by Lora Leigh
Instead, she felt stuck in a holding pattern, unable to make a choice.
She sat quiet while the others talked, and after dinner, she washed up the dishes, then grabbed a sweatshirt out of the hall closet and went out to the porch to sit on the swing. Over the years, she’d done a lot of thinking—and brooding—here. It wasn’t quite warm enough, but she needed the push and sway to align her thoughts.
Joe followed her out eventually. “Mind if I sit?”
“Would it stop you if I did?” She grinned up at him.
“Nuh-uh. You have that I need to talk look.”
“Maybe I do.” She drew one knee up and wrapped her arms around it while still gently nudging the swing with the other. “I met a guy in Ecuador. In fact, he’s the only reason I’m alive.”
“Wow. That’s major.” Sometimes Joe still sounded like he was sixteen, and that always made her smile. But these days, he had a perspicacity he’d lacked in his younger years. “So you’re into him, but you’re wondering if the hero factor’s coloring your opinion.”
“Exactly. He was the one who suggested we cool it for a while. Give us time to get perspective and see how we feel down the line.”
“Sounds like he has his head on right. I appreciate that he didn’t take advantage.” Her brother mock-scowled. “He didn’t, did he?”
She laughed softly. “None of your business.”
“Do I have to kill him?”
“Please. I’m thirty-three, Joe. Your list would be pretty long, at this point.”
“I so don’t need to hear that.” He ruffled her hair gently. “What are you going to do, then?”
“I don’t know. That’s what I’m trying to figure out.”
Later that night, she went up to her room and flicked on the ancient computer. It still ran, but her mother only had dial-up; she used email, but she didn’t figure the Internet machine was good for anything else. Instead of checking her messages, Juneau went to the website Jack had designed for her and scrolled through the old picture galleries. These shots shared one commonality: they featured her and a group of strangers with whom she’d lost contact as soon as she left the country. She didn’t have many close friends, just a series of friendly acquaintances. Nobody stayed in her life because she didn’t let them. She always had to keep moving.
So was it at all possible that she wanted to keep the one man who’d told her to walk away? Maybe it was just sheer mental perversity making her think so. As requested, she’d give it time. It couldn’t be love, anyway; she’d decided long ago she just wasn’t wired to stay with one man.
But how will you know if you never try?
By day eight, she had to admit it: Silas was a hard man to forget.
No matter how many days passed, she couldn’t forget him. No amount of conversation made her stop longing to hear him laugh again. Nothing she did drove him out of her mind. Juneau woke with the sound of his voice in her head and the memory of his touch lingering on her skin. She played the Blink 182 song “I Miss You” repeatedly, until her mother asked her what the heck was wrong.
So at the end of the month, she emailed him.
FIFTEEN
It was done, then.
It was just as well Silas had work with Tanager; otherwise he would’ve had too much time to focus on the pain. He missed Juneau more than he could’ve imagined. Some bonds couldn’t be broken, but maybe she was better off without him. He checked his email obsessively. The month passed in interminable agony, and on that last day, he woke up feeling dark as a moonless night.
Tanager was gone from their shared flat. She’d be headed to Chicago now. To find Finch and make sure he put Silas from Juneau’s mind. She’d made her choice and so couldn’t be trusted with their secrets. Soon she would recall nothing of their time together, but at least he would remember that he’d had something beautiful for a little while.
His partner’s absence meant they wouldn’t be working today. In the last month, he’d learned how to manage the pain associated with his ability with a judicious combination of meditation and meds, but he didn’t mind the break. It gave him time to make peace with the inevitable. Silas couldn’t honestly say he was surprised. Yet he couldn’t stop himself from checking the account he’d set up just for Juneau one last time.
And there it was in black and white. Hope. Salvation. The potential for all future joy.
Silas, I can’t get you out of my head. I don’t know if you’re the one, but I want to find out. I can’t do that if I’m not with you. Call me. J.
He started to dial her number, and then he paused with his fingers on the dial. Shit. Fuck. He had to stop Tanager. With trembling hands, he punched in her cell, but it went to voice mail. She might already have some guy in the air in his personal plane. For obvious reasons, Tan never flew commercial.
He sat down at the computer, calling to book tickets while he worked online; successful multitasking had never mattered so much. If the number’s listed, yeah. Here we go. Silas scrawled the address. Thanks, reverse lookup. Then he did try to call Juneau, intending to tell her to stay the hell away from Tanager, but she didn’t answer. Fuck. Maybe it’s already too late.
“First available flight to Chicago. Yeah. Thanks.”
