Blood Leverage (Bloodstone Chronicles Book 1)

by J S Hazzard

  When morning rolled around, my prayers for alcohol induced memory loss were dashed. I remembered everything in vivid detail and even recalled a few things that hadn’t been clear last night. None of them made me feel any better.

  And okay, I needed to stop being overdramatic. It wasn’t like I was a trembling virgin. (Or not in any way but the most literal sense.) Besides, I’d done nothing I hadn’t already done. Except for the two guy part and them both being vampires. Because really, that’s hardly any difference at all. Right?

  Shit.

  Despite the room being empty, I buried my head beneath the pillows again. This did nothing for my morale or self-esteem, but did give me time to appreciate every exquisitely detailed nuance of a hangover like nothing I’d ever experienced before.

  Maybe my hangover would conveniently kill me. Or maybe I should haul my self-pitying ass out of bed and see what I could salvage from this flaming clusterfuck. Wincing at the ice pick stabbing through my forehead, I crawled out of bed.

  Water. I needed water in the worst way. The bathroom sink was the closest option, and I avoided my reflection in the mirror as I guzzled water from the tap. However, after I’d drunk my fill a self-assessment was unavoidable.

  Though I’d seen better days, I didn’t look like a crazed vamp-whore, which was reassuring. My skin was paler than ever, but that had been the case for days now. The dark circles beneath my eyes had also become the norm. But my hair…

  Okay, I needed a shower.

  After, I put on ‘my’ crimson robe and wound my wet hair into the twisted up-do I wore when I wanted to project respectability and virtue. My attempt came to a halt when I realized I’d left my wet laundry in the washer last night.

  Though I’d worn this robe outside the bedroom before, it wouldn’t be happening today. I raided Ian’s closet again and grabbed the dullest gray button-down I could find. Then I unrepentantly sacrificed a pair of black trousers, lopping the excess length with a pair of scissors and using one of his ties as a belt.

  Thus armored, I left the bedroom for my version of judgment day, though whether I was judge or juror I couldn’t say. Despite my determination to act normal, I tiptoed to the guest rooms, relieved my fingerprint still worked to open the doors. Though someone had rebuilt the damaged wall, Ian and Keanu weren’t there. In fact, they’d emptied the living room, presumably to facilitate repairs.

  The guest bathroom was not only empty, it was clean to the point where I doubted my memories. No open bottles of shampoo, no melting bars of soap—certainly no remnants of my shattered dignity, though the shards of that were too small to be visible anyway.

  If not for the champagne bottles in the guest kitchen I’d have dismissed the whole thing as a crazy dream, but there they were—all three of them—and mine was still half full. Apparently I wasn’t a drunken slut, only a regular slut with no inhibitions requiring removal. Better and better!

  I set the bottle down and opened the freezer. I hadn’t wanted to eat for fear I’d be ill after having consumed a full bottle of champagne, but that no longer applied. Ignoring the traditional breakfast options, I selected a microwave macaroni and cheese dinner. (To hell with nutrition, I needed carbs.)

  According to the directions, the meal took five minutes to heat and there was no point in wasting the time. So I sat at the kitchen table, put my head down and cried silently while I waited.

  Not silently enough.

  “Rory?”

  I interrupted my pity party to look up at Keanu in the doorway. Then I let my head whump back onto the table. An instant later I was sitting on the counter while Keanu searched for the source of my tears and I swatted him in an ineffective and girly manner.

  “Rory, are you okay? Do you need us to heal something?”

  I sniffled and dabbed my eyes with my sleeve. Then I remembered it was Ian’s shirt and swiped at my nose as well, which was immature but satisfying. “I’m not particularly okay, but unless you guys can heal wounded pride I’m out of luck—not that that’s anything new this summer.”

  Agitated, I hopped down and began pacing. “Honestly, it feels like a contest, like some greater power is trying to test me by dumping piles of shit on me that grow exponentially with each new problem.”

  Keanu’s face fell. “Rory, about last night, really, I’m—”

  “So help me, if you apologize again I’ll kick you in your immortal balls!” I hadn’t troubled to keep my voice down and winced inwardly. The odds of Ian not having heard were slim, but the look on Keanu’s face almost compensated for it. Honestly, what was it with these two and apologies?

