Blood Cure

by K. A. Linde

  Reyna cursed. Bitch.

  “I was weakened, but I managed to use my last bit of energy to overpower her and discover what had happened. After the chaos of New Year’s, Harrington had had my and Cassandra’s bodies taken to a morgue to be incinerated. Penelope had insisted on going with me. In fact, I likely would have already been incinerated before I woke up if not for Penelope’s presence. I should have killed her then. I had the advantage.” He shook his head. “But the damage had been severe—most would not have been able to come back from it. Once I got the information I needed, I gathered what strength I could, knocked Penelope out, and fled the facility.”

  “Did she tell you anything else?” Tye asked greedily, starved for more intel. “Any information about what Harrington is planning?”

  Beckham turned his attention to Tye, who shrank back a little at the full force of Beckham’s terrifying visage. “No. She’s not important enough to have that information. Just what happened after they believed I was dead.”

  “Damn,” Tye grumbled.

  “I managed to get to a safe house where I could get in contact with Gerard.” He gestured to the man Reyna had only ever known as Beckham’s driver. “We have known each other for…a very long time. He helped me out of the…vulnerable position I was in.”

  Reyna cringed at that. She didn’t want to know what it must have been like for him to be so weakened. Or what he had to do to feel better.

  “We stayed in the safe house until I was back to full strength.” Something in Beckham’s expression said that he still wasn’t at capacity. That he was pushing himself beyond his limitations a mere week after his “death.” But he would never acknowledge it here. “Then I came to help.”

  At that moment the flaming-haired Katarina and Reyna’s former bodyguard, Philippé, entered the hall. Everyone’s eyes raked over the newcomers.

  “This is my inner circle.” Beckham gestured to the menacing group.

  It was the black woman, Zoya, who spoke up first, a wry expression on her face. “It was time to get the band back together.”

  Katarina snorted and twirled one of her twin blades in her hand. “I’ll take the drums, please.”

  Zoya rolled her eyes. “You would.”

  “Is that because you like to wail on things?” Philippé asked with a straight face.

  “She likes to use both hands, if you know what I mean,” Gerard added.

  Beckham coughed and all four members of his inner circle straightened. They went from camaraderie to deadly calm in a split second.

  “The band,” Beckham said, amused by his company. “Gerard is my second. Philippé is my muscle. Katarina is…”

  She beamed before he even said her particular skill. Her flaming red hair stark against her alabaster skin. Her blades whirling in her hands.

  “A show-off,” Beckham finished.

  Katarina laughed unabashedly. “That I am. I’m also the best weapon’s master you’ll ever have, and a trained assassin, to boot.”

  “Zoya,” Beckham continued as if Katarina hadn’t just tooted her own horn, “is my strategist. They’ll be helpful moving forward.”

  “Are you assembling your army again?” Washington asked quietly.

  “I am doing what I must.”

  “A-army?” Meghan asked. “What army?”

  “Elle has failed,” Beckham said evenly. “It’s clear that a petty rebellion doesn’t have the capabilities to stop Visage. They are too strong. I know because I helped Harrington build the company. As much as I wanted to believe in Sydney’s vision, it’s gone. The vision is dead. I am a vampire lord. I once had an army so deadly that I conquered this city in five years. We will do it again, starting today.”

  Reyna finally stood from her seat and with a brave, quiet voice said, “No.”

  All eyes turned to her. Beckham faced her as well and she could see the questions whirling in his dark orbs. But his face showed none of it. He just waited patiently for her to explain herself. He put the ball in her court. She intended to keep it there.

  “What do you mean?” Tye finally asked. “We don’t have a plan. We don’t have an army. We have five humans and a mad scientist. We’re a ragtag team of survivors. We can’t even find the rest of Elle after the bombing. It makes perfect sense to use what we have. And if Beckham is willing to build an army of vampires for our cause, how the hell can we say no to that?”

  “I’m not saying no to an army. We desperately need more people,” Reyna agreed. “But Elle is not dead.”

  “The bunker was destroyed. We’re scattered,” Meghan reminded her. “We’re not much of Elle.”

  “Elle isn’t a place. It’s an idea. It’s the idea of equality between humans and vampires. That humans shouldn’t be subjugated to vampires for their gains. That vampires should have rights like you and I. That we can work and live and thrive better together than against each other. As long as that idea exists, then Elle isn’t dead. It is within me. It’s within all of you.”

  Washington beamed at her. “I’m still Elle.”

  Jodie stood up. “I’m Elle.”

  Gabe grinned and shot her a two-finger salute. “I’m Elle.”

  “I’m Elle,” Meghan said with a tender smile. “Always have been.”

  “Me too,” Tye said.

  Beckham’s eyes were appraising, as if seeing a different creature than the one he had left back on that patio on New Year’s Eve. As if she had molted her skin and come out as someone else entirely.

  “I guess I didn’t understand my own philosophy on the subject. I am Elle,” he conceded to her, acknowledging her as the leader she had somehow developed into. “But it seems that you are now the heart of it.”

