Blood Struck (12 page)

“Just one drop?” I wanted to be clear on the terms.

Kristos looked at me, alarmed.“Myra, you can’t—”

“One drop,” Arlo interrupted. He held up one finger for emphasis.

I moved to step forward and Kristos put a hand on my arm. “I’ve tasted you both. You are his daughter. There is no question.”

Arlo sniffed. “Forgive me if I distrust your memory, Kristos. He was my maker, I know his blood better than you ever will.”

I gave Kristos a hard look. “Are you sure it’s him? When was the last time you saw him?”

Kristos hesitated and that was all I needed to make up my mind. I shrugged off his hand. “I have to know for sure.”

I crossed the room and held out my hand for Arlo, ready for my vampire paternity test. Kristos didn’t try to stop me again, but his displeasure showed in the way his fists clenched at his sides.

Arlo’s dark eyes gleamed like polished obsidian and I averted my gaze so he couldn’t influence me. He gently took my hand in his, tugging me forward slightly. He paused for a moment to gently run a finger over my stitches. “I would have never let this happen, tesoro.”

I made a fist to hide the wound. “Just get on with it.” The man gave me the willies. There was something too slick about him, like I would slip and fall at any second.

Arlo nodded. Baring his fangs, he touched them to my skin and then with a quick movement of his mouth punched them through. Even though I saw it coming, I winced at the puncture. Being bitten outside of sex was unpleasant. No wonder vampires sexed everyone up, they had to or no one would agree to feed them.

Arlo was true to his word and didn’t take much blood, however, I didn’t see what he did next coming. Before I could even move to cover the wound in my arm, he stood and swept me into his arms. He pressed gummy lips against mine and forced his tongue into my mouth. The metallic tang of blood assailed my taste buds.

I tried to pull back, but he was vampire strong. It was like trying to move a mountain. Kristos came in and shoved Arlo by the shoulder. Arlo stumbled back, but kept his grip on me.  I flailed and yelled around his tongue, although I doubted anyone understood me. Mostly I said versions of ‘get off me’ mixed with some swear words.

“Let her go,” Kristos reached for me his face dark with anger.

Arlo broke our kiss and shoved me behind him and then propelled us in tandem toward the door. “She’s mine by rights.”

“No I’m not,” I shouted, twisting in his grip hoping to find a weak spot.

Arlo squeezed my wrists in warning. “Hush, tesoro. You know not of what you speak.”

A jumble of images that didn’t belong to me rushed through my mind, strong as a gale wind. Arlo being overrun by children under the amused watch of a woman wearing medieval clothing. More domestic scenes played out and I realized he was in my head and thinking of his long ago human family. His thoughts of me were terrifying. He wanted to breed me just like the council, not protect me like he’d said. Arlo wanted to make a family to replace the one he’d lost. The joy he felt at the prospect was blinding.

“Get out of my head,” I snarled. I punched him in the back, but he didn’t feel it. We were almost to the door now and, if something didn’t happen soon, I was about to be kidnapped and  worse.

I made eye contact with Kristos who had followed us across the room and silently pleaded with him to do something. He gave a grim nod and raised his gun. “Let her go Arlo or I’ll shoot.”

Arlo laughed, a cold sound. “You think you can shoot fast enough? Or how about I do this?” He thrust me in front of him. “You wouldn’t risk hurting her.”

That made Kristos pause and the gun wavered. He didn’t think he could make the shot. I put everything I had into trying to break free. I tried going limp. I jumped up and slammed my entire body weight down. I writhed like a snake. Nothing happened other than he shifted his weight a bit to compensate for the changes in mine.
Damn it.

“Be still, Myra,” Kristos said, his gaze urging me to comply.

I sagged in Arlos’ arms and tried not to move. Kristos’ eyes narrowed as he took the shot.

The discharge in such close quarters was deafening. I screamed and closed my eyes waiting for the searing pain I imagined being shot would cause. Behind me I felt the force of the bullet push Arlo back. His grip slid off me as he fell to the floor with a soft grunt.

I stepped away and whirled around to see the bullet had tagged him on the shoulder. Kristos didn’t waste any time making sure Arlo stayed down. The second I was clear, he was there, pressing the barrel of his gun over Arlo’s heart and pulling the trigger. Arlo jumped and shuddered as the bullet tore through him, but after that he was still.

