Читать книгу Seduced by Blood - Laurie London - Страница 8

WHEN ROXANNE REYNOLDS rounded the corner in her rental car, the last thing she expected to see in the headlights was a half-naked man stumbling on the side of the road.

She slammed on her brakes, pulled the car to the shoulder and fumbled to find the emergency flasher switch. Not only was this section of the Sea to Sky highway a terrible place to stop, but it wasn’t exactly somewhere a sane person would be taking a walk, especially after midnight.

With his shirt ripped down the front and one of the sleeves missing, the man held up a hand to shield his face from the glare.

Her first thought was that he’d been involved in a car accident. But when she noticed he wasn’t wearing shoes, she nixed that conclusion. Maybe a wild animal had attacked him. Given how remote this area was—the last town she passed had to be ten miles back—it wouldn’t be too hard to imagine. She wasn’t certain what sorts of predators lived in this part of British Columbia, but surely a bear or a mountain lion would be capable of taking down a full-grown man.

She found the switch and jumped from the car. But when she got her first big whiff of the cool night air, she knew instantly that it wasn’t an animal.

Although some would argue that a vampire was an animal.

The sweet smell of the man’s blood assaulted her senses, making her gums ache as her fangs prepared to drop. Running toward him, she automatically shut down her body’s natural instincts to his very rare and highly addictive blood-type and the sensation dissipated. Given her work as a scent tracker, she’d followed the trail of many sweetbloods, but unlike most vampires, she could control how they affected her without much difficulty.

The guy stumbled and fell to his knees just as she got to him, his legs clearly unable to support his weight any longer. He must have been running on pure adrenaline.

“Are you okay?” she asked, pulling him back to his feet. “What happened to you?” She’d come all the way from Florida to help out a friend, but this seriously wasn’t how she’d expected her stint in the Northwest to begin.

Blood splatters covered what was left of his long-sleeved shirt, scratches crisscrossed his exposed skin—including his scruffy, somewhat pimply face—and an IV line dangled from a piece of tape on his arm. The fact that he was young, barely out of his teenage years, didn’t surprise her. Sweetbloods rarely made it past the age of twenty, thirty at the outside, before a vampire somewhere came across them. The Darkblood Alliance made buckets of money selling vials of Sweet on the vampire black market. With just one taste, even those who had never killed a human before were likely to get carried away. A fact she knew firsthand but wished she didn’t.

“They tried…to kill me,” he choked, leaning heavily on her arm.

She didn’t need to ask who—she had a pretty damn good idea who’d do something like this. “Where were you being held? How far away?”

“I don’t know. It feels like… I’ve been…running forever.” He put his hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath. “A few kilometers on the other…side of the creek…just past those trees.” Without looking, he stabbed a thumb over his shoulder.

Thick, old-growth forest pressed in on them from both sides of the highway. Unaccustomed to trees this tall and roads this twisty, she felt claustrophobic not being able to see long distances around her.

“I’m so dizzy…they took a lot…of blood.” He pressed a fist to his forehead and his body swayed slightly. She held his arm tighter to steady him. “I know this is going to sound crazy but they…they were vampires.” His gaze darted around wildly as if he expected them to pop out from the woods or drop from the trees.

That didn’t surprise her in the slightest. She was half-tempted to track his captors herself, but that would mean the young man would have to stay here by himself. After what he’d just been through, she couldn’t in good conscience do that to him, even if his memory would get wiped later.

“Okay, in the car. Let’s get you out of here.”

Other than the residual smell on the man’s clothes, she didn’t detect any active Darkblood odor in the immediate vicinity, but that could change in the blink of an eye. Maybe they hadn’t discovered their prisoner was gone yet. If they had, they’d have quickly shadow-moved in the darkness, easily following the sweetblood scent, and retrieved him. Best to get out of here now.

“I’m serious,” he said forcefully, as if she didn’t believe him. His teeth chattered and his hands shook. “They kidnapped m-m-me in Vancouver…and brought me up here. They had fangs…black eyes…even their whites were black.”

