Blood Unleashed (Blood Stone)

by Tracy Cooper-Posey

  “Pro Libertatus,” she amended.

  “And a League.”

  “The League for Humanity.”

  “Then there’s Nial’s revolutionaries.”

  “They don’t call themselves that,” she replied.

  Marcus nodded, for that confirmed what he had just figured out. “Your boss is the leader of either the League or the Libertatus guys. There’s no other reason why he would think that a threat against Aquila would be taken seriously.” He considered what he had just said, as an even more obvious connection made itself. “That’s what he’s trying to do. Make me take it seriously. But why me?”

  “Why not you?” Ilaria asked.

  “I’m a nobody. The CIA have washed their hands of me and shuffled me off to this coordinator job as a way of keeping me safe and contained.”

  “Do you not work in the office where their vampire coordination unit is located?” she asked.

  “Yes, but I’m not a part of that unit. They’re tight mouthed, that lot. There’s no exchange of information.” He grimaced. “I was happy to have it stay that way, too....” He trailed off, staring at the tiles on the floor. The grout between two of them had soaked up a coffee stain in some long ago time, and the breadcrumbs he had just shook off lay scattered at his feet. He lifted his head. “I don’t like vampires,” he said, repeating it to himself.

  “But...” Ilaria began, looking very confused and just a little afraid.

  He held up his hand, straightening up from his lean against the counter. “Your boss thinks I don’t like vampires. He hasn’t caught up with latest developments. That’s why he pushed you at me. You soften me up, then murmur about how you’re going to take out Nial Aquila and under normal circumstances, as soon as your back was turned, I would report in to my office.”

  Ilaria pressed her hands together, twining the fingers. “But you have a reputation for being a renegade,” she pointed out.

  “I have a reputation for being soft,” he said flatly. “They don’t like that I haven’t forgotten how to feel empathy or emo....” He stopped again, as ideas ricocheted off each other faster and faster. “I was the soft touch. The one most likely to respond to you. Plus, I didn’t like vampires, so when I reported into the office, they would know it had to be taken seriously because I wouldn’t fuck around about something like the undead.”

  She winced.

  “What?” he asked.

  “Calling us the undead is kind of like calling a Jew a Kike.”

  He shook his head. “I’m on a learning curve so steep that Everest looks like a stroll in the park in comparison. Give me leeway, Ilaria.”

  She smiled. “Of course. So your office would take you seriously because you don’t mix with vampires and are such an unlikely source of information, it would have to be looked into. What then? What happens next? Is that not what he is aiming for?”

  “Mobilization,” he said flatly. “The vampire unit in particular would start milking its contacts...”

  “That’s what he wants,” she said softly. “The contacts.”

  “Not just contacts,” he added. “As soon as they start reaching out, they will be identifiable, if someone is watching closely enough, and he will be, I guarantee it. But why would he want to know who in the CIA is working with vampires?”

  Ilaria flexed her fingers. “I have one other skill besides following his orders,” she said gently.

  Marcus blew out his breath. “Fuck,” he said in disbelief. “He’s going to pick them off one by one.” He pushed his hand through his hair. “They have to be warned.”

  “That’s exactly what he wants,” she said, sitting upright. “He wants you to go in there and prod them into action. That’s how he will find them. It doesn’t matter what story you tell them – Nial is a target, or that they’re the real target, it will still achieve his aims.”

  Marcus hung his head. “You’re right,” he agreed. “Plus, we’re working on pure conjecture. There’s not a scrap of proof.”

  “There is one person who might believe you,” she said.

  “Who?”

  “Nial Aquila.”

  “Aren’t you on the opposite side from him?” he asked curiously.

  “I am on no one’s side. I go where I am told.” She pressed her hands against the counter, and thrust her legs out almost horizontally, pushing herself off the counter. She landed on the floor neatly and lightly with her feet together.

  “You don’t have any feelings about this revolution of yours?”

  “I have not been asked.”

  “I’m asking.”

