Blood Ties Omnibus

by Jennifer Armintrout

  “What, like you?” Ziggy chided back, but when he turned his head to see Bill’s reaction, he froze.

  You didn’t forget the face of someone who’d done to you what that son of a bitch had done to him. And you definitely noticed when someone who’s supposed to be dead is walking around in one of his old haunts.

  It didn’t seem possible, even though Ziggy knew it was. Still, seeing Cyrus there almost knocked him out.

  “Max!” He turned and reached blindly, but it wasn’t Max he grabbed. It was a painfully thin girl with blue hair in long braids who gave him a look that said she was ten heartbeats away from screaming rape. “Sorry,” he said, distracted by the sight of Max moving through the crowd, toward Cyrus. “Bill, turn around, go that way!” Ziggy shouted over the music.

  The creep was in one of the large corner booths, far enough away from the dance floor that the light was dimmer, and the cigarette haze in the air was thicker than the shadows. But there was no mistaking Cyrus, his nearly white-blond hair, his perpetual sneer. His black silk shirt, open almost to his navel, revealed one hell of a scar down his muscled chest.

  Ziggy had to shake himself away from the memories that crashed into him. Mental scenes that were shameful and degrading and somehow so, so hot at the same time. He hadn’t had much contact with Cyrus since Carrie had killed him. He’d accidentally answered a few of his phone calls to Dahlia and gotten the hell off the line. But he wasn’t sure Cyrus had realized it was him. In fact, he wasn’t sure Cyrus remembered him at all. And that hurt somehow. If someone did terrible things to you—no matter how nice he was to you after the fact, and how much you actually bought into that nice act before he ripped your throat out—you wanted them to remember you.

  There were other people in the booth, too, young kids lining up to get a taste of what Ziggy had already experienced. Worse actually, because they wouldn’t have someone to protect them. Ziggy knew without a doubt that if it hadn’t been for Carrie’s intervention, Cyrus would have thought nothing of killing him that first night in the mansion.

  Cyrus saw Max first. His eyes flared wide with something that looked like fear, then narrowed into an expression of forced indifference. He didn’t speak above a whisper. “If it isn’t the father of the sword. How is the whelp doing?”

  Max took a step forward, as if he would jump across the whole table to get at Cyrus, but Bill put up a hand to stop him. “Bouncers,” he said meekly, looking like someone who really didn’t want to be stuck between two vampires if they were going to go toe-to-toe.

  “It’s okay.” Ziggy knew he didn’t have to say it out loud, knew he could use the tie between himself and Bill, but he couldn’t stand there any longer, waiting for Cyrus to notice him. It was like torture.

  Bill felt the thought. At least, Ziggy was sure he must have, because he looked at him sharply and then away just as fast.

  “It’s okay,” Ziggy repeated, clapping a hand on Bill’s shoulder. “This guy’s a total pussy. He isn’t going to bother Max.”

  “It wasn’t Max I was worried about,” Bill grumbled.

  At last, Cyrus noticed Ziggy. It was a blow to the heart when he said, “Ah, you’re Nolen’s son! You know, father has been extremely cross with you. With all of you, in fact.”

  “I don’t give a damn if he is,” Bill said, moving as though he would stand between Cyrus and Ziggy.

  Calm down. He’s harmless. Ziggy tried to project as much sincere feeling into the message as possible, but an uninvited image of Cyrus, naked and pale and gleaming in candlelight, flashed into his mind. He knew Bill saw it, and that shamed him more than the memory.

  Bill didn’t flinch or look at him, but kept his anger trained directly on Cyrus. “How is your dad, by the way? I hear Carrie did a real number on him.”

  Cyrus flinched at Carrie’s name. Ziggy filed that away to keep in his back pocket for later. Right now, though, there were too many people around, fragile, human people who could really wind up in a bad way if an all-out fight broke out. “Let’s take a walk.”

  “Yes, a fine idea. You all take a walk, and leave me to enjoy my evening and—” he reached to touch one of his companions, tugging on one of the kid’s blond curls “—my company.”

  “How about we tell the cops sitting down the street about your ‘company’ and you talk it over with them?” Max asked, lifting an eyebrow. “Or do you really think that kid is eighteen?”

