Embraced by Blood

“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 kunai 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 brick 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.

But before she got to the far end, a side door banged open in front of her. She ducked behind a Dumpster right before the light from the doorway spilled out, spotlighting the alley as a train would a dark tunnel. An elderly woman in curlers and slippers shuffled out holding a plastic trash bag. But it was another figure, not more than ten feet away, that caught Lily’s attention. Hunched over a body, he raised his hands to shield his eyes from the sudden glare. But he didn’t cover his fangs, which dripped with his victim’s blood.

“Oh, my word! What in the world is—” The woman dropped the bag at her feet and the door slammed shut, trapping her outside. “Hon? Hon?” she called, not taking her eyes off the horror playing out in front of her.

Great. Just great. Guess I’ll have an audience.

Lily jumped over the trash bag, ignoring the woman’s gasp of surprise, and launched herself at the loser. Grabbing a handful of his hair, she yanked him away from the body. Her fist made such a satisfying sound when it connected with his jaw that she had to stop herself from doing it again just for the hell of it. Instead, she flung him onto the cobblestones. He landed at the feet of the old woman, who tried to scream but ended up in a coughing fit instead. Thank God for tiny miracles. She didn’t need any other human witnesses. One was enough.

The revert pushed himself up with one hand and defensively held up the other. Clearly, he wasn’t a fighter, just a run-of-the-mill loser—of which Seattle had plenty.

She repositioned the silver knuckle piece to the inside of her hand, the short spikes facing inward this time, and grabbed him around the neck. He shrieked and clawed at her hand when the metal pierced his skin. But it didn’t take long for the silver to do its thing and he became too weak to stand on his own. She restrained him with silver-lined handcuffs and dropped his ass to the ground.

As she took a step in the direction of the victim, the old woman’s coughing reminded her she needed to deal with secrecy issues before attending to collateral damage.

“Ma’am, it’s okay. I’m just going to—”

“Don’t—Don’t—Stay back.” The woman’s eyes widened even further in the dim light of the alley.

Lily ran the tip of her tongue over her fangs, which had stretched from her gums during the fight. Guess she couldn’t pass for a regular cop now. “It’s okay. I won’t hurt you. I just need to—”

The woman screamed, and this time her voice found itself.

Lily was on her in an instant. She brushed a hand over the woman’s forehead, silencing her. “You saw two drunks in the alley. Nothing more.” Lily wrenched open the door as if it had never been locked. “Now get back to bed and stop this sleepwalking. Hon is waiting inside and wants a little lovin’ from you.”

The woman blinked a few times. A glassy, faraway look replaced the terror in her watery gray eyes. Clutching the front of her housecoat with a gnarled hand, she shuffled inside a little quicker than Lily had expected, a faint touch of pink coloring her cheeks. The door closed softly behind her.

Lily got to the victim just as two unmarked blackpanel vans turned into the alley and screeched to a stop. A medic with a crash kit and a member of the capture team stepped out and jogged toward her.

“Over here, fellas.” She pointed behind her and strode out of the alley, thoughts whirling.

For God’s sake, this was a simple assignment. What was going on with her? She glanced over her shoulder as Kip followed her into the night. She might as well be a trainee, too, not an elite Class-A Tracker for the Governing Council.

“Ms. DeGraff, why are you walking that way? Your car is parked down the hill over there.”

She tossed him the keys. “Go ahead and take it back to the field office for me. I need the fresh air. Good job tonight, by the way. We’ll review things in the classroom later.”

IF THE GUY GOING POSTAL on him in the hardware store hadn’t been Region Commander Tristan Santiago, Alfonso would’ve let the two-by-fours over his shoulder “accidentally” smack the asshole in the head. Instead, he threw the lumber onto a flatbed handcart and headed over to the flooring department.

“Look, I told you everything I know. DBs are after Trackers. Don’t know how, don’t know where, although I assume it’s somewhere local since they mentioned the islands. Hell, I don’t even know if it’s true. It’s not like I got the information from a reliable source. They were greenhorns and, for all I know, they could’ve been blowing smoke.”

“And you wasted them before you got any real intel.” Santiago’s voice sounded like he’d just chain-smoked a pack of bare-ass Camels, although Alfonso knew he never touched the stuff. “What the fuck is up with that?”

A woman pushing a shopping cart covered her child’s ears and flashed Santiago an indignant expression. For a moment, it looked as if she was going to scold him, but then she quickened her pace and sped down the aisle. That was nothing, Alfonso wanted to tell her. If they hadn’t been in public, the guy would be cursing in three languages.

With his eyes narrowed to slits and his own anger barely in check, Alfonso glared at Santiago. “What are you talking about? I had no choice but to—” Why the hell was he sitting here justifying what he’d done? He looked around and lowered his voice. “Listen. I don’t work for you any longer, remember? Pavlos is finito. My obligation to the Council has been met. I can show you the documentation if you don’t believe me. They did it up real nice. Parchment paper, fancy lettering. Hell, it even came wrapped in a goddamn scroll. Figured I was doing you a favor letting you know what I stumbled across. Guess I was sorely mistaken. Why don’t you go back to Vancouver and leave me the hell alone?”

