Embraced by Blood Read online

  Did he look like a youthling fresh out of puberty? Most of their kind did feed from live donors, just not as often as these losers did. Suggesting an alternate memory of events during a feeding was one of the first things a youthling beginning his Time of Change was taught. This is perfect. They think I’m younger and less experienced than they are.

  He tried to keep the satisfaction from showing on his face, flashing them a nervous smile instead. “I wasn’t planning to drain her dry.”

  “Old habits are hard to break.” Sigred patted his arm. Although his first instinct was to jerk away, he didn’t flinch, instead rubbing the pad of his thumb on the rope grip to control the impulse.

  “Personally,” she continued, “I adore it. Blood tinged with fear is sweeter than most. In fact, I love scaring them right before I strike for that very reason. But many reverts are uncomfortable with it at first. And we understand that. That’s what we’re here for. You can have your cake and eat it too. It’s a service we’re happy to provide. What do you say?”

  A perfect regurgitation of the DB playbook. “How long have you been here? Any more D—Darkblood cells here in town?” He’d almost slipped and used Agency slang. He’d been out of practice too long.

  “Not yet,” she said. “But with the Night of Wilding less than a month away, we’ll probably have a few new groups moving into the area. The new sector mistress is planning a huge event.”

  The pair started toward the girl, brushing past him a little too close—their stench always made him nauseous.

  “So where’s the party this year?” he asked, trying to stall them.

  Originally, the holiday had been an all-night festival of eating and dancing as family and friends celebrated the longest night of the year, but for the past few decades Darkbloods had been using it as a means of attracting and recruiting new members. It had devolved into little more than a costume party of debauchery and violence, often held in a macabre location. The few humans invited rarely left alive.

  “Keeping it secret for now,” Sigred said as she watched the girl, eyes narrowed and focused like a predator. “Do you play HG?”

  “What?”

  “The online game, Hollow Grave?”

  “No, I don’t.” He recalled some of the Darkbloods talking about a new online game, but that had been almost two years ago.

  “As long as you’re a registered user and get to Grave Crawler status, you can log in at noon the day before and the location will be posted in the forums. There’ll be plenty of time to get there between sundown and midnight. It’ll be on one of the islands this year.”

  Wasn’t that interesting? He knew the Alliance was working on some new ways to attract the younger generation of vampires, but since that hadn’t been his area of expertise when he was inside, he had no idea what they were up to. Online gaming? They must be using it to promote their agenda by romanticizing the violent past of their kind.

  He fought to keep his expression blank as he recalled being a youthling in a Paris gaming house centuries ago, where less than candid recruiting methods had been used on him with devastating results.

  “We should have an ample supply of Sweet by then.”

  How were they planning to get more? Last year he’d helped thwart the Alliance’s plans to breed sweetblooded humans and had seen to it that all their research had been destroyed. Had he missed something? Were they starting up operations again?

  There was a huge market for the extremely rare, highly addictive type of human blood—the street price was astronomical. Sweetblood, Sangre Dulce, Devil’s Elixir—it was all the same. It shouldn’t be a surprise that they would be trying other methods to get their hands on it. If there was one thing he’d learned while spying on them from the inside, it was how tenacious they were. Like mongrels on a steak dinner.

  “How does the mistress plan to get it?”

  Sigred snapped her attention from the coed to him, her gaze narrowing slightly. Shit. He’d asked the question a little too quickly, or maybe the tone wasn’t right, or maybe he shouldn’t have been so confident in how he’d referred to the sector mistress.

  Alfonso gave her his best sheepish grin and rubbed the back of his neck. Hopefully, her bullshit meter wasn’t set too high. “I mean, isn’t it difficult to find Sweet? I know if I had some, I’d have a hard time saving it. You guys must have some serious willpower to keep from draining a sweetblood.”

