Seduced by Blood

by Laurie London

  As Cosette hurriedly applied some lip gloss she found in her pocket, she vowed to do whatever it took to get her sister back. And when she did, she’d pack up their things before the woman changed her mind and they’d get the hell away from this god-awful city.

  Moving to Seattle was supposed to be an exciting adventure for the two girls from Montana. Their French mother who had fallen in love with their rancher father and moved to the States told them that having an adventurous spirit ran in the family. Though she’d have preferred the girls move to New York or Paris “to see what the world has to offer,” Seattle was the next best thing for two girls who weren’t quite as adventurous as their mother. But this nightmare was more than either sister had bargained for.

  There were no guarantees this woman would follow through with her promise, but Cosette had no other options. She couldn’t go to the police. Not only would they think she was nuts when she told them that she and her sister had been kidnapped by vampires, but if the woman found out, she’d kill Yvonne. She didn’t want to think about the place where they were holding her. The gothic house was old, damp and creepy. The woman had taken them on a tour of what she called the Extraction Room, which was basically a torture chamber, where dozens of human skulls stared out at them from the walls, their dark eye sockets and grisly smiles a portent of the girls’ possible fate. Unless Cosette agreed to do this, she and her sister would be added to the woman’s grisly collection. But first, they’d strap her sister down and extract every last ounce of her blood because of how special it supposedly was.

  The process would take about an hour from start to finish, the woman had said. “First, we’ll strap her to that gurney over there and immobilize her. Then my extraction expert—” she pointed to a squat, evil-looking man smiling a little too eagerly from the other side of the room “—will insert a needle into one of her arteries. Not a vein, as we want the blood to be as oxygen-rich as possible.” Yvonne began trembling and Cosette held her close. “She’ll get weaker and weaker,” the woman had explained, “then very thirsty, and that’s when the headaches will start. I’m told it’s a deep, throbbing kind of ache—a migraine of epic proportions as the body’s fluids are diminished. Then she’ll become unconscious and slip into a coma. Before you know it, I’ll have eight pints of blood and your sister will be dead. Why do I know all this, you ask? Because I’m there for as many of these as possible and ask a lot of questions. Death fascinates me. Knowledge is power, don’t you think? So what do you say? Are you in or out?”

  Knowing what would happen to Yvonne, refusing these demands had not been an option. The woman told Cosette to apply for jobs at various bars Guardians were known to frequent. Big Daddy’s had been the first to call back. Tonight was only her third night on the job. Her hands still felt weak from when she read the woman’s text message, saying a Guardian had been spotted heading in this direction.

  She peered around the pillar. An empty glass sat in front of him and he was doing something on his phone. Given the way he was biting his tongue in Michael Jordan fashion, he must be playing a game of some sort. A twinge gnawed at her stomach. He looked so human, so normal. Just like any other guy. But whatever this woman had in store for him, Cosette had to remember that at least he was a vampire. He stood a much better chance of surviving than Yvonne.

  Yvonne. She couldn’t let her sympathies for a stranger get in the way of what she needed to do. “You promise not to hurt him?”

  “He won’t even know we were there.”

  She hoped to God that the woman was telling the truth. If she wasn’t… Cosette was willing to do just about anything to get her sister back. Steal. Lie. Sleep with a stranger who was actually a vampire. But she drew the line at murder and being an accessory to one. Or at least she thought she did. If faced with that decision, could she actually kill someone if it meant her sister would live? Could she betray someone, knowing he would die, if it meant she and her sister would see another day? Until all this, she’d never felt that the ends justified the means in any situation, but then she and Yvonne hadn’t been staring death in the face either.

  When the woman was done fussing over her, Cosette gladly moved away and headed toward the man. For the first time in her life, she was grateful for all the acting lessons her flamboyant mother had put her through. Everything was riding on how well she played this part.