  “Jail cells can get awfully sunny,” Bill added.

  With an annoyed glance at the boy beside him, Cyrus slid around the table and out of the booth. Somehow, he managed to do it gracefully. The guy was obnoxiously like a vampire out of the movies.

  They left the club as inconspicuously as possible, but Bill drew attention to himself by being too normal, and Cyrus drew attention by being too damn glamorous. When they got up the stairs and to the street, Cyrus didn’t run, which was a relief. He followed them to the alley and leaned against the peeling, painted-over brick wall, arms crossed. “Well, you have me. Now, what will you do with me?”

  Max put on an act of thinking really hard before he said, “I’d like to bash your skull in and rip out your heart, but history has proven that killing you doesn’t seem to stick.”

  “We need information, though,” Bill said pragmatically. “And if you really didn’t want to give it to us, you would have gotten out of that club before you did.”

  “Or not shown up at all,” Ziggy added, feeling weirdly like a tagalong. “Jacob has been really concerned with this ritual lately. Let’s start there.”

  “Fine. Could we discuss this somewhere more comfortable? I do have a mansion—”

  “No.” Ziggy shook his head. “We’re not going anywhere with you. We’ll probably get ambushed by guards the second we drive through the gates.”

  Cyrus’s eyes narrowed and he leaned forward. “I really think we’ll all be more comfortable sharing information there.”

  “Let’s go,” Bill said, suddenly looking around the alley as though it would come alive and swallow them.

  Ziggy wanted to argue, but something in the urgency Bill, Max and Cyrus moved with warned him against it. Cyrus obviously thought he’d been followed, possibly that they were being watched. They passed a sleek black limo parked at the curb, and Cyrus ducked his head. The driver waiting inside was sleeping, though, so they slipped by unnoticed.

  “Go, quickly,” Cyrus ordered, once they were inside the van.

  “What’s going on? Are we in serious danger, or are you just paranoid?” Max demanded from the back of the van.

  “Let us hope it is the latter. Turn here,” he instructed Bill.

  The mansion was every bit as fucking creepy as Ziggy remembered it. A long driveway led up the sprawling lawn to the front of a house that looked as though it was modeled directly on the Haunted Mansion at Disney World. No, the Haunted Mansion was less scary. This mansion was freaking terrifying if you knew what went on inside.

  They parked the van in the shadows near the side of the house, up on the lawn, at Cyrus’s insistence. Rather than entering through the front door, he led them to the kitchen entrance.

  Ziggy put one foot over the threshold and shivered. He remembered vividly standing in this room, defending Cyrus to Carrie, certain that he was safe where he was. The cold, porcelain-tiled walls flickered with sinister shadows in the dim light of one buzzing neon tube overhead.

  “Are you okay?” Bill asked, not quite whispering but not speaking loud enough that the others would hear him, even at their close proximity.

  There isn’t time to explain, Ziggy told him through the blood tie. But this is easier than whispering to me. Ziggy kept up with Cyrus, who led them through the kitchen to the dining room. A table was set for one, and Cyrus seated himself behind the place setting of a single crystal winesglass and napkin. “Please, sit. Are you gentlemen hungry? I’ll have Clarence set another place.”

  “This isn’t a social call,” Max snapped. “Get to your fucking poi
nt and let us get the hell out of here.”

  Cyrus rang the little bell beside his glass anyway. “You were out looking for blood at the club. I’m not an idiot.”

  “That’s debatable,” Max said, but a little more politely, if possible. Maybe because now they were going to get fed, and he didn’t want to insult their host.

  “You’re hoping to stop my father. I applaud you. Someone has to, and I don’t have the strength.” Cyrus looked down at the scar on his chest, and Ziggy noticed Bill touched his own chest in sympathy, then dropped his hand quickly. “However, if you’re going to stop him, it will have to be soon.”

  Clarence appeared, as skinny and spiderlike as Ziggy remembered, in his overly formal clothes. He’d come with a tray and three extra glasses and napkins. Cyrus hadn’t even had to ask for them.

