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

by J. P. Rice

  “What have you done?” Ella asked in an accusatory tone.

  “I didn’t do anything. He just stopped breathing. Go get his doctor. Now,” I screamed.

  “Oh, my word. What is happening?” Lisa shrieked.

  A grainy image of my father sat up and separated from his body. His soul stood up and floated around the room before escaping through a tiny crack in the window.

  “You did this,” Patty yelled, pointing at me. “You killed him to try to get his money.”

  I defended myself, “I did nothing of the sort. I’m just as upset about this as the rest of you.”

  “I knew I should have forbidden you from seeing him,” said Ella. “Viola. Go alert the guards we have a killer on our hands.”

  Viola’s heels clicked against the stone floor as she shuffled out the door. I debated killing these bitches out of spite. It only took a few seconds to realize how guilty that would make me look concerning my father. Before Viola could return with help, I ran over to the window and jammed my thumb into the tiny opening.

  Shoving up, a blast of frosty chill hit me in the face along with a few flakes of snow. I opened the window enough to get out. As I went to hoist myself up, someone grabbed me from behind. Peering over my shoulder, I saw Ella’s flabby her arms around my legs.

  I crouched and dropped an elbow that connected to the bridge of Ella’s nose. Blood poured from her nostrils and dripped onto the back of my pant leg. She hissed in pain, let go of my legs and grabbed for her big nose. With my legs free, I lifted my foot and booted her in the chest, jolting her backward and giving me the room I needed.

  I heard heavy footsteps approaching and jumped up on the windowsill. I swung my feet out and dropped about three feet, landing on the stone balcony outside my father’s room. Without a better option to get to the yard thirty feet below, I thought about shifting into a dragon. But then I would lose my clothes when I shifted back.

  I could fly all the way back to my house, but that would use a lot of magic and cause me to age greatly. Angry voices echoed around my father’s room and out the open window. With the henchmen closing in, I went with a different plan. Someone’s head popped out the window, and I knew I had to get moving.

  I conjured a giant foamy mattress on the ground in front of me. I made it about twenty feet by twenty feet and got up on the ledge. As the guard’s feet hit the concrete balcony, I swan dived off the side.

  I landed face first on the soft surface and rolled off into the snowy muck. The guard tried to follow my lead and hopped up on the ledge. I dissolved the mattress, but the guard had already committed to the jump. His hands raced around in blurry little circles as he tried to stop his momentum.

  Unable to stop the forces of nature, he launched into the air. He flailed his arms and screamed, “Shite.” His big body fell like a meteor, crashing into the frozen earth.

  I walked away, dusting myself off casually, as he rolled around in pain.

  Great. As if I didn’t have enough people coming after me, this would add a whole new layer. Word would eventually make it back to Clara Spiritus. The Celtic Gods would hear that I’d killed Nuada. My father had basically roasted each God and Goddess before he’d left the pantheon, so there wasn’t much love lost, but it certainly wouldn’t bolster my reputation.

  I jumped in my Jeep, started the ignition and turned the heat up to full blast. A few seconds later, I felt the seats warming up. Mindlessly, I drove down my father’s driveway, out onto the main road and parked in a church’s parking lot down the street.

  I left the vehicle running for the heat. I sat there and bawled my eyes out for over an hour, mentally paralyzed by the loss of my father. When I was younger, I’d thought my father would never die. Actually, I’d maintained those feelings until recently when he’d stopped drinking from Goibniu’s chalice of youth.

  He was my rock. Whenever my life was falling apart, which was often, he was the one I went to. He was always there for me, and not just that, he supported me in every endeavor of my life. No matter how silly everyone else thought it was. And finally, he never judged me as an awful person like so many others had done. He was the ultimate gentleman. A true God.

  And now he was gone, leaving me as the prime suspect. As the violent cocktail of rage and sadness bubbled inside me, I made a promise to my father. I promised that I would find the person who’d done this. I was going to kill the individuals involved to avenge his honor. The cherry on top would be clearing my name of any wrongdoing.

