Blood Song: Refrain (Blood Song Series Book 2)

by Charli B. Rose

  I couldn’t help myself. I stroked her a few more times before I collapsed next to her sated body. Bringing my fingers to my lips, I cleaned the lingering traces of her from my skin. She turned her face to me slowly, a dreamy smile on her face. Everything inside me wanted to keep that expression on her.

  When she finally caught her breath, she leaned up and looked at where my pleasure marked and claimed her. Before my muddled mind could comprehend what she was doing, she’d dipped her finger into it and was bringing it to her lips.

  Thankfully, I had the presence of mind to grab her wrist. Giving her a sad smile, I shook my head and wiped myself from her fingertip with my discarded boxers. I moved to wipe it from her torso. But the sight of me on her was too alluring to just erase. I longed to embed myself beneath the surface of her like she had me. Propping myself up on one elbow, I used my free hand to rub my essence into her skin, smearing myself over her stomach, up over the swell of her breasts, down the tautness of her thighs, until every trace of the pleasure she’d brought me had been absorbed into her flesh. It wasn’t exactly the way I wanted to be inside her. But it would have to suffice. For now.

  “Oh, right,” she whispered, her eyes filling. “No bodily fluids mixing. Circe warned me about the danger of that. Have to avoid clinginess. Sorry, I forgot.” She closed her eyes.

  I was such an ass. I only wanted to protect her. Instead, I’d hurt her.

  She slung her legs over the edge of the mattress and moved to stand, to retreat. I wrapped my arm around her waist and tugged her back against my chest, tucking her into my embrace.

  “You have nothing to be sorry about. And I don’t mind you being linked to me. Matter of fact, I think I’d love having you cling to me and vice versa. I swear to you, I want nothing more than to rub my essence into your skin, to have you drink it down, to splatter it inside you. But given my situation and the shortness of my freedom, it wouldn’t be fair to have you tied to me when I’m unavailable to be anything more than a memory,” I explained, pain lancing my words. Damn, I hadn’t told her about my ticking clock.

  Though her own pain was evident in her eyes, she reached a hand out to my cheek, stroking it and imparting comfort to me.

  I settled us more comfortably on the pillows and tugged the blankets up over our bodies. With her in my arms, I was able to forget the ticking clock and the darkness waiting to drown me once again. Contentment and peace replaced the foreboding, and I embraced it much like I embraced Celesta.

  Shifting warmth against my skin drew me from a deep slumber. A press of flesh and muscle against my cock caused a hiss to slip through my teeth. My eyes fluttered open as I tried to determine if I was dreaming or awake. Other parts of my body woke up much faster than my brain—parts that were straining toward warmth and softness. Aching and yearning for it.

  To my dismay and my dick’s pleasure, Celesta moaned and snuggled closer to me, but she didn’t awaken. I pressed my lips to her neck, kissing her tenderly and reveling in the feel of her for a few moments. Then I forced myself to ease away from her naked heat while I still had the willpower to move.

  ♪ Incomplete by James Bay

  I had meetings this morning anyway, so I had to get moving. In a few short hours, I’d have no obligations to keep me from Celesta. With a sigh, I started my day.

  Shower, dress, breakfast, kiss Celesta goodbye, drive to the office. All monotonous tasks that had to be done so that I could get back to her—to the only thing that seemed to matter in my world anymore.

  The office bustled with activity since I arrived a little later than normal. Mrs. Stephenson hastily got to her feet and scrambled to meet me as I stepped off the elevator.

  “It’s a good thing you’re late. You just missed Lydia,” she mumbled under her breath.

  “Thank goodness for small favors. I don’t have time to deal with her today.”

  “Dr. Gregory should be up in about fifteen minutes for your meeting.”

  “Thank you.” I entered my office and closed the door behind me. I had just enough time to check in with Marcus.

  As I sank into my chair, I dialed him up.

  “I was beginning to think you were mad with me. You didn’t call when the sun rose this morning to check in,” his deep voice bellowed over the phone.

