Bittersweet Blood (22 page)

She didn’t notice when the car stopped. Only when Christian unfastened her seatbelt and dragged her into his lap did she realize they no longer moved. Tara curled into him, her fingers clinging to his shirt.

After a few minutes, he got out of the car still holding her. He didn’t release her until he lowered her onto the bed in his apartment below CR International.

His image blurred through the tears. He tugged off her boots, kicked off his shoes, and climbed onto the bed, pulling her into his arms and wrapping her in the folds of the bedspread.

She felt frozen to the core. Tremors shivered through her, and she couldn’t seem to stop them. Christian stroked her hair, and after a few minutes, he picked up the telephone beside the bed.

She sensed rather than saw Graham enter the room. He came to stand beside the bed.

“Is there anything I can do?” Graham asked.

“Go run a bath, red hot. We need to warm her up. Then make us some coffee.”

“No problem.”

Christian stroked her again. “Tara, come on sweetheart, sit up. We need to get you warm.”

Tara didn’t want to move but she finally struggled into a sitting position. She didn’t want to think either, and she followed automatically as Christian led her into the bathroom. At any other time, she would have marveled at the place. It was a sybarite’s dream in marble and gold, but it barely registered. Steam filled the air, heavy with the scent of herbs and spices.

She allowed Christian to remove her clothes. He swung her into the enormous bath and she sank down until the hot water covered her to her chin.

“Try and relax,” he said.

He turned to go but Tara grabbed his hand. “Don’t leave me.”

He stared down at her for a moment before stripping off his own clothes. He stepped into the bath behind her, and sat so she could lie in the V of his thighs. The water cooled and he added more hot. Tara washed herself as though she could scrub the smell of death from her skin.

When the water cooled again, Christian lifted her from the bath, wrapped her in a huge, soft towel, and carried her back to the bed. After drying them both, he slipped under the covers with her, and held her until her trembling stopped, and she fell into a light sleep of exhaustion.

Tara woke to utter darkness. Christian still held her tightly against him, and she struggled to free herself from his embrace. She flicked on the small lamp beside the bed. It was already midday.

Suddenly she remembered that Jamie was still searching for Chloe. Oh, God, how could she tell him? What did she tell him?

There was a phone on the table by the bed. She picked it up and stared at it. Then punched in the numbers.

She almost hoped he wouldn’t pick up, but he did after the first ring as though he was waiting.

“Tara?”

“Jamie.” She paused unable to go on.

“Tara? What is it?”

She swallowed, forcing back the tears that threatened to overflow. She was done with crying. “We found Chloe. She’s dead, Jamie.” Jamie was silent but she could hear his ragged breathing. “Jamie?”

“Are you still with Christian Roth?”

“Yes.”

“Stay there.” The line went dead.

She put the phone back. Christian’s eyes were open. “Are you going to be okay?”

She nodded. “Not quite there yet, but I think you’re safe from anymore tears.”

“I don’t mind. Cry if it helps.”

“But it doesn’t, does it? Nothing will bring her back or take away her last days. I have to learn to live with that, and I will, but Christian—”

“Yes?”

“Tell me that we will find the people who did this, and we will make them pay.”

He took her hand and kissed her palm. “I promise.”

…

The day seemed endless. Tara hadn’t been able to sleep any more. She’d gotten up, leaving Christian to do whatever it was that vampires did during the day.

She was pretending to read when he finally emerged from the bedroom that evening. He’d pulled on a pair of black pants but was otherwise naked. His chest was pale, like marble, perfectly sculpted.

“I missed you,” he said.

She went to him, slid her arms around his waist, and laid her head on his bare chest. He kissed her, a slow, drugging kiss. Then raised his head and stared down into her eyes. “How are you?” he asked.

“I’m going to be fine.”

“Good. Are you up to seeing this warlock?”

“Try leaving me here.”

He smiled. “I haven’t set up a meeting, I wanted to take him by surprise, and I’ve had men watching his place all day. They just called in. He’s there.” He kissed her again, nuzzled her throat, his tongue stroking the sensitive spot where her shoulder met the slender column of her neck. “We can get this over with and then I’m going to bring you back here and make slow love to you for the rest of the night.”

