The Immortal’s Salvation: Bloodwite Book Two

by Mecca, Cecelia

  “No offense, but you didn’t come here to talk about a bank,” Kenton said.

  “Reading minds”—he lowered his voice in case Mary was close by—“isn’t one of your talents.”

  Popular culture had gotten certain things correct about them—they were fast and strong, excessively so, but he’d never yet met a human or a vampire who could read minds, and he preferred dawn to any other time of day.

  “Eleven o’clock on a Saturday night?” Kenton pressed. Oh, it was so like him not to let up. Once, just before they’d been forced to abandon Scotland, Kenton insisted he and his siblings would stay, despite the fact they were not aging. Of course, he did not care what the Morleys did, but his stubbornness had not abated in all of these years. “Spit it out.”

  “I do have an interest in that bank—”

  “What kind of interest?” Alessandra asked.

  “Bullshit,” Kenton said at the same time. His eyes narrowed. “Where were you tonight?”

  Lawrence downed his beer and pretended not to hear the question. Coming here had been a mistake.

  “Wait, you went to the mayor’s wedding, didn’t you?” Alessandra asked. Her mouth formed a little “O” as she put the pieces together. She knew him well, and she also knew that he wanted Toni O’Neill. She’d probably known before he did. “Did you talk to her?”

  No need to ask who.

  Luckily, a distraction arrived just when he needed it. They all sensed her at the same time, Kenton flinching—Lawrence’s sister, Laria, was approaching. At least he hoped it was Laria. Vampires could sense one another from a distance, an ability the Cheld also possessed. It wasn’t so unusual for Laria to show up unannounced, despite the hour. The Henry Hutton Mansion had become a meeting place of sorts for them. But she hadn’t told him she planned to return to Stone Haven so soon. She’d left only two weeks ago to visit a friend in Montreal, a vampire she’d known for centuries.

  This time she hadn’t even been gone long enough for him to realize he missed her.

  “A welcome home party,” she said, striding into the room as if she owned the whole damn house, her signature high ponytail wagging from side to side as she strutted toward them. “You shouldn’t have. I’ve only been gone two weeks.” Turning to Mary, who had appeared right behind her, she grinned and said, “A red wine, please.”

  He sat back down.

  “Make yourself at home,” Kenton drawled, the sparkle of amusement in his eyes at odds with his deadpan tone.

  Laria did just that, accepting her wine from Mary, still standing.

  “I didn’t know you were coming back so soon,” Alessandra said.

  “I wasn’t.” She took a sip of wine. “Mmmm, just what I needed. The flight was awful—”

  “Is something wrong?” he asked.

  “No.” Laria gestured to Alessandra. “Will you tell him to stop being such a worrywart?”

  “As if he’d listen.”

  “I just . . . kind of missed this place.”

  Coming from Laria, the statement surprised him. His sister rarely stayed in the same place for long. Her wanderlust led her from city to city, exploring, roaming, living. Of course, none of them could live in a human city longer than a decade or—thanks to the modern wonders of plastic surgery and kale smoothies—two without people remarking on their perpetual youth, and their self-assigned mission of protecting the Cheld also required them to pick up and move.

  Whether Lawrence liked it or not.

  Still, he couldn’t shake the thought that Stone Haven was somewhere he could stay. Something about the place called to him. Alessandra had told him once that she’d felt the same way—she’d come for a teaching job and never left.

  Which brought him back to the subject of that abandoned bank.

  “Maybe I’ll ask the mayor about Davis—”

  “Who’s this Davis?” Laria asked.

  “Robert Davis. He owns the old abandoned bank in town.”

  “Oh.”

  Alessandra laughed. “Exactly. Join the club. No one has any idea why your brother is suddenly so interested in—”

  “He’s not,” Kenton said, leaning back. “At least, not enough to come calling on a Saturday night. He was at that wedding with Toni.”

  Laria’s eyes widened. “Ahhh, so that’s what all this brooding is about.” Unfair, really, given that she’d only just arrived.

