Blood Revolution (God Wars, #3) (8 page)

"How do you know that?" I narrowed my eyes at Hank.

"Survival camps," Hank grinned. "We go twice a year."

"Are you kidding me?" I turned to stare at Jayson, who shrugged modestly.

"I taught Jayson how to shoot, too. We usually go to the shooting range on Saturday mornings."

"Guns, too?" I turned back to Hank.

"Baby, we're not gonna threaten you with those. What did that asshole sheriff do to you?"

I wanted to cry. Right then and there. I couldn't. Gus Fulton had threatened to kill me the last time I'd run away from Joyce, at age fourteen. He'd have done it, too, if I'd resisted—I'd read it in his face. After Joyce got done with me, dying from a bullet in my brain would have been preferable.

"I'm not talking about that." I stalked toward the bedroom door. I had no idea where I might go—I wasn't familiar with Jayson's house. All I'd seen was the kitchen, laundry, formal living, dining and my bedroom.

"No, don't go, let's talk about this," Hank said, gripping my arm. I'd had to walk past him to get to the door. I probably should have misted out instead.

"Hank, just let me go," I muttered.

"Come on, we won't force you to talk. Just let us hug on you for a while," Jayson had gotten off the bed and came to stand beside Hank, who pulled me against him. Jayson's breath was warm against my temple as he leaned in to kiss my cheek. I have no idea what might have happened next. No idea. Bill and Opal's images filled my vision; I screamed, grabbed Hank and Jayson and folded space.

* * *

A local agent had been waiting for Bill and Opal after a transfer flight from McClellan AFB. "Why are we going this direction?" Opal asked as they passed Daly City.

"Traffic," their driver replied, taking an exit off the highway. The car was surrounded the moment they stopped at the end of the exit.

"Get out," their driver turned a gun on his passengers. "This is where we end you."

* * *

Breanne's Journal

Hank and Jayson were dumped behind the car as I screamed compulsion. "Let them go," I shouted. Two men held Opal; another two held Bill while the driver took aim—his pistol was pointed toward Bill, first.

Four men took their hands away, but the driver turned in my direction. I gasped as I read him—he had an obsession, and I had no idea whether my compulsion might work against him. "Girlie, I'm gonna shoot you first," he grinned, pointing the gun at me. I didn't have time to register that my question was answered—I held out a hand and he dissolved into glittering sparks.

"Don't you ever, ever, threaten Bill and Opal," I hissed as the sparks winked out. "Now, the rest of you," I turned on them. Yeah, my eyes were red and fangs pricked my bottom lip. "You're going to tell us everything you know, aren't you?" I stalked angrily toward them.

"Breanne, let us handle this," Bill said softly. "We'll take them in. Come on, sweetheart, you've done enough."

"Bree," Hank gripped my elbows, pulling me against his chest. "Let it go, baby. Okay?" They thought I was crazy. Maybe, for a few seconds at least, I had been. If I hadn't stepped in, Bill and Opal would be dead. I wasn't willing to let that happen, and I sure didn't want to attract the attention of anybody else out there by
Changing What Was
again.

* * *

Jayson closed my hand around a cup of hot chocolate. I was shaking while waiting in a small room inside a ten-story building in San Francisco. Bill had made a call; we'd gotten a conventional ride back to the city and Bill and Opal were in another room while four men were questioned by local agents.

Hank, Jayson and I waited in a small room nearby while the questioning took place. Hank paced and Jayson sent confused looks my way occasionally, but the wait had been made mostly in silence.

At least Bill had seen the sense in placing compulsion on the four men before we were picked up—they didn't need to spill their knowledge of me—that they'd seen me separate particles while showing red eyes and fangs. Bill knew I was vampire, now, and I had no idea what he'd say or do about that. I hunched my shoulders and sipped hot chocolate.

