Blood Tied (4 page)

My gaze drifted over to the empty side of the bed where Ben had been a few hours ago. After our volcanic orgasms, he’d gotten up and dressed. He’d claimed he had out-of-town business to take care of and couldn’t stay. Not that I would have asked him to anyway.

After I’d showed him out, a wave of fatigue had washed over me. I’d never felt so tired in my life. I’d intended to lie down and nap before hitting the road.

How the hell had I slept until the next day?

“Are you still there?”

I brought the phone back to my ear. “I’m here,” I replied. Shock replaced my previous bluster.

“Believe me now?” he asked.

I nodded.

“I’ll take your silence as a yes,” he said. “What’s going on, Thad?” His voice softened. He was no longer my bullheaded big brother, who plagued my existence. Genuine concern resonated in his tone.

“Nothing. I guess I just got too involved with my dissertation and lost track of time,” I lied. I sure as hell wasn’t going to tell him the truth. I’d never hear the end of it.

He snuffed. “You should spend more time with your nose in someone else’s ass rather than shoving it in your books.” And like that, Pierce-the-jackass returned.

“Do you have to be so crass all the time?”

He belched into the phone in response.

“Classy.”

“I’m all about the class,” he said. “Now get off the fucking phone and get over here. Dad’s wound up about all the decorations, and he’s planning on you to help.”

“And what’s wrong with you and Mason and Drake?” Although I knew Pierce and Mason were useless, Drake was not. Mason’s boyfriend had been living with us since the vampyre killed his only living relative. That decision had brought about great controversy, especially when attempts to spell memories of our existence from his mind failed.

Drake’s imperviousness to magic was yet another mystery that begged to be solved.

“I’ve got a business meeting,” he said. Pierce worked as a vice president in the family business Dad was grooming him to take over. “And Mason and Drake are most likely playing hide the salami somewhere in the house.”

I rolled my eyes. “I’ll be there as soon as possible.”

“Make it faster than that,” he said before hanging up.

I tossed my phone on the bed and surveyed the room. Most people would likely descend into panic after learning they’d lost a good portion of a day, but I wasn’t like most. As with anything else in life, clear thinking could produce the answers I sought.

Although it was bizarre and unusual for me to pass out like that, Ben and I had been going at it pretty hard for at least four hours. By the time we were spent, we’d dripped sweat and panted like bulldogs in the middle of a hot, humid day. I was exhausted after he left, and it had been somewhere around three in the afternoon if I remembered correctly.

While I’d planned on only taking a nap, the recent lack of sleep caused by my dreams, coupled with the intense sex, had more than likely caused my body to shut down. That had to be what happened.

Satisfied with my logic, I rose and entered the bathroom. I turned on the faucet, held my hands under the stream, and then splashed cold water onto my face.

As I toweled the drops of water from my pale cheeks, made slightly coarse from the reddish facial hair I’d yet to shave away, I noticed the small wound on my neck. I’d almost forgotten Ben had bitten me in the heat of the moment. The freak.

It wasn’t infected or anything. In fact, it was little more than a scratch now. Still, I grabbed some Neosporin and rubbed it into the cut.

By tomorrow, all traces of it and Ben’s short visit into my life would disappear forever.

AN HOUR
later, I was on the road to Havenbridge in my black Mercedes Roadster. It was almost four o’clock, and home was still an hour away. Dad wasn’t going to be pleased.

As we did every year, my family held the Samhain celebration at Blackmoor Manor. It was a lot of work that required a great deal of planning. The bonfire had to be set up in the backyard. Autumnal decorations had to be hung throughout the grounds and manor. Places needed to be cleared for the ancestor altars, and the table needed to be prepared for the Feast of the Dead.

Even though Dad hired a catering service to make the food and paid them extra to set up most of the decorations, he’d been relying on my help with the final touches.

As if on cue, my father’s ringtone, “Magic Carpet Ride” by Steppenwolf, started playing. I took a deep breath before answering. “I’m on my way.”

“You were supposed to be here hours ago,” my father said. His tone was low, almost a whisper. Oliver Blackmoor didn’t yell when he was furious. He became deadly calm.

