The Blood Bundle, Books 1-2: Blood Singers and Blood Song (New Adult Paranormal Vampire/Shifter Romance) (57 page)

Like his body was doing something against
his will.

Tony's eyes snapped to the Singer, then
shifted to the retreating back of Emmanuel.

Interesting,
he
thought,
Manny was hot to screw the Singer.
Of all the wolves, he was the coolest cucumber of
them all. But not about this.

That could prove useful,
Tony decided.

Very.

He followed, the three soldiers and Adi
trailing behind. A disgruntled and agitated Cynthia in
accompaniment.

Slash took the last position.

He liked to have his own back. He was also
happier than hell to have Tony forward of his position, let him be
point.

He didn't trust that miserable fuck as far
as he could throw him.

*

Region One

“Can I trust you, Victor?”

“In all things, you know this, Jacqueline,”
Victor replied, even as a curl of disquiet unwound inside his
chest. The directive of the Combatant became more insistent minute
by minute. He was even now struggling with the simplest things.
Ones that would have been automatic now went through an internal
cross-check. It was always the same since the Queen had began her
Awakening, sparking the closing of their circle.

All thoughts led to the question:
Would it
bring harm to She who Reigns?
It was not a conscious
deliberation but one by default, instinctive.

Jacqueline narrowed her gaze upon Victor, her
eyes searching his expression, trying to gauge the truthfulness of
his words. Satisfied, she straightened. Her dark complexion
smoothed into the deep neutrality she wore like a mask at all
times.

“She cannot be Queen,” his leader vowed,
slamming the back of a slim hand against the fragile crest of the
chair that was stationed in front of an oversized mirror in a
corner of the old room. Victor wondered if the quarters were chosen
with Jacqueline in mind? She did love to gaze upon her
likeness.

Some of what he thought must have shown on his
face and she gave him a sharp look. “What are those thoughts I see
on your face?” Her eyes sharpened on him like a falcon.

“I am not sure how I will respond to the girl. I
am lost to the protection of her,” Victor said, throwing his hands
to his sides. “Even now I feel a compulsion to be near her in a bid
to assure her safety.”

Jacqueline frowned. This was so much more real
and difficult than she anticipated. Unconsciously, her hand found
the sack buried inside the interior fold of the slacks she wore and
her anxiety came down a notch. She needed time and circumstance and
then all would be well.

Jacqueline intimately understood the old ways.
Where a true Queen perished in the presence of a female of royal
lineage, certain things put in motion could not be stopped. In
simplest terms, the momentum of the Combatant would not halt
because of the death of the true Queen. Once awakened, the
Combatant would defend the new Queen, despite the method of her
ordination.

By fire, by stealth, unfair or not, Jacqueline
would be Queen.

Her own flesh and blood would be honor bound,
willing or not, to defend her and a slave to her soul would bind to
her and obey her in all things. It was really quite perfect. If it
were not for the formidable will of the girl. Jacqueline had tasted
of her mind when the girl sat unprotected by their savvy Negator.
Something, or many things had shaped the girl into a great enemy.
Jacqueline had presumed the young Queen to be a wallflower,
pampered, with an absent intellect. Instead she sensed a beautiful
lamb with the heart of a lion. Julia would not be cowed.

However, she could be poisoned.
That
Jacqueline could manage. And manage it she would. She patted the
slight bulge from the package hidden in a secret compartment inside
her pants and smiled.

“Do not fret, Victor.” She looked up into his
eyes, struck suddenly with how beautiful of a man he was. As all
the Combatants were. Even her own son, who resembled her, he was
the most handsome of all. He would be hers soon enough. Fully. As
soon as her wretched nemesis was disposed of they would all be
hers. Even her wayward flesh and blood. Who currently looked upon
her with barely contained disgust.

It would remain her secret. And very soon she
would implement her plan. For soon, Julia would be immune to poison
and a host of other things. As Queen, once her Awakening was
complete, she would be virtually immortal, once begun, the
Awakening would not stop until it was complete.

