Blood Legacy: Adult Urban Fantasy (The V V Inn Book 5) (2 page)

The screen reveals it’s Rafe. I grab the device and answer it. “Yes? Why are you calling me on the phone?” Referring to his choice to use technology rather than connect with me telepathically, as he usually does.

“Your thoughts were all over the place. And growing rather dark, truth be told. I thought calling you might snap you out of it better than rudely barging into your private musings.”

“Fine. I was also thinking of Jon—did you catch those thoughts, too?”

“Yes, and you’re right. We do need him here. He’ll be an asset more than a hindrance, I think. When can he get here? And will you have him fly to the city or the island?”

I bite my lip, ruminating on his questions. “He’s scheduled to leave in a few hours, and will arrive late tomorrow. I think having him journey directly to Buenos Aires would be the smartest use of time. I’ve chartered a plane and will fly in tonight.”

“Good. Did the others leave already?”

“Yes, last night, right as the sun went down. They had a brief stop in the city to pick up more pilots.”

“Time to do what we mentioned months ago—‘beard the lion in his den.’”

I snort, unable to contain the sarcasm waiting to escape. “Oh yes, that worked so beautifully for us last time, didn’t it?”

“Hey, things didn’t go as planned, I’ll grant you that, but any battle you can walk away from with your life is considered a win, trust me.” A teasing note enters his voice. “Are you sure you’re not more annoyed that I did most of the killing and maiming this time?”

Flashes of blood and dismembered bodies skitter across my mind, small glimpses of what I recall from when I awoke in the underground rooms beneath the Tribunal headquarters, also known as the Seat of Darkness and the base of all vampire kind.
 

Rafe’s actions may have surprised our new seethemates who were with him, Drew and Paul, but I’ve known what my husband is capable of for a very long time. “I don’t think that’s it. Or more accurately, I don’t think that’s the only thing.” A sigh escapes me. “I think we walked into a bigger mess than we bargained for, and I’d rather make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

“We can’t begin to formulate a plan of attack until we’re well aware of who our enemy is and where they’re located. The basic knowledge of where the Tribunal lies is not enough. Who else is visiting this season? Are all the ancients in attendance or are some traveling? Where do they stay during their restorative sleep—meaning a private residence or in the extensive underground holdings of the Tribunal?”

He’s not saying anything we haven’t discussed before, so I redirect and ask about recent developments. “Have you had any luck in tracking down Rolando?”

“No, none. And it’s damn frustrating, I can tell you that. The big bastard didn’t up and disappear, that’s for sure.”

“What about Justin? Have you discovered where he lives yet?”

“I’ve narrowed the wizard’s location down to a diverse
barrio
on the outskirts of San Telmo, one of the city’s older neighborhoods. But no set address. The area has lots of herbal shops with hard to find magical ingredients.”

“That sounds more like an ideal location for a coven of witches than a wizard.”

“Well, where would you have me start looking? Should I knock on the Tribunal’s door and ask where they hide their pet wizardling?”

A grunt of frustration seeps past my lips. “No. You’re fine. I almost hate to admit it, but tracking is better suited to Jon’s natural abilities than yours.”

“Oh yes, the furball. Do you plan to have him take his wolf form and sniff like a dog to track?”

“Come now, dear, don’t make this harder than it needs to be. He is a strength. He is a valuable asset to us.”

His voice tightens, showing his inner turmoil and anguish. “Who are you trying to convince—me or you?”

“You, you dork. I know I need him. Now more than ever. Suck it up, buttercup.” My voice deepens, taking on a husky tone. “It’s not like I
want
him the way I want you. He’s not the one I dream of every time I close my eyes. It’s not his love, his very essence of life, that brought me back from the edge of insanity and darkness,” I say, referring to the moment I nearly died and Rafe’s devotion and love saved me.

“Okay, you’ve made your point. I’ll play nice with the werewolf. Any hint or rumor he may have found a mate during last month’s big game hunting fiasco with all the werewolves?”

I shrug, realize he can’t see my movement, and say, “I’m not sure.”

“What? How can that be? How could you not be sure of what your vampire servant is doing at any given time?”

