The Blood Bride (Blood Secrets)

by Nix, Imogene

  A phone trilled. “I guess you have to go.” Cara said the words sadly, watching Simone fish around in her large black leather bag.

  “Yeah, Nathan said they expected the jury to bring down a finding in that murder case he’s working on. Look, I have to run. Give me a call when you finish tonight and we’ll set up in the lounge with clothes and stuff.” Simone jumped off the stool. “You’ll be fine!” She tossed the words over her shoulder as she galloped out the door of the tiny diner.

  Cara watched her retreating back. She looked around, then picked up the tart and took a bite. She tasted the fresh caramel goodness on her tongue and moaned slightly. Good food was something she loved, almost as much as the man she had hardly spoken to. Plus she hated to see it go to waste. On that thought she smeared some fresh whipped cream on before taking another bite.

  * * * *

  Diocail sat and looked through the window as the dark sedan pulled up in the street before the towering office block and a dark-haired man clambered out. People stopped to watch his movements, and those who knew him smiled before they continued wandering by. More than a few women sighed, probably wishing he would notice them, noting his angel-perfect face.

  The man across the road was awkward and uncoordinated, nearly dropping his briefcase as he fumbled slightly with the handle of the car. He pushed his glasses up on the bridge of his nose before glancing around. His well-muscled body was hidden beneath one of the many ill-fitting suits he habitually wore as camouflage.

  Diocail’s quarry, Dillon, awkwardly disentangled himself from briefcase and vehicle. He heard the girl, Cara, stifle a gasp unsuccessfully. She was transfixed by the action, looking through the plate glass, as she focused on the man who stumbled and fumbled.

  Intrigued, he scrutinised the girl’s reactions, the tightening of her fingers on the countertop and the way her eyes followed the man. So. Here might be another opportunity to make good on his debt. He grinned at the thought of the larger woman and the toned man in the ill-fitting suit. Why not? Here he could increase his count of good deeds much faster than he could have hoped for. True, it wasn’t quite the pairing he had been working towards, but there was plenty of time for that later. He sat quietly, considering this new and interesting game. He lifted the coffee mug to his mouth, ready to take another sip, but found it empty.

  He looked for the server, then stopped still in surprise, blinking, watching as his aunt appeared in the seat opposite him. Her long wavy chestnut hair glinted in the dim light. She might be Cailleach, the Mother of All, but more importantly, she was still his aunt. Traditional Scottish mythology always showed her as an old hag, and this was a never-ceasing source of amusement to her. But then, so was his description as a brownie. When he assumed his true body, he was tall, redheaded and bearded. Trim and taut, nothing like the visage he presently portrayed.

  “Ahhh…no. What now?” The words escaped from his mouth before he could control them. He looked around. No one saw anything unusual in the appearance of the perfectly groomed woman now sitting opposite him, her white suit moulded around her firm toned body, so unchanging over the years. She looked around twenty-five, but he knew she was older. So much older than her looks would lead anyone to imagine.

  “Is that any way to greet your aunt? Honestly, Diocail, anyone would think you would rather see that floozy Niamh instead of me.”

  He winced at the use of his full name, hoping no one else had heard her, but he contained his instinctive action to scan around the small but loud diner.

  “Your father is still angry you know. He has…intimated…that you need to pick up your pace a little.” She looked down at the greasy food on the plate with a grimace of distaste on her face. “You eat this stuff?”

  Diocail opened his mouth to remind her that around here he was known only as Jake, as close to his real name as you could get. The server, an older woman of indeterminate age and parentage with dark skin and even darker eyes, walked up to the table. She smiled broadly, and carried a dented metal coffee pot in one hand and he noted whimsically that it matched her dented and battered face.

  “Excuse me? Would you like a refill? Ma’am, can I get a cup for you too?” Her voice was slightly hoarse, which was probably the result of the years of hard smoking and living as well, a tangible reminder of the equally hard men he was sure she had fallen in with over time. It was a shame, he thought, she had nearly been his assignment before he got a little sidetracked. Diocail reminded himself there was always time to make her his next project and smiled at the thought.

