Blood Law

by Karin Tabke

  She’d healed him! She looked down at the cast on her leg and then at the closed door, thinking of the wolf beyond. His master healed her terrible wounds. But he was some—something not of this world. She knew it the moment she saw him. The way he fought Conan all doubled-sworded and walking on the ceiling. Who did that?

  Was the brother the same? She rubbed her hand where he had bitten her. If she could, she’d cut off her hand! What did his bite mean? Was it his way of marking her? If he was going to kill her, why did he bother? The answer was simple: Rafael. He did it to taunt his brother. She’d be damned if she’d be used to bait the man who saved her life. Falon turned the water on as hot as she could stand it and scrubbed her hand until it bled.

  Then she turned her attention to her ankle. If she could heal the kitten and the wolf, why not herself? Falon plopped back down on the toilet and pressed her hands to the cast above her broken ankle. She closed her eyes and concentrated just as she had on the wolf. Nothing. She concentrated harder. No heat emanated from her belly to her hands. She opened her eyes and scowled. Maybe because of the cast? Or she simply did not have the power to heal herself. Her scowl deepened when she opened the bathroom door to find the wolf staring at her, wearing that irritating wolf smile.

  She gimped past him, the day’s events and her lack of food taking its toll. Her knees wobbled, and she was beginning to see black spots. She grabbed the edge of the oak dresser, closed her eyes, and slowly gauged her breathing until the dizziness passed. Once composed, Falon turned to the beast and said, “I’m getting dressed and going downstairs to eat.” She dug through Rafael’s drawers again and pulled out another pair of flannel jammy bottoms and instead of a button-down shirt, she grabbed a black sweatshirt that came down to her knees.

  The wolf stood at the open door waiting for her. She was beyond hunger pains. Her body was numb. Carefully, she hobbled behind him down the stairway and into the great room.

  Her nose twitched at the latest assault of scents. Sex, hot and heavy, hung like a blanket over the area. How had she missed it earlier? Because Rafael was not with her? New savory scents of something wonderful cooking wafted from the kitchen. Fleetingly she wondered how the little brunette was. She would ask after she gorged herself.

  Falon stopped in mid-step when she realized dozens of fresh eyes stared at her. Not the same folks who were present earlier, but some of them she recognized from the night before. A harsh shiver tattooed down each vertebra of her spine ending at the small of her back, where it dug painfully in. She was not welcome here, not by them and maybe not even Rafael. The collection of men and women looked normal, like everyday working folk. They looked like she felt. Tired, wary, hungry. And desperate. Of what was their desperation born? Hers was survival. Could it be that they shared more than the roof over their heads? Were they forced to be here, too?

  Feeling self-conscious under their cool, guarded stares and even a few glares, Falon reached for the wolf beside her, digging her fingers into the thick fur of his neck. He growled low and menacingly at the group. Their trance shattered. Immediate chatter and movement ensued.

  A very pretty blonde woman sauntered toward her. Her curvy hips swayed, as did her full breasts beneath a thin white T-shirt. Her narrowed eyes gave Falon the once-over, twice. Her upper lip curled. “Leave here while you can, or stay and die,” she sneered.

  A big, dark-haired man emerged from the group. He grabbed the blonde from behind and slapped her hard across the cheek. The woman screamed, and so did Falon.

  “How dare you show disrespect? She is the chosen one,” he ground out. With a boot to her back, he forced the woman to her knees before Falon. “On your back. Now!” he snarled. Falon stepped back and shook her head.

  “It’s okay, really, she doesn’t need to do that.”

  The woman glared at the man then looked longingly up at the wolf that ignored her. She cried out when the man stepped on her neck, forcing her to grovel.

  “Please, stop!” Falon moved toward the woman. As she reached down to pull her up, the woman jerked away from her touch. The rest of the occupants in the room gathered around, their faces anxious. Falon didn’t know what was expected of her, but she had the distinct impression if she did the wrong thing, these people would turn on her. “Where is Rafael?” Falon asked, knowing he would do something.

