Blood Ties Omnibus

by Jennifer Armintrout

  I pulled my shirt over my head, grateful that I’d worn one of my form-over-function bras today and not some cotton comfort thing. Not that I’d planned on having sex. It wasn’t something we’d done in quite a while.

  Nathan murmured his appreciation for the pink lace against the pale tops of my breasts—I’d lost a lot of skin color in the past six months, I noted with dismay—and kissed a path up to my neck.

  Briefly, I worried. “What if Ziggy comes back? Or Bill or Max?”

  Nathan shook his head, breathing faster as I reached between us to slide his shirt up. As he pulled it over his head, he mumbled, “They won’t.”

  It was a good enough answer for me, after nearly a month of self-imposed celibacy. I stood just for a moment, to pull down my jeans, and Nathan assisted with trembling hands.

  “What’s the matter?” I laughed as he fumbled with the zipper. “Nervous?”

  “Actually, a little.” He looked embarrassed to admit it. “I can’t help it, it feels like it’s been forever.”

  We laughed, and he yanked the jeans down over my hips, my panties with them. He unzipped his own fly, and I climbed onto the chair to straddle him. When he slipped inside me, he groaned and a little thrill shot through me at the sound.

  It might have been a while since the last time, but that proved no real hurdle for us that I could determine. I gripped the back of the chair to gain leverage, whimpering in frustration when it finally proved too difficult to raise and lower myself on him.

  “Hang on, sweetheart,” he rasped against my ear, and he lifted me in his arms as he rose. He carried me the few steps to the small kitchen table and swept our dirty mugs from it with one arm. I gasped in protest at the sight of the mugs cracking to pieces as they hit the linoleum, but all thoughts of collateral damage fled when the cold, hard plastic tabletop met my back, and Nathan thrust into me, deeper and harder than he’d been able to in the chair.

  I opened my eyes to take in the sight of him, naked and hard, white skin gleaming like marble in the weird yellow glow of the ceiling lamp. My gaze slid over the scars from the Soul Eater’s possession, which still hadn’t healed, probably never would, that marred his arms, down to where his hands flexed as they gripped my hips and pulled me tighter against him as he drove deeper inside of me. I watched the way the muscles of his stomach bunched as he moved, the dark line of hair that fanned out over his chest, noted with strange fascination that I could see his pulse leap at the base of his throat.

  As I raised myself up he slipped his arms around my back to support me. “Can I bite you?” I whispered against the hollow of his elbow. Though he didn’t answer in words, I took his noise of strained self-control as an affirmative. I let my face change, just long enough to puncture his skin with my fangs, then let it ease back to normal, fastening my lips to the wound I’d made.

  He’d hissed in pain when I’d first bit him, but now he only groaned and took great, gasping breaths. All sense of rhythm abandoned, he shoved inside me so hard the table rocked on its pedestal. He captured one of my hands and brought it to his mouth, twisted into his feeding face, and bit down on my palm at the base of my thumb. It hurt. I hissed at the pain, and then again at the pleasure that shot through me.

  I closed my mouth over the wound I’d made on him and sucked hard. I felt everything. Him inside me and what it was for him to be inside of me. What it was for him to feel what I felt. The taste of my blood in his blood, his blood in my blood. It was a never-ending loop, a whirlpool of sensation that dragged me under, left me gasping, shaking as my body tightened around him, my legs locking around his back as he surged into me.

  After a moment, he withdrew, kissed the spot on my palm and slumped to the floor. I opened my eyes and saw him wince as he flexed his arm. I could only lie sprawled on the little table, my feet brushing the floor as my legs dangled over the side.

  I heard a dull rip, the rending of fabric, and Nathan pressed something into my hand. Half of his T-shirt, I noted with a giggle.

  “What’s that about?” he asked, out of breath.

  I smiled, sitting up and winding the shirt around my bleeding palm. “Nothing. I just feel good.”

  “I’m glad you feel good,” he said, eyeing me warily. “I didn’t take too much, did I?”

  “No.” I giggled again. I couldn’t help it. “Did I?”

  He bent his arm with a grimace. “No, but it hurt like hell. It’s been a long time since I’ve been bitten.”

