Blood Revolution (God Wars, #3) (6 page)

"Jayson, watch your language," Kathleen Rome snapped.

"Yeah. But it just gets me mad, whenever somebody thinks I might stoop to that," Jayson muttered angrily. "I give what's asked for."

"Honey, please calm down, I didn't mean it like that," Kathleen sighed. "It's just that I can't get those photographs out of my mind. They're horrible."

"Mom, I feel exactly the same, and it pisses me off that I feel so helpless about it. Why didn't somebody get her out of there? That idiot sheriff could have cut her loose and taken her to a hospital, yet all he did was stand there and take incriminating photographs. That stupid, evil bastard."

"I'll agree with your language there, hon. He was a stupid, evil bastard. But as bad as he was, Joyce was worse."

"I'll give you that. Bree said to me once that she'd met the devil. Now I know what she meant."

"Jayson," Kathleen sighed, "You didn't try to convince her to—you know. Did you?"

"No, Mom. I didn't. She made her feelings known after she found out about Hank."

"I don't know how she managed to stay friends with either of you."

"It wasn't easy. I just thought she was being unreasonable. Hank thought something else was there, but he couldn't figure it out. Everybody knows, now, don't they? Thanks to Dad and Ross. Why couldn't they hand what they had to the FBI or something, and let them handle it? Bree's name could have been kept out of it."

"Honey, you know your father. He wanted Joyce when she was alive, and he settled for her reputation after she was dead. She was always touting her religious beliefs, and belittling anybody who didn't think the way she did. The book may have opened a lot of eyes, but there are still some who refuse to believe any of this."

"I've read the stuff from the conspiracy theorists. Two websites are devoted to it. I have no idea what Breanne's appearance will mean to some of those people—they've been saying all along that Breanne doesn't exist and this is a government conspiracy to destroy religion and Joyce's image as a decent human being."

"Idiots," Kathleen huffed.

"Crazy idiots," Jayson agreed. "I think Bree might be in danger, if any of these crackpots learn where she is."

"Oh, honey, that's too horrible to consider."

* * *

Breanne's Journal

"I'll feed you better next time, but this is the best vegetarian I can do on short notice," Hank said.

"It's good." I bit into the grilled cheese sandwich and chewed. At least he'd bought vegetarian cheese slices. Yeah, some cheeses are vegetarian, some aren't. I'd always made sure to go to restaurants with vegetarian-friendly cheese on the menu. I was grateful in the beginning that Bogey's was one of those places.

"You're not going to hover, now, are you?" I blinked at Hank. "I have stuff to do."

"What stuff?" Hank asked. Briefly, I considered telling him about the three men who'd intended to kill the subs they'd picked up at his club. Telling Hank that I'd offed them might be a mistake, so I kept that to myself.

"I want to investigate John's murder. And the murders of those other people."

"Bree, that could be dangerous."

"Look, I was safer helping Director Bill than with the Rome family," I pointed out before taking another bite of my sandwich.

"Director Bill called me earlier, after he saw you on the news."

"Fuck," I tossed the sandwich onto the plate and rubbed my forehead. I hoped Bill had gotten my note before he saw the garbage on TV.

"Eat," Hank lifted the sandwich and placed it in my hand. "Drink your milk, too. Director Bill was worried about you, that's all. I told him you were okay."

"Thanks," I sighed and took another bite of my sandwich.

"Will you be all right alone if I call to check on the club from my study?" Hank asked after settling me onto a leather sofa in his living room. He'd moved up in the world—his new condo had two bedrooms, a nice kitchen, a study and a spacious living area, complete with a big screen television. "You won't go anywhere, will you?"

"I don't have any plans right now, but I ought to go home," I muttered.

"Bree, how long have you been back? Here, I mean?" Hank's dark eyes grazed my face, searching for a suitable answer.

"I've been home nearly two months," I dropped my eyes and stared at my hands.

"And no word," he growled.

"Look, I had no idea who knew about that fucking book beforehand. And that stupid release form Jayson badgered me to sign? I wasn't given the truth, the whole time. How do you think that makes me feel? That every person on the entire planet may have seen those photographs? My childhood was fucked up. Now, my adult life is just as fucked. Tell me that isn't so, Hank. Tell me I can go downstairs and walk on the sidewalk without somebody recognizing me. Tell me the news outlets aren't looking for my phone number right now. Tell me I won't get hounded until the end of time. I came home, hoping people would have forgotten about me. For a while, that worked. Sort of. Now you want to quibble about two months."

"Bree, my heart is squeezing in my chest. All I'm thinking about is lost time. I've lost more than two years with you. Baby, you scare the shit out of me when you disappear. We never really talked about that misting trick you do. Remember—you told me about that before you found out about the book. How am I supposed to react to this—that you can do that and I can't hold onto you? All I want to do is keep you safe."

I stared at him—his face had gone paler than I'd ever seen it, and he looked sad. Troubled. "Honey," I rubbed my forehead, "I can't tell you about this. Not only will you not believe me, you'll try to have me committed. Frankly, if somebody came up to me and said these things, I wouldn't believe it, either."

"Start with the least fantastic thing, then. Tell me something you can prove easily, so I can start to believe."

"Hank, I'll scare holy hell out of you if I do that."

"Baby, I've been in wars. I've seen scary shit. Try me."

"Hank, I'm warning you—you don't need to see any of this." I watched as he walked toward me. Blinked as he knelt beside the sofa and reached out to touch my face.

"Baby, just give me something, so I can try to believe."

My breath was uneven—almost a shudder as I gazed at Hank's beautiful face. "Hank, after you see this, be honest. If I scare you, tell me. I'll leave. You won't see me again if that's what you want."

