All That Bleeds

by Kimberly Frost

  Alissa’s favorite adventure had been when Briselle discovered a magic park swing. When she jumped off the swing, she landed on the wisteria-draped Japanese footbridge in Monet’s garden in Giverny. As soon as Briselle landed in France, her father lapsed into French, explaining how Briselle captured the thieves who stole Monet’s canvases from the Musee de l’Orangerie by an elaborate scheme that included a small dog, cupcakes with sleeping pills baked inside, and a mannequin’s dummy in a French police uniform.

  Alissa and her dad laughed together through all the outrageous and ridiculous parts and were almost to the story’s satisfying conclusion when the doorbell rang and they both fell silent.

  Her father’s brows drew together, his body still like a deer in headlights. Then he jerked into action, his fingers moving in a frenzy to recollect his Post-it notes. He stuffed them in his pockets, saying, “With Pandora’s jar spilled on my pages, they might have sent someone to take them. Words aren’t safe here. Not for many years.”

  Her mother’s missing diary sprang to mind. “Who takes them?”

  “Lost gardeners and intelligence operatives disguised as water sprites.” He smashed the notes against the bottoms of his robe’s pockets. “Spare keys are a mistake. They’re never returned.” He looked around to be sure he’d collected everything. “Let’s go. I’ll barricade us in the library. Hades’ thieves have stolen their last book from this house,” he announced.

  She squeezed his hand and walked with him to the stairs as someone got impatient with the bell not being answered and began knocking loudly.

  “It’s late. You go up to your room and rest. I’ll send whoever it is away.”

  “I’m not sure it’s safe for you here.”

  “I’ll be fine,” she said, giving him a gentle push toward the stairs. “You don’t want to come back down here tonight,” she said, infusing suggestive power into her voice. His lids drifted down, and he turned and climbed the stairs slowly. “You’ll dream about your new book and tomorrow the story will pour out of you onto the page.”

  She waited until he was out of sight before going to the door. Outside, three formidable men waited. Dimitri, president of the Etherlin Council, Grant Easton, head of Etherlin Security, and Troy Rella, tasked with preserving and promoting the Etherlin’s pristine image. They were not disguised as whimsical water sprites, and their expressions were grim. A part of her, recognizing the danger, wished she’d agreed to let herself be barricaded in the library with a lifetime of books.

  Chapter 16

  Merrick jerked his body until the rocks loosened. He dragged himself through the narrow passage, tearing a deeper wound in his shoulder, and stretched his head above the surface, choking and retching up water. He wrapped his arms around a jutting rock and locked his hands together so the loop of his grip held his sagging body in place. Eyes bulging, throat burning, muscles screaming, he breathed through the pain.

  A few moments later, he’d recovered and pulled himself onto a rock. He looked around. The climb was three stories, with the last part being nearly vertical, which meant when he reached the top, he’d have no leverage to dig or push his way through. If there were rocks covering the opening, he didn’t have a prayer of getting out of the cave’s peak.

  He stretched his body and found the handholds he needed to get him started. He climbed quickly. It had taken him three hours to find the right set of handholds the last time he’d tried the climb. Twice he’d fallen off the wall, breaking two ribs and dislocating a bone in his wrist. That wouldn’t happen tonight.

  Lysander called it muscle memory. People taught themselves how to move so they could balance on a snowboard, hit a tennis ball into a square, or run and leap while catching a football. For them, it required hours of practice and repetition. Lysander’s body only needed to do something once to achieve mastery. Merrick needed more practice than Lysander, but not as much as ordinary people. So having made the climb before, Merrick trusted his body to make it again, despite the wound.

  The constant movement refused to let the ache in his shoulder die, but long experience with bearing pain allowed his mind to accept it. He fixed his focus on the goal. Alissa.

  As Merrick pulled himself through the top of the cavern, the inky darkness of the cave was replaced by a faint smattering of stars. He immediately moved deeper into the wooded mountainside.

