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

by Tamara Rose Blodgett

  It made no sense, compulsions never did. But it made perfect sense for Tony to embrace it.

  “I smell your desire, Wolf,” Jacqueline stated. “And I do not rut with dogs like a bitch Were... you stupid creature.” She released Tony abruptly and he fell, the invisible steel band that had been around his sternum instantly gone.

  He gagged, alternately coughing and sucking greedy lungfuls of oxygen.

  After his coughing fit settled down into breathing sans choking, Tony looked up. His eyes sought Jacqueline's but her's lay elsewhere.

  During their power play, the quarry had fled.

  Tony didn't have to wonder if Jacqueline had wanted the Singer and female Were. He would have. And in that, Tony assumed, they were much alike.

  Maybe in other ways as well.

  He smiled. “Nice going... the females have fled,” he spat.

  Jacqueline lifted one small shoulder in dismissal and replied, “It is of no importance-- I have you,” she said, her eyes drilling into Tony's, the black depths like dimly lit obsidian marbles. “And you will use that keen nose of yours to retrieve them.”

  He stood, coming to her side and showed his neck.

  Jacqueline laughed. “You need not show me your subservience. I know that I have it,” she said, giving a low chuckle, her hand lifting in the air and closing tightly in a fist at her last few words.

  Tony frowned, looking down at her. He could crush her; wanted to. He also wanted her in the other way as well. Those two warring impulses were cross-wired in his brain. They always had been.

  He cocked his head. “Tell me, pure Singer,” he began with thinly veiled sarcasm, “do you have Were in your lineage?”

  Jacqueline was instantly offended, though her gaze skipped away like a rat that couldn't find its hole. “There are no mongrels in my ancestry.”

  Tony could smell her lie. “Uh-huh,” Tony responded, and scented of her deeply, his nostrils flaring wide. What he found gave him pause. She might not know, he thought. If that were the case, she was not all that she seemed.

  “Come... Were,” Jacqueline began to walk away, her body showing that that path of conversation was clearly over.

  Tony gave a great exhale then followed.

  “I suppose you have some plan, Singer?” Tony asked in a low voice, the growl of his kind threaded through it as they moved through the forest, the smell of the woods overwhelming to his sensitive nose.

  Jacqueline didn't feel warned; he could do nothing. Only a certain type of Were was a danger and this Were of the black posed no threat. Less than a threat, if the truth were known. But Jacqueline was all about the tools at her disposal. And that is what Tony was to her.

  A tool. Jacqueline buried a snicker, though she was quite sure he could scent some of the emotion behind it. However, with her Tracker abilities, she could scent as well. The advantage was hers. After all, he knew not what she possessed and his skill set was an open book.

  Perfection. “I do have a plan as a point-of-fact,” Jacqueline replied.

  Tony stilled, grabbing her thin arm. She quirked a brow, looking at his hand on her like it was something filthy.

  “Bite me,” he said with a smirk.

  Jacqueline flushed with anger and opened her mouth to deliver a scathing quip when he put a finger to his lips. “They come from the east.”

  Jacqueline could sense nothing, smell nothing. “Who comes?” she asked instead of the retort she had planned.

  Tony growled low in his throat. “The Packmaster of the Northwestern den... and one that my nose doesn't recognize.”

  They stood for a few moments in a wood gone still. The small animals hid as the unnatural predators closed in around them. Jacqueline wondered why she couldn't sense them while Tony wondered what could be done. Their thought processes were not known to each other but were eerily the same.

  “Ah!” Jacqueline hissed.

  “Yeah,” Tony agreed.

  Jacqueline swiveled to him, her skirts swirling and getting caught in the debris of the forest, her eyes flashing like black fire. “Tell me you can do something.”

  “I can't...” he reluctantly admitted. “What about you? You're this tight-ass Singer...”

  His airway began to close and his palm flew up in supplication, the bitch stole his breath... and not in a good way. “I didn't mean it as a dis....”

  It opened with a gasping release.

  “Jacqueline,” she said in way of off-handed introduction.

  Tony nodded as he made his hand stay by his sides instead of going to his throat. He wouldn't give the bitch the satisfaction.

  “I simply meant maybe you could sense something.”

  “No,” she said curtly.

  Well, damn- chop my nuts off, Tony thought.

  Jacqueline paced, a ripple of disquiet building as the scent of the pack grew stronger.

  Suddenly, Jacqueline knew what to do.

  “I'll cover our tracks while you squire us away.”

  “How?” he scoffed.

  “Is the how of it really important?” she asked, crossing her arms in impatience.

  Tony could smell the other Were. They'd take them and for some reason, the Singer bitch's skills were down for the count. Too bad she was all up his ass. Why couldn't she have a blank spot with him?

  His fucking luck.

  Jacqueline didn't ask his permission and he remained silent. Of course he wanted to know what kind of Singer mojo she had going on. But it was obvious she had the upper hand.

  For now.

  He watched Jacqueline's symmetrical features distort in concentration. When Tony's sense of smell left him, he felt blind. He was so used to the million different scents that had always been a part of his existence.

