Blood Legacy: Adult Urban Fantasy (The V V Inn Book 5) (8 page)

Jon looks him dead in the eye and returns his nod. “I don’t think that will be a problem.”

“Good!” I break in cheerily, eager to get off this subject. “Let’s get down to business. Rafe has purchased several private residences for us, and assured me they’re all secure.” I look toward him for confirmation.

“Like I said, I’ll take you to the first one after we eat. The others can wait ’til we need them. I even bought one with property backing to a park, in case you needed to run.” Rafe looks to Jon on the last comment, seeing the surprise on the younger man’s face. “The house we’re staying at tonight is nice. It’s small, centrally located, and not far from Justin’s place.”

“Furniture?” Jon asks, avoiding commenting on Rafe’s thoughtfulness with the property near the park. Typical guy. I run my hand over my husband’s thigh, pleased he made an effort.

“It came fully furnished, but I did purchase and build new items for the basement.”

Jon raises one eyebrow. “Build?
You
bought furniture you had to build? Like
Ikea
?”

Rafe smiles and nods. “You’ll understand when you see the place.”

Our food arrives and the men dig in. I sip my wine, peace settling over me. It feels good to have the three of us together once more. My gaze settles on my husband. I can’t wait to get him home and naked again. The hunger within me hasn’t been satiated yet. Which of course, was delayed by my anger and frustration last night.

I hate this feeling of no control, reacting to stress and problems instead of being the one pulling all the strings. It’s unsettling. And no amount of exercise or avoidance will make the feeling go away.
 

A television over the nearby bar draws my attention. The news is on and a gruesome report of another murder flashes across the large flat screen. Makes me glad we don’t have such depressing local news in Alaska. The only people dying near us are usually on our property.

The announcer is speaking Spanish, and thankfully, all of us are fluent. Jon learned the first season we journeyed here with him over seven years ago.

The men continue eating, but I can tell by the shift in energy that they’re listening to the news as well.

Jon speaks as the cameras cut to another view, “I read about another murder last night on the plane. A young woman beaten to death. Sounds like an intimate crime, you know, like the killer knew her.”

Rafe nods. “We saw that on the hotel television last night, too.”

The female announcer’s dulcet tones carry clearly from the bar, and thanks to our supernatural hearing, we don’t miss a word. “This recent killing appears to be an animal attack, although the medical examiner has not determined the type of animal, or if there may have been more than one animal. The identity of the victim has not been revealed at this time. We should have more details later, after the family has been notified.”

“Should we be worried?” Jon asks. “A vicious animal attack? The details sound sketchy at best. What type of animal in a city could do the type of damage needed to kill? A big, rabid dog?” He shoves more food in, chewing with a contemplative look on his face. “There aren’t any shifters in Argentina except werewolves, are there?”

Rafe shakes his head. “Not that I know of—and we’ve been traveling here for over fifty years. I think we’d have heard chatter of another species moving in, wouldn’t you?” He directs the last question toward me.

My brow wrinkles, uncomfortable with the implications of a savage animal attack in a large cosmopolitan city. “At the very least, you’d think the masters of the city would know. Maybe it will turn out to be an escaped animal from the zoo.”

The news segment cuts to the weather and our attention returns to the table. Rafe reaches for another small plate of food. “I’m sure the Tribunal will have their thumb on the pulse of the matter shortly. You know how they are regarding supernatural activity in ‘their’ city.” He uncharacteristically uses air quotes when speaking to show his emphasis. “Or you could go back and question Persephone again. It worked so well the first time.”

I stiffen my spine at his dig, pulling my hand from his thigh. And this is the man I want to have sex with later? “Hey. I did learn something. It wasn’t a total waste of time.”

Jon finishes his next small plate and says, “Hold up, now. Am I hearing this right—you went straight to the Tribunal already, without me? What the hell?”

Rafe nods. “And now you see what I’m dealing with. Very little regard for planning or safety. Just jumps right in whenever she sees fit. Drives me crazy.”

I scowl at my husband, noticing the commiserating look of understanding on Jon’s face at the same time. Bastards. If they weren’t on the same side and being agreeable with each other, I’d blast them into eternity with a scathing reply. “I learned that Persephone is lying to me. She does know where Rolando is, and she does know what they asked me during the interrogation.”

