Blood Entangled Page 4

  “Yes. The teeth are curious. What about the translation? Were you able to complete the portions that stumped Oliver?”

  “I did, yes.”

  “May I see it?” he asked.

  She squinted at him across the desk. She was no pushover, even if she grieved the death of Oliver. “Edwin, how did you come by this text?”

  “It’s been in my family forever.”

  “I find that hard to believe. It’s been expertly preserved. Why has no one brought it forward for study before now?”

  “My family is extremely private.” He looked her in the eye and spoke firmly, as if that should answer all her questions.

  She was not appeased. “Are there other artifacts?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “You seem rather nonchalant about possessing the codex, which leads me to believe there may be other artifacts. Perhaps they are of family interest to you, Mr. Lovac. But to me they are invaluable objects, keys that may unlock the mysteries I obsess over. They may be of great historical importance. So I ask you again—are there other objects?”

  Ethan considered lying to her. He was a master at deception, his whole personality a lie. But something told him he couldn’t easily fool her. He leaned forward and put his elbows on his knees. “Yes, Gwen. There are other artifacts.”

  She leaned in too, shortening the distance between them. “Where are they?”

  “My family home in Boston.”

  “Books?”

  “No. Tapestries, weapons, household objects.”

  “From the same period as the book?”

  “And older.”

  “Damn.” She leaned back in her chair and twirled a ring on her index finger—a band of gold Celtic knot work. Her hands were dainty, manicured but with unpolished nails.

  Her eyes focused on the space immediately in front of her nose. At last, she looked at his face but waited another beat before she said, “You already know what I’m going to propose. That’s why you told me about the other objects.”

  “I believe so, yes.”

  “Quid pro quo. My full translation for access to the objects.”

  “You may study them in my home, but they will not leave the premises.”

  She nodded.

  “When do you want to start?” he asked.

  “Today. Do you have a car?”

  “No.”

  “I’ll rent one,” she said. “We leave this afternoon, before rush hour.”

  “I’ll read the translation in the car.”

  “No. You’ll have it when I see what else you’ve got. I’ll pick you up at your hotel at two thirty.”

  He told her where he was staying and went back for a second espresso. Sitting in the café, he replayed his interaction with Gwen. Underneath her perky façade was a surprisingly firm backbone. This was working out even better than he had hoped. In addition to translating the book, she might provide him with information about the other artifacts.

  Whistling a happy tune, he reached into his pocket and took out his little green soldier. He’d brought it on a whim, to mock his father’s bumbling attempts to lead the Hunters’ operation against Marasović. But now Stephen Bennett was dead, and the plastic toy had become Ethan’s talisman, symbolizing the army he would command—a tribe of Hunters, zealous, full of hate, and at his disposal. The more he knew about the Hunters’ past, the better. Those ancient secrets might very well be enough to incite a war, and he would be the Hunters’ commander in chief.

  That left him with only one problem—how to get Zoey back.

  Chapter 5

  AFTER SERVING BREAKFAST to the human members of the household, Lena canned tomatoes. Yesterday it was corn, the day before, green beans. Since the Hunters attacked, she’d added to her pantry every day, making certain the household could survive a lengthy siege.

  Hands in thick kitchen gloves, she carried the heavy rack of steaming-hot mason jars to the pantry to cool. Her muscles burned from their weight. She grunted as she set the rack down and leaned against the wall to take stock. The shelves spanned all the way to the twelve-foot ceiling, lined with orderly rows of jars—jam, peaches, all sorts of vegetables.

  Canning was hard work. When she’d begun to stock the pantries at Kaštel two years earlier, she took great pride in the emergency supply of local fruits and vegetables, and she sure as heck planned to be at Kaštel if they were needed. Now she resented the daily effort. She was ensuring the future of a household where she was unwelcome, because Andre was a big mean jerk. But they would need the supplies if the Hunters returned, so she may as well keep at it. She had nothing else to do but feel sorry for herself.

