The Turning-Blood Ties 1 (33 page)

“Somebody like me?” I hated the shrillness of my voice when I was mad. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

He folded his arms across his chest. “You tell me. What exactly did you have to do to keep him safe, Carrie? And so I can appreciate how indebted to you I should be, how much did you enjoy it?”

His remark twisted like a knife in my heart, just as he’d intended. Rage set my limbs trembling. I lashed out. “I did what I had to do! Unlike some people in this room!”

“What are you talking about?”

“Why didn’t you give Ziggy your blood? You could have saved him. All it would have taken was a little of your blood! Why didn’t you do it?”

The question had hung between us since the moment we left the mansion. It had been the cause for the tension we’d felt all morning.

Nathan looked at me, his eyes filled with confusion. “You think I let him die?”

The pain in his voice stole my will to fight. “Do you think you let him die?”

With a growl of fury, he shoved all the dishes and utensils off the counter. The glass bowl shattered at his feet, and the clang of metal nearly deafened me as the pans collided with linoleum. Nathan stalked forward, and I took a step back out of reflex more than fear. He wouldn’t hurt me. No matter how tough he tried to appear, he wasn’t the type to abuse someone weaker than himself.

“I would rather have him dead than be one of us!” he shouted, so close to my face that his cold breath stirred my hair. “You only know your change. You got to stay the same person you were before. Not everyone is so lucky. The blood has different effects on people. It does something to you, it makes you do things you wouldn’t normally do.”

I looked down, all too aware that I could have just as easily saved Ziggy with my own blood.

“You saw that, that thing.” Nathan spat the word, as though no reference to his sire could ever accurately describe his hideousness. “His blood is in mine. How could I put that into my son? How could I make him…”

He was running out of anger, and all that was left for him was despair. “How could I make him like me?” On the last word, his face went ashen and his shoulders sagged in defeat. He crumpled to the floor with a cry of anguish.

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Faced with a man’s tears, I reacted much in the way a male would to a woman crying. I stood silently and watched his misery, feeling helpless in the awkwardness of the moment. Then I realized I had to do something, so I knelt on the floor of the tiny kitchen and put my arms around him. “Nathan, you’re nothing like them.”

I thought he’d push me away, but he returned my embrace, clinging to me like a drowning man to a piece of driftwood. “You don’t know me, Carrie. You don’t know what I’ve done.”

I wondered how long it had been since he’d let himself cry or talk to anyone or, God, even feel. Unable to think of any better way to comfort him, I held him while his cold tears wet the front of my shirt and his back shook with unrestrained sobs. A long time later, when he’d composed himself, we salvaged the dishes that had survived his wrath. As if nothing had happened, we set about making breakfast side by side in the tiny kitchen.

Because there was nothing else to talk about, I asked about Ziggy. At first, Nathan resisted, giving short, perfunctory answers. I’m not sure if it was talking through the tragedy that soothed him, or making breakfast, but he soon fell into an easy pattern of storytelling. “Ziggy was a runaway. He left home when he was nine. Can you believe that?”

I shook my head sympathetically and let him continue.

“His mom was on drugs, his dad was in jail. His stepdad beat him so badly that he had two broken ribs when I found him. Every few months, I’d do the rounds at the Goth clubs. I’d look for wannabes and vampire hunters, and kids who got into the role-playing and took it too seriously. Usually, I’d give them a good scare and send them home.” He motioned for me to flip the bacon I’d arranged in a frying pan, and leaned to turn down the heat.

“Ziggy had fallen in with some pretty stupid kids. They were in their early teens, but they let him hang around. They called themselves vampire hunters, but I’m glad I got to them before they could get in any actual trouble. These kids had no idea how to fight. They all ran from me. Except Ziggy. We stood in that alley for two hours, staring each other down. I even did the whole—” He waved his hands in front of his face. “He just kept insisting he was going to kill me and rid the world of, I think the term he used was ‘hell spawn.’”

I imagined a nine-year-old Ziggy staring down a killer vampire, and it brought a smile to my face. “What did you do?”