  Then Diocail started in amazement, realising that she could see his aunt Cailleach sitting opposite him. He looked at the woman who was sister to his own father and she winked conspiratorially. He goggled at the action, never having seen this more playful side of her. Well, at least, never up close and it felt more than a little odd.

  “No thanks. Just a bottle of water, please.” Cailleach smiled. The flash of perfect white teeth and twinkling eyes must have done something magical to the woman who had addressed her. Diocail was still stunned with her appearance in this greasy little diner as the goliath of a waitress smiled back, her ebony skin creasing around mouth and eyes.

  “Won’t be a minute, hon.”

  She scurried quickly behind the counter pulled open the fridge with a rattle and clank, grabbed a bottle and efficiently twisted the top with a quick movement of her hands then returned. Other customers tried to catch her eye as she hustled around the counter but she seemed determined to serve this woman first. Jake wondered, not for the first time, if this wasn’t some god power thing he had never got the hang of, before shrugging the thought away. He wasn’t a full god anyway, just the mixed-up child of a god and faerie mating.

  “Thanks so much. Jake”—she winked at him—“will fix the bill at the end.”

  The server nodded and smiled before wandering off to another table. Jake waited as she padded off, her pen hovering over the pad in her hand for just a moment, before he turned his attention back to the woman who had joined him.

  He cleared his throat. “I am in the planning stages, Aunt, so if you could please leave me to do my job, I can come home sooner. That is, unless you can change Father’s mind about letting me return home?”

  His aunt shook her head. He wasn’t surprised. Father had made his point, casting him out of Scotland until he had made some restitution for the mess he’d made in the past. He thought fondly of the woman who he had left waiting, naked, ready and willing in his bed. No doubt she would be long gone, he thought with a heavy exhalation.

  He groaned heavily. “Has he given you an idea…?” Before he could finish the question, his aunt disappeared and he felt yet another layer of frustration at his fate. “I hate it when she does that.” He muttered the words under his breath before picking up his fork and toying with the cooled food on the plate, but his appetite was gone. Back to work. He turned to look at his new target woman, only to find her gone too.

  Dillon made his way slowly to the elevators, feeling foolish as he usually did. He had nearly fallen climbing out of the car, and today he felt more awkward than usual. The burning feel of being watched made the back of his neck itch, but he brushed it aside. It was no different to any other time, he reminded himself.

  Tuesday morning and he hoped he might get a glance of the bountiful woman he had lusted after for eighteen months. Well, to be frank, it was seventeen months, three weeks and two days. Hell, he could even count down to the time in hours and minutes, he thought, sparing a quick glance at his watch, doing the mental arithmetic. Not that he was keeping tabs.

  Dillon snorted in his head at the foolish lie he kept trying to tell himself, not that he actually ever believed it. He had hankered after her ever since she’d raced into the gym to deliver the package for his financial controller. Unfortunately—or in his case fortunately—he had left the shower, and wore a towel slung around his hips. He had wandered into the locker room, ready to pick up the clothes he had forgotten to ta
ke into the shower room with him, when there she’d been.

  A siren in the misty locker room. Her cherry-red lips had been full of promise, her blouse had strained over the sensually full breasts while her little skirt had revealed miles of leg. She had walked forward confidently, and when she turned, that striking gaze had taken in his state of undress. Dillon had felt a mesmerising fascination as a pink tide of embarrassment had crested her cheeks, her lips forming that subtle moué before she had turned away.

  It had taken him three agonising months to find out where she worked in his organisation. Three months of intense searching in each and every department until he’d reached the typing pool.

  Now, he took any opportunity to visit the typing pool, looking for her on the street and in the halls of the offices he visited from time to time. He’d always hoped that she had felt that spark of awareness which had rushed through his body, but he always reminded himself it was a vain hope.

