Blood Challenge

by Eileen Wilks

  “When it hit, it was the last thing I wanted in this world.”

  The words were wrenched from his gut. She believed him. Benedict hadn’t wanted this, hadn’t done it to her. To them. “Okay.” She nodded. “I have to think. I have to get away and think.”

  “Don’t go. Stay. Talk to me. Ask me questions.”

  “I’m going to take a walk.” Yes. Yes, that felt right. “I won’t go far. You tell me I can’t go far, so I won’t, but I have to think. There must be a way to fix this. I have to think, figure out how to fix this.”

  His hand rose . . . and fell again. “There is one possible fix. It’s a last resort. It would be painful and dangerous for you, and it’s . . . forbidden to me, but I won’t let you suffer. If you try but you can’t adapt to the mate bond, can’t live with it, tell me.”

  She stared at him a moment, her head boiling with thoughts that rose and popped before she could grasp a single one. She nodded slowly, then turned and fled.

  “‘I didn’t mean to.’” Lily quoted herself bitterly. “Those are the most useless words in the world.”

  “But you didn’t mean to.” Rule drew the brush through her wet hair. He’d washed it for her. “You didn’t know it was possible, so how could you have guarded against it?”

  They sat together in the center of Rule’s bed, her back to his front. She wore one of his button-down shirts since she didn’t feel right about sleeping naked here like she did at home. He wore what he always slept in. Skin.

  Dirty Harry was back, running his motor and allowing Lily to pet him. That brought a faint smile to her lips. While Rule petted her, she petted the cat. “I was already mindspeaking her, though it only worked one way. I should have considered the possibility that I could send a thought as well.”

  “As clever as you are, you might give a thought to world peace. I’m sure if you considered the possibility—”

  “I’m too tired to hit you.”

  “Not too tired to beat up on yourself, however.”

  “No, that’s actually easier to do when I’m tired.” It was a hair short of midnight and Lily was in the unwelcome state of being deeply weary but wide awake. The wide-awake part may have had something to do with the coffee she’d enjoyed so much. The weary part she blamed on her arm. Pain made her tired.

  Lily leaned back against him. His arms came around her as automatically as breathing.

  Neither Benedict nor Arjenie had come back after Lily forced Benedict’s hand. Lily wanted that to mean they’d gone off to have mind-blowing sex in private. She was pretty sure the real reason for their absence was a lot more complicated and unhappy.

  She couldn’t fix things for Benedict, so her mind veered toward something she might be able to fix. They’d talked out the situation after Benedict and Arjenie left—not the Benedict and Arjenie situation, but the one with Friar and the Old One they suspected was his new mistress.

  There were two immediate concerns. One, as Lily had said, was getting word to Croft. Friar had risked a lot with his attempt to kill Ruben. Lily figured that meant the last thing Friar and/or the Great Bitch wanted was for the government to be aware of them—so she’d better make damn sure it was.

  Even encrypted, e-mail was too risky. Friar couldn’t Listen to that, but there was a traitor in the Bureau, possibly within the Unit itself. A mole. Lily didn’t dare assume that mole was unable to access e-mail accounts.

  The question, then, was who to send? Cynna was too close to D-Day to fly across the country, and Cullen wouldn’t leave her. Lily could appropriate someone from the local FBI office, but that might tip off their enemies. She wasn’t omniscient, but she could observe multiple locations on Earth simultaneously, probably while painting her nails and playing Grand Theft Auto—or whatever beings the age of the universe did for fun and relaxation. Her main limitation was communication. It was extremely hard for her to communicate with her agents here on Earth, but hard did not equal impossible. Another nutty telepath like Helen would do the trick nicely.

  In the end, Lily had settled on Jeff. He could fly home to North Carolina without sending up any warning flags. One he arrived in Raleigh, though, instead of heading for Leidolf Clanhome he’d drive up to D.C. to hand-deliver Lily’s report.

  There was the little problem of getting Jeff in to see Croft without anyone else seeing the report. So Lily would call Croft when Jeff was on his doorstep and tell him, “Code 300. Courier Jeffrey Merrick Lane has information for your eyes only.”

