Blood Leverage (Bloodstone Chronicles Book 1) (25 page)

For some unknown reason, at this point our cleanup efforts deteriorated into the world’s most disturbingly decorated dance party. While Ian and Keanu pranced around scraping up chunks of Eggplant, I skipped into the guest kitchen in search of trash bags. As I rooted through the cupboards, I had the tentative feeling I’d forgotten something, but dismissed it as Keanu shouted that the bags were in the laundry room.

Once I found them, I stripped off my reeking outer layers before they made me vomit again. After a millisecond’s glance at the washing machine, I crammed my jeans and sweatshirt into a garbage bag. Even if vampire blood washed out with cold water, I never wanted to see these clothes again. (Besides, the washer was still full of the wet laundry I’d put in earlier.)

I considered finding a new outfit, but decided there was no point in ruining my good clothes. Instead, I grabbed a threadbare tank top of Keanu’s that came to mid-thigh—neither vintage nor irreplaceable, just a crappy undershirt full of holes—and decided it would suffice.

Upon my return with the bags, both Ian and Keanu’s filthy, sun-scorched rags joined mine in the trash. This not only provided me with a hilarious view of the two men in their rubber sun-proof undergarments, it also gave me a laugh when Keanu hollered, “What’s the matter, Ian, don’t they make
sun-derwear
in blue?”

Ian stopped fiddling with the wall stereo long enough to shoot him a dirty look.

The music Ian had programmed was a collection purporting to be the best of the 1980’s—not that I’d have known the best from the worst. None of it was familiar, but Ian and Keanu knew every word and Ian called out their names as each one began.

I don’t know if he’d chosen the songs for their ironic titles, but I couldn’t stop laughing as they sang along. We
gathered Eggplant’s remains
(Love is a Battlefield)
, wiped down the walls (
Fight for Your Right to Party
), tore up the remaining carpet (
Girls Just Want to Have Fun
), and crammed everything into our black ‘Hefty’ bags (
Everybody Have Fun Tonight
).

As vile as the room was, two hyper vampires made for a speedy clean up. Soon we had a mound of bags beside the door and Ian and Keanu took turns carting them out. I didn’t know where they went, but either it was nearby or the guys were in rare whooshing form tonight. The current song was something about Bangkok and the men came and left six times before it ended, leaving the room spotless and us even filthier.

Okay,
I’d
grown filthier. The guys had reached maximum filth capacity before cleanup even began.

With Ian unwilling to let us traipse through his rooms, we showered in our undergarments in the guest bathroom. I couldn’t imagine the multiple showerheads had been intended for this scenario, but they worked exceptionally well.

Even with dozens of nozzles, it took time to get clean—partly because of our goofy antics, but mainly because we were repulsive. By the time we were done the guys were playing imaginary guitars and shrieking about welcoming me to the jungle—which was what the steamy bathroom felt like.

Breathless from the humidity and needing to sit, I filled the hot tub while the guys argued about ‘slash’ and ‘air guitar’—whatever the hell that meant. After agreeing to disagree, Ian reprogrammed the music and Keanu procured champagne, declaring that a job well done demanded celebration.

“Do we really need
three
bottles
worth of celebration?” I wondered as Keanu uncorked them all. “Isn’t that a tad excessive?”

I received my answer when Keanu filled each glass from a different bottle. My own champagne was a beautiful gold, but the others had a suspiciously pink hue.

“There’s blood in yours, then?” I was surprised at how little this bothered me. Then again, considering what I’d just stuffed into garbage bags, perhaps I was momentarily beyond revulsion. 

“Of course.” Ian took a sip as Keanu slipped into the water on my other side and lifted his beverage. I sipped my champagne as I mulled it over. Thoughts of blood aside, I’d never tasted anything so delicious. Between the bubbles and the icy coldness, it felt like drinking liquid energy.

“I don’t mean to be rude and this might just be me,” I mused, “but somehow the idea of blood in champagne sounds even stranger than drinking straight blood.”

“Yeah, that’s just you,” Keanu said, refilling his glass before replenishing the others from their proper bottles. I thanked him and took a single sip in the time it took Ian to drain his glass.

“Can you taste anything guzzling like that?” I wondered.

