Blood Entangled (32 page)

The sinking feeling in his gut was just jealousy. Had to be.

All night, no one mentioned her. Surely it had cost his family of smartasses to skip the ribbing, a small comfort for his aching heart.

He opened the door to his room, and the smell of sex assaulted him. Honey and musk made his mouth water, and he was powerless to resist. He lay down and replayed every moment—her golden hair falling over his face, her legs cradling him, her soft breasts against his chest, and their glorious coming together.

It was quite possible he would never get out of the bed.

The memory of making love to Lena pulled him deeper and deeper into that ecstasy, that place of perfect union with her and the whole world. And then, they were outside Mason’s house, arguing. And then, she stood in the place of every woman in Kos’s memories of Mason. Her face was on every flight attendant, she’d passed out on Mason’s divan, she danced with him in a sleek Audrey Hepburn dress at some night club they used to haunt, she was under Mason, rocking with his thrusts, mouth open in ecstasy.

It was wrong. Those women weren’t her. She couldn’t be one of them. It wouldn’t make her happy.

Then there was the blood, pouring from an open bite in her neck. That should never happen. A vampire never spilled his prey’s blood. It was precious, to be lovingly consumed and licked clean, flesh knit back together with care.

He was incapable of sleep; the torrent of images weren’t a dream. Was it a flight of fancy? A hallucination induced by her smell? An omen?

Had he been crazy to trust Mason?

Maybe.

One thing was certain—he had to get her. Enough of letting her have her way, letting her find her own destiny. He would bring her back to Kaštel and lock her in that damn cell with Lucas and Leo until she came to her senses and agreed to a human life. Where some human man became her husband, gave her children.

Kos hated the idea, but not nearly as much as he hated her being Mason’s toy. And that was all she could ever be to him.

Kos peeled back his eyelids, and the brightness of the room stung. Forcing his body to stir was a battle. Ten a.m. His rescue mission would have to wait until sunset, but he had to get her a message. Only, she wouldn’t take his calls. Stubborn thing—she’d probably turned off her phone, or chucked it out the window.

Was she walking along Union Street? Having brunch in one of the cafés? Shopping for clothes too fashionable to wear at Kaštel? Browsing in The Archives Bookshop? He smiled to remember that gem of a bookstore. Every time he walked in, Mattie would shove her horn-rimmed glasses up on her forehead and smile. Those glasses had been fashionable when he’d met her, and now showed her age—seventy something and still cute as a button, but no longer his type.

Mattie would help.

“The Archives. This is Matilda. How can I help you?”

“Mattie, it’s Kos.”

“Hey there, lover. What’s shakin’?” There was a smile in her voice, and it warmed him.

“I need your help—an odd favor.” He hated to ask, even though he trusted she’d agree.

“I’m always happy to help. I must owe you a hundred favors.”

“I’m not keeping score, but I’d sure appreciate your help with this one.”

“Shoot.”

“Do you still have that portable CD player behind the counter?”

“Yep.”

“How about Ella Fitzgerald? The album where she sings ‘Our Love is Here to Stay.’”

“Hmm.” The sound of shuffling plastic CD cases came through the line. “I have her singing it as a duet with Louis Armstrong. Will that do?”

“It will have to.”

“Is this about a girl, Kos?” Her gently scolding tone said she knew him too well, but Lena wasn’t just any girl.

Still, he said, “Of course.”

“Please tell me I’m not going to stand somewhere with this boom box and blast Ella Fitzgerald, like John Cusack.”

“Seen that movie, have you?”

“My kids were teenagers when it came out. We had it on VHS. I’ve got that album here too—Peter Gabriel. Want that one instead?”

It had to be a sign. “Mattie, you’re a saint.”

Her chuckle cut short. “Oh, Kos, I’m sorry. This case is empty.”

“Fine. Ella it is.”

“Where?”

“Mason’s house.”

“Mason’s got your girl?” The smile in her voice was gone.

“You think I’m right to be worried?”

“I never liked him, Kos.”

Lena took a bite of cereal. She had no appetite. But Mason had fed from her, and she needed to replenish. The kitchen window opened onto the garden, and a breeze rustled the dishtowel. She hadn’t tried, but she was certain the windows facing the street wouldn’t open—only this one, leading out into the high-walled garden.

A familiar melody blew in on the breeze. Lena hummed along before she recognized Ella Fitzgerald crooning “Our Love Is Here To Stay.” It triggered memories, of Zoey dancing with Andre, and Susan with Ally, their laughter mixing with the lyrics.

Lena finished her cereal.

The song played again. She missed Kaštel, missed her friends.

She rinsed out the coffee pot, put her bowl and spoon into the dishwasher, wiped off the counter.

The song played again. She missed Kos.

A tear splashed in the sink.

The song played again.

Where on earth was it coming from? Inexplicably tense, she dashed out to the garden and scanned the neighboring houses, but all the windows were closed. The sounded wafted over the rooftops from the street.

