The Blood Bundle, Books 1-2: Blood Singers and Blood Song (New Adult Paranormal Vampire/Shifter Romance) (58 page)

Karl stood, his hand palming his gut and watched
the young agent fold himself into the black SUV, the one that
matched his suit, the reflection of the glass the same as his
lenses. With a mocking salute, he drove off, the window sliding to
seal the fed in his car, the motivations and secrets of the FBI
driving off with him.

They didn't know Karl Truman very well. That
well-placed directive, sealed with a punch, would be summarily
ignored. If anything, it put the flag before the bull.

Karl saw only red.

*

Julia

Julia's eyes popped open and she sat straight up
in bed like a movie-zombie, plank straight with a gasping mouth,
minus the rot.

She was greeted by... oh, the entire world and
she blushed to the roots of her hair, the dream still pulsing in
her brain in HD detail.

It was Victor that sat at the edge of her bed
and she fought tears, her fear as great as any she'd ever known.
The remnants of the dream had a precognitive feel to it, jarring
her insides like the aftermath of a crash. Julia had always had
flashes of precognition. But didn't everyone? Until this crazy
Blood Singer stuff had been launched around for her to consider
she'd just chalked it up to one of those things.

Yeah right.

Julia knew better now. Way better.

Scott looked down at her, his arms folded across
his chest, glaring at Victor, his would-be rival. The truth was,
Julia was the real culprit. It was her blood, and hers alone, that
would choose a soulmate out of the ten. However, it had been clear
to all that had paid attention that the two that had gotten early
responses from her had been Victor, and of course, there was
Scott.

Who right now looked like he wanted to tear
Victor's arm off and beat him with it.

However, Jen saved the day, shoving aside the
Combatant like big trees made of flesh. She got to her brother and
stabbed a finger in his chest. “Listen, he-man, take a hike.” He
opened his mouth and she instructed in the tone of Riled Sibling,
“Now.”

Scott's mouth snapped shut and he glowered at
her, his eyes shifting between her and Victor. He sighed and stood
from the bed, laying palms flat down the front of his perfect
pants, a replica of tyrant Jacqueline. Julia thought they looked
like twins. She tried to banish the uncharitable comparison but
couldn't quite do it.

Julia swung her bare feet over the side of the
bed as Paul walked into the room full of Singers.

“What's going on? Is there some problem?”

“No,” Julia said in a flat voice. “Everybody
out!” She shooed the huge men out, grumbles and muttering all
around. Julia was dressed only in jammie bottoms and a cami, her
hair... well,
ouch
. “They were just leaving Paul,” Julia
explained, being careful not to touch anyone's skin. Julia was
still feeling the residual weirdness of her Awakening and she'd
like to
not
manifest some other crazy thing while the
Combatants were all crammed inside her room like sardines.

Scott allowed himself to be herded then when he
was nearly out the door he shut it with the flat of his palm and
Julia ran to the bathroom, slamming the door in his face. He hit
the door with his fist and it shuddered underneath the impact.

“Julia,” Scott said in a low voice, full of
command, ownership. Which just made Julia feel less like discussing
anything with him.

Julia felt the pull of him through the two
inches of one hundred year old wood and pressed her forehead
against the thick panel which had held against his fist.

“We need to talk,” Scott said, placing his huge
hand, fingers spread against the opposite side and Julia
unconsciously mirrored his action with her own hand.

“No. I need some time by myself. I've had... a
lot to take in Scott. I appreciate all that you've done for me but
I have, I need... to get my head on straight.”

Jen huffed in the background. Brothers! Men!
They just had to press. Jen couldn't even imagine being Julia right
now. Almost killed in the meadow, getting sick, the vampire
skirmish. Finding out she was essentially the blood messiah of the
Singers. It was amazing to Jen that she was even coherent. Then
there was the added issue of the worst leader of the thirteen
regions making an unannounced visit. Yet, Jen felt for her brother.
He'd been independent with his life plan well-laid in front of him.
Now he wanted someone he'd never have chosen. Blood ruled all. It
was as simple as that.