  “You got that right,” the male replied. “Last time I ran across one it was with my old partner. Let me tell you, he had to pull me off the bitch because there’d be nothing left to sell. I went like fucking mad for a while—like a feeding frenzy—I couldn’t stop.”

  Maybe he’s the one who’s new. Most DBs got pretty good at capturing their victims, bringing them back to their dens, then draining their blood there. This one’s impatience and lack of control suggested inexperience.

  The male continued. “The sector mistress is turning a Tracker from the Agency to help find ’em. Guess those guys can smell one from miles away. All we gotta do is follow the nose.”

  It was a sucker punch straight to the gut and panic flooded his veins like wildfire. He had to use every ounce of his training to keep the shock from showing on his face. Lily, his former lover, was a Tracker.

  “We don’t know that for sure.” Sigred’s laugh sounded forced. She was backpedaling; her partner had said too much. “That was just an idea someone bounced around. Everyone’s trying to get a piece of the action, making promises to have more Sweet available, staking out their territories. So far, it’s just been us here in Bellingham, but probably not for long.”

  Alfonso found himself thinking once more that he shouldn’t be surprised DBs were moving into areas they’d never been before. With Lord Pavlos, whom the Darkbloods reverently referred to as “the Overlord,” dead, the Alliance was going through a power struggle of sorts as potential leaders crawled out of the woodwork like rats, trying to make a name for themselves. The one who controlled the Sweet was the one with all the power, a fact he knew firsthand. A Sweet-laden Night of Wilding was sure to attract those living on the fringe of civilized vampire society and maybe a few who didn’t realize they could be tempted like that.

  “Ain’t it a bloody shame that you’ve got to share this small town?” Alfonso was relieved to notice that the girl was finally leaving.

  Should he try to take these two out? He wasn’t Agency—these guys weren’t his problem. The girl was safe.

  He tucked the weapons under his coat and thrust his hands into his pockets. Time to go home. He could last one more night without feeding.

  The blonde halted, turned back around and pinned him with that lazy eye of hers. “What was that?”

  “Huh?”

  “Did you just say ‘Ain’t that a bloody shame?’”

  “I don’t know. Did I?” He didn’t like the sudden change in her voice. He pulled his hands back out of his pockets and held them loosely at his sides.

  “You know, it’s funny,” she said. “I rode a day transport from Southern California to Seattle last year with a guy who was high up in the Alliance ranks. Didn’t get a good look at him, but that was his pet phrase. He must’ve said it a dozen times on the way up. Heard he turned out to be an Agency spy. The one responsible for the Overlord’s death.”

  Shit, shit, shit. She must’ve been one of those recruits in the back of the bus.

  “No kidding.” With his heart pounding, he turned to leave. He reached under his coat and grabbed the rope-wrapped handles again. His slow, measured footsteps echoed under the walkway. One…two…three.

  Keep walking. Don’t rush. Act casual and they won’t think anything of it. These two aren’t familiar. They don’t know me. Just keep going.

  “The name was Alfonso Serrano, I think,” Sigred called after him. “So tell us, friend, what’s yours?”

  Without hesitation, he spun around—they were drawing their weapons. He had one chance. With a flick of his wrists, the ku
nai cut through the air and landed simultaneously between their breastbones with a thunk.

  The male fell to the ground. The silver had penetrated his heart; he’d be a pile of ashes in moments. But the female was merely wounded.

  She dropped the blade in her hand and staggered sideways, away from the covered walkway. While the rain pummeled her face and plastered the hair across her cheeks, her fingers curled around the hilt of the kunai and pulled it from her chest. If he hadn’t known for a fact she had silver weapons of her own, he’d have waited it out until she collapsed from the energy drain. But she had his blade and who knew what else. He was just as susceptible to silver as they were and he certainly couldn’t outrun a silver bullet.

  In one motion, he leaped forward and retrieved his stake from the rapidly charcoaling male. The exertion and sudden movement made him dizzy. He staggered and fell to the bricks.

