The Blood Bundle, Books 1-2: Blood Singers and Blood Song (New Adult Paranormal Vampire/Shifter Romance) (37 page)

It was obvious to
him
; he was experiencing mild discomfort
due to the slow broil of his body.

Yes, as the leader of the Southeast Kiss he
was part Singer, part vampire. He could tolerate daylight, but it
was a near thing. An almost allergic reaction would settle on his
body and he itched for the night, the relief it afforded him.

Not that Merlin would admit that to the Rare
One before him. Impervious to the time of day, he could do all that
vampire could, even more as a point of fact. However, he did not
need to drink blood. It was a shame that the male Rare Ones were
sterile in their breeding potential with other vampires. It was the
females that were so precious.

And the Northwestern Kiss that Gabriel
presided over had procured one.

Then lost it. Most puzzling.

Gabriel lightly drummed his fingers and
looked at the pale leader opposite him and realized that the
politics of their meeting had already begun. He steepled his
fingers, his shoulder length hair sliding forward in golden waves,
framing startling eyes that were the deepest amber. He pierced
Merlin with his shocking golden gaze and said what he hoped would
end it, repay their coven.

“I have come to offer
recompense for your assistance with the location of the Rare
One.”

Merlin cocked a pale blond
brow, his Singer heritage lending him a fair complexion. He would
have traded that in an instant for tolerance to full sunlight.
Alas, it was not so. The only advantage he was afforded was the
echo of humanity of his outward shell. But his internal composition
was creature of the night. The human fa
ç
ade served as a wonderful window
dressing for many things, he supposed. Merlin came back to the
comment at hand. It would not do to become distracted while dealing
with another coven leader.

“And what do you offer,
blood?” Merlin guessed, disgruntled.

When Gabriel outlined the payment and what
Merlin would need to accomplish that task, Merlin thought on it for
a long moment, his stare never breaking from Gabriel.

Finally, he replied, “Agreed.”

“When?” Gabriel
asked.

“Soon.”

“How do you plan to execute
this?”

Merlin gave the first smile of the day,
“Carefully, old friend.”

Gabriel said what he thought, “We are not
friends.” His whiskey stare lanced Merlin as those eyes traveled
the Singer vampire. Merlin spread his hands harmlessly away from
his body. “But we are not enemies.”

Gabriel grinned unexpectedly. “True.”

“Will this be a gentleman's
promise? Will this relieve my coven of recompense by blood or
other?”

A formal question asked in the old way. It
caused a valley in the conversation.

Merlin's eyes became hooded. “You have my
word of honor.”

“I will take it,” Gabriel
said, sticking his hand out. Merlin slipped the coolness of his
inside Gabriel's grasp and for one moment their flesh pressed
together in promise.

However dark.

It was done.

*

Cyn

She handed the voucher to the manager of the Red
Robin restaurant she was applying at, holding her breath. This was
the fifth place she'd stopped at. Everyone had ready excuses for
their inability to hire her.

But what Cynthia saw in their eyes was
condemnation.

They thought she was some kind of loser. One of
those
women that stayed in an abusive relationship. Weak.
Too stupid to function Without the Loser. Well, she wasn't that.
Cynthia wasn't too sure if that was always the case with the
stereotype. In the space of two days in the shelter there wasn't
one chick she'd met that fit the “weak woman” mold.

The battered woman, yeah. But not weak. Fear
didn't mean weak. In her mind, the women there had been the smart
ones.

So why was everyone treating Cynthia like she
was lesser?

It rubbed her the wrong way.

“Yeah, I think I've got something for you.” The
manager nailed her with a level gaze, though not unkindly, “It's
not going to pay your bills though. You'll have to get a low income
spot on a list...” he trailed off, but not before digging around
for a pen and paper. He wrote down a name and slid it across the
restaurant booth's table. She looked into his eyes, “Why are you
helping me?”

He shrugged, looking uncomfortable as a dull
brick red climbed up his neck to suffuse his cheeks with heat. “My
sister, yeah...” he scrubbed his face and finally finished, “she
had some trouble with this guy....”

