Bloody Ties

by Claire Marta

  Unfortunately, Sheila answers.

  Goddamnit. I’m going to kill Phillip.

  I tell the bastard as much then I tell him to get his ass down here. Slipping my arm out of the chains I go to work on my legs.

  Doing this one handed is a bitch but somehow I manage.

  Ripping the corkscrew out of my hand I stand on shaky legs and take a cautious step to the door. Big mistake.

  I drop to the floor, blood loss and pain getting the better of me.

  Phillip

  Son of a bitch.

  I find my brother passed out in a pool of his own blood. Gunfire is still raging on, I have a fucking hole in my shoulder, Michael isn’t responsive, neither is my fucking wife.

  Oscar chooses not to respond because it messes up with his fucking Rambo impersonation.

  Picking Damien up I sling the bastard over my shoulder and head to the front of the warehouse. Armed with a knife and a two hundred pound vampire I send out a message to both Vega and Rodriguez. If you screw us over. If none of my family make it out of this God forsaken place alive I will hunt you down and murder you in your sleep.

  Easy, Rochester. Vega replies.

  I suggest you brace yourself. Rodriguez says.

  Suddenly the whole building begins to shake and I lean against the wall to avoid falling over.

  More gunfire starts up. Louder and more insistent than before.

  I don’t know how, but I manage to get out of the warehouse with only one more bullet wound.

  Someone grabs me from behind, but my wife’s familiar touch eases my erratic heart.

  “Vega has a car around the corner. The bastard fled, he took the princess. Michael is alive, barely. They hid him in a fucking dumpster. We lost most of our men. We’re going to need reinforcements before we go after them.”

  “Let’s get him to the car. Before he loses his arm.” I shift Damien higher on my shoulder and we run, dodging both enemy and friendly fire.

  The princess is gone, two of my brothers are on the verge of death, and I have no idea what happened to the third.

  To say the war is in full swing is an understatement.

  If Damien lives I’m going to fucking kill him.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Ava

  HOURS HAVE MELTED INTO DAYS IN THE darkness that holds me captive. Gnawing at my belly, hunger dims my sight and sends my mind into a disorganized tumble.

  Staying still is now impossible. At the start it was easy enough, but as time worn on the silver enthused bars have burnt my shoulder, back, and sides. Muscles stiff, the dull cramps are a continuous ache through my limbs.

  I hurt.

  Everywhere Ivan touched me is bruised and marked. The imprint of his filthy hands are branded on my skin.

  When the lucid moments come I am haunted with flashes of Kylie’s death and what that Russian bastard did to me. It makes me feel unclean. Sullied.

  Sometimes I believe I can hear the dying screams of Damien and his brothers. Smell the scent of burning flesh as I watch the warehouse collapse in on itself. Other times I swear I can hear them whispering to me, like mournful ghosts in the dark.

  The sound of heavy steps on the stairs breaks through my exhausted daze. For a second I am not sure if it is real or another delusion of my mind.

  Light, bright and painful abruptly floods my cage, making me wince.

  “There she is.” My father grins. The smug satisfaction hasn’t changed since the night Ivan dragged me back through his doors.

  Blinking slowly, I can barely raise my head let alone speak. Instead I peer at him from behind my matted, dirty hair.

  “It’s time to get you cleaned up. We have people coming tomorrow and your presence is required.”

  The auction. I know he still has plans to sell me off to one of his associates. Make me their prized whore for their help in taking the last Rochester out.

  Gathering as much moisture as I have left in my dry mouth I spit at his feet.

  As he kicks the bars savagely I flinch with a fresh jab of fear.

  “If I didn’t need your womb for my bloodline you would already be dead you ungrateful little bitch. So you thought you were going to overthrow me and hand it all to that bastard you let between your legs,” he continues in an ugly sneer. “Now what do you have, Ava? Nothing.

  The Rochester sons are all dead and you’re nothing but a whore, just like your mother.”

  Murdered at his hands. Burnt alive and buried to death.