In Mason’s front room, she pulled back the curtains to see an old woman with a boom box on the sidewalk. She was adorable, in an old-fashioned emerald skirt-suit and horn-rimmed glasses. When she saw Lena, she set down the boom box, and used her hands to form a heart over her own. Then she made the American Sign Language letter K.

Lena put her palm on the window, tears falling again.

She mouthed the words,
Thank you
.

The woman’s smile was sad. She nodded, turned off the music, and hefting the boom box up, shuffled down the street.

Was he coming for her?
Please,God, let him come soon.

Chapter 24

G
RACIAS
A D
IOS
, T
HAT
W
AS
the last of it. If Pedro had to spend another minute with Andre and that damn bottling machine, he was going to open the garage door to the last rays of sunset and nuke them both.

The labels were all crooked with Pedro in charge of the roller. Straight lines were definitely Kos’s expertise.

Andre closed up the case and loaded it onto the truck. “Are you certain you are able to drive this thing?”

“It’s a truck.”

“It has many gears.”

Pedro just shook his head. You never knew when Andre would prove himself a Neanderthal—at two thousand years old, he practically was one.

Kos strode in, abuzz with anxious energy. It was amazing steam wasn’t coming out of his ears, too. “I don’t see why you can’t do this without me.”

Andre slammed the truck’s door closed. “It is only the most precious cargo imaginable, Kos. I would expect you of all people to understand. If anything goes wrong…”

Kos did that shoulder scrunching thing he always did when he was thinking about Lena.
Mierda
, women were a pain in the ass—way more trouble than men. Aside from Lucas, who was turning out to be the biggest pain of all.

Kos squeezed his eyes shut and rubbed them with his thumb and forefinger. “You’re right. I just…I have a bad feeling about Lena.”

Andre frowned. “Take your car. Follow us to the warehouse. Then you can go straight to her.”

“Is Matthew meeting us at the warehouse?” Pedro jostled the keys impatiently.

“No.” Andre shook his head. “He has obligations—family dinner every Sunday. He gave me the combination to some sort of key pad.”

Pedro didn’t catch his snort fast enough that time. “Don’t worry, boss. I can drive those too.”

Andre raised his middle finger in Pedro’s direction. The gesture was one modern innovation the ancient vampire had adopted easily.

“Look. It is dark enough.” Andre activated the garage door, and Pedro climbed into the cab.

The sky bled into purple over the vineyard, nearly matching the blue-black hue of the fruit, still ripening on the vines. The breeze blew the grapes’ sweet scent into his nostrils, promising a good harvest, and soon.

Andre stepped into the seat next to him, while Pedro flipped on the radio.

Andre flipped it off.

Pedro’s gut knotted. No music, no cards, no bottles to fill. Andre would want to talk, and about the last thing Pedro wanted to talk about.

“Did you feed from Lucas today?”

Pedro pushed the gas and let out the clutch fast. The truck jerked forward. “No. I’m not hungry.” It was the truth. He itched where Andre’s gaze traveled over him, but he wouldn’t see any signs of hunger.

“Do you think he knows more than he has told us?”

“I honestly don’t know. I didn’t think he knew this much.”

Andre’s fingers spread then flexed on his thighs. “It is impressive that he is able to keep his own counsel with your fangs in him. But we cannot tolerate deception, especially from a Hunter.”

“For once, Andre, I completely agree.”

Pedro turned right onto the highway, heading north toward the distributor’s warehouse. Cool air blew through the cab, and he zipped up his sweatshirt.

Andre rolled up his window. “Son, I wish I could have spared you all this. Sent you away before they got hold of you.”

“I appreciate that. But, as completely fucked up as my life is right now, I think I belong with you losers.”

Andre laughed. “Indeed. I agree.” His big hand patted Pedro’s knee.

It felt kind of good, that reassuring pat. Like maybe the whole world wouldn’t go to shit after all.

With all of that out of the way, the silent drive wasn’t as lousy as he’d feared. A light was on inside the office of River, Inc., Wine Distributors.

“You think Matthew’s here after all?” Pedro asked.

Andre sniffed, then rolled down his window and sniffed some more.

The familiar odor wafted to Pedro—Hunter.

He locked eyes with Andre and turned off the truck’s headlights. Kos was already at the passenger door, his index finger against his nose. Andre nodded, and slid out of the cab like a panther, prowling toward the office. Pedro and Kos followed.

At the door, Andre whispered to Pedro. “I believe the universe is offering vengeance to you this evening.”

Pedro’s blood came alive, throbbing in his veins, burning to pay this Hunter back for every slice of pain Ethan had carved into him.

Andre put a hand on his shoulder. “Easy. One step a time. Capture him. Unload the wine. Then we go home and interrogate. You will take some time to consider what will satisfy your rage.”

He was right.
Poco a poco
. What was the saying—revenge was best served cold? And Ethan Bennett was really the one he owed.