  “What have you done?” he whispered.

  “I have the ability to Negate others’... talents.”

  “I can't fucking smell my own ass. I'm nose-blind,” Tony growled, his fists bunching by his sides.

  She smiled. “Good. As I don't want to be party to you partaking in an orifice fest.”

  He scowled at her. “Good? Hell no, we're goddamned blind...”

  Jacqueline folded her arms again underneath her breasts and Tony's eyes dipped down to take in the sight. She stared at him for a pregnant moment. “You're a crude beast...,” she stated as fact.

  Because it was.

  “Tony,” he said in a delayed introduction.

  “Well, Anthony...” Jacqueline said slowly as she circled him. “I do not have a highly refined mastery as Negator so... the best I could do was blanket a five mile radius. If it were my primary skill, I could have left you in a 'scent bubble' that encapsulated you and left everyone else senseless. Alas, I cannot.” She looked into his eyes and he glowered back at her.

  Tough broad, he thought with the beginnings of grudging admiration.

  “Fine,” he said. “Get on.”

  He burst his skin and it slid off like a snake's. The gunk, blood and sloughed marrow pooled into the absorbent forest floor, dampening it with his transition.

  Jacqueline tensed at the harsh speed of the change, then went to him. She grimaced as her clothing became ruined with the residue of the change, her hem six inches deep in his human cast-offs.

  “Where?” he asked in a voice filled with gravel, pained by the rapid change he'd forced on himself.

  She bent and whispered into his ear. Tony's smile was worn strangely by the face of his wolf.

  His admiration for Jacqueline grew. She was diabolically clever.

  Tony might spare her after all... if she could be bent to his agenda.

  *

  Cyn and Adi stopped running, their hands on their knees, chests heaving. Cyn had a killer stitch in her side, putting both hands on her side, bending over at the waist as she did. This sucked.

  Adi stood first. “That blew goats.”

  Cyn laughed. “Yeah... totally.”

  “Who is that bitch?” Adi asked, her nose involuntarily moving to
ward where they'd just come and finding her usually deft senses dulled. She gave a frown, her dark blonde hair falling forward and hiding half her face.

  Cyn shrugged. “She's the one who hurt Jules.”

  Adi frowned. “How do ya know?” Her root beer brown eyes earnest.

  Cyn squirmed from the question. She was gonna sound like a tard. “Well... here's the thing. I just became... something. That Singer thing you were talking about? Yeah, that.” Cyn stood, her breathing still irregular. “And now... well when I healed Julia there was a...” Cyn stopped, her pale green eyeballs rolling upward, thinking. “A... taste to the poison.”

  “Poison?” Adi asked, her frown deepening to a scowl.

  Cyn nodded. “Oh yeah, it was poison and somehow, the bearer of the shit leaves their mark.”

  “Like a signature?” Adi asked.

  “Yeah. Good call, mutt.”

  “Huh,” Adi said, head bent, her face speculative. It wasn't a good look.

  “Hey, I didn't mean anything by it,” Cyn said, backtracking.

  Adi met her eyes, ignoring the dig. “I screwed up, big time. I should've...”

  “What? That whack job... she mowed you over with her head,” Cyn said, tapping her temple. “There's nothing you could have done, Adi,” she said, looking down at the much shorter girl.

  “Yeah,” Adi agreed like she didn't believe it, still looking at her feet. For all her bravado, she sure takes a lot of the responsibility on her shoulders, Cyn thought.

  The girls stood quietly for a time then Adi said, “It's time to make our way back.”

  Cyn shook her head. “No, they'll be expecting that. It's not safe.”

  “It's safe,” a voice said from out of the forest.

  “Holy shit!” Cyn yelped, stumbling backward and Adi grinned with relief.

  “What's so damn funny?” Cyn asked, insulted. “I think a drop of pee came out!”

  “They're Were... and I know them.” Adi's confidence returning in one fell swoop.

  “Friendly?” Cyn asked, putting a tree trunk in front of her like a shield. Not that it'd do a damn bit of good. She'd seen a Were throw another halfway through a tree, felling it as smoothly as an ax. Yup, things were so not okay if they weren't friends.

  Then several things happened at once.

  Two large males moved into the open patch of forest between stands of trees.

  They were in half-wolf form, which was creepy as hell, but Cyn was getting used to it. Which was its own slice of weirdness. She recognized the first one instantly and was relieved. The second one Cyn recognized seconds later.

  They were kinda naked so strong eye contact was advised. The answer to the age old question was: no, fur doesn't cover everything. Still, it was like when you knew you weren't supposed to scratch, it made ya itch with wanting to. Cyn realized it was pervy but when a bunch of half-werewolf men were walking around with their macho commando action... well...

  Then after several heartbeats of scrutiny she began to realize that the third was Karl Truman from Homer. Cyn blinked slowly.

  Truman stepped forward as she took a step back.

  “Cynthia Adams,” he growled and Adi cocked a pale brown eyebrow at Cyn in surprise.

  “Nice to meet you,” Cyn said, adding, “again.” It just couldn't get any stranger.

