The Blood Bundle, Books 1-2: Blood Singers and Blood Song (New Adult Paranormal Vampire/Shifter Romance) (61 page)

It was a reflection of how she felt.

She found her mind incessantly circling Marcus'
words from before. That Jacqueline was not a threat, that all
prophetic dreams were not to be taken as a literal translation.
Well, he hadn't been there and it seemed as though Jacqueline was
the catalyst for the dream. Yet, logically it couldn't be her that
was a problem. Hell, Jacqueline's advisor was a Combatant. Of
course, his mind couldn't be read but his actions could.

Like now.

Julia felt him at her back and that warmth began
where he stood, the wall of heat that perfectly fit his body shape
pushing her from behind, enveloping her, like a slow burning
ember.

“Julia,” he said.

“Yes, Victor?” she answered, rising.

“You knew it was I?”

She faced him, nodding. Julia looked up at
Victor. It was a stretch, like all the Combatant, they were giants,
a foot or more taller than herself. It was his eyes that took Julia
back. Seeing him in the nighttime did not do them justice. She'd
thought them a dark color, as Scott's were, like black velvet, as
his natural mother's were. But no, they were a deep shade of blue,
like midnight kissed with navy. His hair was a glossy sand color,
wishing to be blond but having that warm hue that comes from
brunette.

Julia realized she'd been staring and blushed.
He had the same effect on her that Scott did.

That sobered her. The soulmate crap. Just
thinking about it chased away those soft warm feelings of
connection that apparently were part and parcel to her lovely
lineage. Blood born ties.

Victor moved to touch her and she stepped back
and his hands dropped by his sides, his clothes were perfection and
it suddenly reminded her of Cyn. She was like his fashion slave
twin and it made Julia giggle in the middle of the situation and
she laughed harder.

Victor looked at her like she'd lost her mind.
“What is so funny?”

Julia held her side, helpless at the ridiculous
thought, the sharp eyes of the Combatant drilling her. Julia
ignored them. Finally, she was able to calm down enough to respond,
“My friend Cyn...”

“Whom?” Victor asked.

“Oh yeah... Cynthia Adams. We just,” Julia
gulped her emotion like a bitter pill, “called her Cyn like a
nickname.”

“She does have a proper name then,” Victor said,
the ghost of a smile on his lips, giving Julia a jab of subtle
humor which pleased her. She'd thought he was as humorless as his
leader.
Humorless people needed to go
, Julia thought
randomly.

“Yes.” Julia smiled then explained further, “She
was very... concerned about fashion,” she finished as
diplomatically as possible.

“And how is that humorous?” Victor pressed.

“'Cuz you're a poster boy for fashion,” Michael
interrupted them and Julia took another step away from Victor, who
frowned at the added distance, turning his displeasure on the other
man.

“You tread where even angels fear, my
friend.”

Michael cocked a fair brow, and made like he had
two wings on either side of his body and flapped them in a highly
annoying parody of the heavenly beings. “Yeah? I'm not much of a
poetry fan, pal.”

Julia muffled a low groan.

“Yes, I gathered that by your general lack of
manners,” Victor said, his body going suddenly still.

Uh-oh,
Julia thought, watching Michael
get That Look. The same look all his brothers got and Scott had in
spades when their Jimmies were good and rustled.

“Let's take a chill pill fellas, we don't need
any testosterone surge here with the world showing up for fun
soon.”

They looked at her and she nodded. “Marcus told
me what the deal was. And I, for one... don't want inner sanctum
squabbles.”

“Nothing would prevent or distract the Combatant
from protecting the Queen,” Victor said by rote.

“Ha!” Michael snorted in dismissal.

Wonderful,
Julia thought, sensing the
wounded male pride that would need to be assuaged.

The rest of the Combatant came trooping up and
Julia's heart sank. Michael grinned like the Cheshire cat and gave
them a come hither look. Julia knew what he would do before Scott
yelled out a warning.

It was his wink that told the story for
Julia.

Suddenly the Combatant were neck deep in
stinking piles of manure and Julia was in hysterics, Scott's face
an unbecoming purple color. She had always had trouble with the
need to laugh at inappropriate times and this was no exception.

