Blood Bound mt-2

by Patricia Briggs

  I wagged my tail at him.

  "I brought clothes this time," he said. "Hop in the back and change so we can talk."

  I wagged my tail at him again.

  He raised an eyebrow. "Mercy, you've been avoiding talking to me for long enough. Time to quit running and talk. Please."

  Reluctantly, I hopped to the backseat. He was right. If I hadn't been ready to talk, I wouldn't have been running around the Tri-Cities in a collar with his phone number on it. Of course escaping from the Animal Control Shelter might have had something to do with it as well.

  He'd brought sweats that smelled like him. They were big, but I could tighten the cord on the pants so they didn't slide off. I rolled up the sleeves and then crawled back over the seat.

  He waited until I was buckled in before he spoke. I expected to be grilled about my recent habit of wandering around the city in coyote guise.

  "I scare you," he told me, instead.

  "Do not." I huffed indignantly.

  He glanced at me and then at the road. I noticed he was taking the long way home, the narrow highway that followed the Yakima River and would eventually drop us off in the north side of Richland.

  There was a smile on his face.

  "Okay. What if I said that your reactions to me scare you?"

  My heartbeat picked up. That just wasn't fair, women were supposed to be a mystery to men.

  "You're a control freak," I said hotly. "You'll have to excuse me if I don't like being controlled."

  "I don't control you," he said in that rich-as-night voice he could use when he wanted to. The rat bastard. Upset as I was it still had an effect on me. "You chose to submit."

  "I don't submit to anyone," I snapped, looking out the side window to show him I wanted this conversation over.

  "But you want to."

  I had no answer for that.

  "It's taken me this long to figure out an answer to our problem," he said. "What if I let you take charge?"

  I gave him a suspicious look. "What do you mean by that?"

  "I mean just what I said. When we go out, you pick where we're going. If we kiss-or anything else-it'll be because you started it. That way, even if you want to submit to me, you can't because I'm not asking anything."

  I crossed my arms over my chest and stared hard at the river. "Let me think about it."

  "Fair enough. So, do you want to tell me what you were doing in Benton City?"

  "Hunting."

  He sucked in a deep breath. "You won't find him that way."

  "Find whom?" I asked innocently.

  "The vampire. Andre. You won't find him that way. They have ways of confusing their scent and magic to hide their daytime resting places even from other vampires. That's why Warren and Ben couldn't track Littleton down when they went looking."

  "Their magics don't work so well on me," I told him.

  "And you can talk to ghosts that the rest of us can't see," he snapped impatiently. " Which is why Marsilia sent you after Littleton. " He was still mad at me for doing that, even if, maybe especially because, it had worked. "How long have you been looking for Andre? Since Marsilia let him go?"

  I didn't give him an answer. Didn't want to give him an answer. It occurred to me that this was the first time I'd felt myself in his presence since we'd gone on our first date. Maybe it was the vampire blood.

  "What did I do to deserve that look?" he asked.

  "Why don't I feel like obeying you now?" I asked.

  He smiled at me and turned onto the bypass highway that ran along the outskirts of Richland. It was four thirty and the road was clogged with traffic.

  "Being the Alpha is different from just being dominant," he said.

  I snorted. "I know that. Remember where I grew up."

  "If I'm away from the pack, I can make the Alpha go dormant. Bran can do it whenever he feels like it, but for the rest of us, it takes real effort."

  I don't know how he expected me to react to that, but it didn't make me happy. "So it was deliberate, the way you made me feel?"

  He shook his head, and I let out the breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding. I don't like being manipulated at all, and being manipulated by paranormal means is worse.

  "No. I told you it takes an effort-and the… effect you have on me makes it difficult." He wasn't looking at me now. He was a product of his times. He might look like he was in his late twenties, but he'd been born just after WWII, and a man raised in the 1950's didn't talk about his feelings. It was interesting watching him squirm. I was suddenly feeling much more cheerful.