Darkbloods for sure, then, and not some random rogue who got carried away when he ran into a sweetblood. A vampire’s eyes would turn black over time when they only consumed blood. She put her arm around him, trying to comfort him as she steered him to the car. He was going into shock and he needed medical attention. If only there was a blanket in the car to keep him warm, but all she had were a few light jackets in her suitcase. She took off her hoodie and wrapped it around his shoulders, trying not to think about how insanely cold she was. “What’s your name?”

“M-Mason.”

“Well, Mason, I believe you.”

His eyes widened. “You…you do? You’re not just saying that?”

“Nope.” And then, because she didn’t want to sound patronizing, she added, “I know it’s a fact because I’ve seen this before.” She wasn’t about to tell him she was a vampire and that she’d rescued lots of sweetbloods, including one an old lover had almost killed. The truth was necessary only up to a point. “Now come on.”

Unarmed and most likely outnumbered because Darkbloods worked in pairs, she wasn’t eager to confront the enemy if they stepped out of the darkness right now.

She helped Mason into the passenger seat, careful not to touch or focus on the bruises and scratches that ran up and down his arms. It was best to avoid contact with any of his blood, whether she trusted herself or not. “You’re going to be just fine. I promise.”

The medical staff at region headquarters would see that he was healthy before returning him to his normal life, the memory of his ordeal wiped from his head, and their agents could deal with the Darkblood situation themselves.

A pair of headlights pierced the darkness. Just her luck. They had company. Positioning herself between the young man and the roadway, she tried to block him from view. The last thing she needed was more human witnesses.

A red pickup slowed down and a man with a ball cap stared out at her. When she noticed the circular insignia on the side, her breath caught in her throat.

Cascade Search and Rescue.

Great. What were the chances that they’d simply drive past if they thought someone needed help? And what if they were actually out looking for this guy?

On the drive up here, she vaguely remembered hearing a radio bulletin about two hikers who’d failed to report back to their Whistler hotel, prompting authorities to organize a search. Maybe these guys were headed up there.

She smiled and gave a cheery wave to signify everything was okay. Manipulating the memory of one human who’d had an encounter with vampires was one thing, but multiple humans? Not only was she not skilled enough to perform a group mind wipe, but given that she hadn’t taken any blood in days, most likely she didn’t have the energy needed to perform one.

“Thank God, the authorities,” Mason said. “Someone needs to…go after those monsters…who tried to…kill me before they do this…to someone else.”

“I agree.” The authorities, yes, but not the human variety.

Darkbloods often brought human prey back to their dens, where they drained their blood and disposed of the bodies. Given the IV line, that clearly was what they’d been doing to Mason. He was lucky to have gotten out of there, especially considering he was a sweetblood. But it was odd they’d locate their den in this remote area and in the same vicinity as the region office. This wasn’t exactly a good place for an illegal blood siphoning operation and it was far from their clientele, who tended to stick close to larger cities where there were more humans to feed from.

Also, Darkbloods in northern areas weren’t normally as brash or bold as they were down South. Because ultraviolet light in the Pacific Northwest was low for most of the year, the energy in the human blood supply wasn’t as volatile. This in turn led to a less aggressive nature in the small vampire population who fed from them, including Darkbloods.

At least, that’s how it worked in theory. She’d never been far north enough to experience it for herself.

Mason’s hands couldn’t fasten the seat belt, so she snapped it for him. But before she could jog around to the driver’s side, she noticed that the red truck had eased off the road in front of them and turned around.

Damn. Her stomach sank like a pair of concrete shoes. They were coming to help.

Whatever happened to humans who didn’t want to get involved? The kind of people who could watch a mugging from a balcony and not call the police. The kind who would hide behind a Dumpster, either too scared or too indifferent to come to the aid of a dying man who had helped them. It was just her luck that the truck was not being driven by that kind of person. An image of a similar situation many years ago stirred in her mind, but that one didn’t involve humans. Cowardliness and apathy were common traits in both races.

But then she considered the flip side. The problem with being too concerned was that you could get sucked into doing something you hadn’t planned, which, ironically, was what had brought her here in the first place.

Her friend and former student, Lily DeGraff, had told her about a pre-wedding trip she was going to take with her fiancé and daughter—a trip that would have to be postponed because of her work with the Agency, the enforcement arm of the Governing Council.