  That meant I needed to contact the Morrigan and bury the hatchet, so to speak. We’d gotten into verbal spats before, but the last one had gotten pretty personal. Two alpha females were bound to get into it at some point.

  I hadn’t really taken it personally and could put the argument aside. Was the Morrigan on that same wavelength? I’d seen an up-close view of her vindictiveness in action and hoped she wasn’t plotting something awful with me in mind.

  One thing was certain, I wouldn’t apologize. If she demanded that, I could find myself working with Mike Merlino on this one. Actually, the do-gooder was probably better for my soul reparation.

  I wiped away the tears, put the Jeep in drive and pulled out of the church. I flicked on the windshield wipers to swipe away the fat flakes of snow falling from the sky. Frozen tears of the Gods mourning my father’s demise.

  Chapter 6

  Dressed in a long black dress and a dark overcoat, I waited in line at my father’s burial, where the funeral ceremony was being held. Hundreds of guests braved the extreme conditions for the event, which made me proud. With my identifying red hair tucked away, I hoped my black veil would hide my identity enough for me to sneak in.

  The Morrigan and I got over our little spat. She had come to see me after she’d found out about my father. She had also informed me that she had convinced everyone I hadn’t killed my father. Regardless, I didn’t care if the Celtic Gods thought I’d murdered him. I wouldn’t miss his going away.

  The suited man with a clipboard at the front of the line didn’t look familiar. I planned to use my mother’s name to gain entry since no one from the pantheon had arrived yet. The man barely lifted his head from the paper for each guest, so this could be an easy in. Then I just needed to avoid my father’s new family.

  The man glanced up at me and said, “Name?”

  Before I could answer, Viola’s cackling voice cut through the winter air. “Do not let her in.” She appeared from behind the large man with her finger pointing at me.

  The guests behind me pushed me aside and went in. I said, “I just came to pay my respects. I didn’t hurt him.”

  The squat Viola played with her blond hair. “No, you killed him. You’d better leave right this instant before I call the authorities.”

  That was only a threat if she wanted to see cops die. “I loved him as much as you did. I...”

  I stopped as somebody rammed his or her hip into me, jolting me aside. I turned to the left and noticed a sparkling purple coat and long red hair. “Excuse us,” my mother said, smirking at me. As she walked by, she muttered, “Murderer.”

  A short man with a five o’clock shadow dressed in a gray trench coat and a Kangol hat as dark as a raven’s feather put his hand on her back and guided her into the funeral service. A tightlipped smile developed on his face and he nodded to me apologetically for his wife’s rude behavior, as he passed. I didn’t know much about her newest husband, Warren. Other than the fact that he was crazy for shacking up with my mother.

  The dark blood inside me begged for me to lay waste to the attendees. No. I even fought off the urge to grab Viola by her fake blond hair and use her as a club to beat her sisters and mother to death. I’d come a long way in controlling my wrath.

  Instead, I turned around and left the service, hanging my head in shame. Not even allowed to attend my father’s burial. I followed a concrete jogging path that went up a steep incline before leveling off. Up at the top, I noticed a park bench hiding undern
eath a thin layer of snow. I dusted it off and sat down. Alone. Forever alone.

  Since I didn’t have many friends and my father was my only family, this was my first burial. I couldn’t believe they were going to put him in the ground. I would have taken the King’s remains back to Ireland, where he belonged.

  I dug into my purse and plucked out the bottle of Jameson, one of my father’s favorite whiskeys. I unscrewed the cap and knocked it back, filling my mouth. The lively spirits made my tongue tingle, and I swallowed the liquid in two big gulps.

  Thinking of my father, I leaned forward and tilted the bottle for him. I watched it drizzle onto the white landscape. The shot of liquor changed the snow from the look of whole milk to a bubbly, golden champagne.

  It was a message from my father. Champagne signaled a celebration. He wouldn’t want anyone crying their eyes out over his death. He’d want them to celebrate his life. And what a life it was.

  The King of Ireland. The King of the Celtic Gods. And most importantly, my loving father.

