The Bloodline Series Box Set

by Gabriella Messina

  As soon as she reached the top of the stairs, Sam started running full tilt. She had to go through the Reading Room to get out and she remembered scenting a number of werewolves when she was there earlier. No time to linger, though. She raced through the Reading Room, past surprised students, researchers and librarians. She didn’t stop at the desk, running on and exiting the Library.

  Sam didn’t stop until she reached the Bryant Park subway station. She stumbled onto the train and sat down, a sigh of relief whooshing out as the doors shut and the train pulled away. It would drop her out of her way, but that was okay... She didn’t mind the walk if it threw them off. It had been a productive afternoon... Connolly’s information was going to help a lot, as was the background contained in the pages of photos Sam had taken. Plus, the sudden appearance of those Euro wolves let her know without a shadow of a doubt that Prutzmann’s warning was too little too late... the Fenris Pack was already hunting her.

  25

  CHRYSTIE STREET, NEAR DELANCEY

  The Bowery

  “Uh, Benny?” Sam watched as Ben added up the list of items, he’d ordered from the delivery menu. “You do realize it’s only going to be three of us, right?”

  Ben threw a long-suffering look her way. “Yes, of course.” He held up two fingers. “Two of which are grown men who need much food. Also, two of which are werewolves...who also need much food.”

  Sam frowned. “Is this a subtle way of telling me I’m overeating or something?”

  “No. But let’s face it, Sam... Even before you were a werewolf, you could put it away.”

  Sam narrowed her eyes, trying to throw Ben her best glare, but she quickly dissolved into laughter. “Alright, fine... It’s not like I don’t have room for leftovers.”

  Evidently satisfied with his calculations, Ben tossed down his pencil and leaned back in the kitchen chair, the front legs raising up off the linoleum. “What time is he supposed to be here?”

  “Eight.”

  Ben pursed his lips, glancing at the clock on the wall, which was hovering just before eight o’clock. He lowered his eyes and watched the chair leg move up and down as he rocked the chair. “I remember how mad Nadia would get when I’d do this. And then Ivan would come in and lecture me about annoying her.” He chuckled, then smiled wistfully. “Your grandparents were the best... I miss them.”

  “Me, too.” Sam could feel the moisture welling in her eyes as she turned away, quickly opening the refrigerator. “You want a beer, Benny?” Before waiting for his answer, she grabbed two. She quickly popped the caps and turned, holding one out for him.

  Ben looked at her for a moment, his expression serious, concerned, and Sam wondered if some of that moisture that had been threatening her a moment ago had spilled forth onto her cheeks. Then Ben grinned, bringing the precariously balanced chair down again, all legs planted firmly on the floor, and took the offered beer.

  They heard the knock at the door at the same time. Sam and Ben looked at each other a moment, slowly setting their beer bottles down. The knock came again, and they both took off for the door. It was an old tradition to run for the door when they ordered food, and Sam was sure most of the delivery guys and gals in the area thought they were weirdos when they arrived at the door, out of breath and flushed.

  Sam reached the door first, with Ben running into her and pushing them both into the door. They both dissolved into laughter as Sam pulled open the door.

  Vincent stood in the hallway, a large brown envelope in one hand, a brown liquor store bag in the other, and watched the hysterical pair in front of him with a mixture of confusion and amusement. “Evening.”

  “Vincent. Hi.” Sam recovered quickly and pushed the door open, stepping back with it as she motioned for him to come inside. “C’mon in. Um...” She looked him up and down. “Vincent... this is a war-room meeting, not a dinner party.”

  Vincent followed her gaze down to his clothing... the barely-faded black jeans, the Aran knit sweater. He smirked. “I’m having the duster cleaned and mended, so...”

  “Ah, I see. Well, we’re just waiting for—”

  “Food’s here!” Ben whisked by them and stepped just out into the hallway, where the delivery guy was approaching with two large carry-handled bags full of food.

  Vincent’s smirk grew, and he raised an eyebrow as he looked at Sam. Sam shook her head. “Okay, so, it’s a dinner party.” She glanced down at the bundles he was carrying. “What did you bring me?”