  “Fucking traitor,” Sigred hissed through clenched fangs as she lunged at him, kunai raised above her head.

  Summoning the last of his energy reserves, he scissored his legs, knocking her feet out from under her. As she fell, he aimed the tip of the retrieved kunai slightly to her left, several inches down from her shoulder. She landed on the blade, and with a little shimmy on his part, the razor-sharp tip scraped over bone, slid to the hilt between two ribs and hit home.

  He pushed her dead weight off and lay flat on the ground, that putrid Darkblood smell lingering in his nostrils.

  While the rain pounded his face, soaking his knit cap and jeans, he watched, completely spent, as her body folded inward and turned to ash, leaving behind only metal. From amidst the clothing rivets, zippers, coins, syringes, needles, a multitude of weapons and—oh yes—one glass eye, he fished out his other kunai and slowly pushed himself up.

  Let campus security think this was the remnant of a drug deal gone bad. He kicked everything around and crushed the vials, blood washing away in the rain. Although drinking it would’ve given him the strength he needed, he wasn’t about to consume blood taken from a killing. He was weak, but he still had morals.

  He yanked off his waterlogged cap and made his way slowly across Red Square. Christ, that nip/tuck had just about done him in.

  With a hand up to his face to block the wind, he finally made it back to Haggard Hall. His rig was parked nearby.

  And there she was. Western Washington University’s dumbest, most irritating student, a mere ten feet away.

  Alone. With no one else in sight. Texting.

  Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus.

  CHAPTER TWO

  NINETY MILES SOUTH of Bellingham, on the rain-soaked streets of Seattle, Lily DeGraff was about to have a major panic attack. Problem was, that wouldn’t set the best example for the Tracker trainee she was mentoring.

  They dashed across First Avenue in Belltown and slipped into the shadows of an old brick building, pausing to make sure they hadn’t been spotted. If a human witnessed them moving this fast, even though the few still out were wasted or high, they’d be forced to slow down and do a mind-wipe. But that took time, a luxury they didn’t have. Their footsteps echoed on the sidewalk as they sprinted downtown again.

  Just after the clubs had closed, a call had come in over the police band about a missing young woman. Lily and her trainee had made a routine drive past the Pink Salon to see if it involved their kind. The private, Vegas-style club was popular among both races, except the humans were clueless that they partied with a few vampires.

  In the alley out back, she detected fresh blood. Not a killing amount, but she could guess what had happened. Like many other predatory animals, a vampire wouldn’t carry his meal too far away. Once a revert crossed the line and went into feeding mode, he wouldn’t have the willpower to wait too long for the blood and energy rush he craved.

  But that had been thirty minutes ago. Now they were running all over the city trying to locate the bastard before it was too late and the woman was dead.

  Although he hadn’t said anything, Kip Castile probably wondered why his trainer was waiting so long to take over from him. At least that was what Lily assumed he was thinking. She’d be thinking the same thing if she were him. Only problem was, after that brief scent of blood in the alley, she hadn’t detected anything more. All she smelled now was a muddy, dirt-like odor, as if everything was mixed together into one massive, indefinable lump. This weakening of her ability had been fluctuating off and on for quite a while now, but lately, it seemed to be getting worse. Tonight she could hardly smell through it.

  “Let’s hold up a minute, Kip. Take a deep breath and before you exhale, I want you to focus inward. Good.” Her calm voice was a stark contrast to the rising knot of turmoil in her gut.

  “I still can’t smell the blood trail, Ms. DeGraff. I’m sorry.” The kid was starting to panic.

  She gave him a reassuring pat on the back. She’d already told him several times that he could call her Lily, but he kept slipping into formalities. Nerves, maybe.

  “That’s all right. Let’s keep going. He can’t have taken her far.” She only hoped the woman was still alive.

  “Maybe you should take over. I’m…I’m just not sure I can do it.”

