Blood Secrets (18 page)

“Don’t pay any attention to him, honey,” her mother said softly. “He’ll come around in time.”

Alex nodded, unable to speak past the lump that had formed in her throat.

“I should go. I know the three of you probably have official business to discuss.” Her mother gave her a quick hug. “I’ll call and check on you later.”

Alex nodded and a moment later she heard the door open and close. Tilting her head slightly, she was able to zero in on the area of the room where Damian stood by listening for the steady rhythm of his breathing. “So, how much trouble am I in with Morgan and the Tribunal?”

“Considerable,” Damian rumbled. The rustle of clothing indicated he moved out of the corner to stand in front of her. “Morgan knows about the blood-bond, which hadn’t been previously recorded with the Bureau. She also knows you can part the Veil. She’s on the phone with the Tribunal now.”

“Getting orders to haul my ass into jail, no doubt.”

“Possibly but unlikely,” Varik said. “I don’t think the Tribunal will rush into any sort of judgment based on one incident. My guess is they’ll tell Morgan to keep an eye on you, but I don’t think they’ll throw you in jail.”

“Not yet,” Damian agreed. “Regardless of what they do, the Tribunal will have to proceed with caution. Until the Black investigation, you had a spotless record, plus you’re Bernard Sabian’s daughter. Public opinion will play a role in the inquiry whether the Tribunal wants it to or not.”

Alex knew they both spoke the truth, but she wasn’t certain she fully believed it. Her father’s murder had been the catalyst for the vampire community’s decision to reveal itself to humanity, a decision most thought had been for the betterment of the community. However, there were those who thought they should’ve remained hidden, living in the shadows. No one knew how many of these holdouts there were among the community or where they may rise. Her inquiry could become a political hotbed with two sides of the community fighting for dominance, leaving her defenseless in the middle.

The steady beep of a cell phone interrupted the downward spiral of her thoughts.

“Alberez,” Damian answered, silencing the beeping, and then paused. “You’re certain?” Pause. “Keep me updated.”

Alex heard the snap of his phone closing. “What’s going on?”

“Just bureaucratic bullshit at headquarters.”

The slight waver she detected in his voice told her there was more to his excuse but she wasn’t in a position to push.

“Damian,” Varik said as he stood up. “It’s late. Freddy and Reyes aren’t going to have full results on any evidence until tomorrow. I think it’s probably best if I took Alex home for the night.”

“Good idea,” Damian agreed. “Both of you get some sleep.”

The brief flash of thought that flooded the bond let Alex know sleep was the last thing on Varik’s mind, and for once, she couldn’t have agreed with him more.

TASHA OPENED THE DOOR OF THE DUCK ’N’ COVER AND
was greeted with a chorus of raised voices and drinks from the scattered regulars. She nodded and waved to them in turn as she picked her way through the tables to the bar.

The Duck ’n’ Cover was a popular bar located outside Jefferson’s city limits and therefore had no need to worry about noise ordinances when bands played. Housed in a converted cotton gin building, it featured a rusted tin exterior and a worn and uneven plank floor. The tables and chairs were all garage sale or flea market finds of differing shapes and sizes. Neon signs advertising the various brands of beer on tap clung to the exposed wall beams that supported the intricate open-framework rafters. The most distinctive feature, however, was the countless names and messages that had been written on every available and reachable space—walls, tables, bar, signs, and even the mismatched curtains covering the wavy-paned windows.

Tasha reached the bar and hoisted herself onto one of the secondhand bar stools. While she waited for the bartender, she checked the cryptic text message she’d received on her cell phone.

The message itself didn’t concern her as much as it probably should. It was the number displayed as the message’s origin—12-29-1995, her daughter Maya’s birthday—that worried her most. She knew a trace would prove fruitless. Countless websites allowed text messages to be sent from false numbers. Staring at the number displayed on her screen, she wondered how much of her personal life, of Maya’s life, could her mysterious callers access?

