Читать книгу Hidden by Blood - Laurie London - Страница 7

Brenna Stewart couldn’t wait for the evening to end. She refolded the curled scrap of paper in her lap and turned to the friend seated next to her.

“Thanks, Lil, for road-tripping it down here with me. I don’t know if I could get through this without you.”

“An hour or so southeast of Seattle is hardly a road trip. Besides, I wouldn’t have missed it.” Although Lily DeGraff smiled, the absent look in her eyes didn’t fade. Brenna thought about poking Lily with the toe of her shoe or flashing her a goofy smile, but she didn’t do either quickly enough, and now the master of ceremonies was getting ready to announce another name.

She sat up stiffly, hoping it wasn’t her turn yet. Lily reached over and gave her a reassuring pat on the hand.

The two of them had met shortly after Lily was assigned to the Seattle field office. Although they had very different backgrounds, they shared a lot of the same interests and could talk for hours about books and the latest documentary on PBS. Lately, their lives had gotten so busy that they didn’t get together as often as they used to. But when they did, it was as if no time had passed at all, and they easily slipped into the banter of old friends.

Brenna lowered her voice. “Are you sure I don’t have lipstick on my teeth?”

“For the hundredth time, no,” Lily said with a dramatic sigh. “You look great, Bren. You’re well prepared for this. It’s not every day you get awarded a full-ride scholarship that allows you to attend medico school. Focus on your goal, not this current unpleasantness.”

Brenna had been working as a vampire medic, the equivalent of a human EMT, but her dream was to continue her medical training with the goal of becoming a physician. She wanted to treat and solve injuries and illnesses, not just put bandages on them.

“I’m a creature of habit, Lil. I don’t handle new and different very well.”

“Then I’d say you’re hosed, love.”

Brenna found her friend’s exasperated tone mildly reassuring, yet it did nothing to stop her racing pulse. No matter how many times she told herself she was ready for this speech, she was still a bundle of nerves. Was this what Jung had meant when he’d talked about dynamic opposition, two opposing forces colliding? Glancing around the elegant ballroom, she recognized a few faces from Seattle’s small vampire population, including several Council elders, and her heart thundered even louder in her ears.

“Gee, thanks, but—”

“Shush. You can put up with a little—” Lily hesitated as a dark-haired man rose from a nearby table when his name was called. He dodged the tables and chairs with the grace of a jungle cat. But just as quickly, she finished her thought. “—discomfort.”

It’d be good for Lily to hook up with someone, Brenna decided. Get her mind off things. As the man sauntered past their table, he touched the back of Lily’s chair, his gaze lingering on her bare shoulders. There was a time when a look like that would’ve meant the two of them would be hooking up before the night was over. But tonight Brenna wasn’t so sure.

Like most of their kind, her friend regarded her voracious sexual appetite as a natural way to channel excess aggression. Hunting humans for bloodsport was considered barbaric today—only Darkbloods, rogue vampires who lived on the fringe of their civilized society, believed otherwise.

Centuries ago, when the elders realized they could survive on only the occasional sip of blood combined with regular absorption of human energy, vampires had begun to live peacefully and in secret among the human population. But because vampires had learned to contain their need for blood, this excess aggression had to go somewhere, so their need for sex increased. Vampire-owned establishments often had private rooms where their patrons could engage in sexual activity. This elegant old estate was probably no exception, Brenna thought, remembering a bank of doors in the vestibule.

“He was totally checking you out,” she whispered.

“What?”

“That guy up there. Mr. Handsome. He was checking you out.”

Lily didn’t even look at the stage, just picked at her red-tipped nails. “Bren, I’m not ready for that. Not now.”

“I think it’d be good for you. I’m not talking commitment or anything. Just, you know, a distraction.” God knows she could use one.

Just over a year ago, Lily’s significant other had been presumed killed in a massive explosion when Guardians stormed a Darkblood facility where macabre experiments were being done on sweetbloods, humans with a rare blood type that was extremely addictive to vampires. He had worked undercover in the Darkblood Alliance for years, with Lily as his Agency contact. A few months later, Lily had discovered he hadn’t died after all. He just hadn’t wanted to be with her any longer. She’d taken his betrayal pretty hard and hadn’t fully been herself since.

“What about you, eh?” Lily’s Canadian accent seemed more noticeable when she was about to say something snarky. “Maybe you should sweep him into a dark corner and feel his…assets.”

“Ha. I’m too busy to be involved with someone right now.” The minute she said it, Brenna wished she could take the words back. Those were the exact words she’d used when she’d broken things off with the man she’d once loved. Though she’d been lying when she’d spoken them.

