Blood Entangled

by Amber Belldene

  “Eventually. First, I will get any information from him I can. He has a connection to my primary target.”

  Although there was no champagne in Gwen’s intriguing little mouth, she swallowed. “How many of them are there?”

  Them? Ah, she meant vampires. Ethan closed his eyes and estimated. “Thousands. Possibly millions, all over the world.”

  “Are they all like him?”

  “I don’t know, Gwen. You refuse to tell me anything about him.” He dropped his voice so he could not be overheard. “But they are all evil parasites who enslave humans.”

  Her hand trembled, nearly spilling the wine. She steadied it, clasping the plastic cup with both hands. She gulped down the rest of the champagne, and her pink tongue came out to wipe at her cut.

  His dick hardened instantly. What was it about her?

  She looked into her empty cup. “He has a house in Pacific Heights.”

  “Can you find it?”

  Her delicate white throat clenched again. “Yes.”

  “Are you willing to help me?”

  That question earned him a direct look, the first one in hours. “Yes.”

  A plan took shape in his mind. “I’m going to station you outside his house, on a stakeout, of sorts. Anyone who comes or goes, I will need you to take note of them, and photos, if possible.”

  “All right.”

  She was finally being a good little girl. He surprised himself by bringing her hand to his mouth and kissing it. Her thin fingers squeezed around his and he felt almost protective. This Mason Kearney had hurt her, perhaps had even given her a taste for being hurt. For that, Ethan was grateful. But anger pulsed somewhere deep inside him, in a place others referred to as their hearts—she was his to hurt, and his alone.

  When they deplaned at San Francisco International Airport, Ethan’s phone chimed with a text message.

  Napalm in hand. We’re gathering at HQ.

  Chapter 14

  KOS RECLINED IN HIS CHAIR, shaking his head at the way Zoey scraped the last of his poker chips into her lap and licked her lips like a cheetah finishing off a zebra carcass.

  His phone rang, and Mason’s name appeared on the screen. It was two thirty in the morning, but between vampires there was no such thing as too early or too late.

  “What is up, man?” Mason drawled, the contemporary phrasing slightly at odds with his old-fashioned enunciation.

  Mason would find the truth amusing, so Kos winked at Zoey and said, “Just lost my shirt in a game of poker.”

  “Strip poker?”

  “No, just my metaphorical shirt.” The image of Andre and Kos buck-naked and Zoey fully clothed came too easily to mind. No, he would never be foolish enough to accept that challenge. “Can I call you back from my office in a few minutes?”

  “Sure.”

  As Kos ended the call, Andre took hold of Zoey’s hand. He’d accepted her victory over him so gracefully, as if her ferocious sense of competition was so adorable that Andre himself no longer cared to win.

  Kos scratched his chin. Did love change you like that? He stood and offered Zoey his hand. “Thanks for the company.”

  Andre rose too, and clasped Kos’s palm firmly between both his hands. “Yes. We should get back in the routine. Cards clear my head like nothing else. Better even than—”

  “How about tonight?” Zoey asked.

  Suddenly modest, was she? No, her smirk suggested she was protecting Kos’s propriety more than her own. Meanwhile, Andre glowered. Apparently he didn’t mean to resume their old card playing routine quite so soon after bonding with her.

  She leaned into his side and jutted her hip into him. “Don’t pout. We can spend the afternoon together.”

  Her offer of another night of cards was generous and good-natured. All night, she’d perched in an armchair, legs folded underneath her. With her wide smile and heavy lidded eyes, she was a picture of contentment even as she talked smack about their poker games. Better yet, she’d been still and easy during their extended silences, a particular intimacy between Kos and Andre.

  Kos liked her, and his father was as happy as he’d ever been, which made Kos’s insides freeze up with cold dread. Perhaps when things went bad between Andre and Zoey, it would not be the kind of mutually assured destruction Mila had initiated. For all their sakes, Kos could hope.

  Pretending to notice something on Andre’s desk, Kos turned from the happy couple and straightened a stack of papers. “Let’s play it by ear. I may go out on patrol with Bel’s crew.”

