Blurred Bloodlines [2nd in Blurred Trilogy]

by Kallysten

  He wasn't ready for surrender yet. Rather than conceding she was right, he opened the door and stepped out of the car. He didn't go very far, and Kate stayed in her seat as she watched him lean against the hood, hands in his pockets and his gaze on the ruins in front of him. His entire demeanor spelled defeat, and while she was hopeful he finally might start seeing reason, she wished she hadn't known so well what defeat looked like. She had seen it too often in herself not to recognize it, though.

  Almost two years earlier, she had let Blake's disappearance batter her down. She had let Marc push her away. She had started pretending that nothing was wrong with Daniel because she had already lost two lovers and couldn't bear the thought of alienating her closest friend, too. She was done, with all of it. She had lost some battles, she'd been hurt, but she intended to keep fighting for those she cared about—and those she loved.

  Pulling a container of animal blood from the cooler, she stepped out of the car and joined Daniel. She said his name, drawing his attention to her as she held out the blood toward him. When he didn't take it, she considered her offering and faltered. “We can find a way to warm it if—"

  Daniel shook his head. He sounded tired when he said, “You don't have to do this. Don't have to worry about this."

  She frowned at him. “About what? Blood? It's you I worry about. I don't care what it is you eat. I don't care that you're a vamp. You're still my friend. The big brother I never had. And if I need to kick your ass into seeing sense...” She was relieved when a corner of his mouth curled up into a faint smile, and returned the grin ruefully. “Well, you've done the same to me before. I owe you as much."

  He sighed and finally reached for the container, inclining his head in thanks when he took it from her. “Fine, I'll drink it, just...” He gestured vaguely behind him with his free hand. “Go find Simon. I'll join you when I'm done."

  Kate climbed onto the car hood, sitting down and resting her feet on the bumper. The metal was warm under her hands. “I'm not going anywhere until you're done. So go ahead and drink."

  Daniel half turned to her. He still hadn't opened the container, and she was afraid he wouldn't feed if she left now.

  "Kate, you don't have to watch this."

  It was the hint of embarrassment in his voice that clued her in. “You think I care? It's food. Not the kind of food I put on my menu, but food just the same."

  He turned to face her fully, brow furrowed in confusion. “You really mean that,” he murmured, and continued to observe her as though he had never really seen her before. “After I was turned... so many soldiers looked at me like I had betrayed them somehow."

  She shook her head and said gently, “Not me."

  "No, not you,” he agreed, but the edge of a blade hid in his words, ready to cut—himself or her, Kate wasn't sure. He finished with a quiet snort. “You barely even looked at me at all."

  Kate drew her hands to her lap and clasped her knees. She dropped her gaze to the container in Daniel's hands. The plastic was clear, but with the lack of light, the blood seemed as black as ink. “You reminded me too much of Marc,” she murmured. “And Blake. And thinking of them just hurt.” She shrugged, wishing she could shake away the loneliness and pain of those months, wishing she hadn't been too blind to notice what was going on with Daniel. It was too late to change the past, but she could still take hold of her future. She looked up at him again and willed him to believe her words, for they were nothing but true. “It had nothing to do with your fangs."

  Very slowly, Daniel nodded. He tore the lid off the container and brought it to his lips. Kate watched him feed without ever looking away. He probably needed more, she thought as he closed his eyes and tilted his head back to finish emptying the container to the last drop. She'd remind him to feed again later, after they saw Jen and got what they had come for.

  Moments later, however, when she and Daniel walked to what turned out to be the improvised headquarters of what was left of the town's militia, she realized it might not be so easy.

  "What do you mean she's gone?"

  Simon shrugged and glanced at the men discussing a map of the town behind him. One was in uniform, the fabric stiffened by blood stains in several places, though only the stain on his sleeve, where a cut in the fabric revealed bandages underneath, seemed like it was his own blood. The man arguing across the map wore a dress shirt, the long sleeves folded over his forearms. His head was bandaged, turban-like.

