Czytaj książkę: «Embraced by Blood»

Dear Reader,

I’m excited to share with you the second book in the SWEETBLOOD series, Embraced by Blood. This world is a deadly and seductive one, where a team of vampire Guardians fights to protect humans from Darkbloods—vicious members of their race who kill like their ancestors and sell the blood on the black market. The rarest, called Sweetblood, commands the highest price.

When I first met Alfonso, it was through his brother’s eyes. Naturally, I was intimidated to write about him. How could a man with a past like his ever redeem himself enough to be a hero? But the more I got to know him, the more I fell in love with him, and I began to see him as Lily did: a warrior, wounded in body and spirit, with a heart of pure gold hidden underneath.

That’s not to say sparks don’t fly between Lily and Alfonso. This is a reunion story—he broke her heart once and she’s not about to let him do it again. Besides, you don’t cross Lily without serious repercussions. I hope you enjoy reading about how she took him to his knees and brought him out of the darkness, whether he thought he deserved it or not.

Oh, and regarding the first scene … I apologize to the students of Western Washington University, my alma mater. Now you know what waits for you in that dark corner near Haggard Hall.

All my best,

Laurie London

Embraced by Blood

Laurie London

www.millsandboon.co.uk

To my sister, Becky,

because without you, there’d be no this.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Writing a story may be a solitary process, but making it a book isn’t. I am truly thankful for so many people.

In addition to my sister, I’d like to thank Janna, Kandis, Mandy, Shelley, Kathy and Barb for giving me invaluable feedback. When I count my blessings, these women are seriously at the top of my list.

Thank you to Cherry Adair, who opened her heart and her home to a bunch of fledglings and encouraged us to fly.

To my Romance University friends, particularly Kelsey Browning, thank you for everything. To Vicky Dreiling and Delilah Marvelle, thanks for your friendship and the marathon phone calls. To the Cherryplotters, thank you for the laughs and the creative inspiration. Thank you to my agent, Emmanuelle Morgen, my GIAM x4 buddies, and my fellow GSRWA writers.

Thank you to my talented and thoughtful editor, Margo Lipschultz, as well as all the hard-working people at my publisher who’ve been so enthusiastic about this series.

A giant thank you to my mom for all her help and to the rest of my family who’ve been so encouraging. Thank you to my two wonderful children who think it’s cool to have a mom who writes books even though they’re not allowed to read them.

And last but not least, to my sexy sidekick, my incredibly supportive husband, Ted: Thank you, baby, for holding my world together. With every breath, I love you.

CHAPTER ONE

GALE–FORCE WINDS BLEW IN from Bellingham Bay, funneling rain between the darkened lecture hall buildings like a raging river. Red Square in the middle of campus should’ve been deserted at this time of night.

A lone student dashed under the covered walkway of Haggard Hall and slipped off a heavy backpack. It hit the bricks with a splatter.

In the shadows behind her, a dark figure watched her movements with interest. He didn’t bother stepping deeper into the doorway—the darkness rendered him invisible to humans.

Alfonso Serrano sniffed the air and let his pupils dilate with hunger.

Don’t they tell students, especially the female ones, not to walk alone at night?

Fortunately, there were always a few who didn’t follow directions.

Breathing hard, the student brushed off her rain-sodden hood and swiped her nose with the back of her hand.

Alfonso moved a step closer and reached for her.

But when she grabbed a cell phone from her pocket, he hesitated and dropped his outstretched arm. If she made a call, he’d wait. If she texted, he’d continue.

She brought the phone to her ear, and he retreated into the seldom-used doorway, careful not to disturb the waterlogged pile of leaves in the corner. Stuffing his hands deep in his pockets, he clenched them into fists to stop the tremors. Her call had better be quick, otherwise he was likely to drain her dry when he struck. Four weeks between feedings was way too long.

She yelled into the phone and he bristled at her harsh tone. Fighting the urge to plug his ears, he rethought his decision to wait. He didn’t know how long he could listen to this.

As she carried on her heated conversation, a blast of wind swirled around him, blowing his chin-length hair into his eyes. He pulled out a knit skullcap, stretched it over his head and tucked the hair beneath it.

But when the damp wind changed direction, it brought with it an odd smell. A sickeningly sweet odor, like that of rotting meat, and he froze.

Darkbloods.

He scanned the darkness and unzipped his coat with quiet precision. From a leather sheath strapped to his chest, he eased out two silver kunai and held them by their rope-twined grips. The custom-made weapons, small but deadly, were designed to be thrown. They fit perfectly in his hands, like the contours of a lover.

What were Darkbloods doing in Bellingham? The Alliance didn’t normally set up cells in small northern towns like this. There weren’t enough people and, given the low ultraviolet index, the residual energy level in the indigenous population was too low to make it worth their trouble.

Christ, that was why he’d moved here. To be far away from them.

Staying in the shadows, Alfonso crept to the next doorway, trying to pinpoint their location. The scent came from the far side of the square, but he didn’t have a visual yet.

It shouldn’t have surprised him they were here. Logic said they’d move in eventually. Expanding the DB power base among law-abiding vampires was one of the Alliance’s primary objectives. However, it wasn’t as if Bellingham was a hotbed of activity. Of the vampires who lived in the region, most were concentrated near Seattle and Vancouver. Not in small college towns.

