BloodStar

  Anya boiled with Marley’s fresh blood, watching the steam rise from her body as the flakes melted on contact. As she pushed away the urge to audit, one idea slipped through. It occurred to her that it wasn’t too late to abort. Sabian would not decide to scrap his life with Marley in favor of happily ever after with Anya; she knew that.

  But that was all the further it went. Anya’s madness was a curious thing. She knew she was brain-fucked and understood one hundred percent that she’d left her sanity in Russia a hundred years before. To examine the why of her motivation meant clarity—not part of the spread. And a rational thought like giving up before her petrified heart could be cracked yet again was like saying the United States Government was an efficient machine; it just didn’t compute.

  Her mind drifted along, and as always, she thought back to the days before the embrace, thought about what a dream Sabian had been before she discovered all she came to know. He was still a dream, but it was like seeing a magician saw his assistant in half, and then learning that mirrors and contortion were the real magic behind the mystique. Sabian was no less magical, but she was in on all his tricks now that she was changed. Is the wizard magical in the eyes of the witch?

  Yes, the wizard was magical! So what if his soul was married to Marley’s; it was Anya’s body forever bound to his, and he’d made it that way, had he not?

  She thought of Samuel and Marley back in that room, no doubt plotting their escape with poor Samuel working overtime to keep his hands off.

  Let them hold counsel if they wanted. It would change nothing.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Marley stared at Sam’s tattoo as he fumbled with her ligatures.

  "How long have I been here?" Marley asked. She was essentially nothing more than a blood factory, and what the fuck was that smell?

  When Sam was once again across the room, she pulled back the covers, and saw stains on the sheets beneath her. Someone had busted maid-service on the mess, probably Sam, but Jesus Christ, did she shit herself while she was unconscious?

  "About ten hours. But she’s had you for over twenty-four."

  "We need to get out of here."

  "No," he said. "We’re exactly where we need to be."

  "Which is where?"

  "Montana." Sam looked composed, but nowhere near recovered. "He searches for you, or he did, but now…"

  Marley rubbed her wrists, and looked up at Sam. "Now what?"

  "She’s pretty sure he’s gone."

  "Gone?" Sam didn’t respond. "Well, what does that mean? That’s it?"

  "No, not by a long shot, sweetheart."

  Sweetheart? Oh fuck. Now she was talking to a Bogart cliché.

  Marley kept going back to the constant buzz of anxiety pulsing from Sabian. Now it made sense. He’d wanted her to understand her delicate position, how she wasn’t safe with him. Well, no shit, Sherlock. Vampires. You know, risks and all that.

  Ten hours ago—or twenty-four, whatever, she’d wanted the flirty little fantasy; instead she opened the door to the entire production, including all the horrifying sets, props, and deranged cast of characters.

  "And you?" she asked.

  "What about me?" She heard suspicion in his voice. Motherfucker had nerve.

  "Have you been with us the whole time?"

  "Every last minute, every last mile, chauffer extraordinaire, gofer at your service."

  Escape, then. More than a day lost, a possibly shitty bed, and a man she didn’t trust as her only ally. Was there a chance she could recruit him, a safety in numbers kind of thing? Anya said he was an addict. Marley could see that. Two teeth in the neck should absolutely not be orgasmic, but if she had half a chance, she’d be begging Sabian for another go.

  Marley hugged her knees. It was hard to tell if the smile on Sam’s face was bullrider-cocky or math-tutor shy.

  "Look," said Sam, probably tired of being sized up like something at a flea market she may or may not haggle over, "I’d rather be anywhere than here right now, but it is what it is. If it’s any comfort, I’m just as embarrassed as you are." He motioned to her bed sheets with his eyes, and shrugged.

  "I shit myself, didn’t I?"

  Nothing.

  "Well, Sam, I appreciate the sentiment, but I’m the one who apparently took a mud-bath in pile of my own feces. I’m grateful for the cleanup—I assume it was you—but I think it’s safe to say your embarrassment is small-time compared."

  Sam’s face lost the haggard-robot thing and hardened into a mask of something closer to contempt, loathing, possibly even rage. He said nothing, just looked her square in the eye with no feigned remorse, and she realized that everything she’d ever seen or known about this man was just a front.