  “It’s not like you two overpowered me and tied me up. It was an unusual and stressful situation and we got carried away,” I said firmly. “I’m as much to blame as either of you.”

  The microwave beeped and we both ignored it.

  “We need to talk, Rory. A lot needs to be said, about last night and otherwise, and I thought you’d feel more comfortable in the living room.” I looked at him like he’d lost his mind and he clarified, “The blue living room, not the Eggplant living room.”

  “Oh.” I could live with that.

  Keanu let me take the lead, following so closely he nearly bumped me when I stopped short of the living room door. Something looked strange. Although the wall in the plum living room had been rebuilt, it was still bare plaster whereas the other side had already been re-painted. Knowing Ian, it wasn’t because he’d run out of plum paint.

  “Problem with the paint?”

  Keanu shook his head and unlatched the door, holding it open. “Not exactly. Ian wants a new color in there.” He tilted his head toward the room we’d left. “I think we’ve all had enough Eggplant around here.”

  The first mirth I’d felt all day bubbled through my chest as I opened the next two doors myself. That would be an understatement.

  Keanu sat and patted the sofa and I felt better as I joined him.

  “Now, about last night…” He looked everywhere but at me, his obvious embarrassment tempering my own. “For one thing, I think you ought to know that Ian and I don’t make a habit of, ah, sharing.”

  That was a polite way to put it.

  “Last night was every bit as much a new experience for us as it was for you and possibly even more unexpected.”

  I disagreed, but chose not to argue. “If you two don’t share and I wasn’t drunk, feel free to explain Ian’s behavior. Because I did not start that.”

  Keanu couldn’t meet my eyes. “It was our connection, but it’s never been like that before. I mean, you’ve seen how possessive Ian can be. Under normal circumstances he’d never let me anywhere near you.”

  My left eyebrow shot up and Keanu realized what he’d said.

  “I mean, not that Ian has the right to decide who can be near you,” he hastily backtracked, “but you saw how he was at the thought of me drinking your blood. Last night was insane. It was like I was Ian. Or he was me. I don’t know whose emotions were projecting what, but honestly, it was a little frightening. It’s strange enough that I was affected, but for Ian to be? Unheard of. He must feel completely humiliated at having lost control. I mean, not that we didn’t enjoy it,” he blurted as an afterthought.

  I raised a hand to shut him up before either of us died of embarrassment. “Keanu? Perhaps you’d like to stop talking now.”

  He looked grateful. “Yes. Thank you. Um, did you have anything you wanted to add?”

  Although I in no way wanted to continue the conversation, there was at least one thing that made no sense. “I know you said our emotions could egg each other on, but I didn’t feel, you know, sexy after watching Ian disembowel Eggplant.” Nor was vomiting my idea of foreplay—not that I planned to mention that incident ever again.

  “It’s not only about you though, Rory. Bloodlust and hysteria aren’t so different. Adrenaline is high, your blood rate is up and the absence of fear is like a drug.”

  I stared in disbelief. “An absence of fear? We
re we in the same living room last night?”

  Keanu waved a hand dismissively. “Two against one? There was no real danger.”

  “Is that so?” My fingers began drumming involuntarily in annoyance.

  “Definitely.” Keanu beamed. “You saw how soon it was over. Makes for a bigger rush.”

  “You don’t say…” My fingers all but drilled through the leather on the sofa, but Keanu remained oblivious.

  “Oh yeah. Even if Ian had been reluctant to kill Eggplant, we both would have felt the bloodlust. However, in a situation like last night where Ian was fighting for his home and to protect you—unequivocally certain of his actions—well, you saw the energy it invoked even when we’d felt ill moments earlier. I only regret not having avenged Dominic’s abduction personally.”

  That did it.

  “Avenged Nicky’s abduction? You think that’s what Ian did by killing Eggplant? That’s the most stupid thing I’ve ever heard! I hope you two enjoyed beating on your manly chests, because all you managed to do was slaughter the one person who knew Nicky’s location. For all we know, we’ve signed his death warrant and left him to starve!”