  Pressing my forehead to the cold concrete floor, I try to breath through the painful spasm in my chest. All my tears are gone. Used up in the first few days of captivity.

  I miss Kylie so damn much. Not having her with me is not something I am sure I can bear. Everyone I care about is gone. I have nothing left.

  Metal clicks and the door of my cramped cage is swung open. Not waiting to be told I shuffle forward. Involuntary spasms wrack my naked body so badly it causes a hoarse cry to break from my lips.

  “Get her fed and made presentable. She needs to be in better shape than this by tomorrow afternoon when my guests come to view her.” My father words are brisk. Echoing footsteps follow and I know he’s left to do better things than watch his daughter grovel.

  Hands try to grasp me and I cringe, cowering back. I’m terrified it’s Ivan. The things he did to me...I don’t think I will ever forget.

  “Hey, hey it’s okay.” An unfamiliar voice soothes. “We’re just going to help get you upstairs.”

  Raising distrustful eyes, I stare at the male crouched down before me. Hands out in a gesture of appeal he watches me with pity. Instead of looking at my nakedness as I expect his attention doesn’t waver from my bruised and bloodied face.

  Staying down here in the basement is the last thing I want. With no energy left I know I have little choice.

  Reaching out shakily, I take his offered hand. It’s warm, strong, and oddly reassuring.

  Moving slowly he and his partner gently get me to my feet. The second I take my full weight on my own my legs give out.

  Bracing for impact I never hit the floor.

  Arms sweep me up against a muscled chest and then I find myself being carried like a child.

  My father’s blood slaves are waiting for us in my old room.

  Silent, submissive, their eyes dulled with hopelessness, they stand with their heads bowed.

  Placing me carefully on my bed the guard motions to the first female to approach.

  Complying, she crawls up beside me on the clean white sheets.

  The thought of supple flesh and the hot liquid that’s pumping beneath it sends my hunger rampant. Pouncing with what little strength I have left, I bare her throat and bite deep. Moaning hungrily, I gulp down the fresh rejuvenating blood. I know I am being far from gentle, but my instincts have kicked in.

  As she begins to struggle, my arms lash around her waist to hold her still.

  “Miss. Carr? You need to stop before you kill her.” The guard warns as he attempts to disengage me.

  As the whore is torn free from my embrace I can’t stop my whimper. I’m still so thirsty.

  Climbing onto the bed another female takes her place.

  Before long six necks have tried to quell my need, but it’s only gone half way to satisfying me. I crave so much more.

  Wiping my mouth clumsily with the back of my hand I focus on the males by the door.

  “You’re my new bodyguards?” I ask voice still low and raw. Pulling the duvet over my bare form makes me feel a little less vulnerable.

  The one who’d spoken to me gives me a friendly smile. “We’re here to watch over you now, yes. My name is Magar and my companion is Briggs.” Clapping his hands he gathers the few remaining slaves attention. “Miss. Carr needs to be bathed and pampered. I’m sure you can see to that.”

  In a flurry of movement the women rush quickly to my en suite to comply. They won’t run the risk of being punished. The sound of running water and the smell of some
thing exotic filters through on the steamy air.

  “I don’t want a bath.” My reply is stony.

  If they think my time locked up has broken me they’re wrong. I’m no longer the woman I was before.

  Everything she was is gone. Taken in violence and death.

  “You’ve been in the basement for seven days. Washing yourself clean will do you good after everything you’ve been through the last three weeks.”

  The bastard is right and I know it. Lesions on my skin left from the silver are already healing, but they still burn. Water would help the progress.

  Reluctantly I allow Magar to once more scoop me up. Exhaustion is eating away at me. Days without sleep are taking their toll.

  My mind is still in pieces, not yet clear enough for me to think straight.

  Striding into the bathroom he deposits me onto the edge of the tub.

  “Everyone get out now.” Gathering the cover around me I send him a haughty glare.

  “Either the women stay or I do.”