  Despite my annoyance at his lack of answers so far, I still chuckled. “Now why would I be angry with you? Would it be because you’re charging me an arm and a leg to locate a mere human girl and you’ve yet to find her?”

  “It could be that, yes. My connection in the records office is on vacation. But as soon as she’s back, I’m paying her a visit. You’ll have answers soon,” Marcus vowed.

  “I’m not going to hold my breath,” I growled. I’d done that girl wrong by seizing her father’s assets. To be the man Celesta thought I was, I had to correct this injustice.

  “Not like you could die from holding your breath,” he responded with a hearty laugh. “How about this, if I haven’t found out where she is within the next couple of weeks, I’ll give you your money back.”

  “I’d rather you be successful than to have the money back.”

  “Understood. Should I expect a check-in call in a couple of days?” he teased.

  “Nah. I’m heading out of town with my girlfriend. I’ll touch base with you when I return to work next week.” I spun my chair toward my computer and typed in my password.

  “Are you dying? I’ve never known you to take a day off, let alone a vacation,” he said in mock astonishment.

  “Then it’s high time I did, don’t you think?”

  “Enjoy. Hopefully, I’ll have news for you when you return.”

  I disconnected without saying goodbye, too stunned by the urgent message in my inbox from an unknown sender. It contained a photo of me and Celesta. Not one of the paparazzi photos. This was an image of the two of us kissing in the elevator in my office building. Someone had hacked into the security feed in my own building.

  Written beneath the image were the words: Looking good, Thoven. Does she make a good snack?

  It was unsigned, but I knew who it had to be. Only one person still spelled my name with the original spelling—Cassandra.

  I shot off an email to Marcus, requesting his digital security experts go through my system and fix any vulnerabilities.

  A soft knock sounded on the door.

  “Come in,” I called.

  As Abigail approached my desk, I stood to shake her hand. “Good morning, Abigail.”

  “Good morning,” she responded and sank down across from me. “If it’s OK with you, I’d like to go through each protein and give you my thoughts on them.”

  “That would be fine.” I leaned back in my chair, prepared to absorb the information which had become so vital to my existence. I was hanging my entire future on Abigail figuring out not only how the vampiral virus worked, but how to reverse it.

  “So, VP1 most definitely seems to cause aggression by altering brain chemistry and increasing testosterone production. I think it also enhances sense of smell. It only affects subjects who are injected with it. Its effects seem to be negated when the protein is folded differently. VP2 seemed to be a nonfunctional protein at first. But yesterday when Betsy was cleaning out the cage of one of the VP2 mice, the mouse managed to bite her.”

  I leaned forward and opened my mouth to find out about her well-being, but before I could, Abigail held up her hand and said, “Relax. She’s fine. Since the mouse didn’t have the full virus, it wasn’t able to transmit the virus to Betsy. But look at the photo of her injury.”

  She slid a closeup photo depicting a bite mark characterized by two puncture wounds. “That doesn’t look like a typical mouse bite.” I frowned.

  “No. It’s fang imprints. I think VP2 causes fang elongation, but it isn’t activated without a detected subject to bite.”

  I nodded. “I guess that makes sense.”

  “VP3, as you know, causes varying degrees of photosensitivity when
ingested. VP4 we’ve discovered alters metabolic rate in the mice. They’re ravenous, eating everything provided to them yet gaining no significant weight unless they are also provided with a supplement of blood to drink as well. I suspect there’s some nutritional deficit created by the production of this protein that blood rectifies. Work on VP4 may very well be the key to eliminating the thirst for blood,” her tone was excited.

  “That is very promising, as that is the symptom to target first if we can’t find a total cure for the virus,” I mused. I needed to make sure Abigail’s work could continue without me if necessary.

  Could I live with all the things I was if I didn’t have to consume blood?

  Maybe if I could also sever the bond with Cassandra. That was my priority—avoiding having to return to her and her sadistic ways.

