Blood Passage (Blood Destiny #2)

by Connie Suttle

  "We leave tomorrow afternoon for Des Moines," Weldon informed me as we both stood before his massive fireplace. He also gave other information that might have made my blood run cold if it weren't already. "We have a body bag for you and we'll be packing you inside it, so wear something to sleep in that you won't mind us packing you up in," he said.

  "Weldon, if I had any way to do it, I would march right out of this house and leave you and Winkler to your own affairs," I said, my hands on my hips. "It's bad enough being dead to the world between dawn and dusk, but to be manhandled by somebody in the meantime? Does the Council know about this?" I figured if Gavin knew about it, he'd be having a fit and on his way to North Dakota if he didn't have an assignment to take care of.

  "Um, Wlodek is the one who suggested it, in case we needed to move about during the day," Weldon offered sheepishly.

  "You know, I've never called the Head of the Vampire Council a rat bastard before, but I'm thinking about it now. Rest assured he wouldn't let somebody treat his most holy self this way." I was mad and thinking that all of Weldon's newly decorated log home might be turned to kindling in a matter of minutes.

  "Lissa, we'll take good care of you, I promise," Weldon said.

  "Weldon, if you knew how close your house was to becoming toothpicks, you'd save those empty words for later," I snapped.

  "Lissa, you should know we won't let anything happen to you during the day," Winkler was now making an attempt at reassurance.

  "William Wayne Winkler, do not even try." I swatted his hand away as I blazed past him. The bedroom door was nearly torn from its hinges when I slammed it behind me.

  "I didn't think she was going to take that well," Weldon muttered, but of course I heard.

  No way was I going to wear pajamas. No way. I went ahead and took a quick shower, dressing in navy fleece pants and a t-shirt. I also kept a bra on and I hate going to sleep in a bra. My hair was braided, too, so I wouldn't have bed head. At least I hoped I wouldn't. Who the hell would be picking me up and stuffing me inside a zippered bag? Would they be taking liberties? The whole thing pissed me off and I would have tossed and turned if that was possible. The last thing I put on before conking out at sunrise was socks.

  * * *

  "If I didn't know from the smell, I'd say she wasn't vampire," Kelvin said as he lifted Lissa up and laid her inside the body bag that Winkler held open. "She doesn't weigh much. Seems like she should be more, oh, substantial, I suppose."

  "I wouldn't say that to her face," Winkler said. "She's substantial enough to put you through a wall, along with a dozen of your closest friends."

  "Are all vampire women that pretty?" Kelvin watched as Winkler carefully zipped Lissa inside the bag. He'd laid an extra black cloth over her face and the front of her body; he didn't want any burns from leaking daylight.

  "There are precious few vampire women," Winkler said. "The vampires would never have agreed to this if it weren't important, and since she's considered Pack, she was the logical choice. Weldon had to pull as many strings as he could, still, to convince them. She's a rarity, or so I've heard."

  "Is she going to be able to breathe in there if she wakes up?"

  "I have the alarm set on my watch for half an hour before sunset," Winkler said. "We should have her someplace safe enough to open the bag by then, in case she's claustrophobic or anything. I didn't get a chance to ask her last night and we've got extra bags in case she punches right through this one."

  "I guess there's that," Kelvin nodded. He was getting his education in vampire 101 on this assignment. According to his paperwork, he'd just finished his residency at a New Mexico hospital, moved to Dallas to join the Pack and Winkler had agreed to set him up in his own practice when he got back after this assignment. Kelvin just didn't have experience with what he termed the undead.

  Winkler's private jet waited at the airport in Grand Forks. All the luggage was loaded in, along with Lissa's body bag, which Winkler tossed over his shoulder in a fireman's carry. Weldon was the one to suggest making it look like a garment bag, so they'd placed loops on the ends to give that effect. They made it to Des Moines just as the sun was setting on a mid-November evening. Winkler's watch went off so he walked to the back of the jet where Lissa's bag had been stretched out in the floor.