  "From what they say,” Simon muttered, “it sounds like the demons came into town just to get her."

  The two men stopped talking and turned to Kate and Daniel. Now that she could see their faces, she recognized them. The man in the turban was the town's mayor; the other was an officer in the militia.

  "Did you know they would come for her?” the officer asked, casting a hard look at Daniel and Kate. “When you came, you just said she worked with demons. You never said they'd come and tear us apart to get her back."

  Daniel spoke in a placating tone that Kate doubted he could have managed before feeding. “We didn't know, I swear. If I had thought even for a second they'd attack you like this, I would have asked the squad to take custody of her and take her elsewhere."

  The mayor scoffed, crossing his arms as he walked around the table to come stand in front of Daniel. “The squad? They don't care what happens to us. They say they don't have the manpower to come and help us close the breach here. They've been telling us for years to evacuate and send our people elsewhere. But we're not refugees. We can take care of our own."

  "Not without walls, you can't,” Kate said, meeting the man's gaze straight on. She didn't like to be so harsh, but she couldn't let him delude himself and put his people in harm's way. “All it would take is for the demons to return, and they'd slaughter the rest of you in one night. You're lucky they didn't do that when they attacked."

  "Luck has nothing to do with it,” the officer said glumly. “They breached the walls and went straight for our headquarters. It was like they knew where it was. They retreated as soon as they had the prisoner. Whatever damage they did on the way was nothing more than a distraction."

  "It wasn't the headquarters they knew how to find,” Kate said, her gaze fleeting between Daniel and Simon. “It was her."

  Daniel frowned and scratched at his cheek absently. “You mean, they have a way to—"

  "Track her!” Simon finished. He was practically bouncing on the balls of his feet and spoke so fast his words were hard to follow. “One of the symbols on Blake's tattoo, it's pretty close to a sign that's used in old magic for localization spells. I don't use it because I don't need symbols, but I thought that was what it might be.” His expression fell, the excitement draining out of his face. “But now we won't know because she's gone and maybe her tattoo was completely different."

  "Is that why you came back?” the mayor asked. “To see her tattoo?” At Simon's nod, he shrugged. “We took pictures of it. We thought it'd help identify her in case someone else was looking for her."

  Simon's excitement returned in a flash. “Pictures! That's great! Can I see them?"

  The officer laid a hand on the mayor's arm before he could do more than nod.

  "You're a mage, right?” he asked Simon. “Do you know how to close a breach? We've heard reports that the squad can—"

  "Of course I can do that,” Simon said, puffing up his chest a little. “I've closed seven of them already, four of them all by myself."

  The mayor's eyes widened to the size of teacups, and Kate sighed, knowing what he would say before he did. It was the right thing to do, of course, but she couldn't help but resent having to spend more time away from Blake and Marc.

  "You can have the pictures,” the mayor said. “But only after you help us close the breach."

  Two weeks trickled away, and despite Marc's best intentions, it happened again. And again. Having once obtained what he wanted, Blake seemed to believe that he only needed to take the first step for Marc to be
willing. Every time it happened, Marc was left to wonder how much worse he was making the whole situation. Blake was reaching out to him, but that fact didn't negate the fear that was always present in his scent when he did—the fear that wasn't lessening as far as Marc could tell. How much of this was Blake actually wanting to be with Marc, and how much was his inability to get some relief at his own hand?

  Blake wasn't the only one who was afraid, though. Marc was scared that, every time, it was becoming harder to remember that Blake wasn't fully healed yet. Beneath his Childe's familiar touch, he had trouble clinging to the present and its imperfections. He found himself remembering the past instead, and Blake's always-present willingness and eagerness to sleep with Marc. How long until a bit of frottage became insufficient and Marc forced Blake into something he wasn't ready for, without even realizing it?

  The only redeeming part of this whole mess was that he hadn't bitten Blake again, although he had come very close.