“Hey, shug,” Dinky Kincaid, the Duck ’n’ Cover’s owner and bartender, greeted Tasha with her trademark smile. Drawn-on black eyebrows that arched too far up her forehead made her look as though her face had frozen in a scandalized expression. Short, round, and proudly displaying her ample cleavage, Dinky was a force to be reckoned with and few in the bar ever dared to cross her. She set a bowl of popcorn in front of Tasha and tilted her head. “You’re looking a little long in the face tonight, honey. Rough day?”

Tasha crunched a few kernels of the stale unbuttered popcorn and nodded. “Got a letter from my ex. He wants sole custody of my kid.”

Dinky pursed her bright red lips and shook her head as she began mixing liquids from different bottles. “My ex tried that once. He didn’t get very far though.”

“How did you deal with it?”

“Start with the one on the right.” Two shot glasses thumped on the bar in front of Tasha. “I shot him in the ass,” Dinky said with a wink.

Tasha’s eyes widened.

The other woman cackled and fluttered a pudgy hand against her chest. “Oh, Lordy! I’m joking. I hired a lawyer and took him to the cleaners. We wrung enough money out of his sorry ass for me to buy this place.”

Tasha picked up the first of the shot glasses. “Maybe I should talk to your lawyer.” She slammed the drink
back and swallowed. The chilled liquid left an acid trail to her stomach, where heat bloomed and seared its way to the back of her throat. Coughing and sputtering, she grabbed the second glass and downed it. The heat dissipated. When she could speak again, she asked, “What the hell is that?”

Dinky smiled. “I call it a Bayou Bomb. Couple of drops of Tabasco in the first one give it a real kick.” She swept the glasses from the bar. “As for my lawyer, I don’t think he lives around here anymore, but you could probably track him down. Name was Caleb Lockwood.”

Tasha choked on her popcorn. Coughing, she beat her chest in an attempt to clear the obstruction. Tears gathered in the corners of her eyes and spilled down her cheeks. She struggled for a clean breath.

“Lean forward,” a masculine voice instructed as a strong hand smacked her back a few times.

She complied and was rewarded with a dislodged kernel and fresh air.

“There you go,” her savior said. “Dinky, grab her some water.”

Tasha gratefully accepted the glass Dinky handed to her with a worried expression. She gulped the clear liquid. Her body rebelled and she returned to coughing.

A few more sharp pats on her back helped to ease the air back into her lungs. “Sip it.”

She sipped the water as directed and when she didn’t cough, she used one glorious deep breath to sigh in relief. “Thanks,” she whispered hoarsely and turned to her rescuer only to have her breath stolen away again by coffee brown skin and black eyes.

“My pleasure,” he said, flashing a lopsided grin. “Rueben.”

Her gaze slipped over his broad shoulders, down the
muscular and tattooed arm. She weakly clasped his hand. “Tasha.”

“Well, take care of yourself, Tasha.” Rueben pushed away from the bar, still smiling. “And lay off that corn.”

Tasha nodded mutely, watching him as he backed away a few steps before turning and striding confidently toward the stage on the opposite side of the building. She saw him slap high fives to a few of the patrons along the way before hopping on the stage, where a band had begun to set up their equipment.

“Dinky,” she called and waved for the older woman to join her. “Who was that guy?”

Dinky looked toward the stage and sighed. “Rueben—I don’t know his last name. He plays drums for one of the bands that comes through here once in a while.”

“Does he live in Jefferson?”

“I’m not sure. I don’t see him in here except when his band is playing.” Dinky removed the popcorn bowl and wiped down the bar. “Can I get you another one of them Bayou Bombs, honey?”

Tasha nodded, her eyes trained on the stage. Whomever she was to make contact with here was running late. At least she would have something to occupy her until they showed.

“Rueben,” she whispered, liking the warm feeling saying his name gave her, and settled in to wait.

Alex’s leg caught an unseen corner as she exited the bathroom and pain sliced across her shin. “Ow! Fucking hell!”

“Steady,” Varik muttered. His hands settled at her waist, keeping her upright.

After leaving the hospital, he tried to convince her to spend the night at his apartment, but she insisted on
returning to the hotel and checking on Dweezil. She also thought she’d be safer in her hotel room, having lived there for weeks and being familiar with its floor plan. The throbbing pain in her shin told her otherwise. “I hate being blind.”

“You’ll adjust in time.”