And then another possibility dawned on him.

The smell might not be from an ordinary Darkblood.

It could be his blood assassin.

A glacial calm filled his veins as he fingered the handles of the identical knives and looked out into the night again. Puddles of standing water rippled in the howling wind, reflecting the light of the streetlamps scattered around the drained fountain. A paper coffee cup tumbled toward him and lodged behind his heavy work boots.

What a fool he’d been to think he was out of the Alliance’s reach. You couldn’t do what he did and expect to get away with it. But, Jesus, he thought he’d been so careful moving to this remote town.

The sound of the girl’s voice drew his attention once more.

“Listen, Ryan, I’m not putting up with this bullshit much longer. Either you tell her or I will.” Oblivious to the fact that she was surrounded by those with deadly intentions, she stepped away from the leading edge of the rain and slumped against the building. She popped a piece of gum into her mouth and let the wind carry away the wrapper.

Could she be the target, not him? Her blood type was relatively uncommon in this part of the country, he reasoned. He’d covered his tracks well and it wasn’t as if this was a planned visit to the campus anyway. No one knew he was here.

Movement in the overhang of Old Main on the other side of Red Square caught his eye.

Two figures—darker than the shadows—hugged the ivy-covered brick. Like marionettes on the same wire, their arms and legs moved in unison. To a casual observer, they looked like well-coordinated Goths, but to a fellow vampire, they were remorseless killers who profited from the death of humans.

Alfonso relaxed. Blood assassins worked alone. They must be after the girl.

Adjusting the rope grips in his palms, he cursed silently. His fingers felt so weak. Hell, his whole body did. If it hadn’t been so long since he’d taken the blood of a human, he’d be stronger right now. He couldn’t confront them like this.

Besides, since he was marked for elimination, the average DB wouldn’t hesitate to finish him off if they learned his identity. It wasn’t like he wanted to rub shoulders with them on purpose.

He tucked the blades away and melted into the shadows.

As soon as he rounded the far side of the building, his steel-toed boots began to feel like lead, each step more difficult than the last, and he stopped. The hollow pit in his stomach became too hard to ignore.

He had planned to take only a small amount of the girl’s blood, leaving her tired and a little dazed, yet alive. But if he left, she’d be dead within minutes, her body completely drained of its life energy, her blood portioned out and sold in vials to the highest bidders. A perfect example of how supply and demand worked on the black market of the vampire underworld.

He didn’t need much from her to regain his strength. Was there enough time to—?

Nope, too late now. He’d have to let them have her. Better her than him, he thought as he turned up his collar and took off again toward the empty parking lot across the street. The sound of his boot heels striking the pavement echoed loudly between the buildings. Each step seemed to be saying, “Loser, loser.”

A Guardian would never stand by while a Darkblood took a human.

I’m not a Guardian, he wanted to remind his conscience. It’s not my job to protect humans from vampires. But he hesitated anyway.

The Darkblood Alliance believed their kind belonged at the top of the food chain—they had no regard for human life. They didn’t want to blend in; they wanted to dominate. These predators would either discard the body here to be discovered by the authorities, or they’d take her back to their den and drain her there. Regardless of what they did with her, every kill, every disappearance, risked exposing their secret to the human population. That backward attitude may have been tolerated in the Middle Ages, but it wasn’t acceptable today.

Even in his weakened condition, he realized he wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he didn’t at least try to prevent the inevitable. Goddamn guilty conscience.

He made his way back along the edge of Haggard Hall. When he got to the corner, he glanced quickly around. Driving rain fell at a severe angle, but he could still make out the Darkbloods moving on the other side of Red Square.

He sprinted across the narrow walkway over to Miller Hall, thankful the weather was so crappy. Chances were, even though vampires’ senses were more acute than humans’, the DBs couldn’t hear him above the sound of the wind and rain. As he flattened himself against the brick facade, he formed a plan. He’d jump them when they got closer and hope to God he had the strength to pull it off. Retrieving the blades, he waited.

Within heartbeats, the two figures emerged like liquid darkness from the corner of Old Main and stopped on the far end of the same walkway, but they didn’t advance farther.

Damn. Had they seen him? He doubted they smelled him. Not only was he downwind, but their all-blood diet dulled their sense of smell.

Although he couldn’t make out exactly what they were saying, the wind carried snippets of their hushed whispers. They were trying to figure out what to do next.

Shit, they had seen him.

With his lack of strength, the element of surprise had been his only ally. He couldn’t hope to fight them like this and win. His only hope now was for the girl to leave. Then he’d split.

For chrissake, he wanted to yell at her. Would you get the hell out of here? Your voice is like a goddamn dinner bell.

Unsure what to do next, he considered his options. Maybe he could stall the bastards.

Switching both blades to his left hand, he tucked them against his forearm to keep them hidden. He stepped from the shadows and ambled toward the end of the walkway in his best non-confrontational manner, a skill he’d honed to perfection as a double agent.

Side by side, with their hands on their hips, they waited for him. The tall, gangly one, a female with stringy blond hair whipping across her face like Medusa, fidgeted the heel of her boot.

A newbie maybe? Seasoned DBs were usually more stoic and controlled. Perfect.

The other one, a stocky male, stood silent beside her. Both wore matching ankle-length black coats, but because neither one had on the wraparound sunglasses common among DB pairs, he could see their coal-black irises and the lifeless gray of their whites. Along with that rotten meat smell, it was another characteristic of their all-blood diet.