Jacqueline couldn't have that.

Victor watched that neutral expression have a
fleeting look of greed and his unease deepened, his face
unconsciously seeking the Queen. He could feel her close by and her
proximity quieted his spirit even as his loyalties were torn.

Was this the call of the Combatant? To be loyal
to his leader but care nothing about anything unless it involved
the protection of the Queen? Victor excused himself and
compulsively went to where Julia lay sleeping, his leader's eyes
boring holes into his back as he did.

Soon
, Jacqueline thought as she watched
his retreating back,
soon
.

*

Julia

Julia struggled through layers of sleep, eyes
following her as branches tore at her clothing, slowing her as she
sprinted through the forest, unseen threats all around her.

Julia burst into a clearing and it was with the
deepest sense of d
é
jà
vu she'd ever experienced that she slowed at the
sight that greeted her, stunned, expectant. There stood Jason, a
great red wolf, his green eyes swirling in a slow twirl, spinning
languidly in a face she knew, yet didn't. Beside him was perched a
giant black raven, three times the size of the bald eagles that
were so prevalent where she'd grown up in the outskirts of the
Alaskan wilderness. Its crimson eyes rested on her body
intently.

Cyn suddenly appeared, standing in front of
both. She beckoned to Julia. Julia began to move toward her, Cyn
like a salve to her soul, beseeching.

Julia was sure Cyn had something she was saying,
Julia could see her lips moving but couldn't make out the words.
The pair of creatures that Julia knew instinctively were William
and Jason flanked her position, slightly behind Cyn, the wolf and
the raven, red and black.

They looked to be waiting for something.

Julia kept her forward progress even as ten
warriors stood in front of Cynthia, taking form in the mist that
had rolled in at her feet. Instead of appearing startled by their
appearance, she began to try to fight through the wall of muscled
flesh and Julia ran toward the group, driving toward Cyn, coming
home.

She saw Cyn scream a warning at something from
behind Julia and she turned, facing Jacqueline. Or what was
Jacqueline in her dream state.

Jacqueline was a beautiful creature. She wore a
gown covered in small jewels that sparkled in the deepening
twilight of Julia's dream. Her ebony eyes caught the amber of
Julia's easily.

Julia heard the stampede from behind her of the
ones who would protect her from this perfection and every instinct
Julia possessed screamed for her to run.

Yet she was glued to the spot, her feet leaden,
her will held captive by another, mesmerized.

Jacqueline smiled then said, “Sleep.”

It was said in a silken whisper as Jacqueline
raised her palm, where something lay cupped. Shimmering white
powder, like iridescent glitter lay in a little pile in the
graceful curve of her palm. Jacqueline pursed those beautiful lips
and blew a kiss at the twinkling pile toward Julia. It wafted
toward her, carried on an invisible wind, seeking Julia like due
north on a compass.

Julia's senses awoke and she became aware of Cyn
screaming behind her, the flap of bird's wings were sounding a roar
in her ears, warm fur pressed against her body, muscled arms hauled
her against a massive body and all the while the glitter fell over
Julia like a blanket.

Of snow.

Blown by a mouth so red it looked like
blood.

Julia closed her eyes.

And slept.

While her protectors wept.

Truman

Karl Truman gave a hard glance to his right,
then left. The sounds of the noisy Benson Street more than a white
noise backdrop. And, of course, the effing street wasn't Benson
anymore, but just good old 104
^th
. That told him Harriet
was a local boy, never bothering to update his internal map, but
having it permanently arrested in the 70s or whenever he'd lived in
the area.

Truman spotted the Suit right away. The guy
screamed fed and Karl walked toward him, his mind still with the
Red Robin manager, Alan Greene. The bottom line was, he hadn't met
a person yet in this town that didn't make his nose twitch. His
instincts were screaming for him to stand up and take notice. Those
instincts had saved his keister on more than one occasion, he
always listened.

His nose told him that something was up.

