Blood Ties Omnibus

by Jennifer Armintrout

  The air outside seemed colder and newer. It could have been from leaving the musty stink of the motel room, but it smelled more like morning. The exact moment night clicked over to day had happened while he’d been inside.

  He was sorry he’d missed it.

  He pulled his duffel bag and the leather satchel containing Bella’s things from the trunk. Out of paranoid instinct, he scanned the parking lot for vans, semis and hearses that could contain other vampires. There was no doubt in his mind the Oracle knew they were coming.

  He also noted the length of the awnings over office and motel room doors. He did a quick mental calculation of the shadows they might cast, though the time of day would be an uncertain variable, and the space between each in case he and Bella needed to make a quick getaway.

  He just hoped it wasn’t at high noon. If so, Bella would have to finish the “mission” by herself.

  Of course, there was a small chance they would escape detection altogether, tail the Oracle to wherever she was going, race in with metaphorical guns blazing and save the day. He was sure he had a better chance of winding up living in the suburbs with Bella and their furry kids, mowing the lawn on a sunny July day.

  He didn’t like the feeling of being adrift, not knowing exactly what to do or how things were going to go down. He never thought he would miss Movement briefings so much.

  Cursing, he reached for his cell phone. Carrie and Nathan were probably busy wearing out their bedsprings, but Max felt no remorse at the thought of interrupting them.

  “Hello?” Nathan answered, sounding tired, but awake.

  “It’s Harrison. You’re still up?” He checked his watch.

  “It’s only midnight.” Nathan paused. “Where are you?”

  “Just crossed the Indiana border into Ohio. I thought you guys would hit the sack right after you got home.” Max intentionally softened his suggestion of what he thought they’d be doing there. Ever since he and Carrie had done what they’d done in the foyer, things had seemed a little weird. More so now that Nathan knew about it.

  “And I thought you guys were going to drive until dawn. What happened to that?”

  “Well, I just like Ohio so much, I thought we would really be missing out if we didn’t stop for the night in the purgatory of the Midwest.” Max coughed to get rid of the tightness in his throat. “We had to stop. Bella’s sick.”

  “Sick? Is it serious?” There was a rustling sound, indicating Nathan had put his hand over the receiver. It didn’t mask his words when he said, to Carrie, Max presumed, “Max says Bella is sick.”

  “It’s nothing serious.” He raised his voice to recapture Nathan’s attention. “She just doesn’t do well in the car. I thought it would be better to air the vehicle out and try to make up the time tomorrow night.”

  There was muffled conferring on the other end before Nathan returned. “Carrie said try ginger ale to settle her stomach.”

  “An M.D. and that’s the best she’s got?” He supposed it beat cleaning up the car again. “I hope she didn’t pay too much for med school.”

  “Yeah, well.” Nathan’s voice died out, then returned. “Was there anything else?”

  “Ah, no. Just wanted to know if you’ve heard from any other Movement, if you had a heads-up for me, that kind of thing.” What a lame excuse. It had been four hours since he’d seen them; what were the chances they knew anything else? He was as transparent as the windshield he’d had to clean at their last stop.

  There was a noncommittal grunt from Nathan. “We haven’t been at it long. Carrie will speak to Cyrus tomorrow, and I hope to know more then.”

  Max whistled. “She’s going to see Cyrus? How do you feel about that?”

  “The only way I can.” What he meant, Max knew, was he couldn’t elaborate because Carrie is within earshot.

  “Give her a curfew.” Not that Max didn’t trust Carrie, but she had major boundary issues where her old sire was concerned. “I’ll talk to you later.”

  “Yeah. Goodbye, Max.”

  Inside, Bella was still in the bathroom. Max went to the door and knocked softly. “Are you okay in there?”

  Her answer may have been muffled by the door, but he still heard the tears in her voice. “I need to be alone.”

  The hell she did. “Carrie thought some ginger ale would help. Do you want me to go out and get you some? I mean, I’ve got time to kill. It’s not going to be light for at least six hours.”

