Blood Ties Omnibus

by Jennifer Armintrout

  So he climbed into the sleeping bag beside me and held me close, despite the fact that I’d probably assumed the temperature of the floor beneath us. We lay like that, probably for days, in the dark, because Nathan was afraid the light from the lantern would show through the cracks in the floorboards and give us away. He barely spoke to me, except to offer me blood, which I refused. Twice we woke to voices and footsteps upstairs. Nathan went completely still with fear beside me as we heard the intruders overturn bookshelves and tables in their destructive search.

  The seclusion was good for me, though. With nothing else to concentrate on and nothing to distract me from my grief, I moved through it quickly. I didn’t talk to Nathan—I wouldn’t ask him to understand—but I did talk to myself, inside my mind. I began to understand why I couldn’t speak. It wasn’t a prison, but a retreat. I wouldn’t have been able to put my pain into words, anyway. I taught myself to forget the pain of losing Cyrus, and remember the joy of loving him. The hatred I’d felt for him when he’d been my sire was important to remember, as well. It kept my sorrow in perspective. I had loved him, but I couldn’t divorce him from the monster who’d made me, or it would hurt all the worse.

  And when I woke one night—or day; it was hard to tell with no windows—I could talk again.

  I rolled to my side and touched Nathan’s face. He snapped awake as if waiting for me to come back to my senses, his eyes full of concern. “Carrie, are you all right?”

  No, I’m not. “Why didn’t you ever tell me about this place?”

  A quick intake of breath warned me of the explanation ahead. “In case I ever had to use it. In case you…went to the other side again.”

  “Oh.” I picked at the zipper on the sleeping bag. “I was never on the other side.”

  “You were always on the other side, Carrie.” He touched my cheek. “Or on your own side. You’ve never truly been on my side.”

  “I have to be on my side. If I’m not, who is?” I thought of Cyrus. No, he was never on my side. No one was.

  “I would have been.” Nathan said it so earnestly, I think he believed it.

  “No. You wouldn’t have.” And it was something I had to learn. No one was ever truly devoted to anyone else.

  There was a long silence. Then Nathan put his hand over mine. “I do love you. I didn’t say it because we were going to die.”

  “It has nothing to do with love.” I didn’t say that to wound him. “I love you. But you hurt me. And I hurt you. Whether we love each other or not, we can’t ignore that, or we’re just…building our foundation on sand.”

  “I know.”

  We didn’t say anything else. I think we reached some sort of understanding. Our timetables were off once again. One of us was ready to open up and love, the other was retreating into solitude. But I needed time to grieve and think and let what had happened change me. At the end of that change, maybe I could build a relationship with Nathan out of the ruined components of our previous attempts. Or maybe I’d be strong enough to start from scratch. Maybe it would be easier, both of us coming from a place of loss. Perhaps that unequal footing had been our problem all along. But right now, I needed to be me, not “us.” And it wouldn’t be fair to give him anything less.

  It was the damnedest thing, life. Once you decide exactly how things are going to go, something—or someone—comes along and messes it all up.

  Max looked at Bella, really looked at her for the first time in days. She sat ramrod straight on the bench at the T station in Salem, working hard to keep her balance on the seat without the aid of her legs to steady her. They’d ditched the wheelchair—the Oracle’s people would be looking for a werewolf in a wheelchair—and had used all manner of tricks to get themselves this far.

  Her eyes drifted shut a moment, then snapped open, a new, more firm resolve visibly gripping her. Max smiled. Now that they weren’t in mortal peril, weren’t walking blindly into danger, he realized how stupid he’d been. Of course he loved her. And yeah, there was a chance something might happen to them. It wasn’t fair, it wasn’t the life he would have picked for himself, but there it was. And he would be an idiot to throw away what he had because someday, something might hurt him again the way Marcus’s death had.

  God, he could be dense sometimes.

  “When the train arrives, we will take it to North Station,” she repeated for the fifth time since they’d sat down. More to keep him awake than to actually reiterate the facts in her mind, he was sure. Bella’s mind was like a steel trap. “There will be a car there for us, to take us to the airport. The helicopter will be there.”

  “Now, is this the helicopter that takes us to your clan, or the helicopter that takes us to the sanctuary?” He hadn’t listened in on Bella’s whispered phone conversation in Ziggy’s car. Max didn’t want to jinx things somehow.

  “To New York City. My father’s jet will be waiting at JFK, to take us to Rome.” She closed her eyes, intentionally this time, and breathed deeply. “Back home.”

  He didn’t know what to think about the prospect of meeting Bella’s family. Her obviously rich family. “Listen, if they don’t like me—”

  “It does not matter if they like you. What matters is keeping this child safe. They will understand that.” She placed a hand on his knee and gave a comforting squeeze. “Now, don’t you have a call to make?”

  Reluctantly, he pulled the phone Ziggy had given him from his back pocket and flipped it open. “How do you do this?”

  “Dial the number and talk.” She pointed out, arching her eyebrow as if to imply he had lost his mind.