Before Lily could reply, Phillip Creighton, assistant to Mr. Westfalen, tapped a finger on the microphone. Westfalen himself sat on the stage in his wheelchair, a wool blanket covering his legs, and stared absently into space. A wealthy philanthropist who donated money to various vampire causes as well as a few human ones, he seemed nothing but a shell today, oblivious to the fanfare going on around him.

Brenna sighed wistfully, recalling how an elderly patient had once told her that living for centuries wasn’t all it was cracked up to be.

“And our next scholarship recipient is Miss Brenna Stewart.”

She swallowed hard and stood, smoothing down the crimson silk of her evening gown.

“Knock ’em dead, Bren.”

“Thanks.” She managed to approach the stage as Mr. Creighton continued the introduction.

“Mr. Westfalen is pleased to bestow upon Miss Stewart the Westfalen Award of Excellence in order for her to begin medico training. Her goal is to open her own clinic here in the area in order to help Guardians who suffer regeneration setbacks like her father, Dutch Stewart—who, as we all know, was a very great man indeed.”

The room erupted in applause and Mr. Creighton held out his hand to her in gracious welcome. His words echoed in her mind as she moved toward the stage. Her father’s reputation was legendary in the community. One of the first Guardians to work out of the Seattle field office, he’d helped establish many of the policies and procedures still in use today. But during a raid on a Darkblood cell, he’d been stabbed with an unusual blade made from highly potent Mexican silver. Severely injured, he’d been unable to return to work and had died a few years later from his wounds. Knowing that the clapping was primarily because of him made things a bit more bearable.

She climbed the five steps to the stage, careful not to step on the hem of her gown. Although grateful for the award, she wished it didn’t involve all this attention. Working one on one with patients was much easier.

After limping through her acceptance speech without too many blunders, Brenna was relieved when it was finally over and everyone turned their attention to the next award recipient. When the last speaker had wrapped up and all the pictures were taken, she exited the ballroom, stepping through the French doors onto the terrace. Away from everyone, she was finally able to catch her breath again. She pulled out her cell phone. Her mom would be eager to hear how the ceremony had gone.

Great. No signal. She shoved the cell into her handbag. She’d have to make the call after they got back on the road.

“You’re welcome to use the house phone, Miss Stewart.”

Brenna jumped. She hadn’t heard Mr. Creighton approaching. His tone reminded her of the way people spoke in old Hollywood movies, their voices vaguely condescending and their accents quasi-British.

“Unfortunately, out here in the wilds at the base of the Cascade Mountains, cellular service is terribly lacking.”

“That’s okay, sir. I can make the call later.”

“Very well.” He turned and left.

How much longer should she stay? What was the protocol for these things? She had smiled for dozens of pictures and thanked old Mr. Westfalen even though she couldn’t be certain he’d understood her. She’d watched tonight as others had spoken to him; each time, he’d given the same blank smile while continually patting the head of a large German Shepherd guide dog who never left the side of his wheelchair. A former Council member from the old days, when the vampire governing body had still been called the Night Brethren, he had many esteemed guests in attendance tonight, which had only heightened Brenna’s discomfort. Small talk with socialites wasn’t her forte any more than public speaking was. And neither was dressing up, she reflected as she looked at her gown. More comfortable in scrubs, she couldn’t wait to get home and change. Even in these low kitten heels, her feet were killing her.

She peered through the windows into the ballroom, hoping to catch Lily’s attention. During her brief acceptance speech, Lily had nodded and smiled, greatly boosting Brenna’s confidence, but she hadn’t seen her friend in a while. While posing for pictures with the other award recipients, Brenna had lost track of her. Maybe Lily had hooked up with Mr. Handsome after all.

Turning her attention to the impressive English gardens and a large, stately equestrian facility just beyond it, Brenna noticed several people on their cell phones.

Good. There must be coverage down there.

She’d call her mom and wander through the barn, away from all the small talk. Hopefully, that’d give Lily enough time to finish up with that guy so they could leave.

The change in temperature was noticeable as Brenna strolled down the path toward the barn, so she pulled her thin wrap up to cover her shoulders. A few minutes later, she slid open the double doors and was greeted by a chorus of nickers.

“Sorry, guys. I’m not here to feed you.” She felt more relaxed already as she stepped inside, the tension from the evening slipping away.

She wasn’t generally impressed with fancy houses or cars, but she’d never seen anything like this barn in her life. Above the walkways, crystal chandeliers hung from the beams, casting prisms of lights on the rubber pavers underfoot. She heard the faint sound of classical music, obviously piped in through hidden speakers, a departure from the country-and-western normally heard in barns. Heat lamps shone down on the stalls where each horse’s registered name was handwritten in flowing script on gold placards. There wasn’t a Mo, a Dandy or a Flicka in the bunch.

