Bloodline World Seven Book Bundle: 7 Books from the Bloodline Awakened Series and Scarlet Dragon Saga

by J. P. Rice

  The hound pushed a bowl of water into the room with his nose. I leaned down and hugged him, then scratched him on the back of the neck. He licked my face a few times and mashed his wet nose into my neck.

  As he looked up at me with his deep brown eyes, I noticed he was going gray around his mouth, which made for a dignified beard. I petted his head and ran my open hand down his floppy ear. The Hound of Pittsburgh was unique in that he didn’t track down clues like most hounds.

  As a cerebral individual, he excelled at analyzing clues. He normally gave me hints to solve a problem, but he never supplied direct answers. Hopefully, that had changed since I could use some direct information out of him. I’d had enough teasing for one night.

  I joked, “You really thirsty, or are you planning to stay a while?”

  As he moved the bowl closer, I realized it had a layer of foam on top. He said, “Sorry, I am. Sixty Minute I.P.A., this is. Love that shit, I do. So. Long time, it has been for us.”

  I sat down at the foot of the bed as the Hound lapped up some beer. “I know. I missed our talks while I was lying low for a while.”

  The hound retracted his long, spotted tongue and looked up at me. “Now back, you are?”

  That was a damn good question. “It sure looks that way. Although no one has the answers I’m looking for.”

  The Hound tilted his head to the side, steeped in thought. Squinting, he asked, “Your father, have you seen?”

  “No. I’ve been putting it off.”

  He nodded slowly as he spoke, “Father, you should see. Always the answers, he shall have. Willing to share with you, he is. Know that, you should by now.”

  I looked away, embarrassed. “I know. I just get nervous around him. He’s never said it, but I feel like he sees me as a disappointment. And he just deals with me out of the goodness of his heart.”

  The Hound raised his voice, “Nonsense, that is. Proud, he is of you. Emotions. Hard for men, they are. Embarrassment for him in raising you, you see. Love you with all his heart, he does. Words and feelings, often match, they do not with strong men.”

  I agreed, “I guess I know. You’re right, though. He always has the answers.”

  The Hound chuckled. “Little boys, you mess with. Real man, this job is suited for.”

  I asked, “So you live with Tyr now?”

  The Hound of Pittsburgh and I became friends a long time ago when I’d taken him in as a stray. He had stayed with me for about six months before chasing after a bitch who would eventually break his heart. We had remained in contact over the years and he always provided sound counsel.

  The Hound explained, “Bounce around, I do. Nice though, this place is. My favorite beer, he always has. For a hound, not so bad, it is.”

  “I should say so. Have you heard anything about my Darabond?” I asked, biting my bottom lip.

  “Waiting for you to ask, I was. News would be nothing, I have heard,” said the Hound, devoid of emotion.

  How about another long shot question? “What about the spear?”

  The Hound lapped up some more beer, wetting his dry tongue. He smacked his lips and answered, “Vicious rumors, I have heard. Waste your time with that, why do you?”

  I leaned over and lay down on my side, using my fist to prop up my head. “I don’t know. I’m trying to better myself. And I thought if I could return the spear to Lugh and bring peace to the wolves and vampires...”

  He cut me off, “Entry into the pantheon, you would get.”

  I waffled. “Maybe. I don’t know. It’s just crazy because everyone has changed since I lived here last.”

  The Hound looked up at the ceiling and his nostrils flared. “Trust. Difficult, it is. Extra careful, you need be. People have lied to you, I am sensing.”

  “That’s my problem. I don’t know whom to trust. Either Jonathan or Octavius is playing me for a fool. Can you help me out with that and give me a name? Or are you just going to give me more cryptic messages that will keep me up all night?”

  He smirked and his long incisors poked out of his lips. “Liars are often the most unexpected, I have found. Gain trust, they will. Until you lower your guard, they wait. Then strike, they will. Names, I cannot give you. Decide alone, you must.”