Jen touched Scott's back and he stiffened.

“She won't listen,” he growled at her, his
forehead still pressed against the wall.

“Try not pushing, Scott,” Jen said gently.

He turned, his palm sliding off the wood as
Julia stepped away from the other side and then someone began
pounding on the door which led into her room.

“Can it, asshole!” Scott bellowed unreasonably
and Jen shook her head. He was so pig-headed that his very nature
might be wrong. How could he lead with all that anger?

Julia heard Scott yell and her chest tightened
with his simmering rage. How could she be linked to this hothead?
Why did she give a care that he was angry, frustrated with her
inability to be decisive? Julia didn't know exactly but before she
explored all of the blood ties, there was one thing that was
getting her full attention.

The dream.

It meant something. Julia needed to talk with
someone that could possibly interpret it. That could free her from
the wolf and vampire that were tied to her by blood. Julia knew her
liberty would never be secure until that was terminated. Somehow,
that dream was speaking to that.

What was it saying?

*

Cyn

Cynthia would have killed for a shower, the
traipsing across the country was the suckiest enterprise she'd ever
undertaken. Of course, she was from Alaska and hiking was something
where your parents laced boots on your feet in toddlerhood and
chucked your chubby ass out the door with the directive:
walk.

Everyone did and it was ingrained. However,
Cynthia had never really taken that to heart, instead embracing her
girlie side. In this instance, she missed not being a traditional
Alaskan chic. Jules would have kicked ass on this journey. Cynthia
sighed, struggling not to become a whining bitch.

Adi gave her a light tap on the arm, fresh as a
damn daisy and Cynthia fumed. “Tired?” she asked, cocking a golden
brow, her tanned face speaking to her time in the outdoors.

Cynthia was betting werewolves didn't get
wrinkles, bags and other unattractive crap. It put Cynthia in a
funk. “Yeah, beat. These Wereguys can trudge to the ends of time
but I need some ass planting time.”

Adi smiled, whistling. “Hey guys, princess here
is tired.”

“Thanks, sweet thing, that gets them so ready to
like me,” Cynthia said.

“Oh... they like ya. That's isn't the problem,”
Adi said without a trace of humor.

Great,
Cynthia thought,
just
great.

The men walked back to where
Cynthia stood and it was then that she noticed how
other
they seemed. When they weren't
together you didn't notice that almost buzzing, contained energy
that radiated just beneath their skin, present but
unnoticed.

In a group, they sung with it. A vibrating
electricity poured over her as they neared and she swayed with the
force of it.

“
Hey!” Jason yelled, reaching
for her and Cynthia jerked away from his hand.

And fell against Emmanuel.

Emmanuel grabbed the exhausted girl against
him, meaning only to catch her and his wolf burst over the top of
them both, his change smacking into her like a wall of sodden
flesh. Cynthia fell from the impact, landing on her back and took a
front row seat to his Change. Brought on by the moon, not full but
near enough. But mainly brought on by her touch. Singer called to
Wolf, and there Emmanuel stood, in his wolfen form, half-human,
half-Were. Seven feet of muscled fur.

Cynthia looked around and every male fell to
the call.

Oh happy day,
Cynthia
thought in a random fog, like dominoes falling, every male
Changed.

And Adi as well. Skin sloughed, flesh and
bone snapped and reconnected in a noisy chorus of wet sucking and
repositioning that Cynthia closed her eyes against, her mind
rebelling the visual onslaught in defensive protection.

Suddenly, instead of two girls and six males
it was a pack of werewolves and one Singer on her back, exhausted
and now pretty damn scared.

When Emmanuel reached for her, she cringed
away, throwing up her hands in a final defensive gesture.

The memory of the last werewolf burned into
the deepest recesses of her mind. The horror of that moment came
alive in a single sweep of terror that caused every part of Cynthia
to freeze. She couldn't think, breathe... move.

She was utterly convinced she would die
now.

