The Blood Bundle, Books 1-2: Blood Singers and Blood Song (New Adult Paranormal Vampire/Shifter Romance) (34 page)

Julia.

And on the top of it all, fear, discomfort and
pain.

Someone was hurting her as she succumbed to
illness. Scott's hands clenched into fists of rage. Fists which
knew how to deliver punishment. And they would.

Soon.

Scott increased his pace to a sprint. His Singer
strength, endurance and speed were on a par with the Were... and
the vampire. His siblings and parent followed in a rainbow blur of
colors, their hues mixing inexplicably as they drew closer to
Julia. Their familial footprint as they advanced into battle was
formidable.

Dangerous.

William and the others chased the trail laid by
the Were as they ran, Julia's scent mingled with theirs. Her scent
was off. Now that he had shifted back from raven form, his senses
seemed almost dulled, even though he knew they were a hundred times
more sensitive than those of humans.

He sped, every thought, every fiber of his
being, trained to overtake them and rescue Julia.

The feral watched those of his kind take the
female... sickened and unable to defend herself from the one Were
which he hated most. The one who had taunted him. Given him hose
showers that had bruised his skin with the force of the spray.

Given him prey that was spoiled or
infirm.

Yes, he would know his foul odor
anywhere.

A tingling rush of fighting adrenaline
surged through him.

The feral charged from the left, crashing
out of the brush, thinking two thoughts simultaneously:

They were nearly nose-blind to have not
scented him this close. His step faltered for one half a second
when he recognized the female Were he'd harmed in his pen, traveled
with them. A moment's peace touched him as he realized she was
whole and well again.

That peace fled as he barreled into the Were
which led, his talons slicing the neck as he launched a
counterstrike, one to four.

Joseph spun too late as the assault came at his
third from the front and couldn't believe he hadn't scented another
Were this close. It was completely unexpected. He growled at his
sister, “Run!”

She would be crushed by the red, every
protective instinct Joseph possessed punching to life, his reaction
automatic.

Adi ignored her brother and ran toward where
Tony held Julia, the feral having ripped three holes in the leading
Were's vulnerable neck. As he dropped from the killing blow, his
blood blanketing the forest like a carpet of crimson, Adriana
leapt. As her arms were outstretched, Tony casually tossed Julia to
the ground.

She landed in Adi's embrace and they fell
together on the soft forest debris.

The feral met her eyes for one moment and she
cringed backward, scooping Julia closer in her arms.

Her brother and Tony circled the red. His coat
shone like fire burnt down to embers, and she knew they would kill
him.

It made her chest tight to think it. Adi shook
it off. What was wrong with her? He was feral.

He had hurt her.

But deep within, something stirred and responded
to him, against every precept and instinct.

Adriana did not wish for his death.

She turned her attention to Jules. She was
burning up, moaning and thrashing. Adrianna forced her human form
to return, as difficult as it was to change to half-wolf, it hurt
more to go back to human so quickly, a brutal energy siphon. But
she didn't want Jules to see her and be afraid.

Adi held Jules in her arms as the feral and
werewolves circled each other just as the vampire entered the glade
and a troop of Singers broke out of the forest opposite them.

Oh shit!
Adi thought... we'll never make
it out of here alive.

Julia opened her eyes just then and her fevered
stare latched onto Adriana. “Adi...” she said weakly.

“I'm here, Jules,” she said, wiping sweaty
strands of hair out of her face.

“Don't let them... hurt me...” Julia said.

Never,
Adi thought, rolling the small
bundle that was Julia into her embrace and standing without
effort.

After all, she was a werewolf.

She faced off with the vampire and Singers, her
grin looking like a wolf in sheep's clothing.

An apt comparison.

reckoning

Scott stared at the female werewolf that held
Julia.

Their queen.

His
... and growled. He didn't know where
that primitive utterance had come from but he rolled with it
instinctively. He saw the vamps at the same time the werewolves
went after the big red guy.

