Embraced by Blood

by Laurie London

  “Yes, but being the black sheep of the family, I was always different.” His voice sounded clipped, but tired. “My father raised high-strung Thoroughbred horses on his English estate, so I preferred the sturdy Spanish Andalusians. My father hated the French, so I kept a flat in Paris. Dom became a Guardian, and I—” He abruptly turned away. “Well, you know what I did.”

  She followed him through the arched doorway into a large bedchamber and gasped as she tried to take in all the details. Dark Gothic paneling covered the walls, heavy draperies hung from the windows and a curtained bed with a massive walnut headboard and bedposts the size of tree trunks stood in the center of it all. She wasn’t sure what she had expected, but this certainly wasn’t it. “You did this all yourself?”

  “I did have a little help, but fortunately, they don’t remember a thing.”

  Why go to all this trouble making everything perfect, when it appeared he slept downstairs on the couch? Is that all he felt he deserved? she wondered.

  “It’s gorgeous, down to every last detail.” She approached the bed. The ornate headboard stood a foot taller than her. It was some sort of carved relief. Pushing back the tassel-edged curtains, she examined the depiction of a countryside with soldiers on horseback, swords drawn, racing toward some unknown enemy in the distant hills.

  It wasn’t an old piece, but she recognized the workmanship and attention to detail. “You carved this, didn’t you?” she asked, running her fingertips over the piece. The wood was so smooth, she couldn’t imagine the amount of time he must’ve spent on it. Even the cracks and grooves were finely sanded and varnished.

  He cleared his throat. “Yeah.”

  When she leaned over the pillows to get a closer look, she suddenly became aware of a faint throbbing between her legs that seemed to coincide with the beating of her heart. It was as if her body’s cravings for Alfonso were making themselves known and they had an interest in using the furniture for its intended purpose. The interlude on the stairs hadn’t sated her desire in the least; it had merely whetted her appetite for more. Being near a bed with him so close was definitely not a good idea. She backed away quickly.

  “You don’t mind if I take a shower?” she asked, knowing he’d already told her she could but unable to think of anything else to say.

  “The room is yours. Make yourself comfortable. I’ll be back with something for you to eat.”

  Again, she was touched by his attention to her needs. “But this is your room. I can’t take your bed. As long as I have a blanket, I’ll be happy anywhere.”

  A strange expression that she couldn’t quite decipher crossed his face for a moment. “No, it’s not my room. I’ve never slept in here.”

  DOWN IN THE DRAWING ROOM, Alfonso was picking at the strings of his guitar when he heard the water running upstairs again.

  Why would she be taking another shower? Then it dawned on him. She wasn’t showering. Christ. She was taking a damn bath.

  Closing his eyes, he rested his head on the back of the couch. She’d be slipping out of her silky pajamas right about now—if she wore them. There was a time when she would’ve raided his closet. What if she were wearing one of his shirts now? She’d have run her fingers along the edges of the hangers as she selected the one that had the most concentrated smell of him. Or at least that’s what she’d always done before. The sleeves would be rolled up and the hem would hang midway down her thighs, making it easy for him to run his hand underneath and encounter nothing else but her. First, he’d feel the roundness of her bottom as it curved at the top of her leg. Then he’d move to the front, past a thin, neatly waxed strip of curls, slip a finger inside and listen to her moan.

  He rolled over, fluffed the pillow again. Didn’t she know he was trying to get some sleep down here? And these pipes… For godsake, they sounded like a flimsy, 1940s Rambler.

  He grabbed his guitar, hoping to drown out the sound and occupy his mind with something other than thoughts of that woman in his tub upstairs. A few empty chords not belonging to any song in particular echoed in the air as he played.

  Then the water stopped. He pressed his fingers on the guitar strings to silence them.

  She’d be stepping into the bath now—slowly, because the temperature would be hot. First one manicured toe, then the whole foot, a shapely leg—

  Damn. He had to knock this off.