Santiago’s jaw muscle flexed over and over, like he was chewing on what he was about to say. Or more likely, he was pissed off and trying not to flash fang. “You know, I let you have your time after everything that went down last year. Recoup from your injuries—that leg of yours looks fine now, by the way. I wanted you to decompress in peace and quiet—”

“How terribly considerate and thoughtful of you.” Alfonso threw a box of drywall screws on top of the lumber and resisted the urge to rub his knee. Maybe his limp wasn’t as noticeable as he’d thought.

Santiago continued as if Alfonso hadn’t spoken. “But that was a year ago—” more than that, but who was counting? “—and we could really use your help now.”

“So you insult me, then you offer me a job? That’s a funny way to conduct an interview. And why are you the one asking me, anyway? Why isn’t Dom? Isn’t he technically the Seattle field team leader?”

“Your brother’s in Australia, helping with the opening of the new Carpentaria field office down there. He’s not scheduled to be back up here until after the Night of Wilding. The baby’s not due till after the first of the year.”

Alfonso sighed. His brother’s wife, Mackenzie, had just started wearing maternity clothes the last time he’d seen her. He’d commissioned a few paintings from her that depicted the hill country of his ancestral home in Spain. As soon as he finished building his house, a smaller version of his boyhood villa, he planned to hang her artwork in the entryway.

Not that he had any illusions that this tribute could atone for what he’d done to his parents. Hell, he probably wouldn’t even be around long enough to enjoy it. Sooner or later his blood assassin was bound to track him, and he was far from confident that he’d survive that meet-up. Selected as youthlings by the Darkbloods’ inner circle, these vampires were raised in the art of killing and torture. Strong, fast and lethal, they didn’t make mistakes.

“If what you discovered is true,” Santiago said, “we’ve got a big problem on our hands. The Longest Night is only a few short weeks away.”

“Don’t you have a tech person who can break into that game forum to figure out what’s going on?”

“I’ve asked Cordell to look into it, but frankly it’s a wonder Darkbloods haven’t overrun the city by now. With Dom and Mitchell out of the country, we’re understaffed. We could really use you.”

Alfonso shoved a hand through his hair. The guy was so friggin’ dramatic.

“What part of no don’t you understand?” Alfonso looked over the various diamond blades, trying to find one that would fit his particular wet saw. His current blade was dulled from all the tile-cutting he’d been doing and needed to be replaced.

“I understand plenty, starting with the fact that you have nothing going on. What’s so important you’d turn this opportunity down? Tinkering on that house you’re building? A man needs goals in his life. Something to work toward. He needs direction.”

“Yeah, well, I do have goals. They all revolve around getting my house finished.” And finished quickly. Since those losers had guessed his identity, it wouldn’t be long until the assassin tracked him, too. Then he’d be on the run again. He’d always known it’d happen, that his assassin would eventually figure out he wasn’t living in Europe, that those leads Alfonso had meticulously created were false. But he really hoped to finish the house before that day arrived.

Yeah, recreating Casa en las Colinas probably was a stupid dream. He’d been a fool to let his sister-in-law talk him into setting down some roots—even if it was temporary. Give him a chance to meet his niece or nephew. Attempt to repair his relationship with his brother. What had he hoped to accomplish by building this house, anyway? Impressing Dom? Earning his respect? Getting him to understand that he did honor their parents’ memory, despite everything he’d done? Maybe it’s time for a reality check—forget about the house and disappear. He could mail the keys to Mackenzie, and she could have it finished. Or not.

“And then what? You gonna take up fly-fishing?”

“Fuck you.”

“I’m serious, Alfonso. Your expertise on Darkblood matters is unequaled by anyone in the Agency here in North America. It’s a shame you’re pissing away that talent and knowledge while you swing hammers at a pipe dream.”

Alfonso gripped the handle of the cart so hard he was afraid it would bend beneath his fingers. There was a reason he preferred talking to Santiago on the phone: so he could hang up on him. Good thing they were out in public or he’d have the guy by the throat right about now, even though Santiago was one menacing vampire with a hair-trigger temper and a Dempsey-like left hook. The black military shit inked on his neck was just icing.

“What would my brother say if I suddenly became one of his Agents? He’d go ballistic on your ass, not to mention mine. It’s not like he and I are suddenly best friends. Centuries of thinking your brother is one of the bad guys isn’t rectified in one short year. Besides, I’m tired of Darkbloods. I’m tired of the Council.”

Santiago stared at him with those dark, piercing eyes, clearly not buying any of it. For chrissake, the guy never took no for an answer. How did Dom put up with this? What did he have to say to get through to him?

“Listen,” Alfonso continued. “I worked for centuries on the inside, trying to redeem myself in the eyes of everyone I cared about, and for what?” He pounded a fist on his thigh and a sharp pain pierced through the dull ache in his knee. “I’m permanently injured and my family wants nothing to do with me.”

Given that he’d been marked for assassination, it probably wasn’t safe for them to be around him anyway, but he wasn’t about to share that little tidbit with Santiago. Alfonso could hardly stand knowing what he’d pledged all those years ago.

And what it had cost him.

He sure as hell didn’t want to admit it to the Council. They could very well revoke his pardon.

“I’m tired of everything, and it’s probably time for me to move on anyway. You’re right. Maybe the house is a stupid pipe dream.”

“But—”

“Shut the—” He glanced around. Seeing an elderly man nearby, he lowered his voice. “You seriously think I’d want to come back? You wasted your time coming down here, Santiago. I’ve put in my time, so leave me the hell alone. Go find yourself someone who cares, because I’m done.”