Blood Leverage (Bloodstone Chronicles Book 1) (17 page)

“Oh that man, always buying or selling something.” She beamed fondly as though this was wonderful behavior on the part of Mr. Kyrstack. “It’s rare he misses a delivery. He’s almost always waiting when one arrives. Is he expecting you?”

“He’s expecting us today, but we made an early start.” I spoke nonchalantly, as if this was normal. “Hopefully we won’t inconvenience him.”

The woman’s hands fluttered in the lap of her green dress, strengthening my initial parakeet impression. “I’ll tell you what, sugar. You sit here in the shade with me and I’ll send someone to fetch Harold.” She patted the other side of her perch and I sat gingerly, hoping Harold and Mr. Kyrstack were the same person.

“NATHANIEL!”

I nearly fell over as the parakeet bawled like a trumpeting elephant and then watched, ears ringing, as a towheaded boy sped out from the courtyard. He skidded to a stop a few feet from us, shooting up sprays of grass in his wake.

“Yes, Nan-Nan? Who’s your friend? What’s her name? Can she play with me? I have a pet snake named Barney!”

I blinked as I attempted to process the barrage of information. Part of me was thrilled I hadn’t gone deaf. The rest was strategizing how best to avoid Barney.

“Natty, where are your manners?” the parakeet scolded. “This nice lady has a delivery for Mr. Harold and I want you to run and tell him she’s here.”

“Please tell him the delivery is from Nicky Carriero,” I added, since my name would mean nothing to Mr. Harold. The boy gave me an angelic smile before tearing back to the courtyard, spattering both me and Nan-Nan with dirt.

I grinned. “Your grandson, I’m guessing?”

She laughed. “My
great
-grandson,” she corrected. “His grandmother is Nana and I became Nan-Nan. And don’t worry,” she added. “Barney is an old piece of hemp rope dyed different colors. Looks as much like a snake as I do a rhinoceros, but Natty loves the darn thing.”

I laughed in appreciation before she went on. “You’re here with the Carriero boy?”

“With Dominic, yes.”

“Dominic? Is that what Nicky is short for?” She frowned and her hands resumed fluttering. “All these years I’ve called him Nicholas and he never corrected me once.”

A new voice entered the conversation as a white haired man rounded the corner with the now breathless Nathaniel lagging behind—clutching a multicolored rope I assumed was Barney. “Eh, little Nicky, he is too much a gentleman to contradict such a lovely woman as yourself, Henrietta.”

Nathaniel came over and set Barney in my lap while Henrietta-the-parakeet scowled.

“Oh really,” she retorted sarcastically. “And why did
you
never mention it?”

“That has nothing to do with my own exquisite manners.” Mr. Harold gave me an obvious wink. “I simply enjoyed hearing you get it wrong, my darling wife.”

Quick as a snake, Henrietta snatched Barney off my lap and flicked the rope outward, catching Mr. Harold in the rear end as Nathaniel howled with laughter. When Harold Kyrstack gave his wife an indignant look, she simply shrugged and tossed the rope back to her great-grandson. “Don’t blame me—it’s not my fault Barney bites. Natty, honey, why don’t you take Barney back to the courtyard now?”

Mr. Harold snorted as the boy ran off. “That’s a lovely example to set, dear. I’ll wager a kiss that ‘Barney’ bites at least five female rear-ends before lunch and
you
can have the pleasure of explaining where he learned that trick.”

Henrietta laughed but didn’t disagree. After a quick farewell and a kiss on her husband’s cheek she flitted off, no doubt hoping to spare an unsuspecting bottom or two.

“So. If you are with young Dominic, then you must be Miss Rory. Luigi has told me all about you.” Having no idea what Luigi had said, I tilted my head and cautioned Mr. Kyrstack not to believe everything he’d heard. Then I looped my arm through his and escorted him to the truck. Surely Ian was ready.  

“Did you have a pleasant drive on this fine morning?” he queried.

“A particularly pungent day at the pig farm,” I said with a grin, “but otherwise it couldn’t have been better.”

The little man waved a hand in front of his nose in agreement. “On hot days you can smell that square for miles. Still,” he sniffed at the air like a hungry dog, “I can’t deny the quality of their merchandise.”

I took a tentative sniff, appreciating the whiff of bacon in the air. The finished product smelled far better than the raw materials.

The crates were neatly stacked beside the building and Ian/Nicky had gotten back in the truck to get out of the sun after he’d finished. Having gauged Harold’s friendly banter, he rolled down a window and called out, “Good morning, Mr. Kyrstack. I see you’ve met my friend.” His imitation of Nicky’s voice was slightly off, but nothing a summer cold or sore throat couldn’t explain.

