Seduced by Blood

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.

CHAPTER TWO

SANTIAGO WAS SURPRISED. And that didn’t happen often.

After listening to the voice mail Roxanne had left on his cell, he assumed he’d arrive on the scene to find chaos and a boatload of collateral damage: Darkbloods, screaming humans who’d need their memories wiped, maybe a few dead bodies. Instead, things looked relatively calm. Just two vehicles pulled off to the side of the road and Roxanne near the edge of the forest, standing over a pile of what probably used to be a Darkblood. From the looks of it, Misery wouldn’t be needed.

Although he’d heard of Roxanne Reynolds—Lily couldn’t say enough complimentary things about her—he’d never actually met her in person. What he did know, though, was that she was into some weird spiritual crap—meditation, mind-over-matter kind of shit. Sure, the touchy-feely stuff was popular with her students. Lily, for instance, gushed about her at every opportunity, but as far as he was concerned, anyone who practiced nonsense like that had to have a screw loose somewhere.

He exited his vintage Corvette and jogged toward the red Search and Rescue truck. Oddly enough, two men were slumped over, sleeping in the front, while their dog barked its head off in the back. How could they not wake up with that racket? His acute hearing picked up the regular sound of their heartbeats, so he didn’t bother to open the door. It was obvious they were both healthy and alive.

“It’s okay, boy,” Santiago said to the German shepherd as he passed the vehicle.

Before he got to Roxanne, the Capture Team’s panel van pulled up alongside him and a tinted window slid down.

“Where do you want us?” one of the capture team agents asked.

“I’ve got things handled here.” He motioned for them to continue. “But I want temporary roadblocks set up ahead and behind us. If anyone asks, say there’s been a rock slide.” This remote part of the highway wasn’t well traveled at night, but he didn’t want to take any chances.

“Yes, sir.” The vehicle drove away and the sound of its engine was soon swallowed by the night.

He quickly assessed the scene as he crossed the road, his boots crunching loudly on the pavement. Crickets chirped in the nearby bushes, apparently undisturbed by what had just happened. He didn’t detect any live Darkblood scent, just the scent of the sweetblood who was stowed safely in what he assumed to be Roxanne’s car about twenty feet away.

“Hola,” he said as he approached. “Roxanne, I presume?”

She straightened her spine at the sound of his voice and turned to face him. And for just a moment, he forgot entirely why he was here.

Since joining the Agency over a century ago, he’d been stationed in various parts of the world that most people only experienced by reading books and magazines, seeing pictures online or news clips on television. And he’d witnessed many astounding things. Tattooed pleasure workers in Thailand, secret Incan mating rituals, French courtesans well versed in the sexual arts. In short, he’d seen a lot, experienced a lot. There wasn’t much that could take his breath away.

Until now.

“And you must be Santiago.”

God, he even liked the sound of her voice.

She picked at a twig nestled in her dark blond hair, which fell past her shoulders in messy, tangled curls, but she wasn’t having much luck.

“Here, let me get that.” Without thinking, he reached over and had to use two hands to keep from pulling her hair too much. “There, got it.”

It was only after he was done that he realized how intimate an action it had been. He stepped away and folded his arms over his chest as he studied her.

Despite the frigid night air, she wore a cream-colored tank top with a surf shop logo that sported a few blood stains, dark brown yoga pants—the kind that felt different depending on whether you ran your hand up or down the fabric—and slip-on, once-turquoise tennis shoes that were now covered in mud. The juxtaposition between feminine perfection and scrappy street fighter was so utterly arresting that the world fell away for one brief moment.

Although none of her individual features stood out on their own—straight nose, golden eyes framed by dark lashes, and lips that were neither thin nor generous—when they were put together, she was striking. Her face was oval, her skin smooth and unblemished except for a smudge on one cheek. He had the sudden urge to brush his fingertips against her skin to see if it was dirt or blood. She wasn’t old, but the confidence reflected in her eyes indicated that her Time of Change, when a vampire youthling’s blood cravings began, was decades behind her.