  “As you saw with the video clips I sent, VP5 is obviously the protein responsible for increased speed. We don’t have any ideas about the remaining three proteins as of yet. But I’m optimistic with the direction we’re moving in and even our pace.” She slid a folder to me that contained all the results thus far. “All of this has been uploaded to the secure server as well. We have test groups going for the first five proteins. We’re now supplementing all of them with blood. That seems to be working to keep them alive, even the group that refuses to eat. The trials with VP6 and VP7 start tomorrow. VP8 will hopefully go on test by the end of the week. We’ve also managed to unfold part of the genome to get sequencing started. We don’t have the right enzyme combination to get all the folds out yet, but I’m optimistic on that front as well. I think the folding is the key, so that’s where I’m focusing my experiments going forward. I’m sorry I don’t have any more news for you today. Hopefully soon.”

  I could tell that each inch of progress thrilled her. But it also disappointed her because it wasn’t a foot of progress. It wasn’t a cure. Yet.

  I closed the folder and placed it inside the bottom drawer of my desk then locked it. “Thank you for your diligence. You keep hope alive in a dying creature.”

  “I’m just doing my job,” she protested, waving off any words I might speak further. “So, you’re heading to California, huh?”

  “Nice subject change. Yeah, we fly out tomorrow.” I smiled as I thought of getting away from everything for a few days.

  “Do me a favor,” she said as she stood.

  “Of course.”

  “Try not to think about the research or the ticking clock or all your other worries while you’re there. Enjoy yourself.” She looked down at the floor as she continued, “Have fun with your girlfriend. She’s good for you. She makes you smile.” Her head lifted just enough that I could see her slight smile before she walked to the door.

  “I’ll try,” I promised.

  “I’ll update you if anything big happens while you’re gone. Otherwise, I’ll see you sometime after you return.” She didn’t wait for me to say anything else before she slipped out of my office.

  I glanced at the clock. There was a little time left before the band would arrive to take care of all the official paperwork for the musical exchange. Then I could get back to my girl.

  16

  Celesta

  I was in my room, surrounded by papers. Originally, I’d planned to spend the morning packing for our trip. But yesterday when I went to the spa for a touchup while Toven was at the office, Jacque had two suitcases and a garment bag packed for me. He’d even labeled the outfits for me so I’d know what to wear for what outings. Everything I needed for the rest of the week was already waiting downstairs by the door.

  Toven had a couple last minute things to take care of at the office before we could leave. I decided to stay here and go through some more of Dad’s files. I grabbed a notebook and flipped back the cover. The page was blank. Why would Dad have stored an empty notebook in with the file folders?

  I thumbed the corner of the pages, fanning them open quickly. Wait.

  I flipped backward a few pages. In the middle of the book, there were some strange notations and shorthand notes in Dad’s handwriting. I read over the pages. Everything on the page was actual words, so that wasn’t what made Dad’s notes strange. Taken together, the words made absolutely no sense. They didn’t appear to be related to each other in any context, but something about the notation looked oddly familiar. A sequence of numbers was written at the bottom. 5683. I traced over them. Something niggled in the back of my mind, but I couldn’t put my finger on what it was.

  Setting the notebook aside, I continued poring through the spreadsheet printouts, trying to make sense of the highlighted lines. I was no expert, but there appeared to be millions of dollars marked with the same accounting code next to them. But that code had no bank information associated with it to tie it to which division of the corporation the funds were being transferred to, nor were there any vendor invoices tied to them in the comments section like previous payments.

  Upon closer examination, a pattern emerged as to when the funds went missing each month to this phantom account. It seemed that the funds disappeared to the ghost account during the last week of each month.

  Opening up a calendar app on my phone, I realized that each of those dates happened to be the last Thursday of every month for the past six years of my dad’s life. I continued to examine the computer files and compared them back to the handwritten ledgers my dad also insisted on keeping. Dad didn’t trust computers, so he always recorded everything in leather-bound ledgers.