  “Me, too.” I reached for my jeans and pulled them on. “But it was nice.”

  He grinned, a little embarrassed, if I guessed correctly from his expression. “It was. I don’t know why you asked to do it, though.”

  And I realized then that I didn’t know, either. Biting had seemed so…bad. So dirty in the past. But it hadn’t this time. It had been as erotic as hell. “I don’t know. It just felt right.”

  In fact, it had felt more than right. It had felt like something a vampire would just do.

  And I felt more like myself than I had in a long time.

  Seven:

  Spirited Away

  G rand Rapids was no kind of city for a vampire.

  Ziggy lit another cigarette and peered at the clock behind the bar. They kept it dark enough in the place, they should have at least invested in a clock that lit up or glowed in the dark or something.

  He wished he hadn’t stormed out the way he had. Nate probably thought he was mad at him. Maybe he was. But he couldn’t tell. Jacob could be sneaky like that, putting thoughts in when you weren’t looking and just leaving them there for you to stumble over. Half the time, Ziggy wasn’t sure he had an original idea about anything anymore. Maybe it was all Jacob, filling up his head, making him crazy as shit when all he wanted was to just fix things with Nate and get back to life as normal.

  But who decided what was normal? Coming back from the dead, was that normal? And how did you fix things with someone when you knew they’d be happier if you were dead? When they’d even left you for dead in the past?

  He swore and gulped down the last of his beer. It wasn’t good, but it was tricking his stomach out of its hunger for now. The bartender gave him the fish eye when he picked up the empty glass and refilled it. Ziggy’s fake ID hadn’t fooled him, but he didn’t look like the type who’d take an argument over a tip, especially when the bar was as empty as it was.

  The heavy door scraped open on its sticky hinges. It was a terrible sound. Worse, because it could mean that one of Jacob’s hired goons was sneaking up right that very second. Ziggy put his hand casually on the hunting knife concealed beneath his jacket, then relaxed when the guy behind him let out a mock-impressed whistle.

  “Wow. Flashy.” Bill sat down on the stool beside him and motioned to the bartender. “Seven and seven, and another one of whatever my friend here is having, for him.”

  The bartender, who would have looked like Santa Claus but for the stained polo shirt he wore and the toothpick hanging out of the corner of his mouth, gave Bill the same suspicious look he’d given Ziggy. Maybe he was just a naturally suspicious person. It wasn’t the best part of town, and the town was infested with vampires, after all.

  “Unless you’d rather go grab a bite,” Bill said, the corner of his mouth twitching. “In which case I’d just as soon stay here.”

  Ziggy didn’t respond. It was kind of fun to watch the guy scramble mentally while his joke fell flat as a pancake.

  Bill’s throat moved as he swallowed. “See, it was a joke. Because you bit me.”

  “Yeah, I got it,” Ziggy assured him, still not cracking a smile.

  Running away from the conversation as if it were on fire, Bill turned his head and nodded to the small television attached to the wall above the corner booth. The screen showed some sports channel. Guys in suits, talking about statistics that didn’t mean anything important except to guys like Bill. “Tigers are doing good this year, huh? They’ve actually got a shot at the postseason again.”

&
nbsp; “I don’t like baseball.” Ziggy took a slow drink.

  “I’m a Sox fan, anyway. White, not red. But neither of them are doing so hot this year.”

  “What the hell are you doing here?” Ziggy turned on the stool and let his coat fall open, so the guy could get a glimpse of the knife strapped inside. “Nate send you after me?”

  The guy didn’t flinch. Ziggy had to admit, he was tough. He’d even tried to fight him off when he’d bitten him. Somebody like that, you could respect.

  He took a swallow of his drink before he answered. “No, he did not. And I did not come here to look for you. It’s the only place open within walking distance.”

  “You didn’t walk far enough,” Ziggy muttered. You could practically see the bar from Nate’s bedroom window. There was no way Bill wasn’t there on a spy mission.

  They sat in silence for a while. Ziggy turned back to the bar and stared into the bottom of his glass, waiting for Bill to leave. No dice. The guy took another drink and said, “So, you got a girlfriend, Ziggy?”