His voice was low and husky and started a fire burning, low in her belly. For a moment, he held her close, and then released her. “We have to go.”

Less than as hour later, they stood outside a rundown pub in the east end of London. A sign above the door said “The Pointed Hat.” This was about as far from the bright lights of the west end as it was possible to get, and Tara scrutinized the building dubiously.

“I thought this was a really successful warlock. He can’t be that successful if this is where he hangs out.”

“Appearances can be deceiving, which is something you need to remember when dealing with warlocks,” Christian said. “Most warlocks and witches aren’t attracted by money, but by power. Jonas Callaghan has owned this place for years. It’s known as a safe house, neutral ground, and it’s a well-known hangout for all sorts of things. It can be an interesting place on a Saturday night.”

A surge of hatred washed through her. “Demons?”

He nodded. “Sometimes. Though Callaghan won’t serve them alcohol. Try and stay close and don’t accept any drinks.”

She followed him into the bar. The inside didn’t look any smarter than the outside. The lighting was dim, the walls dark, and a pall of smoke hung in the air. Silence descended on the room as they entered, and all faces turned to them as they stood just inside the door. After a minute, everyone looked away, and the low hum of conversation filled the room.

Christian led her through the tables, and she heard his name whispered as they passed—Christian Roth. He stopped in front of the wooden bar that ran the length of the room. Tara studied the man behind it, but he appeared quite normal. The other patrons appeared human to her as well, but if they knew Christian, they must have contact with the supernatural world. Were any of them demons?

“We’re here to see Jonas,” Christian said to the bartender.

“Jonas isn’t here. Now, what can I get you to drink?”

“Nothing. Tell him Christian Roth is here.”

“I know who you are, and I told you, he’s not here.”

Christian moved faster than she could see. His hand gripped the man’s throat, pulled him halfway across the bar, and the room went quiet behind them. Christian snarled, the tip of one white fang clearly visible. “Tell him I’m here.”

“There’s no need for that,” a voice said behind them. Tara swung round. An old man stood there, slightly stooped, with short gray hair. “Let him go, Christian, he was only trying to protect his old father.”

Christian released his hold on the other man. “As if you needed protection.”

The old man raised an eyebrow. “If the Order is hunting you then everyone needs protection.” He glanced toward the door. “I noticed your men outside.”

“I no longer belong to the Order.”

“Don’t be naïve, Christian, it doesn’t suit you. Once in the Order, you can never leave. I take it you’re not here to offer me a job then. I hear there’s a vacancy for one of my profession.”

“News travels fast. You don’t sound particularly bothered.”

He shrugged. “Ella was an old student of mine. She was always a treacherous bitch. I’m surprised she lasted as long as she did. So if it’s not to offer me a job, why are you here?”

“Can we talk in private?”

“We?” The old man glanced from Christian to Tara. “Are you going to introduce me?”

“This is Tara Collins. I believe you knew her mother.”

“I did?” He studied Tara closely. After a minute, his eyes widened. “Well,” he said, “I believe I did. Would the two of you like to follow me?”

He led them through a door in the back and into a small sitting room. “May I?” he asked, gesturing to the locket Tara wore round her neck.

She nodded. Jonas picked it up and turned it in his gnarled fingers. “You know,” he said to Christian, “I don’t like to boast, but this is good work. Out there in the bar, I would have sworn your little friend was human.”

“Isn’t she?”

Jonas raised an eyebrow. “Well I’m guessing not, at least if she was the one intended for the spell.” He dropped the locket. “Why don’t you sit down and tell me what you want. I presume this isn’t a social call.”

He crossed the room to a small table, picked up a decanter. “A drink?” He glanced at Tara and smiled. “Not perhaps for you, that wouldn’t be a good idea, but Christian?”

Christian nodded. Jonas poured them both a glass and took a seat opposite. Tara was almost bursting with questions, but Christian sent her a warning look, and she held tight.

“So you admit that you made the spell Tara is wearing?” Christian said.

