Blood Trouble

by Connie Suttle

  "If she goes, I go. You can't keep living this lie, Rome. Tell your parents—about all of it."

  "Look, this is how I turned out. Why tell them now?"

  "It might help them understand the rest of it—about the dates who really aren't dates. That sort of thing."

  "How do you know Dad won't send me packing? I like my job. I'm good at it."

  "I can't say that for certain," Hank muttered. "If you're not going to tell them, at least stop teasing your mother by waving Bree beneath her nose. She wants a daughter-in-law and grandkids. Bree doesn't want to lie for you. Either way, I'm coming to the party if Breanne agrees to go."

  "I understood that when you said it the first time."

  "Since you're invading her privacy, any idea when she might get in?"

  "No, but I can have my assistant search all the flights leaving D.C. this morning."

  "No, skip that. I may be waiting at her house, though."

  "Stalk much?"

  "I'm learning that from you."

  * * *

  Breanne's Journal

  The pilot announced that the temperature was forty-seven degrees when we landed. Somehow, it felt colder than the twenty-eight I'd left behind in D.C. I didn't bother fighting the crowd for a cab, either; I misted to my house. Should I have been surprised that Hank was waiting in his ancient truck outside my house? Probably not. That meant I had to go back down the hill, call a cab and arrive in a more conventional manner, which added forty-five minutes onto my arrival time.

  "Hank, please go home," I stood outside his truck window, which he'd rolled down the minute the cab pulled into my driveway. I'd given the driver a twenty for a ten-dollar fare and sent him on his way.

  "Bree, I don't want to leave right now. I want to hug my girl." Hank leaned a muscular arm on the truck's door and squinted at me in the uncommon sunlight shining on us.

  "I'm not your girl." I started to walk away.

  "Baby, to me that's what you are." The truck's door creaked painfully as he opened it and climbed out.

  "Hank, it won't work. Go home." I pulled keys from my purse and walked up the steps leading to the front door, dragging my small suitcase behind me. Hank took the suitcase from my hand while I unlocked the front door. I was tired, hungry and Hank wanted to invite himself in.

  "Just leave it there," I pointed to a corner of my kitchen when Hank asked where I wanted the bag. Dropping my purse on the kitchen counter, I opened the fridge and pulled out the bottle of orange juice. Hank settled on a stool at the island.

  "I guess you want lunch," I said after pouring a small glass of juice and drinking all of it.

  "I wouldn't say no."

  "It'll be grilled cheese and tomato soup."

  "I like both those things."

  Ten minutes later, I set a bowl of tomato soup and a grilled cheese in front of Hank, along with the requested glass of milk. I settled onto a stool two down from him to eat my lunch.

  "Baby, you could sit beside me," Hank lifted half his grilled cheese.

  "Nope." I crunched into my sandwich and chewed. Did I tell him his nearness made me queasy with nerves? No.

  "Bree, I'm not going to hurt you."

  "I don't know that."

  "You ought to. You'll only get what you want from me."

  "Uh-huh. What about all those fuck buddy calls I answered for you, when I didn't ask in return?" I shoved my plate away and covered my face with both hands.

  "Baby, all you have to do is ask me. I'll be right there, I promise." How was he behind me so fast? How? His arms moved around my shoulders and I was pulled against his chest. "Shhh, I won't hurt you. I don't mean to scare you, baby," Hank soothed. I forced myself not to cry.

  * * *

  "Ashe?" Bill knocked softly on Ashe's study door.

  "Bill? Is Kay all right?" Ashe stood the moment he saw the concerned expression on Bill's face.

  "Kay's fine—she's sleeping," Bill sighed, raking fingers through his hair. "Ashe, I have memories I didn't have before."

  "What?" Ashe motioned for Bill to take a seat. Bill settled on a chair and watched as Ashe sat again.

  "I met Breanne in the past. I remember that now."

  "That's not frightening," Ashe muttered. "How? When?"

  "In D.C. There are other memories, too, of things that didn't happen before. A sandstorm wiped out an entire village in Somalia. If I hadn't been rescued, I would have died there."