  He set the guitar aside, grabbed the laptop and put on the headphones. With the volume cranked, his fingers stabbed the keys. If BloodySunday could kill a bunch of zombies, maybe his memory would take a hike.

  He wasn’t sure how long he’d been playing when the blood in his veins stirred for no apparent reason.

  Lily?

  He pulled off the headphones. Hit Pause.

  Except for the crackling fire, the house was quiet. Perhaps he was mistaken. They hadn’t shared blood in over a year—surely this unusual effect she had on him had worn off after all this time.

  When they’d been together, sharing blood regularly, he’d always been able to discern her presence. If she told him to meet her at a hotel, he could locate the room without knowing the number. At a crowded festival, he’d walk right up to her as if he knew her precise GPS coordinates. He imagined that this innate ability would be like following a scent if he were a Tracker—the stronger the sensation, the closer he’d known he was getting.

  A moment later, faint footsteps padded down the stairs. He set the laptop aside.

  Why could he feel her now? He’d assumed it had something to do with the blood sharing, but it had been well over a year since he’d last taken her blood. In the parking lot of the field office, the sensation hadn’t been apparent, but here, where it was just the two of them for miles, it was obvious.

  If this ability hadn’t worn off, what about the other ways she affected him? He shoved that thought from his head. What he thought may have happened a long time ago was just his overactive imagination. It simply wasn’t possible. He’d been drinking that night, so nothing about those odd recollections made any sense.

  Glancing through the doorway at the staircase, he first saw her feet, then her legs, then the rest of her as she descended. She had on pajama shorts. Holy shit. And one of his shirts. She was using it like a robe.

  “Can I get you something?” he called out.

  She leaned over the banister. Her hair was no longer flat-iron smooth, but tousled. Bed-head sexy.

  “Just checking on Kip. I wanted to see how he’s doing.”

  “He woke up enough to drink some weak broth, but he’s sleeping now.”

  “I’ll just peek in on him then.”

  As she stepped into the foyer and padded away, he pulled up the HG forums and halfheartedly clicked on a few threads. Nothing. No one had responded to his messages about looking to party. He didn’t feel like posting a new one.

  Five minutes passed. Then ten.

  What was keeping her? He tightened his brace and pulled himself to his feet, cursing under his breath. His knee was always stiff when he’d been sitting for a while, but after the scuffle last night it had gotten worse. Ignoring the lingering pain, he flexed his leg to limber it up, then strode through the doorway and crossed the foyer.

  In the hallway outside Kip’s room, Lily sat huddled on the floor, her hands around her legs, her head tucked into her knees.

  “Lily, what’s wrong? What happened?” He was at her side in an instant.

  She turned away, swiping a hand over her face. “Nothing. Just relieved, I guess.”

  Had she been crying? “I told you he’ll be fine. They didn’t have him long enough for the addiction to take hold.”

  “Yeah, I know.”

  He had a distinct feeling she wasn’t telling him everything. “Then what’s wrong?”

  She didn’t answer.

  It gnawed at him. He needed to know.

  “Come. Sit with me,” he said, holding out his hand.

  After just a slight hesitation, she slipped her hand in h
is. He was careful not to push or pull any energies as he led her to the drawing room.

  Her skin and hair smelled of lavender. Warm. Fresh. Clean. She’d used the bath salts he’d set out for her. Why he had them in the first place, he wasn’t quite sure. He’d bought the crystal bottle months ago, long after he’d made that fateful call to her telling her he no longer loved her. The scent had reminded him of her.

  He motioned for her to sit, but he didn’t join her on the couch. Instead, he threw another log on the fire.

  “If it’s about me taking advantage of you earlier, then I promise it won’t happen again. I’ll do a better job controlling myself.”

  She shook her head. “It’s not that at all. I…I wanted that just as much as you did. I’m just sorry it didn’t go further.”

  A sudden relief washed over him. Despite everything, she still wanted him, just as he wanted her. For once, he wasn’t the cause of her pain. Somehow he resisted the urge to go to her. “Then what, Lil?” Although she didn’t answer him right away, he sensed her resolve slipping. “Tell me,” he prodded.

