Redemptive Blood

by Tamara Rose Blodgett

  Tessa blinks.

  Laz scrubs a hand over his face, suddenly tired. “I am demonic. The Lanarre do not concern me. What does concern me is the health of my Redemptive.” Laz gives Tessa a lingering look then continues smoothly. “Now, I have righted this”—Laz spins his hand casually in the broad direction of the Lanarre prince—“issue.” He raises his eyebrows.

  “What?” Tessa says, but more softly this time.

  “Let us leave before the remainder of the Lanarre awaken and see the mess that we made, the state of their prince, and have a meltdown.”

  The corners of Tessa's lips twitch. “ʻMeltdownʼ?”

  Laz's return smile is unhurried. “Yes. I know quite a bit of human vernacular, but I must think before employing it.”

  “I see that.” Tessa laughs.

  Laz holds out his hand, and she steps forward, wiping tacky blood off on her black lightweight pants then slipping her palm inside his.

  A tingling current runs through their casual contact, and they exchange a look. Tessa's expression holds surprise; Laz's does not.

  They turn, and Drek is staring at them. Laz believes he barely took the Lanarre prince in the short battle to get to Tessa. If it had not been for his demonic speed, all would have been lost. A male standing nearly six and a half feet in human form is something far more dangerous in the half form of wolfen.

  Drek's light-gold eyes regard him. “I thank you for the healing, demonic.”

  “Lazarus,” he seethes, loathing being addressed by his species when his name is known.

  Drek's square jaw hikes. “Yes—Lazarus.” Folding his muscular arms, he winces, clearly still in the process of knitting the damage from their fight. “However, you attacked a Lanarre prince who was trying to assist a female Were.”

  Laz shrugs. “She is my Redemptive. Praile, a high demonic and second only to the Master, was assaulting her. You wasted valuable time asserting your assumed dominance. When all the while, Praile was attempting to rape my female.”

  Laz pulls Tessa in tightly against his body, ignoring the blood. Normally, blood and demons go hand-in-hand. How many had Lazarus tortured during his duties in Hades?

  Many.

  How many did he heal then re-torture? Legion.

  Those days are behind him now. With his Redemptive warm against his body, and these Lanarre soon to be a distant and distasteful memory, Laz can begin a new journey.

  A new life.

  “I did not know you were helping. It looked as though you were part of the attack.”

  It would look thus from the outside.

  “Please, Drek.” Tessa's voice is soft, which makes Laz's prick hard. Of course.

  The timing could not be more inopportune. But that is the flummox of the demonic. Controlled by fate, masterminded by biology, he is meant to be with her.

  Laz turns to gaze down at her beautiful face. Blood or not, Tessa calls to him.

  “Who you're really concerned about is Tahlia. Admit that.”

  Drek's powerful jaw flexes, a flutter appearing like an errant heartbeat at the edge. “And she has changed into bird form and flown away. Unprotected.”

  Tessa's fingers flex. “While that bitch of a cousin Tanya is here, trying for a throne that doesn't belong to her.”

  “What can you tell me about Tahlia?” Drek leans forward, expression troubled.

  Tessa lifts a shoulder. “Nothing. I mean, I don't want to stay here as prisoner while I explain how you fucked up.”

  Laz gives a dark chuckle.

  Drek scowls. “I do concede, things could have been handled better in my absence.”

  “Handled better?” Tessa scoffs. “You don't ʻhandleʼ a female of her caliber—or any female, for that matter. You said so yourself that Tahlia is Lanarre royalty and so much above every other female.”

  Laz easily detects the sarcasm in Tessa's voice, but believes Drek is too self-absorbed to notice. He bides his time, waiting for the prince to dig a deeper grave. Hours ago, Laz might not have thought that possible, but a demonic can always reassess.

  “True,” he replies, “but all female Were are precious.”

  Tessa laughs as though she can't help it. “Now that's the only smart thing you've said so far.”

  The prince's lips thin while his expression grows pained. “Why do I displease you so much, Tessa?”

  “That you have to ask is the biggest problem.”

  They stare at each other for a moment.