  With that in mind, I whispered, “One for the soul. Two for the mission. Nothing kills faster than indecision.”

  It was my father’s special battle cry. And he was absolutely correct. Sometimes, a fast decision is better than the correct one, especially during bloody conflict when any moment of indecision could be the last one. Once doubt crept inside one’s head on a battlefield, one had already lost. It was hard enough defeating one opponent at a time without having to fight your own thoughts.

  I downed more whiskey and poured out another shot into the snow for him. The people at the funeral were getting drunk and dancing. A polka band was singing and dancing in honor of King Nuada. My father loved polka. I remembered a sign he had at his first house when he’d moved to Pittsburgh. It said, Down with Disco, Long Live Polka.

  And I had to sit and watch from a distance. My chest buzzed from the whiskey that was keeping me warm and I leaned back on the bench.

  I tried to focus on the fond memories of my father but being edged out of his funeral was the final humiliation for me and for our secret relationship. How many people knew he was my father? Only the people I’d told? Did any of the Gods know other than the Morrigan? None of them would believe he was my father without him backing up my empty words.

  My mother Frigid would deny it until her death. It was as if my status as a demi-goddess had been erased with the passing of my father. He’d taken my hidden identity with him. I caught myself before I got too worked up. I brushed aside those selfish thoughts and focused on the positive memories.

  I remembered one of the first times he’d visited my village in Sleepy Willow. Although I’d barely understood his thick Irish accent, he’d brought me a beautiful longbow and a quiver full of arrows. Until then, the elders hadn’t allowed me to partake in activities designed for men. My father had put a stop to that in short order and taken the time to teach me how to handle the bow properly.

  He had been so patient when I’d asked at least a hundred questions, explaining the reasoning behind everything. I blinked my eyes a few times and saw the warrior King again. Standing right in front of me. Tears burst from my ducts.

  He was wearing all his armor—every single piece of it—and his ring mail jacket gleamed in the bleak rays of the setting sun. With dusk setting in, I stared straight ahead at him, entranced. My hero was gone. Only a grainy vision remained. I chugged more Jameson to dull the pain.

  I stood up and walked over to the vision of my father. It became brighter and more vivid and full of life as I approached. I extended the bottle, offering my father to share a drink with me.

  No one will ever convince me that my father didn’t take the bottle from me and enjoy a hearty pull. In the same token, no one will ever convince me that my father didn’t hand me back the bottle and wink at me. He did. Smiling proudly all the while. We shared one final drink of Irish whiskey together just before darkness fell upon the land.

  I tossed the bottle aside and moved in for a hug. I closed my eyes and wrapped my arms around my father, but my hands only met bitter, frosty air. Opening my eyes, the darkness had consumed my father. I blinked rapidly, trying to bring back the vision, but it was gone. Gone forever. The sun had finally set on my father’s glorious life. King Nuada had moved on to the next life, where we would reunite someday. I blew a kiss to the heavens and wiped the burning tears from my cheeks.

  Absorbed in my own reflection, I didn’t notice that all the guests had left the cemetery below. I went down the joggers’ path and walked up to my father’s headstone. I lay down next to his body, just to let him know that I wouldn’t let anyone keep me away from him.

  Chapter 7

  Sitting in Jonathan’s office, I waited for him to get off the phone. I wasn’t even sure it was a real call. He was probably using the fake conversation as a cover because he wanted to get a feel of my temperament. I kept a stern look pasted to my face to keep him guessing.

  The vampire had crossed me, and I hoped he had a damn good explanation why. He’d almost gotten me killed while I was acting on his behalf.

  Jonathan hung up the phone and stood up, holding his arms out at his sides. “You’ve been avoiding me,” he exclaimed and removed his red suit jacket. He slung the jacket over the back of his chair and slumped back into his seat, elbows up on the armrests.

  “Why do you think I haven’t been by?” I asked. He knew damn well why I hadn’t called him. It would be nice to hear it in his words.

