Blood Bond

by Shannon K. Butcher

  Ronan nodded. “Sounds like Joseph. Did your beloved car survive the attack?”

  “Ricardo?” she asked, as if the thought of her Maserati hadn’t even crossed her mind. “I’m sure he’s fine. And if not, I’ll live. He’s just a car.”

  Ronan didn’t think she would have felt that way a few days ago, but he loved that she did. It meant the void Ricardo had filled was now full of something else—something he desperately hoped looked a lot like him.

  “What about the sleeping Sanguinar?” he asked.

  “Tynan is having them moved to one of my warehouses for now. You’ll have to feed them one at a time, but it’s manageable. Joseph has assigned a special detail to protect them.”

  “Sounds like we’re going to be stretched thin,” Ronan said.

  “More Slayers are on the way. Joseph contacted some group called the Defenders and asked them to bring every man and every bit of explosives and firepower they could find. They’ll be here before nightfall to help with what’s coming.”

  The Defenders were dedicated and tough, but they were still human, no matter how many weapons or explosives they had at their disposal.

  The casualties resulting from this night were not yet done mounting up. More would die before order was restored. Luckily, the Slayers would steeply tip the odds in their favor.

  Justice pushed away from the door and crossed over to him. She was dirty and disheveled, but still absolutely stunning. Since coming back to life, she’d had a kind of glow about her, almost like an iridescence.

  She’d told him that she loved him, but it wasn’t enough. He wanted more of her. All of her.

  She reached for him, and he found the strength to take her hand. As weary and worn out as he was, he still was nowhere close to being too tired to touch her.

  “I spoke to my mother while I was dead,” she said, her voice small. “She’s some kind of alien royalty, I think. How weird is that?”

  For some reason, the news that she’d spoken to alien royalty wasn’t even in the top five most shocking things he’d seen in the past twenty-four hours.

  “Definitely weird,” he agreed. “What did she say?”

  “She said that she was the one causing my compulsions. She didn’t mean to hurt me, which I believe. She seems pretty cool, actually. Not really maternal, but definitely someone I could hang with, you know?”

  Ronan laughed. “Next time she’s in town, why don’t we go out for a nice dinner?”

  “Yeah. I get it. Not a lot of hanging with her likely to happen. Still, it was nice to finally meet the woman who gave me life.”

  “I hope I get to meet her someday, too. Especially if I don’t have to die to do it. I want to thank her for giving the universe such an amazing woman.”

  Justice straddled his lap and draped her arms over his shoulders. He loved having her close like this, and reveled in how easily she touched him now, like they belonged together.

  He was going to do everything in his power to ensure that they stayed that way.

  Justice smiled. “My mother said that you were my gift for doing my duty. I think that means you belong to me now.”

  He grinned. “Is that what you think?”

  “Well, she is royalty. You wouldn’t want to insult her by ruining her gift to me, would you?”

  “Never. I will happily belong to you for as long as you like.”

  Her brows shot up. “Oh, really? Are you sure about that? I’m kinda hard to get along with.”

  He cupped her face and kissed her, and in that instant, he knew that he could kiss her every day for a thousand years and never grow tired of her.

  “I’m certain,” he said.

  All signs of humor fled her expression. “Promise me, Ronan. Promise me I won’t have to be alone anymore.”

  His strong, confident Justice was as fragile and uncertain as everyone else, but she never let that get in her way. He loved that about her as he did a hundred other things that made her such a treasure.

  “You and I are meant to be together, Justice. I’ve known it since the night we met. And as difficult as you were to catch, I’m never letting you go again. I promise to be yours for as long as you’ll have me.”

  The weight of his vow settled over him, warm and comforting. Right.

  Justice shivered, then nodded, satisfied. “That’s good, because I plan on having you as often as possible.”

  He liked the sound of that, no matter how tired he was.