  She returned to a splattering mess of tomato juice and skins in the kitchen. She went to work, taking out her anger on every stain and fingerprint that marred the kitchen’s surfaces. Finally, black granite countertops gleamed in the morning light of the kitchen. Lena hated the damn things; they were impossible to keep clean because they showed every water spot and smudge. Though, when they were spick and span, the kitchen was nice—roomy, with modern, industrial appliances and honeyed oak cabinets.

  Now, it was perfectly clean, just in time to prepare lunch.

  But first she would sit down and enjoy a cup of tea in her momentarily spotless haven. With a mug of Earl Grey two bags strong, she perched on a kitchen stool. What to dish up for the midday meal? Trys would only eat ice cream, but the rest of the food-eating types preferred protein. She listed ingredients for a chicken salad with bright red peppers from the garden. Yum. Her stomach growled. She’d forgotten her own breakfast again.

  A nasty puddle of dried dishwater caught her eye. How had it escaped her sponge on the first go round? Armed with a freshly rinsed sponge, she went to work on it, and all her frustration returned with a vengeance. In her mind, she heard Andre’s words again. “All she needs is a good fuck.”

  She dropped onto the kitchen stool so hard it skittered several inches across the tile floor. He was right, of course, but it was his fault she hadn’t had one. She’d certainly tried. The shameful memory took hold of her, all at once, transporting her to the kitchen a week earlier.

  She’d been up late baking scones and fretting over the spark between Zoey and Andre. She stirred her ingredients like a woman scorned, flinging flour out of the bowl. After all the years of offering herself to him, of him taking her blood while refusing her sex, he wanted someone else. He’d made her crazy-desperate, and it was her last chance to win him.

  She had overheard them part ways and spied Zoey on the stairs. From Zoey’s strained expression, it was obvious that they weren’t planning a rendezvous. So Lena snuck into his room and shed her clothes. She was down to her plain old cotton bra and panties when he entered, sporting an impressive erection that he freed from his pants in a hurry.

  Seeing it stung—in all the times he’d fed from her, she’d never felt any evidence of desire. Still, she was determined to make the best of her opportunity. Trying to sound sultry, she said, “Let me help you with that.”

  Startled, he jumped back. “Davo. Lena, not now.”

  “Andre, please. I want you.” But it was no use. Watching his erection deflate, she accepted her failure. “You asshole. What’s wrong with me?” She hurled herself at him and pounded on his chest with her fists. “I came to your household to serve you with my body. I’m dying for you to give me that pleasure, but you only tease me. Please!” She burst into tears.

  He gripped her wrists, holding her at arm’s length as he turned his head away. The muscles of his jaw bulged from grinding his teeth.

  She couldn’t stop herself. If he wouldn’t accept her, all her years of serving him were in vain. “Andre, please, it’s my destiny. I can’t move on with my life until you’ve given this to me.” Then she dissolved in sobs. When the tears stopped, she felt like a zombie—numb over the foolishness of her actions.

  Kos had taken her to stay in his cabin on the coast. Kos—always the gentleman. No wonder she’d gotten a
ttached to him. That was what happened when someone showed kindness to a stray dog. She’d never wanted to show her face at Kaštel again.

  Yet, here she was. God, it was time to go.

  Wasn’t there anyone out there who would want her?

  Once the chicken salad was assembled, she ate a piece of toast and used Post-it notes to mark Croatian recipes for the Blood Vine launch party.

  Except, no recipes struck her as appealing. Her fingers didn’t want to turn the pages. They wanted to scribble angry doodles on her notepad. Zigzags, crosshatches, a large man with a pig nose, horns, and a devil tail. Then her naughty fingers reached for a green marker in the pen jar. Two beady green eyes made the drawing perfect.

  The door swung open, and Zoey strode in wearing a broad smile. “Hey.”

  Startled, Lena flipped the notepad face down.

  Zoey didn’t seem to notice. Her big eyes shone, and the corners of her mouth lifted further. She had an expressive face, probably couldn’t fake an emotion to save her life. When she first came to Kaštel, her smile had never reached her brown eyes, but now they were always bright.