“I take it there’s not a lot of point denying it. Did Ella give you my name? As I said, she always was a treacherous bitch.”

“Can you tell us who you made the spell for?”

“You know I can’t divulge details about my clients. I’d soon get no business at all if it got out I talked to the Order.”

Christian took a sip of his drink. “Perhaps I made a mistake in framing it as a question.”

They stared at each other for long minutes. In the end, Tara couldn’t take it anymore. She jumped to her feet.

“Please Mr. Callaghan. I want to know about my mother.”

“Are you sure about that?”

Tara nodded. “I need to know who I am. I need to know why my mother went to so much trouble to hide me, and from what. Because someone is looking for me now, and how can I hide when I don’t know who or what is coming after me?” She took a deep breath. “Besides, I don’t want to hide anymore. I’m finished with hiding.”

He searched her face, and Tara held her breath while he came to his decision. Christian would use whatever methods he needed to get the information, but she couldn’t stand by and watch him torture an old man. She took a step closer and put her hand on his arm. “Please, tell me what I need to know.”

“Tara,” Christian said warningly. “Don’t make the mistake of thinking that you are dealing with a sweet old man. Ella used glamour for her own ends, as does Jonas. It serves his purpose to appear as he is. Ask him how your mother paid for his services.”

Jonas flicked him a cold glance. “She paid in fae blood.”

“And plenty of it, I would guess.”

“You would guess rightly.” He shrugged. “I never said I was a charity, and my work does not come cheap.”

Tara dropped her hand and stepped back. “Tell me.”

“I take it she’s dead, so I suppose client confidentiality doesn’t apply.”

Tara had known her mother was in all likelihood dead, but still a wave of sadness washed over her at his words. “You know she’s dead?”

“She was dying when she left here. She had enough strength left to see you into the world, and that was only through grim determination. She had nothing more.”

“What did she come to you for?” Christian asked.

“Two things. A ward for a property to hide those inside and a spell that would make her child appear human. The spell cost her dearly. She needed it to last.” He studied Tara as if searching for something. “It would have been easier if the baby had some human blood, but you have none.”

Shock flashed through her. “None?”

“There’s not a single drop of human blood in your body. I thought you knew. Your mother was pureblood fae. Your father, from the nature of the spell, some sort of demon. I presume she was a casualty of the war. Your mother would have been better off to go back to her people, but the fae would have destroyed you. They don’t like mixing their blood.” He took a sip of his drink. “They would consider you an abomination and hunt you down. Hence the spell. It’s ironic that she gave her life saving you from her own people. Demons are much less fussy about these things.”

Tara sank back down into the chair behind her. So she wasn’t even a little bit human. That fact would have been a bitter blow only days ago, now it didn’t seem to matter much after all that had happened.

“Do you know her name?”

Jonas shook his head. “She never told me, and I never asked.”

“What about my father, did she tell you anything about him?”

He shook his head. “Apart from the fact that he was a demon, which I needed for the spell, she told me nothing. It’s not in the nature of our deals to share unnecessary knowledge.”

Tara tried to assimilate the information. Were they any further forward in finding out who she was and whom she was hiding from?

“So you believe she hid me from her own people, the fae.”

“I would think so.”

Christian had told her the demons were coming after her. That they congregated whenever she went near CR International. But this man said it wasn’t demons but the fae she needed to fear. Her head was about to explode and she rubbed at her temples.

Finally, she took a deep breath. “What was she like? My mother I mean?”

Jonas looked surprised at the question. “She was sweet,” he said. “And very, very sad.”

They left the bar not long afterward.

“So, what do we do next?” she asked Christian as they stepped out onto the street.

“I think we need to approach the fae, but I go alone for that one. I’m not letting you anywhere near them.”

Tara shivered. “I’d thought of the fae as the good guys and demons as the bad. Now I find it’s the good guys who want me dead. Or maybe they both do. Then again, I suppose I am one of the bad guys. At least half.” She tried a smile, but it was a pathetic attempt. “Maybe they cancel each other out, and I’m just sort of average.”