“I have indeed. Your Aurora is even lovelier than your father said!” Full of merriment, Harold towed me to the side of the truck. Then he lifted a strand of my hair. “My Henrietta had hair like this back in the day. Maybe slightly less bright, but every bit as beautiful. Does hers come with the temper too?”

I swear, he sounded hopeful. 

Ian shook his head in mock disappointment.

“‘Fraid not, Mr. Kyrstack. Aurora is sweet as a peach in the summer sunshine.”

I shot Ian a dirty look while Mr. Kyrstack laughed. Sweet as a peach, my ass.

Harold waved a hand dismissively. “Pfft, a few more years and a few bambinos will do wonders to bring out her feisty side.”

I had no doubt Ian’s responding laughter was genuine, but my forced giggle sounded half strangled.

“I’ll see what I can do about that,” Ian said cordially. “Is there anything else we can do for you today? Aurora wanted to run a few errands, so we left early.”

“Women.” Harold threw his hands in the air like no other explanation was needed. “Let me take inventory and you can be on your way.” He took a moment to count the boxes and check their seals before handing Ian an envelope and shaking his hand through the open window. Then he turned back to the courtyard, presumably to make whatever arrangements were necessary for his merchandise.

Ian didn’t bother opening the envelope before powering the window up. Then he flopped back in the driver’s seat and heaved an audible sigh of relief.

I hauled myself into the truck, careful to open the door as little as possible, relishing the cool air that greeted me. “That went well, don’t you think? Harold and his wife didn’t suspect a thing and the wife will definitely blab about our having been here.” Henrietta had ‘gossip’ written all over her. “How do you feel?”

Ian grunted. “As expected. You’ll have to drive home.”

“I figured, but that requires switching seats.” I put my hand on the door and waited, but he didn’t move. I’d wanted to rush Ian home but he wasn’t cooperating.

“Would you feel better if you exited Nicky mode? Maintaining that has to take effort, right?” I decided not to mention that seeing him like this was still upsetting, no matter how well-intentioned his purpose.

“A bit, but I don’t want you to see me right now. Give me another minute and we’ll switch places.”

“Here, let me help.” I slid as close as I could without touching. “I’ll put the truck in gear,” I explained, “and we’ll let it idle to that shaded area around the next corner. I’ll steer and you hit the brake once we’re there.”
             

Surprisingly, he didn’t argue—Ian’s version of an enthusiastic endorsement.

Once we were in the shade, he perked up. Then out of nowhere, my stomach growled and I giggled nervously as Ian/Nicky looked over in amusement.

“Sorry about that. Someone was cooking bacon and now I’m obsessed. It’s like the scent is following me. I’ll have to make a sandwich at your place.”

Ian grinned tightly. “Rory, it’s not bacon you smell, it’s me.” 

Only my fear of letting sunlight in kept me from opening the door and vomiting.

CHAPTER
EIGHTEEN

“ARE you serious?” I answered my own question. “Of course you’re serious. I can’t believe I said you smelled like bacon. I’m so sorry.” I pressed my palms into my face and prayed to drop through the floor of the truck.

Ian laughed, and I felt his hand stroke the hair along the nape of my neck. “Aurora, you ought to appreciate the irony. You make me hungry all the time. Humanity is long overdue for such a role reversal.”

I laughed and a section of hair slipped over my shoulder, leaving a sliver of my neck bare as Ian’s hand brushed over it. His fingertips scratched roughly against my skin and I sat back up and stared. “You’re hurt! Those are blisters I feel, aren’t they?” I demanded.

He snatched his hand away. “Of course I’m blistered, Aurora. I’m a damn vampire who’s been prancing around in the sun. What did you expect?”

“But Keanu described the symptoms of sun sickness to me,” I insisted. “He said nothing about you literally burning.”

His annoyed expression cut my oncoming panic attack short. “Sun damage has the slowest healing rate of any injury short of a fatal one, but these blisters will heal within a matter of minutes. My skin has already improved, but I’ll still be sick for a day or two.”

It gave me a thought. “You know, if more blood would help, you’re welcome to…” I let my sentence fade and extended my wrist tentatively.

He took my offered hand and I braced for a bite, but he laughed and kissed the inside of my wrist before placing it gently back in my lap. (I struggled not to flinch at the scrape of his invisibly cracked lips on my skin.)  

“It’s sweet of you to offer, Aurora, but the increase in healing would be modest compared to the risk of you fainting on the drive home.”

We sat in silence for another ten minutes before Ian was ready to switch places. I refused to open the doors, which made for an awkward scenario with Ian sliding along the bench and me half sliding, half climbing over him. Then I redirected the air vents back to the passenger seat and threw the truck in gear, determined to hurry.

