Embraced by Blood. Laurie London
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lover, was a Tracker.
“We don’t know that for sure.” Sigred’s laugh sounded forced. She was backpedaling; her partner had said too much. “That was just an idea someone bounced around. Everyone’s trying to get a piece of the action, making promises to have more Sweet available, staking out their territories. So far, it’s just been us here in Bellingham, but probably not for long.”
Alfonso found himself thinking once more that he shouldn’t be surprised DBs were moving into areas they’d never been before. With Lord Pavlos, whom the Darkbloods reverently referred to as “the Overlord,” dead, the Alliance was going through a power struggle of sorts as potential leaders crawled out of the woodwork like rats, trying to make a name for themselves. The one who controlled the Sweet was the one with all the power, a fact he knew firsthand. A Sweet-laden Night of Wilding was sure to attract those living on the fringe of civilized vampire society and maybe a few who didn’t realize they could be tempted like that.
“Ain’t it a bloody shame that you’ve got to share this small town?” Alfonso was relieved to notice that the girl was finally leaving.
Should he try to take these two out? He wasn’t Agency—these guys weren’t his problem. The girl was safe.
He tucked the weapons under his coat and thrust his hands into his pockets. Time to go home. He could last one more night without feeding.
The blonde halted, turned back around and pinned him with that lazy eye of hers. “What was that?”
“Huh?”
“Did you just say ‘Ain’t that a bloody shame?’”
“I don’t know. Did I?” He didn’t like the sudden change in her voice. He pulled his hands back out of his pockets and held them loosely at his sides.
“You know, it’s funny,” she said. “I rode a day transport from Southern California to Seattle last year with a guy who was high up in the Alliance ranks. Didn’t get a good look at him, but that was his pet phrase. He must’ve said it a dozen times on the way up. Heard he turned out to be an Agency spy. The one responsible for the Overlord’s death.”
Shit, shit, shit. She must’ve been one of those recruits in the back of the bus.
“No kidding.” With his heart pounding, he turned to leave. He reached under his coat and grabbed the rope-wrapped handles again. His slow, measured footsteps echoed under the walkway. One … two … three.
Keep walking. Don’t rush. Act casual and they won’t think anything of it. These two aren’t familiar. They don’t know me. Just keep going.
“The name was Alfonso Serrano, I think,” Sigred called after him. “So tell us, friend, what’s yours?”
Without hesitation, he spun around—they were drawing their weapons. He had one chance. With a flick of his wrists, the kunai cut through the air and landed simultaneously between their breastbones with a thunk.
The male fell to the ground. The silver had penetrated his heart; he’d be a pile of ashes in moments. But the female was merely wounded.
She dropped the blade in her hand and staggered sideways, away from the covered walkway. While the rain pummeled her face and plastered the hair across her cheeks, her fingers curled around the hilt of the kunai and pulled it from her chest. If he hadn’t known for a fact she had silver weapons of her own, he’d have waited it out until she collapsed from the energy drain. But she had his blade and who knew what else. He was just as susceptible to silver as they were and he certainly couldn’t outrun a silver bullet.
In one motion, he leaped forward and retrieved his stake from the rapidly charcoaling male. The exertion and sudden movement made him dizzy. He staggered and fell to the bricks.
“Fucking traitor,” Sigred hissed through clenched fangs as she lunged at him, kunai raised above her head.
Summoning the last of his energy reserves, he scissored his legs, knocking her feet out from under her. As she fell, he aimed the tip of the retrieved kunai slightly to her left, several inches down from her shoulder. She landed on the blade, and with a little shimmy on his part, the razor-sharp tip scraped over bone, slid to the hilt between two ribs and hit home.
He pushed her dead weight off and lay flat on the ground, that putrid Darkblood smell lingering in his nostrils.
While the rain pounded his face, soaking his knit cap and jeans, he watched, completely spent, as her body folded inward and turned to ash, leaving behind only metal. From amidst the clothing rivets, zippers, coins, syringes, needles, a multitude of weapons and—oh yes—one glass eye, he fished out his other kunai and slowly pushed himself up.
Let campus security think this was the remnant of a drug deal gone bad. He kicked everything around and crushed the vials, blood washing away in the rain. Although drinking it would’ve given him the strength he needed, he wasn’t about to consume blood taken from a killing. He was weak, but he still had morals.
He yanked off his waterlogged cap and made his way slowly across Red Square. Christ, that nip/tuck had just about done him in.
With a hand up to his face to block the wind, he finally made it back to Haggard Hall. His rig was parked nearby.
And there she was. Western Washington University’s dumbest, most irritating student, a mere ten feet away.
Alone. With no one else in sight. Texting.
Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus.
CHAPTER TWO
NINETY MILES SOUTH of Bellingham, on the rain-soaked streets of Seattle, Lily DeGraff was about to have a major panic attack. Problem was, that wouldn’t set the best example for the Tracker trainee she was mentoring.
They dashed across First Avenue in Belltown and slipped into the shadows of an old brick building, pausing to make sure they hadn’t been spotted. If a human witnessed them moving this fast, even though the few still out were wasted or high, they’d be forced to slow down and do a mind-wipe. But that took time, a luxury they didn’t have. Their footsteps echoed on the sidewalk as they sprinted downtown again.
Just after the clubs had closed, a call had come in over the police band about a missing young woman. Lily and her trainee had made a routine drive past the Pink Salon to see if it involved their kind. The private, Vegas-style club was popular among both races, except the humans were clueless that they partied with a few vampires.
In the alley out back, she detected fresh blood. Not a killing amount, but she could guess what had happened. Like many other predatory animals, a vampire wouldn’t carry his meal too far away. Once a revert crossed the line and went into feeding mode, he wouldn’t have the willpower to wait too long for the blood and energy rush he craved.
But that had been thirty minutes ago. Now they were running all over the city trying to locate the bastard before it was too late and the woman was dead.
Although he hadn’t said anything, Kip Castile probably wondered why his trainer was waiting so long to take over from him. At least that was what Lily assumed he was thinking. She’d be thinking the same thing if she were him. Only problem was, after that brief scent of blood in the alley, she hadn’t detected anything more. All she smelled now was a muddy, dirt-like odor, as if everything was mixed together into one massive, indefinable lump. This weakening of her ability had been fluctuating off and on for quite a while now, but lately, it seemed to be getting worse. Tonight she could hardly smell through it.
“Let’s hold up a minute, Kip. Take a deep breath and before you exhale, I want you to focus inward. Good.” Her calm voice was a stark contrast to the rising knot of turmoil in her gut.
“I still can’t smell the blood trail, Ms. DeGraff. I’m sorry.” The kid was starting to panic.
She gave him a reassuring pat on the back. She’d already told him several times that he could call her Lily, but he kept slipping