The Blood Bundle, Books 1-2: Blood Singers and Blood Song (New Adult Paranormal Vampire/Shifter Romance)

by Tamara Rose Blodgett

  Was this the call of the Combatant? To be loyal to his leader but care nothing about anything unless it involved the protection of the Queen? Victor excused himself and compulsively went to where Julia lay sleeping, his leader's eyes boring holes into his back as he did.

  Soon, Jacqueline thought as she watched his retreating back, soon.

  *

  Julia

  Julia struggled through layers of sleep, eyes following her as branches tore at her clothing, slowing her as she sprinted through the forest, unseen threats all around her.

  Julia burst into a clearing and it was with the deepest sense of déjà vu she'd ever experienced that she slowed at the sight that greeted her, stunned, expectant. There stood Jason, a great red wolf, his green eyes swirling in a slow twirl, spinning languidly in a face she knew, yet didn't. Beside him was perched a giant black raven, three times the size of the bald eagles that were so prevalent where she'd grown up in the outskirts of the Alaskan wilderness. Its crimson eyes rested on her body intently.

  Cyn suddenly appeared, standing in front of both. She beckoned to Julia. Julia began to move toward her, Cyn like a salve to her soul, beseeching.

  Julia was sure Cyn had something she was saying, Julia could see her lips moving but couldn't make out the words. The pair of creatures that Julia knew instinctively were William and Jason flanked her position, slightly behind Cyn, the wolf and the raven, red and black.

  They looked to be waiting for something.

  Julia kept her forward progress even as ten warriors stood in front of Cynthia, taking form in the mist that had rolled in at her feet. Instead of appearing startled by their appearance, she began to try to fight through the wall of muscled flesh and Julia ran toward the group, driving toward Cyn, coming home.

  She saw Cyn scream a warning at something from behind Julia and she turned, facing Jacqueline. Or what was Jacqueline in her dream state.

  Jacqueline was a beautiful creature. She wore a gown covered in small jewels that sparkled in the deepening twilight of Julia's dream. Her ebony eyes caught the amber of Julia's easily.

  Julia heard the stampede from behind her of the ones who would protect her from this perfection and every instinct Julia possessed screamed for her to run.

  Yet she was glued to the spot, her feet leaden, her will held captive by another, mesmerized.

  Jacqueline smiled then said, “Sleep.”

  It was said in a silken whisper as Jacqueline raised her palm, where something lay cupped. Shimmering white powder, like iridescent glitter lay in a little pile in the graceful curve of her palm. Jacqueline pursed those beautiful lips and blew a kiss at the twinkling pile toward Julia. It wafted toward her, carried on an invisible wind, seeking Julia like due north on a compass.

  Julia's senses awoke and she became aware of Cyn screaming behind her, the flap of bird's wings were sounding a roar in her ears, warm fur pressed against her body, muscled arms hauled her against a massive body and all the while the glitter fell over Julia like a blanket.

  Of snow.

  Blown by a mouth so red it looked like blood.

  Julia closed her eyes.

  And slept.

  While her protectors wept.

  CHAPTER 17

  Truman

  Karl Truman gave a hard glance to his right, then left. The sounds of the noisy Benson Street more than a white noise backdrop. And, of course, the effing street wasn't Benson anymore, but just good old 104th. That told him Harriet was a local boy, never bothering to update his internal map, but having it permanently arrested in the 70s or whenever he'd lived in the area.

  Truman spotted the Suit right away. The guy screamed fed and Karl walked toward him, his mind still with the Red Robin manager, Alan Greene. The bottom line was, he hadn't met a person yet in this town that didn't make his nose twitch. His instincts were screaming for him to stand up and take notice. Those instincts had saved his keister on more than one occasion, he always listened.

  His nose told him that something was up.

  The man that approached him was shorter than Truman but built like a brick shithouse, his fed-regulated Men in Black suit fitting awkwardly across the shoulders. The guy saw gym time and it had put him out of range for off the rack clothes. A mirror-lover, this one.

  Marvelous.