  On the twelfth evening, Marc went to open the door after a sharp knock that sounded like Kate. His smile at seeing her faded when he noticed that she wasn't alone. Daniel and Simon were there, too, and while Marc had worried about Daniel, seeing Simon only stirred the feelings of guilt he felt. Months earlier, he had come within an inch of killing Simon when he had realized that the mage was touching Blake. What Marc had done since was no different, and he wasn't blind enough not to see it.

  "What is he doing here?” he asked, staring hard at Simon, who flinched and let out a quiet, little sound. “I told you I didn't want him here."

  Kate raised both her hands palms out in a placating gesture. “He had an idea about how to help Blake,” she said quickly and glanced at Simon as though to tell him to talk, but nothing coherent came out of his mouth. She shook her head and looked back at Marc. “The tattoo on Blake's thigh? Simon compared it to Jen's and he thinks he knows what the symbols mean."

  "He thinks?” Marc repeated, unconvinced, and crossed his arms over his chest. “Her tattoo wasn't even the same. How does that help—"

  It was the drumming sound of Blake's heartbeat that stopped Marc in his tracks. He slowly turned on his heel to find that Blake was just a few feet back, standing next to the sofa, wavering a little on his feet. He was holding Seneca to his chest, the blade still sheathed in its scabbard. His eyes were going back and forth between Marc and the three people at the door.

  "Everything's all right, Blake.” Marc dropped his arms to his sides and lowered his voice, chasing away the irritation he had been projecting before it could upset Blake even more. “You're fine. No one is going to hurt you."

  It was the first time Blake had taken the sword out of his bedroom since the night Kate had given it to him. Marc wasn't sure whether it was a step forward or back that Blake seemed closer to being able and willing to defend himself from a perceived threat.

  A few seconds passed; Blake's heartbeat slowly calmed down, but he didn't move.

  "Do you want them to go?” Marc asked, tilting his head toward the door. “Or is it all right if I invite them in?"

  Yet again, it was about choices—Blake's choices. Marc would have liked to talk to Kate, he probably needed to check on Daniel, but he wanted nothing to do with Simon. Whatever Blake decided, however, would be fine with him, just as long as he did make a choice, somehow.

  It took several more seconds before Blake slowly stepped to the side and climbed onto his sofa, still holding his sword. He peered over the back, his face peeking out no further than his eyes as he watched the door intently. Hoping that he wasn't misinterpreting Blake's response, Marc opened the door more widely and invited them inside.

  "Let's go to the kitchen,” he suggested as he closed the door behind them.

  Daniel led the way. Kate followed him closely, but her eyes were on Blake as she walked to the kitchen, and a quick glance was enough for Marc to see that Blake was looking right back at her. Simon was slower; he actually waved at Blake and would probably have tried talking to him, too, if Marc had not pushed lightly at his back, urging him on.

  To Marc's surprise, when he walked in, Kate was pulling a container of blood from the fridge. Under his bemused gaze, she filled a mug and set it to warm in the insta-oven.

  "Daniel ran out of blood two nights ago,” she said when she turned around and noticed Marc's puzzlement.

  Marc's eyebrows only climbed higher, his surprise now directed toward Daniel, who shrugged. “She's worse than you,” he said with no trace of humor in his voice to soften the words.

  Kate didn't seem bothered by the accusation, if it was one. She pulled the warm mug from the oven and set it in front of Daniel before leaning back against the counter behind him. Arms crossed, she nodded at Simon. “Tell him about the tattoo."

  Swallowing hard, Simon raised his eyes to Marc. He had taken a seat at the head of the table, and for the first time Marc noticed that he had brought in the leather satchel in which he carried his magic supplies. It rested on his lap, open; Simon had pulled two pieces of paper from it and smoothed them flat on the table with the palm of his hand.

  "This one... this one's Jen's,” he said, pointing at the paper on the right. “And this one's Blake."

  Marc glanced at the drawings and nodded briefly. It had been a long time since he had seen Jen's tattoo—a long time since he had seen Jen—but he remembered it quite well. Or rather, he thought as he took a second, closer look, he had thought he remembered it well. In his memory, though, the lines weren't as crisp, the designs not as clear. It wasn't a copy of Blake's, but he could see the similarities.