  "We'll wait until she wakes to take her off," Weldon came up behind Winkler, who was kneeling in the floor, waiting for the first signs of life. Winkler glanced at the windows; dusk was settling around Des Moines International Airport. He unzipped the top of the bag and pulled the black cloth away from Lissa's face. He'd watched her wake before and it always sent tingles through him, watching her take the first breath of the evening. This time, however, she must have remembered what they were doing because she came awake with a start, gasping in a breath and trying to claw her way out of the bag. Winkler knew then that she was a tiny bit claustrophobic.

  "Stay away from the claws!" Weldon jerked Winkler back; he'd been trying to get to Lissa.

  "Lissa, listen to me," Weldon soothed after he'd shoved Winkler into a seat off to the side. Winkler was awkwardly trying to climb out of it again. "Lissa, you're all right. We're in Des Moines, sweetheart." Lissa's eyes were wild as she ripped the carpet on the jet's floor with deadly claws, all of which were extended to their full, one-foot length.

  "Jesus, I didn't know they were that long," Kelvin came to stand behind Weldon.

  "Shut up," Winkler hissed. "Lissa, wake up, baby. It's just us. Nobody's here to hurt you."

  * * *

  I blinked, seeing nothing at first. My breaths were ragged and I was shivering as I tried to come to terms with unfamiliar surroundings. Winkler's voice was in my ears but I didn't understand what he was saying at the moment. Disorientation was clouding my brain and I blinked again. "Lissa, nobody's here to hurt you." Winkler repeated off to my right. Slowly I focused on him while sight and colors returned. I was in the floor of his jet, my claws were extended and my breaths trembled in my lungs.

  "Lissa, you can stop shredding the carpet, now." Weldon's voice, this time. Looking down at my hands, I noticed that I had indeed shredded Winkler's carpet. Like he couldn't get it replaced—probably in the next five minutes if he wanted. No way was I going to apologize for that. I was still sitting inside a half-zipped body bag on the floor of his jet. My claws retracted and Weldon breathed a sigh of relief.

  "Want some help out of there?" he asked.

  "No, thank you," I said as stiffly as I could. It wasn't the most graceful thing I've ever done, but I crawled out of the bag on my own.

  Winkler offered to carry me off the plane. I offered to remove his liver. He allowed me to walk down the steps on my own. The Des Moines Packmaster (I'd never gotten his name when he'd introduced himself to Weldon at the werewolf meeting earlier in the year), was there waiting for us. All I remembered from our previous meeting was his smell and that he'd taken down someone named Corwin, whom Weldon had obviously liked. The man was around five-ten, stocky and looked to be pure muscle. No way could he take Winkler or Weldon, though. No way. This guy had probably gone as far as he could go.

  He introduced himself to Winkler, who nodded and took his hand. "Avery Phillips," he said, nodding and smiling when Winkler gave his name. Avery already knew who it was, I could tell. He fawned all over Weldon, asking about Daryl and his new wife. Weldon was tactful, I'll give him that. Avery remembered me too; I could see it in his eyes, although he didn't speak to me. I figured most of the Packmasters remembered me quite well. I'd killed at least twenty of them, more than likely right under their noses while I'd protected Weldon from Lester Briggs and his henchwolves. Only two wolves eventually came to help, along with Daryl, Weldon's son.

  "We're here to do the inspection. Weldon does it for all new Packmasters after six months or more," Winkler dropped back to speak quietly with me. I still felt rumpled from being tossed around in a body bag. Winkler and Kelvin had flung my purse and everything else inside my suitcase, so I didn't eve
n have a mirror to check my hair.

  "He's doing it tonight?" I squeaked, staring at Winkler in alarm.

  "Oh, no, we're going to dinner. Avery will drop us off at our hotel first and wait while we change clothes before taking us to a restaurant. He'll do his best to impress, but the meeting with the werewolves of the Pack will come tomorrow night. If there are any grievances or problems, The Grand Master will hear them. Weldon has experience sorting out truth from fiction."

  "If not, there's always compulsion," I shrugged.

  "Exactly," Winkler grinned at me. "Actually, you're a big part of the reason we're making such a lengthy trip—you accounted for quite a few Packmaster replacements across the country."

  "Don't blame this on me," I elbowed him in the ribs. "Mr. I was in Corpus Christi at the time werewolf."

  "Too bad I wasn't there; I might have saved you a few bites," Winkler chuckled.