  Laz breaks the silent stand-off. “About us taking our leave, Lanarre prince...”

  Drek turns his attention to Laz. “If I secure safe passage, would you stay and discuss Tahlia?”

  Laz squeezes Tessa's hip in an effort to keep her silent if only for a moment.

  “Passage by blood oath?” she asks.

  Laz narrows his eyes at her, his attempt at subtly unsuccessful. “I do not like oaths. By anyone.” Two spots on his scalp itch as though horns could grow.

  Without looking in Laz’s direction, Tessa answers him: “It's sacred among the Were. No Lycan would dare break blood oath.”

  He threads fingers through his short hair; the ghostly feeling of horns remains. “Why?”

  Strands of Tessa's black hair whip the bare skin of his arms as she turns to regard him. His flesh heats where the silken tendrils met his skin.

  “Because if an oathbreaker commits that breach of trust, at the next full moon, the Moon herself takes the blood of the oathbreaker.”

  Laz feels his lips curl. “A bloodletting by the Moon herself. I like that outcome very much.”

  “It is the most serious promise between us.” Tessa's smile is small.

  “Yes,” Drek says in slow consideration. “I will.”

  *

  Laz soaps himself twice.

  That's what it takes to rid himself of Praile’s stench.

  Now that he and Tessa have made an agreement with Drek, they are no longer prisoner here.

  The Were are still snoozing off Praile's demonic thrall, and the two of them can finally wash the blood of battle from their bodies.

  Laz would take Tessa the way a Redemptive should be claimed if she would let him. He could ease her need—or “heat,” as the Lycan name her body's biological directive to breed.

  He exhales wearily as the water running over him finally runs clear.

  Praile is gone. Yet the worry of a new order takes seed inside Laz's mind. The absence of communion with their Dark Ruler will not go unnoticed, and another high demon will be sent to investigate.

  Lazarusʼs absence will be noted, as well.

  Lucifer will see to why that is. A void in the high demonic ranks casts a ripple like a stone in water.

  Laz has been privy to many tales of different supernaturals over his lifetime.

  Fey.

  Blood Singers.

  Lycan.

  Vampire.

  And among them all, there are many branches of sub-species, and within those ranks, each species distinguishes one from the other.

  Laz is learning.

  Not because he cares. But because the more he knows, the safer he and his Redemptive are.

  Praile used a Were with demonic blood to do his bidding, killing many of the Singers who possessed the blood of the angelic. Tony Laurent—Laz remembers the sadistic Were easily. Sometimes, those who possess only a small amount of demonic blood are nevertheless ruled by it. Genetics among supernaturals are a strange thing. And no path of blood can be wholly predicted in its manifestation.

  Laz has spoken of it with no one, but his healing ability is troubling. Demonic do not possess that ability. However, there are many supernaturals who do.

  The Angelic possess the strongest ability to heal, and his mind trembles around the possibility.

  Few from Below have healing talent of any kind. But none have voiced that Laz might have the blood of the heavenly running in his veins. How would Laz stand the hot dark place he once called home if that were the case?


  Unless...

  “Laz,” Tessa calls.

  Laz's train of thought fades, and he shuts off the water. Lifting his fingers, he inspects each pruney digit.

  He feels the presence of Tessa and slowly spins to face her. Only the solid panel of glass is between them. Rivulets of chilling water cascade from his wet hair, down his naked torso, splattering at his feet against the cold tumbled-marble tiles.

  Their eyes meet, and Tessa's need slams into him, slaughtering the lighthearted banter he'd planned. Instead, her nearness causes a mammoth erection to form. Hot and painful, the tip of him touches the hard, cold glass.

  Laz doesn't even flinch.

  Nothing but the heat of her flesh wrapped around him will cool the rage of his arousal.

  Her fingertips press against the clear wall separating them. “What's happening?” Her pale-gray eyes seek an answer on his face, from his lips.

  “It's the need,” Laz says in such a thick voice, he must clear his throat before he speaks again. “Only my Redemptive can soothe me.”

  Laz palms his cock, leaning his forehead against the cold glass and warming it with his heated flesh.