  "This,” Simon said, tracing the spiral with his finger, “is an old symbol for finding things that are lost. Mages who need a focus element for their localization spells sometimes use it, or something that looks like it. I don't need—"

  "Simon,” Kate interrupted, a sigh barely concealed behind the word. “I'm sure the short version will be enough for Marc."

  Marc glanced at her. Arms crossed and leaning back against the counter, she projected calm and relaxation, but her neck was stiff, her shoulders tense. Marc wanted to go to her, take her in his arms and soothe her. He wasn't sure how he would be received if he did, though. Things between them weren't fully mended yet, as much as he wished they could have turned the clock back to their relationship almost two years earlier.

  "The short version,” Simon said, sounding disgusted. He always liked talking about magic and what he could do with it too much for Marc's taste. “All right. Jen said the demons can track her. And they found her in her jail. I think this tattoo is how they did it. It's like...” He gestured vaguely with both hands. “Like a beacon. Blake's tattoo has the same symbol so—"

  "So they could find him,” Marc cut in. His chest felt tight, and he unconsciously moved closer to Simon, both his hands closing on the back of the free chair pushed in close to the table. The wood creaked between his hands. “They could find him here. Anywhere."

  Simon's gaze dropped to Marc's hands before returning to his face. He nodded jerkily. “I think so, yes. And I think I can block the beacon. I think I'd better do it before they decide they want him back."

  Marc wasn't sure what bothered him most in Simon's explanation: his hesitation when he talked about blocking the beacon, or his certainty that it was the right thing to do. Marc would decide whether it was, and no one else. “You think so,” he sneered. “When did you start thinking so much?"

  A bright blush crept up Simon's face at the rebuke. He looked down at the drawings in front of him, shoulders hunched.

  "Marc, he has a point,” Daniel intervened. “We don't know why they released Blake, and we don't know that they won't try to get him back."

  Apparently comforted by Daniel's support, Simon tapped his finger to the drawing of Blake's tattoo. “That's not all. This symbol.” He pointed at the three wavy lines that were left of the spiral on the diamond shape. “This is used sometimes by seers to interpret dreams."

  Confused, Marc shook his hea
d. “Dreams? What do dreams have to do with anything?"

  "Dreams as in, seeing something that isn't there.” Simon was gesturing again, his confidence restored. “Illusions. Jen said they made her see things that weren't real. They must have used magic for that, and it's got to be focused on this symbol.” His finger brushed against it again before moving to the second piece of paper. “And it was part of Jen's tattoo, also. But then they changed it. Probably when she agreed to work with them."

  Marc could now see how the design on Jen's tattoo was similar, with two straight lines bisecting the wavy lines. Without thinking, he looked up at Kate, meeting her gaze across the room. He wondered if she suspected why Blake was so scared when she was around. If magic had tricked Blake into believing she was the one hurting him, would Blake's mind ever heal enough to remember he loved her?

  "This one,” Simon continued, “it took me a while to figure out because it's not one symbol. It's two different ones.” His finger traced a line that resembled a figure eight. “This is sometimes a symbol for good, or pleasure. And this...” He traced the other part of the symbol, a broken line like a lightning bolt. “Sometimes it means something bad, or evil. And sometimes—"

  "Pain,” Marc finished very quietly. He remembered suddenly the games Jen had enjoyed in bed, and understood why it was that Blake never lost his erection once he became hard. His discomfort and pain only added to his arousal.

  "Yes.” Simon nodded, then cleared his throat. There was the beginning of a blush in his cheeks. “I guess you can figure out what that does. And then there's this."

  Marc looked at the table and watched him trace the last symbol on the drawing of Blake's tattoo. “Jen didn't have this one."

  "I suppose you have a theory?” Marc asked sharply.

  "I do, yes. Jen is still a vampire.” Simon looked up at Marc, eyebrows raised questioningly. “A full vampire, I mean. Isn't she?"

  Marc gave a sharp nod in reply.