  Ilaria crossed her arms, bringing the tee-shirt in tight over her breasts. It was distracting. Marcus could feel his body stir at the sight, so he dragged his gaze back to her face.

  Ilaria was frowning, her full lips drawn into a pout that was nearly as enticing as her breasts squashed by his tee-shirt.

  He drew in a breath and waited for her answers.

  “I have not ever thought about this,” she confessed. “But I suppose I must, for I will have to choose a side for myself soon.” She gave a shrug. “I do not like the ‘side’ I am on now. They cling to the old ways without regard for feelings or the rights of humans.”

  “Which side is that?” he asked.

  She gave another shrug. “If you speak to Nial Aquila, you will learn soon enough. The League for Humanity.”

  “Which despite their name, does not care about humans?” he questioned.

  “They care that humans remain in their subservient positions. Menials and drudges, used as vampires see fit. I have had enough of that sort of internment to last the rest of my life.” She shuddered. “The League is not for me.”

  “Pro Libertatus?” he asked.

  “Hypocrites, one and all,” she said flatly. “They pose as humans and suck up every ounce of power the human system provides them, then use it for their own ends. They care nothing for humans, either. ‘Liberty’ is only for the vampires.”

  “You’ve picked by default,” he pointed out.

  She drew a breath. “Yes,” she agreed. “Nial’s people at least acknowledge humans as equals and from what I have observed, they actually do treat them that way.”

  “They do,” Marcus confirmed, thinking of Kate Lindenstream’s relationship with two of them. There had been no superiority in Garrett’s attitude or reactions to her...or toward him, either, he realized in hindsight.

  Ilaria stepped across the tiles and pushed her hands into his pockets. She leaned in and planted her lips against his bare chest. It was a gentle touch. A loving one.

  “You’re going, aren’t you?” he asked.

  “It would be normal for me to find an excuse and leave at this time,” she said gently, “having done what I was told to do.”

  “Will you be safe, Ilaria?”

  “Safe enough.” She pulled a hand out of his pocket and rested it against his cheek. Her hand was tiny. “I must be away from you, so that I can think. I must decide what I want.”

  There was nothing threatening in her words. It was a reasonable proposition, so why did his heart squeeze with fear? “I don’t like the idea of you being out there alone, between three armies and humans, too.”

  Her smile was small. “It has not occurred to you yet that I could pick you up and toss you across the room?”

  “That doesn’t make a bit of fucking difference,” he growled.

  “Bullets do nothing but tickle,” she added.

  “But you’re scared of your boss. Don’t tell me you’re not. That means he has some way of keeping you in line, and whatever that is, you’re trapped by it. You keep talking about finding a way out.”

  Her smile faded. “And that is what I will go and do. I want to be free of it, Marcus. Free and able to make decisions of my own. Until then, I cannot make a single decision – not even to stay a day longer, no matter how much I wish to.” She rested her hands on his chest. They were cool, but not cold. “Do you understand?” she pressed
.

  “Sure, but I don’t have to like it,” he growled.

  Her smile this time was ironic. “Neither do I,” she assured him.

  * * * * *

  This time, Ilaria’s departure did not deliver the same kick to his guts that her last leaving had. She used his bathroom to shower and welcomed him with a warm smile when he stepped into the shower behind her.

  He took her by pressing her up against the tiles, the hot water beating down on his shoulder and her nails dug into his flesh as she squirmed against him, panting and moaning through her climax.

  As she dressed, he sat on the bed and watched her. “Do you know how to reach me?” he asked.

  “As I have before.” She shrugged as she buttoned her shirt.

  “My cellphone,” he clarified.

  She rattled off the number, then looked at him as she stepped into her shoes. “Yes?”

  “Just exactly how much research did you do on me, before we met?” he asked.

  She kissed his cheek. She smelled of soap and shampoo. She was fresh and clean. He clamped down on the need to reach for her again. It was a way of delaying her departure, and he had already indulged himself once.