“I would have washed his mouth out with soap, if I’d known he’d had a gift for that kind of language. I took him to Denny’s to get some pie.” He smiled at the memory. “He hadn’t eaten in days. He was so skinny, you could have turned on a flashlight on one side of him and it would have shone through to the other. I asked if he had a place to stay, and he tried to play it off like he had all sorts of options. I told him he could stay with me, and he’s lived here ever since.”

He paused, clearly noticing he’d used the present tense. But he didn’t correct himself.

“You know, I feel like any second now he could walk through that door.”

Before he could get too emotional again, he reached for a whisk and set to mixing the pancake batter. “He was only my donor for about a year. I don’t want you to think I was taking advantage of him.”

“I didn’t.”

“And I don’t want you to think I didn’t love him because of what happened before he left.

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I followed him. I looked all over town for him until the sun came up and I had to come back here. I had a hell of a burn.”

“I’ll bet.”

Without saying anything further, I got two plates and laid out some silverware. I wasn’t sure pancakes would hit the spot in the absence of blood, but cooking seemed to be therapeutic for Nathan. By the time we finished, we had pancakes, eggs Benedict, sausage and bacon. He had just gone rummaging through the cupboard, muttering under his breath about muffin mix, when I stopped him.

“I’m sure this will be enough. I mean, I don’t know if vampires can gain weight, but I really don’t want to take a chance.”

He laughed softly. “I’m sorry. I’m used to cooking for a teenage boy. It’ll take me a while to get used to this.”

Not sure how he’d react, but needing the contact to reassure me, I laid my hand over his as he reached for a plate of bacon. “Nathan, you don’t have to put on an act about this. Not with me.”

“Hey, forget about it. But I’m glad to know you’re there if I need you.” When he smiled, I recognized the Nathan I knew. The calm surface stretched over a terrifying riptide of emotions. It was a depth he probably didn’t visit, for fear of drowning in his past. By the time eleven-thirty rolled around and we headed downstairs for the meeting, we’d sunk into an easy pattern of speaking without saying anything. The shop looked much better than I’d expected. Last time I’d seen it, it had been full of burnt, smoke-damaged merchandise. Now it was a totally different store. New shelves were empty and draped with plastic. Sawdust covered the floor and made the air hazy, making it seem as if workmen had just left.

“It looks good,” I said, touching the freshly painted trim. I wiped my hands surreptitiously on my jeans and hoped he hadn’t noticed.

Nathan inspected the new countertop and ran his fingers over it. “The firemen said it was faulty wiring and I wasn’t going to tell him that a crazy witch was actually responsible for the fire. Insurance covered the remodel. It’ll be a shame to leave. This place looks better than it did when I first bought it. Maybe I should send Dahlia a thank-you card.”

A lump rose in my throat at the thought of him leaving. He was the only friend I had in the city. “You’re leaving?”

Nathan nodded. “I’ve been here fifteen years, Carrie. My customers are starting to comment on how well I’ve aged. It’s one of the first signs that I need to go. That, and someone called offering to teach power yoga in the back room. Power yoga. I don’t think I have the strength to put in another decade here.”

“Where will you go?” I asked, willing myself to sound casual. “Back to Scotland?”

“No, not there. I haven’t given it much thought.” He quirked an eyebrow. “Why? Are you going to miss me?”

“Ha, ha.” I tried to change the subject. “What do we have to do to set up this meeting? Do we need coffee and doughnuts?”

He smiled, a little wickedly, in my opinion. “How’s your arm?”

I lifted it uncertainly. It was sore, but practically healed. “It’s okay. Why?”

“We need chairs.” He opened the storage room door and slid out a cart of folding chairs.

“Get unfolding.”

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“Yes, sir,” I said with a mock salute. “So, are they going to go ballistic when they realize I’m not a part of the club?”

“Maybe.” He dropped a chair into place. “If anyone gives you a hard time, send them to me.”

“Ooh, big man.”

“You have no idea.” The devilish grin that formed on his face eased some of the anxiety I felt. The comment, however, renewed the spark of another kind of tension I’d almost forgotten existed between us. I nearly dropped the chair I held. The bells above the door jingled. They’d melted in the fire, so rather than merrily announcing the entrance of a customer, they sounded like the arrival of a satanic ice-cream truck.

