White Lies: (The Uruwashi Series #4)

by Christina Moore

  Moving a little slow and stiff, the shirt held to his still bleeding head, Tristan and shuffled after Desmond to the car in his socked feet since he left his shoes in Wren’s car when he tried to steal it before. Desmond had come in Tristan’s car and while he really didn’t give a shit if he saw it ever again, he was relieved for the familiarity of it. And he had shoes in the back. He didn’t even argue about getting in the passenger side, he was too tired to fight and really didn’t feel like driving anyway, through snow, with a bloody, throbbing head. They had at least two hours ahead of them to get back to Yuki’s depending on the snow.

  As he was buckling up, he glanced around, looking for the Benz Wren had brought them here in. It was gone, along with Wren and that freak child vampire. The one who could wield two seikonō. The one who was brutally killing all those people.

  “Damn,” he sighed.

  Desmond stopped and turned to face him. “Problem, mate?”

  “Yeah, I can’t leave.”

  Desmond’s eyes flicked a glance at the sky for the barest of seconds.

  Yeah, they were tight on time if they wanted to get back before dawn. Too bad Tristan had stuff to do here first.

  “Fook yew.”

  “Yeah, yeah,” he muttered. “I know, but dude, I… I’ve got something to do first and fuck me but I—” He stopped to sigh in annoyance. “I need your help.” He looked up and met Desmond’s surprised gaze. He probably needed the girls too… And some insane luck.

  “Bollocks.”

  He sighed and rested his throbbing head against window. The cold felt kind of good. “The vampire that took Wren is the one who’s been draining and drowning people in the region. She said all she wanted was Wren and that she’d stop hurting others now that she’s got him, but I just… I can’t trust her. Besides, I’m pretty sure Wren will give her the slip as soon as he can and he’s definitely not strong enough to kill her on his own, being a vanilla n’ all…”

  Not that he was even close to confident that he could end a dual-seikonō using kodaijin himself. Then again, if he didn’t survive this test run, as he’d started to think of it, against someone like Xuejiao, what did he hope to accomplish against Mother? He was Uruwashi, mighty, powerful. Virgin or not, he had a name to uphold and a role to fulfill, to protect the people of this world.

  Tristan felt sick again.

  Desmond was silent and needing to validate that the guy was even listening, Tristan turned to look at him. The other man was gripping the steering wheel hard enough that even over the running motor and blub of the exhaust, Tristan could hear the wheel creaking.

  “What’s her name, the one who took Wren?”

  “Xuejiao.”

  “Bloody hell,” Desmond growled. “She’s still alive?”

  “You know her?”

  “Of, more like. She be the one who came betwee—” Desmond looked away. “She’s a fooking case, should have been put out to sun ages ago.”

  “I hate that I have to ask anyone for help, especially you, but it’s the truth…” Tristan rested his head back against the window again with a sigh. He was starting to feel nauseous despite the feel-good tingle Desmond’s vampire presence was giving him. “I don’t feel so good,” he whispered against the glass with his eyes shut tight.

  The sharp scent of blood filled the car and Tristan jerked, hitting his head on the window. “What the fuck are you doing?”

  There was something contemptuous, dangerous in Desmond’s dark gaze as he held out his bleeding finger. “It will help you heal faster.”

  Tristan only gawked at him.

  “What?” Desmond tilted his head to the side. “You expect me to believe you’ve never had vampire blood before?”

  Tristan was almost too taken off guard to respond. “Wh—what?” Just what was he trying to say?

  “Asta’s no pythia by blood, but it’s still in her blood—aye, metaphorically like. She’s a pythia at heart. Puts her blood in everything she makes, amps up healing anyway since she’s vampire, aye. Even if it’s no pythia strong, it’s still strong.”

  “The tea…,” Tristan whispered. He remembered the first time he was given that god-awful stuff. The combination of herbs made the base smell like hot dog shit, but under that, Tristan remembered the tang of something metallic, yet, mouthwatering. Same thing with the ointment he used on his arm after Aaron sliced him open. They contained Ash’s blood. He hadn’t used of either one since France, but he still remembered them well.