  "You got eyes on your ass?" I snipped. "That sounds like hindsight to me."

  We had three suites in a hotel near a bridge on the river. Each of the wolves was getting his own suite. Winkler and Weldon had connecting doors and I was set up in the living area of Weldon's suite so I could provide night security for the Grand Master. Winkler already offered his bed for me to sleep in during the day; it was his and Kelvin's job to see that I wasn't disturbed and the curtains remained tightly closed. Fortunately, my body bag had been left inside the jet. The werewolf pair that had flown us got rooms at a hotel near the airport so they could see to the plane, getting it refueled and ready to go in two days.

  A quick bath and a change of clothes made me feel quite a bit better. I dressed in a nice pair of slacks, boots and a sweater with a jacket to go to dinner with the wolves. It was just below freezing outside so I wore appropriate clothing. Avery had two cars waiting for us outside the hotel as we trooped through the sliding glass doors at the entrance. Winkler and Weldon went with Avery and another werewolf while Avery's Second, Norwood, drove Kelvin and me. Norwood and Kelvin sat up front talking; I sat in the back seat and listened. I learned that Norwood worked as an EMT with the local fire department. Kelvin explained that he'd just finished his residency in oncology, so they found quite a bit to talk about. Fine with me. I pretty much hate small talk and listening to a conversation about intubating a patient almost made me glaze over.

  Of course, we ended up at some ritzy steak house; werewolves are notorious for eating half a cow at one sitting. I listened while they ordered a ton of food and then watched as they tore into it. Wisely, I kept my comments about their eating habits to myself. Avery didn't speak to me and neither did Norwood, since I was the vampire security detail and beneath their notice. Maybe I should have reminded them I was Pack, but Weldon probably wouldn't appreciate that. Not one tiny bit. Avery turned out to be a namedropper and enjoyed tooting his own horn a little too much for my taste. I'm sure he might have regaled Weldon with his exploits on taking his predecessor Corwin down, but even Avery realized that bragging over that feat would be a major faux pas. See, I do know a little French—not that it would impress Gavin in the least. An old friend of mine used to call that term fox paws. I smiled at the memory.

  "What are you smiling about?" Avery's Second looked at me and asked.

  "I was just thinking about an old friend," I said and let it go at that.

  Chapter 7

  The books that I'd ordered online before leaving home got me through the night. I read two. One was political humor, the other a mystery. Kelvin, who was up early the next morning and drinking a cup of coffee, asked if he could borrow the mystery. I handed it over to him and told him it was good. Winkler was still in bed, propped against half a dozen pillows while he sipped coffee and watched the news on a flat screen television when I walked in. He grinned and patted the bed beside him. I just patted my butt, my signal for him to kiss my ass. His grin widened so I gave him the standard rude gesture. He was laughing when I stalked into his bathroom to change into pajamas. Winkler politely vacated the bed when I crawled into it and as usual, I was out like a light the moment daybreak occurred.

  * * *

  "That's just uncanny." Kelvin stuck his head around the connecting door. Weldon was showering so Kelvin caught the moment between Lissa's consciousness and unconsciousness. Winkler bent down and placed a careful kiss on Lissa's forehead before covering her completely with the sheet, blanket and comforter.

  "You know how many germs are on that comforter?" Kelvin asked, watching Winkler perform this duty.

  "And she's not susceptible to a single one of them," Winkler said. "Just like us, pretty much."

  "Werewolves still get diseases when they're old," Kelvin pointed out. "Arthritis. Cancer, sometimes."

  "I've never heard of that happening unless we're over two hundred," Winkler said, handing Kelvin a cursory glance.

  "Well, me either. I see you've done your research."

  "Yep. And we generally don't live long after we reach two hundred anyway."

  "But the vamps, they don't get anything, ever. Do they?" Kelvin came over, reached under the covers until he found one of Lissa's arms and checked her pulse. "Nothing," he said.

  "It's like that when she's awake, too," Winkler frowned at Kelvin, who placed Lissa's arm beneath the blanket. "No heartbeat—nothing. My father always said they had some sort of metabolism, but it's nothing like humans or werewolves."