  “Sounds good.” Zoey nodded.

  Passing through the musty cellar further dampened his mood. He was in a full-blown melancholy by the time he reached his office. At his desk, he kicked off his shoes and put his feet up.

  Mason answered the call on the first ring. “Kos, buddy, good to hear your voice.”

  Kos feigned lightheartedness. “Same here. How’ve you been?”

  “Great, just great. You?”

  With a whistle, Kos let out a long breath. “To tell the truth, it’s been a rough summer. Hunters found us.”

  “Seriously? Why haven’t you fled?”

  “It’s a long story, but the gist is, we need to stay if possible. We had some help from my brother Bel to fend them off. They retreated, but we know they’ll be back any day.”

  “I don’t know what to say.” Mason’s voice pitched slightly higher. “It’s terrible news.”

  “Yeah. But, I’m pleased about getting Lena out of here to safety.”

  “Good. Good. Are you holding up okay to the wasting disease?”

  “Remarkably well.” No sense getting into details about the wine that was keeping them healthy and tied to Kaštel. Mason was a San Francisco native; he wasn’t wasting, so Blood Vine wouldn’t help him anyway.

  “So tell me about this Lena of yours, or is she Andre’s?”

  “Andre’s.” Technically. “She’s amazing. The household loves her food. She’s a knockout. An eleven, if you know what I mean.”

  “Big, little, fair, dark?”

  “Blond, tall and lean, but with curves.” Huge eyes, too clever and too blue to be doe-like, the sweetest smile, thoughtful. These attributes were probably not important to Mason, so Kos catalogued them silently.

  “Why does she want to leave?”

  The simplest explanation was best. “My dad’s bonded now. He doesn’t have sex with the householders. She wants the whole package.”

  “Sounds perfect. I’m happy to oblige.”

  Kos was certain about that, but he really didn’t want to think about it. His heart lurched. Yeah, he really, really didn’t. “I can bring her to your place. Are you still in Pacific Heights?”

  “Same as always. Can you come on Friday?”

  So soon. His heart stopped altogether. Yes. The sooner the better. He pounded on his chest to start the damn thing up again. “I’ll check with her, but I think that should work.”

  “Kos, are Hunters watching you? No offense, but I don’t want them to follow you here.”

  “Don’t worry, I’ve thought of that. I’ll have someone from Bel’s crew follow us and check for a tail. If there’s any sign we were followed, we’ll leave Lena in a public place and you can pick her up once we’re sure she’s lost the tail.”

  Mason fell silent, and Kos could appreciate his caution.

  Eventually the other vampire said, “That will work. But hopefully it won’t come to plan B. It would be great to see you. We can reminisce about the good old days.”

  “Yeah, I’m looking forward to it. See you soon.” Kos ended the call, fixating on the blank screen of his phone and remembering. For him, those good old days weren’t any better than these days. Hearing Mason’s voice brought back memories, but all the women and all the blood blurred together.

  Then one unexpected memory leaped out. He’d gone into the living room of Mason’s house one night to find a naked girl, pale as the moon and unconscious on the couch.

  Kos ha
d gone to her immediately. “What happened?”

  Mason looked up from his newspaper. “I may have taken too much blood. Should I get her some orange juice?”

  “She looks past juice.” Kos noticed faint bruises on her wrists. Vampire saliva could heal an open wound, but not an internal bleed like a bruise. “Did you restrain her?”

  “Relax, buddy. She’s into that. She pretends she’s afraid, I pretend I’m Dracula. That kind of shit.”

  Sure, some girls liked to role-play. But Kos could never get into scaring women—he’d sent more than one fetishist Mason’s way. Damn it if San Francisco wasn’t attracting a kinkier sort every day. He’d covered the girl with his coat and patted her cheek to rouse her. After a few seconds, her eyes fluttered open. The fear in them was unmistakable, though it passed quickly.

  “Hey, sweetheart,” Mason called out. “Want some orange juice?”

  “Yeah, with vodka, please.” She set Kos’s coat aside. Her voice was nothing like what he expected—sharper and older sounding that her frailness suggested. “Where are my clothes, anyway?”

