Blood Entangled Read online

  Alyssa’s little tongue felt so different from Kos’s. She worked Lena into a frenzy, and Mason matched it with the pace of his suction. Then, to her surprise, Alyssa slipped her fingers inside Lena and touched that secret place only Kos knew, and she was climaxing and sobbing just like last time. At least she didn’t pass out again.

  Mason sealed up her wounds with a lick. “Good girl. You come so beautifully.”

  After a moment, she stood up on wobbly knees, and Alyssa crawled up Mason and took his erection from his pants. She deep-throated him like a professional, which she probably was. But then, Lena had no room to judge. That was what she was now, too.

  She hugged her arms across her breasts and tried not to move. Mason watched her with the same expressionless intensity as Alyssa bobbed up and down his length. But then he closed his cold, cold eyes, and she was dismissed…for the time being.

  Chapter 23

  THE CHANDELIER IN THE FOYER GLITTERED. The guests’ faces shone too, with the enjoyment of a party. Bodies packed into the dining room, the parlor, and into the central entryway, scenting the air with the blood and soap and perfume and sweat of nearly one hundred humans. Kos’s stomach rumbled. There were even a few friends who’d be happy to feed him flitting around the party, somewhere, but he had no real appetite.

  In contrast, the guests seemed ravenous. They devoured the food Lena had prepared. Occasionally remarks about how unusual and delicious it was floated to him amidst the loud buzz of the conversations. Non-stop laughter and the clinking of glasses rang out over the chatter. By nearly every standard, the party was a success.

  Wedged into a dark corner of the foyer, he sipped a glass of Blood Vine and kept his eyes trained on his father. With Zoey at his side, shaking hands and talking about his wine, Andre might have been at his own wedding. He stood straight, lips pulled into his truest smile. Perhaps at that moment he was able to forget what Kos could not—Hunters, that damn note from Uta, Lena.

  Zoey broke from a gathering of smartly dressed journalists and wine critics to mount a handful of stairs. Andre climbed to stand behind her, and they faced the crowd. Under some invisible force of her charisma or their infectious joy, the room hushed.

  She raised her hand to quiet everyone, but they’d already grown silent. Her mouth was rather wide to be beautiful, but it made her smile all the more dazzling. “We are so grateful that you’ve come tonight to celebrate the launch of Blood Vine. I agreed to work with Andre because I was intrigued by his vision for this wine. I had no idea I would come to believe in it, or him, so completely.” Hardly exquisite rhetoric, and yet, the room hung on her words, or on the passion that undergirded them, making her voice quiver. “And so I ask a personal favor of you, to help us spread the word far and wide about this very special wine, and this very special place.”

  A smattering of applause bounced in the room, but Andre cut it off by clearing his throat. “Zoey speaks correctly of my gratitude for your help. If you have known me any length of time, you might wonder at her presumption in doing so.” He wrapped his arm around her shoulder and drew her close. She beamed at him. “She possesses every right, because she has agreed to be my wife and my partner in this endeavor. Forever.” His last word was spoken so quietly few humans would have heard. It sent a chill across Kos’s scalp all the way to his haunches. If only…

  But the crowd clapped in earnest, and even a few bawdy whistles sang out from among the winemakers. They’d bonded, but now they would unite in a human ceremony, making their relationship public and official—a mistake Kos could not help but envy. As the couple descended the stairs, guests queued up to shake their hands and say good night. Kos used his thumb and forefinger to shape his face into a smile and carved his way through the crowd to make his own farewells.

  A brief hour later, the partygoers had all drifted out and the house had undergone a cursory cleaning. He leaned into the doorframe of Andre’s office, pushing his full weight into the muscles along his neck and shoulder, attempting to massage out the golf-ball-sized knots that were bunching them.

  Zoey and Andre reclined in the brown leather armchairs, sipping Blood Vine and chatting, with their feet propped on the coffee table. Their hands were clasped between the chairs, and Zoey’s quiet laughter made her appear more relaxed than she’d been in days.