  "Damn," Ashe sighed. "This means the attacks are moving up and down the timeline. How were you rescued?"

  "I can't remember," Bill rubbed his forehead, as if he had a headache.

  "Somebody may be setting traps," Ashe said. "That's possible—and highly dangerous."

  "What might happen?" Bill blinked at Ashe in confusion.

  "Either of the others may not know what they are and fall victim," Ashe replied. "Damn, this worries me." Ashe rose to pace behind his desk.

  "You think it worries you? I'm scared to death for Breanne."

  "Her name keeps cropping up," Ashe stopped and turned toward Bill. "Fuck," he sighed and disappeared.

  * * *

  Lissa's Journal

  To say I was behind on comesuli requests would be putting the situation in much milder terms than it was. Thanks to Breanne's intervention, there was more money to distribute; I just didn't have enough time or help to distribute it. She'd seen right through the requests somehow, and knew exactly which ones to approve and which to deny. I hadn't found anyone else I might trust to do the same, and now I was thumbing through requests on what should have been an off-day.

  "Lissa?" Ashe appeared in my study and took a chair, crossing one long leg over the other and tapping a knee with well-shaped, impatient fingers.

  "Ashe?" He and I were related, but it felt weird calling him Great-uncle so I used his proper name.

  "Tell me about Breanne. Everything you know."

  "She's the Mighty Heart," I blurted, first thing. When one of the Mighty asks a question, they have a way of getting exactly what they want immediately. "She's also the Vhanaraszh and a Q'elindi."

  "Damn. Damn, damn, damn," Ashe rose, holding his head in his hands. "Fuck," he added as an afterthought. "Does she know?"

  "I don't think so. She knows about the Vhanaraszh. Probably the Q'elindi. Not about the other. Most likely, she thinks everything she can do is because she's the Vhanaraszh. I hear she can read Larentii, and nobody does that."

  "Nobody below the Al'Riyu can read the Larentii. That's how they were made."

  "I'm not even going to ask why," I muttered, lowering my eyes to the comp-vid in my hand.

  "I don't remember much from before," Ashe sighed and took his seat again. "I don't think we're supposed to. It's separate and inaccessible."

  "Like previous lives, for the most part?" I studied my great-uncle wearily. "I worry that Breanne won't ever talk to me, even after she discovers what she is."

  "She won't talk to me, that's certain," Ashe nodded.

  "What did you do?" I narrowed my eyes at the Mighty Hand.

  "Yelled. Chased her off. Trajan brought her to SouthStar, I had a fit because Grandfather said Kalia—Kay—was close and she didn't trust women. I didn't want another woman in the house when Kay arrived. I scared Breanne half to death and Trajan barely speaks to me now because I made him take her away."

  "I heard something from Karzac about Kevis' new patient," I said.

  "You should have heard it from that asshole mate of yours, Norian Keef."

  "I chased Norian back to Wyyld."

  "A good place for him. Truthfully, I'd like to kick his ass. He and that fucked up shrink from the ASD scared Kay so bad she attempted suicide. Now she won't talk to anybody."

  "That's not good. I'll remember that if and when I see Norian again. Honestly, he has OCD, and not in a good way."

  "This whole mess is screwed up," Ashe observed. "I can't touch Kay—it scares her."

  "You need to explain that, then."

  "
How much time do you have?"

  "As much as it takes." I turned the comp-vid over, determined to ignore it for now.

  "Before we get into that," Ashe said, "I need to talk to you about the Elemaiya here on Le-Ath Veronis."

  "What about them?" I was very curious, now.

  "I want to take them home with me."

  "Is that all? Feel free," I waved an arm. "They're yours if you want them."

  "Thank you."

  * * *

  Breanne's Journal

  As usual, Hank left the minute he was done fucking. I listened while his truck roared to life after several tries. Why was I putty in Hank's hands? Why? You love him and you're a slut where he's concerned, my conscience informed me. My cellphone rang, so I reached out with a bare arm to pull it off the nightstand beside my bed. Trina's face appeared on the phone as it continued to ring.

  "Trina?" I really wasn't in the mood to talk, but convinced myself it might get Hank out of my head.

