The Blood Bundle, Books 1-2: Blood Singers and Blood Song (New Adult Paranormal Vampire/Shifter Romance) (46 page)

She shook her head, embarrassed to be held
by him. By anyone.

Another pain wracked her body and she bit
her tongue to hold in the shriek.

Scott yelled at the guard, feeling an echo
of it in his own body, “Get the Healer.”

He ran to get Cyrus.

Scott took the steps two at a time, thinking
that they'd just gotten over one chaotic event only to have another
rear its ugly head.

*

William

William let the stringy blood trail down from
his broken fang, which even now was repairing itself, the calcified
bone knitting itself as he hung there like a limp dishrag.

Of course, they were feeding him all the blood
in the world to keep him awake and conscious for the torture.

William held his intestines inside the cavity of
his body with one hand while the other supported his weight on the
bloodied and gore-soaked floor. The pain was such a constant that
he was building tolerance. Unfortunately, the one that he'd shared
blood with was meant to take the burden of his pain. When his cup
became full, it flowed over its bounds, spilling to the other
person.

In this case, Julia.

As close as William could manage it, he
determined that today was probably the first day that he could not
stifle spillage. It had breached his boundaries, the open hole of
his body being the worst injury yet.

When Merlin strode in and looked at him without
mercy, William understood that things had not deteriorated as much
as they could.

“He heals?” Merlin queried of the one who
wielded the barbed whip.

The torturer nodded, wiping the sweat off his
brow. It was obvious that torturing was hard work. He had exerted
himself in the stripping of flesh, the beating of William's face,
and the partial evisceration evidenced in his bulging
intestines.

Already the swelling that had shut his eye was
lessening and William cast a look of such withering contempt that
Merlin laughed. “Yes, runner, loathe me if you will, but blame your
kiss' leader. It is Gabriel that knew what would be your fate.”

“Why?” William asked.

Merlin waved his hand around dismissively. “He
does not wish the liability of the Rare One in his kiss. He has
said she had been... damaging.”

William frowned then winced as the cut above his
brow reopened. “It is not she which troubles him, but his status as
overlord. She well and truly threatens his leadership. So he will
sweep her to another coven. Making it your problem.”

“We can handle the female, runner,” Merlin said,
his eyes narrowing on William.

William smiled and Merlin frowned.

As if the unworthy male could dream of what it
would be like to hold a Rare One in the coven. Did he not even
understand their basic history? Had he even studied the Book of
Blood as required for a leader of their species?

“More,” Merlin said, turning.

William's torturer shrugged huge shoulders, the
barbs dull from use, from strikes against his flesh. “There is not
a surface without wounds, Merlin.”

Merlin opened his mouth in a hiss, “Do it. Make
it as deep and vile as possible. We need that Rare One. We will
make them come to us.”

His head swiveled in William's direction. “Does
she ail, runner?”

William could feel that his pain was less. And
it was not all his exceptional healing, aided by his Singer
heritage.

“I do not know,” William lied.

Merlin threw back his head and laughed. “You
care for her,” he said in surprise.

William stared at the wretched excuse of a
vampire, mired in deception, married to greed.

“This is actually amusing. I shall watch your
degradation,” he paused in his antagonizing, giving William a
steady look, “so you know, I gave my word of honor that I would not
torture you, that it would be a superficial consequence.”

“It is no surprise then, that you partake in the
pleasure of my pain, that a promise made to my leader would be
broken. If Gabriel is power hungry, then you are drowning in a
decadence which is nameless,” William said in a low voice gone
thick with rage and blood. He spit it out onto the stone,
straightening to his knees, his entrails now held by new skin, his
hand that had caused them not to spill, dropping to his side. His
gray eyes met Merlin's. “Julia is not a trifle. You may retrieve
her but if the circle has come, she will be immune to anything and
everything that you bring. All that you bring.”

Merlin's eyes narrowed into slits then he turned
to Whip-bearer and nodded.

The weapon slung behind his massive shoulder and
whistling through the air, tore into William's chest, a thousand
burning bee stings hitting the area that had just healed an hour
before.