  Stretching her arms out on the brass railing, she leaned forward suggestively. Surely, he’d be able to see straight down her shirt all the way to her belly button. Although her heart was thundering behind her rib cage, she flashed her best I Want You To Take Me Home Tonight smile. Which wasn’t much of a stretch if she forgot the fact that he was a vampire. The guy was hot. He had the kind of eyes that could melt a girl’s panties with just a glance. “What can I get you?”

  His head snapped up from the phone in his hands. With narrowed eyes, he studied her for a moment. It was as if he knew that something was wrong.

  Vampires didn’t read minds, did they? Was he trying to glamour her? She didn’t know what myths about them were true or not. The garlic thing wasn’t. And neither was not being able to come into a home without an invitation. She and Yvonne wouldn’t have been kidnapped if that was the case. She shivered, remembering how the woman had been sitting on their sofa when they came home after a midnight run to the store for snacks.

  Cosette knew they could wipe minds—it was a big reason she was so eager to do whatever the woman demanded of her. If she didn’t, the woman could wipe her memory and she’d have no way of knowing where Yvonne was or what had happened to her. All she would know was that her sister, whom they said was a sweetblood, was gone. But surely, the woman would have told her that vampires could read minds since Cosette was about to deceive one.

  This strange expression of his had to be from something else. He didn’t find her distasteful, did he? Despite what the woman had said, maybe he wasn’t into the slutty look.

  “What do you have on tap?”

  Was that the trace of an Australian accent? “Well, we have Fosters.”

  He looked vaguely amused. “I’m not Australian, if that’s what you’re getting at.”

  Oh, crap, he wasn’t British, was he? That had to be a major faux pas to confuse the two. She could’ve sworn—

  “I recently spent some time there, but I didn’t know I’d picked up much of an accent. You’re very perceptive.”

  “Oh, good,” she said, relieved. “For a moment there, I was thinking I’d really offended you, not being able to tell the difference.”

  “Even if I were British, I wouldn’t have been offended. At least, not by you.”

  Her cheeks heated at the compliment. “So is it a Fosters or do you want to go with a local microbrew instead?”

  “Fosters, it is, mate,” he said, drumming up a heavy accent.

  She let herself laugh.

  It was good he’d warmed up to her so quickly. Things would be so much easier than if she’d been forced to throw herself at him. Though she hadn’t really expected that either. Most guys found her and her sister fairly attractive. “Okay, then. I’d say something clever right now, but the only Aussie slang I know is about throwing shrimps on the barbie.”

  “Works for me.”

  “I do speak a little French, however.”

  “Really?” His eyes gleamed. “Did you ever see A Fish Called Wanda? I’m like Jamie Lee Curtis’s character, but in reverse. I’m turned on by women talking in other languages to me.”

  “Je parle français. Vous avez un beau sourire.” He was gorgeous and funny and under any other circumstances, she’d have enjoyed being with him.

  “What does that mean?”

  She shrugged nonchalantly and gave him her best flirty smile. “Maybe I’ll tell you later.”

  As she filled a few drink orders, Cosette noticed the woman motioning her to come over. Was something wrong? She’d done exactly what she’d been told to do: strike up a conversation and flirt.


  A quick glance revealed that the man was on his phone again, so she slipped to the back. “What is it?”

  The woman smiled. “Looks like things are progressing nicely, so I’m heading over there now. When you bring him to the room, I want you to suggest taking a nice long bath together.”

  “But—”

  “You must, and I repeat, must have him change his clothes in the room first before you enter the bathroom. While you’re in there, take your time. Have fun. I’ll leave a bottle of bubble bath on the counter along with a radio, some lubrication and a six-pack of Fosters.” Cosette wanted to throw up. “Then, when you’re about to go back into the bedroom, I want you to go first. Tell him you want to get ready for him before he comes out. Then, sprinkle some of this around the room. But don’t let him see you doing it.”

  She handed Cosette a small burlap pouch. It molded to her hand like a bag of salt. “What is this?”