“What’s going on?” Alfonso asked as he got closer. He touched two fingers to his lips in a fang-slang greeting and dropped his hand. “Darkbloods, right?”

Wordlessly, they looked at each other, something passing silently between them before they relaxed their stances and returned the gesture.

Great. Just great. The female couldn’t be as new as he’d first thought—the pair operated in tandem like most longtime DB partners who fed from the same hosts night after night.

The male cocked his head in the direction of the coed. “You taking her tonight?”

Relieved that it definitely was the girl they were after, not him, he flashed an apologetic grin, hoping they’d buy his discomfort. “Was thinking about it.”

“Is she an A-poz or B-poz? We couldn’t tell from over there.”

“B-positive, I think.” He tried to convey uncertainty, although he knew for sure that she was. “Why?”

“Excellente,” the male said with a faux accent. “We’re building up our stock and are short on a few of the less common varieties. More people are B-poz up in Vancouver than down here. Didn’t want to head up there just for that, so this is perfect.” He flipped open his coat and displayed his wares. His partner did the same. The inside was like a goddamn pharmacy with vials full of blood, syringes, a few nasty-ass knives and God knew what else.

“You a revert?” the woman asked, as she fastened her coat and scrutinized him. “Or just slipping.” One of her eyeballs canted slightly off center, not quite moving in conjunction with the other one.

Glass eye or lazy eye?

He noted the whites of both her eyes had the same dull gray tint.

Better assume lazy and be pleasantly surprised if I’m wrong.

“Am I reverting back to the Old Way? Yeah, I guess you could say I’ve moved beyond the occasional slip-up.”

“Well, good for you,” the male said. “Got any kills under your belt?”

Alfonso shrugged. More than you’ll ever know.

“You’re in luck,” the male continued. “Me and Sigred—” he indicated his partner with a jerk of his chin “—are settin’ up shop here in Bellingham. We can save you the trouble of having to come out on a night like this looking for a little substinex.”

The blonde leaned toward her partner. “Sustenance,” she whispered.

“Don’t go fucking college on me,” he said through clenched teeth. “I know what I’m talking about. As I was saying, we’re gonna save reverts such as yourself a lot of time and offer a delivery service of sorts. You call us, place your order, and we’ll figure out where to meet. No more embracing the elements, if you know what I’m saying.”

Sigred produced a plain white card with a single phone number printed in black. “As far as I know, no other Darkblood cells are offering this special service. Not even those fancy big-city ones. In Seattle or Vancouver, you go to them. You traipse through the clubs and alleys looking for a seller if you’re in the mood for a little substinex. That, or take it off the hoof. We know most reverts aren’t comfortable doing it old-school, at least when they’re starting out. But here, we come to you.”

Forcing another smile, Alfonso took the card and tucked it into his pocket, where he crushed it into a tiny ball. “You know what they say—you get better customer service in a small town.” That got a hearty laugh from both of them.

“Since you found her first, how about we’ll do her to save you the trouble and give you a couple of freebies.” The male pulled out an empty syringe and displayed it with his pinkie lifted as if he had class. “Sound like a plan?”

Alfonso rubbed his forehead under his cap to make them think he was considering their offer. Maybe if he stalled them a little longer, the girl would leave and they’d all go home empty-handed. He glanced over, but she was still there on the far side of the square. Jesus, how long was she going to fight with her boyfriend anyway?

“I don’t know if you’ve done it much,” the male was saying, “but feeding off the hoof is a little tricky, although you did choose an excellent locale—dark, private—and your subject is alone. But the instant you strike and you taste the rush of fear in the blood, it can freak a guy out if you’re not expecting it. If you’re not good at mind manips, you feel what the human feels the entire time their life energy is waning. Not sure if you’d be into that or not.”

Did he look like a youthling fresh out of puberty? Most of their kind did feed from live donors, just not as often as these losers did. Suggesting an alternate memory of events during a feeding was one of the first things a youthling beginning his Time of Change was taught. This is perfect. They think I’m younger and less experienced than they are.

He tried to keep the satisfaction from showing on his face, flashing them a nervous smile instead. “I wasn’t planning to drain her dry.”

“Old habits are hard to break.” Sigred patted his arm. Although his first instinct was to jerk away, he didn’t flinch, instead rubbing the pad of his thumb on the rope grip to control the impulse.

“Personally,” she continued, “I adore it. Blood tinged with fear is sweeter than most. In fact, I love scaring them right before I strike for that very reason. But many reverts are uncomfortable with it at first. And we understand that. That’s what we’re here for. You can have your cake and eat it too. It’s a service we’re happy to provide. What do you say?”

A perfect regurgitation of the DB playbook. “How long have you been here? Any more D—Darkblood cells here in town?” He’d almost slipped and used Agency slang. He’d been out of practice too long.

“Not yet,” she said. “But with the Night of Wilding less than a month away, we’ll probably have a few new groups moving into the area. The new sector mistress is planning a huge event.”

The pair started toward the girl, brushing past him a little too close—their stench always made him nauseous.

“So where’s the party this year?” he asked, trying to stall them.