Ian was very quiet, not even laughing when we passed the pig farm again—though the smell was
much
worse now. I decided he was either healing or resting, and I took my cue from his silence and focused on the road. I managed to ignore him for maybe an hour, which was a new record.

Then, after we’d passed the first of the Grand Island bridges—no stopping for rainbows this time—a small movement distracted me and I glanced over. And screamed.

Okay, it was more of a shocked gasp, but not because the sight wasn’t scream-worthy. Ian looked like himself again and his skin had healed as he’d promised it would. It was as smooth as it had ever been, with its unnaturally rosy hue the only clue he’d been injured. Unfortunately, his clothes were another story. 

Not much remained of them.

The remnants of his blue jeans feathered down his legs in charred tatters and I saw wisps of them scattered over the seat where the air conditioning had blown them loose. One side of his t-shirt was worse than the other and his shoulder was bare, with the remaining shreds on that side drooping down to expose his ribcage. Clearly, his left side had received more sun.  

Ian remained silent through my horrified appraisal and I realized he’d fallen asleep, which made sense. His illusion had failed after he’d given in to the daylight urge to sleep. The movement I’d seen was most likely the shimmer that had accompanied his shifting back to normal.

I tried to drive carefully to let him sleep. My knowledge of sun sickness was limited, but I had to think that after blood—which he’d already declined—rest was the best possible medicine. Then I hit an enormous crater in the road without waking him and realized he wouldn’t wake no matter how I drove. With Ian’s comfort no longer an issue, I floored the gas pedal and kept it there.

By the time we’d reached his home, he’d practically fallen off the seat. Only the seatbelt held him upright. Its chafing had worn through his remaining shoulder scraps causing his shirt to fall around his waist. I was grateful I hadn’t noticed earlier. It wouldn’t have helped my driving.

I hadn’t pulled the key from the ignition before Keanu was there, sliding Ian into his arms. Ian still had his sunglasses on but from what I could see he still slept. While Keanu anxiously looked him over, I hurtled down and hurried to shut the passenger door. Then Keanu slung Ian over his shoulder, leaving me to follow. 

He carried Ian to the black room I’d seen onscreen, which I found macabre even with the lights on. Though I hadn’t been able to see, the room was fully furnished and quite luxurious, only everything was black. The only differences were the textures.

The black leather sofa was piled with black velvet pillows, the ebony four poster bed featured a black brocade comforter and gauzy black drapes, and the black wallpaper sported black-on-black stripes. Even the bathroom had black tile and fixtures—black iron faucet handles and black mirrored glass. Talk about somber.

Keanu laid Ian on the floor and I volunteered to clean him while Keanu went to fetch fresh clothes. It was silly but I couldn’t leave him covered with smeared ash and crumbling rags. I’d never seen Ian look anything less than immaculate and presumably that was the way he liked it.

His clothes were already falling off, so stripping him took no effort. Only his underwear appeared intact, possibly because it was made of a weird black rubber fabric I’d never seen before. I left them on because they were skin tight and looked impossible to remove, which was just as well. Not being the most experienced woman, I’d be lying if I said I’d be comfortable washing a naked vampire, especially after that damn dream last night.

Ordering myself not to gawk, I dumped the remains of his clothes on the tiled bathroom floor and pretended it was like being a doctor. Or a nurse. Or considering Ian’s utter lifelessness, possibly an embalmer.

I giggled as I emptied a pile of black marbles from a granite bowl (who keeps marbles in their bathroom?) and filled it with water. Whatever its purpose, the bowl made a fine wash basin and I was half done when Keanu returned.

“That took a surprisingly long time,” I said quietly, swiping a black washcloth down one of Ian’s legs. He had a surprising lack of leg hair, which made me wonder whether it had burned away, and if it had, how quickly would it grow back?

Keanu shrugged and sat cross-legged beside me on the black carpet, dropping Ian’s clean clothes between us. “I took a minute to reset security before grabbing the clothes. Pretty boy would’ve woken up if you’d needed him.”

Curious.

“How does that work?” I finished Ian’s other leg and returned to the bathroom for fresh rinsing water and a towel.

“Oh, he can hear us,” Keanu called over, causing me to fumble the wet bowl in my hands as I panicked over whether I’d said anything inappropriate.

Fortunately, I thought I’d kept any improper observations quiet and I congratulated myself on my professionalism as I carried the bowl back.

“Is he hearing us in his sleep or is he not asleep at all?” I asked, wiping Ian down one last time before drying him off.

“Either. Both. Ian needs little sleep and his hearing is so sensitive that on some level he’s always alert. However, in this case it’s likely he’s actively willing himself into a state of oscitancy to maximize his healing and minimize his discomfort. Otherwise he’d inevitably respond to the stimuli around him.”