  The woman on the floor laughed hysterically, glaring at the group. “She doesn’t know? She doesn’t know!” Her laughter turned maniacal.

  The big man reached down to slap her again, but Falon had had enough. An odd tightening in her body seized her. She pushed through it and grabbed his fist, twisting him around. No one was more surprised by her strength than Falon, but she didn’t back off. “Never raise your hand to a woman in anger again. Not in my presence, at least.” She squeezed his hand. Bone cracked. “Or you will be the one on your back on the floor.” She pushed him away.

  He dipped his head in a submissive gesture and backed away. “As you wish.” The hushed and humbled crowd backed away with him.

  Falon looked down at the woman who had gotten up on all fours and who looked at her in awe. Instinctively, she knew if she offered her hand, it would be refused. “Get up.”

  Slowly, the woman did. The big wolf beside her snarled and moved in on the blonde. Blondie got the message. Get out of here or get hurt by me this time.

  She hustled off toward the front door, never once looking back. The wolf then nudged Falon toward the savory aromas wafting from the back of the structure. Her need for sustenance overrode her uneasiness. Mouth watering, Falon followed his lead into the kitchen, where the long carved oak table sagged beneath an orgy of food.

  She swallowed her drool. The wolf nudged her to the closest seat. Falon plopped down and devoured the display with her eyes.

  A cheery-eyed, middle-aged woman bustled in from what Falon guessed was a walk-in pantry. She smiled and said over the counter, “I am Galiya. Anything you want, I will cook for you.” She poured Falon a huge steaming bowl of meat stew. Before she could set it down, Falon grabbed a spoon and started to eat. She closed her eyes and moaned. It was the most delicious thing she had ever eaten; she was famished. Falon tossed her manners out the window and ate bite after bite. She could not get the food in her mouth fast enough. The wolf sat down beside her and seemed mesmerized by the sight of her eating. After a few moments, it shook its head as if to clear it, then lay down.

  “Galiya,” Falon said with a mouthful of stew and bread. “This is so good.”

  She gobbled down two deep bowls of the wonderful concoction and nearly half a loaf of the most delicious soft honey bread she had ever eaten. She sat back and burped. “Oh, my God, I don’t think I can move.”

  The cherubic woman eyed the big wolf now snoozing on the floor beside her. “No reason to,” she said with a small smile.

  Falon burped again. If she could, she’d eat more. But there wasn’t a molecule of space left in her belly.

  She started when a large hand tapped her shoulder. Turning, Falon stared wide-eyed at the big blond guy who had taken the woman who burned herself to the hospital. His clear blue eyes lowered. “Thank you for aiding my sister, Marta. She is better because of it.”

  Falon warmed and smiled at the man who shuffled his big feet as if embarrassed. Falon gently touched his forearm and said, “I was glad to help.”

  He looked at the big wolf, who watched him intently. He nodded to the animal then to her before he turned and nearly ran from the room. It wasn’t like she was going to bite him or something.

  “Yuri is not accustomed to thanking females,” Galiya, said, a hint of amusement in her tone.

  Falon looked up into the woman’s cheerful eyes. “It was nothing, really; if I hadn’t helped, someone else would have.”

  “Perhaps,” Galiya commented as she cleared the empty dishes from the table.

  Her response challenged Falon. “Why do you say that? I get the feeling this is some sort of big extended family. Wouldn’t t
hey each help one in need?”

  With her back to Falon, Galiya answered, “Some more than others.”

  Realizing she would not get more specific on the matter, Falon changed subjects. “Where is Rafael?” she asked, moving from the table to a more comfortable spot on a big-cushioned chair near the warm hearth. She stretched her feet out, and sudden fatigue grasped her. Her hands dropped over the armrests. Her left hand touched the thick, soft fur of the wolf. Absently, she stroked him and knew as long as he was near, she was safe.

  “Most days he spends away on business,” Galiya answered as she washed Falon’s bowl and utensils.

  Falon yawned. “What does he do?”

  “Mostly real estate.”