“Yes, it’s exciting to do it fast. Invigorating,” Ian explained. “Adding blood to alcohol makes the alcohol somewhat absorbable. Nothing like the way humans experience it, of course, but the combination is…”

“Festive!” Keanu tossed out, beaming as he filled Ian’s glass again.

Curious, I took Ian’s glass from Keanu and sniffed. Then I smelled my own for comparison purposes. Two perfectly shaped vampire eyebrows arched in unison and I looked back and forth between them, their reactions putting me on the defensive.

“I wondered if they smelled different, so what?” I felt myself flush, not that I could get redder in this heat. “Stop staring!” 

“And?” Ian was still staring. Meanwhile, Keanu had progressed to wiggling
both
eyebrows. Good grief.

“And nothing.” It took effort not to sound exasperated. “There’s a tiny metallic hint mine lacks. I don’t see what the big deal is. I can’t be the first human to wonder what it tastes like.”

Keanu sucked in a breath and his eyebrows came to a standstill at the same time Ian’s eyebrow rose again. I mimicked their faces, but no one laughed. 

“What?” I was starting to wonder what I’d stepped in. “What’s the big deal?” I looked back and forth a few more times, amused. After the past two months it was impossible to feel intimidated by a beverage. “Whatever. For being ancient and wise, you guys can be morons, you know that?”

With that, I raised Ian’s glass and tilted it to my lips.

CHAPTER

TWENTY-SEVEN

IF I’d expected a taste revelation—which I hadn’t—I’d have been disappointed. It tasted like I’d cut my lip before sipping champagne, only champagne would probably sting in a cut and that wasn’t the case here. In fact, my tongue had been slightly numb for the past few minutes.

Either way, it was a wholly unexciting non-event for me.

The baboons appeared to think otherwise.

“What?” I looked back and forth between them again. They’d both frozen.

Keanu spoke first and his voice was hoarse. “Holy shit, that was hot. That was incredibly hot. Do it again, Rory!”

I burst out laughing at the unexpected reaction and turned toward Ian, expecting his response to mirror mine, but he wasn’t laughing. His normally cool eyes burned hot, and his breathing was shaky though his respiratory needs were nothing like my own. And then he kissed me.

In an instant I was swept, if one can be ‘swept’ through water, from my marble seat to his lap. He had one hand tangled in my wet hair and the other around my waist, holding me close. I could taste the bloody champagne on Ian’s agile tongue and it was a heady thing, vastly more appealing than the sip I’d had from his glass.

I randomly wondered how Ian had sealed his champagne bottle after adding my blood, as he couldn’t have purchased champagne with it already there. And then I told my inner monologue to shut the hell up, because I was wasting a phenomenal kiss on minutia.

I’m not sure what it says about me that I could kiss someone so consumingly in the presence of someone else but nothing positive came to mind. I’d all but forgotten Keanu at that point, but he had no intention of remaining ignored.

I don’t know whether it took a few minutes or a few seconds, but at some point Keanu slid over to occupy my now vacant seat in the hot tub. My judgment had slid down a drain somewhere, but I could still count—at least to four.

Unless Ian had grown additional hands, the hands on my stomach and right shoulder were Keanu’s. And the mouth traveling along the left side of my neck was
definitely
Keanu’s—I could see his gilded hair from the corner of my eye. It was damn convenient to have three different hair colors present in this scenario. It helped me figure out who was where in the steamy bathroom.

Then I found myself turned and kissing Keanu, which was a different experience altogether. My remaining functional brain cells—all seven of them—concluded the two men kissed like their ages. 

When Ian kissed me, it was the most unhurried thing in the world, like he could spend the next decade doing nothing else because he had nothing but time. Not to imply a lack of intensity on his part because believe me, it was intense. On a scale of one to ten I’d have rated him somewhere in the mid-twenties.

On the other hand, Keanu kissed me as though the world would end within minutes and he had to make every second count. Not to imply hastiness on
his
part, because I was feeling damn well tended. He also shot my one to ten scale to shit.

It was a good thing it wasn’t a contest, because I was a useless judge. One annihilated with speed while the other devastated with slowness, and both experiences were utterly enjoyable.