  Nice. The guy was as transparent as a piece of glass. Real easy to read. After a while with people like Dahlia and Jacob, it was a refreshing change. “Not so much with the girls. But I’m betting that’s why you asked.”

  “I had a hunch. I’m good like that.” He didn’t look embarrassed at being caught or anything. Just like…whatever. Again, a nice change from people who freaked if you guessed their little mind games. He didn’t even look away when he asked, “So, any other…friends?”

  Ziggy didn’t want to laugh, but he let himself smile a little bit. “You’re pretty direct.”

  “As a nonstop commuter flight.” Bill laughed, then nervously added, “Yeah, that’s another joke. Because they’re nonstop, so you don’t have to get a connection—”

  “Yeah, got that one, too. And I might even laugh if you manage to be funny.” Ziggy stubbed out his cigarette and reached for another one. “So, you’re a groupie, huh?”

  That question actually managed to rattle Bill a little. Good. Showed he was healthy. He stuttered a little as he started to answer. “No, uh…just a blood donor. And I organize a couple other blood donors, take part of their profits.”

  Ziggy nodded. “So, you’re not a groupie, you’re a vampire profiteer?”

  “I prefer ‘donor pimp,’ but yeah,” he said with a shrug.

  Now Ziggy let himself laugh. “Donor pimp. That’s funny.”

  “Wasn’t meant to be.” Bill grabbed Ziggy’s lighter and flicked it open against his thigh, lighting it in the process before he held it out for him.

  Okay, that was pretty smooth, Ziggy conceded to himself as he leaned toward Bill to light up.

  “So, how long have you been doing that?” he asked as he straightened back up. “The donor pimping, not the lighter trick.”

  Bill made a sort of humming noise while he thought, finally answering, “I started when I was thirty-two, so eight years now? Something like that.”

  “Took a while to get established, huh?” Ziggy did a quick mental calculation. “You look good for your age. You sure you’re not drinking some of your clients’ blood on the side?”

  “Hey, thanks.” He looked genuinely pleased at that. “You don’t look a day over eighteen. How old are you?”

  “Don’t tell Papa Smurf over there, but I’m only twenty.” Ziggy was less pleased to hear he looked like a kid. It was going to make eternity pretty unbearable if he was going to have to start with a new identity every five years.

  Bill chuckled and slid the lighter across the bar to Ziggy. “No, what I meant was, total. How old are you in total?”

  “Twenty.” Ziggy met his confused stare head-on. “Really. I got turned a little bit before my last birthday.”

  “Wow.” Bill seemed to contemplate that a moment.

  A little flame of disappointment flickered in Ziggy. Now he would be just a kid in this guy’s eyes, which was a damned shame. He was fun to relate to as an adult, and not many adults seemed to be taking Ziggy seriously these days. Steering the conversation away from the weirdness of the moment, he said, “So, what did you do before you started donor pimping? The army or something, right?”

  Bill smiled before taking another gulp of his drink, and it wasn’t the kind of indulgent smile you’d give a kid. Bonus. “I was in the Marines.”

  “So, you’re a big, tough fighting guy?” Ziggy didn’t really care for military types. Jacob’s place was always surrounded with them. Ziggy had started thinking of them as servants, and it lowered Bill’s status a little bit in his mind. That was a good thing. Meant he’d still have the upper hand or whatever if anything started. Not that he wanted anything to start. Humans are food, not our friends, Jacob admonished from his memory.

  Bill looked nervously back at the television, then at the bartender, then back to his drink. His body language spoke volumes. He didn’t want to talk about whatever it was he used to do. “Yeah. I mean, no. I never saw any combat or anything. But I didn’t like it. The whole scene was a little too structured for me.”

  “Is that why you quit?” He took a pull off his cigarette and tapped the end against the ashtray. “Too much structure?”

  “Quit isn’t really the word for it.” Bill looked down at the bar and rubbed his neck. “I was…Let’s just say I was politely asked to leave. My services were no longer required.”