  He indicated to Clarence to lay the places for them. “The ritual is to take place at the time of the full moon. You have about twenty days. You’ve killed most of his damnable creatures off, so it shouldn’t be too much of a strain on you to kill him in the days before the ritual.”

  Ziggy shook his head. “Not too close to it. Knowing Jacob, he’ll have plenty of company coming so he’s got someone on hand to worship him once he makes the transition from Soul Eater to god.”

  “Yes, he does enjoy the attention,” Cyrus agreed. “Perhaps something in the next ten days would be best.”

  “And you’re sharing this with us, why?” Bill looked from Ziggy to Max, then back to Cyrus. “I’m the new guy here—”

  “And what is your name?” he interrupted smoothly.

  That flustered Bill for a minute. As if he wasn’t used to being interrupted. “Bill. Like I was saying, why would you share this kind of information with us? This guy is your father—”

  “And his sire,” Max put in.

  “Sure.” Bill shifted uncomfortably. “It doesn’t seem like the kind of thing a son would do.”

  “You’re right,” Cyrus agreed. “Perhaps you are too new to understand the nuances of this situation.”

  Clarence reappeared, this time from the kitchen, with a covered platter; Ziggy recoiled. He’d seen Cyrus eat enough dinners in his life to know that whatever was under that silver dome wouldn’t be good. And judging from the size, it either wasn’t a whole body, or it was a very, very small whole body.

  Clarence set the tray on the table and whipped the dome off without much ceremony, considering the drum-roll of dread in Ziggy’s heart. Instead of some unspeakable horror, which had become the mealtime norm for the past six months of Ziggy’s life, the tray just held a carafe of blood. Cyrus indicated that Clarence should pour it before continuing to speak.

  “I have had a very enlightening year. I’ve been resurrected from the dead twice, turned into a vampire twice, lost two women who I loved very much, one more than once, and it has all been at my father’s whim these things took place. I see the solution to my problems as simple, but unachievable without help. My father must die, and stay dead, for my life to return to normal.”

  “How normal could it possibly be, if you’re a vampire who’s been dead twice already?” There was a sadness in Bill’s voice that Ziggy hadn’t heard before, but he didn’t feel it over the blood tie. Was Bill already learning to hide his emotions? That was fucking depressing.

  Ziggy realized too late that Cyrus was staring at him. “Not as normal as it was in my past, I swear to you.”

  It was enough to make Ziggy’s throat go dry. Good thing Clarence had just finished pouring his blood. He gulped it down, fast.

  “I’ve got to admit, that worries me, too,” Max said. “How do we know we’re not just choosing the lesser evil?”

  “Speak to your doctor friend.” Cyrus’s voice softened. “You’ve never cared for me, but I swear, I will not play you false. Not after all that has happened to me this year.”

  He leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes, long hands curling to fists on the tabletop. “I used to enjoy cruelty. Relish it. Now I can’t find it in myself to kill my own father.”

  “Ten days?” Max asked, as if clarifying. “You stay in touch with us, keep us updated. Try to rally some more help and we’ll do the same. And we’ll take care of daddy dearest.”

  “We’ll try,” Ziggy corrected. “But we’re going to need help. Specifically, blood.”

  “Yes, of course. Clarence will get you all you need and more before you leave here tonight.” Cyrus looked at them all hopefully. “Please believe me when I say that I want this over with as much as you do. And I am not on my father’s side.”

  Max drained his glass and stood. “Fine. Get your man to load up a cooler.” He turned to Bill. “Drink that.”

  Bill paled and tried hard not to look at the blood in front of him. “No, I’m okay. I’m not exactly ready to—”

  “I’m not ready to watch you chomp into an innocent pedestrian tonight, so you’re going to drink that now.” There was absolutely no question, hell, not even a please or a thank-you implied in Max’s tone.

  “You’re disgusted by it now, but you’ll get used to it.” Cyrus lazily stroked the rim of his glass. “You’ll find that sadly true of so much in your future.”

  Before he could stop himself, Ziggy remembered a torrent of violent, sexual images from his time with Cyrus, and he couldn’t shield Bill from them. He saw that telltale tic in Bill’s jaw, just before he picked up the cup, drained it in several long gulps, then slammed it back down so hard, Ziggy expected the stem to break. Bill’s face shifted into the monster snout and sloping brow of a vampire, then shifted back just as quickly.