  He spoke as he unbuttoned his cuffs, “I have a good idea it’s about my guys who went rogue and invaded the wolves’ house while you were there. I want you to know, I never sanctioned that.” He pressed his hands together in front of his face and leaned forward as if to say sorry. “Nor would I ever. They got what they deserved and I’m sorry they put your life in danger.”

  I wasn’t sure if I could believe him. He sounded sincere, but he was using the cuff bit to avoid eye contact. I told him, “It didn’t make the situation any better, that’s for sure. I’ve got other problems with Octavius, but after this sacrifice, maybe he’ll soften up.”

  Jonathan continued avoiding eye contact as he rolled up his sleeves. “Sounds like a war is the only option left.”

  Man, he jumped right to that card. That was a troubling sign. “No, it isn’t. He was very receptive to the idea of a duel.”

  Jonathan stood up and tilted his head to the side, his eyebrows rising higher on his forehead. “Really? I’m shocked to hear that.”

  I was pretty convinced Jonathan was lying. But attacking him at his house would be a foolish move. I planned to finish the conversation, but the trust between us had died. “It’s true. I could call him right now and see how he feels about it. If you are down for it?” I asked and unfastened the top few buttons of my jacket.

  Jonathan placed his knuckles on the desktop and leaned forward. “Rules. What about rules?”

  He was making me anxious by standing up. His vampire speed could have his fist against my jaw in the blink of an eye. I remained prepared for the worst and said, “I would think the rules would be the being who dies loses. Unless there was another version I’m not aware of.”

  He sat back down, thankfully. “No. I just wanted to make sure he didn’t put out any wacky demands. You can’t trust a werewolf. Always remember that.”

  Thanks, Captain O. “So are you in or not?”

  “I would love to kill him in a duel. Book it,” he stated confidently and slapped the top of his desk.

  Now it didn’t really matter if he was lying about the ambush. As long as Octavius agreed to it, my title as peacemaker was safe. I mean, one person had to die, but it would end up saving countless lives.

  I pulled my phone out of the inside pocket of my jacket and dialed up Caesar. There wasn’t a direct line to Octavius, and his blue-eyed assistant was at my house. Caesar answered, and after a long bout of muffled crackling, he said in a monotone, “What the hell do you want?”

  I took a d
eep breath and said, “First of all, sorry. I know I put you in a bad place.”

  “You should be apologizing to Octavius.”

  I objected, “Fook him. He tried to kill me. You’ve been nice to me.”

  “Not sure I can be nice to you anymore after you ransacked this place while we were feeding,” Caesar said.

  “I can understand that. You do what you have to do. I’m actually calling about Octavius. I’ve found a way to end the tension with the vampires.” I gave Jonathan a thumbs up.

  “I’m listening.”

  “Jonathan has agreed to the duel,” I revealed and nodded to the vampire.

  “You don’t say. Let me go see if Octavius is still on board with that idea.” The phone went silent for about a minute. Then I heard a knocking sound before it went quiet again.

  “Hey,” he said.

  “Yeah.”

  “He said that’s a great idea. You and I will set it up, time and place and all that. Make sure they understand that this is the end of it. No more hostilities after this is over. It’s over after this,” he repeated.

  I confirmed, “I’ll make sure to relay that message. And I’ll be in touch about the particulars for the duel.”

  We said goodbye. I hung up the phone and saw Jonathan smiling from ear to ear. I told him, “You got your duel. Caesar and I will be setting it up.”

  “Just tell me the time and place. And make sure he isn’t setting up an ambush. Let me kill him fair and square and we’ll have our city back.” He drummed his finger on the top of his desk, restless.

  As long as the vampires or werewolves didn’t attack each other, peace was on the horizon. This noble act would surely reach their ears and hopefully boost my standing with the Celtic Gods.

  “You just better make sure you win,” I told him.

  Jonathan grinned, his fangs peeking out of his lips. “If you’d like to place a wager, I’ll honor any amount you’d like.”

  I wasn’t sure whom I wanted to win in the duel. I’d been better friends with Jonathan over the years, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that he was lying. I’d been in near death confrontations with Octavius, but he’d never lied to me. It probably seemed weird, but there was a sharp distinction between the two.