“I gotcha,” Cynthia interrupted, nodding. This
dude had firsthand experience. That's why he'd blown past her
voucher from the women's shelter. He'd had some experience.

It made him compassionate. Cynthia wanted to
cry, the tears burned the back of her eyelids, begging for release.
She bit the inside of her cheek instead, the pain bringing her back
to center.

The manager stabbed the name and cleared his
throat, “Call that guy, he'll have something temporary for you
until... until I can give you more hours.”

“Tell me your name again,” Cynthia asked as a
statement.

“Alan. Alan Greene,” he replied, a smile making
the corners of his eyes crinkle in a pleasant way.

Cynthia stood and held out her hand, he shook it
in his much larger one and she swallowed hard. Suddenly she was
missing Kev.

He studied her and she blurted out, “Did it work
out? I mean, the thing with your sister?”

He looked at her a moment longer then responded,
“Yeah.”

She caught something in the universal language
of his body, a tenseness. “Is she okay?”

Alan nodded.

Cynthia stood there, the busboys, waitresses and
customers swallowing their conversation in the din of the
peripheral noise, “What about the asshat?” Cynthia asked.

He grinned at her suddenly and it was sun
breaking through the clouds, she instantly noticed he had an open
face, an attractive one.

“He won't be bothering anyone again,” Alan
finished on an ominous note.

It rang with finality.

Cynthia released the breath she didn't realize
she'd been holding.

Cynthia walked out with a job and a sense of
closure. She had escaped the weirdness of Alaska and she was safe
here. She wondered where Julia was? She thought back on the old
woman from the shelter, Shirley. Cynthia fingered the scrap of
paper with the name on it. Could it be?

Nah, it was too wild to even exist as a
possibility in her brain.

Yet... it circled around in her mind, finally
coming full circle.

Could Julia be alive?

Here.

Right in this very place that she lived now?

Somehow, Cynthia didn't think that she was dead.
If Jules was dead she'd know it.

Wouldn't she?

Cynthia walked up to the bus depot and plunked
down on the bench, chin in hand. Lost in thought.

While only a half mile away, a lone scout of the
Were stood poised, the scent he'd been given to track within his
grasp.

The girl had been located.

*

Anchorage

Karl Truman stuffed his considerable girth into
the tin-can accommodations of the coach seating in the airplane and
grunted uncomfortably in his seat.

He hated traveling.

Especially on the department's dime. However,
when the top brass had heard the findings, there'd been no expense
spared. They'd booked the flight before he could take his next
breath.

Retrieve Cynthia Adams. Like yesterday.

She was a loose cannon and they needed to get a
hold of her before she ran her mouth about her nocturnal
visitors.

It had come to his attention that it was a
national security issue. The government wouldn't want the public
panicking.

About creatures roaming the same streets as
them. Creatures that were violent, strong, dangerous... fast.

Mostly, everyone was nervous because of their
intellect.

Chief forensic specialist, George Alexander, had
blown the lid off all their hopes. Mainly, point and shoot. Hell,
now they were relegated to rounding them up like brilliant humans
with fur.

Truman shoved the bullshit politics out of his
mind. He needed to stay focused on the the task at hand.

Cynthia Adams. If he found her, he'd get
answers. He'd beg for silence. If begging didn't work there were
other methods.

They'd been relayed in glaring detail to him by
the higher ups. Oh yes indeedy. He'd been given a stern talking to.
He had one directive and only one: bring the girl in.

Somehow, chasing after a twenty year old girl
that was innocent of any wrongdoing just to put the squeeze on her
seemed wrong to Truman. It rang a bell of alarm.

He scrubbed his face, raking a hand over his cue
ball head, a few wisps of hair remaining to mar the shiny dome it
was; he was so close to mandatory retirement he could taste it.
Hell, after this assignment was wrapped, he'd essentially be
done.

Why he had to keep poking at the snake with his
stick was beyond him. He should have just accepted Caldwell's death
unquestionably. Instead, he'd dug and rifled until an ugly and
vital truth had been unveiled.