  In a rare understanding of the female psyche, Keanu indulged me in my flounce to the door before grabbing my wrist. “Rory, wait. We have her phone.”

  It stopped me mid-doorway. “A cell phone? Eggplant’s cell phone?” I wheeled around and commenced a verbal assault. “Where is it? Why aren’t we working on it? Can we use it? Can we track it?” Then it hit me. “Why am I hearing about this now?”

  If Keanu could’ve blushed, he would have. “Originally we didn’t want to upset you more than you already were, and then later… I mean, I can’t speak for Ian, but I sort of forgot about it. See, the phone doesn’t work right now, but don’t worry, we’ll be able to access the data by tomorrow.”

  My eyes narrowed as I stalked back to the sofa. “Explain.”

  “Ian grabbed the phone and tossed it to me while Eggplant was still alive. Either he threw it too hard or I gripped too tightly when I caught it. It’s cracked, but it’ll be okay,” he said before I could explode. “Eggplant was using a human cell phone.”

  “A human phone?” Images of men sending smoke signals popped into my head.

  Keanu shook his head. “I’m sorry. I meant a phone made for humans, not for vampires. Cell phones manufactured for humans haven’t changed much, but Fang Innovations built their business on vampire friendly technology. For instance, vampires don’t care how heavy our cell phones are. We care whether we’ll accidentally break them. F.I. got its start modifying tech to make it more durable.”

  “Huh.” I quashed a low grade urge to re-examine the guest room computer. “So Eggplant’s phone broke in the, um, scuffle, but it can be repaired?” Bloodbath was a more appropriate term, but I didn’t need the imagery. I still held out hope of eating my macaroni and cheese sometime today.

  “The screen is beyond repair,” Keanu admitted, “but the chip inside is intact. We need a new phone in the same model to access the chip’s data and then we’ll have all of Eggplant’s information at our fingertips.”

  “Like what?”

  “Well,” Keanu laughed. “For one thing, we’ll finally know her name. Once we can use the phone, at a bare minimum I’ll be able to access her account information. Her name, where she’s from, how she pays her bills, and most importantly the numbers of everyone she’s been in contact with.”

  “Oh, I get it.” I sat straighter in my excitement. “And once you have more phone numbers you can trace them too. Wait, how does that work? Is that legal? What if you get caught?”

  Keanu looked offended and I was on the verge of apologizing when he answered. “It’s completely illegal, but I can’t believe you think I’d get caught. Honestly, Rory, do you think so little of me?”

  I swallowed my near-apology. “Silly me, I can’t imagine why I was concerned.”

  “Me either,” Keanu said with a smirk. “Anyhow, if we get lucky, the data from the phone company will only be the beginning. Her phone has all the standard features. Voicemail, text messaging, email… Eggplant’s entire life might be in that phone.”

  “Where do we get another phone to find out?”

  Keanu glanced at the time stamp on the wall screens. “We should own one by dinnertime, give or take. We checked online, but this particular phone hasn’t been stocked by stores in years. Ian is monitoring an online auction for it on Vee-Bay.”

  It took all my strength to keep a straight face. “Vee-Bay?”

  “Yeah, it’s where both humans and vampires can resell items they no longer need. It’s not like it used to be because shipping is such a hassle, but Ian found a listing for an identical phone right in Niagara Falls. After he wins, you can retrieve it later today.”

  “What if he loses?” I laughed before Keanu’s eyebrow could even fully raise. “Sorry, that was a stupid question.” With Ms. Parkes’ money behind him, no doubt Ian could spend a small fortune to acquire the old phone. I smiled, thinking of the random stranger in Niagara Falls who was about to have a lucky day.

  CHAPTER

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  SEEING as I couldn’t pick up the phone until after the auction, I decided to forge ahead with the celebratory dinner I’d suggested long ago. After all, I’d done three practice meals with Ms. B. and it would have been a shame to waste the effort—particularly since my menu had required a trip to the pig farm earlier this week. (Ian had even agreed to eat what I cooked.)