The man that approached him was shorter than
Truman but built like a brick shithouse, his fed-regulated Men in
Black suit fitting awkwardly across the shoulders. The guy saw gym
time and it had put him out of range for off the rack clothes. A
mirror-lover, this one.

Marvelous.

They shook hands and took the measure of each
other through the handshake like men do. Truman's still came up on
the high end and only the tightening of the younger man's eyes told
Truman that he'd been surprised by the force Karl could still put
out. He wasn't done yet. Not by a long shot.

Their hands dropped and the agent said, “Let's
do this outside.”

Right,
Truman thought. Out loud he said,
“Good idea.” He gave a palm for the fed to proceed him out of the
coffeehouse and the agent gave a small pause then gave him his back
as he walked out. Karl gave no man his back. The agent had been
smart to hesitate. Karl might look like a slightly overweight
middle-aged guy (he was) but he knew how to carry himself.

Against human men anyway.

The agent turned as soon as the noise of the
street numbed the ears of those few bystanders close enough to
hear.

“So Truman...” the agent, whose name was Ford,
like the trucks, spread his palms out at either side of his body to
show how harmless he was. Should've been, him being the liaison to
the feds for Karl's statie ass but Truman doubted it. He could
almost see the hammer fall.

“Tell me what your thoughts are.”

Truman did. He wasn't sold on giving this smug
young pup what he'd beaten the pavement for but they were
supposedly
sharing info
. When he wrapped with the meeting
he'd just had with Alan the restaurant guy, the agent covered his
eyes with his black wraparounds. Securing his expression as
anonymous.

He stood from his perch at the outdoor bistro
chair and table configuration and so did Karl. “So, we think that
we have enough to move forward independently.”

Karl blinked. What the blue hell was this? “What
do you mean, 'independently'?”

Ford stared back at him, his eyes like alien
orbs of unreadable blackness. Truman got a sudden and almost
painful urge to tear those sunglasses off his face and pistol whip
him with them.

Ford gave a small chuckle and Truman felt his
neck muscles bunch with tension. “We now have a bigger problem on
our hands. What we thought was a rare, isolated group to contain...
well, it's more widespread than originally presumed.”

These dumb asses had known about the werewolves
long before he came on the scene. They'd used him like a piece of
ass to find the lair and now they would discard him. His purpose
served.

Truman called bullshittery on that.

“Listen to me,” Karl said, stepping into Ford's
grill, who held his ground, “I am not going to be dismissed like
some errand boy while one of my homegirls is out there with this
rabid pack of dogs, suffering God-knows-what indignities.” His eyes
bored holes in Ford, who stared back unflinchingly. “You don't care
about the girl that was taken, you care about containment and
hiding what's out there from the citizens of our great nation. You
make me sick.”

The silence engulfed the men, the people, cars,
buildings and other things melting away. Karl watched the short
dark hair on Ford's head lift slightly in the breeze, his large
hands, no doubt calloused from weight lifting, planted on his
hips.

Finally, Ford spoke, “You're out, Truman.” He
said the words as a statement, a neat dismissal of execution from
the inner sanctum.

“You goddamned putz,” Karl Truman seethed,
utterly sloughing off the end of their partnership. Which, he
realized now, had been more exploitative than cooperative.

Ford shrugged in the breeze. “The FBI would like
to thank you for your investigative efforts, but they are no longer
needed. Further, this cooperative relationship is also no longer
necessary. A letter, reiterating the points I've just made, will be
sent to your superior and copied to yourself.”

Ford turned smartly in the direction of his car
and Truman jogged after him. When he reached out to grab the fed's
arm, Ford turned smoothly and covertly sucker punched him. Truman
was not prepared. People of honor usually aren't. They think from
their own perspective, eschewing others' mindsets for the one they
embrace as individuals.

It nailed him deep, robbing his breath. Karl
choked on his own spit. The young agent dipped beside his ear as
Karl clutched his gut. “Go away, Truman. Don't go away mad, just go
away.”

He straightened, Truman eyeing him from his bent
position as Ford adjusted his suit like he'd just shrugged it on
instead of having punched a fellow law officer in the gut.