Alfonso, her future groom, was excited to show them his ancestral home in the Hill Country of Spain as well as reconnect with his sister to invite her to the wedding this summer. Lily had dreaded telling Alfonso they’d need to change their plans.

As she listened to Lily’s predicament, Roxy had recalled the last time she’d been in Spain. She’d also gone with a man she loved, but she didn’t mention anything about it to Lily at the time. Some memories were best left in the past. No one had known the truth about Ian. Not their coworkers in the Agency, not his friends. Only his mother knew, and Roxy had vowed not to tell another soul. If the truth got out, it would’ve destroyed his family.

“He’s going to be so disappointed,” Lily had confided. “He’s been looking forward to this trip for a long time. I’m not sure how I’m going to make it up to him.”

Though Roxy had never met Lily’s region commander before, Tristan Santiago had a reputation for being a hard-ass and totally inflexible. Maybe that was the issue. He wouldn’t give Lily the time off. Roxy had worked with men like him, men who enjoyed their authority and weren’t afraid to use it. Lily’s commander needed to understand that he couldn’t keep treating his people this way. Technically, Lily didn’t actually work for him—she provided tracking services to his region. He couldn’t expect to—

“No, it’s not that,” Lily had said when Roxy voiced her opinion. “Santiago would probably let me go if I asked. I mistakenly scheduled myself to teach a Tracker Academy prep-class and my students are counting on me.”

Hearing the unhappiness in her friend’s voice, Roxy had thought once more about her own long-ago trip. The beautiful countryside. The gracious people. The food. The vibrant energy.

So she’d offered to teach the class in Lily’s place.

Getting involved did have its price, she thought now, and she sure as hell was paying for it. A dog barked inside the red truck as a man climbed out. Must be a canine search and rescue team. Good. She related better to people who liked animals.

She rubbed the onyx pendant around her neck, a habit she had when she needed a little luck. God, it was arctic-cold up here, especially without that thin sweatshirt. When had she last seen her breath fog in front of her face like this? If she had known she’d be outside, she’d have worn something warmer…like a heavy parka, ten pairs of wool socks, sheepskin boots, fuzzy mittens—

“What seems to be the trouble?” the man called, adjusting his ball cap as he approached. Mr. Search and Rescue wore jeans, cowboy boots and one of those quilted flannel shirts that acted like a coat. Clearly, a local who was used to the weather.

“Just picking up a guy who…ran out of gas.” She rubbed her bare arms, trying to get warm.

“Out of gas? From what we could see when we drove past, we thought a bear had mauled him. You know, they have a serious black bear problem up here.”

“Yes, I’ve heard that.” Not really, but she didn’t want him to go into a lengthy explanation about animal/human interactions. She just wanted to be on her way with as little conversation as possible.

“So, he’s okay?”

“Yeah, he’s—” Something pricked the veil of her awareness and she jerked her head to the left. Something way off in the distance through the trees. A slight breeze ruffled her hair as her tracker senses stretched into the night like an arrow shot from a bow. Although the scents here were much different from those back home, there was no mistaking this stench.

Darkbloods. Two of them. Somewhere deep in the forest.

From the strength of the smell, she estimated they were a mile or two away. If they were shadow-moving, she wouldn’t have much time.

“He’s fine,” she said hastily.

The man scowled, his eyes narrowing to slits. “What’s wrong? Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah, but we’ve got to get out of here.”

One eyebrow shot up. “I’m getting the feeling there’s more to this story than just a guy running out of gas.”

She didn’t have the luxury of time to come up with a reasonable explanation as to why they needed to hightail it out of here. Things wouldn’t be pretty if they stayed.

She started to reach for him, intending to give him a mental push to get back into his rig and drive away—if she could even manage it right now—when someone called out from the truck.

“What’s going on? Do you need me to call an aid car?”

Damn. The other guy with him.

She’d have to come up with another plan. If Darkbloods showed up while they were all still here, she’d have to take care of them herself and wipe the minds of the witnesses before they could alert the human authorities. At one point in her life, she’d have easily been able to take down a couple of Darkblood losers, but she was out of practice. She was a teacher now. She hadn’t been a field agent in years.