  Chapter 8

  Beckham’s proclamation stunned the rest of the group. Reyna was standing on a precipice. Her life irrevocably changed. Altered and rearranged. No longer was she on the sidelines of her life. She was in charge. She was in control.

  “We all know that the main goal is to take out Harrington and hamstring Visage. With Harrington out of the helm, we can go a long way toward reducing Visage to their actual purpose rather than stretching their influence as they have been doing the last decade. No more prisoners under their headquarters. No more taking advantage of the poor. No more Blood Census or identity bracelets. Absolutely no feeding camps,” Reyna said. “Balance. Equality. That’s what we want.”

  Everyone was nodding. As if they were all getting back on the same wavelength after so much loss.

  “Our first priority remains making contact with the the safe houses and regrouping with the rest of Elle.” Reyna turned to Beckham. “You have someone good with tech?”

  Beckham’s grin was a feral thing that sent chills down her spine. He was giving her a look that said he wasn’t used to being ordered around. There were few he allowed it from. Very very few.

  “Zoya,” he finally said.

  The black woman stepped forward. She was short but lethal. When she smiled, it was more like a grimace, her fangs revealed in all their glory. Reyna was glad to have never met her before she started working for the good guys.

  “At your service,” Zoya said with a wicked gleam in her eye.

  Reyna paused for a second before speaking. She didn’t know how she felt about ordering around Beckham’s army. But she’d deal with that later. “Zoya, work with Tye, Gabe, and Meghan to reach the rest of our group. Once we’re back to capacity, then we can begin to form a plan as to how to stop Harrington.”

  A well-thought-out and thorough plan. Not like the one she’d ad hocked together out of anger from Brian’s capture. One that would cripple William Harrington for good.

  Zoya moved to speak with Meghan, Gabe, and Tye while Beckham turned to address the rest of his inner circle. Katarina laughed at something he said and then dragged Philippé out of the room. Ge
rard melted into the background and stood like a statue. It was hard to believe this sinister vampire had been her driver. What had he been doing acting as chauffer when he was Beckham’s second-in-command?

  “Inspiring speech, miss,” Genevieve said, appearing at Reyna side.

  Washington was standing next to her. “It truly was.”

  “Reminded me of the old days with Mistress Elisa,” Genevieve said with a dreamy expression on her face. It was as equally hard to believe this meek and demure woman was a vampire.

  “Who is Mistress Elisa?” Reyna asked.

  Washington’s lips turned down. “My wife.”

  Then he turned and walked away.

  Genevieve patted her arm. “I shouldn’t have brought her up. She and Master Washington were together many years before she passed on. She was a fearsome leader of the vampires. She had a vision for Visage much like yours. It was Harrington who manipulated it.”

  Reyna sighed and stared off after Washington. “And he killed her for it?”

  Genevieve nodded. “Unfortunately.”

  “Sounds like a horrible loss.”

  “It was. It truly was. Well, I must be getting back, but if you need anything at all, let me know. I will be around.”

  “Thank you, Genevieve.”

  Reyna sensed Beckham’s presence at her back before she felt the brush of his fingers against her sleeve.

  “Elisa was before my time as well,” he said. “They say she was a visionary.”

  She turned around to face him. Her heart melted at the sight of him.

  After hearing everything he had to say and getting the rebellion back on track, she suddenly felt exhausted. Beckham didn’t need her to say anything. He wrapped his arm around her shoulders and escorted her upstairs and into his room.

  He swept a blank glance around it. “You are staying here?”

  “Washington told me it was yours.” She nearly choked on the words. “It was all I had of you…other than the memories.”

  He tilted her chin up. “You’ve changed.”

  “I thought you were dead.”

  “I told you that if the world didn’t break you, I would. And here you are.” He looked suddenly pissed. As if he was going to start raging about the room, even though he was the most in control person she had ever met.

  “I was broken,” she admitted hollowly. “But then…then you put me back together.”

  He shot her an incredulous look.

  “If I crumpled, then your death would be for nothing. You wanted better than that for me. You always protected me, but you also kindled the fire within me. Letting it go out would be to dishonor your memory.”

  “And in the meantime, you became the leader of Elle?” he asked, pushing his hands into his pockets. His voice was dry with sarcasm. “That would certainly keep you safe.”

  “Truthfully, I didn’t much care about my own safety.” Reyna ran a hand back through her hair. “I’d lost both of my brothers and my sister-in-law. Jodie was missing. Elle was blown up. And the person I cared the most about—my blood match, my soul mate, was dead.”

  “Soul mate,” he said slowly. Reyna had never seen fear in those onyx eyes, but suddenly it was there.

  “Yes. Washington said that a blood match is similar to a soul mate. A one-of-a-kind match.”

  He seemed incredulous. “I’d have to have a soul for that, Little One.”

  Reyna took a step back. “Becks, of course you have a soul.”

  “No. That much I’m certain of.”

  “You are determined to see the worst in yourself.”

  “I see the reality,” he told her.

  “Why am I surprised that even when you come back from the dead you argue with me?” Reyna shook her head. “How did you find me?”

