Angelic Blood (#5): Alpha Warriors of the Blood (The Blood Series)

by Tamara Rose Blodgett

  Then the scent of her fear swamps me. If I can break this apart intellectually I'd realize I never had a chance.

  I reacted as though we were mated.

  I've had plenty of changes get into a tight spot, some sensitive human males can sometimes scent something. They don't know what it is about the female that's so enticing. But they do know they want to fuck them. Maybe they have a trace of Lycan. I don't give a rat's ass. Those mundane males who take leave of their senses after a brief acquaintance with yours truly end up canned.

  In the garbage.

  Rivers.

  Coffins.

  Yeah. Their disposal isn't a concern. It's about the timing—executing them after they've been sniffing around but the change isn't there.

  I've only had to exterminate one mundane in fifty years in front of the change. I was disciplined. In control.

  Not this time.

  I didn't give two shits and a fuck if the world was sitting down watching with a bowl of popcorn in hand.

  Talyn needed me. Her scent demanded it. And I came running like her well-trained dog. I'm disgusted with myself and my utter lack of control.

  And her eyes after I was done looking her over—making sure that stupid male's blood was the only blood on her.

  I had to fight every instinct not to heal the mark on her body he put there.

  But her eyes had been wounded—so wounded.

  And I'd been disgusted with my actions. The action of interfering when the danger to her hadn't escalated. And that I stopped beating the male on her request.

  Her voice had undone me like a ball of twine rolled down a hill.

  I should have finished that male.

  I will finish him.

  When Talyn isn't around. Unfortunately, she's on guard now.

  I jerk away from the window, my tongue moving to the hole in my mouth where a missing incisor is regrowing. Hurts like a bitch. Funny thing is, it's like hitting a piece of furniture then showing up with a bruise later. Who the hell ever remembers how they got it? For the life of me, I can't remember when I tore the sucker out—or it fell out.

  I hate not having all the teeth in my head.

  *

  A low buzz vibrates in my pants pocket. I pluck my pulse, careful not to inadvertently thumb it open.

  I read the message and grunt. Perfect.

  Charlesʼ name flashes for accept voice call.

  I think ignore.

  The flashing name vanishes.

  I can't deal with my Alpha right now. He'll shit a granny smith if he finds out the colossal fuck up that was me today. Worse, he might think I need a babysitter in the form of a second Lycan.

  I haven't had that dubious dishonor yet. And I don't want it.

  The thought sprouts my talons and hair bleeds like spilt water over my skin in a downy coat of brownish-red.

  I can't tolerate the idea of another Lycan being within one hundred miles of Talyn.

  She's a bitch in heat, and on the verge of degrading for the change.

  Talyn is very attractive right now to a certain percentage of the population.

  A very small but dangerous one.

  11

  Talyn

  “I'm sorry, ma'am—there's nothing we can do. As far as we can see, this man is the victim.”

  Ma'am.

  I can hardly breathe I'm so angry.

  Jamie is playing victim like a Broadway-trained actor. He's rolling around on the gurney, moaning about his nose while medics try to patch him up

  I fold my arms. “Listen, Officer,” my eyes flick to his badge and the luminescent characters flash his info: Cochran, Twelve-year veteran, Psyche profile clean. I ignore the rest of his flashing stats on the live badge, “Cochran.”

  He smiles tolerantly.

  I am so far from tolerant right now I can hardly stand myself. “That man accosted me. He touched me.”

  Maybe I'm being too sensitive.

  He smirks. “Touched you?”

  Nope. Not too sensitive.

  I take a deep breath. Another. “He barged in through the back of my office, demanding to be seen without an appointment, and then when I made it clear he was to leave, he grabbed my wrist.” I hold up my arm where a vague red outline, and the beginnings of a bruise can be seen.

  Cochran nods indulgently.

  I want to hit him. In fact, I'm in a very violent mood today.

  Cochran jerks his thumb behind him at Jamie. “He said you two had a falling out at the gym last night?” His eyebrows rise.

  What? Clearly he's delusional.

  I spread my fingers on my chest, intuiting his inference. “We are not together.”