“How?” Rafe asks. “She never revealed the info directly.”

“Because she harped on the question too much—and if the video was of decent enough quality, she’d have been able to read their lips.”

Jon responds before Rafe can, picking up his beer before speaking. “That’s a big assumption you’re making—like if the camera had the right angle, if the lighting was good enough, if they were facing the camera when they grilled you. I dunno. Lots of ‘ifs’ in there.”

“And how did you logically draw the conclusion that she knew where Rolando was, too?” asks Rafe.
 

I shrug one shoulder and take a sip from my wine, wishing it had blood mixed in. “They’re close, and have been for years. Call it a hunch.”

The two exchange a glance and don’t say anything else. I have a feeling they think my hunch is a bunch of crap. Fine. Nothing new with the two of them doubting my instincts.

Jon sets down his now empty beer glass and turns to Rafe. “What did you learn while staking out the Tribunal?”

A grimace appears and disappears quickly across my husband’s full lips. “Not as much as I’d hoped. I’ve got locations for the residences of a dozen lesser vamps in the employ of the Tribunal, but no one from the inner circle or the Ancients themselves.

“For all I know, they could all live underground in the Seat of Darkness.” He dabs his mouth with a cloth napkin and sets it aside, clearly done with eating. “The greatest breakthrough occurred right before Dria arrived last night. I finally nailed down Justin’s location. I think we should question him tonight.”

Unwilling to have us go off on a tangent, I say, “I still think finding Rolando should be our main focus, not dwelling on what Justin does or doesn’t know.”

“I’d have agreed with you before talking to Diane,” Jon says. “But now I’m not so sure. What exactly does Justin do for the Tribunal? Who hired him? How does he pay for his spells?”

Rafe answers him. “We know he does protection and detection spells for them at the very least. I’ve witnessed him doing last minute fine tunings as he leaves. I’m sure he’s compensated well enough to be able to pay for his spells and still have money left over.”

Jon shakes his head. “That’s not what I meant. Diane explained that wizards work differently than witches when it comes to using magic. Whereas a witch can naturally work magic, a wizard forces it, conjuring the magic himself with ingredients, chants, and whatnot, but doesn’t have the ability to call magic up spontaneously like a witch can.”

“Don’t witches use focuses and ingredients too? I know I’ve heard spells being spoken—so what’s the real difference?”

I speak up on this one. “It’s more like the witch has the magic in her blood, it’s a part of her. Whereas the wizard is a normal human who learns, through years of study and practice, how to master magic. But forcing the use of magic instead of channeling it naturally means there can be an imbalance in the world left behind from wizard magic.”

“Do you know how they stabilize or fix the imbalance?” Jon asks. “Diane was unsure.”

“No, I don’t. I’ve never heard of a witch—and they’re the only ones I have experience with—casting a spell that resulted in an imbalance. Or the need to fix it.”

“What about the phrase ‘never turn a witch’?”

Rafe jumps in, his mind filling with apprehension and pushing it toward me through our bond. “Where did you hear that? It applies to a vampire code, one not spoken of often.”

Jon looks to me, not bothering to answer Rafe, as if he’s waiting for me to expand on the phrase. “I know it’s hard to believe, but the rule came into effect way before I became a vampire. I was told to never turn a witch, with no real details given. I assumed it was because the witch wouldn’t survive the transition.”

“Okay, it might turn out to be a dead end anyway,” he says.

“What made you ask about it?” I ask.

Jon shrugs. “I’m not sure really. Just a feeling I had. It triggered something inside me when I read it.”

“Where did you read it?” Rafe inquires.

“Uhh… I… umm…” He looks to me and quickly away.

I raise an eyebrow at his odd behavior. “Now you’ve made me curious. Spit it out, Jon.”

A harsh breath wheezes out of his chest and he slumps. “I know I should have asked…”

“Yes?” Apprehension coils in my middle. Has he violated my privacy more than I bargained for?

“I read the term in one of your journals.”

Shock hits me in the gut. “What? Why would you read those?”