  “Aye. Tea, ointments…” Desmond stopped to consider him through half-lidded, cynical eyes. “I’ve seen the way you watch her, there’s no way you haven’t been drinking her blood on the side.”

  Tristan flinched. “Wh—what? You think I—god, no. I’m not like you. I’m not—”

  “A vampire?” Desmond shifted closer, his voice low and nearly accent free. “You may be Uruwashi, but that still makes you part vampire, aye? You get to be in the sun and eat solid food, but that doesn’t mean you’re not a part of the night. That you don’t crave what you should… blood.” Desmond pushed his hand closer. “My blood.”

  All of the glands in Tristan’s mouth pulsed as the scent of vampire blood bombarded them. He moaned, not really expecting to and shivered. In that moment his mind demanded a singular focus. It was all Tristan could see, smell and taste, Desmond’s blood. Vampire blood.

  A flash of memory, a fragment of his dreams came to him: Standing in his apartment shower, a cold vampire trapped between him and the shower wall. He could smell blood but never got to taste it. He was excited for that taste. And utterly horrified.

  “Get away from me!” Tristan yelled, shoving Desmond back.

  Desmond scoffed at him. “Ken it… yur nothing but a wee Jessie bas, too human to be anything else. That should make you feel good, aye? Yur not the monster yew think you is.”

  No actually, because if he was just human, through and through, then that made him a bad human. A murderer. He had to believe what he was doing was right. Just.

  “Oi!”

  Having climbed out of the car, Tristan slammed the door behind him.

  Desmond growled an angry sound and got out, leaning on the hood to call after Tristan. “Where are yew going?”

  “Just leave. I’ll find my own way.”

  “Leave? Are yew bloody mad? We’s ‘ere to take yew back. Master likely to eviscerate me if I go back all on me lonesome.”

  Tristan stopped and turned to look at the vampire. “I don’t give a shit what you’re here to do. I’ve got a vampire to find. And I don’t give a shit what you do, just stay out of my fucking way.”

  Without waiting to hear Desmond’s answer, he turned away and shuffled back towards Wren’s room. It was a good a place as any to rest for the coming day, maybe do some recon, figure out where Xuejiao and Wren might have gone.

  He stumbled up the narrow staircase, grabbing the wooden practice sword on his way up. At the top of the stairs, there was a door straight ahead. He knew from his time earlier that beyond that door was a small, unused kitchen. To the left was the living room he escaped from earlier. Tristan stopped in the doorway looking in and sighed. Most of the snowflakes were gone now, just a few floating out in the empty space. The water though, there was four standing inches of it and it cut off at the threshold by an invisible barrier. It was…

  “Interesting.”

  Tristan crouched down to get a better look, poking the water line with the wooden sword. He felt Desmond’s presence come up behind him but heard nothing. The vampire was trying to be sneaky and it made Tristan smile cynically.

  “Any idea what kind of seikonō this is?”

  Desmond huffed and scoffed his feet against the floor behind him. “No sodding clue.”

  Tristan looked up and then down again when the tee shirt he held to his head slipped, hitting him in the eye. He huffed at it and tossed it down. It made a heavy, soggy noise that didn’t go past either of their notice. He dabbed at the wound with his fingers
and frowned when he discovered he was still bleeding, just a little.

  “You’re supposed to be the water expert here,” Tristan said absently, distracted by the cut. “Shouldn’t you be able to talk to it?”

  Desmond made a rude noise and then was grabbing Tristan’s wrist.

  “Hey!” Tristan lost his balance and fell to his ass even though Desmond had already let him go.

  “Stop touching it. You’re going to make it worst. Yew ken, if yew let me dab some vampire blood on it, it will close up real fast like.”

  Instead of using his words like a big boy he lashed out and smacked Desmond in the ankle with the sword.

  The vampire gave him a hearty reaction, yipping in pain. “Fine, bloody bleed oot, see if we care.”

  Tristan sighed and sat back against the wall. “Just do your seikonō thing where you talk to it, will ya? God, you have to make everything so difficult. Fuck your pride and just do what you have to.”

  Desmond stared at him a moment, looking like he might have something very Desmond-like to say in answer, but then he didn’t and instead he was biting into the meaty part of his hand and crouching down in front of Tristan.