Lots to do here
. Scott was always game,
his body practiced and ready for violence.

It moved forward of its own volition.

William saw the group of Singers and paused. His
nostrils flared and he recognized something about the one which
led, his scent was slightly different. William was a runner. He was
bred to recognize the Rare Blood in Singers. Julia was pure. But
this one, he had enough quantum for William to respond, every
tracking instinct tingled inside him, even as Julia was in his
sights.

Who was he?

William would soon find out as the one he stared
at launched himself with the speed of a Singer who was trained,
seasoned and in the prime of his life, his direction aimed for
Julia.

Julia rose to consciousness as if swimming from
the bottom of a pool but without the benefit of alertness. She was
in a fog, the fever stealing her cognitive reasoning, making her
slow and thick-feeling.

She watched the scene unfold from the cradle of
Adi's arms.

Scott came toward Julia in a flash of brilliant
color, the tailwind of colors behind him she intuited as the rest
of his family. From Julia's left William and the vampire tore
toward her, the feral howling in misery, the tone of it told her
all she needed to know.

He drove to get to her, kept at bay by Tony and
Joseph.

But maybe not for long.

Julia made the most difficult decision of her
life but she knew it would solve the current problem instantly. Her
mind sought what it needed and when she found it... the metal
flashed in the gloom of the forest, making its way to her as if by
invisible strings.

She grabbed the hilt of the stolen weapon, her
telekinetic ability bringing it to her in a rush of surprise to
all. The supernaturals in the forest stilled their movements.

The desired effect was instantaneous.

Marcus watched his utility knife, that he
routinely wore at his hip, come unlatched and spin away from his
body, lurching toward Julia.

Hilt first.

Julia caught it in her hand, flicked it open,
held it to her own throat and screamed hoarsely, “Stop!”

Adi looked down at Julia. “No!”

“Let me down, Adi,” her voice steady.

Adriana did, Julia sliding down the front of her
body and swaying on her feet, her head swimming with pain and
vertigo.

Julia looked at William, as still as a statue.
“Do not,” he whispered. “None of us wish for this end, Julia. This
is not the answer.”

Scott stopped breathing when he saw the metal
gleaming against the pale throat of the Queen of the Blood Singers.
The fibers of his being pulled taut to the breaking point while his
soul shrieked inside him. He made a move to step forward and Julia
gaze shifted to his. “Don't even try it. I know you hate me,” she
hissed, her strength ebbing, her hand shaking from the strain of
keeping it steady.

The fibers of his being cinched tighter in
discomfort, her safety in jeopardy by her own hand. Scott stood
poised to launch himself at her the moment her attention wavered,
the pain of not touching her unbearable. It was unlike anything
he'd ever known. Every bruise, every battle wound... nothing
compared.

Julia backed away from all of them, her back
touching the trunk of a tree. They stood, all eyes tracking her
progress, knowing that a false move could end her life. Then what
would they have? What would she be?

Dead is what.

As the tears began to flow, Julia realized that
nothing good had happened to her since Jason's death. Her lower lip
trembled and her hand shook as she determined that this was the
best answer for her after all. She was tired.

So tired.

Joseph and Tony saw her expression first as they
were the closest. But it was the feral who acted, his half-wolf
form slipping off him like water sheeting off glass.

He sprang forward, human again for that
moment.

The moment of truth.

Julia saw him and her heart stalled in her
chest.

She dropped the knife, all thought of death
forgotten.

It speared the earth at her feet and she
staggered forward without thinking.

****

Kent

Cynthia thanked the nice lady with the sad eyes
for the room, nodding in all the right places when she told her it
was but a transitional respite. Blah, blah, blah. Cynthia got it. A
place to lay her head on a pillow, none of the creatures in sight.
They couldn't have followed her all the way to the outskirts of
Seattle. She breathed a sigh of relief for the first time in what
felt like forever.

