Blood Rush: Book Two of the Demimonde

by Ash Krafton

  Gian Greco was head of security and he took his job very seriously. On the job, he was prepared for anything. He was fond of saying something bad happening was a matter of when, not if. I found his lack of optimism annoying but always felt safer when he was around.

  Off the job, I almost didn't recognize him. Today he wasn't wearing his holster or thick black vest, deceivingly tailored to look more like Old Navy than Navy Seal. Clad in a long sleeved Ed Hardy t-shirt and jeans with a pair of metallic-glazed wraparound sunglasses on the back of his neck, he looked like just about any other shaved head in Balaton.

  Until he turned around. His five foot ten stature might not look overpowering but the wit and intelligence of his eyes let everyone know exactly what they were up against. No matter the situation, he'd already considered each possibility ten steps in every direction. He was never surprised. As a result, he was never bested.

  Greco's eyes lit with a flash of dark gray recognition when he saw me, more or less the DV equivalent of "hey" and a wave.

  "Oh, no." I grinned. "You've been demoted."

  "Not really. I consider it weight training. You really made the most of every box." He said something to the other mover and they set down the desk. Slapping his hands against his thighs, he leaned on the rail and took a breather, although he looked anything but winded.

  His hands rested on his hips, a stance he favored when he wore his Kevlar vest. Body armor had a way of changing simple habits, like how to position one's arms comfortably. "How've you been?"

  "Better, now," I said. "It's a relief to be here."

  His eyes went on-duty; Greco looked at me with the intensity of a hawk, dark-eyed and piercing. "Relief? Why? What's been going on?"

  I realized I said the wrong thing to a security man. This probably wasn't the time to discuss the wolf that had been chasing me so I thought fast. "I just meant the packing and waiting. You know. The whole temporarily homeless thing."

  His intensity dropped a notch as he grinned. "I've moved around myself. I know what you mean. Living out of boxes for the first week is a real pain."

  "The first week? Try the last three months." I scanned the foyer but didn't see Rodrian. "Are they all done?"

  "There's still furniture on the truck. I better get this inside."

  I thanked him and headed down. It was turning out to be a family reunion, of sorts. Well, almost. I didn't suppose the head of the family would be playing guest of honor anytime soon.

  Rodrian stood outside, talking with one of the movers. They wore discouraged expressions and did a lot of head-shaking.

  "What's wrong?" Squinting in the bright sun, I lingered in the doorway and peered into to the open bay of the truck. As far as I could see, only my bedroom things remained.

  Rodrian excused himself and the mover headed back onto to the truck. He placed his hand on my back and urged me back inside, away from the chilly wind. I hadn't removed my coat yet but Rodrian only wore a sweatshirt and jeans. I didn't know he did manual labor.

  I also didn't know it was possible to make a sweatshirt look like it belonged in a Calvin Klein ad but Rodrian's body had a certain talent in making everything he wore look bedroom-eyed sexy. "There's a little problem. The wards upstairs...they're pretty strong."

  I blinked and focused on his face, trying to pay attention. "Yeah?"

  "The movers can't cross them."

  "Oh." Good to know the wards were picky. I felt safer knowing they actually worked. "Is that a problem?"

  "They can't get your bed inside...or take the old one out."

  "Oh." I hadn't expected that. "Are they sure?"

  I glanced out at the men, who looked like they'd recently experienced something ugly. Maybe one of them tried to move Euphrates' pet carrier. I shuddered before remembering the cat was locked safely in the bathroom upstairs.

  "Yeah," Rodrian said. "What do you want them to do? Do you want to pick another room?"

  "No," I said. "I'll figure something out. For now, can we put my bed downstairs in the guest suite?"

  He nodded. "The boxes, too?"

  "No, upstairs in the hall, if they don't mind."

  "Okay." Rodrian nodded before turning back to the movers. "Joe, can you come in here?"

  He strode to the door, leaving me alone in the bright foyer to contemplate both this unwelcome development and the expression he'd worn as he turned away from me.