William flinched, holding the pain in the
deepest part of his soul.

Yet, no vampire was invincible and the agony
escaped, flying on the blood-binding he shared with Julia, going
off on a path that led only to her.

*

Jason

Jason sat straight up in his bed, gasping. He
clutched his hand to his chest as if a hole had opened there.

Holy shit, what the hell was that? He looked
down at his chest, feeling the smooth walls of muscle over
unblemished and perfect skin and hesitated as another burning pain
hit the same area and he winced.

What the eff did this mean?

He got out of the bed and padded across his
room, absently stroking his sternum, the burning like heartburn
with a kick and looked out at the woods, the moon casting her shine
on everything, causing it to look blanketed in a silver that
illuminated everything.

A cloud moved across the moon, tearing the
luminescence away and when it passed Tony stood outside his
window.

Jason jumped in his skin and Tony smiled.

That fucker
, Jason thought, instantly
feeling his wolf roil under his skin in a tortuous pull of heat and
hatred. The wolf wanted out and the moon's weight and fullness
encircled them both, calling to Jason.

Summoning him.

Jason resisted but it was not without an effort
that was an ugly, unnatural feeling. What would have felt right
would have been to burst his skin like a bird taking flight. But he
wasn't a bird, it would have been his wolf. And he didn't want to
be labeled Feral.

He wouldn't be, ever again.

Jason came to himself and slowly raised his
hand, popping the bird at the bastard. Tony's smirk fell off his
face like a brick landing and Jason closed the curtain to block his
rotten ass from sight.

The lurking dickhead. What the hell was he up to
anyway? Skulking around the compound. Jason knew it wasn't his
security detail shift. But there he was, being a prick. Seemed a
natural skill for him.

Jason threw himself back on the bed, crossing
his ankles and folding his arms behind himself. His mind went right
to Julia, as it did every day. He sat stewing as he remembered his
conversation with the Packmaster from yesterday.

Lawrence steepled his fingers, regarding his
newest wolf, a natural Alpha and sighed. There were no good
explanations, there was only Pack Law.

“
The Rare One is the obvious complement to
you, Jason. You are both Singers, you have turned, you are a rare
Red...” he spread his hands by his sides then leveled Jason with a
hard stare. “I believe it is you in the prophesy of the Book of
Luna.” Lawrence recited the exact scripture he had quoted to Tony
not long ago. But unlike Tony, this wolf was keenly intelligent and
not rash. Jason mulled it over, Lawrence could almost see his
thoughts washing over his face like a page turned.

“
That would mean that she is bound to a blood
drinker and a Were!” Jason said in a loud voice that was without
hope.

“
And the Singer who chooses her
blood.”

Jason threw up his hands. “She is my wife,”
he enunciated like Lawrence was a little stupid, his voice a
vibrating weapon before use.

Lawrence stared at Jason, reining in his
impatience. “That is not the way of it for supernaturals. She has
consummated nothing. Chosen no one.”

“
She chose me.”

Lawrence nodded. “Yes, in your prior human
existence, under the human's rules, the laws which govern their
species, she was your female.” His eyes met Jason's. “That is no
more. Now you are ruled by the moon, by your wolf. She is ruled by
her blood.”

Jason pounded his fist into his open palm.
“It's not fair!”

Lawrence nodded again. He was starting to
look like a bobble head, Jason thought uncharitably. “How did she
get my blood? I didn't break her skin with the... attack,” Jason
muttered the last under his breath, the shame infusing him with
discomfort.

Lawrence palmed his chin, thinking. Suddenly
he touched on a thought and asked, “Do you think that she may have
consumed or touched some of your blood when you were attacked? It
wouldn't take much if it entered a Singer as rare as she.”

Jason thought about that horrible night on
the beach, how he'd yelled, or tried to yell, for her to run, his
throat a bloody ruin. How she'd come over, sliding in tight next to
him and shoving her hands against the wound. He'd coughed.

Had the blood gotten in her mouth? Her
hands?