  Except all the smack he’d talked to Jenna. Maybe that was true because right about now, he looked at her like shit on his shoe. Did he think Jenna was her fault? Because if that was the case he could go take a long walk off a short pier. Who was the one taking orders from the kidnapping monster?

  Rather than the big fuck-you she wanted to sling, Marley asked, "When will she be back?"

  "No telling. It's almost dawn, so maybe five minutes, maybe twelve hours. And I already know what you’re thinking. It’s not a good idea. She’d find us in a heartbeat, no matter how much of a head start we have."

  Sabian hadn’t found them in a heartbeat.

  Okay, wrong example.

  Marley looked at the door. "But I saw you come in from outside earlier. Why don’t you just leave? Why do you come back? Don’t tell me you want her to use you like a Powerbar." Marley could hear righteous indignation in her voice, and remembered the (murderous?) look on Sam’s face just now. She wasn’t above forced deference, and jammed a little timidity into her voice. "From what I can tell she just uses you as some kind of tool for whatever it is she plans to do with me."

  Sam only stared. He had nice eyes. Kind.

  Wait, where the hell had that come from?

  "What happened to Jenna? You really don’t know?" There, that was much thicker ice to tread on.

  "You heard her," he said with a tone of finality. "Jenna’s dead."

  He doesn’t give two shits, thought Marley. For more than a month, while Jenna gushed the fruits of new love, Sam was sharpening his wooden stake between dates. Her poor (dead) friend was a smitten-kitten, and this son of a bitch was…what, a double agent? He was probably just the type to use a live-human-shield without a second thought to save his ass, never mind the death and destruction all around him.

  Marley got up, and even though it felt like a risk, turned her back on Sam. She went to the heavy orange curtains (predictable as Anya’s subtle villain’s accent), and took hold. Marley had no idea what time it was, and when she pulled the scratchy material back to expose the first weak rays of daylight peeking over the horizon, she whipped her arm up to shield her eyes in the nook of her elbow and dropped the curtain like it was a dick with syphilis.

  The light in her eyes was like a needle into a balloon, and she swore she heard something pop. Marley sidestepped the bed, tripped over a chair leg, and finally hit the wall and slid to the floor. It was like taking a blast of Binaca directly into her baby-browns, and tears came to blur her eyes against the cursed rays she’d already sent into retreat by the opaque, industrial orange of the window covers.

  "Christ, what the hell is happening to me?"

  "Fuck. There goes your shower. This is about to be a long day." Marley heard Sam sit down on one of the chairs. "Yeah, you look like you're one of the ones who want to stay out of the light if you can," said Sam. "I should have warned you about that."

  "Well what the fuck?"

  "Man, aren’t you always just the picture of proper."

  "I may just knee you in the balls—proper—if you don’t get off my back and tell me what just happened."

  "Vampire venom. Every time she bites a little gets absorbed into the system. It has properties that can cause photo-sensitivity, paralysis, various degrees of
amnesia, trancelike states…digestive issues." He cleared his throat and…the fucker was smiling at her. Even for the A-hole factor he was flagging, that was low.

  "But the sun is coming up. I thought she had to be back."

  "Nope. She’ll figure something out."

  Man, she felt like refried shit—body, mind and spirit. And what was with the talking New-World-Vampire-Encyclopedia over there?

  For hours, Marley endured the worst hangover of her life beefed up on steroids. She didn’t want to open her eyes, couldn’t concentrate, and just wanted to sleep but couldn’t because she’d already been sleeping (or something like it) more than twenty-four hours.

  What a jip. Marley had no issue suffering the repercussions of a pickled brain courtesy of the handle-du-jour, but she hadn’t had a sip. It was like being an innocent on death row, doing the time without doing the crime.

  Sam came, went, and generally left her alone to moan and toss about in the bed, but not before tying her left wrist back to the bedpost. Her brain was floating around inside her head, unmoored and banging up against the sides of her skull with every movement. Shitty mattress or not, Marley couldn’t be vertical, not for a while at least.