  He paused for a few seconds to let his body rest, then he started the hike. Since there was no trail, it would take him at least eighty minutes. The difference in the temperatures of his hands made him stop again. The water running off his left hand was warmer. Mixed with blood, he realized. The shoulder wound had gaped open as he climbed, but he hadn’t realized the bleeding was so brisk.

  He unzipped the wet suit to retrieve a Swiss Army knife that he’d secured inside. Using the knife, he cut a slip of cloth from the suit and created a makeshift tie around his shoulder. The wound location was awkward to bandage. He used his teeth to help him secure it. Afterward, he moved the arm and shoulder slowly. No bleeding, but the tight wrap would probably have to be adjusted and secured again periodically. And moving the arm carefully would definitely slow him down and affect his timeline, which was dangerous. He had to reach the house before dawn.

  He picked his way through the trees. The shoulder was going to be a problem during the final swim. After hiking through the woods, he’d end up on the side of a cliff. He’d dive off into the lake and swim across, coming out of the water at the back of Alissa’s property. That was a long time to have his shoulder in an arm-numbing tourniquet or alternatively to have it bleeding steadily from not being bandaged. He wished Tamberi Jacobi a slow and painful recovery.

  Calculating time and distance, he couldn’t be sure that he’d reach her place before sunrise. He’d never actually crossed the lake. The risk of being caught was too high to attempt it twice. He contemplated turning back, but the taste of Alissa’s blood on his tongue during that kiss and the sounds of her whispers echoed in his head. Someone in the Etherlin wanted to destroy her. Would he leave them to it? No.

  Of course, he’d be no good to anyone if he ended up dead or in ES custody. He needed to make it in time. In time, he thought. That phrase brought to mind the fact that he’d almost arrived at Handyrock’s too late. Alissa had been minutes away from being dragged out of the club or killed by the Jacobis. It was like a punch to the gut to think of Alissa falling into syndicate hands again, of Jacobi’s mouth on her, of them using her or hurting her until she broke. Merrick’s blood ran cold, and his legs pumped hard as he ran through the trees. He was driven to reach her, driven in a way that surprised him.

  She’d sat in the car with him, sweet-skinned and warm and pulsing with life, and asked him, “What do you need?” His normal answer to that question would have been, “Not much.” Blood. Air. Water. Only things essential for survival. But a different answer had sprung to mind, as unexpected as Athena springing from the head of Zeus.

  What do you need?

  With inexplicable passion, he’d thought, This. Just this. To be where you are.

  Alissa let them in, of course. Then she made them wait. She needed time to compose herself, so she’d claimed she was shaky from low blood sugar and had escaped to the kitchen. She wished Merrick were there to make her that sublime cocktail he’d fixed her at his apartment and to talk to her in that deep, calming voice. She also wished he were there to spar with the trinity of frowns darkening the living room. She suspected he wouldn’t have answered any questions; he’d just stare them down until they took their bleak expressions and went away.

  Returning with a platter of food, she found them shifting impatiently in their seats. They ignored the small plates and napkins, trying to begin the conversation.

  Still picturing Merrick’s face, she went to the bar and poured herself a Tanqueray and tonic. She drank about half before she returned to them. She knew she’d stalled as long as possible when Dimitri asked her to sit down for the second time.


  She did so and watched them silently as she nibbled smoked salmon wraps and sipped her gin and tonic while they talked. Eventually, she fielded the expected questions.

  “Of course, in retrospect, I should have taken a security detail, but there hasn’t been a single violent incident at a club in the Sliver in the past decade. Ventala aren’t exactly welcome in that section, and most of the ventala have their own clubs, so why should they have been there? Troy was there without ES as escort.”

  “I’m not a muse,” Troy sputtered. “I’m not ventala catnip. I’m not vying to be the face and future of the entire Etherlin. If I get myself killed or involved in an incident in the Sliver, it might make papers around the state. You’re international news, and you know it.”

  “Alissa, why would you go out of the Etherlin without a security detail? You never have before,” Grant said.