I’d lost track of whose hands were where and it didn’t seem to matter since all the hands were engaged in such pleasant activities. I’d like to claim I gave as good as I got, but I was incapable of proactive thought. Reaction was the best I could manage and if not for the slabs of vampire supporting me on either side I might have drowned.

Both Ian and Keanu had transferred their attention to my neck and were biting at me none too gently. Neither of them broke the skin, but merely being in the vicinity excited them to no end. Someone growled—it might have been me, but I was too gone to care.

I had no idea whose hands brought me to orgasm the first time, or any time thereafter for that matter, but it was inevitable that my human body wore out first.

“Please, no more.”

By now I could barely whisper, but it was as effective as if I’d screamed bloody murder. Whatever insanity had happened was over. All four hands pulled back, only to seize me again as I sank like a stone. My current muscular state was non-existent and I was at the mercy of gravity.

After some shifting around, I was returned to my original seat. I took a deep, steadying breath. The water had gone tepid, and the steam had dissipated from the bathroom. I was somewhat startled to see our reflections; condensation had covered the mirrors to the point I’d forgotten them.

I looked—no polite way to put this—I looked worked over. Though I felt overtly sober, I looked drunk. My facial muscles had slackened and I hastened to pull them back into something resembling their normal lines.

That said, Ian’s and Keanu’s faces were carved into taut lines of shock. I was embarrassed to realize that unless I’d missed something, the entire episode of insanity had been all about me. This was awkward.

I wanted someone to say something and
really
hoped it wouldn’t have to be me. It was like a triangle of stare. I’d have blushed, but my face couldn’t get any brighter.

“Are you okay?” Ian recovered first.

“Maybe.” I didn’t know what I was, but at least I wasn’t going to throw up. “What about you guys?”

“We’re fine,” they said simultaneously.

“Okay, everyone’s fine.” I waited another minute before I couldn’t stand it. “Will one of you
please
say something?” I’d gone from brainless bliss to feeling like a jackass, and their responses made it worse.

“We’re sorry,” Ian said quietly, echoed by Keanu’s, “
So
very sorry, Rory.”

Ian’s face was like stone. “I take full responsibility. I didn’t realize… and I should have. Are you alright? Is there anything I can do for you?”

With less-than-steady legs, I stalked up the steps leading out of the tub. Incredibly, my underwear and bra, though askew, were still intact. How had that worked? What were these guys, blood-sucking magicians? I tossed my wet hair as I wobbled to the door. 

“No, I think the two of us are done here,” I said icily, taking a few more steps before cringing. “Shit, I mean, the three of us—I mean—” My brain screamed at my mouth to shut the hell up before I made things worse, while simultaneously telling my legs to
move
.

In a rare but much appreciated deviation from the norm, both my mouth and my legs decided to obey my brain and I ran the rest of the way back to Ian’s bedroom in silence. Heedless of potential water damage, I scrambled up and made myself as small and insignificant as possible beneath the comforter. What the hell had I done?

Well, my brain noted, it appears you’ve engaged in inappropriate, drunken conduct with the two individuals you’re depending on to save Nicky. And that’s without considering the fact that they’re members of the blood-sucking living dead, and that you’re in the house of Ian’s long-term girlfriend—in case you’d like to feel shittier than you already do.

“Okay, that is not helpful.” I spoke the words aloud and then crushed the pillow over my face. Freaking walls had ears. And the conclusion of it all! They were freaking
sorry
?

An apology? Ugh. It didn’t get much more humiliating than that. Besides, if we’d all been muddled from our
connection, they hadn’t taken advantage of me any more than I’d taken advantage of them. I was still trying to wrap my head around it all when the champagne finally showed mercy and I fell asleep still wearing my wet underwear.

When morning rolled around, my prayers for alcohol induced memory loss were dashed. I remembered everything in vivid detail and even recalled a few things that hadn’t been clear last night. None of them made me feel any better. 

And okay, I needed to stop being overdramatic. It wasn’t like I was a trembling virgin. (Or not in any way but the most literal sense.) Besides, I’d done nothing I hadn’t already done. Except for the two guy part and them both being vampires. Because really, that’s hardly any difference at all. Right?

Shit.

Despite the room being empty, I buried my head beneath the pillows again. This did nothing for my morale or self-esteem, but
did
give me time to appreciate every exquisitely detailed nuance of a hangover like nothing I’d ever experienced before.