“You know I gave him distance when we left—and I don’t mean physically, I mean with our mental connection. He’s still there, in the back of my mind. But I’ve given him privacy, not wanting to intrude when he has the chance to be free of my influence for once.”

“Is that the best course of action when you claim to ‘need him’ now?”

“I’ll allow the connection to strengthen when he journeys here, but I want to keep some mental distance in place for him. He needs it. His uncontrollable obsessive desires were overcoming his waking thoughts, he needed the break to heal and find himself again.”

“All right, enough about the poor lost puppy. When did you say he’ll arrive?”

“Tuesday night. We’ll meet him at the airport in the city. How is the house hunting coming along?”

I hear the happiness in his voice. “I’ve found several suitable accommodations,” he says. “You’ll like them, I’m sure.”
 

A rush of images floods my mind. Stately residences in the posh neighborhoods near the heart of the city, rooms with high ceilings and ornate moldings, and hearths with big roaring fires.
 

“Good. I miss you, my darling. It’s only been two weeks and I still think it’s too long.”

“You’re just hungry for my blood, aren’t you?”

“Among other things…”

A gentle tingle of sensation indicates my husband’s mind reaching out to mine.
And I miss you too,
liebling
. We’ll be together soon. Not to worry.

CHAPTER FIVE

Rafe

We hang up and I check the time on my phone. The real estate agent should arrive in a few minutes. I purposefully projected images of grand homes to Dria when there was mention of the house shopping. In reality, I’ve picked three older places, all in different sections of the city—and none of them grand. I smile, anticipating her reaction.

I like to think of it as a private joke between us.

My wife happily resided—for years—in a drafty cabin on our island,
instead
of the existing farmhouse already on the property. It was purely out of personal preference due to past horrors she endured in an old English farmhouse. In the end, I know she’ll be fine in any home we consider safe, no matter the trappings.
 

But still, I can’t wait to see her face when she sees the places I picked. The one we close on this afternoon is a row house that’s seen better days, another is a basement apartment under an old, closed bank, and the third is a ramshackle structure with sewer access—perhaps it was an old worker’s dwelling.

We will never be caught like rats in a hole. We will change locations daily, if needed, ensuring trackers can’t find us while we plot and plan how to ferret out the dissension in the Tribunal’s ranks.
 

A car pulls alongside mine, maneuvering to park in front. The door opens and a tall, attractive woman in her forties, dressed in a royal blue business suit, exits from the vehicle, her long dark hair secured in a ponytail at the nape of her neck. She smiles as she approaches my car, watching me as I climb out. “Hi, Mr. McAndrews. Ready for the walk through?”
 

I return her smile and extend my hand. “Yes. Mrs. Rameriz, thanks for meeting me before closing.”

She shakes my hand, her smile firmly in place. “You and your wife certainly know how to close a house sale quickly.” The lovely woman is referring to my wife’s favorite “cash is king” mentality.
 

Well, when you’ve got the money available, why not? No need to delay matters with bank applications and loans. I return her smile, offering no further explanation. After all, she doesn’t need to know too much of our business. “You still agree it’s a good location for my wife’s preferences?” I explained that we travel extensively for business, and Dria wants a private residence she can enjoy instead of a crowded hotel. The other locations were acquired through different agents and purchased under different company names, so no one from the Tribunal would be the wiser.

“Oh, yes. Quiet, all residential, mostly families and retired couples. Grocery shopping is close by, only a couple of blocks south.” She indicates the direction with a sweep of her arm. “Restaurants and small businesses are three blocks to the north. Crime rate is low. I think she’ll be happy with your choice.” A wisp of panic crosses her face. “You did send her the listings to review, right? I’d hate for her to be unhappy with the house.”

“Yes, of course.” I’ve done no such thing, wanting to surprise Dria, but I keep that to myself.

Once more, I glance at the brightly painted homes—pink, salmon, robin’s egg blue, yellow, green—you name it and it’s here. Wherever your eye lands, you’re sure to be assaulted by color. I inhale deeply, enjoying the smells of cooking food drifting on the air. The inner-city neighborhood is exactly what we want—discreet and unobtrusive. No one would expect a wealthy master vampire, her husband, and a werewolf to reside here.