  Normally, she’d have guided Kip closer and closer until he could pick up the scent himself. Build up his confidence. Then they’d track the revert, take him down, call for a pickup and be back to the field office in time for corn flakes. After decades of being a Tracker and working for the Agency, these kinds of assignments were pretty routine. But not any longer, she thought, as she noticed the chalky grayness of the night sky. Morning wasn’t far away.

  There it was on the corner of Pike and Pine. The unmistakable smell of human blood. Finally. She drew in another full breath, processing all the ambient scent markers. It was the human woman from the club.

  “Kip, do you have it yet?” She was eager for him to experience what it felt like to detect a blood memory. She’d never forgotten the first time she’d been out on patrol and mentally matched a scent to something she’d smelled earlier.

  “I…I think so.” The young man lifted his nose a little higher and blinked when a raindrop hit his forehead. His short brown hair looked almost black in this light, and his expression was wide-eyed and hopeful. God, he was young. Had she looked that fresh faced once? “It’s pretty faint, though.”

  “Tell me what you’re smelling. Close your eyes. It’s easier to concentrate and focus your olfactory senses. An important part of the process is being able to match what you’re scenting now to something you scented earlier.”

  “Okay.” He did as he was told and took a deep breath in through his nose. “Sea air from the sound. Garlic and oregano from a restaurant.”

  “Good. What else?”

  “I smell—” Kip gasped. “There it is! It’s coming from over there.”

  “Describe it for me, please, as we head that way.”

  “It’s coppery, of course, and slightly sweet. Not a sweetblood, though.” His laugh was almost giddy, and his dark eyes glittered with excitement, the pupils expanding in response to the adrenaline and scent of blood.

  Yeah, she remembered the first time she’d gone on a real assignment after spending countless hours in class and in the scent labs. It had been an exhilarating feeling. And even after all these years, it still was.

  “The blood in the alleyway was a human female,” he continued, a little breathless as they ran down the sidewalk. “Blood type AB, and I think it’s the same marker I’m smelling now.” He took another deep breath. “I can sense the warmth and her fear. I’m pretty sure she’s still alive.”

  He smelled the victim’s fear? Although this was a skill she’d mastered some time ago, she sure as hell couldn’t detect any fear now. Gritting her teeth, she tucked away the nagging feeling that something was terribly wrong with her. She’d deal with that later. Right now, she had a job to finish.

  They slipped under the Post Alley sign and she flattened herself against the b
rick wall on one side of the entrance, motioning for Kip to do the same on the opposite side. The erratic beat of her heart slowed with relief as she slipped into Guardian mode now that they had a lock on the bastard.

  Okay, time to wrap this thing up.

  She held up one fist, indicating Kip should stay where he was. He hadn’t gone through any hand-to-hand combat training yet, so she didn’t want him to get much closer to the target. Agency rules were pretty specific in regard to what a rookie could do. The takedown was her responsibility.

  She scanned the shadows and doorways as she edged closer to the smell, trying to get a visual. Careful not to touch the business end, she eased her red-tipped nails into a set of brass knuckles with silver spikes—not normally her weapon of choice, but she really needed to punch something—and crept around the iron railing of a stairwell. The coppery, slightly sweet scent intensified and her pupils dilated further.

  The nagging voice of sensibility, her rule-abiding conscience that was never far away, told her she should’ve called for backup a while ago. But she didn’t want to admit to anyone she needed help. There were plenty within the Agency who believed she’d made it to Tracker only because of her father’s influence. She wasn’t about to prove them right by admitting she couldn’t handle a routine patrol call. No, she’d keep this matter to herself.

  In the direction of one of the darkened doorways at the far end of the alley, she heard the scuffle of shoes on the wet pavement followed by a low, almost orgasmic moan.

  Finally. You can run, but you can’t hide.

  Kip had been right. The human was alive, but just barely. There wasn’t much time. After punching a code into her cell phone to request a pickup and a medic, she sprinted down the alley, not caring if the revert loser spotted her at this point. If he ran, she’d catch him.