  “Code 300” meant that all channels were possibly compromised, and sensitive information was to be conveyed in person only. Lily couldn’t actually declare a Code 300—only Ruben or the director had that authority. But using it ought to get Croft’s attention.

  It was slow, convoluted, and downright paranoid, but they were up against an Old One. Paranoid made sense.

  The other issue—one Lily hadn’t thought of until Rule brought it up—was the meeting taking place the day after tomorrow. They had to assume Friar was aware of it. He couldn’t Listen to conversations at any of the clanhomes, but none of them had been careful to speak only when at their respective clanhomes. Wouldn’t a meeting of the heirs of seven clans strike him as a dandy target? “You’re sure you want to hold this meeting still?” she said.

  “It’s a risk. But without the heirs’ circle, we aren’t going to get an All-Clan. We need the All-Clan. We’ll hope Friar’s failure has him sufficiently off-balance to give us the edge.”

  “Hmm.” The failure Rule referred to was the first potion, the one Arjenie had undone. Friar had no way of knowing what had gone wrong, so he ought to be rethinking his plans. Whatever they were. “I wonder if . . . what is it?”

  He’d turned his head to look at the door. So, she noticed, had Harry. A second later, someone knocked on it. “Lily?” Arjenie said softly. “Your light’s on, so I was hoping . . . I know it’s late and if you’re hurting I’ll just go away, but if not, I’d really like to talk.”

  Lily nodded at Rule, who slid off the bed. “Pants,” she hissed at him, then said more loudly, “Just a minute.”

  “Lily insists I cover certain bits,” Rule told the door as he stepped into the trousers he’d tossed on the floor earlier. “There.” He zipped them and opened the door on a pale, tense Arjenie. “I’ll go raid the refrigerator, I think.”

  Arjenie pinked up. “I didn’t mean to . . . no, actually, I did. Thank you. I would appreciate a chance to talk to Lily privately.”

  “Of course. I’m told you don’t care to be touched without permission. This is awkward for me, as I’m accustomed to touching those I care about.”

  “I don’t like to be grabbed without permission. Touching’s okay. You don’t really know me, though.”

  He smiled suddenly. “You are the closest thing to a sister I’ll have in this life. I’m learning you. What I know so far is very easy to care about.” He bent and kissed her cheek, then eased out the door without quite touching her.

  Arjenie watched him for a moment, her eyes large and her cheeks pink. She looked at Lily. “Is he always like that?”

  “Pretty much.” Lily had scooted up to the head of the bed so she could prop herself up. Harry gave her a dirty look. She hadn’t asked his permission to move. She patted the bed. “Have a seat.”

  Arjenie closed the door and came closer, then hesitated. “Are you uncomfortable? I am. I want to ask you about—about deeply personal matters, but I don’t know you all that well. We’ve talked a lot, but it was always about facts.”

  “We can start with facts. I’m comfortable with facts myself. Sit,” Lily said again.

  Arjenie flashed a wry smile and perched on the edge of the bed, her shoulders held stiffly as if she were sitting to attention. “Is this your cat? He’s a big one.” She held out her hand.

  “Ah, I wouldn’t—”

  But Harry decided to accept Arjenie’s tribute with nary a growl or scratch. He allowed her to rub his head as she spoke. “I’m not sure
where to start. I have a list of questions all made up in my head, but I don’t know where to start.”

  “Benedict told you about the mate bond.”

  She nodded. “He said you and Rule have one. He said you love each other, too, which is what I thought, watching you, only then I didn’t know what was this bond and what was just . . . well, love.”

  “I had a hard time figuring that out at first. What it comes down to, I think, is that the mate bond affects the physical stuff. The bond is . . . hmm. Have you ever lusted after someone you didn’t much like? Or didn’t know well enough to say if you liked him or not?”

  “Yes!” Arjenie’s shoulders relaxed slightly. “So the mate bond is great at lust, but it didn’t make you fall in love?”

  “You might say it got my attention.” In spades. Lily had to smile. “But I managed the falling in love part on my own.”