Originally, the holiday had been an all-night festival of eating and dancing as family and friends celebrated the longest night of the year, but for the past few decades Darkbloods had been using it as a means of attracting and recruiting new members. It had devolved into little more than a costume party of debauchery and violence, often held in a macabre location. The few humans invited rarely left alive.

“Keeping it secret for now,” Sigred said as she watched the girl, eyes narrowed and focused like a predator. “Do you play HG?”

“What?”

“The online game, Hollow Grave?”

“No, I don’t.” He recalled some of the Darkbloods talking about a new online game, but that had been almost two years ago.

“As long as you’re a registered user and get to Grave Crawler status, you can log in at noon the day before and the location will be posted in the forums. There’ll be plenty of time to get there between sundown and midnight. It’ll be on one of the islands this year.”

Wasn’t that interesting? He knew the Alliance was working on some new ways to attract the younger generation of vampires, but since that hadn’t been his area of expertise when he was inside, he had no idea what they were up to. Online gaming? They must be using it to promote their agenda by romanticizing the violent past of their kind.

He fought to keep his expression blank as he recalled being a youthling in a Paris gaming house centuries ago, where less than candid recruiting methods had been used on him with devastating results.

“We should have an ample supply of Sweet by then.”

How were they planning to get more? Last year he’d helped thwart the Alliance’s plans to breed sweetblooded humans and had seen to it that all their research had been destroyed. Had he missed something? Were they starting up operations again?

There was a huge market for the extremely rare, highly addictive type of human blood—the street price was astronomical. Sweetblood, Sangre Dulce, Devil’s Elixir—it was all the same. It shouldn’t be a surprise that they would be trying other methods to get their hands on it. If there was one thing he’d learned while spying on them from the inside, it was how tenacious they were. Like mongrels on a steak dinner.

“How does the mistress plan to get it?”

Sigred snapped her attention from the coed to him, her gaze narrowing slightly. Shit. He’d asked the question a little too quickly, or maybe the tone wasn’t right, or maybe he shouldn’t have been so confident in how he’d referred to the sector mistress.

Alfonso gave her his best sheepish grin and rubbed the back of his neck. Hopefully, her bullshit meter wasn’t set too high. “I mean, isn’t it difficult to find Sweet? I know if I had some, I’d have a hard time saving it. You guys must have some serious willpower to keep from draining a sweetblood.”

“You got that right,” the male replied. “Last time I ran across one it was with my old partner. Let me tell you, he had to pull me off the bitch because there’d be nothing left to sell. I went like fucking mad for a while—like a feeding frenzy—I couldn’t stop.”

Maybe he’s the one who’s new. Most DBs got pretty good at capturing their victims, bringing them back to their dens, then draining their blood there. This one’s impatience and lack of control suggested inexperience.

The male continued. “The sector mistress is turning a Tracker from the Agency to help find ‘em. Guess those guys can smell one from miles away. All we gotta do is follow the nose.”

It was a sucker punch straight to the gut and panic flooded his veins like wildfire. He had to use every ounce of his training to keep the shock from showing on his face. Lily, his former lover, was a Tracker.

“We don’t know that for sure.” Sigred’s laugh sounded forced. She was backpedaling; her partner had said too much. “That was just an idea someone bounced around. Everyone’s trying to get a piece of the action, making promises to have more Sweet available, staking out their territories. So far, it’s just been us here in Bellingham, but probably not for long.”

Alfonso found himself thinking once more that he shouldn’t be surprised DBs were moving into areas they’d never been before. With Lord Pavlos, whom the Darkbloods reverently referred to as “the Overlord,” dead, the Alliance was going through a power struggle of sorts as potential leaders crawled out of the woodwork like rats, trying to make a name for themselves. The one who controlled the Sweet was the one with all the power, a fact he knew firsthand. A Sweet-laden Night of Wilding was sure to attract those living on the fringe of civilized vampire society and maybe a few who didn’t realize they could be tempted like that.

“Ain’t it a bloody shame that you’ve got to share this small town?” Alfonso was relieved to notice that the girl was finally leaving.

Should he try to take these two out? He wasn’t Agency—these guys weren’t his problem. The girl was safe.

He tucked the weapons under his coat and thrust his hands into his pockets. Time to go home. He could last one more night without feeding.

The blonde halted, turned back around and pinned him with that lazy eye of hers. “What was that?”

“Huh?”

“Did you just say ‘Ain’t that a bloody shame?’”

“I don’t know. Did I?” He didn’t like the sudden change in her voice. He pulled his hands back out of his pockets and held them loosely at his sides.

“You know, it’s funny,” she said. “I rode a day transport from Southern California to Seattle last year with a guy who was high up in the Alliance ranks. Didn’t get a good look at him, but that was his pet phrase. He must’ve said it a dozen times on the way up. Heard he turned out to be an Agency spy. The one responsible for the Overlord’s death.”

Shit, shit, shit. She must’ve been one of those recruits in the back of the bus.

“No kidding.” With his heart pounding, he turned to leave. He reached under his coat and grabbed the rope-wrapped handles again. His slow, measured footsteps echoed under the walkway. One … two … three.

Keep walking. Don’t rush. Act casual and they won’t think anything of it. These two aren’t familiar. They don’t know me. Just keep going.

“The name was Alfonso Serrano, I think,” Sigred called after him. “So tell us, friend, what’s yours?”