  “I don’t brood.”

  “You most certainly do. Is she still with Tyler?”

  He jumped up off his chair. “I need to feed.”

  It had been nearly two weeks, and though he could hold out a bit longer, Lawrence suddenly felt an overwhelming need for blood. Despite the bitter taste in his mouth.

  And he needed the real thing, the banked blood a far inferior second option.

  Then turning to his sister, he added, “Welcome back,” and leaned down to kiss the top of her head. “Enjoy your party.”

  “Wait, I just got here—”

  Alessandra stood with him. “I want to hear all about your summer,” she said to Laria, “after I walk Lawrence out.”

  She didn’t give him a choice. When they reached the massive double doors, Alessandra grabbed his shoulder, putting some of her Cheld strength into it. He likely couldn’t walk away if he tried. Since he didn’t wish to embarrass himself in front of Kenton, he didn’t attempt it.

  “What happened?”

  “Nothing.” Hoping she didn’t notice the strain in his smile, he nodded back to the others. “Go catch up with Laria. I’ll talk to you later.”

  She quirked her brow at him but didn’t question him further.

  Lawrence opened the door. “Time to lurk in the shadows.”

  “Good luck,” she said, leaving him with a soft smile. She closed the door behind her, but Lawrence didn’t move. He looked across the way to his own house, enveloped in darkness.

  Could he do it? Could he really make a home in this place?

  “You fool,” he said aloud to himself.

  He’d lost his home, and he’d never have another.

  Chapter 3

  Lawrence didn’t look into her eyes.

  He never did.

  Instead, he concentrated on her wrist, which provided him nourishment. It was small, unadorned. So very, very fragile. His victim had emerged from Murphy’s Pub, her steps a bit unsteady. It had been too easy. He hadn’t even beckoned to her. He’d merely stood at the mouth of this alley, waiting. She had come to him. She’d asked him for a lighter, but when he’d responded that he had something else in mind, she’d followed him back here without question.

  At least she wouldn’t remember their encounter. The bite of his fangs would ensure that.

  The Balance.

  Lady Isobel, Alec’s wife, had both doomed and saved them with her curse of immortality—and the counter-curse she’d made in an attempt to reverse it. Rather than revoke their eternal life and appalling hunger, the counter-curse had instead hidden them, and given them what amounted to checks and balances. The Balance, as they called it, had created the Cheld and ensured vampires could walk the earth without being detected by any but the species created to temper them. Their victims’ wounds healed almost immediately, leaving no memory of the bite.

  Pulling out and retreating his fangs, Lawrence watched the two small puncture wounds start to close over.

  “I . . .” She looked at him and then glanced at Main Street at the other end of the alley, her brow furrowing. “How did I get here?”

  That was quicker than usual.

  “Where do you live?” he asked, ignoring her question.

  Part of him hoped she wouldn’t answer. Really, she shouldn’t—

  “Lincoln Ave.”

  Two blocks from Toni.

  “Come on,” he said, wincing when she followed.

  The fog would only get worse until she slept. Tomorrow, she’d wake with nothing more than a vague memory of walking home, if that.

  They walked past the ice cr
eam shop, a block before . . .

  Her house.

  The house fit Toni perfectly. Slightly quirky, its bright purple siding stood out even among the other brightly colored townhomes and storefronts. She’d left the wedding before him, but none of the lights were on. He knew her enough to know she rarely retired at this hour.

  Was she at Tyler’s?

  Cursing himself for caring, he turned on Lincoln Avenue and walked the next few blocks in silence as his companion mumbled about her lack of memory.

  “This is me,” she said with a meaningful glance, one he pretended not to understand.

  “Goodnight then—”

  “But do you want to—”

  “And in the future, don’t give your address to strange men you meet in alleyways.” It was his fault entirely, yet he hoped she’d take the advice nonetheless.

  Without giving her a chance to respond, he wandered away, finding himself in front of the old bank. As he’d done before, Lawrence walked around to a side door and opened it easily. He’d picked the lock once, and it now stood open for him each time he returned.