She checked her phone again. Still no coverage. The people back in the gardens were obviously not using the same cell provider that she was.

“Guess I’ll call Mom when I get home,” she said to a chestnut mare and her foal in the first stall.

After petting at least a dozen velvet noses, she emerged on the far side of the barn, slid the doors shut behind her, and headed for the other aisleway.

If everything went as planned, she’d attend school and begin interning at Lily’s mother’s clinic in British Columbia. Through her father’s example, Brenna had been inspired to contribute to their society and this scholarship would help her do so. He wouldn’t have been happy that she was taking what amounted to a handout in order to achieve her dreams—he was a proud man and so damned stubborn. But he was gone now and so was their family’s money.

A movement through a gap in the hedges caught her attention. A horse perhaps? She glanced around but didn’t see any horse fencing in this part of the estate. Could it have been a deer?

It wasn’t as if she was in any hurry to get back, so she decided to investigate. Crickets chirped in the darkness as she passed through the narrow opening in the thick hedge. Just beyond it, moonlight illuminated a small field, but no deer or horse came into view. She was about to turn back to the barn when a faint breeze brought a familiar scent to her nostrils.

She hesitated.

That can’t be right.

She sniffed again, and a knot of panic tightened like a noose around her internal organs.

It was a tantalizing scent. One very familiar to vampires.

Her gums ached as the tips of her fangs emerged. She twisted a strand of her hair and took a few deep yoga breaths. In through her nose and out through her mouth.

It was human blood she smelled. But not just any human blood. Sweet.

And a lot of it.

Bloody hell. He’s back.

Finn had to be delirious. Either that, or he couldn’t count. In the flickering light of a lone candle, he glanced at the series of hash marks he’d made on the stone wall over the past month. Fifteen, twenty, twenty-five, twenty-six, twenty-seven. Unless he’d miscounted, his captor wasn’t due for another three days.

The sound of footsteps crunching on the gravel path outside grew louder. He held his breath and willed himself to think clearly.

Did I lose track of time?

After a week or so, the days had all seemed to blend together into one continuous nightmare. The guy would draw blood and leave, wait a few days to allow Finn’s body to replenish itself, then he’d be back to harvest more. He referred to Finn’s blood as Sweet, but he never said what he was using it for.

“So you’re like a vampire drug dealer or something?” Finn had asked him once. “Is that what this is?”

“Hardly,” was the flat reply. “Sweet is rare and very addictive to our kind, and therefore valuable, but I am not selling it.”

The footsteps got louder, jolting Finn back to the present. For the thousandth time, he searched the tiny room, hoping that somehow he’d missed something—a hidden object, a regular item that could be used as a weapon—but as always, it was a useless waste of energy. There was nothing. Only this crappy stained mattress in the corner, a tiny commode, a cardboard box that held the week’s ration of food and a plastic water jug. His heart thudded in his chest as he stared at the half-full container. Something was wrong. If it was time for the freak to come back, shouldn’t he be almost out of food and water by now?

In a fit of rage early in his captivity, Finn had demanded to know why the asshole used needles instead of fangs, since he clearly had a set of nasty-looking ones. Was the guy suffering from a vampire version of erectile dysfunction?

Even as he’d had the thought, Finn had been tempted to pinch himself yet again to make sure this wasn’t all some sick nightmare. Before that night at the airport, he’d had no idea vampires actually existed, that they were more than just fictional villains in books and movies. Hell, when he’d gotten an e-reader from his aunt last Christmas, he’d actually downloaded Dracula, thinking it’d be interesting to reread the old classic.

Fiction? My ass.

With an unnerving calmness, his captor had merely smiled, waiting a moment before replying as if he were choosing his words carefully. When he spoke, his voice had been thin, tight.

“Although I crave it beyond measure, I will not chance partaking of your blood. At least not now.”

Finn had known the day would eventually come when the bastard changed his mind. And he had a pretty good idea that when it did, it’d be his own last day.

The change in schedule could only mean one thing.

Today was that day.

An icy calm replaced his growing apprehension, crystallizing his thoughts into one single goal. To stay alive.

With his legs positioned shoulder-width apart, he wrapped his forearm around the chain hooked to his ankle shackle. At any moment, it would be pulled tight, the slack disappearing through a small hole in the wall and locked, immobilizing him in the corner of the room. Then the guy would enter the cabin, replace heavy work gloves with latex ones and get to work. Finn braced himself. There was no way he was going down without a fight.

Footsteps shuffled outside, then stopped, and the door inched open a crack. A surge of adrenaline shot through Finn’s veins—his captor had forgotten to tether the chain. This was the chance he’d been waiting for—the little freak had finally let down his guard.