Without hesitation, he spun around—they were drawing their weapons. He had one chance. With a flick of his wrists, the kunai cut through the air and landed simultaneously between their breastbones with a thunk.

The male fell to the ground. The silver had penetrated his heart; he’d be a pile of ashes in moments. But the female was merely wounded.

She dropped the blade in her hand and staggered sideways, away from the covered walkway. While the rain pummeled her face and plastered the hair across her cheeks, her fingers curled around the hilt of the kunai and pulled it from her chest. If he hadn’t known for a fact she had silver weapons of her own, he’d have waited it out until she collapsed from the energy drain. But she had his blade and who knew what else. He was just as susceptible to silver as they were and he certainly couldn’t outrun a silver bullet.

In one motion, he leaped forward and retrieved his stake from the rapidly charcoaling male. The exertion and sudden movement made him dizzy. He staggered and fell to the bricks.

“Fucking traitor,” Sigred hissed through clenched fangs as she lunged at him, kunai raised above her head.

Summoning the last of his energy reserves, he scissored his legs, knocking her feet out from under her. As she fell, he aimed the tip of the retrieved kunai slightly to her left, several inches down from her shoulder. She landed on the blade, and with a little shimmy on his part, the razor-sharp tip scraped over bone, slid to the hilt between two ribs and hit home.

He pushed her dead weight off and lay flat on the ground, that putrid Darkblood smell lingering in his nostrils.

While the rain pounded his face, soaking his knit cap and jeans, he watched, completely spent, as her body folded inward and turned to ash, leaving behind only metal. From amidst the clothing rivets, zippers, coins, syringes, needles, a multitude of weapons and—oh yes—one glass eye, he fished out his other kunai and slowly pushed himself up.

Let campus security think this was the remnant of a drug deal gone bad. He kicked everything around and crushed the vials, blood washing away in the rain. Although drinking it would’ve given him the strength he needed, he wasn’t about to consume blood taken from a killing. He was weak, but he still had morals.

He yanked off his waterlogged cap and made his way slowly across Red Square. Christ, that nip/tuck had just about done him in.

With a hand up to his face to block the wind, he finally made it back to Haggard Hall. His rig was parked nearby.

And there she was. Western Washington University’s dumbest, most irritating student, a mere ten feet away.

Alone. With no one else in sight. Texting.

Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus.

CHAPTER TWO

NINETY MILES SOUTH of Bellingham, on the rain-soaked streets of Seattle, Lily DeGraff was about to have a major panic attack. Problem was, that wouldn’t set the best example for the Tracker trainee she was mentoring.

They dashed across First Avenue in Belltown and slipped into the shadows of an old brick building, pausing to make sure they hadn’t been spotted. If a human witnessed them moving this fast, even though the few still out were wasted or high, they’d be forced to slow down and do a mind-wipe. But that took time, a luxury they didn’t have. Their footsteps echoed on the sidewalk as they sprinted downtown again.

Just after the clubs had closed, a call had come in over the police band about a missing young woman. Lily and her trainee had made a routine drive past the Pink Salon to see if it involved their kind. The private, Vegas-style club was popular among both races, except the humans were clueless that they partied with a few vampires.

In the alley out back, she detected fresh blood. Not a killing amount, but she could guess what had happened. Like many other predatory animals, a vampire wouldn’t carry his meal too far away. Once a revert crossed the line and went into feeding mode, he wouldn’t have the willpower to wait too long for the blood and energy rush he craved.

But that had been thirty minutes ago. Now they were running all over the city trying to locate the bastard before it was too late and the woman was dead.

Although he hadn’t said anything, Kip Castile probably wondered why his trainer was waiting so long to take over from him. At least that was what Lily assumed he was thinking. She’d be thinking the same thing if she were him. Only problem was, after that brief scent of blood in the alley, she hadn’t detected anything more. All she smelled now was a muddy, dirt-like odor, as if everything was mixed together into one massive, indefinable lump. This weakening of her ability had been fluctuating off and on for quite a while now, but lately, it seemed to be getting worse. Tonight she could hardly smell through it.

“Let’s hold up a minute, Kip. Take a deep breath and before you exhale, I want you to focus inward. Good.” Her calm voice was a stark contrast to the rising knot of turmoil in her gut.

“I still can’t smell the blood trail, Ms. DeGraff. I’m sorry.” The kid was starting to panic.

She gave him a reassuring pat on the back. She’d already told him several times that he could call her Lily, but he kept slipping into formalities. Nerves, maybe.

“That’s all right. Let’s keep going. He can’t have taken her far.” She only hoped the woman was still alive.

“Maybe you should take over. I’m … I’m just not sure I can do it.”

Normally, she’d have guided Kip closer and closer until he could pick up the scent himself. Build up his confidence. Then they’d track the revert, take him down, call for a pickup and be back to the field office in time for corn flakes. After decades of being a Tracker and working for the Agency, these kinds of assignments were pretty routine. But not any longer, she thought, as she noticed the chalky grayness of the night sky. Morning wasn’t far away.

There it was on the corner of Pike and Pine. The unmistakable smell of human blood. Finally. She drew in another full breath, processing all the ambient scent markers. It was the human woman from the club.

“Kip, do you have it yet?” She was eager for him to experience what it felt like to detect a blood memory. She’d never forgotten the first time she’d been out on patrol and mentally matched a scent to something she’d smelled earlier.