  A sensation struck him as he stepped farther into the empty room. He only had a moment to process it—someone is coming—before she stepped in after him and closed the door behind her. The second time that night she’d snuck up on him.

  “What the hell?”

  Smiling into the darkness, he turned toward his sister’s voice. “Surely you’ve found me in stranger places than this?”

  She sneezed, vampires not immune to dust. “You mean like the time I hunted you down in Siena and found you in the Palio di Siena riding bareback in the Drago contrada?”

  “Riding? You mean winning—”

  “Whatever.” She sneezed again. “What are you doing here?”

  He glanced up at the now-familiar space. The moonlight barely filtered into the interior of the building, but his superior senses allowed him to see the vaulted ceiling and exposed beams above them.

  “I mean to buy it.”

  Laria looked at him as if he’d gone mad. And maybe he had.

  “You want to buy a bank?”

  He swallowed, finding it difficult to say the words aloud.

  His sister had known him for several lifetimes. She’d understand the significance of his revelation. And this time, she might even believe he was here to stay.

  “Lawrence?”

  “I’m staying.”

  He’d already purchased the Addy Hutton Mansion, of course, but he’d only done so as an investment—and because he’d required a home base in Stone Haven in order to protect Alessandra. And while not as pretentious as Kenton, Lawrence had gotten used to a certain . . . standard of living throughout the ages.

  Laria lifted herself onto the bank’s dusty counter, sitting on it as casually as if it were a sofa. “You said you were staying, after Alessandra. But—”

  “Permanently.”

  He listened to her steady breathing, waiting . . .

  “It’s not an open town, Lawrence—”

  Her words echoed his own thoughts, but he found himself revolting against them. “But could it be?”

  “No, of course not!”

  Watching confusion turn to horror on her face, Lawrence realized he’d taken it a step too far. Vampires had died attempting to create open towns. When the wrong people learned of, and refused to accept, their kind, the Sect could take advantage. Once the contingency of Cheld who hated all vampires learned they planned to settle in one place, the location would become a magnet for the one group of people who could threaten their lives. Neither they nor the Morleys had ever successfully eradicated the Sect, their threat always looming.

  “I wasn’t thinking that far into the future,” he admitted. “But for now . . .”

  “And the Cheld?”

  “You and Torr—” He cut himself off. This conversation was so familiar to them, they could both probably rehearse it by heart. He’d said it before, meant it, and still he’d sprung into action the moment a Cheld required protection. He’d saved the lives of many of his brother’s descendants, but it was a mission that had the distinction of never ending. New Cheld continued to awaken. Always would. Families they’d cloaked centuries ago sometimes forgot why they were supposed to wear the dried rose stems at all times—or their children’s children would assume their ancestors had been telling tall tales. And so the cycle would begin again.

  A duty as eternal as they apparently were.

  “I know this is what you want, Lawrence. What you’ve always wanted . . .”

  Her voice trailed off.

  “When Alec died—”

  Humans still used that age-old piece of wisdom: time heals all wounds. Lawrence was in a unique position to know it wasn’t true. Some wounds didn’t heal. They didn’t even scab over.

  “Please don’t—”

  “We never talk about it. For centuries, you’ve asked me not to talk about Alec. But you know what? I want to talk about him. He was our brother, your best friend. And you refuse to honor his memory—”

  “Don’t.” The word came out so loud and sharp, it echoed in the empty bank. His nostrils flared. “Laria, I mean it. Stop.”

  But Laria being Laria, she didn’t listen. “You never wanted to be chief. To be in charge—”

  “This has nothing to do with being in charge—”

  “Even though you were good at it. Every member of our clan would have taken a dirk to the heart for you—”

  “Some did.” The bitterness in his voice threatened to choke him. The thought of their last hot trod before leaving Scotland, the slaughter of too many young warriors when they’d been ambushed . . .

  “Even so, you never wanted it.”

