The Blood Bundle, Books 1-2: Blood Singers and Blood Song (New Adult Paranormal Vampire/Shifter Romance) (28 page)

When Julia fainted in the arms of the Singer as
he ran.

When the fetid breath of the Were caressed the
back of the one who held her.

When the ten of his kind suddenly appeared then
vanished like they had never been.

Defeated, William flew to a safe distance, then
Changed back into the form that would return him to the kiss with
the least effort.

Even as he ran, his mind turned over his next
move.

If he had been one to play chess, his sight
would be set on one piece. And one alone.

The queen.

*

Julia

Julia opened her eyes and was instantly met with
melted chocolate.

His eyes,
her thoughts still muddled and
fuzzy.

Oh, wow. She'd fainted again. Could she like...
find a rock and crawl underneath it?

“Hey you,” Brendan said, pushing a stray hair
away from her temple.

“I feel beyond stupid,” Julia said.

“Well, we're even then,” he said, his lips
curling up at the corners.

She smiled at him and he grinned back.

Suddenly, Jen's face showed beside his. “You're
okay. Big shock is all.”

Yeah, that. Biiiigggg shock. Two hunky dudes,
also Singers, kidnap her and squire her away to... where the hell
was she anyway?

Michael said from the foot of her bed. “You're
somewhere in the Olympic Peninsula.”

Julia frowned. “Kinda cagey.”

“Kinda cautious,” Michael quipped.

Brendan patted her head like she was a small dog
and stood. “Gotta keep things secure. Nobody knows anything. That's
how we like it...”

“Uh-huh, uh-huh. That's the way we like it,
uh-huh, uh-huh...” Michael said, swiveling his hips in a
distracting way.

“God... ewww... I hope that's not actual singing
you're attempting?” Jen asked, beyond embarrassed by her retarded
brothers.

“Oh yeah, I can do Karaoke with the best of
them,” he said with a hip thrust and hop. Julia giggled and Brendan
frowned. “Are ya okay? Ya asshat, 'cuz...”

Brendan looked expectantly at her.

“Julia,” she supplied her name by way of
introduction.

“Julia,” he smiled and gave her a wink, “is not
impressed by your...” he swung his palm around, “gyrations and
attempts at singing.”

“I don't know,” Julia began in a drawl.

All eyes went to her.

“For pure entertainment value, it's about a
seven.”

“Out of what?” Michael asked hopefully.

“Fifty, retard!” Jen yelled, punching him in the
arm again.

“Ow!” Michael raged, then turned to Julia. “Did
ya see that abuse?”

Julia nodded cooperatively. She had. She
grinned.

Jen grabbed the boys and dragged them out of the
room. “Get ye out!” she yelled, shoving them outside and turning
the lock.

“Sheesh!” Jen fumed. “They're so... so...”

“Funny?” Julia asked.

Jen sighed, then gave her a sidelong glance.
“Maybe.” Then looked at her. “But if you tell them I'll poke your
eyes out. Their heads are so fat as it is they couldn't get through
doorways if you stroked their egos even the tiniest bit.” Jen
looked at her.

Julia smiled. “I promise, no fat head air pumps
allowed.”

“Right!” Jen said, stabbing the air with a
finger held high.

“Now,” she looked at Julia critically. “Can we
deposit the dress in file thirteen?”

“Huh?” Julia asked, bewildered.

Jen laughed, “Sorry, I have some strange
expressions.”

She sure did.

“Trash... let's throw it away.” She looked at
Julia. “Unless you want to keep it for some reason?”

Julia looked down at the soft folds of pure
white. “No.” No reason at all. But as she said it she was reminded
of Adi and felt a stab of guilt and sadness. She sure would have
liked to say goodbye to her.

She was relieved not to have to be in some
whacked-out forced union with the Were but... she missed having
Cyn. She missed Adi.

Shit, Julia realized she'd put out an engraved
invitation for a pity party and she'd just RSVP'd for herself.

Dammit.

Jen seemed to pick up on her mood. “Hey!”