“I … I think so.” The young man lifted his nose a little higher and blinked when a raindrop hit his forehead. His short brown hair looked almost black in this light, and his expression was wide-eyed and hopeful. God, he was young. Had she looked that fresh faced once? “It’s pretty faint, though.”

“Tell me what you’re smelling. Close your eyes. It’s easier to concentrate and focus your olfactory senses. An important part of the process is being able to match what you’re scenting now to something you scented earlier.”

“Okay.” He did as he was told and took a deep breath in through his nose. “Sea air from the sound. Garlic and oregano from a restaurant.”

“Good. What else?”

“I smell—” Kip gasped. “There it is! It’s coming from over there.”

“Describe it for me, please, as we head that way.”

“It’s coppery, of course, and slightly sweet. Not a sweetblood, though.” His laugh was almost giddy, and his dark eyes glittered with excitement, the pupils expanding in response to the adrenaline and scent of blood.

Yeah, she remembered the first time she’d gone on a real assignment after spending countless hours in class and in the scent labs. It had been an exhilarating feeling. And even after all these years, it still was.

“The blood in the alleyway was a human female,” he continued, a little breathless as they ran down the sidewalk. “Blood type AB, and I think it’s the same marker I’m smelling now.” He took another deep breath. “I can sense the warmth and her fear. I’m pretty sure she’s still alive.”

He smelled the victim’s fear? Although this was a skill she’d mastered some time ago, she sure as hell couldn’t detect any fear now. Gritting her teeth, she tucked away the nagging feeling that something was terribly wrong with her. She’d deal with that later. Right now, she had a job to finish.

They slipped under the Post Alley sign and she flattened herself against the brick wall on one side of the entrance, motioning for Kip to do the same on the opposite side. The erratic beat of her heart slowed with relief as she slipped into Guardian mode now that they had a lock on the bastard.

Okay, time to wrap this thing up.

She held up one fist, indicating Kip should stay where he was. He hadn’t gone through any hand-to-hand combat training yet, so she didn’t want him to get much closer to the target. Agency rules were pretty specific in regard to what a rookie could do. The takedown was her responsibility.

She scanned the shadows and doorways as she edged closer to the smell, trying to get a visual. Careful not to touch the business end, she eased her red-tipped nails into a set of brass knuckles with silver spikes—not normally her weapon of choice, but she really needed to punch something—and crept around the iron railing of a stairwell. The coppery, slightly sweet scent intensified and her pupils dilated further.

The nagging voice of sensibility, her rule-abiding conscience that was never far away, told her she should’ve called for backup a while ago. But she didn’t want to admit to anyone she needed help. There were plenty within the Agency who believed she’d made it to Tracker only because of her father’s influence. She wasn’t about to prove them right by admitting she couldn’t handle a routine patrol call. No, she’d keep this matter to herself.

In the direction of one of the darkened doorways at the far end of the alley, she heard the scuffle of shoes on the wet pavement followed by a low, almost orgasmic moan.

Finally. You can run, but you can’t hide.

Kip had been right. The human was alive, but just barely. There wasn’t much time. After punching a code into her cell phone to request a pickup and a medic, she sprinted down the alley, not caring if the revert loser spotted her at this point. If he ran, she’d catch him.

But before she got to the far end, a side door banged open in front of her. She ducked behind a Dumpster right before the light from the doorway spilled out, spotlighting the alley as a train would a dark tunnel. An elderly woman in curlers and slippers shuffled out holding a plastic trash bag. But it was another figure, not more than ten feet away, that caught Lily’s attention. Hunched over a body, he raised his hands to shield his eyes from the sudden glare. But he didn’t cover his fangs, which dripped with his victim’s blood.

“Oh, my word! What in the world is—” The woman dropped the bag at her feet and the door slammed shut, trapping her outside. “Hon? Hon?” she called, not taking her eyes off the horror playing out in front of her.

Great. Just great. Guess I’ll have an audience.

Lily jumped over the trash bag, ignoring the woman’s gasp of surprise, and launched herself at the loser. Grabbing a handful of his hair, she yanked him away from the body. Her fist made such a satisfying sound when it connected with his jaw that she had to stop herself from doing it again just for the hell of it. Instead, she flung him onto the cobblestones. He landed at the feet of the old woman, who tried to scream but ended up in a coughing fit instead. Thank God for tiny miracles. She didn’t need any other human witnesses. One was enough.

The revert pushed himself up with one hand and defensively held up the other. Clearly, he wasn’t a fighter, just a run-of-the-mill loser—of which Seattle had plenty.

She repositioned the silver knuckle piece to the inside of her hand, the short spikes facing inward this time, and grabbed him around the neck. He shrieked and clawed at her hand when the metal pierced his skin. But it didn’t take long for the silver to do its thing and he became too weak to stand on his own. She restrained him with silver-lined handcuffs and dropped his ass to the ground.

As she took a step in the direction of the victim, the old woman’s coughing reminded her she needed to deal with secrecy issues before attending to collateral damage.

“Ma’am, it’s okay. I’m just going to—”

“Don’t—Don’t—Stay back.” The woman’s eyes widened even further in the dim light of the alley.

Lily ran the tip of her tongue over her fangs, which had stretched from her gums during the fight. Guess she couldn’t pass for a regular cop now. “It’s okay. I won’t hurt you. I just need to—”

The woman screamed, and this time her voice found itself.