  “I didn’t know about Karelia,” she reminded him. “But I am glad now that you have told me.”

  He let out his breath in a gusty sigh. “So am I,” he agreed. He grabbed her wrist as she picked up her leather jacket with the zips and the shearling collar. “Be careful. Please?”

  She studied him gravely, then nodded. “I will be very careful,” she assured him soberly. She leaned down and kissed him on the mouth, smiled and left.

  Marcus looked around the empty bedroom and ruffled his wet hair. Then he got up and stretched. He needed to get ready. He was going to be facing the leader of the vampire revolution.

  It was going to be an interesting day.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Sebastian put the phone down and clicked his fingers, making Nial look up from the screen he was reading. “That was Roman. He says he’s bringing over an interesting visitor.”

  “I hope he didn’t speak a name aloud?” Winter asked, from where she stood by the high resolution printer, watching a passport page being printed.

  Sebastian shook his head. “That was the whole conversation. ‘I’m bringing someone interesting over.’”

  “I’ll brew some coffee,” Winter said, stretching with her hands on the small of her back. “I need a break.”

  “Let Sebastian do it,” Nial said. “His coffee tastes better than yours.”

  “You haven’t been tasting the coffee again, have you?” Winter demanded.

  Nial smiled and touched the end of his nose. “I can smell the difference.”

  “In that case, your superior olfactory sense can suffer through a round of my coffee, just for being such a snot.” She walked to the door.

  “Is Rick anywhere nearby?” Nial asked Sebastian. “He should perhaps be involved in this visit.”

  “He’s in the lounge,” Sebastian replied. “Winter and he have been doing something mysterious all morning. Now he’s contemplating his belly-button.” He patted his own stomach. “Lunch,” he declared. “I’m starving.” He stood up. “Come and keep me company in the kitchen,” he suggested to Nial. “Then you can direct Winter while she makes the coffee and drive her crazy.”

  Nial grinned and leaned back in his chair, shutting down the file he was reading. “As much as I like the idea of driving Winter out of her mind doing anything to her, I have to point out that your effort to keep me within a pace of your side twenty-four hours a day is completely transparent.”

  Sebastian shrugged. “I don’t care. One of the best snipers in the world has a bullet with your name on it. While it might not kill you, her back up team apparently does a stellar job of finishing her vampire hits off, once they’re incapacitated. The only reason I let you up out of the basement is because these windows are bullet-proof.”

  Nial stepped around the computer and moved to face Sebastian where he stood near the door. He dropped his hand around the slightly shorter man’s neck. “I know,” he said gently. “I was teasing.”

  Sebastian kissed him. It was a hard, short kiss. “I know that, too. You can tease all you want. A sniper is nothing to joke about, so for now, my sense of humor surrounding your safety is as dead as yesterday’s breakfast. Don’t mess with me on this.”

  Nial nodded. “Very well. Let’s go and drive Winter crazy.”

  “I’ll stir Rick as we pass by,” Sebastian said. He grinned. “He’ll be pissed at being disturbed.” He was pleased by the idea.

  * * * * *

  The house was a modernized Spanish villa, complete with semi-circular terracotta tiles, stucco, wrought iron railings and colorful tiles covering the steps up to the front verandah. It was also a very large house, sprawling across two acres while being separated from the road and its neighbors by a high stone wall and iron gates.

  Marcus had been braced for something outrageous and extravagant, but while this estate was clearly a high-end piece of land, the house extruded good taste and home-like warmth.

  Roman punched in a PIN for the gates and they rolled back obligingly. It was beginning to occur to Marcus that vampires in general were filthy rich. They had centuries to use compound interest to their advantage. The E-type Jaguar they were sitting in was a rare and expensive edition of the brand, but Roman handled it like it was the family sedan. Certainly, Roman, Garrett and Kate’s home was no less luxurious than this one. Plus Garrett was a financial genius in this century. He had probably doubled his fortune several times over.

  “I’m starting to feel like the pauper coming to the king,” Marcus complained, as Roman wheeled the car through the gates and around the circular drive. “Do these people match their surroundings?”