  “There,” he said breathlessly, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. “Now we can get the hell out of here.”

  True to his word, Cyrus gave them the blood he’d promised. Max waited in the kitchen while Clarence packed the plastic collection bags in a foam cooler, and Bill, wordlessly, had pushed through the kitchen door, out into the yard.

  “Follow him,” Max had said, his face full of sympathy. “I’ll help this guy out.”

  The second he made it outside, Bill yakked up all the blood he’d drunk into the bushes. He stayed hunched over, his hands braced on his thighs, as though he might do it again.

  When it seemed safe, Ziggy ventured a, “You all right?”

  Bill didn’t answer right away. He stood, wiped his mouth on the bottom of his T-shirt and leaned against the van. “I really didn’t want to drink that.”

  Ziggy went to him and put his arms around him, knowing he wouldn’t resist. Bill hugged him tight, fingers digging into his back.

  “You’re going to have to get used to it.” Ziggy turned his head slightly to kiss Bill’s ear. “I wish I could tell you there was another way, but there isn’t.”

  After a moment, Bill stepped back. He wiped his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, as if it was a switch to turn off his frustration. “I know. And I know I have to…drink blood. I’m so thirsty and hungry and tired and nothing helps. But I’ve spent so long on the other side of things. You know, when I found out about vampires, that they were real, that they were all around, that I could make money feeding them, I didn’t believe it. And I feel a little bit of that feeling now. The horror, the feeling that my life had changed, the not remembering what it was like before I knew.”

  Ziggy nodded slowly. “I think every one of us went through that. I don’t think anyone becomes a vampire without a shock.”

  “Yeah, a shock.” Bill laughed bitterly. “Hey, at least I got a pretty decent sire, though, right? I mean, you got kind of a raw deal. At least I got sired by someone I don’t mind being with.”

  The little flicker of hope in Ziggy’s chest flared, and he quickly squashed it out. “Well, for now you don’t. I mean, in the future—”

  “Stop it.” Bill came forward, like he would kiss him, then seemed to think better of it, considering what he’d just done in the bushes. Instead, he touched his cheek and pulled him close. “It’s been too long a night
. I just want to go home, get drunk enough to drink some blood and keep it down, and then climb into a warm bed with you.”

  “That might be a problem. I don’t think there is a free bed. You might have to settle for the storeroom floor again.” A nervous laugh bubbled in Ziggy’s chest, and he coughed to hide it. He also stepped back, wanting to put a little space between them. “Can I ask you something?”

  Mild surprise lit Bill’s eyes. “I don’t see why not.”

  Ziggy took a deep breath, and the question tumbled out on it. “When you say you want to be close to me like that, is it you, or is it the blood tie that makes you feel it?”

  The silence between them was important. One of those silences right before something really significant happens.

  That significant thing was Bill’s shake of the head, and his quiet, “I don’t know.”

  “What do you—”

  “Okay, let’s load ’em up and move ’em out,” Max called, muscling two huge coolers out the door.

  “Damn, guy, you got superstrength or something?” Bill hurried over and took one of the coolers from him. “It’s going to be a tight ride back to the apartment.”

  Max agreed with a shake of the head. “And the first thing I do when we get back is to tear the top off of one of these suckers and go straight to town.”

  A cold dread squeezed Ziggy’s chest. “No. It’s not.”

  He turned to Bill and Max, not wanting to say the words, because the task was going to be so incredibly unpleasant.

  “First, we have to tell Carrie.”

  Seventeen:

  Confession

  W hile the guys were gone, I had time to think.

  Scratch that. Dahlia had time to think.

  Once, while I checked in on Nathan, I found myself standing over him with a stake in my hand. Luckily, I realized what I was doing. Equally lucky, he didn’t wake up and see me standing there.

  She was a constant presence in my mind, so much so that I had to second-guess everything I did. Did I really want a cup of coffee, or was that Dahlia? Was I really too tired to block her out of my consciousness, or was that what she wanted me to think? And once I had blocked her, was I sure she was gone? It was worse than before, when she’d invaded my head. Now, she didn’t have anywhere else to go.