  He felt that enervating rush of awareness and desire each time his gaze fell upon her, and it continued riding him without any surcease. He didn’t even know her name. He had never mentioned the incident in the locker room to anyone, at least not in any context that might allude to his awareness of her. No, he had reasoned, it was better to study her from a distance. After all, he was too much of an uncoordinated geek for any woman of her fine figure to notice him and feel any similar connection.

  Dillon was honest with himself, usually. He liked larger women, finding something arousing in the graceful curves of belly and breast. They made him tingle all the way through. She, reminded him of a Rubenesque beauty in modern clothing, so unlike the scrawny chicken-winged versions magazines seemed to prefer these days.

  He wasn’t game to approach her in case she rejected him. Experience told him rejection was something he could live without chancing it again.

  Even now, a rivulet of sweat trickled down the back of his shirt just at the thought of her and desire pooled deep in his belly when he thought of his personal goddess.

  The elevator pinged once, loudly. It pierced the cool silence of the marbled lobby while the door slid open with a grind. He stepped in, feeling the slight rock of the small box. He noted with amazement that she was also at the elevator, and had been waiting patiently behind him.

  Today, she wore a bronze-coloured top of some silky material with intricate cutwork at the top, shadowing her pale skin, teamed with matching pants. Spiky nude shoes completed the look and her gorgeous black hair was swept back into a ponytail, leaving her swan-like throat bared for his scrutiny. Her luscious breasts, full and high, filled the fitted top to perfection and he had to control the urge to step forward and kiss her pale glossy painted lips. He peeked at her fingers, just as he always did. Still bare. He breathed a sigh of relief knowing she remained single, for now, anyway. Or at least her lack of rings showed no visible signs of a relationship. The thought ricocheted through his mind and he had to control himself, otherwise he knew he would have blurted out a question as to her current status.

  “Can you press ten, please?” Her voice filled the air, its breathy quality heating him from within. He wanted to close his eyes as the pleasure curled through his gut.

  “Sure.” He reached over to depress the button, watching her graceful movement towards the back of the cubicle, and he nearly fell over, losing his centre of balance with the heavy briefcase in one hand. He was such a klutz.

  “Are you okay?” The concern in her voice called to him as he pressed the ‘close’ button. She touched him, offering support, but he shook his head in silence. Instead of being a friendly touch, they warmed him at the point of contact with a little zing of electricity. Oh God! Here he was with the woman he dreamed of and he still couldn’t get it together. His heart thudded. He wanted to close his eyes and cringe in embarrassment.

  “Yeah, I just lost my balance a little.”

  She smiled at his words and stepped back against the wall, her lips curving upwards. He wanted to lean forward and touch them, but couldn’t. Wouldn’t, really. What if she thinks I’m a nut? He was so much better off concentrating on what he knew best. His business. He nodded silently in his head, congratulating himself on the cool-headed thoughts. But it didn’t ease the ache in his chest. Here lay an opportunity. One he was too craven to accept, he privately admitted.

  The bell rang once more as the door slid open on the tenth floor, the muzak playing overhead as the open doorway revealed the typing pool. Cubicle upon cubicle filled the area, silent except for the tap of keyboards and muted phone chatter. It was soulless. Devoid of personality, but effective in ensuring the work was completed with as few distractions as possible. His aunt Horatia made sure of that, watching over the actions of the men and women who worked for him. It was her single mission in life, to ensure Veha Industries thrived from their commitment to the business, instead of being distracted by personal issues.

  He watched as the siren, as he had privately dubbed her months ago, stepped out. The gentle sway of her hips enticed him. Dillon released a breath. Even now he lusted after her as she reached a small cell straight ahead, then stepped left and out of sight.

  Dillon was thankful no one else waited in the small elevator as he released the ‘door open’ button, watching as the door closed quietly. As always after one of their encounters, he adjusted his pants, relieving the pressure of his erection, feeling the action as the lift once more continued upwards to the fifteenth floor. He finally stepped out, crashing into the arms of his waiting PA.