  If she drew a line in the sand, which side would Sam choose? Marley knew he’d been here with Anya, aiding and abetting the whole time, but he also seemed sincere when he urged her to stay to save her own life. Over and over she’d tried to convince him to take her from the room (she sure as hell couldn’t do it on her own), get them free while the sun shone, but Sam refused.

  When she finally felt well enough to talk, hours and hours later, Marley decided she didn’t have time to edit her words or tone to make nice with him anymore. It was time to talk-turkey.

  "Sam, lay it on me. Apparently you have nothing to say about Jenna, and I’m pretty sure your whole relationship, or whatever you want to call it, was bullshit. So what’s your role in all this? You my friend or foe?"

  "I can’t answer a hundred percent in the affirmative for either choice."

  "What the fuck does that mean? Pardon my French, but does everything in this vampire underworld have to come out like a fucking fortune cookie?" She was frustrated to tears. Sam came over to the bed, and sat next to her. Big-time next to her, hip touching hers, flank fully exposed as he leaned over to free her one binding.

  She reached up to his neck, and traced the tattoo over his jugular. He closed his eyes, and let his breath out on a hiss.

  God, the skin over his tat was soft, muscled…and pot-holed from vampire-fangs.

  Yeah, she needed to focus.

  With her touch still lingering and his eyes closed, he said, "Yes, I’m your friend as far as this situation goes. I’ll do my best to protect you from her, and I am experienced with her kind, but you might not think me so friendly when it’s all said and done." He looked at her then, and leveled her with smoldering eyes. Damn, this man was sexy.

  "Your tattoo."

  Sam sighed, and said, "Yeah."

  "I've seen it before."

  "What? When? Where?"

  "Settle down, Woodward and Bernstein. The cops that told me about Jenna had that same tat."

  "Fuck."

  "Who are you, Sam?"

  "You want the truth, or you want what’s comfortable?"

  "I’m not looking for hunky-dory right now. Who are you?" It was taking actual work to keep her hands from his skin. She could see how broad his shoulders were beneath his clothes. Why did she want to dig her nails into his back?

  "I’m the man who’s going to kill Sabian BloodStar."

  "BloodStar?"

  "Wow, I can’t believe how clueless you are."

  Okay, work over, time-clock punched. She wouldn’t touch him if he paid her now.

  "What the fuck is everybody’s problem?" She was close to the tipping point and scooted away from him, not without more brain-pain, but it was worth it to get away from this asshole who was a savior one second, and the next…well, an asshole. "Yeah, I’m clueless, total rookie. I have no idea what’s going on, but you being a dick about it isn’t helping."

  "You want clarity?" It was absolutely a challenge.

  "If it’s not too much to ask."

  "Clarity won’t be comfortable."

  Bloated motherfucker, she thought, incensed at his condescension. Marley rubbed the burns on her wrists, waiting, unwilling to give him the satisfaction of more verbal ping-pong.

  "I’m a vampire Hunter."

  She waited for him to crack a smile, give her a playful shove, whatever, but it didn’t come. Of course. Why wouldn't there be vampire Hunters? Every monster needs a nemesis. Jesus H. Christ.

  Marley collected herself, and readied to move forward, but just couldn’t help herself. "Santa Clause is real, isn’t he?" She stared at him, committed to her cynicism. "What about the Tooth Fairy? Tell the truth."

  "Clarity?" Implied, but not spoken, was the yes-or-no choice he was giving her. Yes for clarity with a promise to be a good girl, or no for fuck off, Hunter, I don’t need you.

  But she did need him. He was good.

  And his eyes. "Sorry."

  "You are bonded to Sabian BloodStar, and he’s bonded to you. That much you understand, right?"

  Not ready to pay-in-full for a year’s subscription, she could only muster enough commitment to say, "I guess so."

  "So you feel it?"

  This fucking guy. He was relentless. She shrugged, and gave a reluctant nod. Yeah, she felt it. No use denying it here in the motel room perfumed by her own excrement. She felt other things in this room, too, and it made the stuff with Sabian seem far away.

  "Anya is the only spawn of Sabian BloodStar, and she’s using you to lure him here."

  "Okay."

