Matters of the Blood Page 14

  A flash of light seared my eyes and a clap of thunder assaulted my ears. I cringed in the wet of the downpour, shivering in the cold. I huddled next to the person next to me, trying to steal the warmth of his body. But there was none to be had. The man was no longer warm. Corpses don't give off body heat. I cried out loud, peering through the gray twilight, looking for my sister. She'd been next to me when the men had unloaded us from the train, but her hand had been torn from mine and we'd been separated.

  A pair of worn black boots appeared in front of me. I looked up blinking the water from my eyes. I cried again, this time with relief. It was the man from the village. His dark hat and high collar hid his features, but I could sense the Other about him, like the Mountain Lords that cared for us at home. I'd seen him before. He'd promised we'd stay safe. He was here to take us back. Not home, because home was only in a place of our memory, but back to the village that was our refuge.

  I smiled and reached out, touching his black coat. He looked down at me and smiled back, patting my head with his elegant hand.

  A rough voice made the man turn from me.

  "Stop wasting time. You've done enough and gotten your money. We have what we need."

  I peeked around the man's coat to see a soldier. One of the cursed ones. Blond hair cut close to his scalp, a scar bisecting his left cheek. He held tight to his rifle as if it were a security blanket. Maybe it was. There were more of us than there were of them. But most of us were starving and near dead from the long train journey.

  "Sir, sir,” I said, tugging at the man's coat. “You are taking us home?"

  The man looked down and me and smiled again, a sad smile on his thin face. “I'm sorry, little one,” he said. “But home is not safe. You'll be staying here now."

  I sank to the wet ground as I heard the first screams from the outer building. I knew I was going to die...

  "No!” Boris screamed and stepped away from me, eyes wide in disgust. “How did you ... it is foul ... wicked.” He pressed himself up against the side of the van as if for protection.

  I shuddered as the vision let go of me and gaped at Boris. “I'm sorry, I can't...” I whispered the words, the horror of what I'd felt still wrapped around me like a filth-encrusted blanket that I couldn't remove. I wanted to wipe my hands on something, clean them off, but the evil was in Boris’ memory and I'd shared his horror.

  My body was still standing in the back of the Wild Moon's main restaurant at the loading dock, my emotions and mind still felt the agony of knowing that I was in a death camp, surrounded by enemies and barbed wire, hearing the screams of the victims of hate.

  Boris turned from me and fumbled at the van door. “I must leave."

  My faculties returned and I stepped forward, hand extended, then quickly drew it back. I couldn't afford to have that happen again. “Wait, I'm sorry, Boris,” I said. “I didn't mean—"

  "You have the visions. I saw. You are chovexani, witch,” he said as he gave up trying to open the door with shaking hands. He leaned his head against the side of the van, and then turned toward me with a deep sigh. “When I was a boy, my mother saw evil coming. Her people had the gift of farseeing. She was afraid. So she sent us to live with my father's relatives in Germany at the beginning of the war. We were sent there to be out of harm's way."

  Inadvertently sent into harm's way. Fate really was the mother of all bitches.

  "For all her visions, my mother could not see the truth. That the Germans were taking Rom as well as Jews. None of us were good enough to be the ‘Master Race'.” His bitter words tasted of acrid sorrow, ash and death.

  "You aren't Jewish?"

  He shook his head. “No, my sister and I are Rom, gypsy. They took our people to experiment."

  "And the man I saw?"

  Tears flooded his eyes, not yet spilling and he looked away, unable to meet my gaze. “He traveled with us. One of the landowners, the Mountain Lords, that my family worked for in our homeland. Brought the children to Germany and stayed there. He promised he would take care of us, keep us safe. Instead, he turned us over to the filthy bastards."

  A lone teardrop rolled down the old man's face. His voice grew bitter, the sound tasting of dust, dirt and blood. “He betrayed us. Like cattle they took us into the compound. Like cattle they did experiments on us, tortured us, fed—my sister and I were the only survivors from our kumpania, our tribe.” He scuffled his feet on the gravel and wiped his eyes. “I cannot tell you more. I am very sorry, but you would not understand. It is dangerous. Please. Promise me you will be careful here."