  They shook hands and took the measure of each other through the handshake like men do. Truman's still came up on the high end and only the tightening of the younger man's eyes told Truman that he'd been surprised by the force Karl could still put out. He wasn't done yet. Not by a long shot.

  Their hands dropped and the agent said, “Let's do this outside.”

  Right, Truman thought. Out loud he said, “Good idea.” He gave a palm for the fed to proceed him out of the coffeehouse and the agent gave a small pause then gave him his back as he walked out. Karl gave no man his back. The agent had been smart to hesitate. Karl might look like a slightly overweight middle-aged guy (he was) but he knew how to carry himself.

  Against human men anyway.

  The agent turned as soon as the noise of the street numbed the ears of those few bystanders close enough to hear.

  “So Truman...” the agent, whose name was Ford, like the trucks, spread his palms out at either side of his body to show how harmless he was. Should've been, him being the liaison to the feds for Karl's statie ass but Truman doubted it. He could almost see the hammer fall.

  “Tell me what your thoughts are.”

  Truman did. He wasn't sold on giving this smug young pup what he'd beaten the pavement for but they were supposedly sharing info. When he wrapped with the meeting he'd just had with Alan the restaurant guy, the agent covered his eyes with his black wraparounds. Securing his expression as anonymous.

  He stood from his perch at the outdoor bistro chair and table configuration and so did Karl. “So, we think that we have enough to move forward independently.”

  Karl blinked. What the blue hell was this? “What do you mean, 'independently'?”

  Ford stared back at him, his eyes like alien orbs of unreadable blackness. Truman got a sudden and almost painful urge to tear those sunglasses off his face and pistol whip him with them.

  Ford gave a small chuckle and Truman felt his neck muscles bunch with tension. “We now have a bigger problem on our hands. What we thought was a rare, isolated group to contain... well, it's more widespread than originally presumed.”

  These dumb asses had known about the werewolves long before he came on the scene. They'd used him like a piece of ass to find the lair and now they would discard him. His purpose served.

  Truman called bullshittery on that.

  “Listen to me,” Karl said, stepping into Ford's grill, who held his ground, “I am not going to be dismissed like some errand boy while one of my homegirls is out there with this rabid pack of dogs, suffering God-knows-what indignities.” His eyes bored holes in Ford, who stared back unflinchingly. “You don't care about the girl that was taken, you care about containment and hiding what's out there from the citizens of our great nation. You make me sick.”

  The silence engulfed the men, the people, cars, buildings and other things melting away. Karl watched the short dark hair on Ford's head lift slightly in the breeze, his large hands, no doubt calloused from weight lifting, planted on his hips.

  Finally, Ford spoke, “You're out, Truman.” He said the words as a statement, a neat dismissal of execution from the inner sanctum.

  “You goddamned putz,” Karl Truman seethed, utterly sloughing off the end of their partnership. Which, he realized now, had been more exploitative than cooperative.

  Ford shrugged in the breeze. “The FBI would like to thank you for your investigative efforts, but they are no longer needed. Further, this cooperative relationship is also no longer necessary. A letter, reiterating the points I've just made, will be sent to your superior and copied to yourself.”

  Ford turned smartly in the direction of his car and Truman jogged after him. When he
reached out to grab the fed's arm, Ford turned smoothly and covertly sucker punched him. Truman was not prepared. People of honor usually aren't. They think from their own perspective, eschewing others' mindsets for the one they embrace as individuals.

  It nailed him deep, robbing his breath. Karl choked on his own spit. The young agent dipped beside his ear as Karl clutched his gut. “Go away, Truman. Don't go away mad, just go away.”

  He straightened, Truman eyeing him from his bent position as Ford adjusted his suit like he'd just shrugged it on instead of having punched a fellow law officer in the gut.

  Karl stood, his hand palming his gut and watched the young agent fold himself into the black SUV, the one that matched his suit, the reflection of the glass the same as his lenses. With a mocking salute, he drove off, the window sliding to seal the fed in his car, the motivations and secrets of the FBI driving off with him.