“Hey guys!” Michael said as he ran at Julia. “I
think she'll be okay while you guys brew in a pile of shit for
thirty seconds.”

“Oh Michael... that is so wrong on about fifty
different levels,” Julia barely got out, the laughter giving her an
unladylike case of hiccups that wouldn't quit.

“Lighten up guys, that's what queenie here
needs. You're all brimstone and fire and she needs a break from
your meathead asses.”

This is bad,
Julia thought, seeing the
Combatant's faces, Scott and Victor seemed especially pissed.
Michael grabbed Julia's hand and dragged her up the small hill and
away from some very angry protectors as they struggled to get out
of the mess he'd put them in.

“She isn't safe,” Scott bellowed from his pile
of excrement.

Julia covered her mouth to stifle her laughter.
“Thirty seconds?” she asked, horrified.

Michael flushed a deep red and Julia cocked a
brow. “It might be a tad longer,” he said with mock innocence with
his thumb and forefinger a hairsbreadth apart to show how much
longer.

Julia stopped and looked up at him. “How
long?”

“I got a boost from Paul.”

Well shit
, Julia thought.

“He's a Negator but his secondary is
Amplifier.”

Julia's hand dropped as laughter burst and she
would have replied but Jacqueline walked out and saw the two of
them. It corked their humor as effectively as having their tongues
cut from their mouths.

“I'll let ya go,” Michael said, winking.

“Thanks,” Julia said in a droll way, loving him
abandoning her for Jacqueline's presence.

Loving it.

She turned to Jacqueline and hoped she didn't
see the Combatant's stinking temporary prison and missed her minute
stroking of something in her pocket. “Walk with me, my Queen,”
Jacqueline said.

Tendrils of unease that had swirled before
wrapped Julia instantly and her disquiet swelled and overflowed,
hinting at terror, the dream's portentous warning ringing a dismal
alarm.

It made Jason of the Were stifle a howl, his
hackles standing up at bristled attention not far from where Julia
stood with her enemy beside her. From the opposite direction
William burst from the protective cover the leaves had provided him
from the sunlight that still rode above the canopy of the forest.
His mouth opened and he hissed involuntarily; his mind set on
Julia.

She was in danger, his blood hummed with it.

It was not from the source he would have
surmised it would be.

Mason met his eyes and whispered the word to
William, twilight was hours away from their rescue of her.

Betrayal,
he spoke
decisively.

It was not the wolves that would threaten the
woman he needed, the woman he'd vowed to protect, to love.

It was a viper in their midst. A Singer of royal
constitution and mental instability. In the sure grips of power
hunger. In the case of this one: starvation.

Frustration sunk its talons into William, his
fangs and claws simultaneously punching out of their flesh houses,
readying him for protecting something so vulnerable, so precious...
and so far away.

He hit the ground with his fists, the tremor
like a small quake, rousing the small creatures of the forest to
flee.

Alerting the Were of his anger in a primitive
pop of smell and sound.

The vampire of the Southeastern Kiss broke from
their slumber to assemble, awoken from their light sleep by the
tightrope sprung by the emotions of their new leader.

Jason growled, feeling the turmoil of the enemy,
the reason for it was even more damning.

Julia was in danger.

This time, it would not be from him.

Jason would use what he had become to save
her.

Then they would be together again.

It was meant to be.

Truman

Karl Truman had walked a solid mile in, the
pathway narrowing in a way that screamed that he was lost, his eyes
telling him to go back to the car even as his nose spurred him
on.

Hell, his nose was in a constant state of
tremor, forget twitching. That was long past, in favor of a small
earthquake of potential discovery.

When he reached the jagged boulders, a light
sweat covered him. His chest rose and fell like it used to when
hiking was fun and not a chore, Karl saw the symbol and his nose
grew still.

He'd found the metaphorical bone.

Chiseled into an outcropping of large stones, a
sandy apricot in color, washed by countless eons of rain an
inscription read:
Lobo de Luna
.