  “Scent-masking crystals that an old friend gave me. Guardians use it to absorb the lingering scent of sweetbloods, making it impossible for Darkbloods to follow. But it works both ways. It’ll hide any trace that we were in the room.”

  “You mean he can smell you?” Almost reflexively, she sniffed the air and didn’t pick up anything unusual.

  “Guardians have a keen sense of smell. That’s why I’m all the way back here. Do you think you can do it?”

  That explained the latex gloves. The woman didn’t want to leave her scent on Cosette for the man to detect. That also explained why she had to shower and change into fresh clothes right before she started her shift. Cosette stuffed the package into her messenger bag, which hung from a peg just around the corner. “Do I have a choice?”

  The woman gave her a flat smile. “True.”

  “And when it’s done—” God, now she was the one sounding clinical “—you’ll bring my sister back?”

  “You have my word.”

  Somehow, Cosette didn’t find this reassuring, but what other choice did she have than to believe her?

  The woman left through the back door and Cosette returned to the bar. A moment later she set the beer down in front of the man. “It’s almost time for last call. Do you want me to bring you another one right away?”

  “Sure, why not.” He took a drink and licked the foam from his upper lip. Dropping his chin slightly, he looked at her pointedly. Unlike the woman, the whites of his eyes weren’t gray, but they were intense. “I like living on the edge.”

  He was definitely baiting her, seeing how she’d respond.

  Without blinking, she said, “I do, too.”

  Continued flirting combined with two more beers and he was eating out of the palm of her hand at closing time. She hadn’t asked him his name yet—she didn’t want to know. The less she knew about the real him, the better.

  After waiting for the last customer to leave, she quickly cleaned up and said goodnight to Arnold. Something bad had happened to one of his employees last year, so now he always closed on Friday and Saturday nights. It made leaving with a customer easy.

  “My place or yours?” the man asked as they stepped out into the chilly night air.

  She pulled the door closed behind them. “I’m probably closer.” She pointed through the alley to an old brick building on the next block over. It wasn’t the apartment that she and her sister shared, but the predesignated place where she was to bring him. The woman would undoubtedly have things all set up by now. Cosette would do what she needed then get the hell out of there.

  “Okay, then. Let’s go.” With a hand on the small of her back, he guided her down the alley.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  THE OFFICE SANTIAGO kept in Seattle was smaller than the one at region headquarters, but it was masculine and tastefully decorated. A cluster of artfully arranged black-and-white animal photos covered one hunter-green wall. Bronze statues of eagles and rearing horses sat like sentries on the shelves but weren’t overbearing. The window coverings were heavy and very Ralph Lauren. The front two corners of his desk featured majestic, hand-carved griffins and Roxy wondered if the other side was carved, as well.

  She hoped he never had one of his tantrums here because the room and the contents were too stately and elegant to be destroyed so callously. “I like your office.”

  “Thanks, but I can’t take any of the credit. The fiancée of our newest Council member has a design business and just finished decorating it. She had me fill out a five-page questionnaire, which felt like a personality test and then, based on that, she brought me sketches, photos and samples.”

  “I think she nailed it. The office is powerful, commanding and yet warm and comfortable. It feels like…like you.”

  The minute the words tumbled from her mouth, she regretted saying them. He didn’t need to know this was how she felt about him, that she thought of him in any way other than strictly business. She’d been a little too personal, exposed herself emotionally and she didn’t want to go there. Just because they had sex didn’t mean they were on the road to Couplesville.

  Or at least that’s what she told herself. She couldn’t let herself slip and accidentally develop feelings for the man just because he was amazing in bed and her body ached for more.

  And then, before she could shut it down, images of last night bombarded her thoughts. His muscles were hard and powerful, just as she knew they would be. His chest and abdomen glistened with a slight sheen of sweat as she caged him beneath her.