  I could hear him in my head now, “You never know when your computer might crash, or someone may hack your files. Always back things up by hand. You can always trust yourself.”

  I had to wonder if Dad hadn’t had his handwritten notes to investigate with, if he’d still be alive and blissfully ignorant to what was going on under his nose. I knew he didn’t steal the money. But I did feel if he hadn’t started digging into where the missing money went, he wouldn’t have forced the hand of the thief, causing that person to frame Dad. I worked on the ledgers until the numbers swam before my eyes. I stashed everything away and flopped on the bed, where guilt and grief welcomed me with open arms.

  Long after the tears stopped flowing, I lay in bed. My mind raced with what the random words in the notebook might mean. My phone chimed with a text alert.

  Toven: On the way.

  I smiled and quickly typed back: See you soon.

  I dashed to the bathroom to wash the tear stains from my face and check the puffiness of my eyes. In minutes, I deemed myself presentable.

  By the time he opened the front door, I was at the foot of the stairs. The smile that spread across his face when he caught sight of me erased all the lingering melancholy within me. Without hesitation, I crossed the checkered floor to him then lifted onto my tiptoes to give him a kiss.

  “Ready to go?” he asked, wrapping his arms around my waist.

  I gave him a squeeze and nodded my head.

  The purr of an engine sounded on the other side of the ornate front door. Toven opened the door to reveal Joe getting out of Toven’s two-seater. I glanced up at him.

  “I thought I’d drive us, if that’s OK with you,” he said with a wink.

  I grinned eagerly. I loved riding in that car.

  He chuckled and pressed a kiss to my nose. “I figured you wouldn’t mind.”

  While Toven helped me get settled in the soft leather seat, Joe stored our bags for us. Toven slipped in next to me, revving the engine to make me smile. Joe patted the roof of the car when he was finished. “Drive safely. See you when you get back,” he said, bidding us goodbye.

  Toven drove out to the highway. Once we were on an open stretch of road, he pressed the accelerator harder. An excited squeal erupted from my lips as we sped toward the airport. The scenery zipped by as the car ate up the miles quickly.

  “I thought the airport was down that other road?” I asked, pointing to the road we passed.

  “The commercial airport is. But we aren’t flying
commercially.” Toven glanced over at me.

  “We’re not?” I frowned.

  Toven just grinned as he turned down a private lane. We continued farther down the quiet path leading away from civilization. Once the tree-line broke, I could see several metal buildings standing in the distance in a large open area.

  “You have a private plane hangered here?” It made sense. A man of his means with the business ventures he had would need to be able to fly at a moment’s notice.

  “I have several private planes stationed here. This is my airport.”

  Stunned, I turned to face him. “Wow. I had no idea.”

  He shrugged. “It’s really not a big deal.”

  I couldn’t keep the incredulity off my face.

  “What?” he asked.

  “Toven, it isn’t a big deal for you to fly first class. It isn’t a big deal for you to hire a plane when you need to fly. It’s probably not even a big deal for you to own a plane, as in one single plane. But owning a fleet of planes and an airport is a big freakin’ deal.”

  The closer we got to the buildings I could see just how much of a big deal this really was. I was awestruck . . . and nervous. I hated flying with a passion.

  As we drove up to the private airport, my eyes rapidly took in the various closed hangars before landing on a gleaming white private jet waiting outside. A series of music notes on a painted staff floated from the tail to the nose of the small, sleek plane. They momentarily distracted me from my nerves.

  “What song is painted on the plane?”

  “‘Above the clouds’. I wrote it after I flew for the first time.” A look of nostalgia gave his eyes a faraway look.

  “Pretty fitting song to decorate your plane with.”

  “I thought so,” he said as he parked the car near the plane.

  Toven rushed around to open my car door. It had become second nature to wait for him to come help me from the car. Before I’d even put one foot on the pavement, an attendant was already removing our bags from the trunk and loading them onto the plane. As Toven helped me from the car, the pilot approached.