  Vincent full-on grinned as he held up each in turn. “Powers Whiskey... and pictures from the Fenris Bund Rally.”

  Ben returned with the two bags and waited impatiently to get inside. “Sweet! We’re eating first, so...” He motioned with his head, jerking it toward the inside of the apartment. “Kitchen, maybe, now?” Vincent and Sam stepped apart, and Ben swept through, making a beeline for the kitchen.

  “He’s very...” Vincent began.

  “Bossy.” Sam finished.

  “I was going to say ‘focused’, but...” Vincent chuckled.

  “Ben? Focused? Depends on what the subject is.” She paused as Vincent finally stepped inside and she shut the door. “If it’s food, then yes, extremely focused. You want a beer?” Without waiting for any answer, Sam headed for the kitchen. She slowed slightly to wait for Vincent and gestured to the large envelope of pictures he was carrying. “So, what are we going to find in those pictures? Have you looked at them? Are there any connections between people?”

  “Let’s see...Yes... Plenty... Yes... And plenty. What are we eating?”

  “Italian... everything, I think.”

  As they entered the kitchen, Ben was placing the last container of food on the counter, the finishing touch to an impromptu “Buffet Italiano.” Sam grabbed another beer out of the refrigerator, popping the cap and handing it to Vincent. “Alright, everybody help yourselves.” As she took the whiskey and the envelope from Vincent, she could feel the weight of the envelope. It was clearly jammed to capacity with photographs, probably not just from the other night. “I have a feeling this is going to be a long night.”

  “Nah.” Ben mumbled, his mouth full of his first bite of what appeared to be chicken drenched in marinara sauce and cheese. “Won’t take that long. We’ll just string ‘em.”

  Vincent paused in the middle of scooping a large serving of antipasto and turned to look at Ben. “String them?”

  “Hang on.” Ben chewed carefully, then washed it down with a sip of beer. “Stringing. When I was in high school, I had this great History teacher. He was really into Ancient History, especially the Roman Empire. So, you know how all those emperors and their families were all related to each other, intermarried and all that?” Ben nodded, took another sip of beer before he continued. “So, Mr. Feeney had us do this class project that he called ‘stringing’. We used the bulletin board in the classroom... It stretched the whole length of the classroom wall... And we found pictures and drawings of the Roman emperors and family members, and we put them all on the board and connected them with string. We used different colored string for different types of connections, and of course some of them had multiple strings connecting them.” He cut another piece of chicken and popped it in his mouth.

  “Sounds good.” Vincent moved on to the chicken parmigiana, scooping a generous portion onto his plate. “You think you have a wall big enough for that?”

  Ben frowned thoughtfully as he chewed. “Um, well...”

  “Ivan’s room.” Both men turned to look at Sam. She took another sip of beer, nodding as she swallowed. “It’s the biggest uninterrupted wall in the apartment. We can do it there.” She grabbed a plate, cutting in front of Vincent in the virtual buffet line and instead zeroing in on the lasagna. “But,” she added as she scooped into the pasta. “You two get to help me plaster and paint the wall when this is over, agreed?”

  Both men looked at each other, then nodded in agreement.

  “Good.” Sam returned to her food, scraping out
the bits of meat, sauce and cheese that had fallen out of her serving and ladling them onto her dish. It was a great idea, and she and Ben had done some stringing in the past a couple of times before, though on a decidedly smaller scale than this would be. Sam thought about the size of that envelope and winced internally.

  I hope I have enough string, she thought.

  26

  FIVE HOURS LATER, THE dishes were done, the meager leftovers carefully packed away in the refrigerator, and the wall in Ivan’s room covered with an intricate spider web of yarn, crochet thread and embroidery floss. Sam had whispered a silent thank you to her grandmother when they went searching for colored thread and found the box in the hall closet. It wasn’t exactly the motherload of crafting supplies, as Grammy had thrown a good part of those away when her eyesight began to go, but it was enough for the job at hand.