Rafe breaks in, sensing my rising tension. “Liebling, the leather-bound books are stored on the shelves in our office. And he has been staying off and on in our apartment while we’re gone. If you really didn’t want anyone to see them you should have locked them up.”

I wave off his response, knowing full well where the books are kept. “That’s not the issue. I’m just surprised he didn’t ask—and why he’d want to read them anyway.”

Jon finally looks up, meeting my unflinching gaze. “It was too much of a temptation. I know I should have asked. And honestly, I only read the first one.”

“Okay, but again—why?”

“I wanted to get to know you better, Vivian. What experiences made you who you are today. How you became a vampire.”

I’m not sure how to respond. Why didn’t he just ask me? Am I that unapproachable?
 

“Are you angry?” he asks, his face a mix of emotion, guilt being the most prominent.
 

“No, I’m not. I’m more curious—why didn’t you ask me if you wanted to know?”

Rafe chuckles and pats Jon on the back. “It’s okay, man. I get it. You didn’t think she’d tell you the truth, right?”

“Honestly, he’s right. I wasn’t sure how you’d react. Especially after I read all you went through.”

I raise one shoulder, refusing to dwell on my past. “Whatever. It was a long time ago.”

“
Whatever
? You were raped weekly for years. You were forced into blood servitude. And after six years, a shell of yourself, you were changed into a vampire against your will and used as a pawn in vampire politics.”

His words don’t affect me as they probably should. When I think back upon those dark years, it seems like what I’m remembering happened to another person. “Should I quote a popular song and remind you that what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger?”

“Or crazy,” Rafe says with a wicked smile. “Or maybe a little of both.”

“Seriously, though,” Jon says, “it was dark and depressing. After the first journal, I couldn’t read anymore. I don’t know how you survived to become the person you are.”

I look away, unwilling to allow any of my past to crowd my mind and drag me back to the edge of darkness again. “I did survive. So let’s move on.”

“Well, that’s where I read the phrase ‘never turn a witch.’ It was in a section where Mikov explained some rules of existence you’d needed to know as a newly changed vampire.”

I nod to indicate I understand, but I’m glad I can’t recall the original conversation any longer. I wrote those entries almost twenty years after the events occurred, which was still over five hundred years ago, and I’d rather not revisit them for anything in the world. I look to Rafe, hoping he can change the topic and save me from further discussion of my early years.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Rafe

I see the expression in Dria’s eyes and on her delicate face. She’s struggling to maintain a hold on the present. Having her slip back into those dark memories would not be good for any of us while we’re in a public place. Not that I think she’d hurt anyone, but if I can spare her pain of any kind I will.

“Okay,” I say, “now we know where you read it—let’s move on to what we’re going to do next and how we can find more information.”

Jon looks like he’d like to discuss the journals more, but after a glance at me and Dria he nods once and settles back in his chair, content to let the topic drop for now.

“Rolando, when we finally find him, might have the answers we need regarding the phrase,” Dria says, her voice steady with no trace of the distress I read in her eyes a moment ago. “Or maybe I can contact someone at the Tribunal and ask.”

I reach for my wine glass. “Have they been forthcoming with this type information in the past?” I take a sip, examining the small plates stacked on the table, debating to search for more food.

Dria raises a hand, signaling the waiter for additional plates to be brought. “You know how they are. Some days they will talk to you… other days they shut you out completely.”

“During my stakeouts, I witnessed the protocols we’ve dealt with for years at the Tribunal abandoned. No one is manning the phones—I called a half a dozen times. Non-vampires are not permitted in the house at night, with the exception of bonded mates. I didn’t seen any blood donors like we saw at the party, either. It’s like the whole place is in lock-down mode, functioning on a skeleton crew under strict orders.”

The waiter brings six more plates filled with delectable food. Jon reaches for two, saying, “What about Justin? You said you’d tracked where he lives. I think we should start with him.”

I nod, grabbing two plates for myself, he’s echoing what I’ve been saying all night.

“I still feel Rolando should be our main target, not the wizard,” Dria says, squirming in her seat. I bet her hunger is rising again, and not the one for blood. I stifle a smile at what that means for me.