  Her breath came out in a slow exhale. “It’s my fault Kip is suffering. When I make my TechTran report, noting the time it took to track Kip as well as the distance and location, it’ll be obvious that I’ve got problems. I had hoped to keep that information to myself, but I’m afraid I can’t keep hiding it. This is all my fault.”

  “How long has it been like this?”

  “Months. But it seems to have worsened lately.”

  “What about last night? You were fantastic.”

  “Yeah, after many hours of tracking. It shouldn’t have been a hard find. Since he and I had been working together for the past few weeks, the scent memory should’ve been strong. I should’ve been able to go straight to him. When I was at the top of my game, I could’ve tracked him whether we’d been working together or not. I would’ve been able to find him that very first night.”

  “Why don’t you let Santiago know? Or Roxanne. Maybe you’ve just been working too hard and need a break. When was the last time you took any energies? Or blood—from a live donor? Hell, when was the last time you took a vacation?”

  “It’s not that.” She drew her feet up underneath her, grabbed his pillow, and hugged it to her chest. “Once this decline in my abilities gets out, my career, which I’ve spent years building, is over. Everyone will find out it was only through my father’s influence that I got the position with the Agency in the first place.”

  “Bullshit. I don’t care who your father is and what calls he may or may not have made. That has nothing to do with it. No one qualifies for Tracker Academy without demonstrating an aptitude far above what others have.”

  “Well, my ability has been severely hampered,” she said huskily. “And what good is a Tracker who can’t track?”

  A Tracker who can’t track.

  It suddenly became clear to him. This wasn’t strictly a matter of guilt or a little self-doubt. This was an issue threatening her whole identity.

  He examined her more closely. Her shoulders looked stiff. Her face was pinched with worry. He felt the tension roiling off her body in waves as if it were his own. She was wound so tightly, no wonder she was having troubles.

  “Lie down. On the sheepskin rug. You need a massage.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  INSTEAD OF LYING DOWN, Lily settled cross-legged on the floor between Alfonso’s powerful thighs. She didn’t want to be quite that vulnerable to him. Caving to him on the stairs had been bad enough. No, she’d stay strong this time.

  Looking around the room to keep her mind occupied on more than just him, she saw his acoustic guitar leaning against the sofa. He still took the thing everywhere. Therapy, he’d once told her. Playing it calmed his nerves. And hers—she loved listening to him play. Was that what had woken her in the first place?

  With businesslike efficiency, he went to work on her shoulders.

  His thumbs kneaded expertly into her muscles, and when she winced at a particularly painful knot, he stopped. “Take off my… This shirt. I need the skin-to-skin contact.”

  She started to protest, but he wouldn’t listen. “Just do it, Lil. I can’t get at all these knots if I have to work through this thick material.”

  A little surprised that his demand didn’t set her on edge, she shrugged out of the shirt and swept her hair to the front, ready for him to start working on her shoulders. He was right—her muscles were aching and sore. She could use a deep-tissue massage, and he was so good at them. He’d always been able to find knots she didn’t know existed.

  Without warning, he stood up. “Let me get you something to eat first.”

  “I’m not really hungry,” she started to say, but he was gone without turning around.

  He returned a few minutes later carrying a cutting board with two apples, a hunk of cheese and a knife. Although she wasn’t hungry because of the sandwich she’d eaten earlier, her stomach growled in anticipation. Secretly, she loved that he fixed her food, but she wasn’t about to make a big deal about it, drawing attention to that fact. He was just being considerate to a houseguest. “That looks good. Thanks,” she said casually.

  When he sank down beside her, she caught a brief glimpse of pain on his expression.

  His knee? It was clearly bothering him more than he let on. She didn’t say anything about it, though.

  Using his thumb against the apple, he cut a few paper-thin slices and offered her one. “Hold on. You need to eat it with a hunk of cheese,” he said, handing her a piece. “It’s really good paired together.”