  The corners of Lena’s mouth curled automatically. She was glad to see her new friend so content, even if it was with Andre. “You look like you had a good night.”

  Zoey’s grin faltered. “Oh, Lena, I’m sorry—”

  “Don’t apologize. I’m glad you’re happy. Although you’re too good for him.”

  “Uh oh.” Zoey crossed her arms. “What did he do now?”

  “Nothing.”

  Nothing new, at least. Zoey didn’t need to hear about Andre being a jerk.

  But she clearly wasn’t convinced. She marched over to Lena and flipped the notepad over. “Nothing, huh?” She chuckled. “Nice drawing.”

  “It’s not hi—”

  “Right, it’s the other green-eyed devil pig that lives in this house.”

  Zoey’s eyes danced with humor, assuring Lena she wasn’t angry.

  Still embarrassed, Lena ripped out the page and balled it up. She tapped the cookbook. “Should we plan the menu now?”

  “No. I’ve got a lot of work waiting for me. I just came by to say hi. Any job offers yet?”

  “Nope.” Lena tried to keep her worry off her face, but the constant ache of rejection turned sharp.

  Zoey wore a tailored blouse and crisp slacks like the businesswoman she was, her shiny dark hair falling heavy on her shoulders. Lena tugged at the casual knit skirt hanging off her hips. She was a plain Jane compared to Zoey’s dark beauty.

  “You could stay,” Zoey said.

  “Andre and I agree that is a bad idea.”

  “Who cares what Andre thinks? What about Kos?”

  What about him? Lena stood and straightened items on the countertop, her back to Zoey. “He’s been very helpful.”

  Zoey stepped up to the counter, well into Lena’s personal space. “Helpful—that’s nice. But does he want you to go?”

  Lena pivoted to face Zoey and shrugged. “He says he wants me to be happy.”

  “He would. He’s that kind of guy.” Zoey sounded wistful. “Have you thought more about taking a regular job?”

  “I’ve thought about it.”

  And an adorable baby boy with Kos’s eyes. If that baby looked like anyone else, she might follow her heart right into a human life. But he resembled a very sexy vampire who by definition could never father a baby, and the resemblance stoked impossible hopes.

  “If I left blood service, I feel like I’d be letting my grandma down. I just don’t know what I’m supposed to do anymore.”

  Zoey waited, quiet. She seemed to know when Lena needed silence. It was something she especially liked about Zoey.

  “Can I ask you a personal question?” Lena asked.

  Zoey’s eyebrows drew together. “You know you can.”

  “Is the whole bitey sex thing as good as they say?”

  Zoey’s lower lip jutted. Lena knew that look—it was pity, and Kos wore it all too often when he looked at her.

  “To be honest, it’s spectacular. But, honey, it’s nothing to hang your life on.”

  Tears stung Lena’s eyes before she could stop them. That was exactly what she’d been doing. When Andre hired her, she thought all her dreams had come true. But the sex, the mysterious pleasure—none of it materialized. Maybe it was time to give up on the whole destiny thing.

  Zoey hugged her close. “It’s going to work out. You’re beautiful, and kind, and from what I remember, a damn good cook. Who wouldn’t want you?”

  Lena’s spine went rigid. Zoey meant it as a kindness, but it didn’t feel like one, because the answer to her question thundered in Lena’s head: Andre didn’t want her, the one who had chosen Zoey instead.

  “Thanks.” Lena pulled away. “Hey. If you don’t mind, I kinda want to be alone right now.”

  “Sure, okay.”

  The pity lip was back under worried eyes, but Zoey left without another word.

  Lena sunk onto the floor in blessed solitude, letting the tears run down her face. Though the air in the kitchen was warm, the tile floor was cold, and she shivered. How had she ended up so miserable, an object of pity in a vampire household?