  He didn’t say anything for a minute. Marley couldn’t ignore the discomfort in his body language if she tried. Finally, he squared his shoulders, and took a deep breath.

  "You are also bonded to me, as I am to you." Sam paused, and raised his eyes to hers. He looked like a PhD candidate about to admit to his governing academic body he believed in UFO’s. "The BloodStar and I have been fighting for you since the beginning." He got up, went to the sink, and tore the flimsy plastic off one of the hotel cups. "At least that’s what I’m told."

  His back was to her as he filled the newly liberated cup with tap water and swallowed the bounty with one gulp.

  Honestly, Marley would have preferred to snuggle up on the Mattress O’ Shit rather than sit through this conversation. Compared to this, she’d never really had a genuine awkward moment. Horrifying? Yes—she’d been pushing memories of Tiny’s rough hands out of her head for more than a decade. But awkward? Not like this. Not okay. No sir.

  "Since the beginning?" she finally asked.

  "Yeah."

  "The beginning of what?"

  He turned and gave her an almost mild look. "Of time."

  "How do you know this?" The same exact question she’d asked Sabian. It wasn’t that she didn’t believe them, but just…just…she didn’t believe it.

  "Because someone told me." It was one of those conversation-closed tones.

  To hell with that.

  "Who?"

  "Franky."

  "Who’s Franky?"

  "An old partner."

  "And how does he feel about you hooking up with a vampire like Anya?" Marley was saying whatever came to her mind, something that usually got her into trouble.

  "She, and she doesn’t feel anything. She’s dead."

  "I’m…sorry." Sometimes she could shove her foot so far in her mouth she gagged on her toenails.

  "It’s okay," he said. "She would have approved if it meant I got the kill."

  "Even if it meant kidnapping me?"

  His smile was a little scary, but worse was how it crept into his voice. "She would have been okay with me kidnapping a nun if it meant I got the highest name on the Hunt List."

  "The Hunt List?"

  "Do you always do that?" he asked.


  "Do what?"

  "Ask questions about shit that’s self explanatory? You sound like a fucking parrot."

  What a prick. "Are you always so self righteous?" Goddamn, it was hard to put on an exasperated face for the man, asshole or not, who’d wiped your ass. Then again, though rough around the edges, his conscience might not be as hard-boiled as it seemed. Yeah, he kidnapped her, but he also played nurse. Good God.

  He smiled at her for a second, the opposite reaction Marley expected. He stared at her, grinning like Alfred E Newman, freaky enough all by itself without the ambiance of the room and the fact that a monster was overdue.

  "Franky knew all about you. Once upon a time she and I would have kidnapped you together."

  "Sounds just like my favorite fairy tale." Marley rolled her eyes, a little exasperated with herself. Not for lack of effort, but she just couldn’t seem to put the kyboshes on the sarcasm. "You got anything to drink?"

  "Water. And I know what you’d rather have. Get over it."

  Marley had a double-barrel of bitchy-comeback locked and loaded, but shut her mouth and eased back on the mattress instead. She made sure to hang at the foot end where the least amount of clean-up had been necessary. She was on her side, head propped up on her hand.

  Sam was the haggard-robot again. "Franky was the one who told me about you, me, and the BloodStar."

  "What exactly did she say?"

  Sam didn’t answer…and didn’t answer, and then didn’t answer some more. He just looked away from Marley, and heaved a too-quiet sigh. She liked the look of his profile in the dim light. The strength of his shoulders went right up into his jaw. Small waist, long legs, thick chest, juicy lips. Oh shit. Pause that train of thought, or better yet, eject and move to a new disc.

  "Sam? What did she say?"

  "She said she could never be with me because I was destined to chase you."

  What the fuck was she supposed to say to that? "So…bonded?"

  "Soul-mated," he elaborated with crystal clear enunciation.

  Marley scrutinized him for a second, and then said, "So is that why you’re letting that crazy bitch rape your veins? To be close to me?"

  "Don’t get ahead of yourself, sweetheart." He leaned his weight back against the sink and crossed his arms over his chest in defiance. To Marley, the gesture seemed desperate, like he wanted to convince himself more than Marley that he didn’t care.