“
Do you see? It would only have taken a
microscopic amount at the time of your change. You were already
Becoming. It was fate. You were meant to be a wolf, the instant the
attack transpired, you were turning. She touched you, consumed some
of your essence through blood.” Lawrence shrugged.

When Jason said nothing Lawrence let his
last comment ring in the room like a damning proclamation, “She is
a Blood Singer. It is what she is. Their Blood governs them. It
always has. It always will.”

They stared at each other.

Jason asked the one thing he needed to know,
he was going crazy not knowing. “Can I get her back?”

Lawrence nodded. “If you wish for her to be
your mate, you will have to break the bonds that she has with the
others.”

“
How?” Jason asked, already hating the
answer.

Deep down, he knew what it was.

Lawrence smiled. Jason found it to be the
thing they accused him of being only weeks before: feral.

“
I think you know the answer to that,
wolf.”

Jason did.

He walked out, knowing his future, but not
embracing it.

Never that.

Region One

Cyrus met Scott's eyes and shook his head. “This
is deliberate, Scott.”

Scott beat his fist onto the molding that
surrounded the door. Dammit, just when they were making headway
some other fucktastrophe came along and he had to buck up to the
challenge. Hell, he was all about manning up. That was his life,
actually. As the first born son of the leader of Region One, he was
fine on-diddy with manning up.

If he knew what the hell he was up
against.

But Julia writhing around with phantom pain was
un-effing-doing him. Scott tore a hand through his hair and finally
said, “What do we do?” His eyes nailed Cyrus, demanding
resolution.

“This is the blood-binding working its
magic.”

“Which?” Scott asked in a terse voice.

Cyrus shrugged, understanding the entire
question in the one word. “I'm guessing vamp.” His eyes met Scott
with a cautionary
but
stamped in them.

Scott stilled. “And?”

“The Were is going to know. He'll get
psychosomatic symptoms as well.”

“Well hell, isn't this a fuckburger,” Michael
said from the corner and Scott glared at him. “You,” he pointed at
Michael, “shut up.”

While his brother dreamed of conjuring a fine
illusion for him he turned his attention to Jen. “I'm ready for
opinions from the peanut gallery.”

Jen looked at Cyrus who gazed back. “She needs
to reunite with this vampire, break the blood tie,” he said
emphatically.

“But why is this happening?” Jen asked, using
her palm to indicate Julia's pain.

“My best guess is he's being tortured to get to
her.”

The room fell into a heavy silence, Brendan
finally broke it, “You mean, this vamp is laying around while
someone takes chunks out of him?”

Cyrus chuckled. “No. It may not be as simple as
that.”

“Like he's not a volunteer,” Jen stated.

“I'll volunteer. I'll take chunks out of him,”
Scott said. “For free. Hell... for fun,” Scott ground out.

“No,” Julia whispered, her eyes rolling to his.
“He hasn't done anything.”

Scott nodded his head in a quick angry jerking
motion. “Oh yeah, he's
so
innocent. Those vampires, such an
honest bunch.”

“Come on Julia! Think. They are after power,
just like the Weres.” His eyes bore down on hers and Julia squeezed
hers tight against the condemnation in his.

“I understand.” Her eyes snapped open, searing a
line of heat on every place they fell. Scott swallowed against the
wash of emotion, a backlash of her agony struck him like a whip
dipped in acid. “However,” and she looked at each sibling, her gaze
landing on Marcus as he entered the doorway, “the Singers don't
seem much different to me. You need someone who cares about uniting
everyone. So these wars will stop.” Her eyes flared at him then she
turned away, both hands laid against her chest.

Scott ached to touch her and on Cyrus' nod came
forward. “Will it help?” he asked, hating the helpless feeling in
his guts. Cyrus nodded then added a cautionary, “I won't lie, it
will hurt. You will share in it.”

Scott shrugged, his eyes flicking to Marcus' who
nodded and answered for Scott. His father used the very words that
he'd been thinking. “It is his job as Combatant. To protect the
Queen.”

Julia groaned and muttered something under her
breath.