  “Real estate?” Falon scoffed even as a yawn took over her words. “He hardly looks the type.” Her lids suddenly became heavy. But she looked around at the beautiful stone and oak kitchen. “Where am I? Why does Lucien want to kill me?” Falon fought through the fatigue that had settled in like a hunk of lead. Hot tears stung her eyes. “I won’t stand by like a stupid lamb waiting for the wolf to come. I’m a survivor.”

  Galiya smiled as she bustled around the kitchen. “Rafael is fair and just in his dealings.”

  “That doesn’t answer my questions,” Falon countered. She opened her eyes then narrowed them. Was the room moving in and out? Or—

  “Rafael is fair and just,” Galiya repeated.

  Falon’s lids became heavier, as if a hundred-pound sack sat on them. Warmth washed through her. Absently, she wondered if she had been drugged. She didn’t care. She felt so warm and cozy . . . “That’s nice,” she said as she yawned again. “Very nice.”

  I DON’T CARE if it’s the president of the United States; tell him I’m not interested in any deals!”

  Abruptly, Falon woke to Rafael’s angry words. She rubbed her grainy eyes and looked around. Slowly the fog in her head cleared. She was still in the kitchen. The evening shadows had descended on the compound. Geez! She’d slept the entire day! She pushed herself up to a sitting position to see Rafael standing with his back to her at the doorway. His aura flared red. Anger and passion were but shades of crimson from the other.

  “Rafe, it’s his daughter, for Christ’s sake,” a familiar voice implored.

  It was the man who’d slapped the blonde. Her body snapped to attention when she remembered her immediate rage at the man and the way she’d challenged him and more importantly, how easy it had been to physically restrain him. What was happening here?

  “I’ve got more important things to do at the moment, or hadn’t you noticed? Christ, Anton, in two and a half months—” Rafael looked over his shoulder to find Falon staring at him.

  “What happens in two and a half months?” she asked, slowly standing. The room tilted a little to the left then righted itself.

  “Nothing that concerns you,” Rafael bit off as he strode toward her. His eyes traveled up and down her body twice as if to make sure she was whole.

  Falon shrugged, feeling rather smug. Power did that to a person. “I suppose if your brother has anything to do with it, you’d be absolutely correct.”

  Rafael growled. “My brother can go to hell.”

  “Rafe?” Anton called. “May I have a word with your—woman?”

  Rafael and Falon both turned to face him. When Rafe nodded, he came slowly into the room with his head slightly bowed and his shoulders rounded. “My apologies for this morning,” he said to Falon.

  Her mouth dropped open. She’d expected the man to be hostile, not so deferential. Noting that Rafael was watching, she raised her chin. “I’m not the one you should be apologizing to, sir.”

  He looked from her to Rafe. “Lana was disrespectful, she was about to—” Getting no help from Rafe, Anton once more looked at Falon. “Her kind only understands corporal punishment.”

  “I only understand that it’s wrong for a man to strike a woman in anger.”

  Once again, Anton looked to Rafael for help, but he stood silent. Falon glanced up at him and did a double take. He was grinning! “Surely you heard what happened. Do you think it’s funny that he slapped her around and shoved her to the ground?”

  Rafael looked down at her, his eyes twinkling. “No, I am amused that my sergeant at arms was brought low by a girl, and he’s the one apologizing.”

  “What would you have me do, Rafe?” Anton implored. “Show the same disrespect as Lana?”

  Rafael put his big hand on Anton’s shoulder and squeezed. “You know you did the right thing, but that doesn’t dispel the absurdity of it.”

  Falon scowled at both men before she turned her full attention on Rafael. “Why won’t you help the man with his daughter?”

  Rafael groaned. “I am not the village savior. I pick and choose who and when I help, not the other way around.” He looked toward the great room. “Besides, there is nothing any of us can do for his daughter now.”

  Falon looked at Anton. “What’s wrong with the man’s daughter?”

  “She was murdered. He wants Rafael to hunt down the killer and exact justice.”

  “Shut up!” Rafael hissed. He looked at Falon. “None of this concerns you.”