Maybe my hangover would conveniently kill me. Or maybe I should haul my self-pitying ass out of bed and see what I could salvage from this flaming clusterfuck. Wincing at the ice pick stabbing through my forehead, I crawled out of bed.

Water. I needed water in the worst way. The bathroom sink was the closest option, and I avoided my reflection in the mirror as I guzzled water from the tap. However, after I’d drunk my fill a self-assessment was unavoidable.

Though I’d seen better days, I didn’t look like a crazed vamp-whore, which was reassuring. My skin was paler than ever, but that had been the case for days now. The dark circles beneath my eyes had also become the norm. But my hair…

Okay, I needed a shower.

After, I put on ‘my’ crimson robe and wound my wet hair into the twisted up-do I wore when I wanted to project
respectability and virtue. My attempt came to a halt when I realized I’d left my wet laundry in the washer last night.

Though I’d worn this robe outside the bedroom before, it wouldn’t be happening today. I raided Ian’s closet again and grabbed the dullest gray button-down I could find. Then I unrepentantly sacrificed a pair of black trousers, lopping the excess length with a pair of scissors and using one of his ties as a belt.

Thus armored, I left the bedroom for my version of judgment day, though whether I was judge or juror I couldn’t say. Despite my determination to act normal, I tiptoed to the guest rooms, relieved my fingerprint still worked to open the doors. Though someone had rebuilt the damaged wall, Ian and Keanu weren’t there. In fact, they’d emptied the living room, presumably to facilitate repairs.

The guest bathroom was not only empty, it was clean to the point where I doubted my memories. No open bottles of shampoo, no melting bars of soap—certainly no remnants of my shattered dignity, though the shards of that were too small to be visible anyway.

If not for the champagne bottles in the guest kitchen I’d have dismissed the whole thing as a crazy dream, but there they were—all three of them—and mine was still half full. Apparently I wasn’t a drunken slut, only a
regular
slut with no inhibitions requiring removal. Better and better!

I set the bottle down and opened the freezer. I hadn’t wanted to eat for fear I’d be ill after having consumed a full bottle of champagne, but that no longer applied. Ignoring the traditional breakfast options, I selected a microwave macaroni and cheese dinner. (To hell with nutrition, I needed carbs.) 

According to the directions, the meal took five minutes to heat and there was no point in wasting the time. So I sat at the kitchen table, put my head down and cried silently while I waited.

Not silently enough.

“Rory?”

I interrupted my pity party to look up at Keanu in the doorway. Then I let my head whump back onto the table. An instant later I was sitting on the counter while Keanu searched for the source of my tears and I swatted him in an ineffective and girly manner.

“Rory, are you okay? Do you need us to heal something?” 

I sniffled and dabbed my eyes with my sleeve. Then I remembered it was Ian’s shirt and swiped at my nose as well, which was immature but satisfying. “I’m not particularly okay, but unless you guys can heal wounded pride I’m out of luck—not that that’s anything new this summer.”

Agitated, I hopped down and began pacing. “Honestly, it feels like a contest, like some greater power is trying to test me by dumping piles of shit on me that grow exponentially with each new problem.”

Keanu’s face fell. “Rory, about last night, really, I’m—”

“So help me, if you apologize again I’ll kick you in your immortal balls!” I hadn’t troubled to keep my voice down and winced inwardly. The odds of Ian not having heard were slim, but the look on Keanu’s face almost compensated for it. Honestly, what was it with these two and apologies?

“It’s not like you two overpowered me and tied me up. It was an unusual and stressful situation and we got carried away,” I said firmly. “I’m as much to blame as either of you.”

The microwave beeped and we both ignored it.

“We need to talk, Rory. A lot needs to be said, about last night and otherwise, and I thought you’d feel more comfortable in the living room.” I looked at him like he’d lost his mind and he clarified, “The blue living room, not the Eggplant living room.”

“Oh.” I could live with that.

Keanu let me take the lead, following so closely he nearly bumped me when I stopped short of the living room door. Something looked strange. Although the wall in the plum living room had been rebuilt, it was still bare plaster whereas the other side had already been re-painted. Knowing Ian, it wasn’t because he’d run out of plum paint.

“Problem with the paint?”