  And what a job it was! The three of them had sorted and resorted the pictures in Vincent’s envelope, finally settling on the most noteworthy and significant members of the pile... Politicians, civic leaders, business people, people in finance and education, members of the press... Vincent’s knowledge had proved extensive, and what he didn’t know she and Ben had been able to fill in... Thank God for tabloids and the rumor mill! Now, colorful threads connected those who worked together, slept together, were members of the same organizations. Green threads, the designated money thread, were everywhere, venturing into the university system through professors and alumni, with roots in politics, big business and organized crime. The black drug threads ran along similar paths, and the similarity struck Sam, especially since Ben had discovered the PERV-E use on campuses throughout the city was fierce.

  The most disturbing thread, however, was the blue thread... Because that thread represented law enforcement. There were some Feds in there, ICE officials, DEA agents... and, of course, NYPD. Sam once again said a prayer of gratitude that, except for the two from IAB, she hadn’t recognized anyone. It puzzled her, though... Why hadn’t she been able to scent them? Vincent’s answer had been troubling, and continued to be even as she sat snuggled up on the sofa, sipping her coffee spiked with Powers whiskey.

  “So, Vincent? These people who like werewolves...”

  Vincent smiled from his spot on the other end of the sofa. He looked...mellow... Rightly so after a good meal, a good night’s work, and now his second cup of Irish coffee. “What about them?”

  “Well,” Sam began, frowning into her coffee cup. “How can I track them if I can’t smell them? In some ways, they’re more dangerous than the actual werewolves.”

  “They are indeed.” Vincent took a sip of his coffee and sat up, setting the cup carefully on the table. “People who support those involved in a cause are often the more dangerous of the two. They are the zealots who have no comprehension what they are even supporting. You see it all the time now... People marching for other people’s causes and don’t know a bleeding thing about being poor or being an unwed mum or being a different religion or race.” He shook his head, his lips pursed. “Unfortunately, there’s no way to pick them out unless they let it be known who they are and what they support. The ones in here? Easy to spot. They don’t try to hide. But there are others... hiding in plain sight, as it were.”

  Sam shivered. “Creepy.”

  “Yeah, it is that.” Vincent fidgeted with his lighter, glancing toward the door. Sam watched him for a moment. He was clearly craving a cigarette. Sam got up and went out to the kitchen, returning moments later with an ashtray, which she set in front of him on the coffee table. Vincent stared at it then looked over at her as she settled back into the sofa. “I didn’t think you smoked in the flat.”

  Sam shrugged. “Once in a while. I didn’t when my grandparents were around, but it’s mine now. I just open the window a little for air circulation or turn on a fan or something.”

  She watched as Vincent nodded and quickly took out a cigarette, lighting it and enjoying the first puff with a sigh. Sam focused her hearing on the breaths from Ivan’s room. Ben had fallen asleep on the bed and Sam had decided to just shut the door and leave him there. It was better than having him try to stumble his partially intoxicated ass home, and way better than the thought of trying to wake him up. Ben was a good-natured kid, but wake him up after a night of drinking? Sam would rather sleep with a Yeti.

  She could hear his even breathing. Ben was most definitely sound asleep, and would most likely stay that way, if not disturbed, for hours.

  Sam took a deep breath, took a sip of her coffee, then looked at Vincent again. He was still clearly enjoying his cigarette and, while she hated to ruin his state of relaxation, there were things that needed to be said.

  “I know they are hunting you.”

  Vincent exhaled a cloud of smoke, his eyebrows dipping into a slight frown. He nodded, then gestured to the room where Ben now slept. “Did he tell you?”

  It was Sam’s turn to frown now. Why would Ben have told her? “Um, no. Finding a picture of you used for target practice was my first clue. And ‘Wolfmordor’ scrawled in blood across the wall of a makeshift meth lab sort of tipped me off as well.” Sam paused for a moment. “All this time you’ve been running from them... You should have told me. I could have helped you.”

  “How? By getting in their way?” Vincent put out the remains of his cigarette and took a drink of his coffee. “I wanted you to be safe from them. I’m not worried about me.”

  “Well, maybe I am.”

  Vincent softened a bit at that. He didn’t look at her as he asked, “Why would you worry about me, darlin’?”