  She kissed him, slow and languid. “How about we clean up in one of those massive showers you have here and then get a few hours of down time before the sun sets. I have a feeling that our people are going to need us tonight. We need to be ready.”

  With her by his side, he was certain that the two of them would be ready for whatever came their way. Bring on the demons, the battles and the bloodshed. Their love was strong enough to withstand all of it. Whatever came their way, they’d face it, hand-in-hand, together.

  About the Author

  Since launching her career in 2007, Shannon K. Butcher has penned more than twenty titles, including the paranormal romance series The Sentinel Wars, the action-romance series The Edge, several romantic suspense novels and a few other works of shorter fiction. Being a former engineer and current nerd, she frequently uses charts, graphs and tables to aid her in the mechanics of story design, world building and to keep track of all those pesky characters and magical powers. An avid bead and glass artist, she spends her free time turning small sparkly bits into larger sparkly bits.

  Dear reader,

  First, I want to apologize for the time it’s taken me to write this book. I promise you won’t have to wait so long for the next installment of the Sentinel Wars, which is well underway and features Morgan and Serena.

  As you probably know by now, I’ve been secretly writing under another name—one I will be using for the majority of my work going forward. If you like the Sentinels, I think you’ll love the stories I’ve written as Anna Argent. I’m especially fond of the Lost Shards series.

  As always, I want to thank you for being the loyal readers you are, and for sticking with me through all the changes life has in store. I wish you much love and as many good books as you can stand.

  Happy reading!

  Shannon K. Butcher, now writing as Anna Argent

  P.S. I’m rarely on social media so if you want the latest news and information, the best way to get it is through my newsletter. You can sign up at AnnaArgent.com.

  CHAPTER ONE

  August 18, Cassadaga, Florida

  As a professional psychic, Cleo Radella was used to handing out predictions about others, but the one she faced today was all about her. And it terrified her.

  It was barely four in the morning, but she'd been awake since the stroke of midnight, knowing that the day of her mother's prediction—one given at the moment of Cleo's birth—was here. No more waiting. No more pretending today wouldn't come. No more certainty that her next breath was guaranteed.

  No more time.

  Despite the Florida heat, Cleo couldn’t seem to get warm. A chill of foreboding wrapped around her, making goosebumps dance on her skin.

  She wrapped a purple robe around her to ward away the chill and padded down the steep, narrow stairs, avoiding the third, the creaky one, so she wouldn't wake her aunt. But by the time Cleo had reached the kitchen, she realized her stealth had been unnecessary.

  Her honorary aunt was already awake and bustling around the kitchen.

  Delores Vail stood beneath a tarnished, antique glass light with a single bulb. The dim, golden glow was almost harsh in the darkness, making the cracked black-and-white floor tiles hurt Cleo's eyes.

  "I thought you'd be up early," Delores said with a hint of worry in her tone.

  A flowered apron was tied around her chubby middle, and a sad smile dulled her muddy brown eyes. She was closer to fifty than forty now. Her graying hair had once been a warm, soft brunette, but time was waging a battle within
the short strands—one it would inevitably win. As soon as it had conquered her hair, it would spread its invasion across her body until there was no part of her left untouched.

  Cleo couldn't stand to think about how the war would end. Today was already filled with enough fear.

  Delores, while no actual blood relation, was the closest thing Cleo had to family. She'd been her mom's best friend since Cleo was little, and a constant fixture in her life. Now that Mom was gone, Delores was more than just her roommate and business partner. She was Cleo's anchor—the thing that kept her from spinning off into the darkness, adrift and alone.

  If anything happened to Delores, Cleo knew she wouldn't survive it.

  "Couldn't sleep," Cleo said. "You?"

  Delores lifted the mixing bowl to display its contents. The smile she offered was genuine, but frail, as if it would crack if she exerted any more pressure on it. "I thought today called for a little fortification."

  So sweet. Delores had always been kind. It was a tragedy that the universe had decided to give her such a heavy burden to bear.