  Kos couldn’t stop thinking about the picture Uta had sent. Hell, he couldn’t stop thinking about the sun, about standing beneath Lena while she plucked figs from the tree, his fingers splayed across her belly and the sun warming his head and his shoulders, which relaxed slightly at the image, then scrunched up again at its impossibility. He might actually walk in the sun, but he’d never touch her again.

  Bel and Pedro came through the cellar, and Kos stepped aside so they could enter. In the dim light of Andre’s office, both their mouths formed hard lines. Kos braced himself against the doorframe, ready for another blow.

  “Bad news,” Bel said, unnecessarily.

  Andre closed his eyes. “What now?”

  “Lucas knew,” Pedro spat.

  Andre flew to his feet and crossed to Pedro in a flash. “Knew what?”

  Bel extended a roll of papers toward Andre.

  He untied them and viewed the top sheet, his eyes widening.

  “Lucas drew them from memory. They’re from an ancient Hunter book his father owned.” Bel droned in his matter-of-fact, I-kill-Hunters-all-the-time voice. “Practically identical to the one Uta sent. He’s suspected all along his blood might allow Pedro to tolerate the sun.”

  “Davo.”

  “He lied to me,” Pedro said, his voice reedy.

  Zoey crossed to him and stroked the back of his head, offering the kind of comfort only women could give—women like Lena. Saliva pooled in Kos’s mouth; he could still taste her, smell her, feel her skin.

  “Snap out of it, Kos,” Andre said. “I need you here, not up Lena’s skirt.”

  “Sorry.” Kos joined the circle forming around Andre’s desk. How had Andre known his thoughts?

  Then Andre did it again, his tone almost kind. “A set of drawings that explains the mysteries of the universe is in front of you and you’re navel gazing. Only one navel you find that distracting.”

  Andre cleared the table and spread the papers out in the order of the stack.

  “Krist. Five pictures?” Kos said, his mind clearing. This was way more information than what Uta had sent.

  The sketches were in graphite and colored pencil. Lucas was good. With basic supplies, he’d captured the quality of light and line that gave the feel of an ancient illustrated manuscript.

  “We examined them upstairs during the party. I have some ideas, but take a look first.” Bel rearranged the papers in some sort of order.

  Kos reached for one, but it was so like a genuine artifact that he stopped short to prevent himself from touching it. “It’s a wedding. He’s wearing the red band for the blood bond ceremony.”

  “You didn’t wear that,” Zoey said to Andre.

  “As you keep reminding me, lover, we are not married. I will wear that when you make an honest vampire out of me.”

  Andre turned to kiss Zoey with an open mouth, and Kos regretted seeing his father’s tongue slip between her lips. How could he tease and kiss at a time like this? It was lewd. Or did it only seem that way because Kos was jealous?

  Bel ignored the make out session. “You’re right, a wedding. Then, in the next picture, the happy couple is standing in the daylight.”

  Andre broke the kiss to look.

  Stunned silence stretched out. Twice in one night, Kos had seen drawings indicating that, with Hunter blood, he might be able to go into the sun, after almost two centuries in the night. He didn’t pine over daylight—why bother? That would be as useless as wishing you could breathe underwater. Andre was a hundred times older than him, and Kos could only imagine how the idea of walking in the day messed with his sense of reality.

  “This next one’s a kicker too. At lea
st, Bel thought so.” Pedro tapped his index finger on the margin of one drawing.

  Bel’s lips were pinched tight, and a tingle went down Kos’s spine—it wasn’t going to be good. But somehow he worked up the nerve to look at the third illustration. Sure enough—the happy vampire family had a baby. Again, no one said a thing.

  Zoey broke the silence, pointing at the fourth drawing. “Looks like a little Electra complex going on here.” The female Hunter was eviscerating her parents.

  “Electra only killed her mother.” Kos rubbed at his aching neck. “This is plain old patricide.”