  Her eyes dip to the heavy arousal between his legs. “I can't, Laz. If I mate you, we'll have... there's a chance we'll have...”

  Offspring, Laz finishes for her inside his head.

  He drops his hand and yanks open the shower door. Stepping out of the basin, he grabs Tessa by the shoulders. “There's a chance we'll have what we were meant to.”

  Tessa's wearing clean clothes.

  Laz shreds them with a nail gone black with his intent. The material comes away from her body, fluttering to the ground between them.

  Tessa gasps. “No, Laz.”

  He flattens his palms, fanning them down her back and spreading his fingers at the base of her spine, kneading the flesh there.

  She groans, and he stiffens against her.

  “I am demonic. I will never cause harm to my Redemptive.” Steam gives away his passion, rising from his mouth as he speaks, leaking out of his ears and nose. His vision goes to opaque tinged with red, and he knows his eyes have become gray with the momentum of his desire.

  Tessa clings to the back of his neck. “I can't stand this. Normally, during heat, I would go into hiding, lock myself away in an abandoned house, a cave—anything until my cycle passes.”

  Laz presses her against his naked body, seating his hard prick between them and dumping his forehead to hers. “And now?”

  “I'm desperate.”

  Laz tenses, looking deeply into her eyes, feeling the frown form between his brows. “So you would mate anyone?”

  Tessa's exhale is irritated, and she shakes her head. “No. That's not what I meant. But I always knew if I mated someone, it would be for love—not to just relieve my physical needs. I've had sex, but I'm not easy.”

  Her lips quirk.

  Laz breathes his fiery breath around her sensitive neck, and the skin turns pink wherever it lands.

  Tessa shivers, her small smile slipping away.

  “You don't love me?” Laz asks, a hint of humor threading his voice.

  “I care, but I'm so in lust, I can hardly think.” Tessa pants as Laz's hands move up and down her body, and he can scent the unique fragrance of the female meant for him and only him.

  Laz leans his face lower until his fingers sink into her still-damp hair, and he uses his thumbs to pry her jaw up, meeting eyes that are such a light gray they're a hint of the storm that Laz feels brewing deep within himself.

  Their lips couldn't fit a hair between them, so tightly are they mirrored.

  “I have no choice. I knew you were my Redemptive when I first laid eyes on you. But you will not know me as I know you. It isn't the way the connection works.”

  Tessa searches his eyes. “Then what about giving in to this temptation and later regretting it? Letting it bite me in the ass later? Because—let me tell you, Laz—my luck sucks.”

  Laz smiles, and with a jerk, he crushes her body against his own, kissing her with fierce abandon, his forked tongue hot and seeking at the seam of her lips.

  He eats the groan she makes as their tongues twine, catching her head in his hand as she tips her face up.

  Her bare throat begs for his touch, and he gives it, licking and lightly nipping the flesh she presents.

  “Do you feel lucky right now, Tessa?”

  Her eyes hood, and she gives a vague nod, her fingers convulsively squeezing his ass.

  “Then let me love you enough for both of us.”

  Tessa sighs. “I can't fight you, Laz. I've lived my entire life running, being tough—hunted.”

  “Don't run anymore. Let me care for you. Those who would hunt you will die.”

  Laz feels his eyes darken with the instinct to protect her. He waits with held breath, his cock a throbbing nightmare, every nerve ending alive to meld with Tessa.

  When he hears her softly spoken yes, Laz falls on her like a starved thing.

  A needy thing.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Jenni

  Jenni creeps along at about ten miles an hour. Spotting the yellow crime scene tape, she moves on down the road.

  “What are you doing?” Devin asks, twisting her torso to face her.

  She spares Devin a glance before shifting her eyes once again to the damp street ahead.

  “I'm going to park at the curb and get to my car—see if I can drive it home.”

  “Okay.”

  Jenni looks at Devin more closely.

  Her pale skin has a waxy, clammy sheen. Slight tremors cause her hands to quake as she pushes her hair out of her face. The light catches her cone-shaped ebony gauge perfectly, giving the effect of a stabbing at her ear. A bursting heartbeat jumps erratically at the hollow of her throat.