  Even better, the kitchen was a great place to stay out of sight without looking like I was still hiding from Ian. Seeing Keanu hadn’t been unbearable, but he wasn’t my benefactor. All I could think about was my next blood draw and whether Ian would detect any difference in my blood after last night. The thought was sufficiently cringe-worthy to make me throw myself into the cooking preparations.

  I began with the dough for the homemade ravioli that would serve as the main side for my crown roast of pork. While the dough ‘relaxed’—whatever that meant—I hurried to prep the white mushroom sauce and the butternut squash filling for the ravioli.

  Once the dough was ready, I hummed mindlessly as I filled each ravioli and popped them in the fridge, stopping only to shift my laundry to the dryer and re-heat my now cool macaroni. I didn’t enjoy cooking, but it was an excellent way to fill several otherwise empty hours. It was also a great distraction from both my fear for Nicky and my unwelcome memories of last night. I had to focus as I poured wine into my white asparagus cream soup and assembled the dough for my cheddar and sage biscuits.

  Then it was time to tackle my roast and I truly thought of nothing else until it was stuffed with its load of breaded chestnuts and basking happily in the oven. And if I had to yank it out thirty seconds later to remove the gold paper frills I’d put on too early, well, hopefully Keanu wouldn’t notice if I snitched a second set.

  I’d declared the kitchen off limits so I’d have no witnesses if anything caught fire. While the roast was cooking, I carefully set the table with the cobalt and gold Fabergé china I’d wheedled from Keanu. (No way in hell would I risk Ms. Parkes’ presidential dishware.)

  He entered casually as I was finishing. Too casually.

  I almost snorted at his attempt at subtlety. “Will you stop worrying that I’m going to break something? Everything is fine.”

  Keanu didn’t meet my gaze. I’d called it correctly. “I was look—”

  “Out.” I pointed at the door in exasperation. “If you feel like being useful you can go find something pretty for the table, but you’re not going to hover in here.”

  “But I want to see what you’re doing,” he complained. “I mean come on. Kitchen-wise, it’s like you’re Luke and I’m Yoda!”

  I paused in the act of placing a fork. “Are you implying you’re my Jedi kitchen master?” I slowly circled the table.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Keanu retreated to the doorway. “I’ll find some flowe
rs and be back before dinner.” And with a whoosh, he was gone.

  Shaking my head, I returned to the kitchen and judged it was time to put my baked apples in. They’d take anywhere from thirty to forty minutes, and I set the timer to twenty minutes as a reminder to finish the biscuits and ravioli. Oh, and I needed to heat the soup.

  Wiping my hands on a dishrag, I decided I had plenty of time to change my clothes before dinner. As I snagged dry clothes and walked to Ian’s bedroom, I wished I’d brought something nicer than khakis and a tank top. After all, I’d planned this meal as a celebration.

  Still, I hadn’t, so khakis and a tank top it would be.

  I hustled into my clean clothes, taking a few minutes to brush my hair. Then, after stuffing my improvised capri pants into my bag—Ian could never wear them again—I went to tell the guys dinner would be ready in half an hour.

  A quick check of the ovens assured me nothing had burned, and the lack of flowers in the dining room told me Keanu hadn’t returned. That left me with no more excuses to avoid Ian.

  Since Ian had been tracking the online auction, I walked to his office, the only room I’d never seen. For the first time, its door was cracked open and I heard the stereo playing softly as I came closer. I paused when I came close enough to peek into the room.

  Continuing the theme of the house—except for Keanu’s rooms, which had no discernible theme beyond ‘mess’—the room was done in rich midnight blue. The metallic accent of choice was pewter and the slate floor tiles matched the desktop’s stone slab.

  Ian sat on a wing chair covered in charcoal suede, playing the gold harp from the living room. I’d thought no one ever played the harp because it had been in the guest rooms. Apparently I’d assumed incorrectly.

  He’d closed his eyes, clearly caught up in the music and I hesitated to knock. Of course, I’d underestimated his hearing. He spoke without opening his eyes. “Is everything all right, Aurora?”

  “Sorry to bother you. I wanted to tell you dinner will be ready in about twenty minutes.” I couldn’t help myself. “I didn’t know you played. I didn’t think you spent much time in the guest rooms.”