Bill and Opal walked in and closed the door behind them. I was too afraid to look up. I didn't want to see fear or condemnation in Bill's eyes. It brought back too many memories—memories of people staring while their faces (and minds) registered the horror they felt after seeing my scarred and misshapen face and body.

"Breanne," Bill knelt on one knee beside me. "Look at me, sweetheart." I lifted my eyes to him. He smiled. "Thank you for saving us," he said, before leaning in to kiss me.

* * *

"What is that called—what you did?" We all sat around Jayson's kitchen island. Jayson and Hank had passed out drinks; there was no glass of wine, this time—Hank handed me a Scotch and ginger ale, and at least two-thirds of it was Scotch. Jayson asked the question while sipping Scotch and soda.

"It's called separating particles. The Larentii do it," I mumbled. Well, they may as well have me committed for telling the truth.

"Those tall, blue men?" Bill blinked at me.

"You've seen them?"

"I've seen one. He saved your sister."

Lowering my shields, I read the memory in Bill. He'd seen Pheligar. I sighed and stared at the ice in my drink—it reflected the light from pendant lamps over Jayson's island. "You don't ever want to get into an argument with the Larentii—they know too much," I said.

"And they can apparently separate your particles," Bill blinked at me. "In addition to saving lives with their healing skills."

"Larentii," Jayson shook his head. "I'm having a dream. A really, really, vivid dream."

"They don't interfere, as a rule," I said.

"The Council doesn't know you exist, do they?" Bill sipped his drink.

"No, honey. In their eyes, I would be a rogue."

"We'll keep you away from them," Bill sounded determined.

"What is this Council everybody keeps talking about?" Jayson asked.

"The Vampire Council," I said. "They have a stranglehold on any vampire made. If you're not registered at your turning, you're a rogue. They have assassins and enforcers. If they find out about me, they'll send somebody hunting," I said.

"It doesn't matter that you can count the number of female vampires on your fingers and one set of toes," Bill said. "They tried to kill Lissa, too."

"Lissa?" Jayson turned back to me.

"My sister. Half-sister," I amended. "She and I have the same father. Different mothers, obviously."

"The vamps don't remember Lissa. Only the werewolves and a few humans do," Bill sighed. "It's tragic."

"A sister?" Hank blinked at me.

"Long story. Don't really want to talk about it," I said.

"Your father?" Bill asked.

"Still alive," I nodded. "Didn't have a clue he'd fathered me. Don't care if I never see him again."

"Breanne looks exhausted," Opal spoke for the first time. "Can we finish this discussion later?"

* * *

"Bree, do you want to go to the funeral with me?" Hank stroked hair away from my face. I don't know where he'd spent the night, but it hadn't been with me. Hank was waking me Friday morning with a question.

"Huh?" I raised my head and blinked into his dark eyes.

"John's funeral. Do you want to go? I think we can disguise you well enough."

"I can disguise myself," I mumbled. "Do you want me to go?"

"It doesn't matter," Hank began.

"Wait—they didn't cremate him, did they?"

"No—why?"

"I want to sniff around the body. See if I can tell anything from it."

"Are you kidding? It'll probably smell like embalming fluid or something."

"Well, I want to try," I sat up in bed with Hank's help and pushed hair away from my face.

"Then come eat breakfast. We need to leave by nine to get there on time."

By the time I walked out of my en suite bathroom, I looked like a distant cousin instead of myself. I'd kept my dark hair, but my eyes were also darker and my face looked quite different. No, I wasn't ugly—I'd spent too much of my life being ugly after facial fractures.

Hank took a long look at me and sighed when I walked into the kitchen. "I like the real Bree better," he muttered, lifting a coffee cup off the island and draining it.

"I like the real me better, too, but I figured it would freak Bill out if I disguised myself as my sister."

"What might freak me out?" Bill walked in dressed in workout clothes, Jayson close behind. Jayson apparently had a weight room in his behemoth of a house.

"Disguising myself as Lissa," I sighed.