  Dammit. Shock at oh-shit o'clock, and with a fun time had by all at the burger place, Devin's in no shape to drive herself home.

  I owe her. Kind of. Jenni understands that bozo Bray and company would have made an appearance regardless of her presence. It was chance. She gets that. But maybe Devin would have been a few seconds earlier—already in her car or driving by then if Jenni wasn’t there, needing help.

  Jenni didn't kill anyone. But they would talk. No woman by herself could dispatch three men without specialized skills.

  Or maybe they won't say anything? Possibly, those turds attempting to hold up a defenseless admitted former drug addict at her legit place of work wouldn't be something they would want to pass on to the authorities.

  Well... let me help that along.

  “Can I use your cell?” Jenni asks, quickly patting down her stiff scrubs with one hand and finding no cell phone.

  She slides up next to a curb about a block past the turn-in for PT General. Letting the engine run, she puts the gearshift into park.

  Jenni never keeps a cell on her person until she's leaving her work after a shift. Can't be communicating with people while you're taking care of patients. It's a distraction. And messing with her cell would be counterproductive and make patients feel less human when their caretaker is dismissing them for a snapchat.

  Jenni knows most hospital employees don't hold to that standard. But facing death has made her introspective in a way that others haven't needed to be. Jenni has felt dismissed. She felt like less than nothing when she received her terminal diagnosis.

  When people find out you're going to die, suddenly, they don't see you. Don't call. Like Lance.

  Of course everyone seemed genuinely distressed—at first. Then she became just a number. Waiting to die.

  Now she might live. But not as she was before.

  Jenni puts her hands on her head, squeezing her skull as though she could press hard enough to push the thoughts out of her head.

  “Here—hey, are you okay?” Devin's lip trembles as she holds out her cell, and a lone tear runs out of her eye, marking a fresh track in her makeup.

  “Yeah.” Jenni tries on a smile
, and it feels like a hard slash of plastic on her face. She grabs at the cell and looks down at the fingerprint-laden crystal display.

  “Oh, sorry—wait.” Devin presses her thumb onto the button. The black screen disappears, and a photo appears of a small child.

  Ignoring the little girl for the moment, Jenni swipes to the keypad and taps 911.

  Ringing, ringing. “9-1-1, what is your emergency?”

  Jenni sucks an inhale. “There's been an attempted robbery. Three men, probably drug users, tried to hurt a McDonald's employee to grab cash.”

  One second's pause then, “Location?”

  Jenni recites the general area. Everyone would know the place.

  “What is your name?”

  Jenni swipes the phone to off.

  “They'll trace that to me, ya know.”

  They exchange a loaded glance. “You didn't do anything wrong. You didn't perpetuate any crime.”

  Devin's eyes fill with tears. “I just got my kid back. I don't want to lose this job. It took everything I had to win Ella back.”

  Jenni blinks. “You have a kid? My God, what are you? Twelve?”

  Devin gives a nervous laugh. “No, twenty-two. But Ella is four.”

  Wow, I feel old, but there’s only a six-year difference in our ages. “Is she Bray's?”

  Devin nods, tears beginning to overflow. “He doesn't know. In those days, Bray was blasted out of his mind half the time—we both were. I started to get clean, didn't know I was knocked up at first. Thought the withdrawals were just lasting forever.” Her smile is rueful, tired.

  “Like three months’ worth?” Jenni asks.

  Devin's smile fades. “Yeah.” She breathes out slowly. “Then it occurred to me I hadn't had to deal with my monthlies for a while.” The hands she was wringing break apart, and she lifts them slightly then lets them fall on her lap again, defeated.

  Jenni’s head falls back against the head rest. “What a mess.”

  “Yeah,” Devin agrees. She looks at Jenni, swiping her wet face, a furrow between her brows. “Are you gonna figure out your car?”

  Jenni nods, but her head is spinning. She can't stay at her job at PT General.

  Werewolves need not apply.

  Her house is worthless, too. Her small condo is all hers, thanks to her parentsʼ life insurance policy.