The Bloodline War (41 page)

“I know, I’m sorry. I’m being stupid.”

“No.” Fact was, he didn’t want Skull to remain in Ţărână, either. Jail cell or not, the man tainted the surroundings. Plus, Tonĩ had touched his face. “You’re the boss.”

She slanted a look at him. “Not when I’m on this couch.”

He laughed deep in his chest. Yeah, she’d actually been doing a great job of separating out “wife” from “leader” with him. He took her hand and pressed his thumb over the pills he’d put in her palm. “Remember when you gave me those Ibuprofen tablets at Garwald’s?”

“How could I forget?” Her eyes sparkled at him. “It was the first time I saw you smile.”

“It may have been exactly then,” he gently closed her hand around the pills, “that I fell in love with you.”

She cocked a brow at him. “It wasn’t during the letter opener incident?”

He chuckled. “Maybe a little then, too.” He kissed her closed fist. “Two against the world, Mrs. Brun. You and I. For always and forever.”

“Ah.” She bent forward and brushed her mouth over his, the best kiss she could manage with her split lip. “I like the sound of that.”

* * *

Raymond lounged back in the cushioned deck chair on the terrace of his new Fairbanks Ranch mansion, his legs crossed, his palm cupping a snifter of Louis Royer Old Grande Champagne cognac. It was a luxurious libation, costing him nearly five hundred dollars a bottle, but he was in an unbearable mood at discovering it was going to be such a considerable chore getting Tonĩ back. He bloody well needed the palliative.

Sipping his cognac, he watched the sun make steady progress toward the horizon. Behind him inside the house, servants moved briskly about unpacking boxes, and then a presence arrived at his back, one he recognized.

“The prodigal son returns,” Raymond said dryly.

Mürk moved to the other cushioned chair and sat.

“How did you find me?” Raymond asked, watching the orange ball of the sun sink into a gauzy nest of clouds.

“I borrowed a cell phone and called Pändra’s secret line.” Mürk held up his casted arm. “I’m going to need another ring.”

Ah, yes, he’d just dash off and do that straight away. “I can’t imagine you escaped the Vârcolac’s lair.”

“The cockheads just let me go.” Mürk shrugged. “Must’ve been something you said.”

After only one day, too. Those blood-consuming beings showed some aptitude for appreciating logic, then. “Any weaknesses to report?”

“No.” Mürk kneaded his brow wearily. “They kept me shut away in a prison cell the whole time.”

Jorgé, the Parthen butler, appeared on the terrace. “May I get anything for you, Master Mürk?”

“Jesus suffering fuck, a beer would be bostin for this sodding headache.”

“Yes, sir.”

Mürk dropped his hand and looked at Raymond. “There’s something you need to know.”

Raymond drifted the snifter back and forth under his nose, enjoying the rich smell of the cognac. “My breath is bated, son.”

Mürk allowed a dramatic pause to develop, which was rather cheeky of him. “Tonĩ’s the one who took our immortality rings off.”

Raymond turned his head toward his son, a stillness enveloping his body.

“She’s acquired her enchantment power,” Mürk added unnecessarily. Because, what else?

The piece of information he didn’t have, however, was by what means. “How, pray tell, was she able to do that?”

Mürk slouched deeper into the chair. “I haven’t got a baldy notion.”

Raymond turned back to the sunset and took a long sip of his drink. The sky was streaked a beautiful, brilliant tangerine. “That’s something,” he murmured, “I most assuredly need to discover.”

Jorgé moved like a ghost onto the terrace, setting a jar of beer and a small dish of peanuts at Mürk’s elbow. He disappeared just as unobtrusively.

Mürk picked up the beer and took a gulp. “What are you going to do?”

“Reacquire her, of course.” Raymond gestured negligently. “Kill every last Vârcolac, if need be. No more hospitable pellets.”

“So we’re at war with them?”

Raymond set down his snifter and folded his hands in his lap. “Yes, son, we’re most definitely at war.”

Chapter Forty-five

Three months later, June.

Beth stepped into her kitchen, a book clutched to her breasts, and stopped short.

Arc was perched on a high stool at the kitchen island, the heel of one boot hooked on a rung, the other foot planted on the floor. He was wearing her favorite jeans, Levi’s 501 button flies, and a tight blue T-shirt that set off the color of his eyes to perfection, as well as the sleek bulk of his muscles. Reading the sports page with an open Coke bottle at his elbow, he was the absolute picture of sexy masculinity.