"Bree, there's nothing you can show me that'll do that."

"You haven't seen it yet," I muttered before letting my vampire claws slide out. My eyes were red, too—they always were when my fangs dropped. I showed him that. All of it. Frankly, it was the least scary thing about me.

Hank stared in shock. Well, most people would, if they didn't faint in the floor. "I don't drink blood, it makes me ill to even think about it," I let my claws slide back in and retracted my fangs. "I can toss your safe into the bay from here, most likely. I was called to help with those investigations, because vampires were behind those murders," I informed Hank, who still stared at me, his dark eyes unblinking.

"I killed the vamps here and in D.C. Another vamp killed the one in Austin, but he and I were both chasing him when he died. Director Bill thinks I'm talented, but he doesn't know that I'm a vamp since I can walk in daylight and eat normally. You're one of three people on Earth who knows this, now."

"Bree, that's amazing," Hank whispered. "I was so worried about you."

"See, I really can take care of myself. Mostly. Vampirism is why I don't have those scars anymore," I added. "I was covered with them, and half my bones had healed crookedly before I was turned. I could barely walk, and I was in constant pain."

"Baby, come here." Hank pulled me into his arms. "I still want to protect you. I don't care that you can toss my safe into the water from here. You're my baby girl." He rubbed my back gently as he held me tightly against him. "Bree?" Hank eventually pulled away to look into my eyes.

"Huh?" I blinked at him. In the dim light of his condo, his eyes looked black.

"This," he said, and put his mouth on mine. I fainted from the intensity of the kiss.

Chapter 4
 

"You can have this suite," Jayson pointed Hank through a door. Hank carried Breanne's unconscious body in his arms. He'd driven her to Jayson's home in San Rafael not long after she'd fainted. "Is she all right?" Jayson followed Hank into the bedroom and touched Breanne's cheek gently. "If Mom finds out she's here, she'll fly down immediately."

"Give it some time, Rome. Bree's fragile."

"Yeah. I get that," Jayson raked a hand through thick, blond hair. "Will she fight me? I think I want to hold her."

"I hope not. I told her you didn't know about the book, but she's still upset that she was misled on the Mercy Crossings story."

"I didn't mislead her. The only reason I didn't run that story was because of Barry fucking Stokes. He called and had a fit. I didn't want to upset Breanne any more than she might be already, so I canceled the article."

"Barry Stokes can fuck himself," Hank muttered before placing Breanne on the California king-sized bed.

"Agreed. Are you staying here, too?"

"Planning on it, unless you don't think it's a good idea. I want to share Bree's suite, but we'll see how she feels about that when she wakes."

"What about clothes?"

"Can Trina buy for her? Does she know what Bree likes?"

"My mother might be better at it," Jayson sighed.

"Then ask her. We'll need shoes, too. I can give your mother sizes, if she'll go out tomorrow."

"She'll be here tomorrow, if I tell her."

"True. Call your mother, Rome. I guess it can't hurt."

"She loves Breanne, and I'll tell her she needs some space. Mom won't push."

"Good. How does your mother feel about polyamory?"

"I haven't approached that subject, yet."

"Well, she may see things she might not understand, then."

"I'll make sure it's okay."

* * *

"Mom?"

"Honey, I didn't expect to hear from you again so soon."

"Mom, Bree's here. At the house. Hank brought her. She's sleeping in one of my bedrooms. The media is camped around her house and she needs clothes."

"I'll be on a plane tomorrow," Kathleen said immediately.

"I already arranged to have the jet pick you up at nine. Pack a bag if you want to stay."

"Of course I do. I want to talk to that poor girl."

"Mom, Hank says she's fragile. Give her some space, okay?"

"I know not to push. If she wants to tell me, that's fine. I'm not going to grill her."

"Good. Just act normal. I think that might help more than anything."

"I'll do my best. I just can't help but think about those photographs, though."

"I know. I can close my eyes and still see all that. It's horrible."

* * *

"Do we have a phone number yet?" Opal sat across from Bill at a restaurant near his office.

"I don't, but I can contact Hank Bell again," Bill nodded. "I think she'll talk to us. At least I hope she will. She sent notes, anyway, so that's a start."

"How did she live with that?" Opal shook her head.

"I don't know how she survived, or how she came out of that halfway sane."

"I figure there are plenty of emotional scars left behind," Opal snorted. "Do you think we'll ever get to work with her again?"

"I don't know. I worried about her before. I think I'd be more worried now."

"She's the best partner I've ever had," Opal nodded to the waitress, who set a burger basket in front of her.

"Thanks," Bill said as their waitress set grilled chicken in front of him. He waited until the waitress walked away before saying anything else. "I just worry that this book will do permanent damage. Look what happened today. That idiot reporter jumps all over her and she faints. I'm just glad Bell was there with her."

"I get the idea if the reporter hadn't badgered Hank Bell, Bree wouldn't have been there to begin with."

"You may be right. Let's face it, I don't stand a chance against that," Bill muttered.

"Bill, she cares about you. The note proves that. Don't go down without a fight. I think Hank was the reason she wasn't sleeping before. If that's the case, you've got a really good shot at this."

"Maybe we should plan a trip to San Francisco," Bill lifted an eyebrow at Opal as he cut into his chicken.

"Yeah. I kinda like it there."

* * *

Breanne's Journal

A cellphone ringtone woke me. John Mayer's
Waiting for the World to Change
played somewhere nearby, and I was at a loss to explain that. I didn't have that ringtone. Actually, I'd never downloaded any of those cool things—I always had one of the standards that came with the phone.

"Baby, your face is all scrunched up," Hank nuzzled my neck. My eyes popped open. We were in bed. Together. When had that happened?