Every second the ticket agent delayed, chatting away, made him want to reach through the phone and throttle her. At last they wrapped up and he sprinted for the door. He had no idea where Tanager was, whether she’d already left the city. If only he had some clue—he scared the shit out of his cabbie with his muttering and growling. For once, Silas didn’t care at all, as it motivated the man to drive faster.
He leaped out at the airport and vaulted over a trolley full of suitcases. The delays seemed endless. First he used a self-service terminal to print out boarding passes, since he’d memorized his confirmation code, then he had to wait in an endless security line. Shit had changed a lot while he was locked up. Fortunately, he had nothing to search, which made the agents glare at him, because it meant he was breaking some travelers’ algorithm. He didn’t care about that either.
Finally, he took his seat on the plane, and the whole time he was in the air, he found it hard to sit still. The only thing in the world that mattered was finding Juneau before Tanager had Finch mindfuck her. Don’t let me lose her, he thought, and his desperation carried the weight of a prayer.
He hired a driver at the airport, since an hour in a town car cost about the same as paying for a grubby cab. On the way, he called Tanager four more times, but she didn’t pick up. He left six messages and then texted her for good measure. Don’t mess with her. Juneau still wasn’t answering either, and maybe when she did, she wouldn’t know who he was.
“Do you want me to wait?” the driver asked as they pulled up in front of a good-sized house with white siding and a brick walkway. “That’ll be another hour.”
“No. It’ll be fine.” He hoped.
Silas slid out of the car and sprinted up the drive to the porch. Inside, he could hear voices. He rang the bell, and in the seconds it took for someone to answer, he died a thousand deaths. A small woman who looked to be anywhere from forty to sixty answered the door; she had Juneau’s stormy eyes.
“Ah, you must be Junie’s young man.” To her credit, she didn’t bat an eye at his appearance.
Relief left him weak . . . and uncertain how to proceed, now. He followed her into a living room decorated in warm, inviting shades of peach and brown. Tanager sat sprawled on the couch, drinking a Coke. She aimed a daggered grin at him.
“You didn’t answer your phone,” he said, low.
Finch was nowhere to be found. Which meant he’d made it in time.
“I know. I’m not a nice person.” Her expression said I like to fuck with you.
Before he could decide whether to hug her or bitch her out, Juneau came out of the kitchen. Her step faltered when she saw him, surprise lighting her features, then she came at a run and threw herself at him. He’d never been greeted like that in his
life, not even when he was normal. He wrapped his arms around her and buried his face in her hair.
“Missed you,” he whispered, for he had no explanation why he was here, otherwise. “And I thought this would be better than a call. Surprise.”
“Someone turned the ringer off on the phone anyway,” she answered, her voice muffled by his chest.
He cut a look at Tanager, who smirked. Guilty, she mouthed. Clearly she enjoyed driving people crazy. But now that fear had receded, he didn’t even care. Her fuckery had gotten him here faster. Without her interference, they might’ve screwed around with phone calls and tentative plans that dwindled into doubt. She’d prodded him until he came charging in like a rabid bull. And Juneau didn’t seem to mind.
“Let’s go in the kitchen.” Mrs. Bright beckoned to Tanager. “I suspect these two have some talking to do.”
Tan shook her head. “I gotta bail. I just wanted to see his face when he walked in.”
Juneau and her mom seemed puzzled by her words and her swagger as she left. Silas couldn’t stop smiling. He rather liked the little bitch—and he was certainly grateful to her.
He didn’t let go of Juneau, even as he maneuvered them to the couch. Tucking her against his side, he said, “I was worried you’d write us off.”
“I tried,” she admitted. “But I kept thinking about you. And doubting myself. Why the hell would I ever go looking for greener pastures when I already had somebody willing to die for me? And you just met me. I’m guessing it only gets better from here, though relationships are a new thing for me.”
“Me, too. We’ll find our way together if that’s what you want.”
“It is.”
“I’m not going to have a normal job, you know. It will mean traveling a lot and doing dangerous things. And I’ll be partnered with Tanager for a while yet.”
“That works for me. I didn’t say I wanted to settle down, only that I want to be with you. I’m sure I have some skill they can use.” She canted her head, her voice dropping to a whisper. “They don’t just hire people with powers, do they? Because I think that’s discrimination.”
For the first time that month, he laughed. Only she had ever been able to bring out the lightness in him like this; he’d always been serious, even as a kid, focused on string theory, particle physics, and shit that puzzled the rest of the world. He’d wanted to make a difference—and he would, just not in the way he’d originally intended. But as John Lennon said, Life is what happens to you while you’re busy making other plans.
Silas kissed her temple. “I tried so hard to give you space and distance, so you could be sure this is what you want. But without you, I was so much nothing. Just skin and bone, going through the motions.”