  "I can't help how I'm wired," he said after a moment. "I don't even know how much is being an Alpha werewolf and how much is just me-but being around you brings out the predator in me."

  "And so you had to make me want to please you?" I made sure he heard how I felt about that.

  "No!" He sucked in a big breath and then said, "Please don't antagonize me right now. You want an explanation. You want me to stop influencing you. I'm trying to do both-but it isn't easy. Please."

  It was the «please» that got to me. I leaned my back against the door so I was as far from him as I could get. "Tell me, then."

  "Bran can control his Alpha effect until he can fool werewolves who don't know who and what he is. I'm not so talented, but I can stuff it down so it doesn't interfere with my everyday life. When I negotiate contracts, I don't like to exert undue influence on the people I'm dealing with. Even in the pack, I don't use it much. Cooperation is always better than coercion-especially when that coercion only lasts until they're out of my presence. I only bring out the big guns when there's trouble in the pack that can't be solved by talking." He glanced at me and almost hit the car in front of him when traffic stopped unexpectedly.

  If my hearing hadn't been so good I wouldn't have heard him when he said, "When I am with you, my control is shot. I think that's what you've been feeling."

  So he could command my obedience whenever he wanted to. Only because he chose not to do so was I left with my free will.

  "Before you act on that fear I can smell," he said more confidently, "I'd like to point out that you had no trouble turning Samuel down when you were sixteen-and he's more dominant than I am."

  "He's not an Alpha and I didn't turn him down to his face. I left without talking to him."

  "I've seen you go toe-to-toe with Bran and not back down."

  "No, you haven't." I wasn't stupid. No one faced off with Bran.

  He laughed. "I've heard you. Remember when Bran told you to be a good little girl and let the wolves deal with the scary stuff and so ensured that you would go out and find the bastard who'd taken Jesse?"

  "I didn't argue with him," I pointed out.

  "Because you didn't care if you had his permission or not. The only reason you submit to me is because some part of you wants to: I'm willing to admit that my being an Alpha brings that part of you to the forefront, but it is you who relaxes your guard around me."

  I didn't talk to him all the rest of the way home. I was fair enough to admit to myself that I was angry because I was pretty sure he was right, but not fair enough to tell him so.

  Being a master strategist, he let me stew. He didn't even get out of the car to open my door-which he usually did. I hopped out and stood with the door open for a minute.

  "There's supposed to be a good movie coming out," I muttered. "Would you like to come with me Saturday afternoon?" I hadn't intended to ask. The invitation just popped out.

  He smiled, that slow smile that started in his eyes and never quite made it to his mouth. I shifted my weight uneasily because that smile had an unsettling effect on me.

  "Which theater?"

  I swallowed. This was not a good idea. Not at all. "The one behind the mall, I think. I'll check."

  "Fine. Call me later with the time."

  "I'll drive."

  "Okay." His lips were curling up now.

  Dumb, I thought, dumb sheep waltzing right into the slaughterhou
se. I shut the door without saying anything more and went into the house.

  Out of the frying pan and into the fire, I thought, meeting Samuel's gaze.

  "Going to the movies?" he asked, having obviously overheard what I'd said to Adam.

  "Yes." I jerked my chin up and refused to give in to the tight feeling in my stomach. Samuel wouldn't hurt me. The problem was, I didn't want to hurt him either.

  His eyes were half-shut and he breathed in. "You smell like him again."

  "He picked me up when I was running in coyote form, so he brought me clothes."

  Samuel moved with the speed of a bora predator and put his hand behind my neck. I stood very still when he put his nose under my ear. I couldn't help but smell him also. How could his scent have as powerful an effect on me as Adam's smile? It was wrong.

  "When you go with him," he growled, his body trembling with readiness or pain-I couldn't tell which because I could smell both, "I want you to remember this."

  He kissed me. It was utterly serious, beautiful-and, given the rage in his eyes when he started, surprisingly gentle.

  He backed away and gave me a small, pleased smile. "Don't look so worried, Mercy love."