  By suppertime, Greco and the moving crew had gone and Bethany, the housekeeper, called us into the dining room for a feast—baked ham, real mashed potatoes, even yams with cinnamon and brown sugar. I got the impression it was more to establish herself as rightful owner of the kitchen than to feed us poor waifs, but who cared? The woman cooked like my grandma.

  Shiloh alternately devoured dinner and chattered like an eight-year-old on Tang. I hadn't seen very much of her over the past year and, as usual, there was a world full of news to catch up on. I finished eating before she'd come close to finishing speaking.

  "The move went well," Rodrian said when Shiloh finally paused for breath.

  I agreed and reached for another roll. "I didn't think it would happen so fast. The last few times I moved, it was a nightmare. A recurring one."

  I briefly thought about the Were who'd been pursuing me. Every time I moved, he managed to find me. No matter how safe I thought I'd be in a new place, I'd spot him on a corner or near a doorway or walking down the other side of the street and poof! So long security.

  Well, the nightmare was over. He'd never find me out here and, if he did, he wouldn't last long. Maybe the house guard kept Dobermans. If I yelled "release the hounds" would they go after one of their own?

  "Perhaps you're done for a while," Rodrian said.

  "Hope so. I'm getting too old for this." I used my napkin and pushed from the table, gathering up my dishes. "I've got a couple boxes of necessities to go through. I'll give you some daddy-daughter time."

  Bethany sailed in and shooed me away, claiming all rights to anything of the kitchen domain, messes included. She did, however, nod toward the foyer, where my kitchen boxes (all two of them) still sat, looking like the last puppies at the pound and reassured me the staff had the place under control. I got the point.

  Fine by me, I thought. I was more demand than supply, anyway. Now I was comfortably full of the proof that Bethany had meant every word she'd said. Harboring not the slightest grudge, I lugged the boxes upstairs to Shiloh's suite, thinking the kitchenette was more my speed.

  "Let me." Rodrian caught up to me on the stairs and tugged them out of my arms, Shiloh following close behind. "You should have left these for me to bring up."

  I frowned but didn't put much effort into it. I was never a tremendous fan of lugging boxes around. "I'm not helpless."

  "I know. But it's okay to delegate."

  Once in the suite, Shiloh flipped open the top box. "What's this?"

  "Stuff from my old apartment."

  She pulled out a ceramic wall plaque, a pale blue tea pot bearing the letters WWMD? that was a throw-back to my single and long-abandoned attempt at playing happy homemaker. "Do we have to use all of it?"

  "No." I slipped it out of her hand and cradled it to my chest while Rodrian set the boxes on the snack bar. "If you don't need any of this, leave it in the box and I'll take it to the garage."

  "Okay." She grinned, toothy and bright. "You should move into the third room so we can be real roommates."

  I laughed at her eagerness. "How about I just sleep over on late nights?"

  "Deal." Her cell rang, a sudden blast of hip-hop remix, and she peered at the screen. "Ooh, it's Luke. Later."

  She disappeared into her room, closing the door with a subtle variation of her signature teeth-rattling bang. Luke was her big crush and almost-boyfriend. I remembered seventeen so I couldn't take her abrupt dismissal personally. He was the priority, not family or me or anyone else she could count on as solid parts of her life.

  "The wards giving you any trouble?" Rodr
ian pushed one of the boxes away from the edge and leaned against the counter.

  "No," I said. "Honestly, I don't even feel them."

  "They're old. Really old. Still as powerful as they ever were."

  "I meant to say something earlier," I said. "Nice wards at your office."

  He didn't outwardly register the compliment, although his power did a small manly kind of grunt. "I've been practicing. I hadn't really needed those skills before."

  "Is business getting dangerous?"

  "No, not that. I never had to do them myself before. Marek did all the warding." It was my turn not to register a reaction at the sound of his brother's name but it was a lot harder than concealing pride. "I decided it was time to renew my skills. Could you tell they were mine?"

  I nodded.

  "Damn." He flashed an irritated grin and scratched at his temple, tousling his hair. "I still can't get the knack of removing my essence at the end."

  "Do you have to?"

  "It helps, especially with security wards. If someone's looking for me, they more or less point the way."