  Sam could hear herself speaking, it was almost like hearing the echo in a ballpark, but even as she spoke her mind was telling her, ‘stop that, don’t say that, that’s a mistake!’... But evidently the messages were not getting to her mouth, because she was still talking...still saying them...

  “Because the thought of them taking you, hurting you... scares me to death. Because the thought of not being able to see you, or smell you, or touch you anymore makes my stomach hurt. Because the thought of never kissing you again...

  “Sam.” Sam stopped. While she had been talking, Vincent had set his coffee cup down on the table, scooted down the sofa, and was now right next to her. “Stop.”

  “But—”

  “Shhh...” Vincent stopped her with a gentle finger on her lips, followed quickly by his own. The kiss was soft, searching, and Sam could smell the cigarette on his breath, the whiskey and coffee, the very male scent of aftershave and skin and all of him mixed together. She parted her lips, daring to be the first to reach for him in the most erotic of touches, her tongue gently grazing his bottom lip. Vincent shivered slightly and brought his lips around her tongue, his own tongue gently meeting hers a moment later.

  They’d kissed before, and in many ways it was familiar to Sam. There was a major difference this time, though... they were alone, with (almost) complete privacy. Sam could feel her adrenalin beginning to race as Vincent’s hands gently slid down to her waist, then her hips. He pulled her closer, the kiss becoming more urgent as more parts of their bodies came into contact. Sam could hear the lightest of groans work its way up from somewhere deep down inside him, rumbling up through his chest and throat, riding out on an exhalation and into her. She could feel the heat and pressure of his fingers as they slid up her back, reaching her shoulders quickly and pushing her sweater off her shoulders. Sam relaxed her arms, allowing the sweater to slide off onto the sofa and leaving her in her light tee-shirt. She’d thrown it on after her shower earlier... without a bra, a thought that popped into her head the moment that Vincent’s chest pressed against her again. She was certain he was well-aware of her braless state, too, as his enthusiasm increased, his hands dropping back down to her hips. He gripped her more firmly this time and lifted her into his lap.

  “Vincent...”

  “Shhh...” Vincent pulled back slightly, just enough to murmur against her lips, his eyes fixed on hers as he spoke. “Ju
st kiss me, sweetheart... and let me kiss you... Let me touch you... alright?” His eyes were so intense, so focused, yet so soft... Sam could feel the tumult of butterflies in her stomach, adrenalin wreaking havoc on her nervous system. Her skin felt hypersensitive, like it was being touched where it wasn’t, like the air around them was aiding Vincent in his seduction of her. As if he needed the help...

  His breathing had changed. Sam could hear the slight increase, could feel his chest rising and falling against her with a greater urgency as his tongue once more delved into her mouth. Sam was familiar with this, but while the exploration and arousal of kissing had been enjoyable in the past, there was always an awkwardness... the discomfort of the unknown, feeling your way as you tried to anticipate the next move... But this... this was not merely kissing, but a dance... a sensual dance... and Vincent was proving to be a very good dancer, leading her exactly where she wanted to go.

  Vincent groaned again, abandoning her lips. He reached up with his right hand, drawing Sam’s hair into a bunch and pulling her head to the side. He brought his face close to her neck, his breath warm and moist against her throat, and inhaled deeply. His lips brushed against her throat as he spoke.

  “Jesus, you smell like heaven itself.” Vincent heaved a ragged sigh and pressed his lips more firmly against her neck. He trailed his lips down her neck and onto her shoulders, his mouth tracing the outline of her collarbone before returning up the other shoulder and side of her neck. His mouth hovered over her neck for a moment, his hesitation enough for Sam to open her eyes and search for his. They held each other’s gaze for a moment. Then Vincent closed his eyes, inhaling once again, taking the rich scent of her skin and soap and sweat into him before he lowered his mouth to her neck once again.

  Sam felt the scrape of his teeth, the sharp second of pain and then a warm erotic wave rushed over her, and she chuckled. They could suppress the wolf all they wanted, but the beast within still wanted to mark her as his. And she was...his.