  “That’s not what I mean.” He glanced at the sky, starless thanks to the bright lights of the nearby condo development. “How do you tell someone goodbye? How do you say, ‘Nice knowing you, I’ll never see you again?’”

  Bella’s eyes took on a faraway look for a moment, then turned with pity to him. “You do it knowing that it is for the best.”

  He opened the phone and dialed.

  Later, I finally ate. Nathan had to prop me up on his arm and hold the bag for me to drink, but the blood restored me somewhat. By the end of the second bag, I could sit up and remain conscious. But I tired quickly, and I’d nearly nodded off again when the sound of Nathan’s cell phone, muffled in the sleeping bag, woke me. Groggy, I sat up, fumbling for it. “I think you have voice mail. I can’t believe you didn’t put that on silent.”

  Nathan reached for the phone, glancing up at the ceiling of our little tomb. After a long moment, when he’d decided no one was lurking upstairs, he opened the phone and punched in some numbers.

  I watched his face scrunch up with tension, then melt in relief at whatever he heard. “Oh, thank God. Max and Bella are all right.”

  He listened to the rest of the message, then handed the phone to me. It was already replaying, Max’s voice sounding better than it ever had as he assured us of the Oracle’s death and informed us of his plan to go into hiding with Bella.

  “I can’t go into details. You guys just have to trust me that this is for the best. And I really hope you’re okay. If you need someplace to hide, use the penthouse. It has great security, and Carrie is still cleared with the doorman.

  “Something else went down up here. I have no idea how to tell you this, but here’s the deal—” A loud burst of static cut off his words, and the message ended.

  “I wonder what that was about?” I looked up at Nathan for some kind of enlightenment.

  He shrugged. “I have no clue.”

  We fell silent for a minute. My voice shook a little as I said, “So, I guess that’s the last of him.”

  “Sounds like.” Nathan moved to the bottom of the stairs and reached up to open the trapdoor. “We’re all clear. No one has been back for days.”

  I followed him up the stairs. It felt good to get out of the hole. To stretch and get my feet under me.

  It was less good to see what they’d done to the shop. The door was torn from the hinges. Tables were
overturned, merchandise crushed underfoot.

  “Jesus,” Nathan whispered beside me, and his horror at the scene pierced my heart.

  “Most of this stuff…I mean, it’s not like we could have been hiding in a box of tarot cards. Most of this they did just for the hell of it.” I covered my face.

  “Well, it’s a good thing we’re going to Chicago, then,” Nathan said in that manful, stiff-upper-lip way only guys have perfected.

  I bent and scooped up a few tumbled stones—amethyst, if I remembered the inventory right—and juggled them from one hand to another. “Are you going to be okay?”

  “It hurts my customer base to close down without warning. There are special orders waiting to be called, things like that. But since I’m obviously not coming back, I don’t think it will be an issue.” Nathan paused. “I’d rather lose my money than my life. Or your life, especially. But it’s the memories that really hurt when I think about leaving. Ziggy was a child here. Some days I wake up and swear I can hear him running down the hall.”

  “We don’t have to leave forever,” I said hopefully. I certainly couldn’t foresee spending the rest of my unlife camped out in Marcus’s condo.

  “I know.” Nathan drummed his fingers on the thin strip of metal that used to surround the glass of the counter. “But who knows what they’ll do to this place while I’m gone.”

  The thought of leaving Nathan’s home—my home—twisted my heart. Like so many times before, I wondered if it was worth it. Had it been worth it to go into that morgue after John Doe? Had it been worth it to lose my mortal life, if this was where it all led?

  Yes. A resounding yes. Despite the horrible things I’d endured, being a vampire wasn’t the worst thing that could have happened to me. I’d experienced paralyzing sadness, but I’d also had incredible joy. I had a new perspective on where my place was in the world.

  I had a new perspective on myself, too. I didn’t have to be a wannabe human, hating myself every moment for being what I am. I didn’t have to be a monster, either. I could be a sort of…ethical vampire. Or not. I had the rest of my life to figure it out, if I wanted to take that long.

  And I had Nathan. He’d waited out my unhealthy relationship with Cyrus. Twice. He’d proved he would wait again, until I figured more out. Because it had taken him so long to tell me he loved me, I knew he really meant it.

  Of course, as always, I have no clue what lies ahead. We stand on a fearful precipice and the currents of events beyond our control push us closer to the edge, with no way of turning back.

  But at least now, I’m not alone.

  Blood Ties Book Four:

  All Souls' Night

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Prologue: Daymare

  S ome days, I dream of the time that I spent in Marianne’s soul. Or is that the time that she spent in me? In reality, it was horrible, but in the dreams, it feels wonderful. Powerful. Another soul gliding over mine like silk, whispering in my head.

  I stand over Nathan. He’s still restrained, babbling, senseless with fear and the spell his sire had cast over him, bleeding from the wounds scored deep into his flesh by his own hand. Marianne leans tenderly over her husband, kisses his mouth, calms him. And then the power swells up inside me, and she screams for mercy in my head. All I know is blood and tearing flesh. Darkness and warmth with the copper-tinged smell of slowly ebbing life urging on my bloodlust.