Julia turned to look at her, the melancholy
riding her like an unwanted friend. “Get out of the get-up and get
a shower. We'll suck up some grub and walk around the complex some.
I betcha got a ton of questions.” Jen looked at her
expectantly.

Yeah, that sounded good. “Sure.” Julia walked to
the bathroom and Jen handed her some clothes. “You'll have to wear
my stuff until we figure some clothes out for ya.” She looked up at
Julia. “I guess my pants will be Capris on you,” she said,
winking.

Then she was gone.

Julia stood under the spray, taking the longest
shower of her life, the colors from the window casting puzzle
pieces of color across her body as she washed.

Julia cried in the shower, the rain from the
shower head washing away her tears. She cried for everything.

William.

Cyn.

Adi.

But the heaviest tears were for Jason.

Always him.

*

“
Did ya get a good cry?” Jen
asked Julia.

She thought about lying. For about three
seconds. “Yeah.”

“
Good,” Jen said, clapping her
on the back. “Let's have a look-see, k?”

After a breakfast consisting of fruit and
scrambled eggs they walked outside. There were so many places to
look Julia didn't even know where to begin. The first thing that
caught her eye was when they exited the house. Julia turned around
and immediately located where her bedroom was.

The house was breathtaking.

It looked like a house of gingerbread but on
a big scale. It was Victorian, maybe turn of the last century.
Julia knew because she'd lived in an old house.

Before.

When her parents were alive. She waited a
moment to let the grief dissipate, then returned to studying the
structure.

It rose like a brightly colored wooden
jewel, the forest an emerald backdrop behind it. On the extreme
left was a turret that flowed from ground to roof. Three windows
formed a “bay” of sorts that were eight foot tall, each one. It
looked as if water coated the surface of the glass, wavy from age.
At the turret's peak spun a weather vane, the arrow pointing in
whatever direction the breeze blew.

“
Wow,” Julia breathed
reverently.

“
Ah! That old thing...” Jen
said, unimpressed.

Julia swung her head in Jen's direction.
“What!? That's like the most gorgeous house ever! And I have the
best room in the house,” Julia noted. She couldn't believe she was
actually here. When just yesterday she'd been with the Were. Julia
shook her head, freeing the remaining cobwebs of her memories, her
life.

“
Maybe that's true. But the
house? Ugh! Nothing works, it moans, it moves, it creaks!” She
threw up her hands. “I think it needs to be razed and we get
something in here so when my brother flushes a commode my shower
doesn't scorch my butt off!”

“
Noooo! I love it!” Julia said
as she felt Jen pull her arm, leading her away from the stately
home. “Forget it. Look on your own time at the rust bucket. For
now, let's go to the paranormal school.”

Julia stopped, tugging her arm back.
“What?”

Jen looked at her. “Ya know. It's where us
Singers train. Learn... etc.” She put her hands on her hips,
staring at Julia, waiting for the light bulb to go on.

Wait a second
, Julia
thought. “Train, for what?”

“
To nail the vamps and
shifters. They can't tame our rears. We're independent.”

Julia was getting that part.

“
To 'nail the vamps and the
shifters'...?”

Jen nodded like Julia was slow to catch
on.

“
And beyond that?” Julia
asked, feeling a point of clarity may have slid by her
unnoticed.

“
To rule the world, of
course,” Jen said, winking.

Of course,
Julia
thought, following Jen to a large building that had once been a
barn.

Julia didn't think she wanted to be queen of
that.

Or queen of anything.

Cynthia

Cyn stepped off the plane into the well of
people flowing from one destination to another and felt instantly
lost. A bottle in the ocean, the current traveling in whatever
direction it pleased, she its captive.

Get a grip, Cynthia
, she told herself.
Her eyes were clenched, her breathing finally getting under
control. She looked around, someone jostling by her. Cynthia's
backpack swung and she moved alongside one of the great,
cylindrical concrete columns, pressing her backpack and herself
against it.

There, she was out of everyone's way. For the
moment.

She'd left everything behind. The backpack
weighed about a thousand pounds with the things she couldn't part
with.