“So what do we have here?” he asked, glancing at the charred remains. His tone was purposely sharp and businesslike as he attempted to shake off his lingering reaction to her. He didn’t like losing control of his thoughts like this.

She fingered her necklace. “Turned out I was able to handle the situation on my own.”

“And the human witnesses?”

“They’ll need to be dealt with. I didn’t have the energy to wipe their minds, only to insert a sleep suggestion.”

Very clever, he thought, noticing for the first time the weariness in her eyes. “What about the other Darkblood? You said there were two.”

“I took care of them both. Here—” she toed her sneaker against the pile of ash at her feet “—and over there about twelve to fifteen feet beyond that downed tree.”

“I don’t understand. You said on the phone you didn’t have any weapons.”

“I didn’t.”

“Then how—?”

“I used theirs,” she said matter-of-factly, as if disarming two Darkbloods who were probably high on Sweet was something a teacher dealt with every day.

It still didn’t make sense. His confusion must’ve been apparent because she continued.

“I pretended I was trying to get away from the sweetblood human, that I was concerned I might kill him, and needed their help.”

“So they knew you were a fellow vampire.”

“Yes, but they had no idea I knew they were Darkbloods. As soon as they didn’t consider me a threat and dropped their guard, it was a simple matter to strip their weapons and use them to my advantage.”

Jesus, Mary and Joseph.

This woman performed under pressure as well as any Guardian he’d worked with, and yet she was just a teacher at Tracker Academy. What happened to the adage, “those who can’t do, teach”?

“Good work,” he said begrudgingly.

She shot him a faint smile, like all of this was no big deal, that she could’ve done it in her sleep.

There was nothing hotter than an attractive woman who could handle her own, especially when the odds were stacked against her. As his gaze roamed unintentionally over her curves, the heat of desire rushed headlong through his veins, muddling all rational thought for a moment. He was acutely aware of the thin fabric of her shirt stretched tightly over her breasts, molding to her narrow waist, and how her yoga pants hung low on her hips.

Since vampires’ sexual needs were much stronger than humans’, it wasn’t uncommon for friends or coworkers to sleep together. It was a safer, much more accepted way to expend extra energy than infighting or feeding on the blood of a host. But there was something different about this woman. Something unpredictable and unknown making him feel as if he had to tread carefully around her. That a roll in the sack would be a mistake. But for the life of him, he couldn’t quite figure out why, because, damn, she was attractive.

Reading beneath the surface of people was a skill that had served him well as region commander and he’d learned to trust his gut instincts. He had the vague sense that the two of them would clash. And that it wouldn’t be pleasant. No, he needed to keep the gorgeous Roxanne Reynolds at arms’ length and nix any thoughts of bedding her. She might be capable and loyal, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t trouble.

Determined not to be drawn in by her beauty, he did his best to ignore it. He preferred dealing with finite things that were within his control. Besides, he didn’t do women with baggage. His counterpart down in her region had hinted that she had some.

“Where did you say you charcoaled that other DB?”

She turned and pointed into the woods. “Over there.”

And that’s when he saw it. The tattoo on her shoulder. A small infinity symbol over a red rose. He took a half-step backward.

Damn. That explained the woo-woo shit and why he had such a strange feeling about her. He hadn’t known she was dakai, a member of the same blood-worshipping cult as his sister. Like Roxanne, Rosa had been a capable woman, with her whole life in front of her, until she’d gotten involved.

The dakai worshipped blood goddesses and required members to contribute their wealth in order to purify their lifeblood. Once their blood was “purified,” it was extracted and combined with other “clean” blood into the Chalice la Sangre from which they would all drink. Pure blood led to acceptance by the Great Mother, so that when they died, they’d ascend and become blood goddesses, as well. Or so they believed. It was all a bunch of horseshit as far as Santiago was concerned.

Roxanne stood with her arms hanging loosely at her sides. “Want me to show you where he is?”

“No, we’ll handle things now.” Sidestepping away, he texted the capture team and told them to get back here. He didn’t want this woman any more involved in agent enforcement issues than she already was.