  “I sensed you.”

  “Out here?” she gasped. “We’re an hour from the city.”

  “You came into the city. When I woke up and got to the safe house, I thought you must be dead because I tried to sense you and felt nothing. If Gerard hadn’t come to help me, I would be dead right now. But then I felt your presence. I knew precisely where you were.”

  “I went into the city to get Jodie back. I can’t believe you could sense me then. I didn’t feel anything. Definitely nothing like when you showed up here.”

  “Maybe it was because I had your blood in my system. Either way, I nearly went mad trying to leave to go to you, but Gerard wouldn’t let me.”

  “Why?” she whispered. “Did he not want you to see me?”

  “No. It wasn’t that. I was too…weak to leave,” he admitted with distaste. “I used all my energy in getting information out of Penelope and then fleeing. I’d never been so drained in my life. As if my body had used every last bit of energy to knit me back together and I was left with nothing.”

  She could see the toll that had taken on him. After thinking she was dead, he couldn’t even go to her when he’d realized she was alive. She would have gone mad too. Especially considering his physical prowess was integral to who he was…losing that had to have been debilitating.

  “It took a week of near-constant feeding to begin recovering. I’m still not where I was.” He growled that last bit. A condemnation of himself.

  She reached over and gently touched his hand. “You found me. I’m here. We’re both alive and safe.” Her hand moved to his jaw and he met her gaze. “Let me help you get healthy.”

  His eyes narrowed. “No.”

  “Becks,” she said softly. “I am your blood match. My blood must have helped save your life. It’s the only explanation. We need you at full capacity. Let me use my blood to help.”

  He took a step back.

  “When are you going to trust me?” she asked in frustration.

  The look he shot her said everything she needed to know. He trusted her but he wasn’t going to put her at risk. He’d done that time and again. Even when he’d seen that he could control himself drinking from her. Now more than ever she wanted them to surrender to this.

  She’d left that patio with his death on her conscience and his bloody jacket on her shoulders. She never wanted to waste another moment.

  Reyna took his hand in hers and pulled him toward the bed. She didn’t say anything. Words were useless between them anyway. They could speak with stolen glances and quirked lips and heated skin and gentle touches. Their bodies could speak for them. Express all the things that they couldn’t bring themselves to say. All the fears that had clouded their minds for too long.

  No more.

  She wouldn’t live in fear.

  She would only live in the moment.

  She had her Becks back. It was a miracle. And she was going to treat it like one.

  Her hands moved to his jacket. She slipped them under the material and pushed it off his shoulders. He didn’t move to stop her. Just quirked an eyebrow in her direction.

  She smirked at him. Then moved to the buttons on his black shirt. She started at the top, slowly unbuttoning it until his chest was bare before her. Her nails grazed the solid chest and muscled abdomen. He was as formidable as a brick wall and every inch promised certain death. But not for her.

  His shirt followed his jacket onto the floor and her hands skimmed over his shoulders, across the bulging biceps, over his forearms, to his hands. Those beautiful hands with long fingers and broad palms. Hands that had caressed her cheeks and grasped her ass firmly and commanded her body.

  Reyna stripped out of her shirt and placed those amazing hands on her waist. She shivered at his touch, which was a shade cooler than her superheated body. His fingers flexed into her skin. They were possessive. Claiming her flesh as his own, running those fingers up her ribs and around to her back. He flicked the clasp of her bra. Her breasts fell forward out of their enclosure and the bra hit the floor.
His hands skimmed around to the front of her body, covering her breasts. The pads of his thumbs flicking against her erect nipples.

  A moan escaped her lips. Her back arched into the palms of his hands and she closed her eyes. Desire shot straight to her core. He pinched a nipple roughly and she squirmed under the attention. Her body pulsing as desire soaked her panties.

  “I can smell you,” he said, brushing a fang against the shell of her ear.

  She shivered in anticipation and reached for his belt buckle.

  “I can sense everything about you,” he said, dipping his hand inside her jeans. “But the smell of you is purely primal.”

  She yanked his belt loose and tugged down his zipper.

  “Oh and you’re so wet,” he groaned like a prayer.

  She shuddered under his touch as he slicked a finger through her wetness and dragged it back up to her clit. He stroked slow methodical circles around her most sensitive area. She lost all cognitive thought as he toyed with her.

  “Oh fuck,” she gasped.

  In that moment, she didn’t care how he had come back. Just that he was here. And she needed him more furiously than she had ever needed anyone or anything.

  Her body responded like a struck match. Every touch fanned the flames until she was ready to combust. And still he didn’t stop. His fingers dominating her clit. His touch clouding her senses. Everything coalescing into the one thought: Beckham is alive.

  He was alive and here and touching her. He wanted her and needed her. Her life was still moving forward. It wasn’t completely derailed. And he was here to see her come out on top despite the hell she’d had to endure. It was insanity that kidnapping and prison had crippled her so much, but his death had only made her want to fight back. To make people pay for what had been taken from her. And she wasn’t going to stop until they did pay.