  Meeting his uncompromising look my tired shoulders slump. “Fine they stay, but not you. You remain outside.”

  I don’t have the energy to fight. Not right now. All my subdued rage is something that needs to be saved for what’s to come.

  Waiting for the door to click with his departure I slip away the material shield.

  Easing my battered and starved frame into the soothing water I let it surround me. Hissing, I take its heat as my wounds begin to sting. Snatching up a bottle the thick gloopy contents of my favourite bath wash, I drench a sponge with it.

  I need to be clean.

  Rid myself of the dried blood, sweat and dirt which coats every inch of me.

  Ivan’s stench still lingers.

  Cleanse everywhere he contaminated with his violent defilement.

  With frantic movements jerky I don’t stop until my skin is glowing red.

  Head bent, I block out my observers as tears I thought I had all shead drip down my cheeks to mingle with the water.

  Damien

  Seven days and everything still fucking hurts. Especially my damn hand. Blood and whiskey helps, but I’m not a patient man.

  “Bones are healed up nicely.” Oscar says, poking and prodding me as he has been every day for the last week.

  Because of course besides being a trained killer the asshole is a fucking genius in the medical field.

  “And the hand?” I flex my hand and the bandage stretches, sticking to the wound.

  “Another week or two. Hell, maybe three. Can’t really say for sure. It’s growing back, but slowly.”

  I toss back the rest of my drink. “Well isn’t that just fucking peachy.” I utter.

  “Just stating the facts, brother.”

  “Yeah well how about you stop doing that.” I hold my glass out and someone pours me another drink. “Any news from Phillip?”

  “He should be arriving no later than two a.m. Said he had something concrete for us.”

  “Good. God knows we need some good news around here after all the bad shit.”

  “Not all that bad. We got rid of two needy prisoners.”

  Glass shatters, and alcohol drenches Oscar’s thousand dollar suit after I throw my drink at him.

  “We still need the princess, dumbass.” I sneer. “We need to get her back.”

  “Need her for what exactly? We have all the information we ever hope to gather from her.”

  “We need her if we plan to take back our state without a full blown bloodshed.”

  “I don’t mind a bloodshed.”

  “No one here does. But the point is we’re a bit low on resources. It would be good to not have to waste what we have on a full fledged war.”

  “That ship sailed the minute you were taken against your will.” Sheila says as she walks into the room.

  “How you doing, sister?” I ask.

  “Do you really need to ask that?” She rolls her eyes and drops down on the chaise. “My husband has been gone for five days. Two of my brothers were gravely injured. And there’s nothing around I’m allowed to kill.”

  “Easy. Soon enough you’ll be able to do what assassins do, sister. We need allies. We need a plan. We need to kill Lucius and establish our power, and then we’ll go after the princess.”

  “There may be a problem with that.” Michael says, walking into the bedroom. “According to our informants Jonathan Carr plans to sell his daughter off to the highest bidder.”

  “When?”

  “Tomorrow night. It seems he’s looking to make a powerful ally, and is using the princess to do so.”

  “She’s strong, she escaped once, perhaps she can do it again.”

  “She only escaped because she had help. With her companion dead and the rumors circulating that we are too there’s nothing for her to fight for.”

  “Fuck,” I curse because Oscar is correct.

  “You said it yourself, brother. We don’t have the resources to storm the auction.”

  “No, but perhaps we don’t need to. Get me a list of who is expected. Sheila call your father. See who he can spare.”

  “You planning on letting her be mated?”

  “And then killing whichever bastard that dares to touch her.”

  “There’s no way to know who gets her.” Sheila says. “But I can make some calls. God knows my brothers don’t have anything better to do.”

  “Hopefully they won’t be needed, but they’ll be paid handsomely for their services.

  It’s my hope we have a friend among the midst. With Phillip securing more coven leaders for us to meet with someone has to know someone going to that fucking auction.”

  Jonathan Carr is auctioning off his daughter. The thought makes me sick.