  They didn't know Karl Truman very well. That well-placed directive, sealed with a punch, would be summarily ignored. If anything, it put the flag before the bull.

  Karl saw only red.

  *

  Julia

  Julia's eyes popped open and she sat straight up in bed like a movie-zombie, plank straight with a gasping mouth, minus the rot.

  She was greeted by... oh, the entire world and she blushed to the roots of her hair, the dream still pulsing in her brain in HD detail.

  It was Victor that sat at the edge of her bed and she fought tears, her fear as great as any she'd ever known. The remnants of the dream had a precognitive feel to it, jarring her insides like the aftermath of a crash. Julia had always had flashes of precognition. But didn't everyone? Until this crazy Blood Singer stuff had been launched around for her to consider she'd just chalked it up to one of those things.

  Yeah right.

  Julia knew better now. Way better.

  Scott looked down at her, his arms folded across his chest, glaring at Victor, his would-be rival. The truth was, Julia was the real culprit. It was her blood, and hers alone, that would choose a soulmate out of the ten. However, it had been clear to all that had paid attention that the two that had gotten early responses from her had been Victor, and of course, there was Scott.

  Who right now looked like he wanted to tear Victor's arm off and beat him with it.

  However, Jen saved the day, shoving aside the Combatant like big trees made of flesh. She got to her brother and stabbed a finger in his chest. “Listen, he-man, take a hike.” He opened his mouth and she instructed in the tone of Riled Sibling, “Now.”

  Scott's mouth snapped shut and he glowered at her, his eyes shifting between her and Victor. He sighed and stood from the bed, laying palms flat down the front of his perfect pants, a replica of tyrant Jacqueline. Julia thought they looked like twins. She tried to banish the uncharitable comparison but couldn't quite do it.

  Julia swung her bare feet over the side of the bed as Paul walked into the room full of Singers.

  “What's going on? Is there some problem?”

  “No,” Julia said in a flat voice. “Everybody out!” She shooed the huge men out, grumbles and muttering all around. Julia was dressed only in jammie bottoms and a cami, her hair... well, ouch. “They were just leaving Paul,” Julia explained, being careful not to touch anyone's skin. Julia was still feeling the residual weirdness of her Awakening and she'd like to not manifest some other crazy thing while the Combatants were all crammed inside her room like sardines.

  Scott allowed himself to be herded then when he was nearly out the door he shut it with the flat of his palm and Julia ran to the bathroom, slamming the door in his face. He hit the door with his fist and it shuddered underneath the impact.

  “Julia,” Scott said in a low voice, full of command, ownership. Which just made Julia feel less like discussing anything with him.

  Julia felt the pull of him through the two inches of one hundred year old wood and pressed her forehead against the thick panel which had held against his fist.

  “We need to talk,” Scott said, placing his huge hand, fingers spread against the opposite side and Julia unconsciously mirrored his action with her own hand.

  “No. I need some time by myself. I've had... a lot to take in Scott. I appreciate all that you've done for me but I have, I need... to get my head on straight.”

  Jen huffed in the background. Brothers! Men! They just had to press. Jen couldn't even imagine being Julia right now. Almost killed in the meadow, getting sick, the vampire skirmish. Finding out she was essentially the blood messiah of the Singers. It was amazing to Jen that she was even coherent. Then there was the added issue of the worst leader of the thirteen regions making an unannounced visit. Yet, Jen felt for her brother. He'd been independent with his life plan well-laid in front of him. Now he wanted someone he'd never have chosen. Blood ruled all. It was as simple as that.

  Jen touched Scott's back and he stiffened.

  “She won't listen,” he growled at her, his forehead still pressed against the wall.

  “Try not pushing, Scott,” Jen said gently.

  He turned, his palm sliding off the wood as Julia stepped away from the other side and then someone began pounding on the door which led into her room.

  “Can it, asshole!” Scott bellowed unreasonably and Jen shook her head. He was so pig-headed that his very nature might be wrong. How could he lead with all that anger?

