Blood Entangled (18 page)

Kos had gone to her immediately. “What happened?”

Mason looked up from his newspaper. “I may have taken too much blood. Should I get her some orange juice?”

“She looks past juice.” Kos noticed faint bruises on her wrists. Vampire saliva could heal an open wound, but not an internal bleed like a bruise. “Did you restrain her?”

“Relax, buddy. She’s into that. She pretends she’s afraid, I pretend I’m Dracula. That kind of shit.”

Sure, some girls liked to role-play. But Kos could never get into scaring women—he’d sent more than one fetishist Mason’s way. Damn it if San Francisco wasn’t attracting a kinkier sort every day. He’d covered the girl with his coat and patted her cheek to rouse her. After a few seconds, her eyes fluttered open. The fear in them was unmistakable, though it passed quickly.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Mason called out. “Want some orange juice?”

“Yeah, with vodka, please.” She set Kos’s coat aside. Her voice was nothing like what he expected—sharper and older sounding that her frailness suggested. “Where are my clothes, anyway?”

Mason shouted to her from the kitchen. “On the stairs.”

She padded into the hallway and bent over to pick up her blouse from the bottom stair, showing Kos the only part of her he hadn’t yet seen. Her casual display burned a blush up his cheeks and over his scalp, and it persuaded him she was not in need of his protection.

And from whom, anyway? Mason wouldn’t hurt her.

Shortly after that, he’d bought his cabin at the coast and given up his jaunts in San Francisco for a more settled existence.

Kos did look forward to seeing his old friend, but he wouldn’t mind skipping the reminiscing. He opened his drawer of sticky notes and memo pads, quickly penning a message to Lena.

Does it suit you to leave Friday
after sunset for your new position?
In the meantime, please make yourself
comfortable in my room. - Kos

He slid it under his door and stood for a moment to listen to her sleep-steady breaths. Nothing on earth appealed more than slipping into his bed, curling around her, and holding her while she slept. His cock stirred, sending him a message—there was
one
thing even more appealing.

The thought of another cold shower made his skin sting. He would get some work done in the office and then spend the day bottling Blood Vine with Andre and Pedro. He could use the distraction.

Hours later, he had to admit that bottling wine was even better than playing cards. He didn’t have to place bets, had nothing to lose. His consciousness could recede, and his mind could unravel itself, processing the things human brains did while sleeping. He rolled one bottle at a time through the manual labeler, a task more blessedly mindless than a game of Uno.

Bottling didn’t seem to work so well for Pedro.

His job required him to shoot each bottle full of nitrogen gas and place it on the turret, which rotated bottles toward Andre as they filled with wine. Once they were full, Andre placed them under the corker.

“Turn the speed up, or this will take all day,” Pedro said, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.

“If it goes faster, the bottles will not be full when they reach me,” Andre replied.

“Let me see.” Pedro cranked the dial without waiting for Andre’s agreement.

The bottles circled the turret more quickly.

“
Davo
, Pedro. Look. Now you have disrupted the rhythm. These bottles are only three-quarters full. We have to start over.”

“Andre, we can do this so much faster, just push the corks in with your thumb.”

“The equipment is made for humans. We must be patient. Relax.”

Pedro blew out an exasperated breath. “Kos, can I borrow a book to read over here while grandpa takes his time filling the bottles?”

From the sidelines, Kos chuckled. “Turn on some music.”

“Already tried that. Andre hates music.”

“Do not be absurd.” Andre flipped the switch and the turret came to a stop. “No one hates music. I just hate that garbage you call music. Kos, you tell him.”

Although Kos didn’t care much for Pedro’s electronic dance music, he wasn’t going to take Andre’s side. “It’s nothing personal. The only music Andre finds acceptable is Balkan choral music.”

“Fine. Turn that on. Anything is better than the squeal of this machine and having to listen to you two.”

“Exactly what has crawled up your ass, son?” Andre asked.

“More like, ‘whose ass didn’t I get to crawl up,’” Pedro muttered, taking an iPod from Kos’s outstretched hand.

Kos and Andre exchanged a silent glance. Andre’s lips were pressed into a tight smile, trying not to let Pedro on to his amusement. Kos plastered his palm over his own mouth to reinforce Andre’s efforts.

A woman’s bright soprano suddenly filled the workspace, followed by two alto voices carrying the haunting Balkan harmonies. Kos didn’t trouble himself with the words: he simply let the music carry him home to Šolta.

The complex rhythm of the music paced everyone’s efforts, and Kos’s heart beat in time. He placed a full bottle of Blood Vine in a labeling machine and cranked the handle, rolling Zoey’s painfully nostalgic label into place. His limbs felt heavy with the gravity of the job. It was humbling to think of what they’d lost when they left home, and what they’d gained with Blood Vine. The deadening ache in his heart over Lena was minor in comparison to the need of all those vampires still wasting away. He tried to ignore it and take his responsibilities seriously.

He held each bottle reverently, sending up a silent prayer that it would reach their friends safely and bring them health.

When he’d turned the labels onto another dozen bottles and placed them into a case, he carried them into the loading bay. Tomorrow night, they would deliver a thousand cases of Blood Vine to their distributor, and within a week, it would be on the shelves of wine shops and high-end grocers all over the country.

“To the homeland, my friends, and to your health,” he whispered as he set another case into the truck.