  Mason shouted to her from the kitchen. “On the stairs.”

  She padded into the hallway and bent over to pick up her blouse from the bottom stair, showing Kos the only part of her he hadn’t yet seen. Her casual display burned a blush up his cheeks and over his scalp, and it persuaded him she was not in need of his protection.

  And from whom, anyway? Mason wouldn’t hurt her.

  Shortly after that, he’d bought his cabin at the coast and given up his jaunts in San Francisco for a more settled existence.

  Kos did look forward to seeing his old friend, but he wouldn’t mind skipping the reminiscing. He opened his drawer of sticky notes and memo pads, quickly penning a message to Lena.

  Does it suit you to leave Friday

  after sunset for your new position?

  In the meantime, please make yourself

  comfortable in my room. - Kos

  He slid it under his door and stood for a moment to listen to her sleep-steady breaths. Nothing on earth appealed more than slipping into his bed, curling around her, and holding her while she slept. His cock stirred, sending him a message—there was one thing even more appealing.

  The thought of another cold shower made his skin sting. He would get some work done in the office and then spend the day bottling Blood Vine with Andre and Pedro. He could use the distraction.

  Hours later, he had to admit that bottling wine was even better than playing cards. He didn’t have to place bets, had nothing to lose. His consciousness could recede, and his mind could unravel itself, processing the things human brains did while sleeping. He rolled one bottle at a time through the manual labeler, a task more blessedly mindless than a game of Uno.

  Bottling didn’t seem to work so well for Pedro.

  His job required him to shoot each bottle full of nitrogen gas and place it on the turret, which rotated bottles toward Andre as they filled with wine. Once they were full, Andre placed them under the corker.

  “Turn the speed up, or this will take all day,” Pedro said, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.

  “If it goes faster, the bottles will not be full when they reach me,” Andre replied.

  “Let me see.” Pedro cranked the dial without waiting for Andre’s agreement.

  The bottles circled the turret more quickly.

  “Davo, Pedro. Look. Now you have disrupted the rhythm. These bottles are only three-quarters full. We have to start over.”

  “Andre, we can do this so much faster, just push the corks in with your thumb.”

  “The equipment is made for humans. We must be patient. Relax.”

  Pedro blew out an exasperated breath. “Kos, can I borrow a book to read over here while grandpa takes his time filling the bottles?”

  From the sidelines, Kos chuckled. “Turn on some music.”

  “Already tried that. Andre hates music.”

  “Do not be absurd.” Andre flipped the switch and the turret came to a stop. “No one hates music. I just hate that garbage you call music. Kos, you tell him.”

  Although Kos didn’t care much for Pedro’s electronic dance music, he wasn’t going to take Andre’s side. “It’s nothing personal. The only music Andre finds acceptable is Balkan choral music.”

  “Fine. Turn that on. Anything is better than the squeal of this machine and having to listen to you two.”

  “Exactly what has crawled up your ass, son?” Andre asked.

  “More like, ‘whose ass didn’t I get to crawl up,’” Pedro muttered, taking an iPod from Kos’s outstretched hand.

  Kos and Andre exchanged a silent glance. Andre’s lips were pressed into a tight smile, trying not to let Pedro on to his amusement. Kos plastered his palm over his own mouth to reinforce Andre’s efforts.

  A woman’s bright soprano suddenly filled the workspace, followed by two alto voices carrying the haunting Balkan harmonies. Kos didn’t trouble himself with the words: he simply let the music carry him home to Šolta.

  The complex rhythm of the music paced everyone’s efforts, and Kos’s heart beat in time. He placed a full bottle of Blood Vine in a labeling machine and cranked the handle, rolling Zoey’s painfully nostalgic label into place. His limbs felt heavy with the gravity of the job. It was humbling to think of what they’d lost when they left home, and what they’d gained with Blood Vine. The deadening ache in his heart over Lena was minor in comparison to the need of all those vampires still wasting away. He tried to ignore it and take his responsibilities seriously.