  “Ah.” Ziggy had heard the correct terminology for that somewhere. Probably from one of Jacob’s guards. But he didn’t really care, one way or the other. “I don’t think I could do the whole army thing. I’m not big on taking orders.”

  Bill snorted. “It wasn’t the army. It was the Marines. And yeah, I can see where you’d have a problem. I got axed because I have a hard time keeping my mouth shut when I think I have something useful to contribute. For instance, if I thought up a more efficient way to do something, I would tell my commanding officer—whether he asked me or not. And that wasn’t exactly what they wanted.”

  “They wanted a cog in a machine.” Ziggy knew how that felt. He got that feeling from Jacob sometimes. As if he was just another employee, no matter what his sire said or did to him. He cleared his throat. “Listen, you don’t have to stay here with me. I’m not going to escape.”

  “Hey, I’m as much a hostage as you are. In fact, maybe I should be tied to a radiator or something.” From the tone of Bill’s voice, Ziggy knew he was telling the truth. “But I didn’t come over here because I thought you were going to escape.”

  And fuck, wasn’t that weird? Having some guy—some actually pretty good-looking guy—sitting there, saying he wasn’t there for an ulterior purpose.

  Of course, he’d never said that, Ziggy realized. He’d said he wasn’t there because he was worried about him escaping. Maybe he was there because Nate had sent him. Maybe he was just bored, or an alcoholic. Maybe he was a vampire groupie, after all, and he was just better at covering it up. Maybe he’d come here looking for Ziggy, but for an entirely different reason.

  “I’m not trying to pick you up,” Bill said quietly.

  Ziggy stared back at him. “Did you read my mind?”

  “No.” Bill laughed, but his smile didn’t show in his eyes. “But I read your facial expression. Jesus, have you had some rough relationships in the past or something?”

  “Or something. Let’s change the subject.” Ziggy stood and stubbed out the cigarette, threw some money down on the bar. He started for the door, half wanting Bill to go the fuck away and half wanting him to follow. Weird.

  But he didn’t do either. He just sat where he was. “You don’t have to be a hard-ass with me. I mean, I know I’m supposed to be wicked impressed here, but the unapproachable act gets stale fast.”

  Funny. Ziggy smiled, but he wiped it off when he turned to face Bill. “I don’t get what you’re saying.”

  From the way he laughed, it was hard to tell if Bill was annoyed or not. “I’m saying drop the rebellious teenager who doesn’t give a fuck a
ct and be real with me for a few minutes. We might find that if we’re not trying to top each other’s carefully crafted banter, we’d actually get along.”

  This time, Ziggy let Bill see the smile. “I thought we were getting along.”

  “And here I thought we were just rehearsing for a bad romantic comedy.” Bill gestured to the chair. “Have a seat. We’ve got time before last call.”

  So, they talked. And talked. And every time the urge to be himself came along, Ziggy followed the instinct. And every time Jacob—no, the Soul Eater, it hurt less to think of him that way—tried to push into his head and fill his mind with strange insecurities and assurances that he would never be loved or even respected by a person other than his sire, he shoved those away, too.

  Bill was actually a cool guy. He had funny stories about vampires, soldiers, just about anything. Even his stories that weren’t funny were funny, because something about him was just…well, he was a funny guy.

  Yeah, he was great. So great that last call came too soon, which really sucked.

  And when they got back to the apartment, the upstairs door was locked, and that really sucked.

  “I have a feeling that it’s locked for privacy reasons, rather than safety,” Bill said with a snicker, and Ziggy glared at him. He cleared his throat then and at least pretended to look remorseful. “I’m sorry. No one likes to think about their dad having sex.”

  At least the bookstore was unlocked. Ziggy ushered Bill in and pointed to the farthest corner of the shop, behind the toppled bookshelves. “My old bed might be in the back room of the bookstore. You can sleep there and be comfortable.”

  “Where are you going?” Bill asked as they picked their way through the wreckage. “Back out on the street to be a brooding vampire?”

  He bristled at that. “I’m not going to run away, if that’s what you think.”

  “I already told you I don’t. But it seems kind of lonely, just wandering around a town that seems to close up shop at 9:00 p.m. when you’ve got perfectly good company here.”