  “No. I will be fine. I just need to get myself…under control.” There was a hesitant sniffle.

  He leaned his forehead against the door. Part of him wanted to order her to stop being such a big baby. Another part wanted badly to comfort her. She wasn’t a fragile, wilting flower. She was Bella, the ice princess, the stone cold assassin, the hottest, sexiest, meanest woman he’d ever had the great good fortune to fuck. She hadn’t cried when he’d stitched up her slashed leg sans local anesthetic in Nathan’s living room. Something had to be seriously bothering her to create such a reaction, and he had a feeling he knew exactly what that something was.

  She didn’t like being helpless. More specifically, she didn’t like being helped.

  Max knew the feeling well. People who spent their lives—or afterlives, as the case may be—alone liked to believe they were islands unto themselves. If they needed someone once, they might need someone again, and that someone might not be there a second time. Max had been through that pain. From the way she was acting, he knew Bella had, too.

  Still, he couldn’t leave her crying on the bathroom floor. “Do you want anything out of your bag? Pajamas or anything?”

  Stupid thing to ask. All the question did was bring painfully arousing memories to mind. Bella didn’t wear pajamas. It was almost unbelievable that she wore underwear.

  “I do not have any.” She gave another sniff. “May I borrow your shirt?”

  Max threw a glance to his duffel bag on the bed. “Yeah, I’ll get you one.”

  “No. May I have the one you are wearing?” she requested, timidly, if she could manage such a humble state.

  He plucked the fabric between his thumb and forefinger and pulled it away from his chest, frowning at it. She was sick, he reminded himself, so it wasn’t his place to argue. “Yeah, sure.”

  The door opened a crack as he peeled the garment over his head. Bella’s naked arm snaked out to grab it, and the door closed again.

  Shaking his head, Max went to his makeshift bed next to the wall. He shucked his jeans and lay down, wincing as his muscles, cramped from the long drive, adjusted to the hard floor. He pulled the sheet over his lower half—no use having her think he was insensitive enough to proposition her after her barf-fest—and tried to convince his body that going to sleep at this early hour was a good idea. He’d need to be well rested once they reached the Oracle.

  A click alerted him that Bella had emerged from the bathroom. Her hair, usually scraped back severely into a long braid, hung limply around her face. Max realized he’d never seen her with her hair down, even when they had slept together. She pushed a few dark strands behind her ears and folded her arms over her chest. She wore the shirt like a suit of armor, hugged it like a security blanket.

  “It has your smell,” she said quietly. “I have missed it.”

  “That’s…” He closed his eyes. If he didn’t look at her, if he couldn’t see how vulnerable she was, he could stay mad at her for walking out of his life. “Creepy.”

  No, it wasn’t that she had walked out; it was that she’d done it so easily. His anger was fading now that he knew it not to be true, and that was dangerous.

  Her voice was uncharacteristically small. “You always make a joke.”

  His throat tightened. How did she manage to make him feel like shit with a few simple words? Did she practice? “It never bothered you before.”

  He felt her warmth as she knelt beside him. His leg jerked when she placed her palm on his knee.

  When he opened his eyes, the
look on her face made him bolt upright. She was pale, paler than sickness should have made her, and her eyes were wide and scared.

  “Christ, Bella, what’s wrong?” He put his hand on her arm and she reached for it, entwining her fingers with his.

  “Promise me,” she begged, squeezing his hand. “Promise me whatever happens, whatever comes of the time we have left together, that when I am gone, you will do what is right in my memory.”

  As if touched by the hand of Death himself, Max felt a chill run up his spine. “What are you talking about?”

  “You know I saw through the Oracle’s eyes.” She dipped her head, and a tear rolled down her nose.

  “We don’t know anything yet.” He pulled her hand down, capturing the other and bringing them both to her lap. “Some of that stuff you’re seeing might not be true.”

  “I know it to be true.” Bella looked up, eyes blazing. It was a comforting sight. She appeared more like herself than she had before. “And I see horrible things. If I do not live, there will be things left to take care of. Promise me you will do what needs to be done.”