  “Oomph. Sorry, May,” he muttered, feeling clumsy once again. A usual state of affairs for him, and one he hated.

  May stood waiting patiently as he collected the files he had knocked to the floor, then accepted them wordlessly. She shuffled the pile in her arms, a broad smile on her face. “I have fantastic news. The internal memo worked a trick. Just as I knew it would.” Her voice was exultant and he watched the way her animated movements mirrored her birdlike frame. “There were three internal applicants, but one was a standout candidate. I have her file here, and I think she will work out as the best choice.” She grinned and he grimaced back as she continued blithely. “Oh, and I’ve arranged for the technician to check your computer this afternoon since you complained it wasn’t running so well after you dropped coffee all over it last week.”

  He winced again. Yet another clumsy moment, one he would prefer to forget. Her chattering battered at his beleaguered senses. Straight after being in an enclosed area with the woman of his dreams, then May, ready to pounce as the door opened. It really was too much for his poor senses. He needed a couple of minutes to gather his thoughts. Obviously, that wasn’t going to happen now, he thought as she trailed along behind him up the corridor.

  He raised a hand slowly. “Hang on, May. Wait until I get to my office and then you can show me.” He walked towards the wooden door then entered his spacious office.

  His office was more like his personal refuge. He looked at the panelled walls. They were dark and rich and welcoming. The light green carpeting cushioned his footsteps as he reached the partner desk he had chosen for himself and the black leather chair gave slightly beneath him as he sat on its seat. “Now, what was that about applications?”

  “Three came in, but one looks to be the best of the lot. Cara Chamberlain. She works downstairs in the typing pool. I know her slightly. She has a great sense of humour and is excellent at what she does, so she won’t frighten any of your clients. She also attended secretary school, so she would be the best bet, in my opinion. Anyway, here are their resumés and applications.”

  May dropped a pile of folders on the desk. “I moved hers to the top, because I know it’s the best. Now, the only issue is Horatia may not like her as an option, because she’s not… thin. You know how she gets about larger women.” Dillon nodded as she grabbed the seat opposite his desk. She became quiet, as the smile slipped from her face. “Seriously, Dillon. I need to finish early. I have a ton of jobs to complete and…we
ll…I really need to finish up today, or at the latest tomorrow. The flowers haven’t been ordered, my dress fitting has been postponed five times and the wedding planner is threatening to cancel if I don’t find time early next week for her.”

  Dillon felt bad for May. Her mother had run away with her father’s partner, leaving her with no one to rely on in this trying situation. Her father was deep in depression and she just wanted a happy well-organised wedding day. He knew that.

  Dillon worried about the change in the office, but in his heart, knew he needed to ensure May got her special day. She’d been with him for a long time, and had given up so much of her precious time to help him grow Veha Industries. His heart told him it was time to give something back, no matter how personally difficult he would find it.

  He nodded slowly. “Okay. Let me look at this and I’ll see what we can manage.” He picked up the file, pushing on the staple that sat proud at the back. “Oww.” He pulled away the finger, a welling blob of blood standing out crimson on the pale skin of his finger.

  “What’s wrong?” May sat forward in her chair.

  “Got myself on the darned staple.” The words were spoken absently as he opened the buff-coloured card cover and gazed in amazement at the picture below. Heat bloomed inside his chest at the thought of being so close to the lush young woman who haunted his dreams.

  May’s voice startled him. “That darned guy in postal. He loves staples and sharp things. I don’t know. Maybe he thinks he’s Cupid?”

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  About the Author

  Wife, mother and nutty bookstore owner all describe Imogene Nix, but the real secret is Science Fiction, Paranormal Romance with a hefty dose of Romantic Suspense is what she adores. Dedicated to high quality romance, with a dollop of erotic interactions, Imogene has dipped her toes into Science Fiction, Contemporary Rural Romance and Paranormal Romance featuring feisty headstrong female leads.