His chest still ached. His heart was not getting the message that other things were more important than his crush on a human. But it would, eventually.

Chapter 15

L
ENA
S
QUEEZED
H
ER
E
YES
C
LOSED
. She wasn’t ready to open them. Unlike yesterday, Kos wouldn’t be watching her wake. She’d dreamed about the little blond boy again. What was her subconscious trying to tell her, anyway? That all her longings could never come true? No kidding. Vampire babies were pretty much like flying pigs.

But this morning of all mornings, the dream was a sharp betrayal by her own mind, reminding her she could not have the thing she wanted most—Kos.

Even worse, her head hurt, probably from the three fingers of brandy she’d drunk to get to sleep. Thanks to Zoey, she’d discovered its medicinal benefits. It worked well, inducing two minutes of pain free, crystal clear thinking, followed by a sleep so deep she had drool in her ear.

She wiped at her damp lobe, rubbed her eyes, and managed to open them onto the sunny room. Kos’s chair was empty, the two fat Russian novels in his place. She sympathized with the vacant piece of furniture—she was empty too.

The best cure for heartache was hard work. It had gotten her through years at Kaštel and it would see her steady to the end. She headed for the bathroom until she saw a note that had been slid under the door.

Leaving Friday.

The party was scheduled for Saturday, which left three full days to prepare. If Susan or Zoey could warm food and do the finishing touches, then yes, she could have everything ready in time to leave on Friday. Except the truffles—no way to do that dish ahead of time. She would nix those and cancel her order first thing.

Good. Friday was soon. The sooner she left Kaštel, the sooner she could get over Kos.

Under the hot water of the shower, she made mental lists of what to do, and the fog of her sadness lifted. It was almost seven when she got to the kitchen. She laid out breakfast in the dining room, and then closed off her domain with signs that said, “Keep out.” Maybe she should add a happy face to each sign?
Nope.
She didn’t give a flip if she sounded rude; she wanted zero distractions, and she really did not want to see Kos.

She cooked all morning, forgetting to eat or drink until her headache started up, demanding a full meal and caffeine, pronto.

Out of habit, her hand slid to open the knick-knack drawer. Inside was
New and Selected Poems.
She didn’t need to take it out to remember the poem by heart. Every time she pictured the little boy pattering across a hardwood floor to his parents’ bed, it was the boy from her dream—the one who had Kos’s eyes.

Palm on the cover of the book, she whispered a prayer to whomever was out there listening.
Please lead me to my destiny, whatever it is
.

As evening approached, she cleaned the kitchen. She opened the dishwasher and grabbed two plates. Turning toward the cabinet, she jumped to find Zoey perched on one of the stools at the high counter.

“How long have you been there?”

“Not long.”

Lena’s heart raced. Inhaling, she placed her palm on her chest and waited for her pulse to slow. “It freaks me out that you move like them, all fast and silent.”

“I know. I love it.” Zoey shrugged, not even a shred of guilt on her content face.

Lena laughed for the first time all day.

“Kos said if it’s okay with you, he’ll take you to San Francisco on Friday.”

Tension squeezed Lena’s spine. With her stiff back to Zoey, she laid the plates on their shelf. “That’s fine. But please tell him for me. I’d rather not see him.”

“Are you angry?” Zoey’s tone was perfectly neutral, which meant she was using her supernatural strength to suppress her nosiness, or at least keep it out of her voice.

Lena faced her, leaning a hip into the countertop and tucking a loose lock of hair behind her ear. “How can I be angry? He’s been kind, and respectful, and honest.”

Zoey turned up her palms, betraying her frustration. “Then what’s the problem? Why don’t you just—”

“Because, I don’t want to.” The emptiness came back, making her feel queasy. She shelved some coffee mugs, nesting their handles carefully so they’d all fit in the cabinet.

“Has he told you much about Mason?”

Mugs clanged together, jarring Lena. She unclenched her teeth to say, “He told me a little. I guess he’s handsome, women like him. Kos says it’s a good match.”

Water had pooled in the mug’s pedestal, and she dried it with a dishtowel.

“So you’ve been waiting your whole life to do the blood-sex thing and you’re going to give it up to a stranger?”

“Yeah, if he wants me. Nobody around here does.” She showed no mercy to the water spots on the mug, her damp towel squeaking against the glass.

“Kos wants you, Lena.”

“But not for keeps.” She sucked her lower lip into her mouth, embarrassed to pout in front of Zoey.

“Which do you want? Keeps, or blood and sex?”

Urgh! Okay, so maybe Lena was a little angry. She wanted to hurl the mug onto the tile floor and watch it shatter. Maybe it would crack the tile too, and she would know she’d left her mark somewhere at Kaštel. Instead, she clenched it tightly with both hands to resist the urge.

“Zoey, if I knew the answer to that question, I could decide between a vampire life or human life. But it wouldn’t do shit to help my broken heart.”

“Heart?” Zoey’s mouth fell open, making her look like Lena had just stripped off her clothes and danced a naked Irish jig in the middle of the kitchen.

For no clear reason, she found Zoey’s surprise satisfying. “Yeah. Heart.”

Lena set the mug onto the countertop with extreme care, proud it was still whole, unbroken. If only she could get out of Kaštel equally intact. She walked out of the kitchen without saying good-bye to her friend.