  “Fine. You want me to notify your next of kin, I will.” He tried to laugh it off. “But I’m telling you, you’ll be fine.” He nearly bit his tongue to stop himself from adding, “Because I won’t let anything happen to you.”

  She didn’t argue, but he could see she wanted badly to tell him he was wrong.

  He didn’t want to hear it. “You’re tired. You were sick. You’re probably dehydrated. Go drink some water and get some sleep.”

  “I do not want water.” She lifted one of his hands to her lips. “Sleep with me?”

  “No offense, but watching you gag up two days’ worth of chow isn’t a big turn-on for me.” He pulled his hand back. “Another time, maybe.”

  She smiled. “No. I meant, sleep beside me. Hold me.”

  “I can’t tell you no.” He pointed to the window and the dubious sun protection provided by the blanket. “But if that doesn’t hold, I could be fried in a few hours.”

  “Then get up in a few hours and move.” She clasped his hand as she rose, and tried to bodily haul him onto the bed, where they collapsed in a laughing heap. The playful moment didn’t last nearly long enough for Max.

  Later, when he thought she was asleep, and took the chance to wind a lock of her hair around his finger, she whispered, “I am afraid to die.”

  His heart squeezed painfully in his chest. There was no way he was letting her die, but a part of him warned he should stop this reckless closing of the gap between them, just in case.

  But he was tired of constantly living on the defensive. He couldn’t do it anymore, not where Bella was concerned. He pulled her tighter to his side, hoping he wasn’t just making the most of the time they had left.

  I tried not to make it obvious to Nathan, but I was climbing the walls as the time to meet Cyrus drew nearer. What would I say to him? What would he say to me? Would we fight? Would I pity him? Would I do something stupid, like I had the last time?

  Would I find the place?

  It hadn’t occurred to me until then that I didn’t know where Cyrus lived.

  As soon as we’d crawled from bed, Nathan had gone right back to the books. I’d had to politely remind him to dress himself, he was so immersed in his research. After the dramatic grumbling and complaining he’d done then, I hated to bother him for anything else.

  But this was kind of an important detail. “When you were on the phone with Cyrus, did he happen to give you directions?”

  “Hmm?” Nathan looked up from the volume in his lap. “To do what?”

  “Directions to his house.” I rolled my eyes. “How am I supposed to get there if I don’t know where it is?”

  “You could call him. I’m sure he’s awake.” Nathan turned back to his book with a derisive sniff. “He is human now. He’s probably eating dinner.”

  I looked at the clock. It was nine. Dahlia had probably been and gone by now. I dialed Cyrus’s number.

  When he answered, he sounded distracted and slightly out of breath. I didn’t let myself dwell on the possible reasons why. “How do I find you?”

  “Very well, thanks.” He paused. “You mean, how do you find where I live?”

  I groaned an affirmative.

  With a sigh, he said, “I’d hoped it wouldn’t come to this. Listen, I live very close to you. Why don’t I meet you on the corner in front of the Brandywine?”

  I frowned. Aggressive raindrops battered the windowpanes, and I’d heard a rumble of thunder not long before. Why was he being so difficult? “How about you just tell me where you live?”

  “Fine.” He gave another heavy sigh. “I live, you will be pleased to know, just down the street from you, in the big gray house with the rainbow-striped American flag out front.”

  In the spirit of friendship—no matter how weird and disordered—I held off a foghorn laugh and just snorted.

  “Oh, it’s terribly funny. It will please you more to hear that my apartment is in the basement. You have to go around the back and down the stairs.” The bitterness in his voice tugged a little pity from me. “I assume it used to be a servants entrance, before the place was divided up.”

  “It can’t be all bad,” I began, but he cut me off.

  “I have to go. I’ll see you tonight.” He hung up without saying goodbye.

  At nine-thirty I kissed Nathan on the cheek to draw his attention out of his book.

  “Leaving already?” He captured my hand and gave it a squeeze. Though he tried to block it from the blood tie, I felt his desperation.

  Stop worrying. It’s you I’m coming home to.