  “In the first place, because ES can feel like a military presence, which tends to dampen a celebration and interferes with the creative spirit I try to inspire in my aspirants. Secondly, this was a spur-of-the-moment thing. I didn’t want to fill out forms and wait while an advance team went to scout and secure the location. As I’ve told you before, I think the pre-departure protocols are too time-consuming.”

  “Do you think that? Do you really?” Troy demanded. “Considering what happened tonight?” He shook his head furiously. “A friend of mine is dead.”

  Alissa paled. “I’m very sorry about that, Troy. Of course, I am. I know that no amount of money can compensate the families of the men who were injured or killed, but I’ll create a memorial fund for each of them.”

  “Using discretionary funds?” Dimitri asked.

  “Of course not. My discretionary funds aren’t enough for something like this. I’ll need to access my earnings.”

  “Your earnings are in the Etherlin accounts. They belong to the community.”

  “Right, but this is community business. Those men fought to protect me, and it was my poor judgment that led to what happened. I asked them to confront the ventala and to force him to leave. If I had not been there, they’d still be alive.”

  “Maybe,” Grant said. “Maybe not. Ventala are violent and unpredictable. The male ventala who did the killing has nineteen arrests. He could’ve ended up attacking those men whether you were there or not.”

  “How do you know about his arrests?” she asked.

  “The Sliver authorities are sharing information with us since we’ve agreed to help them with their investigation and with bringing that ventala into custody.”

  “Which is the way that we’ll support the Sliver community. You’re not financially responsible for the actions of a vampire half-breed,” Dimitri said.

  “Well, I feel partially responsible. If the EC won’t authorize a financial offering to the families, I’ll do it myself. I have jewelry and vintage clothing that can be auctioned. The emeralds my grandmother wore to the White House in 1962 and the diamond-encrusted mask she wore to Truman Capote’s Black and White Ball are worth at least half a million dollars, which is a good start. Christie’s can take care of the sale for me.”

  Dimitri grimaced. “Do you really want the council to hear that you’re planning to auction off pieces of muse history? You know how the EC will react to something like that. The vote is three days away.”

  “Then please help me compensate the families. Even if we’re not obligated to do this, it’s right. What if I take on some modeling work and specifically earmark the income for a memorial? Wouldn’t that be good publicity for the Etherlin? The Estée Lauder people have been really lovely to work with. They’ve offered very generous contracts in the past.”

  “It would be good publicity to offset any backlash we get for ES not being there to handle the situation,” Troy said.

  “I’ll propose it to the rest of the council and see what they think,” Dimitri said. “Now, there’s the other matter.”

  “What other matter?” she asked.

  “You drove to the gate with a ventala. Did he force his way into your car?” Dimitri asked.

  “No.”

  “Then what was he doing there?” Grant asked.

  “He saved my life. I wasn’t certain whether other ventala would try to prevent me from returning to the Etherlin. I trusted him to get me back to the checkpoint.”

  “Why?” Troy demanded. “He could’ve been trying to get you alone, to separate you from witnesses. Going with a strange ventala makes no sense.”

  “It does if I know him.”

  They all gaped at her.

  “He killed the demon at the 2007 Arts & Innovation Benefit. He didn’t attack anyone else while he was in the Etherlin. Not humans and not me. I was a foot away from him when I thanked him. He never tried to hurt me.”

  “That night an ES officer had a gun to the ventala’s head,” Grant exclaimed. “I’ve read the report. There is no reason to believe that given the same opportunity while alone with you, he’d behave the same way.”

  “Except he did. He saved my life and helped me get back to the gate.”

  “And it cost you nothing? Not a drop of blood?” Troy asked.

  She shook her head.

  “Let us see your neck and arms,” Troy said.

  She glared at him, her heart thumping in her chest. The bruises and scabs from the kidnapping were still visible. Did Troy know about the abduction? Did he know about Cato Jacobi biting her? Had he been involved in the plot? It would make sense. She and Troy had a history—an unpleasant one.

  Despite the flush rising in her cheeks, she kept her expression defiantly neutral.

  “ES said your car was parked for twelve minutes before they approached it. What were you doing all that time?” Grant asked.