  He held each bottle reverently, sending up a silent prayer that it would reach their friends safely and bring them health.

  When he’d turned the labels onto another dozen bottles and placed them into a case, he carried them into the loading bay. Tomorrow night, they would deliver a thousand cases of Blood Vine to their distributor, and within a week, it would be on the shelves of wine shops and high-end grocers all over the country.

  “To the homeland, my friends, and to your health,” he whispered as he set another case into the truck.

  His chest still ached. His heart was not getting the message that other things were more important than his crush on a human. But it would, eventually.

  Chapter 15

  LENA SQUEEZED HER EYES CLOSED. She wasn’t ready to open them. Unlike yesterday, Kos wouldn’t be watching her wake. She’d dreamed about the little blond boy again. What was her subconscious trying to tell her, anyway? That all her longings could never come true? No kidding. Vampire babies were pretty much like flying pigs.

  But this morning of all mornings, the dream was a sharp betrayal by her own mind, reminding her she could not have the thing she wanted most—Kos.

  Even worse, her head hurt, probably from the three fingers of brandy she’d drunk to get to sleep. Thanks to Zoey, she’d discovered its medicinal benefits. It worked well, inducing two minutes of pain free, crystal clear thinking, followed by a sleep so deep she had drool in her ear.

  She wiped at her damp lobe, rubbed her eyes, and managed to open them onto the sunny room. Kos’s chair was empty, the two fat Russian novels in his place. She sympathized with the vacant piece of furniture—she was empty too.

  The best cure for heartache was hard work. It had gotten her through years at Kaštel and it would see her steady to the end. She headed for the bathroom until she saw a note that had been slid under the door.

  Leaving Friday.

  The party was scheduled for Saturday, which left three full days to prepare. If Susan or Zoey could warm food and do the finishing touches, then yes, she could have everything ready in time to leave on Friday. Except the truffles—no way to do that dish ahead of time. She would nix those and cancel her order first thing.

  Good. Friday was soon. The sooner she left Kaštel, the sooner she could get over Kos.

  Under the hot water of the shower, she made mental lists of what to do, and the fog of her sadness lifted. It was almo
st seven when she got to the kitchen. She laid out breakfast in the dining room, and then closed off her domain with signs that said, “Keep out.” Maybe she should add a happy face to each sign? Nope. She didn’t give a flip if she sounded rude; she wanted zero distractions, and she really did not want to see Kos.

  She cooked all morning, forgetting to eat or drink until her headache started up, demanding a full meal and caffeine, pronto.

  Out of habit, her hand slid to open the knick-knack drawer. Inside was New and Selected Poems. She didn’t need to take it out to remember the poem by heart. Every time she pictured the little boy pattering across a hardwood floor to his parents’ bed, it was the boy from her dream—the one who had Kos’s eyes.

  Palm on the cover of the book, she whispered a prayer to whomever was out there listening. Please lead me to my destiny, whatever it is.

  As evening approached, she cleaned the kitchen. She opened the dishwasher and grabbed two plates. Turning toward the cabinet, she jumped to find Zoey perched on one of the stools at the high counter.

  “How long have you been there?”

  “Not long.”

  Lena’s heart raced. Inhaling, she placed her palm on her chest and waited for her pulse to slow. “It freaks me out that you move like them, all fast and silent.”

  “I know. I love it.” Zoey shrugged, not even a shred of guilt on her content face.

  Lena laughed for the first time all day.

  “Kos said if it’s okay with you, he’ll take you to San Francisco on Friday.”

  Tension squeezed Lena’s spine. With her stiff back to Zoey, she laid the plates on their shelf. “That’s fine. But please tell him for me. I’d rather not see him.”

  “Are you angry?” Zoey’s tone was perfectly neutral, which meant she was using her supernatural strength to suppress her nosiness, or at least keep it out of her voice.

  Lena faced her, leaning a hip into the countertop and tucking a loose lock of hair behind her ear. “How can I be angry? He’s been kind, and respectful, and honest.”

  Zoey turned up her palms, betraying her frustration. “Then what’s the problem? Why don’t you just—”