  “Okay. Okay, that helps. Um . . . the other thing I was wondering is . . .” Her voice drifted off. She paid a great deal of attention to stroking Dirty Harry. “Benedict said the bond won’t let us be separated very much. What happens if we’re too far apart?”

  “You get dizzy. If you don’t close the distance, you’ll pass out. He didn’t tell you?”

  “He would have, but I freaked.” She grimaced. “He wanted me to stay and talk, but I had to get out, get my head straight. I had to think things through. I was trying so hard not to believe him, you see. My sense of reality was messed up. I had to find some objective points to consider.”

  “What kind of objective points?”

  “Like when he said the bond made us know where each other was. I told him that wasn’t true for me, but when I thought about it, I realized I did have a fuzzy idea of where he was. Not exactly, but I felt as if I could find him if I needed to. Right now, he’s . . .” She closed her eyes and waved a hand in the general direction of the great room. “That way.”

  “How far away is he?”

  Arjenie’s eyes popped open. “I don’t know. Am I supposed to know?”

  “Right now, I know that Rule is roughly twenty yards that way.” She pointed the same direction Arjenie had. “That puts him out back on the deck, I think.”

  Arjenie shook her head. “I can’t tell that much.”

  “You haven’t had sex with Benedict yet.”

  “Well . . . no.”

  “The first time you have sex, it cements the bond. You’ll know where the other one is a lot more clearly than you do now. And for a few days you’ll have to stay very close to each other. For me and Rule it was forty-seven feet.” She had, of course, measured. “That was just the first couple days. The bond relaxes with time, but at first you have to stay very close.”

  Arjenie’s eyes widened. “You mean that the bond isn’t cemented yet?”

  “No. No, I used the wrong word. The mate bond’s permanent from the get-go. Sex strengthens it, but if you were somehow stubborn and strong-willed enough to avoid getting naked with Benedict for the next thirty years, you’d still be bound to him. Also insane from frustration.”

  A smile flickered over Arjenie’s mouth. “I can’t imagine going thirty years without . . . never mind. The most important thing I needed to ask is how to remove the bond.”

  “You can’t.”

  “There must be a way. Something, maybe, that’s painful? Or dangerous? Or even forbidden?”

  Lily shook her head. “The only thing that ends the bond is death. I know this for a fact, Arjenie. If there were some way to remove it, I’d have tried it back when the bond was new.” Her smile was wry. “And messed up my life big-time, but I didn’t know that then. When the bond first hit, I did not think it was a good thing.”

  Arjenie grimaced. “Neither did Benedict.”

  “Would you expect him to, after losing Claire like . . . oh, shit,” she said when she saw the look on Arjenie’s face. She’d just blown it on Benedict’s behalf a second time. “He didn’t tell you about Claire.”

  “No.” Arjenie leaned forward. “But you will, won’t you?”

  THIRTY-THREE

  THE night air was cool and silky. Stars spattered the darkness overhead as if some celestial dog had gone swimming in them, then shaken himself dry. The upper deck was still warm from the day’s heat. It felt good beneath Benedict’s bare feet.

  His brother had joined him out here for a while. He and Rule hadn’t talked beyond exchanging basic information: Arjenie was talking with Lily. Yes, Benedict had followed her when she went for a walk to get her head straight. It was his duty to keep track of her. She’d walked slowly along the road for about a mile, then sat in the grass of the meeting field. She’d sat there for about half an hour, then returned. She hadn’t limped. She hadn’t seemed overwhelmed by emotion. She’d seemed to be doing just what she’d said she needed to do. Thinking.

  A couple minutes ago, Rule had gone back inside. Those weren’t his footsteps coming up behind Benedict now.

  “I guess I do have a Benedict-locating sense now. I found you.”

  He turned slowly. “Did Lily answer your questions?”

  Her nod was brief. He couldn’t see her face well. The moon was up, but she stood beneath the patchy shade of the big eucalyptus tree. Her hair was as loud and boisterous as ever. He just wasn’t sure what it was shouting about.

  “You will not do it,” she told him.

  He blinked. “What?”

  She came closer and jabbed a finger at him. She poked him in the chest with it. “There is only one way to remove a mate bond, and you will not do that! I want your word. Right now.”