  He smiled up at me. “I know, sweetheart.”

  “Then let me go, and don’t worry about me.” I didn’t think he would follow my instructions, but it was worth a shot.

  At least he pretended to be okay until I left. That was a huge step for him, and I was proud he could manage it. Besides, I couldn’t feel guilty. This was what we’d come back for.

  The house Cyrus described wasn’t far. Despite the rain, I walked. The wet had never bothered me, at least not since I’d learned in med school that it wasn’t wet hair but a virus that caused the common cold. In fact, I kind of liked the rain.

  As Cyrus instructed, I went to the back door, which opened onto a bare landing. My choice was up or down, and both passages were illuminated by lightbulbs swinging from cords.

  “Snazzy,” I whispered with a little amusement. Truly, it was a case of the mighty falling far.

  At the bottom of the stairs was a laundry room with no door, and a single apartment marked B. I was about to knock on the door when it opened.

  There was a weird second when my brain registered that it wasn’t Cyrus standing there. My first thought was, It’s the wrong apartment. My second was, Oh shit.

  Dahlia seemed to be having the same thought process. Hers ended just a bit before mine. Her reflexes were better.

  She grabbed me by the throat and pinned me to the wall.

  Nine:

  In the Flesh

  I had no time to react. Dahlia’s face hovered centimeters from mine, and her hand at my throat tightened. The tips of her nails dug into my skin.

  “What are you doing here?” She slammed my head into the wall. I felt the plaster crumble beneath my skull.

  I pulled my feet up and kicked her, kangaroo style, so hard she bounced off the opposite wall. “I was invited, bitch!”

  “Lucky you.” She held up her hands and formed a flaming blue ball of energy. I lifted my arms to shield my face. Before she could release her spell, the door beside me flew open.

  “Dahlia!” Cyrus strode into the hallway, a towel slung around his hips. I don’t know if it was a reflex left over from her days as Cyrus’s obedient pet, or if she was as overwhelmed as I was by his presence, but Dahlia condensed the murderous energy between her palms. When she opened her hands, it was gone.

  “What the hell is she doing h
ere?” she demanded, planting her fists on her wide hips in a bizarre imitation of an exasperated housewife. The gesture seemed all the weirder owing to her vampire face, which she made no move to cover.

  In the tone Cyrus had used to placate me many, many times, he asked, “Why so jealous now? You know the history between us. She’s an acquaintance, nothing more.”

  I made a point of ignoring his remark. I’d seen him wheedle Dahlia this way before, and it nauseated me. Not to mention the fact that I found myself slightly bothered by the label “acquaintance.”

  We’d been enemies. We’d been lovers. We’d been friends. Sometimes all at once. I loved Nathan, but a part of me wouldn’t, would probably never, give up loving Cyrus.

  Dahlia wasn’t stupid. She knew this. It was why she glared at me, though her expression softened a bit. Her animosity gave me a frightening glimpse into the truth of Cyrus’s feelings for me.

  “Besides,” he continued, “I’ve made it very clear to you that I’m not interested in having you around too often, haven’t I?”

  Her angry gaze jerked from me to him. “If I hadn’t promised your father I wouldn’t kill you, I would kill you.”

  I chuckled at her poorly worded threat. It was a mistake. She shoved Cyrus away and stalked toward me. “Do you have something to say to me?”

  Shaking my head, I smiled. “No, I don’t.”

  She turned back to Cyrus. “You better pray I don’t tell your daddy I saw her here.”

  “My ‘daddy’ doesn’t give a damn about me,” Cyrus said with a shrug. “Tell him whatever you want. Just don’t bother coming around here again, if you do.”

  Her manner changed immediately. “Sweetie, you know I’m just playing. Where’s your sense of humor?”

  “In my other pants, apparently.” He kissed her forehead and gave her a shove toward the stairs. “See you next week?”

  She glowered at me as she answered, “We’ll see.” Then she swept up the stairs, and the sound of the slamming door signaled her departure.

  Cyrus turned to me with absolutely no humor in his expression. “You’re early.”