  "Here—the ranch?"

  "Yes, at this place. Everything is not as it seems. Now, please, let me go. I need to go back to the store. It's already late."

  "No, Boris,” I said. “Why are you so spooked about the ranch?"

  He looked around. There was still no one in sight. “He is here. I do not wish for him to recognize me. Your cousin came, spoke to him. I think ... he was the reason—"

  "Marty?"

  "Yes, he was here. Talking to—"

  "Good evening."

  The resonant tones cut through Boris’ words like a Lear jet slicing through a fog bank.

  I whirled to see Adam standing behind me, backlit by the area lights, a dark avenging angel come to the rescue. All he was missing was the flaming sword and wings.

  "Hello, Keira Kelly."

  The soft words and smile nearly made me smile back in an instant reaction to his presence. But I resisted that, too. I wanted a little distance. All these visions were wearing me out. But it was difficult to disconnect when just the very sight of this man made my pulse race.

  He was dressed in a well-cut pair of sleek black slacks and what looked like a raw silk black dress shirt. The long sleeves were loosely rolled about halfway up his forearms and the rest of the shirt billowed around him as he moved to stand closer to me. It looked great on him.

  "I'm sorry, did I interrupt something?"

  I shrugged and forced myself to smile at him. “Not really,” I said, unsure of what to say.

  I couldn't see Boris, but suddenly, I could feel his tension like a shimmering wall behind me. My hackles rose as a cold frisson danced up and down my spine, strong enough so I almost dropped to the ground to avoid whatever threat I felt in the air. My lips drew back instinctively, as if I were getting ready to growl and let out the claws I didn't yet have.

  "I brought the wine order."

  Boris’ soft words shattered the pressure and I let out a long breath, releasing the strain in my body.

  Adam walked past me to stand next to Boris and reached for the clipboard that Boris still held loosely in his hand.

  "Thank you.” He scribbled a signature across the papers that Boris held out, then turned back to me and smiled again. “It's good that Boris helps us out,” he said. “I don't know what we would do without his regular deliveries."

  Boris shrugged and slid past me to climb into the driver's seat. “It is my job."

  I watched as Boris pulled the door shut and nodded, not daring to look at me. He started the engine and put the van in gear and drove away.

  "So, you accept every delivery?” I turned to face Adam.

  He laughed, that wonderful sound that was nearly as tempting as his voice. “Not in the normal course of events,” he answered. “But I saw you."

  "Everything okay, Mr. Walker?” A voice behind me made me turn around.

  A man stood on the dock, dressed in a red tuxedo shirt, black pants and suspenders. He dangled a bow tie from his hand. His short blond hair, blue eyes, and square shoulders should have been accompanied by the loose-limbed attitude and golden tan of a California surfer boy. Instead, his skin was nearly as pale as mine and his bearing was rigid, almost absurdly militaristic—the proverbial poker up his cummerbund.

  "Thank you, Evan, everything's fine.” Adam stepped over to him and handed him the copy of the receipt that he still held. “I signed for the delivery."

  Evan nodded s
harply and folded the paper. I'd halfway expected him to salute. No wonder Boris kept reliving his childhood. This guy was definitely a candidate for Master Race-hood. All he lacked was the uniform and jackboots. He turned on his heel and went inside, no doubt to whip the other restaurant flunkies into shape.

  "So ... what now, Keira?” Adam's voice was like a veil of chocolate. “If you're here for dinner, you are rather early. Not that I mind."

  Suddenly, the attraction was back, and with a vengeance. What now indeed? I took a deep breath, my mental equivalent of a step back.

  "Don't take this personally, but...” I paused. This was awkward. Technically, I suppose I was trespassing.

  He smiled at me, one eyebrow raised in question. He'd crossed his arms and looked relaxed and utterly delicious.