  Oh hell, it could be Jonathan or Octavius or both. Perhaps I could boil it down to the people in Pittsburgh that I knew wouldn’t lie to me. That tiny scrap of paper would consist of Tyr, my father, Owen and my employees at the agency. I was on a mission of peace, but if I found out Jonathan or Octavius was playing me, bloody murder would soon follow.

  The Hound finished his beer and crawled up into the bed with me. I tucked him under the covers and we talked for another hour. As the Hound began to snore loudly, I was alone with my thoughts again. Who was the liar? That question danced around my head as I realized I had balled up some of the comforter and was digging my nails into it again.

  Now I was beyond frustrated in more ways than one. I needed answers about the spear, and one man normally had them. Time for a surprise visit to see my father.

  Chapter 9

  The butler led me into the expansive foyer of my father’s house. I bounced around nervously as the man went to alert my father of my presence. I still didn’t know if my father had ever told his new family that I was his daughter. They probably viewed me as someone trying to nose into their inheritance.

  Quite the contrary. I had no need for my father’s money. My dragon sense caused me to bury stashes of gold and gems all around Pittsburgh. I didn’t need an ATM. Only my map of the locations.

  I took short breaths through my mouth because the musty smell hanging heavy in the air made me want to gag. Three cockroaches skittered across the stone floor and sneaked into a crack in the wall.

  My father was the famous King Nuada, original King of Ireland, King of the Celtic Gods. He’d never revealed his actual age to me, but he had been around for over two thousand years. After tiring of dealing with all the petty problems of the Gods, he stepped away and came to Pittsburgh. He’d found a new wife who had three young daughters about twenty years ago.

  A steady procession of heels clicked against the stone floor with all the finesse of a parade of elephants. I perked up my ears and realized it was getting nearer by the moment. It had a hurried, angry pitch as the sharp echo traveled around the open room. When I heard the whooshing of lacy fabric rubbing against itself, I knew that his new family had intercepted the butler.

  My father’s wife, Ella, rushed into the room, followed by her three daughters. The young ladies flanked their mother on her right, creating a wall and blocking the hallway to my father’s room. I hated Lisa, Patty and Viola equally and had trouble telling them apart.

  The women shared the same characteristics, with Ella as the slightly older version. They were all short and angry with unnatural, fake tan skin. Glimmering jewelry in the form of silver bracelets and diamond necklaces covered their wrists, forearms and necks. They all wore their blond hair in pigtails, which suited the pudgy, round-faced bunch. They all stood with their arms crossed over their chests, resting on the silky fabric of their pale pink gowns.

  It was a gauntlet that would drop the most powerful warrior to his knees. This was a strange penance I had to pay just to see my father. I would have visited him as soon as I had returned to Pittsburgh, but I’d put it off because I hated dealing with these vultures.

  I often vacillated between thinking they were tremendous actresses and fooling my father or they were normally nice and only mean to me, someone they saw as a threat to their inheritance.

  Lisa said, “Why do you keep coming back here? He isn’t giving you his money, you know?”

  Before I could answer, Patty chimed in, “At least she’s not almost dead and bleeding everywhere this time.”

  Ella stared at me, her icy blue eyes firing invisible daggers across the room. “I agree. It’s quite a shame she isn’t dead this time.”

  I told them, “I just came to see the King. Why
do we have to go through this?”

  “We are only trying to protect our father against questionable women who appear to be going after his money,” Viola said.

  I rolled my eyes. “I can assure you that I have no urge whatsoever to go after his money. I just need to talk to him because he has information that no one else does.”

  Ella’s pursed lips looked like they were about to turn into a black hole and suck in the universe. She said snidely, “Well he’s not here right now, so you can turn around and leave right now.”

  I knew she was lying. My father rarely, if ever, left the house that resembled a medieval castle.

  That was why I’d come directly here after my lava bath. I’d never been so scared, so close to death, so I went to the one person who had always made me feel safe. My father’s doctors had patched me up enough so that I could head down south and recuperate.