  “What kind of man are you?” Falon demanded, shaking her head. Then she remembered. “How could I so easily forget? You’re the kind to murder an innocent woman. How could you even think to help your fellow man in his time of need?”

  Shaking her head in disgust, she looked down at her oversized, disheveled clothing and realized she didn’t have a decent outfit to wear to her own funeral. She also realized that Rafael Vulkasin was as far from being a real estate agent as she was from being Mary Poppins, and it was time for her to get the hell out of here. And she was going to use the man who came to Rafael for help to that end.

  “There’re fresh clothes upstairs for you.” Rafael quietly said.

  Perfect. She’d go change, but first a detour. Raising her nose, she walked imperiously past them both. Instead of going straight upstairs, Falon picked up speed and strode into the great room where a crowd of people had gathered. Auras flashed like fireworks around her; the blasts pulsed with energy.

  In the center of the crowd, she could just make out a steady bright red and gray aura. She stopped in mid-stride when the pulsing black aura of another flared. Falon’s heart rate increased uncomfortably. She’d seen it before. Not frequently, but throughout her life the black auras had come and gone. Instinctively she shied away from them. The last such men, Conan and his friend, were dead. She didn’t need an instruction manual to know that they were all connected in a malevolent way. And now, one was twenty feet away. Had he come for her?

  Fear skittered around the lining of her belly. Automatically she looked toward the kitchen. Rafael was already coming after her, anger etched along the planes of his face. Despite her fear and Rafael’s anger, she felt the pull of the other man. The grieving father. Keeping a cautious eye on the threatening black aura, Falon moved quickly into the crowd, pushing bodies aside until she stood by the man with the red and gray aura. He was dressed in casual yet elegant threads. Bracing herself, she looked at the man next to him, hoping she’d imagined his darkness.

  She hadn’t. His aura pulsed with a deadly force all its own. The man turned dark, soulless eyes on her. The same dark, soulless eyes of Conan.

  Falon shivered but did not retreat, despite the waves of malevolence that washed off him. There was no denying the vibe. It was the same as Conan. They were cut from the same cloth. Slayers, Rafael had called them. She looked expectantly at Rafael, his entire focus on her. Couldn’t he feel the darkness in the man?

  Rafe grabbed her by the arm, pulling her away. She jerked free. He growled low, so that only she could hear. She ignored his warning. She really didn’t give a crap. He had his plans, she had hers, and right now, she wanted to know why these two very different men were here.

  “Mr. Vulkasin,” the man with the red aura said while extending his hand. He would be a handsom
e man, Falon thought, if not for the deep stress lines etched in his face. She knew they were recent. How could he not be distraught? His daughter had been murdered. In an uncanny way, she felt a connection to this man.

  Rafael moved from behind Falon and, with a subtle wave of his hand, cleared the room until only Rafael, Falon, Anton, and the two men remained.

  Rafe extended his hand. “Mr. Taylor, I’m afraid there—”

  “My daughter was murdered in cold blood,” he said, his voice shaky with emotion. “I want the bastards who did it. The cops have their thumbs up their asses. Name your price, and I’ll pay you up front. I want them found, and I want them brought to me. Alive.”

  Rafael turned dark eyes to Falon. “If you will excuse us?”

  No way was she leaving. Falon was beyond intrigued. Not that the man’s daughter was dead—she was very sad for him—but that he believed Rafael could hunt down the killers. That didn’t sound like real estate deals to her.

  Unfortunately, her body chose that moment to betray her. She needed to pee, really bad, and though she could really care less about dishonoring Rafael in front of anyone, she knew she would embarrass him if she resisted his request. And despite everything—call her crazy—she didn’t want to do that. It struck her, in all of its absurdity, that she had feelings for the man. How and why, she had no clue. But God help her, she did. But she still had to pee. Without a word, Falon turned and gimped away.

  As she moved past them, her cast hit a raised plank on the hardwood floor, and she went sprawling forward. Strong arms caught her. At contact, pain burst in sharp explosions in her head. She cried out and covered her ringing ears. As she did, her hand brushed against the man who’d broken her fall.