I would have bitten my tongue off before admitting I didn’t know what ‘oscitancy’ meant, but looking at Ian’s utter limpness, I could make a guess. 

Keanu helpfully hoisted Ian’s legs as I tugged a pair of black cashmere sleep pants over his knees. With Keanu’s help, they slid easily over the rubber underwear and I hastened to tie the drawstring. That done, I left Keanu to carry Ian to the sofa while I returned my cleaning paraphernalia to the bathroom.

Satisfied I’d done all I could, I left the gloomy black rooms and took a few minutes in Ian’s regular bathroom to tidy up.

Keanu glanced over his shoulder as I lugged my duffle into the living room. It was already quarter past noon. He swiveled in his chair as I dumped the bag on the floor.

“Would you like lunch before you leave? I made a lasagna after you left.” He grinned. “No eggs were involved.”

Okay, perhaps I didn’t need to leave right
this second.

We ate in the living room so Keanu could watch the monitors, which were distracting. My eyes kept drifting to Ian as he slept, or didn’t sleep, whichever it was.

Fortunately, Keanu kept my mind occupied by asking about our delivery and I told him about our morning. We speculated about the contents of the crates and I even told him about the embarrassing ‘bacon’ incident.

“One thing is a definite,” I declared between bites of lasagna. “When it’s your turn, we’ll bring extra blood with us.”

Keanu frowned. “That might be a challenge, Rory, but I’m working on it.”

“Working on it? What’s to work on?” I forked up another mouthful, caught up in gastronomic bliss. I was about to ask Keanu for his recipe to give to Ms. B, when I noticed his expression. He was looking at me oddly and I remembered
he’d lost his source of blood in Nicky’s absence. And of course, Luigi wasn’t around to make new arrangements.

“Are you okay? Are you thirsty? Have you fed recently enough?” I was half ready to offer my wrist for the second time today, though I instinctively knew Keanu would refuse because of Ian.

“Don’t worry, I’m fine. I went to Manhattan a few days ago for a quick fix and Ian’s blood can compensate for a lack of human blood almost indefinitely. It seemed both pessimistic and disrespectful to find a new donor already, to say nothing of the difficulty in finding one. Virginity aside, I could tell Nicky was a great guy—all that energy and confidence.”

“You’ll want someone similar to Nicky then? If things… don’t work out?”

Keanu shook his head. “Almost everyone is delicious in their own way.”

I snorted water up my nose and it was Keanu’s turn to look embarrassed.

“Don’t feel bad.” I paused to blow my nose into my napkin, grateful I hadn’t been drinking juice. Or alcohol. “It’s no worse than my mistaking Ian for bacon.”

He grinned. “Thanks. I didn’t mean to be offensive. Anyway, it’s not like I prefer men. My last three donors before Nicky were female.”

That triggered an idea, but I kept my mouth shut and offered to load the dishwasher. I owed him after ditching the earlier cleanup, but didn’t protest when Keanu reminded me I was running later than expected already. Instead, I simply mentioned he ought to wash the granite bowl in the bathroom while he was at it. Despite having rinsed it, it probably still contained traces of burnt Ian flesh.

While Keanu flashed off to fetch the bowl, I neatly stacked our dishes—no fancy china today, only thick white porcelain. As I slung my duffle back over my shoulder Keanu returned with the black bowl, the remains of Ian’s outfit piled inside it.

He looked distinctly annoyed as he set the bowl beside the lasagna dishes and glowered as he snatched my duffle from my shoulder and tossed it over his own.

I looked at the bowl with more interest. “Let me guess, I accidentally used an imperial Chinese artifact as a wash basin?” After lunch with the Presidential china it wouldn’t have surprised me. Whatever the bowl was, at least I hadn’t damaged it.

“No,” Keanu grumbled. “The bowl is nothing special. I’m pissed at Ian.”

“Ian?” I glanced at the monitors, but he hadn’t moved. “What’d he do?”

“I’ll tell you what he did.” Keanu flapped the scorched rag in my face. “He deliberately let my Tasmanian Devil t-shirt get torched!”

I smothered a laugh.
That
was why Ian had worn it. He’d known whatever he wore would be ruined. I found this hilarious, but Keanu was seriously miffed.

“That shirt was vintage! It was a limited edition print from the 2300 Centennial celebration, celebrating the return of some of the studio’s previously discontinued animated characters! It’s irreplaceable!”

I refrained from snickering the entire way to the truck, only to crack up the instant Keanu descended beneath the trapdoor.

The door slammed back open and his head popped out, his voice carrying through the truck’s windows. “Don’t think I didn’t hear that Rory. I’m telling you, it was
vintage
! It was practically an antique!” He slammed the door shut with a loud clang.

I was still laughing as I pulled away and headed for home.