  "But they breathe when they're awake. This just fascinates me." Kelvin heard Weldon coming out of the shower next door. "Time to keep the Grand Master happy," Kelvin said and walked through the connecting door.

  * * *

  Yawning, my eyes still closed, I stretched on Winkler's bed and discovered I was buried beneath a mountain of covers.

  "Time to wake up, sleepyhead," Winkler tugged the blankets off my face. He was sitting on the side of my bed. Again.

  "What is wrong with you?" I asked, flipping the covers off and sliding my legs over the side of his king-size bed. It would take a king-size for him; he was six-three or thereabouts in his socks.

  "I just enjoy watching a pretty woman get out of bed in the morning. Er, well, evening."

  "Jerk." I smacked the top of his head when I stood and headed for the bathroom.

  "Did I say your ass looks good in those PJs?" he called after me. I'd already shut the door so it was too late to give him another rude gesture. Maybe I was going to have to learn to curse in multiple languages, like Gavin did.

  "Now what are you doing?" Winkler was hovering while I pulled out my laptop and set it up next to his on the hotel room desk.

  "I need to email somebody," I said. "He worries so I was going to tell him I'm fine."

  "What's his name?"

  "Franklin, and he's gay. Schmuck."

  "Him or me?"

  "The gay part or the schmuck part?"

  "The schmuck part. You know I'm not gay." Winkler snorted.

  "Yeah. How about that?" I said, tapping out a quick message to Franklin and hitting send. I shut my laptop and turned to Winkler. "Where's the cooler?" I asked. I had no idea where they'd put it.

  "In Weldon's room. Locked, of course."

  "Of course," I mumbled.

  "I have the key." Winkler pulled it out of a pocket and shook it at me.

  "Are you going to tease me with it all night or do I have to go hunt my dinner?"

  "You take the fun out of everything," Winkler grumbled.

  "Oh, like I'd stand between you and a half-raw piece of bovine when you're hungry," I retorted.

  "I may eat sheep now and then. The occasional lobster, with plenty of butter."

  "Maybe two lobsters," I said. "I've seen you eat, remember?"

  "Maybe." Winkler grinned. "We can't help it if our metabolism is so much faster than a human's."

  "At least you were born that way; you have a legitimate excuse," I grumbled.

  "But I love full moons," Winkler was waxing poetic, now. "I love venison after a kill."

  "You get two next month," I
said. I'd checked the calendar; December actually had a second full moon.

  "Yeah." Winkler's eyes closed in pleasure. "It's like a Christmas present for the werewolves." He opened his eyes and looked down at me. "I don't suppose you know how to do Thanksgiving dinner?"

  "Who do you think you're talking to, here?" I asked, tapping my chest. "I make very good turkey and dressing. I just wish I could still eat it."

  "You can eat it, you just can't taste it," Winkler reminded me.

  "Yeah. And then I have to cough it all up later. Why are you asking about this anyway?"

  "Because we're all going to be in Dallas for Thanksgiving—Weldon's consented to come, Daryl will bring Kathy Jo down, and Whitney and Sam are coming. Unfortunately, most of my staff will be off. I thought I was going to have to get the thing catered."

  "Oh, yeah. Those are never the same as home cooked," I said. "I'll do turkey for you, Winkler. But only because it's you." I waggled a finger at him.

  "Can I get an inflated ego now?" he smirked.

  "You already have one the size of Canada," I said. "If it gets any larger, it may damage the ozone layer."

  "If you'll make a list, I'll send it to the staff at the Dallas house; they can buy what you need and have it waiting when we get there." Winkler was still on the subject of dinner and not the self-aggrandizing.

  "Good enough," I said. "But if they shop for the turkey only a day or two ahead, have them buy a fresh one. I hate thawing turkeys at the last minute."

  "I'll be sure and tell them that." He wanted to laugh at me, I could tell. I wanted to kick his ass.

  We were having dinner with one of the more affluent members of the Des Moines Pack. He'd made his money in alternative energy production (mostly ethanol, this was Iowa). He had a nice, large house, had hired the meal catered and the Pack had come, adults only. Of course, the werewolves were on their best behavior while the human caterers were there, but the food service employees were instructed to lay out the meal buffet style and then leave. They'd arranged to pick up pans and utensils the following day.