She opened the door to the dark room and saw a
bunch of plaster repair and the evidence of damage all over the
place. The lady turned to her, the chain that hung off her glasses
catching the light. “Don't mind the mess, we're doing a touch of
remodeling.”

Cynthia looked around her. Looked like more than
a touch. The window looked the worst. She walked over to it, seeing
the remnants of hand-blown glass, wavy and warped, encased in a
solid wood frame. Hairline fissures scattered about the center were
taped so they couldn't splinter further. She turned her head and
saw the old lady's face in profile. “What happened?”

The woman shrugged her shoulders, hauling the
shawl she wore more firmly around her hunched shoulders. “We're not
sure. But there was a young woman who stayed here a few months
past...” she looked down at her sensible shoes, the pantyhose an
unnatural tan color and suddenly looked up, guilt and a muted
horror, contained like a stuffed sock riding her eyes. “She uh...
we think she was taken.”

Not much of a shelter!
Cynthia thought,
looking at the damage of the room more closely. She asked, “By
who?”

The woman shrugged, backing carefully out of the
room and giving her a nod as she left, closing the door softly
behind her. Conversation closed.

Cynthia looked at the windowsill more
closely.

Her chest tightened in a gut clenching clutch of
pain, her breath leaving her body.

She traced the marring left in the wood of the
sill with a hand that shook so badly she grabbed it with its mate
to steady it. She gave a shaky exhale.

It wasn't
who
took the girl.

But what.

Cynthia snatched her hand back. She looked
outside, beyond the glass and the unkempt yard below to the forest.
It was dark and quiet.

A perfect hiding place.

For
them
.

Cyn backed up until her legs hit the mattress
and sat down. She stared at the window. It looked like she might
have escaped one horror for another.

Breaking her stupor, she rummaged in her
backpack until she found what she was looking for. She laid down on
her back, her finger running over the one photo she had, a habit of
comfort these almost two years past. She never missed a night
without looking at them.

It was Vegas. Just the four of them: Jason and
Jules, she and Kev.

Before.

She looked at Jules, dressed up for once,
Jason's arm slung comfortably around her shoulders, like it
belonged. Her eyes stung with unshed tears, hot and unwelcome as
she looked at Kevin. When they ran down her face she didn't wipe
them away, but pressed the photo against her chest.

Her heart.

She missed them so much, she felt like her heart
would never stop breaking. That's why her chest hurt so damned much
all the time. A crack that wouldn't mend.

Her heart broken in shards inside her.

Cynthia covered the photo with both hands and
put her head to the side of the pillow, stifling her sobbing from
the other inhabitants of the women's shelter.

*

Truman

Truman looked at Alexander, their eyes meeting a
final time. “I can't believe this. I know you're telling me all
this but I can't...” Karl tapped his head.

“Wrap your head around it? Yeah, tell me about
it!” Alexander responded, nodding.

Karl Truman fought the habit to take his small
note pad out of its home in the upper pocket of his button down and
clasped his hands together instead. “So they're...”

George Alexander nodded. “They're big suckers,
standing on hind legs,” he made his palm flat and put it a foot
above his head, “that makes these guys about seven feet.”

Truman whistled. “So, they're dexterous?”

“Very. They had no difficulty pawing through
this apartment, turning knobs, unlatching windows. No,” he paused,
not a hint of humor in his voice, giving Truman the full weight of
his eyes, “they used the doors and windows, they have higher
reasoning, no doubt.” George tapped his temple.

Truman paused, thinking about his words instead
blurting just anything out. “How high?”

Alexander paused for a beat. “Maybe like us...
maybe,” he scratched his head and turned his back on Truman, pacing
off to the window, gazing at the forest that stretched interminably
beyond their position, “... they are something else.”

“What are you saying George?” Truman walked up
to him, getting right in his grill. He was going to spill this info
if it killed him. His green eyes met Truman's.