  Cleo felt a grin nibble away at her worry. "I hate to say it, but I don't think even chocolate chip pancakes have the power to make today not suck."

  Delores's gaze softened. "It's a big day, but you'll get through it. We'll get through it together."

  "I was hoping you'd forget what today was so you didn't have to worry. No sense in both of us having a day ruined."

  "First, I'd never forget your birthday, especially not a landmark one like reaching a quarter of a century."

  Cleo winced with cartoony exaggeration, which had the desired effect of making Delores chuckle.

  "Second, your mom and I spent so many hours talking about this day that there's no way it would just slip my mind. She can't be here for you, but I can. And I will."

  Cleo pulled out one of the mismatched chairs around the small kitchen table and slumped into it. Like everything else in the little house that also served as their fortune-telling business, it was faded and worn with use. No shiny stainless steel and gleaming granite for a couple of professional psychics in a town filled with them. There simply weren't enough clients—or their money—to go around.

  Sometimes Cleo wondered if they'd be better off moving to a place where women like her and Delores were fewer and farther between.

  Then again, no matter where she went, her mother's prediction would still follow. For all Cleo knew, if she hopped in her car right this second, she'd run right into the thing she was hoping to avoid.

  No. Better to stand her ground, brace herself, and take it like a woman.

  Delores poured the first pancakes into a cast iron skillet and sprinkled them with the darkest chocolate chips money could buy. "These may not make today fun, but maybe it will be a little easier with a bit of chocolate on board."

  "You are as wise as you are kind," Cleo said.

  "You're just saying that to earn extra chocolate chips."

  The coffee pot let out a sputtering, hissing groan, indicating it was done with its chore. Cleo poured two cups, added a healthy spoon of honey to her aunt's, and a splash of milk to both.

  "I think we should close the shop today," Cleo said.

  Delores flipped the pancakes. "You know that won't do any good. Your mother's predictions always come true. Just like yours. There's no escaping it. Every action you take today will inevitably lead you closer to the thing you're hoping to avoid, so you might as well make some money while you're at it." She looked around the kitchen, which, while clean, was shabby in even the most optimistic light. "The house payment isn't going to make itself."

  Cleo sighed in resignation and sipped her coffee.

  Mom grinned at her from a photo on the refrigerator. When it was taken, she'd been standing in this very kitchen, baking Cleo's twenty-second birthday cake. There was a smear of chocolate on her chin and flour in her hair, but she was still so beautiful it made Cleo's chest ache.

  She'd died twelve days later.

  Cleo always wondered if she hadn't known she was going to die, or if she'd simply chosen not to tell anyone.

  Sometimes it was better not knowing what the future held.

  "I wish there was some kind of loophole in Mom's prediction," Cleo said.

  Delores brought two plates topped with steaming pancakes to the table and set them down. Stuck in the top of Cleo's was a single birthday candle, it's flame bright and cheerful, as if it had no idea she was about to snuff it out.

  Delores's voice was gentle. "Honey, your mother and I spent years turning her prediction around and looking at it from every angle. The only way through today is right down the middle. Be the smart, sweet, brave girl you've always been and you'll come out the other side just fine."

  Cleo sure as hell hoped so. For twenty-five years, she'd always known that tomorrow would come. No matter what she did, or what risks she took, she knew she was going to be fine because her mother predicted that today would come. It couldn't come if Cleo was dead, so there was always a sense of peace in whatever decisions she made. But now…there were no more guarantees.

  For the first time in her life, she wasn't sure whether or not she'd have another tomorrow. Even worse, darkness would enter her life today, and she wasn't entirely sure she'd survive it.

  Cleo blew out the candle without bothering to make a wish. Wishing would change nothing.

  "Eat while they're hot," Delores said, then bustled off.

  She returned a moment later with a long, narrow box wrapped in glittery unicorn paper.

  Cleo's heart gave a little squeeze of nostalgia.