  I kept talking, trying to concentrate. “Look, this is kind of strange, but I needed to come out and check out the place."

  I shut up as a couple of young men came out of the restaurant then and began to pick up the cases of wine still stacked on the dock. One of them grinned at me, lifting two cases at once, as if to show off.

  I glanced over at them and then back at Adam. “Maybe we should talk about this later."

  He waited until the men had disappeared into the back of the building.

  "Come into my parlor?” He grinned and gestured with a hand. Yeah, said the spider to the fly. Problem was, I wasn't sure which one of us was the spider.

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  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  "You obviously want to talk about something, Keira, so why don't we go somewhere comfortable and sit down?"

  Adam gazed at me, the quizzical look on his face vying with the weight of the seriousness in his eyes. The sea green had darkened, flecks of gold danced in their shadows.

  "Come, follow me."

  He held out his hand, but I didn't take it. Not that I wasn't tempted, but after what had happened with Boris, I didn't want to risk the possibility of another unintentional vision.

  We walked down a tastefully lit gravel path, small landscape lights illuminating the wide walkway. A few minutes later, we were approaching the same cluster of small homes that I'd driven him to the night before last. We were almost to the bottom of the steps that led up to his porch when I stopped walking.

  "What is it?"

  "There's someone there."

  "Where?” He didn't sound concerned.

  "On the porch swing."

  Adam looked at me, his eyes narrowing with a silent question. The small path lights cast shadows on the angles of his face. For a split second, he looked almost inhuman, then he smiled and the angles softened just a little.

  I shrugged and looked back at him. What could I say? I hadn't actually seen the person, since no light penetrated the shadows in that corner, more that I felt a presence.

  "She's good."

  The lush contralto made me turn my head. A tall woman stood just at the edge of the light. Slender to the point of skinny, I could still see that she was strong. She wore a tight-fitting jumpsuit of some kind that emphasized the muscle cuts on her arms. Her pale blond hair was pulled back in a tight ponytail, emphasizing her well-defined cheekbones and piercing blue eyes. Her aura fairly screamed predator.

  "One of your guests?” I turned back to Adam, still keeping her in the corner of my sight. Turning your back on a predator wasn't a good idea. I couldn't tell what she was, what place she held in the ranks of the preternatural, but I'd bet a not-so-favorite body part that she fed on blood and terror. The scent was just there, just beyond the obvious, underneath the normal smells of the night.

  "An employee,” he said, looking at me with an odd expression on his face.

  "Muscle?"

  He nodded. “Security."

  "Makes sense."

  "I think I'll be going now. I don't think I'm needed.” The woman looked at Adam as if for permission.

  He nodded his head slightly, still staring at me as if he'd seen me sprout fangs and a lumpy forehead.

  The woman slipped down the steps without a sound, silent as a shadow on the face of an ice slick, and disappeared down the path.

  I went to the swing and sat down. Adam perched carefully at its opposite end. I got the feeling he was trying to be very careful to not make any sudden moves or disturb me in any way. I smiled despite myself. I guess I'd freaked him out a little by spotting her.

  "I'm speculating here, but I'm going to have to assume you have a reason to hire ... non-traditional security?"

  "I do."

  Okay, now how to put this delicately. “I'm also guessing that you know she's not quite normal."

  He nodded slowly, watching me, curiosity mingling with something else in his expression. “Andrea said you were good. I don't know if she knew how good."

  I took a deep breath. Immediately, I felt the rush of heat, of desire traveling up my skin. This man exuded pheromones like an asphalt road gave off heat waves in the middle of summer. If I concentrated, I could almost see the energy rising from his skin.

  "Adam, stop,” I breathed. The distraction was too much.

  In an instant, he was standing in front of me, all pretense gone. His eyes burned with intensity, silent pools of green fire flickering in his pale face, lips red against the pallor. My heart began to beat faster in response. He leaned in to me, one hand reaching to touch my cheek, the other on the arm of the swing, supporting his weight.