  He dipped his chin in a parody of a greeting and it was too much for Cyn, she simply sat down on her ass where she stood. They could figure out what to do with her but there were too many freak-outs presently.

  Her restaurant manager was a Were.

  Fucktastic.

  The cop from Homer who had been hot on her trail was now a Were.

  They were naked half-werewolves.

  Weirdness squared.

  Truman was the same as Jason, his body covered by a shadow of scarlet fur, his eyes were orbs of green in his head... spinning, always spinning.

  What did it all mean?

  For her.

  For them?

  For Julia.

  #

  Watch for book four, BLOOD REIGN, coming May of 2014!

  Read on for the exciting first chapters of my three other series!

  *THE TOKEN

  new adult dark romantic suspense

  DEATH WHISPERS

  new adult dystopian dark fantasy

  THE PEARL SAVAGE

  new adult post-apocalyptic dark sci-fi

  *(writing under my pen name, Marata Eros)

  THE TOKEN

  Volume One

  by Marata Eros

  The Token

  Volume One

  Copyright 2013 Marata Eros

  Smashwords Edition

  (sample)

  http://marataeroseroticaauthor.blogspot.com/

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  All rights are reserved. This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to a legitimate retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Dedication:

  Autumn Tackett- Davis

  Thank you so much~

  “Love sears the heart immortal

  The embers of love burnt down to the token which remains ....”

  ~ Prologue ~

  “You're dying,” Dr. Matthews says.

  Two words.

  Final.

  Complete.

  Desolate.

  I feel my fingers clench the armrests of the chair underneath me, but the rest of my body remains numb.

  If his words aren't enough to convince me, I see my silence is a prevailing annoyance in his day.

  Dr. Matthews walks stiffly, making his way to the softly glowing X-ray reader.

  I flinch when he slaps the photo of the soft tissue of my brain against the magnetic tabs of the lit surface.

  The light glows around the tumor, immortalizing the end of my life like an emblazoned tool of disregard.

  Just the facts, ma’am.

  I sway as I stand, gripping the solid oak of his desk. It's very large, an anchor in the middle of his prestigious office full of the affectations of his career.

  I walk toward Matthews. His hard face is edged by what might be sympathy. After all, it's not every day he tells a twenty-two-year-old woman she's got moments to live.

  Actually, I do have time—months.

  It's just not enough.

  I look at the mess that's my brain, at the damning half a golf ball buried in a spot that will make me a vegetable if they operate. My eyes slide to the name at the bottom. For a split second, I hope to see another name there. But my own greets me.

  Mitchell, Faren.

  I back up and Matthews reaches to steady me.

  But it's too late.

  I spin and run out of his office as his voice calls after me. The corners of my coat sail behind me as I slap the metal hospital door open and take the cement steps two at a time.

  I see my car parked across the street and race to it. My escape, my despair, is a thundering initiative I can't deny.

  I miss the hit as if it happens to someone else. Only the noise permeates my senses as light flashes in my peripheral vision, mirrors against sunlight. I tumble in a slow spin of limbs. My body heaves and rolls, hitting the asphalt with a breath-stealing slap.

  I lie against the rough black road. My lungs beg for air, burning for oxygen, and finally I take a sucking inhale that tears through my lungs.

  The wet road feels cool against my face as I watch someone come into my line of sight. M
y body burns and my head aches. My arm is a slim exclamation point from my body, my fingers twitching. I can't make them stop. I can't make anything stop.

  Powerless.

  The doctor is too late with his condemning words. I've already died. I know this because the man who approaches is an angel. A helmet comes off hair so deep auburn it's a low-burning lick of flame. He swims toward me like a mirage, walking in a surreal slow motion. I blink, and my vision blurs. I try to raise my arm to wipe my eyes and whimper when it disobeys my command.

  My angel crouches down, his eyes a deep brown, belying the dark bronze of his hair. “Shhh... I got you.” His voice is a deep melody.

  I sigh. Safe.

  I try to focus on him but the helmet he parks next to his boots becomes three as my vision triples.

  There's a scuffle and I try to move to see what all the commotion's about. The angel wraps his warm large hand around my smaller one and smiles. “It's going to be okay.”

  That's when I know I'm not in heaven.

  That's what people say when nothing is okay.

  ~ 1 ~

  One month prior

  I flex my hand, grab my isometric handgrip, and do my hundred reps. So fun—a little like flossing my teeth. I put on the kettle with my good hand and turn the burner on high.

  Flex, squeeze, release, flex again.

  I get to a hundred and switch hands. As I go through my daily ritual, I flip open my Mac and browse my emails.

  Faren, can you cover my shift? Faren, can you come in a half hour early? Faren, can you bring the main dish for the office pot luck?

  Delete, delete, delete.

  I'll say yes because it's hard for me to say no. Tough lessons in life have taught me that.

  I put my handgrip on the corner of the end table, glancing at my left pinky and frowning. It's almost straight. Almost. No one can tell unless they're looking for it. No one ever looks that hard. Humanity glosses over shit.