  An image struck Tristan then of a great, white bullfrog and he giggled to himself. Desmond was a grouchy ol’ albino bullfrog.

  “What’re you on about?”

  “Nothing,” Tristan snickered. “Just do your thing, frogman.”

  Desmond furrowed white eyebrows at him, but held his hand out over the water, letting his blood drip for a moment before lowering his hand into the water. Immediately, he grunted, recoiling but kept his hand immersed.

  “What is it?”

  The vampire had shut his eyes to concentrate. “Don’t rightly ken… it’s no’ right. Almost as if…” Desmond jerked his hand out of the water, eyes opened to show wide, worried clear green orbs. “You say this was Xuejiao?”

  Tristan nodded.

  “Wee Chinese bairn, ‘boot six years old, aye?”

  Again, Tristan only nodded. He wasn’t in a rush to get to the punch line, he wanted to see just how much Desmond really knew. What he might be hiding. And with his own mind locked up tight, despite or because of, his raging headache, there was no peaking happening by the vampire.

  Desmond frowned, standing to tower over Tristan. “It’s no’ right, but that seikonō tastes of water… and wind. Is no wonder I couldn’t shift it before.””

  Tristan let out a long breath lowering his head to look down blankly at his own middle. “That’s about the gist of it.”

  “No bloody way!”

  He jerked when Desmond stormed away in a wake of cursing. With a tired sigh, he struggled to his feet. He was super exhausted suddenly and wondered if he could even risk sleeping with the hopes of waking ever again. “Desmond,” he said tiredly as the vampire stomped down the stairs. “Where are you going?”

  “Yew said to stay oot of yur bloody way.” He stopped at the bottom of the steps and looked up to Tristan. “I’m giving yew what yew want, oot of yur way.” He spun to leave but spun back, face full of panic. “There’s no way it’s true. It’s myth! Folklore. Not. Bloody. Real.”

  Tristan sighed, leaning back against the wall. “That’s why I need your help. God, you’ve made me say it twice now.”

  “No. Your lot’s not important ‘nough for something like that.”

  “No, maybe not,” Tristan said calmly, feeling his bile rise. Yeah, the knock to his head was a doozy. “But innocent human lives are… Wren is.”

  Desmond stiffened and Tristan knew he’d hit the mark. Sure, Desmond tried to melt the poor vampire’s face off, but he still cared. He did it because he cared. Tristan figured out long ago that the man’s ego was huge, so it didn’t take much of a leap to know when Desmond did something, it was out of rashness and hurt pride rather than actual malice. The big idiot probably will never admit it again, but he loved Wren as much as Wren obviously loved him.

  “He’s bloody not.”

  Tristan smiled. “Come on, dude. I know you and I don’t get along worth shit, but I know you better than you think. And Wren, he still loves you.” With a little chuckle to himself, he realized he had a new skill to add to his unorthodox resume: relationship guru to the dead. God, why did he even care?

  “Are you really going to let a freak like Xuejiao, who has no problem whatsoever with doing shit like drowning innocent people for the fun of it, make him a captive? And what about all the humans, huh? You have an obligation to protect them as the stronger race, don’t you think?”

  “That’s what the bloody pythia are fur,” he muttered. Desmond’s expression was sour but his body had lost the tension he was carrying. The fear was mostly gone now and the stubbornness was trickling in. “Would be what he deserves after he—” Desmond shut his eyes and lowered his face into his hand, rubbing at his forehead. “Bloody hell, we really do hate yew.”

  Tristan smiled big and forced himself off the wall. The movement was too fast and he nearly fell. If it weren’t for Desmond’s incredible speed, Tristan would have gone head first down the stairs… and knocked himself in the face with the sword.

  He meant to say thanks, he really did, but he was too busy groaning, fighting against his cloudy vision. Desmond helped him into the living room, sloshing through the water and lowered him to the small sofa there. Now that all the snowflakes, save for a few on the fringes, were gone, it was just a puddle of annoying water.

  Without a word the vampire turned and crouched, putting his hands into the water. Tristan didn’t need to see to know that the vampire had bit into his wrists and was bleeding into the pool again.