She ran her tongue across her lips. God, why were her horny monkey hormones still raging so intensely into her fifth month of pregnancy? Honest to Pete, couldn’t she just be like other pregnant women and get nauseous and exhausted?

“Hi, baby,” Arc glanced up at her. “What’s up?”

“Um, I brought home your suit for the cocktail party. It’s in the living room.” Shock of shockers and miracle of miracles, eight new Dragon women were being brought into the community next week—Tonĩ had dangled some big money carrot in front of them, or something—and upon arrival, they would be introduced to some of the town mucky-mucks at a shindig in the mansion’s Garden Parlor. What a gas. Beth just loved parties, especially the dressing-up part. “You’re going to look great in it.”

He chuckled. “Well, yeah, my wife’s the best fashion designer ever.”

She stepped up to the island, letting her eyes drift to the curved muscle in his thigh. Heat shimmied in her belly. “Try not to look
too
good.”

He gave her a smile of overblown arrogance. “Not possible, babe.” He noticed the book she was holding. “What’s that?”

“Oh, I went to the library and picked out an idea for our classic.”

“Hey, cool.” Arc set aside the sports page. “Let’s see it.”

The warmth in her belly turned into something tender. Arc was trying really hard to have a deeper relationship with her. In the last few months they’d talked about all kinds of different topics, and recently he’d even agreed to read a classic novel with her and then discuss it. It was so touching. Probably wasn’t fair what she was about to do, but…. Straight-faced, she laid out her choice on the kitchen island in front of him:
War and Peace
by Leo Tolstoy.

Arc’s brows shot up. “Jesus God, Beth.” He reached out and flipped to the last page. “This is 1296 pages!”

“And,” she stipulated, holding up a finger, “we can’t have sex until we’ve read it all and discussed it.”

“You’ve got to be shitting me.”

She crossed her arms. “You won’t read it without proper motivation, Arc. I know you.”

“I so totally will.”

“Ha! Maybe over the course of two years.”

“C’mon, Beth, be reasonable.” He rubbed a hand along his jaw. “All right, how about this: we can have sex after we’ve read and discussed each chapter?”

“That would be every night.”

“Ah.” His eyes glinted.

“Arc!”

“Okay, okay, here’s another idea.” He opened a drawer in the kitchen island and pulled out two paperbacks, setting them next to hers:
Animal Farm
by George Orwell and
One Day in the Life of Ivan Denisovich
by Alexander Solzhenitsyn. The first was about a hundred pages, the second barely over two hundred. A couple of tug boats compared to her Titanic. “We could read one of these.”

She planted her hands on her hips. “You’re such a stinker! What did you do, go to the library and ask Hannah for the shortest classics she could find?”

“They’re supposed to be good books, and one’s a Russian author, same as yours.” He smiled at her, obviously proud of himself.

She latched her eyes onto his smile, his mouth. “Well….”
Shut up, horny monkey
! She reached out absently for one of his books, her eyes remaining pinned on his white teeth, his alluring canines. “I always have wanted to read
Animal Farm
. But, um, no sex till we’re done reading it.”

He sighed. “Yeah, all right.”

“Okay, then.” She edged around the kitchen island. “So….” She bit her bottom lip as she maneuvered in front of his stool, positioning herself between his thighs. “That means we should probably have sex now, you know….” She slid her hands slowly over the hard contours of his shoulder muscles. “Just to tide us over.”

He was on his feet so fast the stool clunked over behind him. Grabbing her by the waist, he whipped her around and set her on the island, his hands warm and eager as he shoved up her skirt.

She spread her legs, arched her head back, and moaned. “God, I’m such a pushover.”

“No, babe,” he bent his lips to the curve of her throat. “I am.”

* * *

Kimberly threw open the door to her house and barreled into the living room. “Sedge!” she called out. “Oh, hey—!” She skidded to a stop. “What the hell’s this!?”

Sedge was standing by the coffee table with a huge smile on his face, several candles lit and a bottle of champagne chilling in a silver bucket. “Whoa, now, Mrs. Stănescu. You need to watch your language now that you’re a junior associate with Bitterman, Zanhunch, and Pickett.”