*

William

“Tell me, Singer,” William instructed and Jen's
glazed eyes held his gray gaze.

He tilted her neck to the side then let her chin
fall, her body very still against his touch.

“She rebels,” Jen answered robotically.

“And?” William prompted.

“She dreams of you... and her husband.”

William frowned thoughtfully. That was not good.
He could feel her Awakening. He must complete the blood-share or
there would be no chance of a union. As it was, he was now the de
facto leader of Merlin's Southeastern Kiss of vampire. Yet, what
good was that if he did not have a mate to share it with? With whom
he could perpetuate a new order. Daywalking vampire, fueled by
Singer blood, his progeny. His and Julia's.

And with the exception of Claire, there would be
another coven to bring to heel, for what had been brought against
him.

William returned his attention to the Singer.
His thirst was ravenous but he must not overindulge. William needed
to be sharp, but was one day out without blood. He eyed this one,
strongly telepathic and used what little he had to drill his
commands home.

Do not leave her side, lure her to an area
where the ones who guard her are not near.

He watched the Singer flinch. Thrall always
had that effect when the one compelled was instructed to do things
not of their choosing. Which was often of course. Thrall was almost
never used on the willing.

Unbutton your sleeve,
William instructed mentally, cringing a little when the
girl's eyes stood with heavy accusation on his.

He stepped forward, as hungry as he'd ever
been except during Merlin's torture, and gripping her small forearm
he struck deep, the blood of the Singer a coursing melodious roar
in his body, nourishing him at the cellular level, his eyes going
red in their sockets as he pulled from her.

Not common human stock, but pure blood,
oxygenated and perfectly balanced for the vampiric body. When her
blood reached his deepest core, it burst and combined with their
mutual genetics, causing deep wounds from the torture and forced
shapeshifting changes to heal instantly, a blanket of soothing
rightness cast, binding his body together more strongly than ever
before.

William lifted his mouth off her forearm and
gave her a look of deep respect, his heart heavy when he saw the
tears of frustration she shed, her every fiber begging for escape.
Yet there she stood, rooted by thrall, laid by a vampire with
enough Singer heritage to accomplish such a thing against
another.

Jen knew in her heart that she was a traitor
to Julia.

To all Singers. Her Queen trusted her and
she would betray that trust because of a damned vampire. Who now
held her blood.

And the blood of their Queen.

Jen's soul shrieked as the vampire stared at
her, whispering directions to snare Julia.

She nodded acquiescence.

Jen had no choice.

She closed the sleeve to hide his feeding
and walked away with stiff purpose.

It was a death sentence, the Combatant would
kill her.

They would kill anyone who threatened the
Queen of the Singers.

It was Blood Law, absolute and
merciless.

Final.

Southeastern Pack

“He's on to us,” Alan Greene said with
resignation. His hazel eyes, rimmed by dark lashes, glared at the
Southeastern Packmaster in frustration.

David nodded, that's what he'd been afraid of.
Their relations with the Northwestern Pack were strained after the
problem with their sadistic Were. David would always regret that
they'd not taken action when Alan's sister had been attacked by the
rogue.

Sometimes, avoiding war had a cost that was not
felt immediately but well afterward, like endless ripples in a lake
after a stone was skipped.

“I figured it was a matter of time before
someone clever enough connected the dots...” David gave Alan a hard
look and continued, “what about our guy at the courts?”

“Hard drive trail.” Alan considered briefly,
then, “That
mongrel
attacked Lacey before
computers so there was a small amount of records that were input by
hand.”

“Dammit,” David swore softly. “And after we've
tried so hard to assimilate in mainstream society.”

“Yeah,” Alan agreed.

“And Cynthia Adams?” David asked.

“Slash has it,” Alan said and watched blatant
relief wash over his Packmaster's face.

“Well thank the moon for small favors.” David
palmed his chin thoughtfully. “What about the cop from Homer?”

Alan laughed. “He's pretty sharp. In fact, he'd
make an awesome wolf. He sure has the nose for it.”

“Stop dreaming, you know the rules...”