  “You’ll have to make up your own mind about that,” Roman said, parking the car. “Kate and Micheil vouched for you, or you wouldn’t be here. You realize that, don’t you?”

  Marcus let his surprise show. “Why would they do that?”

  Roman shrugged and got out of the car. “Something you did impressed them,” he said over the roof. He had kept the roof up, for the day still had a touch of cold in it.

  “I don’t know what that was,” Marcus said honestly. “Garrett gave me the impression he considered me rude and boring, even though he was perfectly civil.”

  “Micheil tends to do that,” Roman said with a small smile. “At least until he feels like he knows you a little. He has a hard time trusting people, especially humans.”

  “I have a hard time trusting vampires. He knows that because Kate told him.”

  “She told me the same thing” Roman added. He came around the car to the front steps and climbed them. “But you seem to trust us anyway.”

  “I’ve learned a few major lessons the last couple of weeks,” Marcus muttered, following him to the front door.

  Roman’s smile was easy and understanding. “I’ve had days like that,” he said and rang the bell.

  Considering the size and spread of the house, Marcus fully expected a maid to answer the door, or even a private security guard. The woman that opened it, however, was certainly not a maid. She had red hair that swung in waves around her waist and crystal clear green eyes fringed with black lashes. She was tall, only a few inches shorter than Marcus, and he was six foot high. And one half inch.

  She held the front door open. “Roman!” she greeted the vampire. “I’ve got fresh coffee brewed just in case. Everyone is in the kitchen, of all places. Sebastian decided he just had to eat. Come in.”

  Her gaze flickered toward Marcus, but she was polite enough not to stare. As she stood aside for them to enter, Roman waved toward him. “This is Marcus Anderson, Winter. Marcus, Winter Kennedy.”

  Marcus held out his hand. “Thank you for letting me invade your peace and quiet,” he said, shaking it. Her grip was firm. And warm. Human, then. He added up the details. She was clearly a r
esident here, and if this was where Roman had brought him to meet Nial Aquila, it was a fairly safe assumption that this was his home, too. What was their relationship?

  “Nial is in the kitchen as well,” she told Roman. “Sebastian won’t let him stray from his side.”

  “Has anyone pointed out he can’t stop a bullet from reaching him, even standing right in front of him?” Roman asked.

  Winter’s smile faltered. “He’s just worried about him,” she said. Then she clearly shifted subjects. “Do you like Mulligatawny soup, Mr. Anderson?”

  “Just Marcus,” he amended. “I’ve never tried Mulligatawny soup before.”

  “Sebastian will be pleased then,” she said as she led them through a wide, tile-line passageway into a beautiful foyer with a cathedral roof and a wrought iron and tile stair winding around the circular walls, leading up to the next floor. “He hasn’t had a human victim for his cooking experiments in quite a while.” She gave him no chance to linger and study the foyer, but led him and Roman through a normal sized doorway, into a tile and marble kitchen that featured beautiful dark wood cabinets and professional appliances in shiny steel.

  There were four people already in the kitchen. Three of them sat on the stools surrounding the octagonal island, facing the fourth, who stood behind the big gas range, dipping a ladle into a big soup pot. He had a soup bowl in his left hand, and there was a small collection of the bowls on the counter next to the range. He had blond hair that was darker than Marcus’, and green eyes that were an eerie replica of Winter’s. As he was clearly the cook, this had to be Sebastian. Another resident?

  Two of the three men sitting on the other side of the counter turned to face them as they entered the kitchen. These two were both very tall – taller than Garrett, who Marcus had pegged at six foot two. They both had dark hair, but the one on the far left wore his short. He was turning grey around the temples, but his sharp gaze raking over Marcus told him this man was no fool.

  The smaller man between them – and he was only smaller in comparison to the two on either side of him – was just slowly turning in his seat to look at Marcus. Hispanic, Marcus judged. He looked younger than anyone in the room except for Winter.