  He nods, eyes glued to my chest as he hooks his thumbs inside the pockets of his deep navy uniform trousers.

  Unbelievable.

  I think steam is escaping through my ears. The hell with counseling, I think I'm becoming a she-devil.

  “Patty!” I call out loudly.

  She runs to my side.

  “Did this guy not come in the back and grab me?”

  She nods quickly.

  Finally. I turn triumphantly to Cochran and swing my palm out as if to say, see?

  Cochran turns to Patty and says, “Now Miss Hershey, you remember stating that you opened the door and invited Mr. Duncan inside.”

  Miss.

  His eyebrows rise. That must be the only look he has. Perpetual question mode.

  Patty nods. Her eyes dart to me.

  I die a little inside.

  “Further, you mentioned that Ms. Phisher, and the victim, Jamie Duncan, know each other.”

  Victim.

  She nods more slowly this time.

  “It's Doctor, Officer Cochran,” I correct through clenched teeth.

  He gives a vague nod. “Right.”

  I cross my arms again, stepping into his personal space. I'm not a small woman. I stand every bit of my five foot nine inches, staring him down. “Is this it then? I can't get a restraining order?”

  Cochran spreads his arms away from his body as though I am the one being unreasonable.

  Holy mother of God.

  “If there were probable cause. As it stands, from my perspective as a police officer, there's a guy that you know, whom your secretary invited in. Then he gives you a little squeeze and you're crying foul.” He shrugs, giving a minute shake of his head. “You understand we can't get in the middle of lover's quarrels.”

  My eyes move to Jamie's.

  He smiles through the drying blood on his face.

  My head starts to throb then my teeth. When the flush starts, I give up.

  “Fine,” my face is on fire, “if you won't help me, I'll go to someone who will.”

  Cochran's eyes narrow. My subtle threat and dis being clearly received. “The law doesn't look kindly on any form of vigilante justice, Ms. Phisher.”

  “Doctor!” I yell into his face.

  He smiles benignly.

  I itch to slap him, and he knows it.

  “Final Enforcement, you weak man,” I seethe.

  “Talyn,” Patty says in a timid voice at my elbow.

  “You can insult me all you like, Doctor Phisher.” His tone of voice tells me how much he doesn't want to acknowledge my status.

  But he will. I've earned it. Especially today.

  “Yet the facts are what they are. Do not take matters into your own hands. Further, an unknown assailant attacked Jamie Duncan—yet, somehow he's not a problem?”

  Cochran shakes his head then taps his thumb to his pulsepad.

  Cochran's silent for a few seconds as he communicates into his device.

  Then he turns it around for my perusal. “Both Miss Hershey and Jamie Duncan have thumbed their unique memory signature into the police record.”

  He steps closer. Uncomfortably so.

  I don't give an inch.

  He notices, looming over me. “Is this the man who attacked Jamie Duncan?”

  There he is, in living pulse
color. The stranger.

  His eyes are green in the colored rendering from the short-term memory fragments the pulse device sucked from the two witnessesʼ brainwaves.

  Sometimes I loathe technology.

  I glare up at Cochran. “His eyes are blue.”

  I walk to my office and slam the door, ending his inquest. He moves to the outside of the wood and says, “We'll be in touch, Doctor Phisher.”

  I don't reply.

  I pluck my pulse from my pocket and contact Final Enforcement. They'll find my stranger, and maybe do something about Duncan.

  I get my message sent even with my fingers quaking.

  12

  Talyn

  I drive my car home like a zombie. Go through the motions of feeding Pooky (who doesn't care that I'm half-dead and stupid; the miracle of cat ownership), and take off my blood stained mess of an outfit. I hesitate between the laundry hamper and the trash.

  I pitch the gory clothes inside the separator. I don't even recycle them. I pulse the part of the separator labeled solid waste, and listen to the whir and grind as it evacuates the chute of the proof of my day.

  I open my freezer and snag a pint of ice cream. I plop down on my couch with a spoon stuck in a Ben and Jerry's carton of Chunky Monkey and sigh with bliss.