  “What did Lily tell you?” he demanded.

  “That there’s only one way to break a mate bond. Death. When I added that to what she said about Claire—”

  “She told you about Claire?” Damn meddling female!

  “You should have told me.” She poked him again. “Lily thought you had. She assumed you had the sense God gave a goose.” Poke. “She didn’t realize that you are such a complete guy!”

  “You’re angry.” In the past two days she’d been captured, scared, worried, aroused, curious, delighted, hungry, annoyed, and frustrated. She hadn’t been angry. Not until now. “Really angry.”

  “Pissed! I am pissed! When you tell someone that you’re romantically bound together—and I don’t care how unconventional that binding is!—you have to tell them about it if the last person you were bound to died and you almost died of grief.” She stopped poking to seize his arms, both of his arms, as if she was going to shake him. As if she could have. “I want your promise. Now.”

  “I know you can’t tolerate being physically held against your will. The bond is physical. I don’t want you to be frantic because—”

  She put her fingers on his lips. Just rested them there. “Shut up, Benedict. Shut up and promise.”

  He smiled. Her fingers didn’t prevent that, but he gently removed them from his mouth anyway. “All right. I promise I won’t kill myself.” Not directly, at least. He kissed the fingers he was holding.

  He knew her pulse stuttered. He heard it, smelled it in the renewed wash of her scent. Her voice didn’t. “Or do stupid, reckless things that lead to your death.”

  His Chosen was much too bright sometimes. “I can’t promise to never risk myself.” Tenderly he brushed her fingers back from her palm so he could kiss that, too. “Sometimes there’s a need for risk.”

  “Then promise you’ll be as careful with yourself as you would be with any of your men.”

  “Are we bargaining?” He tickled her palm with the tip of his tongue.

  “Yes.”

  “Then you must be prepared to offer me something in return.”

  Her sudden smile was pure pixie. Mischief with a hint of sex. “Sure. I’ll stop yelling at you. About this, anyway. I don’t promise I’ll never yell at you. I’ve got a feeling you’ll need it from time to time.”

  She was talking about the future. About their future, as if it were settled and agreed up
on that they would be together. As if she’d accepted the mate bond.

  The hard crust of time moved inside him—calcified years shifting, shifting, threatening to break apart under the assault of this new flood of feeling. He didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. Didn’t allow his fingers to tighten on the hand he held. He was too strong. He could crush it, could quite literally crush her bones if he gripped too hard. He could hurt her.

  He wouldn’t. Easier to stop breathing than to take that chance. But she wanted his promise, didn’t she? To give her that, he needed air.

  Benedict’s chest heaved. The breath he drew was ragged. He felt it all the way down. “All right. But you have to promise the same. That you’ll be as careful with yourself as you would be with—with any other who you were responsible for.”

  Her face was still and solemn, her eyes large. It was too dark to see their beautiful ocean color, yet he could feel the ocean in them washing over him. Her voice was quiet. “I do so vow.”

  Those were the right words. The perfect words. Were they Wiccan? Part of some sidhe ritual? It didn’t matter. He gave them back to her. “And I, too, do so vow.”

  She smiled—deep, secret, mysterious. And reached up to cup his face in her hands. “Now you’re supposed to kiss me. I’d do it myself, but I can’t go up on tiptoe, so—”

  Benedict was no fool. He followed instructions.

  Her arms went around him tightly. Her mouth was sweet and her scent flooded him, as if even his pores had opened to absorb it. He stroked her back, her butt, running his hands up and down, savoring the feel of her. She shivered.

  Urgency bit. He tried to go slow. He couldn’t. The sweetness of her mouth deserved an hour or two to appreciate, but already he was urging her deeper into the shadows beneath the tree. He put his back to the smooth trunk of the old eucalyptus and tunneled his fingers into the insane mass of her hair, tipping her head so he could kiss and suck on her neck.

  She liked that. Her body moved in a slow undulation. When she hummed down low in her throat, he felt the vibration in his lips. Her hands dug in at his waist and he shuddered and straightened and reached for the hem of her T-shirt.