  She was still surprised that he’d let her take the lead. It wasn’t what she’d been expecting given his bold, brash personality. She’d held his arms above his head and traced her lips along his tattoo, from his hairline to his neck and shoulder, all the way down to where it stopped at his groin. Then, as she cupped him and pressed her palm to his chest to keep him down, she slipped her mouth over his length.

  Smiling to herself, she recalled how easily she’d brought him to climax again. He groaned so loudly as he came that a few items on the nightstand rattled.

  He’d let her be the one in control last night—maybe because he was weak from the lights or needed the stress relief—but whatever the reason, she had the distinct impression that things wouldn’t be the same the next time.

  She hurriedly pulled out the list Santiago had given her earlier and looked for the few unchecked names. “Would the decorator be Charlotte Grant?”

  “Yes, that’s her.”

  “I haven’t met her or her fiancé yet.”

  “Considering his position on the Council, they’ll be at the awards gala,” he said, sitting casually on the edge of the desk. “I’ll introduce you to them then.”

  “Do you think that’s wise? I mean, shouldn’t I try to eliminate as many people as possible before that? What if whoever is behind all this plans to take advantage of so many of our VIPs being at the gala to strike again?”

  “I just don’t see how we can eliminate everyone before then. Those last remaining people on the list aren’t scheduled to be in town until the event. But if you’d like, I can arrange a dinner date with Trace and Charlotte. Kill two birds with one stone.”

  Two at once? Hell, she’d eliminated half the people on her list while in the kitchen. The Seattle office wasn’t very big.

  She must’ve looked confused because he added, “Dinner with me. Checking names off your list. Those are two things. That should make the organized librarian in you happy.”

  She jerked her head up. “I’m not an organized librarian.”

  “Sure you are.”

  He really thought of her as a librarian? She didn’t think of herself that way at all. She wasn’t rigid, stuck in her ways or overly organized. If you asked her, she was flexible and easy to get along with. “Why do you say that?” she asked, not sure she really wanted to know.

  “Well, for one thing, I saw your suitcase. Your shoes were individually packed in their own little bags. Your herbs and candles labeled and cataloged.”

  “Okay, so I’m a good packer, that
doesn’t mean anything.”

  He raised his eyebrows in a maddening I’m Not Done With This Yet manner. “On the bathroom counter, you’ve got a little pill case labeled with all your vitamins.”

  “That…that proves nothing except that I’m committed to my health. Because you’re completely the opposite of this, any sort of organization stands out to you. I’m normal and you’re just jealous.”

  He laughed. “Is that so? Well, you’ve made playlists to match the various workouts you do for each day of the week. Monday is yoga day with earthy relaxation music. Tuesday is cardio with hip-hop. Wednesday is swimming, so there’s no playlist. Thursday is—”

  “You snooped through my music? That’s like my private stuff. I can’t believe you’d do that.”

  His guilty look quickly turned to a scowl. “It was sitting on the nightstand. What’s wrong with that? Jesus. All I wanted was the name of the music you played when you gave me a massage. It’s not like I read through your diary or went through your underwear drawer. Hell, I don’t even know if you have a diary.”

  “Well, I don’t, so don’t go snooping around for it.” She folded her arms and gave him her evilest stare.

  He glared back. “I won’t.”

  Why would he want to know the music she had played? “I thought you said all of this was a bunch of mumbo-jumbo?”

  An impossible-to-read expression flashed across his face. He strode to a shelf and examined one of the bronze statues as if he’d never seen it before. “It was… I found it to be relaxing and I was feeling…stressed.”

  He was— Her music— Oh. She rubbed her onyx pendant and the wind in her sails sputtered out like a spent whoopee cushion. She wouldn’t have guessed in a million years that he thought her methods had any merit. “Okay, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have jumped down your throat like that. You’re welcome to look through my music anytime.”

  There was that little gleam again as he approached her. “Apology accepted. And…thanks. But admit it, Roxy, you’re hopelessly organized.”