“Need help tracking the scent back to their den?” she asked him when he finished. “I’d be happy to do that. It’s odd that they’d locate one so close to the region office.”

Her words were a rusty barb under his skin. He didn’t need a stranger—a dakai, no less—reminding him that this Darkblood operation was right under his goddamn nose.

“We don’t require your assistance any longer.”

Her eyes darkened with an emotion he couldn’t quite read. Was she pissed to be taking orders from him? Well, this was his jurisdiction and his decision. And this was his problem, not hers. He’d take care of the whole damn situation himself without further involvement from her.

“Will you be taking the young man, the sweetblood, back to region for a debriefing and a health check?”

“Yes,” he snapped. Just because a couple of DBs brazenly set up shop nearby didn’t mean things were out of control or that protocols weren’t followed. Those were standard procedures when a Darkblood prisoner was found. “We do things up here just like the big boys do down in Florida.”

He half expected her to argue with him, but the earlier fire in her eyes had been replaced by a flat nothingness, as if this sort of thing had happened to her before. He ignored the tiny voice inside his head that said he could be such a prick sometimes. Being a good leader meant that not everyone was going to agree with you or want to be your Scrabble buddy.

“Very well.” She rubbed her hands over her bare arms.

Good. She knew where he stood and what her role in Guardian affairs was while she was here—nada.

“I’ll wait by my car for you to collect him, then I’ll be on my way.”

Which, unfortunately, was to the same place he was headed.

A SOFT KNOCK on the door interrupted Roxy’s concentration. She looked up from the student files spread on her desk to see a flaxen-haired woman in hospital scrubs enter the classroom. She smelled faintly of sweetbloods—several of them.

“You must be Roxanne.” The woman held two coffee mugs emblazoned with the Guardian logo, but from the scent permeating the air, Roxy could tell they contained tea. “I’m Brenna Stewart. I work here at the medical center.”

Roxy smiled stiffly. She wasn’t exactly the best audience for a welcoming committee, preferring instead to keep to herself most of the time. Not that she didn’t like people, but she’d learned to be wary.

“Please, call me Roxy.” When people said her full name, it reminded her of her mother, who used it to get her attention. As a pre-change youthling, Roxy had had a habit of getting so engrossed in what she was working on that she’d forget the outside world existed. Although her mother had been gone for years now, she still got that ache around her heart whenever she thought of her.

The woman—Brenna—set one of the mugs on the desk then pulled up a chair. “Roasted green tea. Lily said it’s your favorite. Careful though. It’s hot.”

Roxy liked the woman’s comfortable, easy vibe. “You know Lily?”

“Yeah, she’s a good friend of mine. Sorry I didn’t come earlier. I meant to stop in and say hello as soon as you arrived, but we were treating several injured Guardians yesterday and then a sweetblood human came in needing to be rehabilitated. Things were pretty crazy in the clinic for a while.”

“No problem. I went straight to bed as soon as I got in anyway.” As she’d been bone-tired from the long trip and then that business with the Darkbloods, Roxy was glad the woman hadn’t popped in. She wasn’t used to idle chitchat anyway—most of her friends from her Guardian days had distanced themselves after what had happened with Ian and she’d never bothered to cultivate new ones at the Academy. Instead, she’d immersed herself in her work, reminding herself that if you didn’t let people in, you were less likely to get hurt. “How’s Mason doing? The sweetblood.”

Brenna looked confused. “You know him?”

“I was the one who found him walking on the side of the road yesterday.”

“That was you?” Her green eyes went wide. “I heard that someone took down the Darkbloods who were after him, but you’re not even an agent.” She didn’t say it maliciously or with condescension, so Roxy didn’t take offense.

“Yep. That was yours truly.”

“Well, I am superimpressed. No wonder you were exhausted when you got here.”

It had to have been someone on the capture team who’d told Brenna what had happened, not Santiago. She recalled how he’d arrived on the scene and taken charge, as if he was the one who took those guys down and not her. He was a typical domineering male who worked on the Agency side of things. It had come as no surprise that he didn’t take her up on her offer to help track the DB den. Men like him preferred to do things themselves and get all the glory, which was fine with her. She preferred to work on her own as well, though she’d just as soon stay out of the limelight.