And if the DBs were high on Sweet… Shit.

So she did the only other thing she could think of.

Grabbing her cell phone, she called the one person who’d be able to help out right now, who happened to be the last one she wanted to ask.

THE GUY STARING up at Tristan Santiago was pleading for his life, but that wasn’t the reason he decided not to kill him.

Instead, Santiago yanked him to his feet and slammed him against the wall. The Darkblood clutched at his hands, trying to break the hold, but it was no use. Santiago outweighed him by at least forty pounds and was a helluva lot stronger.

“How did you know where to find us?” Santiago hissed through his bared fangs.

“What?”

“My men. How did you know we were waiting for you?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Had it been two weeks, two days, even two hours ago, he’d be handling things differently right now. He’d have unsheathed Misery, plunged the silver blade into the guy’s heart muscle, and watched him turn to ash. But as it turned out, he needed a few answers first.

“Oh, really.” It was a statement, not a question. The guy was bullshitting him and they both knew it.

There was no way DBs should’ve known Guardians would be coming. Their intel about the location of this den came through only yesterday. Now, one of his men had been injured on a job that should have been routine.

Misery hung heavily beneath his coat. He pulled out the blade, placing the point just inches away from the guy’s eye. Most Darkbloods wore sunglasses to hide the fact that the whites of their eyes were black, but this one didn’t. Either that or he’d lost his during the chase.

“Don’t kill me. I swear to God, I don’t know.”

“I’m not planning to kill you.” The guy relaxed ever so slightly and Santiago smiled, flashing his own set of fangs again. “But don’t think I’m being nice. I don’t do nice.”

His phone vibrated in his pocket but he ignored it. Instead, he let Misery’s razor-sharp point prick the skin and a small bead of blood teardropped down the guy’s cheek.

“Please, no,” the bastard pleaded.

The blade wanted to go deeper and Santiago considered letting it. No one fucked with his people. No one.

The lone overhead light snapped and fizzled as its filament started to fail, creating grotesque shadows on the curved cement walls. Soon they’d be enveloped in total darkness, which would make shadow-moving much easier. Footsteps pounded in the tunnel behind him as one of his men approached.

“What’s wrong?” Kip Castile glanced at the two of them, confused. Guardians didn’t show mercy when it came to their enemies. Justice was swift and unforgiving. “Why didn’t you charcoal him? Wait. You’re saving him for me, aren’t you?” With a cold smile, the young Guardian-in-training withdrew his stiletto and advanced on the prisoner.

What a sadistic son of a bitch. I knew I liked the kid.

The Darkblood cringed, tried to take a step sideways, but Santiago held him tight. “No,” he told Kip. “He is not to be injured.”

At least, not right now and not any more than he had been already. Let the guy be relieved for a while, get him to drop his guard, then they’d threaten him again, but with more force. This untrained Darkblood lackey would soon be singing like a canary.

Kip dropped his hand and tapped the flat part of the knife impatiently against his black cargo pants. The kid was like a runner in the starting blocks, itching to move, to do something. Luckily, he wouldn’t have to wait for long.

A quick pat down revealed the Darkblood’s black trench coat was filled with a shitload of syringes and vials. Santiago yanked it off and tossed it aside. “Planning on a little door-to-door selling, huh? ‘Ding dong, Darkblood calling.’”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” The guy sneered, making Santiago reconsider his decision to keep him alive. He should be pleading for his life, not acting cocky.

Maybe he should let Kip waste him. Or better yet, he’d do it himself and show the kid how it was done. Misery suddenly felt a little lighter in his hand, as if urging him to continue on with this way of thinking.

“Jet’s gonna be okay,” Kip said, looking at his mobile device. “Says it’s a surface injury. The blade didn’t go deep.”

Damn. That’s right. He couldn’t charcoal the guy. Santiago needed him alive to figure out what he knew about the operation that could’ve killed one of his men.

“Didn’t your mama ever teach you to tell the truth?” He shoved the DB face-first against the wall again, spread-eagling his legs using the oh-so-gentle toe of his boot. With a hand on his back, he searched him for weapons.

Kip piped up. “Shouldn’t you—”

Santiago shot him a cold look that said “Shut your piehole.”