Two men entered. Though they were dressed in casual clothes, they projected an aura of menace.

Nathan was unperturbed as he hurried to greet them. “Alex, Gary! Get rested up?”

They didn’t respond. They were too busy staring at me. I wondered if maybe I had said something under my breath.

Alex spoke first. He was tall and dark-skinned, with a shaved head. “What’s she doing here?”

Unfazed by the man’s gruff demeanor, Nathan motioned me forward. “This is Dr. Carrie Ames.”

“Hi.” I extended my hand, hoping it didn’t shake.

Alex didn’t take it. But Gary shook my hand readily.

“Pleased to meet you.” He had dark hair, olive skin and a Texan drawl. And he didn’t appear to hate me outright, which scored big points in my book.

“Is she one of us?” Alex asked as he eyed me suspiciously. Nathan smiled, a clearly antagonistic gesture. “Yeah, she’s one of us. Not Movement, though.”

Gary raised his hands as if surrendering as he stepped away from his friend. Alex inclined his head toward me. “Any reason for that?”

Before I could answer, Nathan stepped in front of me, and in doing so, was almost nose to nose with the other vampire. “She’s not sure about it yet.”

“Not sure if she wants to be good or evil? That doesn’t sound like a tough choice to me,”

Alex said, his voice liquid hate.

Nathan tried to remain calm. “She hasn’t broken a single rule since she turned.”

“Yeah, but you know the rules, man.” Gary sounded nervous, as if they might all be struck down for consorting with a renegade vampire any second.

“And we all know how well you follow the rules.” Alex stared right at him. The tone of his voice implied an intense dislike for Nathan.

Gosh, if this guy thought Nathan was soft on the rules, I’d hate to think how he lived his life.

I saw the muscles of Nathan’s back bunch beneath his shirt. More vampires would be arriving soon. I sent up a silent prayer Nathan wouldn’t flip out and start throwing punches.

I cleared my throat and tried to sound authoritative. “This isn’t about Nathan. It’s about me. I’m all for law and order and keeping the peace, but I don’t know where you

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Movement guys get off with your ‘join us or die’ rhetoric. I don’t do anything unless I’m asked nicely.”

I stole a glance at Nathan and saw quiet pride on his face.

“I think you better ask her nicely,” Gary said with a laugh. Alex sneered at me. “Pretty please, with a cherry on top, would you join the fucking Movement?”

“I’ll think about it.”

With a muttered curse, Alex walked to the cluster of chairs and dropped down heavily. I secretly hoped there would be a weakness somewhere in the chair’s frame so that it would topple from under him.

Alas, it didn’t. Gary regarded me with wide eyes and went to join his friend. Nathan leaned close as he walked past me and whispered, “Think you can do that about fifteen more times?”

He wasn’t kidding. Exactly fifteen more vampires showed up, offering fifteen lukewarm receptions. But most of them just ignored me as they socialized with one another. The situation harkened back to my high school days, when my friends would rope me into going to college parties and promptly disappear with their new frat-boy love interests. I’d just be standing there, holding a red plastic cup of two dollar beer, trying not to catch anyone’s attention.

The variety of vampires surprised me. I like to think of myself as a forward-thinking woman with feminist leanings, but I was truly surprised when almost half the team turned out to be female. Some of the women looked like stereotypical vampire seductresses, with dark clothes and heavy makeup, but most of them were very normal looking. One of them even wore a pink cashmere twinset with pearls. She looked more suited to be an attendee at a meeting of the Young Republicans than a gathering of ruthless assassins. The males in the group were just as diverse, some so young they appeared to be teenagers and one was old enough to have been my father. The older man shook hands enthusiastically with me, explaining he’d been a doctor as well. “Well, a doctor of psychology,” he’d said, in the early 1920s. “We’ll have a lot to talk about,” he’d promised, and when he’d patted my hand, I couldn’t help but think he might be coming on to me. When the meeting came to order, only one person voiced concern at my attending, and that was Alex. He was overruled by the tall, slender female who seemed to be in charge. The tall, slender female Nathan couldn’t keep his eyes off of.