"Yeah. And a few werewolves would be camped out on Rome's door if they caught sight of you," Bill took my chin in his hand and turned my face this way and that. "I like the real you better."

"We just had that conversation," I pointed toward Hank.

"Director Jennings might give you some competition in Krav Maga," Jayson informed Hank. "He handed my ass to me. On a plate."

"You're not bad, Rome," Bill settled on a barstool at the island. "The Department might hire you, if you weren't filthy rich and notorious," Bill grinned.

"I'm notorious?" Jayson tapped his chest with a finger. "I do my best to fly under the radar."

"You do, for the most part," Bill chuckled. "You can't hide from me, though."

"You had me investigated anyway?" Jayson sounded hurt.

"I have to make sure Breanne is safe. As much as I can, anyway. Hank has been a big help, and completely honest with us from the beginning. I like that."

I watched the conversation as if I were watching a boxing match. At the moment, Bill had gotten in several quick punches. Jayson was taking it on the chin, and he didn't like it. At all.

"Bill, can we talk after the funeral?" I asked. He already knew I was going with Hank. Yeah, I needed to tell him about the three I'd killed from Hank's club—I knew their names and I knew all three were on Bill's radar. He needed to know they were dead. I also needed to explain about the Sirenali, and that wasn't going to be easy.

"Sweetheart, I think Opal and I will come with you. I'm almost afraid to let you out of my sight." Bill's eyes had gone honey-brown as he blinked at me. Yes, he loved me. Adored me. I had no idea why, but it made me feel good. I still had no idea how Hank really felt about me, other than possessive. I still kept myself from reading him, but more and more, I was too afraid it might be painful if I did.

"Thanks, Bill." I put my arms around him and squeezed. His arms moved around me and large, warm hands rubbed my back carefully.

"It's okay, baby," Hank's fingers were stroking my hair as Bill held me. "Bill understands, now."

"Huh?" I pulled away from Bill and blinked at Hank.

"Polyamory," Hank nodded. "We talked for a while after you went to bed last night."

"This is confusing," I stepped back from both of them.

"That's not what we intended to happen. Just let this go, Bree. Do what you want. We're okay with that," Jayson interjected.

"Aren't we going to be late if Bill doesn't get in the shower?" I said, intentionally changing the subject. We'd just gone into uncharted territory and it frightened me.

"I'll get in the shower," Bill accepted a cup of coffee from Jayson, who'd gone to the coffeepot and poured two cups. "I'll be out in fifteen. Opal should be ready about then."

"Miss Thang, is your bed made up?" Trina walked in with a basket of laundry.

"Miss Trina, my bed is all made up," I nodded. "And the bathroom counter is wiped off, too. Towels in the hamper."

"You're just too neat for your own good," Trina set the basket on the island and grinned at me.

"You're too hyper, did you know that?" I grinned right back.

"I have to be, to pick up after Mr. Messy Rome," Trina said.

"Mr. Messy Rome is right here," Jayson pointed out.

"Did you hear anything?" Trina pulled a towel from the basket to fold. Jayson laughed.

* * *

"Are they really?" Opal was right behind me as Hank and Bill walked into the funeral home as if they owned the place.

"Yeah." A knot of people stood just inside the door, most of them dressed in leather. Three of the women wore everyday collars—made to look like necklaces, but bearing a large locket with a pronounced keyhole at the center.

Opal had whispered her question, and I knew what she was asking. These were John's friends—from the leather community.

"How do they do that?" Opal muttered.

They want it. Hank says they go looking for it. If they're happy, I'm happy
. I sent mindspeech as we walked past the people in question.

"I'll admit, I was a little worried when Hank dressed as he did," Opal murmured as we were led to a pew in the chapel. Hank was dressed in leather, too—pants, boots and a jacket over a long-sleeved black shirt. Hank and Bill left me with Opal while they went to speak with John's family.