Sure, regulation stipulated he put on a pair of latex gloves to protect him from the effects of any silver he may find, but his way was faster.

That was the problem with having a new guy shadow him. They knew all the rules and were puppydog-eager to demonstrate their knowledge. Like they were being tested. Which, of course, they were, but fieldwork was more flexible than that. You did things by instinct, by what felt right. Not by some rulebook you memorized in a classroom setting for a test you were about to take on a computer. Santiago had never let himself get caught up in bullshit created by the so-called experts, and his wariness had served him well over the years. Street smarts won out over book smarts when lives were at stake.

Kip mumbled something under his breath that Santiago didn’t quite catch and didn’t care to either.

He started to turn his attention back to the DB, when the guy jolted sideways away from the wall and made a move for the weapon at his feet. Before he could pick it up, Santiago stomped on his fingers and kicked the knife away. It spun against the cement floor, hitting the wall with a metallic ting that echoed down the corridor. The guy howled, tried to pull free, but trapped beneath Santiago’s foot, he wasn’t getting anywhere. His efforts got noticeably weaker as he squirmed on the pavement.

“See the metal strip on the toe of my boot there?” Santiago twisted it as if he was grinding out a cigarette butt. The man groaned. “Answer me.”

“Y-yes.”

“It’s on the heel, too. But it’s not steel. It’s silver.”

“What…what do you want from me?”

“The boots get ‘em every time,” Santiago said over his shoulder to Kip. With hands on his hips, he turned his attention back to the DB loser. “So you lost the attitude, have you? Ready to talk now?”

“Yes,” the guy groaned. “Just get off my hand.”

Santiago pretended not to hear and kept his foot firmly planted. “Tell me how you knew we would be at the landing.”

“I told you, I don’t know. We were just there.” His gaze darted furtively to the left a few times as he bit the inside of his cheek.

You didn’t need to be a shrink to figure out that this guy knew something and was trying to cover it up. “Well, you’d better pray you remember something. Next time, I’m not going to be as forgiving as I am right now.” He quickly cuffed the asshole with silver-lined cuffs, hauled him to his feet and shoved him at Kip. “Take him to one of the holding cells.” Maybe after a little persuasion, the guy’s memory would improve.

“Me? You want me to take him?”

A flash of anger heated Santiago’s veins. “Are you questioning me, boy?”

A muscle in Kip’s jaw ticked and his nostrils flared slightly. For a split second, he thought the kid was going to argue with him. Tell him it wasn’t his job. That it was for the capture team to bring in a prisoner, not a Guardian. Jesus Christ. Did youngsters these days have no respect for their elders? Not that Santiago was all that old, but he might have to show the kid a thing or two about respect.

An old friend’s words rang in his head. Respect is earned, Santiago, not demanded.

Ha. You respected what you feared.

Then, just like that, Kip’s brain started functioning again. He turned away and grabbed the DB’s arm. “No, sir.”

Smart kid. Santiago wasn’t known to react kindly to those who didn’t do exactly what he ordered. He expected people to do what he told them to do without asking any questions. And to do it with a damn smile on their faces. He didn’t lead by committee or a show of hands. In these parts, his orders were as good as the laws written in the old edicts. You did what you were told or you were out. It didn’t get any simpler than that.

As Kip led the loser away, Santiago stooped to pick up the DB’s weapon, careful not to touch the business end. He was about to tuck it into his weapons belt then check his phone to see who’d been trying to get ahold of him, when something about the blade drew his attention. From the uneven marks, it appeared to be hand-forged, not machine made, and the hilt was obviously carved by a talented artisan.

How strange. DBs were not known for their high-quality weaponry, but this thing was gorgeous. A piece of friggin’ art. He turned it over in his hands. When the overhead light caught on the metal, it flashed in his eyes like a powerful mirror, making his pupils contract.

Holy shit. He blinked a few times, wondering if it was just his imagination, but he angled the blade just so, the light flashed and his pupils tightened again.

Just as a real pearl could be distinguished from the fakes by the gritty feel of it against your teeth, only a few blades were so finely made that they’d cause an ocular reaction like this. Misery was one of them.

This was a Guardian’s weapon—Santiago was sure of it.