  "I'm not a broodmare," I told him, trying not to hyperventilate.

  "No," he agreed. "I won't lie to you about how I feel. The thought of having children who won't die before they are born is powerful. But you should know that the wolf in me doesn't care about such things. He only wants you."

  He left while I was still trying to come up with a reply. Not to his room, but all the way out of the house. I heard his car start up and purr away.

  I sat down on the couch and hugged one of the pillows. I was trying so hard not to think about Samuel or Adam, that I had to think about something else. Something like hunting down Andre.

  Marsilia told me that the reason vampires feared walkers was that we were resistant to vampire magics and could talk to ghosts.

  But as Darryl had reminded me, ghosts avoid evil-like vampires. I might not be susceptible to some vampire magics, but evidently the magic that kept me from sniffing their lairs out worked just fine. Maybe the other walkers had been more powerful than me.

  Medea jumped on the couch beside me.

  Marsilia couldn't have meant something like the way I'd used Mrs. Hanna to find Littleton. That was a special case. Most ghosts aren't capable of communication.

  There aren't many ghosts in the Tri- Cities, it is too newly settled for that. There weren't very many people here until WWII, when the efforts to develop a nuclear bomb spawned the Hanford Project. Despite, or maybe because of, the military cause of the cities' growth, the Tri-Cities didn't have a lot of violence in its past-and violent, senseless death was the main cause of ghosts.

  Violent, senseless deaths happened at a vampire's menagerie.

  I set the pillow down and Medea climbed into my lap.

  I wasn't the only person who could see ghosts. There are lots of haunted places in Portland where I'd gone to high school-and normal, everyday people see them. Of course, most humans don't see them as well as I do, and then usually only at night. I never understood that. Ghosts are around in daytime as often as at night, though there are a lot of things that cannot bear the light of day.

  Like vampires.

  It couldn't be that easy.

  The next day, after work, I went out looking for Andre on two feet instead of four. I wasn't sure that looking for ghosts would work. In the first place, ghosts aren't all that common. A thousand people could die in a battle and there might be no ghosts at all. And even if there were ghosts, there was no guarantee I'd see them-or figure out they were ghosts if I did. Some of the dead, like Mrs. Hanna, appeared as they had in life.

  I was looking for a needle in a haystack, so I could kill Andre.

  I understood it wouldn't be like killing Littleton — and that had been bad enough. Andre would be asleep and defenseless. Even if I managed to find him, I didn't know that I could actually execute him.

  And if I did kill him, Marsilia's seethe would come after me.

  At least then I wouldn't have to make a choice between Adam and Samuel. Every cloud has its silver lining.

  I hunted every afternoon and returned just before dark. Samuel was making himself scarce, but he'd started leaving meals in the fridge for me. Sometimes take-out, but usually something he'd cooked. When he was home, he acted as if he'd never kissed me, never told me that he was still interested. I didn't know if that was reassuring or frightening. Samuel was a very patient hunter.

  I took Adam to the movies on Saturday. He was very well behaved. Afterwards we drove out to the Hanford Reservation and ran as wolf and coyote through the open terrain. He didn't have Samuel's ability to throw off all his humanity and revel in the joy of being a wild thing. Instead, he played with the same intensity he used for everything else. Which meant that when I chased him, I wasn't really sure I wanted to catch him-and when he chased me, I felt like a rabbit.

  We were both tired out when I dropped him off at his home before dinner. He didn't kiss me, but he gave me a look that was almost as good.

  I didn't want to go home to Samuel after that look. So I drove back into Kennewick and just cruised around. Watching Adam play tamed beast had been… heart wrenching. Adam wasn't like Bran, who enjoyed role-playing. I didn't like myself very much for making Adam do it. Playing in the Reservation had been better, he hadn't subdued the wolf as well there.

  I stopped at a stop sign in one of the plethora of new housing developments that had sprung up over the past few years, and there it was. Hollow eyed and sad, the middle-aged man stood on the porch of a respectable-looking house and stared at me.