  "It's Jayson," his voice snapped.

  "Great. Why do you have Trina's phone and what do you want now? Didn't you get that release?"

  "I bought Trina another phone, I got the release and it's already on file in our legal department. Mom wants the staff writer to talk to you at my birthday party. She wants to listen in while you answer questions."

  "Jayson, you are so damned mean," I muttered.

  "I'm not mean. I only have sex with the women who want what I do. I'm not mean to them, either. They ask for what they get from me."

  "I think we're using different dictionaries and we're certainly not talking about the same thing. That's not what I meant and you know it. I'm talking about the blackmail where your mother is concerned. When and where is the fucking party? And what am I supposed to buy you, as the girlfriend du jour, sans large breasts?"

  "Next Wednesday at my house, and you can buy me a book or something equally as useful. I don't need anything."

  "Except a real girlfriend," I huffed.

  "I don't want a girlfriend. I told you that the night we met."

  "I don't even want to ask what you consider me," I muttered angrily. "Besides a convenience and a lie you tell your mother."

  "I think of you as a friend. A really, really, hostile friend."

  "I thought people in the community only wanted friends who were also in the community."

  "Bree, I know all kinds of people. I'm friends with some of them. My older brother is as vanilla as they come and I love him."

  "So he doesn't know, either?"

  "No, and I don't intend to tell him."

  "Don't you ever get tired of the double-life, Jayson?"

  "Sometimes, but it is what it is. Be here at six, Mom wants to see you before things start at seven."

  "Of course she does."

  "She loves you."

  "She doesn't even know me."

  "She sees you as the woman she wants on my arm."

  "And you're willing to give her that, no matter what it costs both of us in the long term," I huffed.

  "Look, I want things to work out. I'll owe you. Just name your price."

  "You have nothing I want, Jayson Rome."

  "I can pay off the loan Hank owes you."

  "No. I told Hank he owes me nothing. The club is his, free and clear. He can do whatever the hell he wants with it."

  "You're impossible," Jayson muttered.

  "Yeah. That's why you ought to take somebody you're willing to have sex with to your party. Not somebody you only want the public to see."

  "I bought Trina a car. I can buy you a car."

  "I have a car."

  "That's not a car."

  "Perspective is everything. I see it as a car, therefore, it's a car. I don't drive much, anyway."

  "Mom will freak if she sees it."

  "I'll walk to that behemoth you call a home, then."

  "No. Hank can pick you up."

  "Tell Hank I can get myself where I need to go. I don't need a ride, either in his or your vehicle." I was already ashamed enough that I'd hopped right back in bed with Hank. I knew I should just write him off, but if I saw him, that's usually all it took.

  "Look, I have to go, there's an appointment waiting."

  "You called me, remember?"

  "I did. Now I'm hanging up." He did. I was glad.

  * * *

  "You're sure of this?" Bob Sullivan was back, waving more money at Gus Fulton for additional information. "My boss says an extra hundred grand for more information. We don't have photographs of the other two, you know, and you didn't give names."

  "A hundred grand?"

  "Fifty grand for each name," Bob coaxed the old man.

  "All right," Gus sighed. "I've got the records from the sheriff's department, when they tried to run away," he added. "Got some pictures, too."

  "I'm sure you do." Bob smiled.

  * * *

  "You can barbecue Joyce Christian with the information we're getting," Ross Gideon accepted a glass of bourbon from James Rome Sr.'s assistant. "Too bad she's dead; I'd love to sit in on this trial."

  "That'll be all, Stacy," James nodded, sending his assistant out the door. "What do you have?" he asked when his office door closed softly.

  "Proof that Joyce Christian committed murder, theft, corruption, you name it," Ross chuckled. "There's more coming, too."

  "I always knew there was something about that bitch," James growled. "Show me what you have so far."

  "I already have ten chapters written. Not outlined—written. I've been collecting information on her for years, at your request," Ross nodded at James. "All the stuff she did at the state level is already there, I just have to copy and paste a lot of it. Adding this into the mix, well, this is gonna blow everybody away. I've got correlations on legislation while she was doing this other shit. Some of it, you're not gonna believe. I was almost sick, seeing it." Ross pushed a manila envelope across James' desk. "These are the originals—I have copies of all of it to work with. You paid for it—it's yours."