  "I guess it's a DV thing, huh? The ability, I mean."

  "I don't know," he said. "I don't have a human perspective. I'm not sure what you can or can't do in the first place." He cocked his head at me and flashed a grin. "Well, you, I have a pretty good idea. Still. Warding is an extension of compelling. Humans don't seem able to compel, so I assume they can't ward, either."

  Skunked again. How did I keep ending up on the short end of the evolutionary stick? First fair skin, now this. "Maybe the Sophia can help out. Can you set a ward and explain it while you're doing it? I'll watch and see if I can offer a suggestion."

  "Why not?" He glanced around, expression set in concentration. "Let's go downstairs. I know just the room."

  Once inside the den, Rodrian started the fireplace and made sure a fast fire was blazing before moving to the center of the room. "The process of setting a ward is pretty straightforward. First I choose a target. We can ward the entire room, or just a part of it. I guess as far as lessons go, bigger would be better."

  I moved a pillow and flopped onto the couch. Now, this one was comfy. The fluffy back felt like I was snuggled against a pile of pillows. "That's what I've always said."

  "I was hoping you would." He dropped the academic veneer and leered at me. "I'll try not to disappoint."

  "Just try to get the job done, buddy."

  "Right. Second, we need an intent. One of the main uses of a ward is to add a layer of security. Since the home is secure, we can try a simple confidentiality ward."

  "That sounds like a lawyer thing."

  "Not really, although you won't find many DV attorney offices without them. A confidentiality ward keeps things private. No one can hear through a closed door."

  "Hmm," I said. "Good for secrets."

  Rodrian looked down at me, eyes piercing and copper bright. Wow, that caught his interest, even though it had been completely unintentional.

  I shrugged to defuse him. "Not that I have any. Maybe one day I'll want one, so it would be good to have a room to keep it in."

  Seeming satisfied, he resumed his lecture. "So. We have a target and an intent. Now we set the intensity. It screens people, more or less. We'll tune it to you, since it's your house, and to me, since I'm setting it. Hence, the ward will keep anything you or I say or do to ourselves."

  I thought it over. "I wouldn't mind having someplace to speak with you in private. It's not like I can take you upstairs."

  "You know..." His eyebrows lifted with mischief. "It takes much restraint not to run with that."

  Oh, my God, he was relentless. "Please try."

  "No fun. Shall we begin the ward?"

  "Good a time as ever. Let me get ready." I closed my eyes and sank into myself, giving the Sophia a little nudge. Using mental fingers, I traced the edges of Rodrian's power, enticing the Sophia to respond. It did, albeit in a sleepy, offhanded manner.

  I was a little disappointed by the lackluster response. Maybe the Sophia needed real reason to come out and play. Eyes still closed, I pushed farther into his power, past the outermost announcing layer to the personal core beneath.

  He felt my touch and slipped a stream of eager surprise, his quicksilver spurt of emotion giving me the jolt I needed for a Sophia supercharge. The oracle shuddered through me as she took hold. Connection established, I opened my eyes and gave him a glimpse of Oracle blue.

  He saw it. Had to tear his eyes away from it. Voice quiet, he sounded determined to focus on the task ahead. "Let's do it."

  Rodrian circled the room, spiraling toward the walls as he paced. "A ward is only an extension of the common compulsion. See, compulsions affect living beings. Wards, on the other hand, only affect inanimate objects."

  I wiggled to a more comfortable position, enjoying the rare treat of an actual info-share. Rodrian's main talents were acting bossy and making money—until now, I hadn't realized he could give such good oration. Guess it only seemed natural he'd pick up the skill after listening to Marek for so long.

  "A compulsion is no more than a touch of power with the force of my will behind it," he continued. "It works only as long as the power stream is maintained, since a living being has a life force and a will of its own. Without constant contact, the target's will can break the suggestion and resume thinking for itself."

  I cleared my throat delicately.

  "Herself," he amended. His expanding path brought him to the edges of the walls, and he slowed his pace, lifting his arm, hand parallel to the wall. "An object, on the other hand, has no memory and no will of its own. A touch of power leaves a residue that continues to exert a force after contact is broken. Are you following any of this?"