  At least some things remain the same.

  My hair hangs in wet strands from a scorching shower, Pooky has taken up residency at my feet and the flush comes and goes like a malfunctioning stoplight. My female bits are crying out for attention of the male variety, but they sort of ache too.

  I'm a mess and Cochran rubbed me the absolute wrong way. No pun there!

  I give a vicious stab and swirl inside the container.

  And Final Enforcement left me a canned message about a rep coming by to see me in the next twenty-four hours.

  “Pfft!” I pierce the ice cream again with my spoon, swirling the slowly melting pint of goodness. “That dumb butt wouldn't know a crime if it bit him on the ass,” I mutter.

  Pooky meows her assent.

  I stroke her behind the ears and she moves her paws back and forth, purring.

  “Cats should rule the world,” I say absently.

  The doorbell rings.

  I toss my head back on the couch and groan.

  Can't I just lick my wounds in private?

  Apparently not.

  Pooky appears affronted, and scats to jump on top of the fridge. I look at her with longing. That'd be wonderful. I want to disappear? Fine, a leap on top of the fridge takes care of all my ills.

  Instead, I sigh, setting my now-melting ice cream on my glass topped coffee table. I walk to the door, and disregarding the peephole, I swing it wide.

  Arden stands there blinking rapidly behind his old-fashioned owl glasses. Too cheap to get his peepers lasered.

  Him I'm glad to see.

  “Hey Talyn, I got your sample.” He swings up the baggy with the canine chunk I sent via post chute.

  “Oh!” I say, slightly giddy for anything positive to grab onto.

  His face falls. “It's really not that great of news.”

  I deflate. “Oh,” I repeat in a completely different tone.

  I open the door wide, swinging my palm to indicate entry.

  He enters, taking in the small living room. His eyes light on the pint of B&J.

  He puts his hands up underneath his chin and does a fake puppy dog pant and beg.

  “Okay, you jerk—but you can't have the Chunky Monkey.”

  “Ah-huh.” More owl blinking.

  I jerk a thumb toward the kitchen. “You know where it's at.”

  Arden walks to the kitchen and begins rifling around in my silverware drawer. I listen to him not finding a spoon and he opens up the dishwasher, grabbing a clean spoon. He hunts in the freezer and I give a little groan when he comes out with the Cherry Garcia.

  “Dick,” I say, but I'm smiling.

  He points the spoon at me. “And you—Counselor Phisher—are very unprofessional.”

  I laugh. “Off the clock, Arden.”

  His smile is soft. He knows me. We've been friends since high school. Different paths—kindred souls.

  I watch him consume half a pint. I give a lustful glance at his slim figure. He eats twice what I do and doesn't deign to work out. I shake my head. Some people.

  “So,” I say, licking my spoon and recapping my pint.

  “So—you're right, Sherlock Holmes—canine.”

  “Don't go all Latin on me, Arden—just give me the skinny.”

  He laughs. “Haven't heard that one in awhile.”

  I hold up my palms, my long-sleeved shirt cuffs of my pajama top sliding away from my hands. “I'm getting old.”

  His face changes to one of concern, his eyes latching onto my arm. “What?”

  “Your wrist. What happened, Tal?”

  I glance away then look back. “It's a long story.”

  He leans against the sofa back, crushing the carton of ice cream in his hand. “I've got time. I always have time for you.”

  A hot tear rolls unbidden, and definitely uninvited down my face.

  “Hey. It's okay.” Arden doesn't move to comfort me. He knows better. He just waits.

  Finally, I tell him.

  When I'm done his face is grim. “Well, there's no way in hell that these things are related but I'm not a big believer in coincidence either. Because statistically—there's no such thing.”

  I swipe at my eyes. “Yeah.”

  “So I'm going to give it to you straight. Final Enforcement's got a big time rep as being a sort of—how can I put it nicely—a last resort, and they have a few vamps fanging around there.”

  He cups his chin. “And this tooth?”

  “Tooth?” I repeat stupidly, still coming down from the mess of retelling my day.

  “Fang,” Arden corrects.