  My fist squeezes tight and blood oozes from the open wound. “Damit,” Oscar mutters. Uncurling my hand and tearing off the bandage. “I’m going to run out of stuff to patch you up, brother. You need to let this hand heal.”

  “Just bandage it up and get the hell out. I need a drink and then sleep. Maybe a good fuck as well.”

  ____________

  The sitting room of my Rochester house isn’t the most ideal place to hold a meeting, but we’re more cautious than usual now.

  Rodriguez and Vega lean against the fall wall. Between the two of them they only lost three men “rescuing” me from the Carr hold. I say that very loosely as I don’t think the asshole would have killed me. Chopped my arm off yes, but I think they would have let me go—even without me divulging all my deep dark secrets.

  Phillip walks in, a little worse for wear after five days spent recruiting both men and potential allies.

  His eyes scan the room and when they land on me sitting in the leather wingback chair he immediately comes to my side. “How you faring?”

  “From the look of you I’m doing better than you seem to be.”

  Phillip’s lips curl up in a smile. “Yes, well, it’s been a long few days.” He picks up my bandaged hand. It’s dotted with blood.

  “Healing well?”

  “Seems to be. Doctor Oscar is good at his job.”

  Phillip makes a noise but sets my hand down. “And Michael?”

  “He’s alive.”

  “Good.”

  “You upset?”

  “Just a bit. You could have died. Michael could have died. We lost men we didn’t have. Abused our allies just days after establishing them. My wife and my brother both got the bloodlust they crave, yet at what price?”

  “It’s fine. We’re all fine. Beat up. According to Oscar I won’t be getting out of this without a scar on my hand, but I can live with that. For now our family is safe.”

  “And what happens the next time we go up against Jonathan Carr? Against Lucius?”

  “Stop.” I order. “We will come up on top. We don’t know how to lose.”

  “I hope you are correct. My family and I are very cautious as to who we align ourselves with.”

  Phillip and I both lo
ok toward the doorway where a short man with ebony colored hair stands. His bright blue eyes seem to see everything as they dart around the room.

  “Dominic, I wasn’t sure you were going to come.”

  “Yes, well we weren’t sure either.”

  Dominic Purdy is the coven leader of Florida. He along with Malcolm Harris—whose reach expands through Alabama, Georgia, and Louisiana, control the south. Dominic’s family is small. His coven itself is small, the families underneath him spread out across the state, but they’re strong.

  Malcolm walks in behind Dominic, two guards following close behind. Dominic and Malcolm sit across from me on the sofa. Their guards take post behind them.

  Dominic’s guard has to be as tall as me, his hair is as dark as his master’s. Eyes a light brown. I have to look away because they are too close to the fucking princess’s eyes. Only hers shine with hellfire as she’s usually pissed.

  Damnit! I should not being thinking of fucking Ava Carr at a time like this.

  Oscar walks in the room next, leading a vampire with stark white hair.

  Argo Henning is the oldest in not only human years, but vampire years as well. His weathered skin shows all seventy of his human years. He hums with the power of a centuries old vampire.

  “I didn’t expect to see you here, Dominic.”

  “It was a last minute decision, Argo. You understand why my family is cautious.” The two men share a look I can’t decipher, but I’d be a fool to try to listen in.

  Argo nods and sits in the other leather chair.

  “Well gentleman. There’s no point in delaying this. We all know why you’re here. We need allies. Lucius is powerful. He has a few powerful friends, however, my brothers and I do not believe they will be able to help. No one wants to get in the middle of another man’s war.

  Our covens are precious to us. Our families and the families that rely on us for protection are number one.

  Yet we come together in times of great need.

  My brothers and I have come to the point in which we need allies, friends.”

  “You want New York, and I’m assuming New Jersey, and Connecticut, to yourselves.” Argo says.

  “That is the goal, yes. For now we just want our state back. Jonathan Carr has tried to take over our territory for too long. After we secure our state, merge our covens, and stop the civil war from tearing us apart, then we can move in on the unclaimed territory.”