Lily was on her in an instant. She brushed a hand over the woman’s forehead, silencing her. “You saw two drunks in the alley. Nothing more.” Lily wrenched open the door as if it had never been locked. “Now get back to bed and stop this sleepwalking. Hon is waiting inside and wants a little lovin’ from you.”

The woman blinked a few times. A glassy, faraway look replaced the terror in her watery gray eyes. Clutching the front of her housecoat with a gnarled hand, she shuffled inside a little quicker than Lily had expected, a faint touch of pink coloring her cheeks. The door closed softly behind her.

Lily got to the victim just as two unmarked blackpanel vans turned into the alley and screeched to a stop. A medic with a crash kit and a member of the capture team stepped out and jogged toward her.

“Over here, fellas.” She pointed behind her and strode out of the alley, thoughts whirling.

For God’s sake, this was a simple assignment. What was going on with her? She glanced over her shoulder as Kip followed her into the night. She might as well be a trainee, too, not an elite Class-A Tracker for the Governing Council.

“Ms. DeGraff, why are you walking that way? Your car is parked down the hill over there.”

She tossed him the keys. “Go ahead and take it back to the field office for me. I need the fresh air. Good job tonight, by the way. We’ll review things in the classroom later.”

IF THE GUY GOING POSTAL on him in the hardware store hadn’t been Region Commander Tristan Santiago, Alfonso would’ve let the two-by-fours over his shoulder “accidentally” smack the asshole in the head. Instead, he threw the lumber onto a flatbed handcart and headed over to the flooring department.

“Look, I told you everything I know. DBs are after Trackers. Don’t know how, don’t know where, although I assume it’s somewhere local since they mentioned the islands. Hell, I don’t even know if it’s true. It’s not like I got the information from a reliable source. They were greenhorns and, for all I know, they could’ve been blowing smoke.”

“And you wasted them before you got any real intel.” Santiago’s voice sounded like he’d just chain-smoked a pack of bare-ass Camels, although Alfonso knew he never touched the stuff. “What the fuck is up with that?”

A woman pushing a shopping cart covered her child’s ears and flashed Santiago an indignant expression. For a moment, it looked as if she was going to scold him, but then she quickened her pace and sped down the aisle. That was nothing, Alfonso wanted to tell her. If they hadn’t been in public, the guy would be cursing in three languages.

With his eyes narrowed to slits and his own anger barely in check, Alfonso glared at Santiago. “What are you talking about? I had no choice but to—” Why the hell was he sitting here justifying what he’d done? He looked around and lowered his voice. “Listen. I don’t work for you any longer, remember? Pavlos is finito. My obligation to the Council has been met. I can show you the documentation if you don’t believe me. They did it up real nice. Parchment paper, fancy lettering. Hell, it even came wrapped in a goddamn scroll. Figured I was doing you a favor letting you know what I stumbled across. Guess I was sorely mistaken. Why don’t you go back to Vancouver and leave me the hell alone?”

Santiago’s jaw muscle flexed over and over, like he was chewing on what he was about to say. Or more likely, he was pissed off and trying not to flash fang. “You know, I let you have your time after everything that went down last year. Recoup from your injuries—that leg of yours looks fine now, by the way. I wanted you to decompress in peace and quiet—”

“How terribly considerate and thoughtful of you.” Alfonso threw a box of drywall screws on top of the lumber and resisted the urge to rub his knee. Maybe his limp wasn’t as noticeable as he’d thought.

Santiago continued as if Alfonso hadn’t spoken. “But that was a year ago—” more than that, but who was counting? “—and we could really use your help now.”

“So you insult me, then you offer me a job? That’s a funny way to conduct an interview. And why are you the one asking me, anyway? Why isn’t Dom? Isn’t he technically the Seattle field team leader?”

“Your brother’s in Australia, helping with the opening of the new Carpentaria field office down there. He’s not scheduled to be back up here until after the Night of Wilding. The baby’s not due till after the first of the year.”

Alfonso sighed. His brother’s wife, Mackenzie, had just started wearing maternity clothes the last time he’d seen her. He’d commissioned a few paintings from her that depicted the hill country of his ancestral home in Spain. As soon as he finished building his house, a smaller version of his boyhood villa, he planned to hang her artwork in the entryway.

Not that he had any illusions that this tribute could atone for what he’d done to his parents. Hell, he probably wouldn’t even be around long enough to enjoy it. Sooner or later his blood assassin was bound to track him, and he was far from confident that he’d survive that meet-up. Selected as youthlings by the Darkbloods’ inner circle, these vampires were raised in the art of killing and torture. Strong, fast and lethal, they didn’t make mistakes.

“If what you discovered is true,” Santiago said, “we’ve got a big problem on our hands. The Longest Night is only a few short weeks away.”

“Don’t you have a tech person who can break into that game forum to figure out what’s going on?”

“I’ve asked Cordell to look into it, but frankly it’s a wonder Darkbloods haven’t overrun the city by now. With Dom and Mitchell out of the country, we’re understaffed. We could really use you.”

Alfonso shoved a hand through his hair. The guy was so friggin’ dramatic.