The wedding photo. Cynthia gulped back the lump
in her throat. Tears running down her face. She wasn't aware of it.
The people staring at her didn't register either.

She missed Jules so much it hurt to breathe. She
couldn't even think about Kev and Jason. She felt like a limb had
been amputated without them.

Cyn swiped her face, surprised at the wetness
she found there. She tore off in the direction the sign
pointed.

Bus Depot.

She arrived at the fork in the great corridor,
people flowing past her on either side and chose the town that
sounded the simplest.

Actually, she remembered vaguely that it was a
city.

Kent.

*

Truman

Karl Truman went through the studio apartment in
the seediest part of Homer, kicking the thrown drawers and papers
as he went through. The whole fucking place had been tossed by
someone. Or many someones. He turned to the beat cop on his ass.
“Daugherty!”

He jumped like he'd been goosed. “Yeah,
Detective!” His eyes were bulging fish bowls in his face.

Truman frowned. Good kid, not too bright. “Is
our team here yet?” He frowned at Daugherty.

Shit, his boss was kind of a dickhead. He
scratched his head. Truman got results though. He'd give him that.
“Yeah, I called it in.”

Truman was getting a head of steam and opened
his mouth to let Daugherty have it when the forensic team came
through, the first lifting the yellow tape, as he scooted under it.
Turning, he lifted it for the others to pass underneath.

“Whatcha got, chief?”

Hell, Truman hated being called chief! He wasn't
a damn Indian for cripe's sake! He neutralized his expression with
an effort.

He gave the first specialist a look that clearly
said,
follow me.

He did, squatting down at the
windowsill height. His eyes flowed over the deep gouges that ran
the length of the sill. “Holy shit...” he breathed, his name badge,
crooked.
Alexander.

“
Yeah,” Truman leaned into him
expectantly.

“
I don't know what did this!”
Alexander extolled.

“
Bear, right?” Truman
led.

Alexander snapped his plastic gloves on, the
powder coating wafting up to Truman's nostrils. The familiar smell
resonating from a thousand crime scenes, the memory trigger the
same.

It was time to work.

Alexander put a fingertip across the groove.
His eyes met Truman's and he shook his head no. “No way... this is
something,” his eyes went to the groove again and then lit with
excitement. “Wait! He rummaged in his toolbox and took out a tool
that looked like a dental instrument for cleaning teeth.

It wasn't.

He began carefully scooping the groove.
Finally, Truman thought, watching the process as if it was an
archeological dig. Alexander brought out the smallest sliver of
something.

“
What is it?” Truman asked as
the two other members of the forensic team huddled around them like
they were getting ready for a football play.

“
Claw,” Alexander said, his
eyes meeting his team.

“
From what?” Truman asked,
eying the twice-the-size of a pinhead shard.

“
Don't know,” he paused. “But
I've never seen anything like it.” He met Truman's eyes. “Not a
problem! We'll type this puppy and get the results back to ya,”
Alexander smiled.

One of the other forensics specialists said,
“Nah, let's not type it. There's no blood or other fun here.” He
looked around at the trashed apartment, not a shred of evidence to
support violence of the human variety. “Besides, what can it be
anyway? Bigfoot?”

They all laughed at that.

Yeah,
effing
hilarious
, Truman thought then said out loud,
“That's horse shit. Any idiot knows there's no such thing as
Sasquatch and that other happy crap!” Truman said.

The specialist laughed again, carefully
collecting samples to type.

For DNA.

Truman sighed. He figured it was a long
shot. Probably had some spoiling meat in here somewhere and it was
as simple as a pack of wolves trying to get an easy meal. He gazed
outside through glass so filthy it was gray. The forest mocked him,
stretching into eternity. Hell, it could have been anything.

Truman knew animals tried to get in the
apartment. But who had gone through every nook and cranny of this
dump? What had they been searching for...

And, more importantly, where the hell had
Cynthia Adams fled to?

Because she
had
fled. He was sure of it. Like she was escaping
something. There was too much stuff just left behind.
Abandoned.