  I pulled the Rabbit over and parked it, and returned his stare. As I sat there, another one appeared beside him, this one an old woman. When the third ghost appeared, I got out of the car. The house was only a couple of years old: three people were a bit much for a normal household to lose in a couple of years-especially three people who had become ghosts rather than going on to the other side as most dead people do.

  I took the backpack that held Zee's vampire-hunting kit and walked across the street. It was only as I started up the porch that I realized he'd have some people here, too. For some reason, I'd forgotten that I'd have to deal with the vampire's menagerie before I killed the vampire.

  I rang the doorbell and did my best not to look at the ghosts, of which there were now significantly more than three: I could smell them even if I couldn't see them.

  No one answered the door, though I could hear them inside. There was no smell of fear or anger, just unwashed bodies. When I turned the door knob, the door opened.

  Inside the smell was bad. If vampires have almost as good a sense of smell as I do, I don't know how any vampire could have stayed here. But then vampires don't have to breathe.

  I tried to use my nose to tell me whose house I was in. His scent was partially masked by the sour smell of sweat and death, so I couldn't be certain I had the right vampire, just that he was male.

  The ghosts followed me. I could feel them brush up against me, pushing me onward as if they knew what I was here for and were determined to help. They pushed and pulled until I came to a doorway next to the bathroom on the main floor. It was narrower than the other doors, obviously built to be a linen closet. But, at the urging of my guides, I opened the door and was unsurprised to see a set of winding stairs that led down into a dark hole.

  I have never been afraid of the dark. Even when I can't see, my nose and ears work pretty well to guide me. I'm not claustrophobic. Still, climbing down that hole was one of the hardest things I've ever done, because, even knowing he would be inactive during the day, the thought of trying to kill a vampire scared me silly.

  I hadn't brought a flashlight. Hadn't expected to need one: it was daylight after all. There was a little light from the stairway. I could see that the room wasn't very big, just a little bigger than the average bathroom. And there was somethi
ng, a bed or couch, stretched across the far side of the room.

  I closed my eyes and counted a full minute, when I opened my eyes again, I could see a little better. It was a bed and the vampire on it wasn't Andre. His hair was lighter. The only blond male in the seethe who had his own menagerie was Wulfe, the Wizard. I had no quarrel with him.

  I had to fight the ghosts as I climbed back up the stairwell. They knew what I was there for, and they wanted the vampire dead.

  "I'm sorry," I told them after I made it back up to the hallway. "I can't just kill for no reason."

  "Then why did you come?"

  I swallowed my heart and turned around, expecting to see the vampire behind me, but there was only the dark stairway. But I couldn't dismiss the voice as my imagination because all of the ghosts were gone. I touched the sheep on the necklace I'd bought to replace the one Littleton had broken.

  He laughed. "Are you after Andre? He doesn't live around here. But you could kill me, instead."

  "Should I?" I asked, angry because he'd scared me.

  "I know how a sorcerer is made," he said. "But no one has asked me."

  "Why haven't you made a sorcerer and turned him then?" I asked, growing more confident. The hallway was dim, but I could see that there was light coming in the house from the windows still. If Wulfe was awake, he'd be confined to the dark room where he was safe.

  "Because I'm not a fool. Marsilia knows better, too, but she is obsessed with returning to Milan."

  "Then I have no reason to kill you," I told him.

  "Then again, maybe you couldn't have killed me," he said, crawling out of the stairway. He moved very slowly, like a lizard who had gotten too cold.

  I heard a whimper from behind one of the closed doors next to the bathroom, and sympathized. I wanted to whimper, too.

  "I'm not hunting you," I told him firmly, though I stepped backward until I stood in a circle of light at the end of the hallway.

  He stopped halfway out of the stairway, his eyes were filmed over like a dead man's.

  "Good," he said. "If you kill Andre, I won't tell-and no one will ask."

  And he was gone, withdrawing from the hallway and down the stairs so fast that I barely caught the motion, though I was staring right at him.