  I raised my voice, “I know he’s here. Just let me talk to him for a few minutes and I’ll be on my...”

  A booming call came from down the hall and drowned out my words. “Is that my Junipher?” My father still had the battlefield voice when he needed it.

  The butler reentered the foyer and stood behind the blond fortress. He waved his open hands above the shorter women’s heads to get my attention, and when we made eye contact, he beckoned me over using a windmill motion with his right arm.

  I smirked and made my smuggest ‘Fook you’ face as I strode confidently across the foyer, heading directly for the brick wall of bitches. They sneered and snarled as I approached, whispering to each other about me and giggling. And in the true form of cowardice, they turned and scrambled away in silence when I neared them.

  The butler led me down the hall and pointed to an arched wooden door on the right. “He is expecting you.”

  Thanks, Captain Obvious. I took a deep breath and entered the room.

  The first thing I saw was his proud smile, and it brought tears to my eyes. Gods, I missed that look, which I didn’t get from anyone else.

  “There she is, once again. My little Goddess,” he said, sitting on his recliner with his feet up. He lowered the footrest and went to get up.

  My heart melted from his words. “Don’t. Just stay there.”

  My father’s room was set up like a medieval audience chamber. His emerald recliner served as the throne atop a raised dais, and a step down sat a plush purple couch for visitors. A roaring fireplace off to my left kept the stone room toasty during the harsh winter months and left a pleasant smoky aroma floating in the air.

  The room was immaculately clean. The exact opposite of the nasty foyer.

  King Nuada settled back into the chair, and more tears came into my eyes as his natural scent reached my nostrils. Irish Springs. He never wore cologne and always sported the soapy smell that I associated with my father’s love.

  I saw my father as two side-by-side images. Then and now. The younger version had wild red hair, greased with sweat and glory from the battlefield, hanging proudly to the middle of his back. Those locks were still the same length today, but only a few random bright copper strands remained as faint hints of his former glory. The rest had run silver.

  The former King of the Celtic Gods was still big and strapping, but instead of dripping with muscle definition, he was now flaccid and grandfatherly. He’d exchanged his battle gear for long, light robes that covered his body loosely. On cold days like this, he wore a dark cloak for added warmth. He stroked his long beard excitedly as I approached.

  His sapphire eyes gleamed like the crashing waves just off the coast of Southern Ireland. His irises matched the massive jewel in the golden circlet sitting atop his head, almost floating like a halo. It was the same crown he had worn when he was King of Ireland.

  Despite his aging, he would always be the powerful warrior in my eyes. I climbed onto his lap and wrapped my arms around his neck. I buried my face into his soft shoulder and felt safe again.

  We sat there in silence as my tears spilled onto the silky fabric of the ivory robes sticking out of the collar of his cloak. My father was the only person I could be a little girl around. It felt so nice to let my guard down. To be the vulnerable one.

  I wasn’t sure how much time had passed, when my father spoke, “I love you.” He planted a sweet kiss on my forehead. “What brings you back to Pittsburgh, young lady?” he asked, clutching onto my forearm as older men were prone to do.

  And he was the only one who called me young lady. More tears.

  Yes, okay, at 522 years old, I still needed to sit on my dad’s lap and hear him say, “I love you.” He was the only family I had. The only person in this world who loved me. Sometimes, it was nice to be vulnerable, yet still feel safe under my father’s protection. I didn’t get to experience this warm feeling very often, especially in the cold, dark world I operated in.

  I wished the moment would last forever, but I knew that couldn’t happen so I sat up and gazed into my father’s eyes. They had lost a touch of vibrancy since my last visit, not much, but just enough that I noticed.

  “Honestly, I came back because of the rumors about Lugh’s Spear. I heard this young kid was after it and I was afraid he would steal my glory. I can’t tell anyone else this, but I’m jealous of him. He is the darling of the Gods’ eyes now. He’s been given everything I’ve always wanted.”