  “I was talking to him. He’d just saved my life for the second time. In such cases, it’s appropriate to offer a few words of thanks, don’t you think?”

  “He didn’t save your life at the ball. You were in a safe room,” Grant said.

  “Well he saved the lives of my friends and aspirants, including Troy’s sister, who wasn’t in a safe room. That demon would eventually have smelled Ileana’s blood and found her hiding place.”

  “Be that as it may, you were alone with him in the car for quite a long time,” Troy said.

  “Did anything happen?” Dimitri asked.

  “I thanked him and said good-bye.”

  “That took twelve minutes?” Grant asked.

  “I was rattled. It took a few minutes for me to pull my thoughts together. Then pleasantries and small talk were exchanged. Simple courtesy.”

  “He’s part of a crime syndicate, you know,” Grant said.

  “No, I didn’t,” she lied.

  “Well, he is.”

  “And they never do anything for anyone without compensation. He either wanted blood or he’ll want a favor from you in the future,” Grant said.

  “If he wants a favor, as long as it doesn’t put me in danger and isn’t criminal, I’d be inclined to grant it. On two occasions he has saved lives and performed a service to me and the community.”

  “He’s a blood-swilling thug,” Troy said. “Any connection to him—any at all—would be pure poison from a publicity standpoint and would be a terrible and dangerous example to set for the rest of the Etherlin community. There is no way you can wear the Wreath now.”

  “Troy,” Dimitri said in a calming voice.

  “No, Dimitri, you heard her. She’d do him a favor. She’d consort with a ventala. That’s grounds to remove her from the competition.”

  “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” she demanded. “Cerise is your friend. Ileana is your sister. My removal is what you’ve been hoping for. I wonder what you’d be willing to do to make that happen.”

  “Meaning what?” Troy snapped.

  “Meaning, how did they know I was there? Did someone tip them off? I notice you’re unharmed. You’ve got muse blood in you, yet you weren’t attacked. Where were you while you
r friend was fighting them?”

  “Alissa,” Grant exclaimed. “Troy wasn’t armed.”

  “If it had been Cerise, I would have helped her.”

  “Cerise isn’t your friend,” Troy snapped. “She can’t stand you.”

  Alissa winced. “It’s true that we’re not friends anymore, but I would still have tried to help her. What does that say about me? And you?”

  “You’re an ice-cold bitch!” Troy shouted, jumping up.

  “That’s enough,” Grant said, grabbing Troy and pulling him back. “Troy, enough!”

  Dimitri rose, too. “It’s late. Everyone’s upset. We’re going.” He embraced her briefly, whispering in her ear, “If the ventala tainted you, you must withdraw from Wreath contention. We’ll find a way for you to save face and remain in the community, but no more talk of doing favors or consorting with ventala. Never to anyone. Or I won’t be able to protect you. Understand?”

  She nodded, feeling sick and shaky. She waited until the door closed behind them and sank down onto the couch. She sat, awash in numb regret, for more than an hour. Finally, she wandered upstairs to her room.

  In the bathroom, she washed her face and rubbed her eyes. She’d been struggling with the decision. If getting caught was inevitable, she should probably withdraw from the competition before it was too late. But if she did forfeit the Wreath, Cerise would get it and might never let Alissa have access to it. Her dad would never get the chance to recover. He’d probably get worse. The pain of that thought left her breathless.

  The Etherlin had been founded in order to concentrate muse magic, which was never as strong when the muses were separated. If Alissa was thrown out of the community, what would happen to her dad?

  She couldn’t withdraw; she absolutely had to remain in the competition for her dad’s sake. But then what about Merrick? Was she supposed to stay silent when people said all ventala were vicious creatures who should’ve been exterminated with the vampires? Was she supposed to never address the fact that one of them had risked his own life to help her?

  In bed, she lay awake with churning thoughts, exhausted but unable to sleep. Her cell phone rang at five forty in the morning. She contemplated the unidentified number. It might be Tobin. She didn’t feel like talking to him, but still needed to.