It was absent of color, if Truman hadn't been
looking, he would have missed it. Around the words were the
faintest marks, almost tribal in their look, Celtic. He traced a
finger over the deep etching. A light buzz traveled up his arm,
shooting to his armpit and a bursting heat radiated from the
contact. He jerked his hand back like it had been scorched.

Truman didn't even flinch when a low growl
sounded, unsurprised. He turned slowly and curled his fists in a
defensive posture that was as automatic as breathing.

They might take him, but he wouldn't be the
easiest human they'd ever found.

However, it was not what he thought it would be,
the next words the strangest of his life.

“Welcome home, wolf,” the Packmaster of the
Northwestern Pack said in a growl as his humanity left him in a
sliding melt of flesh as fur flowed over his body like a match to
flame.

When the werewolf sunk its teeth like small
daggers into Truman's shoulder he didn't even feel it, the numbness
descended over him instantly.

He felt the bite of the wolf as some would have
felt the sting of the black widow. Silent, poisonous.

Final.

And in the case of Truman, welcome.

When the half-breed lost consciousness Lawrence
released him and the worn human fell to his side, blood flowing
freely and dampening the cool moss of the forest floor underneath
where he lay.

Lawrence's Change reversed itself seamlessly and
his human form reasserted itself, the moon full in one day
hence.

He turned to his front sentry with a smile. “The
plot thickens, Ford.”

The FBI agent, or the man that Truman had met,
gave a nod of deference to his pack leader. “It does.”

“You did well.”

“You mean, Packmaster, that my nose did.”

Lawrence laughed. “Yes, you are right. However,
it was you that scouted him as more than just police.”

Ford shrugged, his bulging form no longer hidden
by a suit not made for the human form a werewolf held. “It was the
way he asked questions of the Southeastern first, the way he dug,”
he gave a low chuckle of grudging admiration.

“It will be interesting to see what line he
manifests,” Lawrence said thoughtfully, palming his chin. Only an
Alpha could bring a human to wolf. Impossible if that human did not
possess the blood of a Were. Which this human did. He had nearly
been too old to turn, having seen almost a half century of the
moon's phases.

Ford seemed to read his leader's mind. “It was a
near thing. His age.”

Lawrence nodded, watching the blood slow and
begin to congeal against the torn flesh of his upper shoulder, the
cop's body twitching as the blood of the Were awoke to the summons
his bite had began.

Both Were looked to the heavens, a sliver of the
sky clearly visible as darkness crept in.

The moon would be nearly full this night.

Karl Truman would Become. His nose had found
more than a clue for him as a police officer, but the call of his
brethren.

Enough blood to scent the den of wolves where he
belonged.

Though he did yet know it, Karl Truman's body
convulsed in a change from human to wolf. Brought on by
circumstance, engineered by fate.

*

Julia

Julia kept a careful distance between herself
and Jacqueline, the leader of their sister Region, true mother to a
contender for a royal pairing and walked. Julia understood
politics, just enough to know she wasn't a fangirl.

Really? She was completely the antithesis of who
they should be grooming for the role Julia now found herself
in.

Jacqueline laced slim fingers behind herself as
she walked slightly ahead and to the right of Julia. The silence
was awkward and thick and Julia allowed its discomfort to roll out
between them. Julia was not bothered in the least. She had enough
to worry about with all that was here, with all that was coming.
This leader's apparent pettiness was small enough to be easily
dismissed. Again Julia thought of Cyn and felt a small smile curl
on her lips. It was truly wonderful to think about Cyn with
happiness instead of that abiding loss. Sometimes, the memories of
what had been were powerful enough to affirm a person in the
present.

Sometimes.

“I am royal as well,” Jacqueline said by way of
breaking the ice.

“I know,” Julia replied levelly.

“Then you must understand how much it would
benefit the thirteen Regions that someone who possesses both royal
blood and the wisdom of centuries behind them... should also lead
here, with the Combatant as guard.” She cocked an inky black
eyebrow at Julia and she was struck by the same sardonic expression
that Scott had used on her. Julia struggled not to superimpose the
two people for a moment. The vertigo shattered as Julia righted the
two in her mind with an effort.