From what she’d heard about Santiago, she figured he’d have a forceful personality, but she hadn’t been prepared for how formidable he looked. With short dark hair, a square jaw peppered with stubble, and a rigid, soldierlike posture, he was six and a half feet of pure dangerous male. And then there was that strange tattoo on the side of his neck, which stretched into his hairline. She hadn’t been able to see where it began or ended and even now, she found herself wondering how far it went. To his shoulder? His arm? Maybe down his torso?

And that voice of his. Oh, God, that voice. Rough around the edges like the gravel that had worked its way into her shoes during the Darkblood scuffle, and just as hard to ignore. She wondered what her name would sound like on his tongue. But then she remembered those eyes—hard and unforgiving—framed by equally dark thick lashes. It was as if he had the ability to look straight into her soul and didn’t like what he saw.

He was definitely a man to be avoided. She shoved him from her thoughts and turned her attention back to Brenna.

“Lily wanted me to tell you about Finn, my husband-to-be. He’s human and a sweetblood, which…ah…explains the smell on me. Most don’t notice it, but Lily said you definitely would, considering that you basically trained all the trackers working in the Agency today.”

Roxy had noticed the scent but assumed it was because Brenna worked in the clinic. “I don’t know about all of them.”

“Most then. How’s that?”

It was somewhat unusual for a vampire to be in a relationship with a human, much less a human who was a sweetblood and knew that he was in love with someone who could kill him.

Brenna continued, “Finn’s a helicopter pilot for the Seattle field but doesn’t come to region much. Not all of us can be trusted being around a sweetblood. I still worry about myself sometimes, although he has been trying to talk his way into becoming a changeling.”

Although changelings were relatively rare, Roxy had met a few of them over the years. Except for those who’d been illegally turned against their will, most went through the transformation because they fell in love with a vampire. A painful process that required the blood of two vampires, it had to be approved by the Council after a long waiting period, but it was possible.

“There must be something really special between you then. Sounds like he’s totally in love with you.”

“Yeah,” Brenna said, staring into her cup. “And I’m crazy about him, too.”

Roxy detected some reluctance. “You don’t want him to become a changeling?” Some vampires thought of themselves as monsters, was that it? Brenna didn’t want the love of her life to become like her?

“Oh, God, I want nothing more than to live out our long lives together without worrying about my friends and coworkers being around him. And he wants to be just one of the guys in the Seattle office. It’s just that I’m worried about the actual process, you know? It’s not without risk. He could die. Given my line of work, I see the worst of the worst. Motorcycle accidents, gunshot wounds, regeneration problems, head traumas, silvies that miss the heart by inches. To knowingly put my man in danger like that is not something I’m prepared to do. I like him the way he is. Alive. But believe me, he’s trying to wear me down.”

Roxy wrapped her hands around the mug and found it to be just a notch below scorching now, so she took a sip. “Roasted green tea. Lily knows me too well.”

Brenna smiled, the trace of worry gone from her eyes. “Speaking of Lily, have you heard how she’s doing?”

“No, and I’m not really expecting to either.”

“You’re not?”

Roxy shook her head. “I told her if she so much as checks in with anyone here, I’ll know about it.”

“Sounds like she listens to you. I could’ve told her that but she never—” Brenna’s pager vibrated. She glanced at it then stood up. “Gotta go. Hey, do you run? I could show you some great trails around here.”

“That’d be nice, but isn’t it too cold to be outside?” She remembered just how chilly it was when she found Mason. Would her warm-weather body be able to withstand the frigid elements well enough to go running? She certainly didn’t have the right workout clothes. Hell, when she got to her room after yesterday’s adventure, she’d never been more thankful in her entire life to see an electric blanket on her bed. “I’m kind of a wimp when it comes to cold weather.”

“It’s actually been mild for this time of the year,” Brenna said, her hand on the door, “but I forgot you’re from Florida. Do you swim? We’ve got a great pool.”