“I got held up. You know I’m working on my dissertation, and I just lost track of time.” I couldn’t very well tell my father the truth. Being late due to important schoolwork was one thing. Telling him it was because I’d fucked my brains out and then passed out would likely result in a mushroom cloud where my house used to be.

He exhaled before replying. “I know you’ve been busy trying to finish up your dissertation, son.” His tone had returned to his usual baritone. “I shouldn’t have gotten upset.”

Why couldn’t he be his typical self and fly off the handle? I knew how to handle him when he was belligerent. He was evidently taking my advice and trying to control his warlock temper. It was something I’d asked my family to work on the last time I was home. Getting riled up had almost cost my father and Pierce their lives in our battle with the vampyre. “I’ll get there as soon as I can.”

“Well, don’t speed,” he said. “I want you home safely.”

I stared into the phone. Who was this man? “Have Pierce and Mason been helping?”

He grunted into the phone. “Pierce scheduled a business meeting and has been out the last few hours. As for Mason, well, he and Drake hung up some of the fall wreaths, but then they started making out. I don’t know where they are now.”

Leave it to my brothers to shirk responsibility as often as possible. Didn’t they realize this Samhain would be a tough one for Dad? It was the first one without Mom. But instead of thinking about anyone else, my brothers thought only of themselves. Typical warlocks. “I’ll finish up once I get there.”

“Don’t worry about it. I think I can get it done.” He didn’t sound convincing. “I just can’t find where your mother stored the candles for the altar.”

“Check the attic.” Even though she’d lost her battle with cancer in March, it seemed like it happened yesterday. “I think they’re in the black chest next to where she stored our baby clothes.”

“Right,” he replied. His voice broke, and a heavy weight landed on my chest. Although my father and I hadn’t had the relationship he and Pierce enjoyed, I felt for him. She had been my best friend, the one person I was closest to in our entire family. But she had been his wife, the woman he’d been spell bound to the moment he saw her.

I couldn’t begin to imagine the emptiness that threatened to swallow him up from inside.

“What time are the Stonewalls and the Proctors arriving?” I asked. Changing the subject would distract us both from the swell of emotions that threatened to drown us, especially since my father didn’t care for the heads of the other protector covens. It was part of our culture for warlocks, wizards, and witches to not get along. Our different types of magic necessitated such staunch divisions.

At least that was what I’d always been led to believe. After everything we’d gone through recently, I had my doubts.

“Eight o’clock,” he answered through gritted teeth.

And they’d all be on time too.

“Well, we’ve got plenty of time to get things ready,” I finally replied. “I’ll be there no later than six, and, I’ll take over and make my brothers toe the line.”

He snorted. “Good luck with that.”

They’d listen all right. Or they’d be walking around with freeze-dried nuts for the rest of their lives. “Don’t worry, Dad. I’ve got it covered.”

“Thanks, Thad. I appreciate it.” The tension in his voice had disappeared, and I was relieved. “I’ll see you at six.”

“See you then,” I said before I ended the call.

A road sign up ahead revealed Havenbridge was fifty miles away. In just under an hour, I’d be home with a family that was often more frustrating than getting a cat to obey. Still, it would be nice to be home again. So why did the weight that sat upon my chest only grow heavier?

WHEN I
crossed the Havenbridge town line, I was about five minutes from home, and the woods that made up the rear of our estate stretched to my right. I pushed down on the accelerator, causing the scenery to flash by in a blur of orange and brown.

I foolishly hoped that if I drove faster, I could outrace the strange sensation that had overcome me a few miles back. It wasn’t working. The bizarre feeling persisted and had only gotten worse. Unease had settled across my skin like frostbite.

I shook uncontrollably, as if my body couldn’t get warm enough, and it felt as if some unseen entity was stabbing me with dozens of sharp needles.

The last couple of times this happened had been when we got news of my mother’s prognosis and right before the vampyre attacked us at our house.

Something bad was coming. Its presence drifted outside the cone of light my headlights cast onto the darkening road, and no matter how wide I opened my magical senses, I couldn’t detect what lay in wait out there.