  "I would have paid a lot more," James unfastened the clasp and pulled the journal and photographs out. The first photograph made him draw in a shocked breath.

  "Thought that one would make you sit up and take notice. The way I see it, that's the book's cover. If you'll give me a staff writer or two, we can have this thing done in three weeks or less." Ross emptied his glass in two swallows.

  "Do it," James Rome's eyes were hard as he lifted his gaze to Ross'. "I'll shove everything else aside and print this as soon as it's ready."

  * * *

  "Has our little surprise been prepared?"

  "It's ready."

  "Then release it."

  "Done."

  Chapter 10

  Lissa's Journal

  Ashe hadn't been gone an hour. We'd talked for quite a while before he left, too. This, though, sent me screaming through the palace. Gedes, the capital city of Wyyld, was under attack by the former inmates of Yigga Prison.

  All of them were armed with the worst imaginable, including Ranos rifles, launchers and cannons. Aryn was ready immediately, while Rigo shouted, "Take me with you," when I sent images of the attack to all my mates. Those connected to the Saa Thalarr were prevented from interfering, but anyone else wasn't held to that. Another stepped forward to volunteer when I landed in the palace kitchen—Cheedas.

  This was his way of ending his grief, but I wasn't about to allow it. "Stay here," I snapped at him. Norian was already on Wyyld, and Lendill, using every bit of power he possessed, fought beside Norian. Ildevar placed a shield around the palace, but that wasn't the problem—the people of Gedes were getting slaughtered.

  I'll meet you there, Erland sent. He was on Karathia, but at least I'd have a power wielder with me. Roff, too, had come, and although I worried for him, he was vampire and didn't have a death wish.

  I folded Roff, Aryn and Rigo to Wyyld, and surprisingly, Garde had come. He was already turned to Thifilathi and swept humanoid attackers asid
e with huge arms. They were burning if they came in contact with his black scales and the stench was terrible.

  * * *

  Breanne's Journal

  I was in the shower when it hit me. I knew Lissa, Aryn, Rigo and Roff were in danger. Somebody was gunning for them—that much I could tell from my prescient reading. Throwing on clothing, I bent time to arrive at the proper moment.

  * * *

  Hank didn't feel good about pulling Breanne into bed, but he couldn't help himself. He knew she wanted lovemaking, too, and he couldn't do that. Not without kissing her—that was too much temptation. If he kissed her, he'd strip away every bit of information she was hiding from him. He could do it—someone as powerful as he could do it easily when connected to another like that. He felt it was unethical, but he wouldn't be able to hold back.

  "Why can't I read you, baby?" Hank muttered as he walked through the club's door. "I could find that stuff out the easy way and then kiss you as much as I want."

  * * *

  Lissa's Journal

  They were too scattered and too well armed. Yigga Prison was large—big enough to hold ten thousand inmates or more, and all of those inmates were spread throughout Gedes, killing easily. It wouldn't have mattered much even if the population had been armed—these criminals were shielded in some way, so anything fired at them bounced right off. Norian discovered that quickly when he and a makeshift army of palace guards started shooting. Their Ranos weapons had little effect and the energy blasts ricocheted everywhere. The only person having any effect at all was Gardevik Rath, and his power as a High Demon was somehow disarming the shields surrounding the attackers.

  The trouble with that, of course, was that we only had one High Demon fighting for our side, and he couldn't be everywhere.

  "Beloved, we cannot penetrate the shields," Belen appeared at my side.

  "What?" I stared up at him. Why could a High Demon do what I couldn't?

  "At the moment, we can only shield against their weapons. I have not received permission to interfere by exerting sufficient power to eliminate their protection."

  "I could have waited forever to hear that kind of news," I muttered. Rigo, Aryn, Roff and Erland stood behind me; they'd backed up the moment Belen appeared. I had to shut out the screams around us—people were fleeing for their lives.