  She closed her eyes and inhaled the scent of lemony kitchen cleaner. Tracing her fingers along the lines and corners of grout, the smell and sensations dragged her into a memory. When she opened her eyes, she was in another time and place, tracing the same angles in harvest gold tiles. It was the kitchen of her childhood home in Juneau. The windows were bright, but her Alaskan internal clock told her it was late, possibly eight or nine in the evening. Her legs stretched out in front of her, skinny and covered in golden fuzz. She was just a girl, hadn’t even started shaving them yet. That meant—

  “Lazy lille. What are you doing down there? Taking a nap? I need the mixing bowl.”

  Nona was alive!

  Lena hopped up to hug her. “Sorry. Here it is.” She handed her grandmother the large metal bowl she favored. “How can I help?”

  “Measure out the currants.”

  Nona never slept. She said it was because of her days in a vampire household, feeding humans her home cooking and vampires her blood. Whenever Lena’s father was off in the wilderness leading tourist treks, Nona let Lena stay up late for marathon cooking sessions, and her recipe for cream scones with currants was etched in Lena’s heart.

  Standing alongside her sturdy Nona, she inhaled the woman’s scent—flour, rose perfume, and cigarettes. Nona was thick-waisted, and only as tall as twelve-year-old Lena, which made it funny that she called her lille, little one, in Norwegian. She whistled along to the Hank Williams tune on the radio, her hands moving like a younger woman’s to measure out salt and baking soda. The stocky bundle of energy seemed invincible, but those cigarettes would do her in pretty soon, if Lena was dating the memory right.

  She measured currants, flour, and sugar, while Nona poured cream into a glass pitcher.

  “Lille, it is a fine summer night, a good night for us women to talk about woman things.”

  Yes. Lena was right about the memory. The birds, bees, and vampires talk.

  “Okay, Nona, I’m listening.”

  “Don’t just listen, lille, ask. You must ask every question.” Nona set the metal bowl of dry ingredients on the counter, and it rang out like a bell, echoing in the small kitchen—such a familiar, homey sound.

  “Yes, Nona, I promise.”

  “You already know about vampires. That they are mostly good and kind, just like regular people.”

  “Are some bad, Nona? Like some people are bad?”

  “Yes. Some are bad, but most are good. When I served a vampire, he was very good to me, and to others. If there were women in the village who lost their husband or father, he brought them to the household. He took care of everyone who needed help.”

  “But, did he drink their blood?”

  “Only if they wanted him to, lille.”

  Lena rubbed her neck
. “Why would they want him to?”

  “This is a very good question.” Nona turned to Lena. Her eyes were blue like a cornflower—sharp, and clear, but also warm. “Because his bite gave them pleasure.”

  “Pleasure?”

  “Pleasure like a man and woman feel when they make a baby.”

  “Oh.” Nona had told her about that kind of pleasure last summer, on another long Alaskan day when her father had been away. And Lena had gone back to her room for the brief hours of darkness and touched the secret place Nona had told her about. She still touched it sometimes in the dark.

  She looked at her hands, but Nona’s floured fingers took hold of her chin and tilted it up.

  “Yes, lille, that kind of pleasure.”

  Her face burned. Did Nona know?

  Nona smiled, her tanned face wrinkled and her teeth yellow from tobacco. She stroked Lena’s hair gently. Lena leaned into the touch of the only mother she’d ever known.

  “Lille, Lena, my granddaughter. You are destined for this pleasure. You are from a long line of household women, generations and generations, destined for the honor and pleasure of serving vampires. I will teach you everything you will need to know, and when you are a woman, I will find a household for you, with a kind and handsome master. And he will honor you, and please you.”

  She had a destiny, and it was wonderful, every girl’s dream. Like Sleeping Beauty, awoken from a deep sleep by a charming vampire, Lena would have her very own fairy tale.

  Alongside Nona in the kitchen, Lena had absorbed everything she could—about cooking for a household, about Hunters, about blood, and bites and sex, and what happened when they went together. She could hardly wait to grow up, so that Nona would help her find her prince.

  Cancer had stolen Nona instead, and Lena had to find her prince on her own. Except, she’d found Andre…

  Fingernails scraped against grout, sending a shudder up her back. Andre’s kitchen. Andre’s house. Her tears fell again. Maybe Nona had been wrong, and she didn’t have a destiny at all.