  “Okay, so—how did a wolf tooth get in my house?”

  “Let's do an Occam's razor on this.” He lifts his shoulders. “The most simple answer is usually correct.”

  I huff and feel my face redden. “I'm not a dumb ass.”

  He nods. “Let me just say the words. This creature would've had to be inside your home, right?”

  Of course. “Yes. How did a wolf get in my house? And better yet—why—and no damage?” I shake my head at the lack of sense the entire thing makes.

  “No.” His light brown eyes meet mine. “Wolf-like.”

  “What?” My jubilant mood at seeing Arden disintegrates, the ice cream beginning a slow reverse churn in my stomach.

  “If that tooth is indicative of size, and I assume it is, this is a nearly seven-foot creature, which has wolf characteristics.”

  I'm holding my breath.

  Arden continues, “And the other characteristics are canine. So no. Not really wolf.”

  My breath releases in a rush.

  “What is it?”

  “We know that vamps exist now so it got me thinking—”

  I cover my mouth with both hands, guessing through my fingers, “Lycanthrope.”

  The word pounds the silence inside my house to dust.

  13

  Talyn

  “Say something, Talyn.”

  I feel like a fish chucked out on a sand spit. Gasping and squirming.

  I open my mouth to reply and the doorbell rings.

  Arden and I jump at the same time. I give a nervous laugh, and he bounces to his feet. “Let me get that.”

  I stand as well. “Don't play protector. You're a lab geek, not a super-hero.”

  Arden gives me a crooked smile. “Let a guy pretend, Talyn.”

  Someone on the other side of the solid wood door pounds with a fist. A women's voice yells, “Final Enforcement.”

  Oh good. “I'm expecting them,” I explain to Arden as I rush to the door.

  I swing it open and blink.

  A tiny woman stands in front of me, picking her nail with an illegal switch blade.


  I swallow hard. “Identification, please.”

  She turns to face me, and flicks her flashing badge with a finger. Narah Adrienne, age twenty-four, One citation—Exonerated, 2022, vampire hybrid, Level 10 proficient.

  I feel my eyes widen, and back up a step. The whole vampire thing still gives me pause.

  Adrienne moves in, giving a small shiver as she crosses my threshold. “Seen enough?” Her voice is as tart as a lemon.

  I nod, remember who the hell I am, and straighten my spine.

  “I'm Enforcer Adrienne, assigned to case number,” she recites in a bored voice, “1001.”

  “Nice to meet you,” I manage. “I'm Doctor Talyn Phisher.”

  “I know,” she says, sharp eyes taking in my home. She spots Arden, narrowing her golden-green gaze on him.

  Arden had backed up when he read Adrienne's badge. Her body is a deadly weapon. Not her weapons.

  Her.

  “Who are you?” she shoots at him, her voice like a club.

  “Arden,” he replies quietly. “Who are you to the client,” she rephrases, walking around me and going straight for him.

  He retreats.

  A ghost of a smile rides her lips.

  “He's my friend. He was here for a visit. Can we get down to the brass tacks, Enforcer Adrienne?”

  She spins. It's so fast a movement I can't track it. More like a blur. “Brass tacks, huh?”

  I'm unnerved and determined not to show it. I nod. “I think there's something stalking me.”

  Adrienne flips long corn rows of platinum hair over her shoulder. Her inked body is lithe, sensuously muscled. Not from artificial time in the gym, like what I do just so I'm not a complete flab monster—but from her daily job.

  “Something?” she asks, but not like she's really listening. Her catlike eyes flash to mine like twin suns washed by emerald. “Tell me.”

  I blink. Seems like I've been doing a lot of that lately.

  I recount everything. The blue eyes appearing. The creep from the gym, the stranger who I believe to be the mysterious blue-eyed man appearing—and beating the hell out of Jamie Duncan. When I finish with the way Cochran dealt with everything, Adrienne gives a low chuckle.

  I frown. Cochran wasn't even vaguely amusing.

  Her finger runs along my sofa table. I notice she's strategically placed herself between my front entrance, and the French glass doors leading to my small patch of back yard. She wants both exits in sight.