  "I think so. Your power is like slime and you sling it around the place."

  "That's—disgusting."

  "You said it."

  He stopped his circuit and crossed his arms at me. "This is serious."

  "Look, pal. You drink blood, okay, and you know where I stand on that. Now you tell me you fling your power around and leave residues. It doesn't paint a pretty picture."

  All of a sudden, Mr. Flirty McJokesalot was all business. He leveled a no-nonsense look at me that made me want to duck. "Can you be a little more clinical? You're supposed to be using the Sophia to figure out what I'm doing wrong."

  "Oops." I hung my head, trying not to laugh. "Forgot, sorry. Okay. The residue continues to work after you separate from it."

  "Yes. I place the power like this." He resumed his walk, lifting his hands and spreading his fingers. "I don't need to use my hands but I want to show you how I mentally direct my power over the surface of the target."

  He circled the room, paying careful attention to windows and air vents and, finally, the closed doors. "I send my power up along the ceiling and down over the floor. The fire is energy, too, and it disperses the power up the chimney. This way, the room will be encapsulated."

  Honestly, it only looked like he was waving his hands. I couldn't "see" anything.

  But his power—I felt it in every pore of my skin. The Sophia perked up while Rodrian spread himself around the room, sensing the steady flow of DV power. I felt it swell inside my head, shifting my vision, dripping its cool manifestation down over me, chills and fog together. The Sophia filled my head, my body, my entire being, hungry for the touch of demivampire power unleashed.

  The Oracle took over.

  All I could feel was Rodrian. Never before had I felt so much of him, all at once. The Sophia was submerged, my senses swelling, engorging themselves on his essence. Unaccustomed to such a vehement reaction, I grew alarmed.

  I tried to draw my empathy back but it wouldn't be reined in. Alarm turned to panic. I breathed Rodrian's power. I tasted it. I drifted and spun and swam through it. Everything turned blue, the blue eyes of the Sophia, and I was lost in the slurry of his demivampiric power.

  Rodrian's voice faded.

  I couldn't brea
the.

  Trapped.

  Terror.

  The slurry solidified, pressing down like a violent change in air pressure. Blurry whiteness crept around the edges of my vision and the ceiling lifted, walls stretched impossibly long. Muffled pounding in my ears, like a cotton-wrapped clock. Breath wouldn't come. I grew light-headed, the white spreading.

  Rodrian's face peered through the peephole at the end of my vision.

  Gone.

  My head thumped a thick rhythm as the room faded back in.

  "Gods, Sophie. You scared hell out of me."

  I cracked my eyelids, feeling couch beneath me and seeing Rodrian hovering like a nervous bird. No more passing-out white. No Sophia blue. No power. Just room and a concerned face.

  "What happened?" I tried to sit up, but a silver streak of headache anchored me to the cushion. I sank back and closed my eyes, groaning. "What did you do?"

  "I set the ward. You collapsed as I finished. What were you doing?"

  "Dunno." When I rolled my head, it swam like a concussion. "I let the Sophia out and it went ape-shit. So much power. Where did it all go?"

  "Into a new form." He sighed and reached to smooth my hair back. "I guess you missed it. Ah, well. I won't risk setting another ward like that around you."

  "So the ward is there?"

  "You can't feel it, can you?"

  I pushed up, swallowing the ebb of nausea that bobbed behind the tide of looming migraine. He steadied me, helping me sit up against the back of the couch. "I can't feel anything but, then again, it hurts to try. I'll have to check it later."

  "But you don't feel me anymore, do you?" He sounded hopeful.

  "Not even with you standing a foot away." I groaned. "You broke my Sophia."

  "That sounds so dirty." He grinned, full of adolescent appreciation at my ability to say something so provocative.

  I wanted to hit him. "Ugh. Not now."

  He squatted in front of me, peering up into my face while I shielded my eyes, holding my forehead in place. Slowly the pain receded, dull booms like noisy upstairs neighbors fading. Stomach settling. Breathing easier. I stretched a wan smile at his distressed expression.