  I don’t even consciously drink. I don’t feel or taste the blood, and though I know, somehow, that I am dreaming, I find it unsettling, as if some understanding is just out of my reach. If only I could see the greater picture.

  I consume without drinking, reach my fill without satisfaction. And when I raise my eyes to the evaporating darkness, I see the ballroom where Marianne met her fate. All around me are the bodies of people I know: Nathan, Max, Bella, even old friends long since dead, like Cyrus and Ziggy. Their blood is on my hands. Their life in my veins. Their tortured screams rolling through my head like the sweetest symphony I’ve ever heard.

  And then Jacob Seymour is there, seated at the head of the massive dining table. He wears a crown of thorns and the blood that drips from his wounds is black tar, staining his white hair and shining golden robes. A huge, silver-domed platter covers the table, and I remember—in that dream memory that doesn’t quite see reality the way it happened, but still manages to catalog every horror you’ve ever known—what will come next. Clarence appears, as if from nowhere, his dark, regal face a mask disguising the hate he feels for the task, and removes the cover. On the platter, arranged in a way that is familiar, yet shocking, is Dahlia, her skin pale and mottled blue with death, a carpet of rose petals beneath her halo of red curls.

  And then, with the voices still screaming in my brain, I laugh. Blood flows from my mouth, splashing to the tabletop, my hands, my lap that is suddenly and inexplicably dressed in a voluminous gown to match Jacob’s attire, and I laugh.

  But when I wake, I’m screaming.

  One:

  A Shot In The Dark

  T his day, when I bolted upright in the bed, throat tensed, vocal cords poised to emit a scream as soon as the gasping breath I’d drawn forced its way out, a hand clamped over my mouth. Nathan was already awake.

  Don’t make a sound, he warned through the blood tie, his body rigid with tension that jumped through our mental connection, filling me with his anxiety.

  Something was seriously wrong. In the past few weeks, since we had fled Grand Rapids and come to Max’s Chicago penthouse, Nathan’s entire focus had been my recovery. I’d gone mute and practically catatonic after Cyrus, once my sire, then my fledgling, had died. After I’d wake from one of my many nightmares—daymares, I supposed, since we vampires are third-shifters on account of that pesky sun thing—Nathan would hold me and try to reassure me that it had all been a dream, that he wouldn’t let anything harm me. Now, though, I felt his irritation and acute distraction through the blood tie, the telepathic and empathic connection that coursed between a fledgling vampire and their sire, and I knew something wasn’t right.

  Before he could explain, I heard a thud and some violent cursing upstairs.

  There’s someone in the apartment, I practically screamed into his head, and the pressure of his hand on my jaw subsided slightly.

  I know. That’s why I said not to make a sound. I’m going to check it out. He let go of my face and threw back the blankets. I could tell from the faint light outlining the heavy curtains that it was still the middle of the day, but Max’s apartment was specially designed to be dark as a tomb and just as protected from unwanted sunlight.

  Be careful, I warned. As if someone could be careful apprehending an intruder in their home. At least Nathan would be armed.

  Crap. He wasn’t armed.

  “Nathan!” I whispered after him, so the cause of the disturbance wouldn’t hear me. Unfortunately, neither did Nathan. He was probably halfway up the stairs by now. Rolling my eyes, I got out of bed and pulled on the jeans I’d discarded the night before, realizing how ridiculous a silk camisole nightgown looked with jeans. Good thing this wasn’t a fashion show. I grabbed a stake from the drawer in the bedside table. Forget something? I shot across the blood tie, letting him feel all my a
ggravation at having been pulled out of a comfortable bed. I hoped it would cover the fear that pounded through my veins.

  Besides pants? he quipped. He was scared, joking with me to disguise it.

  We’d been sleeping in the room I’d used when I’d stayed with Max, after the spell we did to free Nathan from his sire’s possession went all sorts of haywire. No, that wasn’t true. The spell had worked perfectly. It was our relationship that had gone all kinds of haywire. I’d left with Max to try and sort through the disaster of my personal life, but—as seemed to be the case ever since I’d become a vampire—the preternatural world didn’t slow down for boyfriend-girlfriend drama. Nathan’s sire, the Soul Eater, was still out there, trying to become a god and turn the world into his own personal feeding trough.

  Though I’d spent a lot of time in the penthouse, I still wasn’t familiar enough with the halls to navigate in the dark. The place was huge and, as huge places often were, decorated with lots of expensive and sharp-edged little tables bearing fragile objects that held the potential for lots of noise if they came crashing down. The guest rooms were on the first floor. Who or whatever had broken in would have had to access the place through the main entrance on the second floor, or the roof door on the third. I felt along the wall, recoiling whenever I encountered the shape of a painting or a light switch. My toes painfully found the bottom step of the stairs to the next floor, and I wondered why I hadn’t heard Nathan tripping and falling over himself on his way. I gripped the rail and went slowly up the stairs, quelling the urge to race up, making heavy clomping sounds on each step. There was no light at the top. I’d just keep on going until there weren’t any more stairs, I supposed.