“Tonĩ told you already? That blabbermouth.” Kimberly laughed as she said it, not at all upset, of course. If it wasn’t for Tonĩ Parthen insisting that a lawyer was needed to see to the community’s ever-growing investments and financial interests topside, Kimberly might still be unhappily writing unpublished papers or contemplating rock gardens. She glanced down at her watch. “I was offered the job all of an hour ago.”

“Well, yeah,” Sedge said, “but I needed to get another matter cleared with Tonĩ related to topside, so I pressed her for the info.” He picked up a fluted glass of champagne and held it up to her in toast. “Congratulations, Berly. You did it.”

“Yeah, I did. Boo-yah!” She pumped her briefcase up-and-down over her head. “I actually wasn’t sure I could pull off a power interview anymore, but I guess I impressed them.” Bringing a high-dollar client to the table in the form of the,
ahem
, “Research Institute” hadn’t hurt her chances. Crossing to Sedge, she set down her briefcase and accepted the champagne. They
clinked
glasses and she took a sip. “So what’s the other topside matter?”

“Oh, no…. We don’t need to talk about it now. Let’s celebrate.”

She set her flute down. “C’mon, spill.”

He cleared his throat. “Yeah, okay. Um…now that you’re going to be spending so much time topside, I’ve been looking into the possibility for you to, uh….”

When nothing else came out of her husband’s mouth, Kimberly arched a brow. “What’s with all the weird, Sedge?”

He exhaled a
whooshing
breath. “Here’s the thing. Roth has a sister-in-law named Karrell who lives and works topside, and I think she’s someone who—”

“A
Vârcolac
?”

“Yes. Roth keeps it quiet because he doesn’t want anyone else thinking it’s okay to live outside of the community.”

“Perish the thought,” Kimberly drawled.

“Kimberly—”

“No, really. I can’t friggin’ believe this, Sedge. For three years I’ve been trying to get Roth to let me live topside, and all this time—”

“Karrell doesn’t come and go—just like
you’re
not going to—so it’s not a security issue.”

Yeah, Kimberly was being required to live up top Monday through Thursday for work, spending nights in a small apartment, and the rest of the time, she’d be with Sedge in Ţărână. Not optimal, but that was the only way Tonĩ could get prickly Roth to agree.

Kimberly rolled her eyes. “Whatever.” She didn’t want to waste her energy on Roth. He wasn’t ultimate emperor around here anymore, and she supposed baby steps were better than no steps; Rome wasn’t built in a day, after all. “So what’s the deal with this Karrell?”

“Karrell’s a…a therapist.”

“A—huh?”

“Yeah, I…I was hoping, you know, I was thinking it’d be a good idea for you to talk to her.” Sedge lowered his voice to the tone of a cowboy trying to calm a twitchy horse. “You could tell her about what your ex-boyfriend did to you, Kimberly. And Karrell’s Vârcolac, right, so you wouldn’t have to censor yourself. You could also talk about me, if you needed to, about what a pain in the ass I can be sometimes.”

“You’re never a pain in the ass.” No, he was the sweetest man on earth, still trying to help her with the Tim thing.

“You’re
not
crazy, okay.” He made an adamant downward gesture with his hands. “I don’t want you to think I’m saying that. And I’m not trying to insult your intelligence, either. It’s just that what your asshole ex did to you was really rough, Berly, and I think that maybe you need some help getting over it.” He picked up his champagne glass, but then set it right back down. “So, what do you think?”

“I think…” she stepped forward and wrapped her arms around Sedge’s neck, “that you’re the best husband a girl could ever ask for.”

His hands came to rest on her hips. “You’re not mad?”

“No.”

His eyes turned all puppy doggish. “And you’ll go?”

Truth was, she hadn’t been doing the best job getting over it by herself. “Yes.” She eased back and kissed his cheek. “I’ll go.”

He smiled at her. “Good.”

She stepped out of his hold. “Speaking of my ex.” She crossed her arms firmly beneath her breasts. “When I was topside, I saw a news report about him. Apparently both of his knees have been damaged beyond repair. They’re not saying how, but the scuttlebutt is that his career in football is officially over.” She narrowed her eyes on her husband. “You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you?”

Sedge met her gaze with saucer-eyed innocence. “How could I? You never told me his name, remember?” He picked up his bubbly. “He’s a football player, is he?”

She snorted. “Nice maneuvering, slick.”

“I really don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I’m sure not.”

“Shall we get back to celebrating?” He downed his champagne. “You want to go out to dinner?”