Werewolves.
As if that wasn't enough of a
shocker, if those existed what other things went bump in the
night?
Truman wondered.

Truman's train of thought was derailed when the
blinking light and annoying buzz sounded.

He buckled in, heaving another sigh.

He'd be in Seattle in four hours, hotel booked.
The local police had an APB out on the Adams girl. He'd scoop her
up in no time. Then what happened after he safely ensconced her in
the bosom of Homer PD wasn't really his problem.

At least that's what Truman told himself.

Never underestimate the power of denial.

Truman had never been great at self-delusion.
And it was no different now. He popped a couple of Tums in his
craw, grinding his teeth against the powdery false sweetness.

He closed his eyes to ride out the red-eye, an
uneasy sleep falling over him.

Only his eyes restlessly rolling underneath his
lids gave away his disquiet.

*

Julia

Julia moaned, laying on the floor. After Scott
left, her condition had worsened. Now, she tried to sit up with
thoughts of hauling her body to the bed crowding her head. When Jen
saw how weak Julia was she said, “Okay, you're just being stubborn
now. I'm getting the Healer!”

Jen began to stomp away then turned, “Has anyone
ever told you how stubborn you are?”

Julia looked at her from her hands and knees,
head hung low.

Her question didn't really need a response but
Julia gave her one. It was in her head but she shot it at Jen like
a cannon through the fog of her fever.

About a hundred and two times,
she
thought at Jen.

Jen paused at the door. “What did you say?” she
whispered, her shocked eyes wide.

Julia sat back on the tile, slapping her hands
by her hips. “Did ya hear me?”

“A hundred and two times?” Jen asked, feeling
ridiculous.

Julia slowly nodded. “Yeah, that's it.”

“Oh my gawd, you're a telepath!?” Jen asked,
jumping up and down, clapping.

“Apparently,” Julia said in a sullen voice, the
bathroom spinning while she hung on by a thread.

Jen's expression fell suddenly. “Julia... hey!
Julia!”

But Julia didn't hear her, she'd fallen over
onto the tile, her head smacking the surface.

Scott tore toward the main house, the Victorian
rising up in his vision like an ominous jewel. If he'd been less
graceful he'd have smacked right into Jen. Instead, he grabbed her
by the arms.

“What's wrong?!” Scott asked. “I can't feel
her!”

Jen shook her head. “I don't know, she passed
out, she needs a Healer!”

“Damn,” Scott seethed, “she's so effing
stubborn.”

“Yeah, well, she's that
and
she's
unconscious so let's get her some treatment, dumbass.”

Scott left Jen in his dust and ripped up the
steps two at a time, propelling himself by way of the thick wooden
banister to get Julia help.

If she'd have it.

The hell with it. Even if she wouldn't.

Scott threw the door open and spied her on the
bathroom floor. He was instantly by her side, scooping her small
body against his much larger one. Her skin scorched him and her
eyelids fluttered open. Scott pushed a stray hair out of her face,
his hand so large against it he nearly palmed the entirety of
it.

“Jason,” she said in a whisper.

It was like a slap to Scott, it caused a
physical reaction, his gut clenching. Why would she ask for her
husband? That fucker who had tried to choke her? What was she
thinking?

Scott grit his teeth together and stood with her
in his arms. Her body had grown thin, her skin too pale. Jen rushed
into the bathroom.

“I got the Healer, he's on his way.”

“Thank God,” Scott said.

Julia opened her eyes and saw that Scott had
her. He went to stroke her cheek and she screamed, “Jason!” Her
delirium was in control, her consciousness mixed with the past, the
present mingling with a reality that no longer existed.

The beach scene unrolled in her memory; it
became real to her again as she relived it.

And in that moment, Julia was in anguish, her
inhibitions stripped by her illness.

The call went out and was heard.

By many.

The one she intended and others she did not.

*

Jason

Jason's head jerked up and he stood. He'd felt
that horrible sense of tearing in his chest, like an open wound
that wouldn't close.