  A few moments later Desmond gave a deep moan and then all the water suddenly lifted, gathering in large drops. The last few snowflakes melted away, their electrical energy singeing outwards into nothing. With another little moan the vampire flung his big hands away and the water all left the room to turn the corner, slam the kitchen door open and drop into the sink.

  Desmond turned with a pleased smile, hands on his hips in a really wrong version of a Peter Pan pose.

  “See, wasn’t so hard if you try,” Tristan said softly as he felt himself drift. “Too bad you didn’t do it earlier…”

  “Piss off,” Desmond snapped and then frowned. “Oi?”

  The sting of Desmond’s hand was like a brick to the face, but Tristan couldn’t react anymore, consciously or otherwise.

  “Oi! Don’t yew bloody kick off on us. Oi! Tristan!”

  The last thing Tristan remembered was his middle tingling with vampire goodness and a sense of euphoria.

  16: Cold Memory

  OOI!”

  Tristan gasped awake, his face stung and his hands were automatically reaching for the old man standing over him.

  “Yare!” the man cried out, moving faster than someone his age should have. He looked startled but was smiling knowingly. “Genki ka?”

  Tristan groaned, rolling over to his side to sit up and then thought better of it when his stomach lurched. The movement brought up a musky scent; the linens on the bed were clean but they’d been unused for a while. Resting, eyes shut against the bright light, he sighed. “I’ve felt better…”

  The man considered him with droopy but keen eyes. “Nihongo wa hanasemasu ka?”

  “Nope,” he answered plainly. Now, that wasn’t the whole truth. He did speak some Japanese—understood the old man’s question rather clearly. Actually, he understood a hell of a lot more than he let on, but if he said ‘why yes, I do speak your language’, then he’d be caught up in rapid fire Japanese and wouldn’t be able to follow anymore. It was just easier to feign ignorance. Besides, he liked hearing what people said about him when they thought he didn’t understand. It was entertaining.

  “Ah, naruhodo… Fix, okay.”

  Tristan cracked an eye open to look at the guy. “You gonna tell me who you are?”

  “Shop downstairs. Your friend give big money. Big money to wake loud man with mouth.”
He motioned at Tristan enthusiastically.

  “He paid you to slap me awake?”

  The old man smiled big. He was missing a lower molar and the top teeth were all crammed in together. He might not have been as old as he looked though, something in his eyes. He shrugged, smiling in a way that said he wasn’t the least bit ashamed. “Told me, very important, wake annoying American, no matter what. Very important. No matter what.”

  Tristan harrumphed and sat up. Despite moving slow, his head still felt sloshy and heavy. Guess he’d had worse. Desmond must have done his vampire voodoo on him too since the cut was all scabby under his hair now. He thought that he really should start wearing a helmet with the way his head got knocked around so much. “Well, I’m fine. So thanks.”

  “Are…” The old man turned and motioned to the living room. Tristan looked through the open door past the man and saw a bunch of stuff sitting on the kotatsu. Food. “I bring food. High protein. Big man say so. Get strong, hai?”

  Tristan smiled at the old man as he took stock of Tristan’s already strong physic with a raise brow. “Thanks.”

  Nodding the old man turned away to leave.

  “Oh hey—erm, chotto matte. Do you know Wren?”

  “Eh?”

  “Uh, Toshiro.”

  “Are, Tsukahara-san? Mochiron.”

  Of course.

  “Do you know where I might find him, er, besides here?”

  The old man eyed him. “Misunderstand. I know Tsukahara-san, but not… nakayoshi—intimate? Hai, not good friend.”

  “Acquaintances then?”

  “Hai, hai. Tsukahara-san very private man. But very…” The old man frowned, looking lost for words.

  “Stands out?” Tristan supplemented.

  “Hai. Gaijin stands out.” The old man shifted on his feet and looked uncomfortable as he rubbed at the back of his neck. “Also, very pretty. Customers confuse for woman sometimes.”

  Tristan smiled at that. Yeah, Wren was a pretty dude, even with half his face hidden under his Phantom mask and hair. “So he comes into your izakaya a lot?”