“Is he dead?” I wrapped my arms around myself to hide how badly my hands were shaking. The position served a dual purpose, allowing me to rub my incessantly itchy palm over the rough skin of my elbow. The stitches were driving me nuts.

Kristos came over to me. “No, just incapacitated. It’ll take him some time to heal. Are you okay?”

“We swapped blood,” I said with a shiver. “When you and I did that you said we were blood bound. Am I linked to him now like I was to you?” The idea terrified me.

In response to my question, Kristos waved one of his men over. “The head.”

The man nodded and went over to the vampire. With business-like efficiency and enormous strength he ripped Arlo’s head off. Blood so dark it was almost black sprayed everywhere in a macabre Jackson Pollack pattern.

My stomach seized up. When the guy tossed the head into the living room like we were playing a fun game of bowling, I threw up. The sight of spine and raw flesh was too much for me.

“Was that really necessary?” I asked, fighting not to vomit for a second time. The metallic scent of Arlo’s blood was getting to me. I had tasted that blood. It was
in
me. Not a happy thought.

“It’s the only way to break the blood bond.” Kristos seemed calm and unaffected. Just another day at the office for him, I guess.

“I want a gun,” I said abandoning further discussion over Arlo. I wasn’t sure yet how I felt about what had happened. On one hand, he was the closest thing to family I had on my father’s side. On the other, he’d wanted to rape me until I had his babies.

Kristos’ gaze was cool against mine. “You ever shoot before?”

I shook my head. “No, but I’ll learn. I want a gun. I need to be able to defend myself.”

He pursed his lips. “You’ll need training.”

I arched an eyebrow. “Do I have time for that? I need a gun like yesterday.”

“Here.” He held out his, butt first. Gesturing toward Arlo’s body, he said, “Shoot him.”

I took the gun. It was heavier than it looked. Biting my lip, I aimed it at the headless body leisurely propped up against the wall as if certain its head would return any second now.  My fingers shaking, I pulled the trigger. The gun boomed, my arm flew up  and the bullet destroyed the drywall several feet above my intended target.

Kristos came to stand next to me and he unwrapped my hand to resume possession of the gun. “It’s not as easy as it looks.”

I shrugged. “No, but at point blank range it’s harder to miss.” I thought of how close I’d been to Arlo. A gun would’ve given us a different ending, maybe prevented the blood bond in the first place.

He tucked the gun into his waistband at the small of his back. “I don’t want you to be defenseless, but a gun right now is asking for trouble. You don’t know how to aim or how to compensate for the kickback.”

I started to protest, but he held up a hand. “I’ll arrange for some training, but until then,  I’ll be your gun.”

I jutted my chin out and glared at him. “And what if you’re not there?”

He held up his hands in defeat. “If I give you a different weapon, would that make you happy?”

“What kind of weapon?” I couldn’t think of any useful weapons aside from a gun.

“Something easy to hide and very dangerous at point blank range.”

I crossed my arms, skeptical of his offer. “Please tell me you’re not giving me a wooden stake. I am not a vampire slayer.” There were some slayers out there. It was a fringe lifestyle that no one took seriously and most of them died before the age of thirty.

“No, not a wooden stake.” Kristos paused to chuckle at the idea. “It’s a special weapon. I think you’ll like it and it has deadly accuracy.”

I started to speak but he cut me off. “Later. Right now, we need to leave. If anyone heard the gunshots, the police will be coming and we don’t want to be here. Go make sure all your stuff is packed. We’re out of here in two minutes.”

I wanted to argue but Kristos was right, this wasn’t the time. Whatever weapon he had in mind for me could wait. I went into our bedroom and scanned it to be sure none of my clothes had been left behind. Finding the closet and dresser empty, I checked the bathroom, which had been cleaned out as well. Vampires apparently excelled at speed packing a suitcase.

For my part, I excelled at hyperventilating. I had to sit on the edge of the bed for a while and try to catch my breath as the images of Arlo’s detached head played in my mind like a horror gif. There was too much blood in my life. And bullets. I wasn’t an action adventure heroine, I was a college student trying to help her sick mom. How had things gotten so complicated and how did I make it stop?

I squeezed my eyes shut and thought as hard as I could. No answers came to me. The only thing I could do was run.