  He thought for a moment as his eyelids flickered. “Yes, yes. The Merlino boy. Quite a smashing young wizard, that one. How would he steal your glory?” His voice had gotten softer and raspier over the years and his Irish accent had faded drastically. He barely used Irish slang and phrases anymore. When he had first come to see me when I was twenty-two, I’d barely understood his words because of the thick accent.

  I explained, “Because I’ve been chasing after that thing for so long that if he were to find it, it would make me look bad.”

  He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He sighed and said, “Oh, child. You have no one to be jealous of. I failed you as a parent. Your mother failed you as a parent. We gave you nothing, I’m ashamed to say. What you’ve accomplished over the years is nothing short of extraordinary. Did that boy save the Gods at Machu Picchu? Did that boy stop the Nazis from taking over the world?”

  An injection of pride circulated around my body. “No. At least, not that I know of.”

  He tapped me on the nose with his index finger. “That was you. You’ve helped bring peace to a world that was on the brink of destruction on more than one occasion. Not that boy you seem so worried about. Nothing he does changes anything about you. It doesn’t make him better than you by any stretch of your wild imagination.”

  “If they were such great accomplishments, then why didn’t the Gods invite me to join?” I asked.

  “That fickle bunch.” He audibly mimicked spitting on the ground. “I was the leader of that foolish clan until their actions made no sense to me. The pantheon had morphed into some backstabbing political construct that I hardly recognized. They were afraid of your actions at Machu Picchu. Saw you as a powerful threat after that. I also fear the lobbying I did on your behalf may have been more detrimental than helpful.”

  He scratched his beard, deep in thought and stared at the fire as he spoke, “I left forty years ago and haven’t been back once. I barely even think about it with my new life here in Pittsburgh. You can do yourself a great service and stop worrying about that nonsense. I realize it is much easier said than accomplished, but that is the best advice I can give regarding the Gods.”

  “It just doesn’t line up with all the other decisions. Especially after I lost my husband.”

  I tucked some of my father’s locks behind his ear so they wouldn’t obscure his face. He told me, “Your actions can be righteous without the stamp of the Gods. Don’t rely on them to judge your character, odd as that may sound. We both know you’ve made some mistakes in your past, we all have. But it’s in your eyes. I can see it. You’re yearning to be a better person. That is all you can cont
rol, my dear.”

  “Speaking of my husband, have you heard anything about Darabond?” I asked casually.

  His silence spoke volumes. He didn’t need to shake his head, but he did anyway.

  I asked, “Be honest with me. Do you think I should give up on Darabond?”

  “What do you think?” He turned it around on me.

  I took a few shuddering breaths and contemplated the question. “I don’t know. It’s been so long. So long. I mean, maybe he’s out there, but if so, why hasn’t he come to see me?”

  “These are answers I cannot give you.”

  I tossed my head around as I continued, “I just. I don’t know. I feel like if he was dead, I would have felt it in my heart. Or somebody would have heard of it. How could his entire unit disappear without a trace? Deep down, I still think he’s alive. And for some crazy reason, I think I’m going to find him one day.”

  He squeezed my forearm a little harder. “Then so it shall be. Giving up is much easier than keeping hope alive. You are a strong soul to keep that belief after all these years. Perhaps he is on an epic journey, the likes of Odysseus.”

  My father shifted around, and I decided to get up. He groaned and arched his back as he winced in pain.

  I told him, “You need to go see Goibniu. Drink some of his elixir.”

  My father waved a hand in front of his face. “Oh no. Not anymore. My dear, I’ve cheated death for far too long. It’s time for me to live out the rest of my life naturally and embark on the next journey. I don’t plan on leaving anytime soon, but it’s past time for this. Your mother is doing the same.”

  I chortled. “Yeah right. She’s probably just lying to you, so you stop drinking the elixir. Let me guess, she stands to gain something if you die.”

  “You know I won’t jump in the middle of this beehive. I’m allergic to their stinging, after all.” He grinned, and it softened my anger toward my mother. He always knew what to say to calm me down, which was why I cherished these brief moments that we infrequently shared.