“Shall we go in?”

At my nod, the agent produces a key and leads the way to the entrance, a solid door a few feet from the sidewalk. We enter the small furnished home, my eyes taking in the stucco walls, pristine tile, and compact floor plan: kitchen in the rear, living space and dining room laid out at the front.
 

The decorating style is simple and clean. No fussy fabrics or chintz, more of a minimalist decor in an urban setting. “Nice,” I say. “It appears all the furniture we asked them to include is here. Do you have a list?”

She produces a file from her large bag. “I’ll double check while you look around.”

We wander through the first and then second floor, with her checking off items as we go.
 

And now, onto what really drew me to the listing. “How about one last look at the basement and root cellar? Just to make sure they were cleaned thoroughly.”

“Oh yes, right this way.” She leads me to a small bathroom on the first floor. “I know it seems odd, but I kind of like that the entrance is through a hidden door in here. Very different.”

I try and hide my smile. This dark hideaway is exactly why I bought the place. It’s probably a remnant from a paranoid German who moved to Argentina after the Holocaust. Lots of German nationalists who supported Hitler fled to Argentina to avoid persecution after the war ended. They may have easily adapted to creating their own hidey-holes, like the ones used to hide Jews when the Nazis had a stranglehold on Germany.
 

The doorway is tight, I literally have to turn sideways to enter, but after that, the stairwell opens up and I’m able to descend normally. The stairs are illuminated by a single bare bulb, indicating the lower floor has electricity. There’s no trace of the damp, musty smell we noticed last week. It’s been replaced by the scent of astringent cleaners. A low hum from a dehumidifier and air purifier sound below us.

We reach the bottom of the stairs, revealing the room’s about half the size of the main floor. Empty shelves line the walls, devoid of the household detritus stored there previously.
 

Exposed beams in the ceiling and the underside of floorboards from the rooms above loom over us, leaving maybe seven feet of headroom. I plan on installing insulation and dry wall this afternoon after the closing. Tomorrow I’ll be painting and building pre-made furniture down here. The floor isn’t dirt, like I’d initially feared, but a serviceable ceramic tile—newer by the looks of it. Nothing a nice area rug won’t warm up. This is where I plan to make us a hidden bedroom. It won’t be glamorous, but it will be safe.

A small wooden door, slightly bigger than a large kitchen cabinet, sits in the center of the far wall, leading toward the back of the house.
 

“Do you mind if I check the root cellar, too?” I ask.

“Not at all, allow me.” She moves to the door and lifts the latch, then swings it inward and retreats to grant me a better view.
 

I step forward and stick my head inside. It’s very dark, only the light from the basement slipping past to illuminate a few rickety, empty shelves made of rough wood. But it smells like they cleaned in here, too.

“Here,” she says, clicking on a flashlight and handing it to me. “I always have one in my purse just in case an attic or basement is unlit.”

I scan the interior once more, noting the very low ceiling and an old ladder about eight feet away. “Where does this lead?”

“Before the basement was hand-dug to allow more space, the area was used for food storage. Outside access to the garden, via that ladder, was the only way in, until the tiny staircase was built in the bathroom closet. If I’m recalling right, the ladder leads to a ground-level storm door behind the garden.”

Perfect.
“Looks good. I’m ready to finalize the sale.”

“Great. Let’s go sign the paperwork. You’ll have the keys before you know it.”

We spend the next hour in a nearby attorney’s office, hashing out the details and then I ask to see another property I’ve singled out as a possibility. It lies on the other end of town, bordering a more isolated section of woods. Just in case Jon needs space to run as a wolf, I thought it prudent to acquire a spot with land.

“Oh, you’re interested in more than one location?”

I smile, knowing we’ll probably make her month with two sales in one week. “Yes, we are. The next one doesn’t need to be habitable right away. We’d like it for the property.”

She returns my smile, “Well, let’s get started.” She packs her portable document scanner
 
into her briefcase, finished with emailing the signed documents to the seller’s agent. “We can swing by their office on the way to get both sets of keys. The house is yours.” She thrusts out her hand to shake mine. “Congratulations.”