It couldn’t be the vampyre. Drake had run a stake through its heart. No, that vile creature was most definitely dead. Was it some new threat? Perhaps it was the shadow weaver that had almost killed Mason and Drake or even the mysterious enemy that worried the Conclave.

A fireball suddenly flew out of the woods and bounced off the hood of my car. The impact caused me to swerve. I slammed on my brakes and the rear end fishtailed before skidding to a stop on the shoulder. I was about two feet away from rolling over into the ditch.

A second fireball exited the woods and slammed into the speed limit sign on the other side of the road.

I scrambled out of my car.

A cry of pain shattered the eerie darkness that had suddenly enveloped the woods. I rushed toward the sound on instinct. The only sound I could hear was my pounding heart.

I sprinted through the woods, leaping over fallen logs and praying my trench coat didn’t trip me up and cause me to stumble. I ducked past the withered limbs of saplings that had succumbed to the advancing cold, my breath pluming in front of me. I was winded, but why couldn’t I hear myself panting anymore as I ran?

I trampled over dead leaves, but they didn’t crunch. I stopped and snatched a thin branch off one of the younger trees and bent it in two. No snap.

Slowly, the noise of the woods came back as if some deity had his hand on the volume button of the world and gradually turned the knob back up to normal. But he didn’t stop there. He moved the dial from a normal five all the way up to ten.

My panting echoed around me as if I were screaming. The crunching of leaves beneath my feet became explosions. I placed my hands over my ears, hoping to drown out the deafening cacophony, but it didn’t work.

The world continued to grow louder and louder until it became white noise, which vibrated my bones.

I sank to the ground, the cold, damp mud seeping into my jeans. I swept my gaze left and right, trying to discern what the hell was happening to me, but all I saw was the darkened woods.

But something was doing this. I was being attacked, and if I didn’t stop the awful screeching, my head might explode. When my mouth filled with the taste of copper and blood flowed from my nose, I realized I didn’t have much time before whatever was attacking me killed me. I had to act.

Whatever was responsible had to be close by, but I didn’t know the exact location so a straightforward counterattack was impossible. But I wasn’t helpless. I’d been playing with the limits of my powers lately, trying to use them in ways beyond a frontal assault that encased my enemies in ice.

If this worked, I might just have a shot.

Instead of focusing my ability through my hands as I usually did, I imagined it radiating out of me in rippling waves of chill. Whatever it touched, it would freeze.

It froze the ground and trees within a three-foot diameter of me, but that wasn’t enough. The screaming persisted, and blood poured out of my nose. I forced my power out even farther. Six feet. Still nothing but an ever-growing ice patch around me.

At nine feet, my vision blurred. In a few moments, this would all be over. I had the reserves for one last push, and if it didn’t work, I hoped when my family found my corpse, I would be more than just liquefied ooze.

I dug my fingers into the frozen ground and let out a silent scream as I radiated my power as far as I could.

The wailing stopped, and the world returned to normal.

My breath wheezed from my lungs in a normal decibel, and when I scratched the ice, it cracked.

I tore my gaze from the ground to the woods. Approximately fifteen feet away stood a figure encased in ice. It was a woman with long white hair that hung past her waist. Her flesh reminded me of ash, and her eyes glowed an eerie yellow. Her mouth hung open an inhuman ten inches in a wide silent scream.

I’d seen this creature before. Not in real life, but in my family’s Grimoire. It was a banshee. Its presence meant death was near.

I slowly rose to my feet and drew closer. “What are you doing here?” I asked.

Since she was frozen, she obviously couldn’t reply, but her yellow eyes tracked my movement. She was pissed. Banshees, like most of the fae, didn’t take kindly to being caught. Fairies didn’t live in our world, but they had important functions to perform in order to make ours run smoothly.

Had she stumbled from her realm into ours by accident? It wasn’t uncommon for a random fairy to cross over on Samhain, when the veil between our worlds grew thin.

If she’d been an elf or a brownie, I’d just ask her. The light fae were mischievous, but they were usually gentle and kind-hearted. A banshee, however, was a dark fae. Their ways were often sinister and wicked. She couldn’t be trusted not to attack me again.