  "Are you so sure you want me to stop?” It was almost a whisper, soft, seductive.

  The answer to that was simple.

  "No."

  My own voice was hoarse, my throat almost too dry to speak. This was not going the way I'd expected, but at this point, I didn't care. I should, but I didn't.

  His face neared, his body moving even closer. A breeze sprang up, brushing a lock of his hair across his face. I automatically reached up to move it away, my hand grazing the cool skin of his cheek. His hand came up to cover mine, pressing my palm to his skin. A slight turn of his head and his lips rubbed against my hand, smooth, enticing. His gaze locked with mine, and I shivered, seeing the promise behind his eyes. I let myself get lost in the sensation of the softness of his mouth moving against my palm.

  Adam's face turned to mine, leaning in, his lips relaxing into a smile. His even white teeth were no longer even. The delicate points of his canines teased his bottom lip. Those had not been there before. I would swear to it.

  I reached up with my free hand, putting it on his chest and pushing. “Stop. Now."

  He pulled back with an obvious effort.

  I stayed silent, my heart still pounding, unable to speak.

  "Well, I guess I'm not good enough,” I finally said. “I should have guessed. The attraction, the fact that I completely lose track of my train of thought when I'm around you. It wasn't just me, was it?"

  I wasn't really asking. I didn't need to. Add in the fact of Andrea and the point was beyond moot. But was that all it had been—my attraction to the dead, his power calling me? Or was there truth behind the glamour? I studied his face for a clue.

  The humor in his eyes faded, only the seriousness remained as he squatted down in front of me, hands on either side of my thighs, not touching, just resting lightly on the wooden slats of the swing.

  "You recognized Andrea. You know us for what we are?"

  I nodded. “I felt her presence."

  He stood, a movement so liquid it was like quicksilver, and went back to sit on the other end of the swing.

  "You felt her, you didn't see her?"

  I nodded, my hands gripping the chain of the swing. Even now that I knew that what I'd been feeling might only be him, I still couldn't trust myself. Even knowing what he was and what he'd probably done to me, I still wanted to run my hands over his body.

  "Keira, just so you know, I have not used any glamour on you. I swear.” He watched my face intently, as if he were searching for more than a verbal answer.

  "Well, then.” Now that
was certainly interesting. No glamour. Was he telling me the truth? At least he hadn't said he swore on his own grave. That would have been pushing it.

  Small muscles twitched in his jaw, betraying the tension he was feeling. But his eyes remained steady on mine, open and guileless. Maybe he was. I wanted to touch him, to get more of a sense of what he was saying, of whether he was telling the truth. But I was afraid to. Afraid that if I lowered any part of my shields, I'd lose them altogether.

  "You're not the first ones I've met.” I said it with a kind of defiance, and more than a little humor. Now let's see his reaction.

  His brow furrowed a little. “You've met other vampires before?"

  There. The word was out in the open, hanging in the cool Hill Country air like an odd scent or wisp of fog. It couldn't be taken back now.

  "Does that bother you?” I asked.

  He looked a little startled at my question. I guess he hadn't quite been expecting my response. I kept my own gaze steady now, wanting him to realize that it didn't matter that he was a vampire. Not one bit. How could it, when I was just as inhuman? Although I guessed he still hadn't picked up on that. Well, there was time enough for explanations later.

  Something else did matter now and I needed to find out the answer before I went any further with this.

  "I need to ask you something, Adam."

  "I'm still trying to assimilate the fact that you'd met vampires before. You're serious?"

  "I am completely serious.” I almost said “dead serious.” It was getting to be too easy to find the jokes.

  "Where?"

  "In London. In a club in Soho.” I'd gone there before and during Gideon. Not information I intended to share. That was old news and not relevant.

  "Not at Night Moves?” So he knew the place. Somehow that figured.

  "You know it, then. It's a popular hangout for the not-human. But really, I need to ask you something."

  "You mean whether or not I actually died?"

  "No, that's not important,” I said.