  Mom always found a way to work unicorns into Cleo's birthday gifts, ever since she was a little girl. She'd had a unicorn-themed party at the impressionable age of five and had somehow connected birthdays and unicorns in her head. For years, no birthday had been complete without them, and when she grew older, her mom had delighted in finding creative ways to work them into every year's celebration. Now Delores was carrying on that tradition in Mom's absence.

  Cleo blinked back a mist of tears and gave her aunt a big hug. "I don't know what I'd do without you. Thank you."

  Delores didn't smile back. "Don't thank me until you open it."

  Cleo tore into the paper, unconcerned about the glitter bomb she set off. A little bit of sparkle in her pancakes wouldn't kill her.

  She lifted the lid of the box, and inside a foam cradle shaped to fit perfectly was a gleaming combat knife. She'd never seen anything like it before. It wasn't some mass-produced tool provided to the military or sold at gun stores. It was a unique, one-of-a-kind piece of art. Deadly art.

  The handle was a beautiful piece of burled wood with an intricately swirling grain. It had been carved by hand and finished with loving attention until the surface was as smooth as glass. Rather than being thick and clunky, the stunning wooden handle was sized just for her grip.

  The blade was a brilliant, polished silver, with twin grooves running down the length. It's mirror finish reflected her image—one pale blue eye and one emerald green eye, both wide with horror.

  The overall design was simple and clean. Practical.

  This was the kind of knife meant for only one thing.

  Killing.

  A cold chill fell over her and she dropped the box on the table like it was on fire.

  Coffee sloshed out of the cups and the little birthday candle rolled to the floor.

  Delores grabbed Cleo's hand, and only then did she realize that she'd knocked her chair over to scramble away from the weapon.

  "Hear me out," Delores said.

  Cleo jerked her hand away and hugged herself. "What the hell? Is this some kind of sick joke?"

  "You need it."

  She shook her head. "I don't want it. Take it back. I don't even want to touch it long enough to put it in the trash."

  Delores sighed and shook her head. "You're keeping it. You need to be able to protect yourself. Especially today. I would have bought a gun, but—
"

  The feeling left Cleo's legs and she had to lean heavily against the kitchen counter to hold herself up. "I don't want a gun, either. I don't want any of this."

  "It's only for self-defense."

  No. No, it wasn't. A knife like that was meant to kill. She could see its intent shining in its pretty silver surface as easily as if it had been engraved there.

  "I have pepper spray. That's all I need."

  Delores's voice went hard. "That's not enough and you know it. Bad things are coming for you today and I’m not about to lose another daughter."

  Her sharp tone cut through some of Cleo's shock.

  "I'm not going to die today." It sounded more like a question than a statement.

  "Not if you have a way to defend yourself, you won't."

  "I can't take it." Her voice wavered and she felt tears form, hot behind her lashes. "I won't."

  Delores got right in her face, putting on her sternest maternal expression. She pointed a thick, stubby finger at Cleo's nose and shook it. "I've already buried two children, a husband, and a best friend. I am not going to lose you, too. You're going to take that knife and keep it on you all day. And then, after this whole awful day is over and the sun comes up tomorrow, you and I can sit down as discuss other options. But until then, you're going to carry the damn knife like it's the only thing standing between you and death. Because it very well may be. Understand?"

  Cleo did. She understood that the woman she loved like a second mother was terrified out of her mind, and that if carrying some fucking knife was going to make her feel better today, then Cleo owed it to her to strap on the thing and tote it around.

  It didn't mean she had to use it.

  Cleo was not going to kill anyone today, no matter how clearly her mother's prediction had promised she would.

  CHAPTER TWO

  "Did you find her yet?"

  Flint Skelton eyed the antique house from his nondescript rental car. Even though the sun had yet to rise, the thick heat was still stifling. He didn't dare open his windows to let in what passed for fresh air for fear of being noticed by a nosy, insomniac neighbor.