairs and followed the hint of cigarette smoke in the air outside to the terrace. The sun had swung around somewhat, giving a bit of blessed shade in the corner near the door, which Hudson clung to gratefully. Sam, on the other hand, was smoking, and leaned on the railing.

  “I want to make a few things clear.” She took a puff of the cigarette, blowing out the smoke before she continued. “I’ve never trusted you, Jack. Not for one minute. You’ve done right by my grandfather, by me, by the people I care about, but I’ve never actually trusted you. And I must confess, the things I’ve learned about you, and what’s gone on, and what is going on now, have made any possibility of trusting you slim to none.

  “I don’t trust you, but we do need you. Hence, making things clear. With me so far?”

  Hudson stared at her for a moment, then nodded slowly, his expression as neutral as humanly possible. He was blocking her mentally as well, and Sam felt a twinge of anxiety in her gut.

  “Name your terms,” Hudson said.

  “First of all, I know about Vincent... about what you did to him, and what he was made to do. I don’t want anything happening to Ben without my okay. Clear?”

  “Fine. He did consent to a blood draw.”

  Sam nodded. “I heard, and as long as you do it while I’m watching, we’re good.”

  “Agreed. What else?”

  “You’ve played every side there is to play... You’re on ours now, but I believe that could change in a second if your work or goals were endangered in some way.” Sam paused a second, allowing time for the import of what she said to sink in. He wasn’t going to like this one... “As long as we are working together, you can’t go anywhere or speak to anyone outside this group, unless one of us is there.” She stopped, watching Hudson’s face for some reaction. It was subtle, a flaring of the nostrils, a brief glint in the eye. He was good, very good, at hiding his reactions.