Juneau exhaled in a shuddering breath, and then her mouth found his in a kiss that broke him and reshaped him with its heat and sweetness. Even though she hadn’t said the words, he felt it in her lips with each brush, each tease. I love you. I love you. Afterward, she framed his face in her hands and rubbed her forehead against his. With her fingertips, she traced the patterns on his arms. He still remembered all the names of the people he’d hurt, but he no longer felt quite so doomed or displaced. Working with the resistance, he could make amends in a tangible way.
“This is a kind of madness, but I don’t want it to stop.”
“Our life together won’t be safe or settled, but I promise it’ll be extraordinary. If you come away with me, I’ll dedicate the rest of my days to making you happy.”
“That’s exactly what a mother wants to hear,” Mrs. Bright called from the kitchen.
The oh-so-beloved woman in his arms gazed into his eyes and laughed. “Sold. But I think you’d better come meet my mother properly.”
“I’d love to.”
And that was the last normal thing they ever did.
Don’t miss
Skin Heat
by Ava Gray,
now available from Berkley Sensation!
Angel-Claimed
JORY STRONG
ACKNOWLEDGMENT
Thanks to my critique partner, Sue-Ellen Gower. Your insight and support are greatly appreciated!
ONE
Sajia woke to the acrid stink of fear. Her nightgown clung to her body, wet with sweat. Or perhaps from the fog creeping in off the San Francisco Bay as night battled with day, streaking the sky with hints of color.
The chill she felt at seeing the drapes pulled back and the window open pebbled her skin in a way the cold didn’t. Though she now lived in a mansion guarded by vampires and their servants, old habits remained, as did a human’s inherent fear of the night and predators that roamed it.
She’d shut drapes and window alike before going to bed. It was a habit drilled into children from the moment they were old enough, mobile enough, to unlock a window and die as a result of it.
Sajia rubbed her chest as though she could slow the thundering beat of her heart. She tried to shake off the fear-smell, but it clung like a heavy shroud, making her think it belonged to her until movement, a nervous fluttering at the doorway, jerked her from a terror that had only recently crept its way into her life with each awakening.
She saw the blood-slave then, and dread descended, as thick and heavy as the fog outside. The girl was pale, wringing her hands, frightened that she would lose her life because of something others had done.
There was only one reason a blood-slave would come for her, and it jerked Sajia from the bed. “Corinne?” she asked, naming the scion she’d only recently become companion to.
“It’s not my place to say,” the girl whispered. “The Master demands your presence.”
There were many masters in the Tucci household, but only one by that name.
The blood-slave continued to hover in the doorway, trembling like a field mouse. Afraid to be in the presence of anyone who might draw The Master’s ire, afraid too that when the audience was done, she’d be the one called to The Master’s bed and bled dry.
Sajia offered no reassurance. Anything she said in an effort to comfort the girl would be a lie.
She stripped the damp nightgown from her body, tossing it onto the bed and dressing quickly. Supple black pants molded to her legs. A sleeveless shirt in swirling earth tones of yellow and brown and green left her arms bare, revealing the marks carved into her upper arm, pale, freshly healed symbols identifying her position and indicating she served the Tucci family.
She pulled soft, short boots on last, and the blood-slave turned without a word, scurrying down the hallway as if wanting to put as much distance as possible between her fate and Sajia’s.
Sajia followed. Despite the worry for Corinne that tied her stomach in knots, her steps sounded confident against the tile floor. Her footfalls echoed off the unadorned walls, their stark white surfaces a reminder of a servant’s place where the rest of the estate was lavishly decorated. A manifestation of power and wealth, though compared to the Tassone and many of the other vampire families, the Tucci were paupers.
The moment Sajia passed from the servants’ living area, two vampires positioned themselves behind her, trailing her to The Master’s parlor like deadly shadows.
Additional vampires waited outside that room. And more inside, a mix of inner-circle guards and family members.
No one spoke. No one moved. Yet Sajia felt their presence against her skin in a frigid blast, like a grave opened to reveal icy horror.
The Master sat behind his desk, caught forever at the age of thirty-five, his pockmarked face a testament to a time when vaccines didn’t exist and bleeding by leeches was a common treatment.
Whatever name he’d gone by then, at his death and rebirth he’d shed it like a snake does its skin. What the vampires called him privately, beyond Sire, she didn’t know. The humans knew only one word for him. Master.
Even fearing something had happened to Corinne, Sajia didn’t blurt out a question. She bowed her head and waited for The Master to speak first, forced any hint of rebe
llion deep inside herself at the required subservience.
She knew her place. It was well defined in a world forever changed by a long-ago war that decimated human populations and crushed nations, then was thrust into years of violent anarchy after the supernaturals made their existence known.