  He was right. The bite was delicious. She’d never eaten them together before. She smiled as he sliced off another piece.

  “Thanks for being so supportive of what’s been going on with me,” she said. “It…it means a lot.”

  He nodded but didn’t look up from the cutting board. He’d showered recently, she noted. Not only did he smell of fresh soap, but his skin smelled damp and his hair was still wet near his scalp, although the ends were curling up haphazardly from the heat of the fire.

  When she grabbed another hunk of cheese, her bent knee settled more firmly against his thigh. If she were smart, she should move it, but she didn’t want to.

  He speared a chunk of apple with the point of his knife and lifted it to his lips.

  Suddenly, she felt the need to tell him more. “Back when you and I were together, I felt as if I was at the top of my game. People paid attention to me for something other than my looks. For once in my life, my father seemed truly proud of me. Talked to me like I was an equal, included me in conversations with my brother. But without my tracking ability, I’m nothing. I go back to being just a pretty face, and those within the Agency who suspected I got the job only because of my father will think they were right all along.”

  “I’m sure this downturn is only temporary. Honestly, Lil, I’ve never met anyone with tracking skills as strong as yours.” A shadow passed across his face, darkening his features for a moment, but then he blinked and it was gone. “You’ve got your whole identity wrapped up in being a Tracker, and, while I admire your ability, it’s only one aspect of you, Lily. Just one. You’re so much more than that.”

  Neither said anything for a few long moments, both watching the flames flicker in the fireplace. It felt so natural to be sitting with him like this. And so easy to ignore the worry. Crunching down on a slice of apple, she realized Alfonso infused her with a confidence in herself that she’d forgotten. It felt good to open up to him. A relief, actually. No one seemed to really understand her the way he did.

  Spotting the open laptop with a controller and speakers, she asked, “So what’s with that getup? I didn’t know you were into video games.”

  He rubbed the mouse pad, and the words Hollow Grave appeared on the black screen. As she watched, the crimson font morphed to look like dripping blood. “I’m not, really,” he said.

  He went on to explain how Darkbloods were using the
forums to target younger vampires and invite them to the Night of Wilding party. The Seattle field office had been busy tracking down the possible locations of the various parties, but this sounded like the one they needed to worry about the most.

  “That’s pretty damn clever on their part.” She scooted closer in order to get a better look, somehow resisting the urge to rest her chin on his shoulder. It wasn’t easy when he smelled so good. Focus, she told herself. On the game. Not him. “So for you, it’s an RPG then, right? You’re role-playing the part of BloodySunday, a wannabe partier.”

  “Exactly.” He traced his finger over the mouse pad and the cursor spiraled on the screen. “It’s the story of my life. Pretending to be someone I’m not, but this time, I’m not having much luck. The non-gamer in me is apparently invisible to the hard-core players, and—” he made a fake sad face that made her laugh “—no one wants to be my friend.”

  “Poor thing. The game looks creepy in an oddly compelling sort of way.” He looked bemused by that. “What? Don’t look so surprised. You know how much I love scary movies.”

  He moved the laptop to the floor in front of them, and she leaned forward eagerly.

  “Then you’ll love the game, although, frankly, it’s pretty damn gory.”

  “A little blood never hurts.”

  There was that dimple again, as if he were trying to hold back a smile but forgot to tell all of his face. He unplugged the headphones and handed her the controller.

  “No,” she said. “I’ll watch you do it.”

  “Okay, but I’m warning you, I’m pretty terrible. In fact, I suck.”

  She smirked, thought about making a joke, but decided not to say anything. She wouldn’t have thought twice about it if she’d been talking to Jackson, but with Alfonso, she wasn’t ready to be that lighthearted with her sexual innuendos.

  “Seriously,” he said, “you should’ve seen the kid at the store who walked me through it. He made it look easy. Good thing this game gives you a lot of lives. If not, I’d be spending the majority of the time dead.”