  Julia heard Scott yell and her chest tightened with his simmering rage. How could she be linked to this hothead? Why did she give a care that he was angry, frustrated with her inability to be decisive? Julia didn't know exactly but before she explored all of the blood ties, there was one thing that was getting her full attention.

  The dream.

  It meant something. Julia needed to talk with someone that could possibly interpret it. That could free her from the wolf and vampire that were tied to her by blood. Julia knew her liberty would never be secure until that was terminated. Somehow, that dream was speaking to that.

  What was it saying?

  *

  Cyn

  Cynthia would have killed for a shower, the traipsing across the country was the suckiest enterprise she'd ever undertaken. Of course, she was from Alaska and hiking was something where your parents laced boots on your feet in toddlerhood and chucked your chubby ass out the door with the directive: walk.

  Everyone did and it was ingrained. However, Cynthia had never really taken that to heart, instead embracing her girlie side. In this instance, she missed not being a traditional Alaskan chic. Jules would have kicked ass on this journey. Cynthia sighed, struggling not to become a whining bitch.

  Adi gave her a light tap on the arm, fresh as a damn daisy and Cynthia fumed. “Tired?” she asked, cocking a golden brow, her tanned face speaking to her time in the outdoors.

  Cynthia was betting werewolves didn't get wrinkles, bags and other unattractive crap. It put Cynthia in a funk. “Yeah, beat. These Wereguys can trudge to the ends of time but I need some ass planting time.”

  Adi smiled, whistling. “Hey guys, princess here is tired.”

  “Thanks, sweet thing, that gets them so ready to like me,” Cynthia said.

  “Oh... they like ya. That's isn't the problem,” Adi said without a trace of humor.

  Great, Cynthia thought, just great.

  The men walked back to where Cynthia stood and it was then that she noticed how other they seemed. When they weren't together you didn't notice that almost buzzing, contained energy that radiated just beneath their skin, present but unnoticed.

  In a group, they sung with it. A vibrating electricity poured over her as they neared and she swayed with the force of it.

  “Hey!” Jason yelled, reaching for her and Cynthia jerked away from his hand.

  And fell against Emmanuel.

  Emmanuel grabbed the exhausted girl against him, meaning only to catch her and his wolf burst over the top of them both, his change smacking into her like a wall of sodden flesh. Cynthia fell from the
impact, landing on her back and took a front row seat to his Change. Brought on by the moon, not full but near enough. But mainly brought on by her touch. Singer called to Wolf, and there Emmanuel stood, in his wolfen form, half-human, half-Were. Seven feet of muscled fur.

  Cynthia looked around and every male fell to the call.

  Oh happy day, Cynthia thought in a random fog, like dominoes falling, every male Changed.

  And Adi as well. Skin sloughed, flesh and bone snapped and reconnected in a noisy chorus of wet sucking and repositioning that Cynthia closed her eyes against, her mind rebelling the visual onslaught in defensive protection.

  Suddenly, instead of two girls and six males it was a pack of werewolves and one Singer on her back, exhausted and now pretty damn scared.

  When Emmanuel reached for her, she cringed away, throwing up her hands in a final defensive gesture.

  The memory of the last werewolf burned into the deepest recesses of her mind. The horror of that moment came alive in a single sweep of terror that caused every part of Cynthia to freeze. She couldn't think, breathe... move.

  She was utterly convinced she would die now.

  *

  William

  “Tell me, Singer,” William instructed and Jen's glazed eyes held his gray gaze.

  He tilted her neck to the side then let her chin fall, her body very still against his touch.

  “She rebels,” Jen answered robotically.

  “And?” William prompted.

  “She dreams of you... and her husband.”

  William frowned thoughtfully. That was not good. He could feel her Awakening. He must complete the blood-share or there would be no chance of a union. As it was, he was now the de facto leader of Merlin's Southeastern Kiss of vampire. Yet, what good was that if he did not have a mate to share it with? With whom he could perpetuate a new order. Daywalking vampire, fueled by Singer blood, his progeny. His and Julia's.