Chapter Eleven

We traveled to Brooklyn by taxi. Kristos had turned his car over to his men instructing them to lay fake trails for anyone looking for us or Arlo. Before we’d left the apartment, Kristos had set it on fire and we left in a wail of fire alarms. While unfortunately destructive, Kristos had assured me it was the quickest way to wipe the apartment clean. The fact he had all the stuff on hand and knew how to do it gave me pause. Something told me this was not Kristos’ first vampire rodeo.

Our new home wasn’t as nice as the last one, which hadn’t been as nice as the first one. It was a rundown brownstone. It didn’t belong to Kristos, that much I could tell. The decor screamed single woman from the stacks of romance novels to an extensive collection of old Bride magazines. Where Kristos preferred coolly modern design, the brownstone had a distinct shabby chic flair. Shabby chic being code for ‘picked up off the curb on garbage day.’

Despite the decor’s ratty appearance, the color palette was pleasant enough; soft gray and peach with dashes of blue on the walls. The wooden furniture was nicked and scarred and the couch and chairs were clean, but slumped. Still, even if the battered leather sofa had almost taken a detour to the dump, it was comfortable.

I curled up on the sofa and pulled a blanket around my shoulders. It was fleece, one of those no-sew blankets. My mom had made a few for her chemo treatments. Cancer patients were always cold and amassed an impressive array of gloves, blankets and thick socks as a result. I didn’t have cancer, but I was cold anyway. I couldn’t stop seeing Arlo’s head being twisted off every time I closed my eyes.
Gross.

Kristos shoved a glass in my hand. I lifted it up and examined the amber liquid swirling inside. A spicy scent wafted up to my nose. “What is this?”

He sat next to me. “Whiskey.”

I made a face.

Kristos smiled, amused. “Drink. You’re too pale. This will help.”

I raised my eyebrows. “You sure about that?”

He nodded and held up a little first aid kit. “It’ll also numb you enough for me to take out your stitches. I noticed they’ve been bothering you lately.”

I lifted the glass in a silent salute and then tossed it down. I sputtered as my throat spontaneously combusted. Shoving the glass at him, I wiped my mouth. “Wow.”

He took the glass and set it on the coffee table. “Yeah, it’s potent.” Producing a small pair of scissors from the first aid kit he carefully snipped the stitches and pulled the plastic thread free.

“Like fire in a bottle. Gah.”  I kept swallowing even though my mouth was empty, trying to force the burn further down my throat. I wasn’t numb so much as distracted by the scorpion sting of the whiskey. Getting the stitches out didn’t hurt at all by comparison, although there was an unpleasant pinching sensation as he tugged on the thread to loosen it enough to be cut.

Kristos pulled the last stitch out and released my hand. Nodding toward my glass he asked, “Do you want some more?”

I inspected my palm, relieved to see it wasn’t bleeding. There would be a scar, I didn’t think I could avoid one, but it was healing. Even better, with the stitches out it didn’t itch so much. “No thanks. I prefer having a nervous breakdown. It stings less.” I gestured to the living room. “Where are we?”

“This is the home of a friend of mine. She’s away on a trip and I have a key.” Kristos took my hand in his again and wrapped some sterile gauze around the wound, securing it in place with tape.

Where he found everything I didn’t know. Either he had the first aid kit stashed in my bag somewhere or he knew where everything was in our new digs. Which implied he’d spent some time here. Serious time. The location of a first aid kit is not usually something you learn from casual social contact.

I gave him a look, my mind jumping to the only logical conclusion. “She? You have a key?”

Kristos tried not to look guilty and failed. “We’ve known each other for years.”

“Like you and I know each other?” The idea rankled.

“Years ago, yes, she was my courtesan, but now we are just friends.”

“Okay.” I stared at the ceiling for a second as I mastered my emotions. The jealousy I felt at the idea of Kristos having other lovers surprised me. I was growing quite attached to my vampire. Yes, I thought of him as my vampire.

“Are you alright?” He laid a hand on my leg and rubbed. A little frisson of pleasure went through me at the contact.

“Just trying to compartmentalize. There’s a lot going on.”  I took a deep breath and met his eyes. Immediately I felt like I was weightless and falling. He was using his vampire super powers on me. I looked away. “Don’t do that.”