  “Tempting, too, isn’t it?” Bel smiled maliciously at Andre.

  “Bel, not now. Please,” Kos said. “Look at number five. It’s like the one Uta sent, but not identical. Perhaps hers is from a different copy?”

  Bel framed the paper with his large hands. “My thoughts exactly.”

  “So can someone please string this story together for me?” Zoey asked, in her not-really-a-request tone of voice.

  Words exploded from Bel as if he’d been waiting for the invitation. “I think it’s two tribes mixing. Then a rift of some sort causes them to go to war. Some Hunters are on the side of the vampires. But what happened to the survivors?”

  “I think they were enslaved,” Pedro said.

  “Who?” Andre asked, rare astonishment coloring his speech.

  “The Hunters. They were forced by the vampires to give their blood, and that’s why they hate us.”

  “I’m not seeing a lot of coercion here, buddy,” Bel argued.

  Clearly, they’d already discussed this.

  “Look again at the first drawing—the wedding.”

  Pedro picked it up and studied it, eyes widening. “Madre de Dios. Andre, look.”

  Andre did, only for a second, before he returned his gaze to Pedro. “No.”

  “Yes,” Pedro countered.

  “No.”

  “What?” Zoey tugged at Andre’s sleeve.

  “Grape vines. They are standing under an arbor of grapevines.”

  Once more, the group descended into silence, passing the pictures back and forth.

  Bel set a drawing down—the one with the child. “Andre, we need to talk.”

  Andre’s jaw went to work, gnashing loudly as they stepped into the cellar for the illusion of privacy. Kos wished it for them, even though he and the other vampires remaining would hear every word.

  “Is there something you want to tell me?” Bel asked on the other side of the door.

  “Son, nothing has changed. I do not posses the answers you seek.”

  Kos, Pedro, and Zoey exchanged glances. Pretending they couldn’t hear each other’s every word and action kept vampires sane. Zoey closed her eyes and leaned her head back. Pedro plugged his ears. Kos listened.

  “How can you say that?” Bel said. “I’m begging you. Throw me a bone.”

  “You have been my son for one hundred and eighty years, and still you do not trust me to know what is best.”

  “Are you listening to yourself? When will you trust that I know what is best for myself?”

  His combat boots fell heavily on the stone floor of the cellar as he strode away. Pedro and Zoey looked to Kos again, and he shook his head. No sense pressing Andre. They should let it lie for the time being. Outside, the faint sound of Bel’s engine revving told them all he was off to Los Angeles.

  His father appeared in the doorway. Bulky muscles filled out his shirt, his face was unlined, even his hair was back to black since they started drinking Blood Vine. But the strain in his eyes, and the set of his jaw, clearly hinted at his two thousand years.

  There was only one thing to do—play cards.

  “I’ll deal,” Kos said.

  They played all night and into the morning. Pedro was the only one to give Zoey a run for her money. The last hand was a bidding war between the two of them, and when Pedro put his last chips in and called, Zoey showed him her full house.

  “Mierda!” He slammed his cards on the table. “If we have to flee the estate, let’s take Zoey to Vegas.”

  “Can’t.” Kos gathered the cards. “Against vampire code to gamble with humans. Speed, hearing, smell. We have every advantage.”

  “Who enforces vampire code anyway?”

  “We all enforce the code when we see it broken. The oldest vampire involved has jurisdiction.” Kos shuffled, a singularly enjoyable task.

  “So I just need Andre’s permission?”

  “I wouldn’t risk it,” he said. “What if a vampire older than me owned the casino? He could decide to throw you into the Nevada desert at high noon.”

  “Oh.”

  Memories of Mason rolled through Kos’s mind as he dealt the next hand—Mason’s too charming smiles, women surrounding him, a predatory look when he thought Kos wasn’t watching. Krist, that vampire could consume women insatiably. But he was honorable, and she would be fine. She even seemed to like him…

  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.