“What part of no don’t you understand?” Alfonso looked over the various diamond blades, trying to find one that would fit his particular wet saw. His current blade was dulled from all the tile-cutting he’d been doing and needed to be replaced.

“I understand plenty, starting with the fact that you have nothing going on. What’s so important you’d turn this opportunity down? Tinkering on that house you’re building? A man needs goals in his life. Something to work toward. He needs direction.”

“Yeah, well, I do have goals. They all revolve around getting my house finished.” And finished quickly. Since those losers had guessed his identity, it wouldn’t be long until the assassin tracked him, too. Then he’d be on the run again. He’d always known it’d happen, that his assassin would eventually figure out he wasn’t living in Europe, that those leads Alfonso had meticulously created were false. But he really hoped to finish the house before that day arrived.

Yeah, recreating Casa en las Colinas probably was a stupid dream. He’d been a fool to let his sister-in-law talk him into setting down some roots—even if it was temporary. Give him a chance to meet his niece or nephew. Attempt to repair his relationship with his brother. What had he hoped to accomplish by building this house, anyway? Impressing Dom? Earning his respect? Getting him to understand that he did honor their parents’ memory, despite everything he’d done? Maybe it’s time for a reality check—forget about the house and disappear. He could mail the keys to Mackenzie, and she could have it finished. Or not.

“And then what? You gonna take up fly-fishing?”

“Fuck you.”

“I’m serious, Alfonso. Your expertise on Darkblood matters is unequaled by anyone in the Agency here in North America. It’s a shame you’re pissing away that talent and knowledge while you swing hammers at a pipe dream.”

Alfonso gripped the handle of the cart so hard he was afraid it would bend beneath his fingers. There was a reason he preferred talking to Santiago on the phone: so he could hang up on him. Good thing they were out in public or he’d have the guy by the throat right about now, even though Santiago was one menacing vampire with a hair-trigger temper and a Dempsey-like left hook. The black military shit inked on his neck was just icing.

“What would my brother say if I suddenly became one of his Agents? He’d go ballistic on your ass, not to mention mine. It’s not like he and I are suddenly best friends. Centuries of thinking your brother is one of the bad guys isn’t rectified in one short year. Besides, I’m tired of Darkbloods. I’m tired of the Council.”

Santiago stared at him with those dark, piercing eyes, clearly not buying any of it. For chrissake, the guy never took no for an answer. How did Dom put up with this? What did he have to say to get through to him?

“Listen,” Alfonso continued. “I worked for centuries on the inside, trying to redeem myself in the eyes of everyone I cared about, and for what?” He pounded a fist on his thigh and a sharp pain pierced through the dull ache in his knee. “I’m permanently injured and my family wants nothing to do with me.”

Given that he’d been marked for assassination, it probably wasn’t safe for them to be around him anyway, but he wasn’t about to share that little tidbit with Santiago. Alfonso could hardly stand knowing what he’d pledged all those years ago.

And what it had cost him.

He sure as hell didn’t want to admit it to the Council. They could very well revoke his pardon.

“I’m tired of everything, and it’s probably time for me to move on anyway. You’re right. Maybe the house is a stupid pipe dream.”

“But—”

“Shut the—” He glanced around. Seeing an elderly man nearby, he lowered his voice. “You seriously think I’d want to come back? You wasted your time coming down here, Santiago. I’ve put in my time, so leave me the hell alone. Go find yourself someone who cares, because I’m done.”

“So then it makes no difference to you that Lily is back at the Seattle office?”

Like a shot from an air compressor, his heart slammed against his rib cage, and he struggled to keep the emotion off his face. He couldn’t have been more surprised if someone had doused him from behind with a bucket of ice water. “I thought she transferred down to one of the southern regions,” he said, his voice almost as gravelly as Santiago’s.

“She did for a while. Guess it was too hard commuting back and forth with her daughter up here in the Horseshoe Bay region with her parents. Getting to British Columbia was no longer an easy three-hour drive over the border.”

“But she and Zoe were together. I heard she was … trying to make a go of it with Zoe’s father again.” At least that’s what his sister-in-law had told him. Part of him just wanted Lily happy, but another part of him desperately wanted—Don’t go there, he reminded himself. Don’t do it.

Santiago shrugged. “I don’t get involved in my staff’s love lives. I’d need a damn social secretary for that. I’m just glad she’s back.”

My God, given this new DB intel, he’d have been keeping tabs on her had he known she was back in the area. “Does she know about this new threat against Trackers? She’s not going out alone, is she?”

“She’s in charge of on-the-job training for the rookies coming out of Tracker Academy. So, yes, she knows about the threat and, no, she’s not alone. Jesus, Alfonso, if I didn’t know better, I’d think you still had a thing for her. Still wish she was your Agency contact? Your handler? I’m sure we can arrange to have her handle something of yours, if that’s what it’d take for you to join the team.”

Alfonso’s gums ached as his fangs threatened to elongate. Santiago had no idea. The guy could laugh all he wanted, but he had no fucking clue. Not even Lily knew the truth about why he’d left her. He grabbed a saw blade off the shelf and shoved it into the cart.

“So what do you say? Can I count on you this time, Alfonso? Can we make an honest man of you yet?”

“On the contrary, I’m afraid you’ve given me the best reason of all not to come back.”

Santiago raised his brows, clearly clueless.

Alfonso pushed the cart toward the checkout stands. “Lily.”