  She jumped off the counter and rushed toward him, tossing her small arms around his waist. Instinctively, he wrapped his arms around her, trying so hard to forget.

  “I think it’s wonderful,” she murmured against his chest. “And I hope you mean it this time. Torr and I can handle the Cheld.”

  Laria pulled back, tears glistening unabashedly in the corners of her eyes.

  “Truly, Lawrence. You deserve this.”

  He wasn’t sure about that, but he wanted it nonetheless. He was done running. Leading. Protecting.

  Pulling away, she gestured to the dark, dusty space around them.

  “So what will you do with it? Not another bank, certainly?”

  “A bar,” he said. It sounded like the beginning of a joke: a vampire walks into a bar . . . And yet he wanted something that was his. Something that made people happy. At the end of the day, he was a simple man, and he’d always found a certain comfort behind a bar, listening to people’s life stories. Even now, he tended bar at Amendment 18, Stone Haven’s lone speakeasy.

  She crossed her arms. “I can see it.”

  He could too. And despite the fact that it wasn’t for sale, it would be his.

  “You sure you’re OK with this?” he pressed. If she agreed, he would have to speak with Torr next, ensure his brother also approved.

  His sister’s smile reached her eyes. “Absolutely,” she said, sneezing. “Let’s get out of here. I can smell rats.”

  With one last glance, he followed Laria through the doors of a seven-hundred-year-old dream. But when his phone buzzed a moment later, all thoughts of the bank and Stone Haven were forgotten.

  Five words changed everything.

  Chapter 4

  “He’s calling again.”

  Toni took her phone from Alessandra, walked as calmly as could be to the nearest window—a monstrosity that creaked as the old wood rebelled against her—opened it, and tossed it out.

  She returned to the chair, tucked her legs underneath her, and picked up the cup of tea her friend’s maid, Mary, had made for her. The woman must have a spark of magic, because Toni hadn’t even needed to ask for it. Mary had simply known she’d need the pick-me-up.

  “Didn’t you just get that phone?”

  Crap.
“Do you think I broke it?”

  Changing her mind about the whole phone-tossing thing, she ran into the night and found the offensive object in the bushes, slightly cracked but still turning on. Heading back and jumping right back into her previous position, she smiled wryly at her friend.

  Alessandra mimicked her pose, tucking her own feet under her on the couch. They sat in the front room of the Henry Hutton Mansion, sans Kenton, who’d played chauffeur, showing up in his sports car in front of the purple house on Main Street mere minutes after Toni placed a hysterical phone call to Alessandra. Thank God for her best friend. It almost felt like they were back in the purple house. Except this was nicer. And had a maid. Still, the comfort of being with Alessandra reminded her that she missed the way things used to be.

  One thing she wouldn’t miss?

  Her lying, cheating asshole of a boyfriend.

  Alessandra shook her head. “I mean, of all places . . .”

  “Tell me about it,” Toni said.

  When she caught her friend staring at her oddly, she reached up to touch her own cheeks. “Am I blotchy?”

  “Ridiculously.”

  That happened pretty much every time she cried. Toni had always looked like a dermatologist’s worst nightmare even at the hint of a few tears.

  And she’d shed more than a few in the past hour.

  “Done. I am completely done.”

  Alessandra cleared her throat.

  “What?”

  “You said that a half hour ago, and you’re still blotchy.”

  “No, I said I was done crying. Now I’m done caring. If Tyler wants to screw every heartbeat with two legs right under my nose . . . I mean, at the friggin’ bar where I work! By all means, have at it.”

  After the wedding, she’d been too shaken up to go home. Her mind racing, Toni had asked her uncle to drop her off at Murphy’s Pub, the same bar she would have been working at tonight if not for the wedding. Probably not the best idea, but she’d needed a distraction, something to keep her mind off Lawrence and his heavenly scent, and some of her friends had planned on being there . . .

  As soon as she walked in, Toni knew something was wrong. James, another bartender whom she’d previously considered a friend, looked at her as if he’d seen a ghost.