Peace, of a sort, had finally come with the carving up of territories. In San Francisco, vampires ruled. Absolutely.
They were apex predators. And humans, little more than cattle to be counted by the head instead of as individuals.
And I am one of those cattle, Sajia told herself, resisting the urge to touch the small gold scorpion at the base of her throat—a talisman and the only thing she possessed that belonged to parents she had no memory of, a reminder that she’d chosen to remain in servitude rather than leave San Francisco. No human beyond their childhood was allowed to live in the city unless they were found to be useful to the vampires. She didn’t want to move away from the aunt and uncle who’d raised her after her mother and father perished in a fire in the San Joaquin, or from the cousins who were like brothers and sisters.
Becoming bajaran, confidant to the still-human scion of a vampire family, not only allowed her to remain in San Francisco but also put her in a position to intercede on behalf of her own family if they needed help. It came with significant risks to them and to her, though even from the start it had been more than a role taken for benefit.
She’d liked Corinne from the moment they met by chance on the pier, and had come to worry for her future. But then that was the point of providing scions with bajaran, so there would be a trusted human in place should they survive their transition to vampire.
Finally The Master broke the silence, perhaps convinced she harbored no guilt, since she hadn’t gone to her knees and confessed in an effort to save herself. “Did Corinne tell you arrangements have been finalized for her to be sent to Los Angeles?”
An ache seized Sajia with the thought of being torn from her family. “No, she didn’t tell me.”
“She is to produce children with a Gairden scion.”
Fear on Corinne’s behalf tightened the knot of worry in Sajia’s belly. The Tucci blood was weak, though it would be suicide for her to speak those words out loud.
Not all families produced readily viable scions, genetically related children who would survive their transition. The Master decided when it was time to attempt it. Corinne’s biological mother and father both died in their transition, as did two older brothers and a couple of cousins.
Given that there were other still-human scions of the Tucci family and that The Master valued male children far more than he valued female ones, it was easy to imagine the worst, that the Gairden blood was so much weaker that they’d paid well to infuse their line with Tucci blood.
Sajia kept her head bowed, knowing there had to be more or she wouldn’t be standing before The Master in a roomful of vampires.
“Corinne has a boyfriend? A lover?”
Caution fanned into existence. “I don’t know of one.”
She suspected a budding romance. Corinne was at the age to dream of love and a future of her own making rather than accepting the reality of a fate orchestrated for her by The Master.
Let her have this time, Sajia had thought, not pushing for answers these past weeks, and now barely suppressing a shiver at how quickly secrets could turn deadly.
Being bajaran meant walking a fine line between loyalty to the individual and loyalty to the family. Betrayal meant death. Or worse. And with vampires, there were so many things worse than death.
Honor, in the style of omerta, from the days when humans ruled and mafia families held power, was a thing the vampires embraced as if they’d created the concept.
Perhaps they had. They’d been around since the dawn of creation. Or so she’d been told, though she’d never been allowed into the private libraries. Never read the histories where they were central figures.
“Recently you’ve spent a great deal of time at the occult shop,” The Master said. “Why?”
“Corinne has an interest in such things. I’ve accompanied her there.”
“And taken note of what she’s studied?”
“There’s been nothing in particular.”
“She has not been interested in charms or spells that might conceal her whereabouts?”
Sajia knew then, though she wouldn’t have thought there was a spell or charm powerful enough to hide a scion from being tracked by the vampire family she belonged to.
“Corinne is missing,” she said, daring to lift her head and meet The Master’s eyes because only by doing so could she convey that she was unafraid of what he would find if he seized her mind.
It was a boldness born of desperation. If he answered her challenge and discovered the periods where she blacked out, coming back to herself sometimes in locations she had no memory of going to, she’d die tonight, in this room.
The scorpion-shaped charm at Sajia’s neck felt warm against the cold of the moment and the icy precipice she stood on. Her shirt clung to her skin as her nightgown had earlier. And her heart beat furiously against her chest.
They would smell her fear, hear the thundering race of her pulse, but they would also expect it. Though she had nothing to do with Corinne’s disappearance, she wouldn’t escape punishment because of it. As bajaran she was responsible for Corinne’s well-being. It remained her duty to know Corinne well enough to anticipate her actions and keep her safe from the impulses and ill-conceived plans of youth.
Like prey transfixed by a serpent’s stare, Sajia continued to meet The Master’s gaze. A subtle shift, perception rather than true movement, told her the danger of having her mind invaded had passed. Taking a bajaran’s oath protected her from it unless there was reason to suspect betrayal. But he was The Master and no one would challenge his actions.
He steepled his hands and rested them on his chest, letting the tension build until it once again became evident that guilt or fear wouldn’t compel her to offer additional information. Finally he