“I don’t want to adjust. I want to see, damn it!”

He slipped his arms around her, pulled her against him, and nestled his chin on her shoulder. “You will, baby, but until you can, you need to relax a little and let your other senses take over.”

“Easy for you to say. You’re not the one stumbling in the dark.”

“I said I would help you.”

“Aside from keeping the bond constantly open so I can see through your eyes, what can you do, Varik?”

“Make you more aware of your surroundings by heightening your other senses.”

“How?”

Warm breath prickled her flesh as he sighed. A wash of sandalwood and cinnamon enveloped her and made her pulse jump. Soft lips traced the scar along her neck. Alex inhaled sharply and shifted her stance, exposing more of her throat to him.

Fingertips replaced his lips, featherlight as they explored the length of her scar from collarbone to ear. He pulled her earlobe into his mouth, grazing her flesh with the tip of one fang.

She shivered as his hands cupped her face. “Varik—”

His mouth slanted over hers and his tongue raked across her lips, demanding entry.

She opened to him and his tongue curled around hers. Fangs grazed her lower lip, teasing her with their points until her knees threatened to give way.

Alex drew in a breath when he broke the kiss. “Varik, I can’t—”

“Shh,” he hissed, pressing a finger to her lips.

She opened the blood-bond.
We shouldn’t—

He closed the bond, sealing himself away, and kissed her forehead. “Do you trust me?”

She nodded.

“Then shut up,” he murmured, recapturing her lips.

Alex twisted his hair around her fingers as they kissed, while his arms encircled her waist, holding her tightly against him as he lifted her and spun.

He pinned her against a wall, pressing close. Jasmine and vanilla mingled with sandalwood and cinnamon and set her mind spiraling into a series of memories and half-formed fantasies. His hands trailed up her arms and gently pulled her hands away.

Her pulse jumped again as he held her arms above her head, moving his kiss from her lips to her neck. Fangs grazed her scar and she moaned from a combination of anticipation and anxiety. Lips sealed over the slick mark, and his tongue danced along its edges. She inhaled and muscles tensed along her shoulders, her body’s way of preparing for the bite to come.

Cool air rushed over her, jolting her to reality and the awareness Varik no longer held her. She stood in darkness with her back to a wall, her arms still over her head, and her pulse racing.

“Find me,” Varik whispered from somewhere to her left.

“What kind of sick game are you playing?”

“No game. Now find me.”

“I can’t fucking see,” she snarled.

“That doesn’t matter.” His words drifted up from her right. “You have other senses. Use them.”

She opened the bond and winced as he slammed the connection closed.

“That’s cheating,” he taunted, his voice and breath inches from her face.

Alex jerked away, startled. “Goddamn it, Varik! You said you’d help me.”

He pinned her against the wall once more. “I am.”

“How is this helping me?”

His fingers trailed along her arm and left prickled flesh in their wake. “Consider it motivation.”

“Seems like foreplay to me.”

A grin lay behind his words as he spoke, moving away again. “You know what they say—all work and no play makes for really boring sex.”

She pushed off from the wall, following the soft sounds of his footsteps on carpet. “What makes you think I’m going to sleep with you?”

“Sleeping isn’t what I had in mind.”

Alex spun as his voice issued from behind. She was certain he’d been in front of her. How was he moving around her so quickly and without her hearing him move?

Arms wrapped around her waist and his body molded to her back so she felt
all
of him. “You’re thinking too much,
ma poule
. Stop thinking and trust your instincts.”

“Right now my instincts are to turn around and beat the shit out of you.”

“It’s a start.” He laughed and released her with a playful swat on her butt cheeks.

She yelped, whirled, and reached for him but found only emptiness. “Oh, you’re going to pay for that.”

More laughter followed another smack to her backside. “I eagerly await your reprimand,
if
you can catch me.”

Alex inhaled the familiar scent of sandalwood and cinnamon that permeated the room. Another quick breath and she noticed a fresh waft to her right. She moved in that direction and was rewarded with the faint sound of retreating footsteps.

“You may be better at this than I initially estimated.”

She smiled, following the stronger trails of his scent. “Don’t tell me the big bad Hunter is afraid of a blind woman?”