Blood-Bonded by Force (5 page)

Raln Dodrescu, Ţărână’s media tech guy, was currently kneeling beneath it, fiddling with the TiVo. Raln was in charge of television programming for the community, which mostly consisted of him flip-flopping shows to meet Ţărână’s backward day/night cycle. Nighttime topside was daytime here, and vice versa, and it wouldn’t go down well to have primetime TV playing, like the risqué
Two and a Half Men
, during kids’ breakfast while
SpongeBob Squarepants
was the only thing available for adults in the evening.

Raln was only a few years older than Thomal, but was of the “lost” generation of Vârcolac. He was married to a woman of his own breed and had suffered through the birth of two stillborn babies before he and his wife gave up on the idea of a family. Devastated by years of death and loss, most couples of this lost generation had stopped trying for children even long before Roth Mihnea, Tonĩ’s co-leader of Ţărână, had forbidden all future Vârcolac-to-Vârcolac reproduction. Real tragic stuff.

Jaċken was already in Tonĩ’s office when the rest of them arrived: Dev Nichita, who was the leader of the Special Ops Topside Team, an expert military unit created to deal with problems occurring up on planet earth, then Gábor Pavenic, Sedge Stănescu, and Thomal himself.

“Forward to the spot when the police officer leaves the house,” Tonĩ directed Raln. “Then freeze-frame as soon as the door swings open.”

Nodding, Raln super-slow-forwarded the picture. On the TV, a female newscaster was reporting in front of a single family home, the tag of “El Cerrito” on the lower right hand corner of the screen, indicating where she was in San Diego.

“Who did the reporter say was kidnapped?” Dev asked, focused on the TV.

“A young woman named Elsa Mendoza,” Tonĩ answered. “Sister to Ria Mendoza.”

Sedge pulled his long blond hair into a ponytail. “The name Ria Mendoza sounds familiar.”

Tonĩ nodded. “Ria’s a San Diego prosecutor. Kimberly probably knows her.” Kimberly was Sedge’s wife, a champion-class attorney who lived down here, but also practiced law topside, working cases for her own firm as well as attending to issues for the community. “In the middle of the abduction, Elsa’s live-in boyfriend came home and was killed by the intruders.”

They all watched in silence as the TV picture moved forward frame by frame. The door to the house swung open in slow motion and a uniformed policeman moved into the entry.

“Okay, stop there,” Tonĩ said to Raln. “Now move back to when the door first opens.” The frame click-clicked back. “There.” Tonĩ pointed at the television screen, indicating a bloody mark on the wall just inside the house: a piece of crime scene evidence TV viewers weren’t supposed to see…and nobody probably had, because the door opened and closed so quickly at normal speed.

Jaċken gave his wife an incredulous look. “How the hell did you spot that?”

“I don’t know. I just…did.” Tonĩ swept her gaze over the warriors. “That blood mark is what I think it is, isn’t it?”

Thomal cursed below his breath. The red stain on the wall was in a unique, symmetrical starburst pattern, one that could’ve only been created by the enchanted exploding knives both the underground and topside demonic Om Rău used to devastating effect. So, yeah, it was what Tonĩ thought. The boyfriend had been killed by a
Bătaie Blade.

“Shit,” Dev confirmed.

Thomal frowned at the TV screen. This didn’t make shit for sense, though. “What would an Om Rău want with a Mendoza?” he asked. Dark-eyed and dark-haired, a Latin girl was the farthest thing away from the fair, blonde Dragon females that both the Vârcolac and Om Rău races needed…and fought each other to possess.

Jaċken crossed his arms. “Good question, Costache. Let’s find out.” He glanced at his watch. “It’s a little after eight at night topside now.” He looked directly at Dev. “If you hurry, your team can probably arrive at this Ria woman’s house around nine or so, get some questions answered. I want full optics on this as soon as possible.”

“Got it.” Dev bought off on the mission without hesitation, but Thomal caught a flicker of disappointment pass through his friend’s eyes.

Dev and Marissa’s baby crib was being delivered today, and Thomal knew Dev was excited about putting it together. Why deprive a man of his pleasure for something as benign as a fishing expedition?

“Why don’t I take point on this?” Thomal said, tossing his empty coffee cup into Tonĩ’s trash can. “Charm is needed for this mission, right?” He flashed the men a cocky smile. “And who better to finesse answers out of a woman than a Costache?”

A laugh rumbled out of Dev. “True enough. Take Arc with you as backup, then. He’s been on half duty for a while with Beth’s pregnancy and wants to get back in the game.” Dev smirked. “He’s the one with the real charm, anyway.”

Thomal didn’t actually flip his team leader the bird, but put plenty of that sentiment into his return look.

Tonĩ sat down behind her desk. “Just make sure you and Arc are back by two o’clock for Thanksgiving dinner. I’ve got a twenty-two-pound turkey cooking.”

Chapter Six

Topside: Manhattan, New York, same day, EST 2:00 pm

Faith Teague edged her computer mouse sideways until the arrow on the screen hovered over the email entitled
new ballet company
. She double-clicked it. How many times had she read this email today? A dozen? More? She read it again as the subtle aroma of cucumbers and tomatoes wafted around her.

“So what’re you going to tell him?” Her sister, Kacie, glanced at the computer screen from behind the kitchen counter, where she stood chopping salad fixings.

This Soho apartment Faith shared with her sister was quaint, but small, and space needed to be maximized. Hence the kitchen table where Faith sat doubled as an office desk. “What do you think I’m going to tell him?” Faith replied. “A huge and enthusiastic
yes
.”

Kacie grabbed a handful of mushrooms, but paused before slicing into them. Two small lines appeared between her brows.

It was an expression Faith knew well—on her
own
face. In family photos, it was always Faith who looked out at the world with the practicality those two small forehead creases represented, while Kacie usually wore a big, vivacious grin. But since her identical twin sister possessed the same face as Faith’s, the expression was hauntingly familiar.

“He’s asking me to serve as Artistic Director of his new ballet company.” Faith shoved the hair pins deeper into her bun, a task she probably performed a hundred times a day. Her copper hair was unusually thick and rebelled against all attempts to contain it. Something her theatre hairdressers had lamented fervently over the years.

Kacie fingered a mushroom, still not chopping. Not speaking.

“And he wants you to join his troupe as well. Insists on it, in fact.” Faith swept out her hand in a gesture that encompassed her sister. “Why wouldn’t we both want to say yes to this opportunity?”

Kacie’s amber-gold eyes—that arresting color which had earned them both so many comments over the years, second only to the extraordinary happenstance of their identicalness—filled with skepticism. “It doesn’t make sense, for one. I’m a nobody. A dancer in the corps de ballet.”

“Oh, twaddle. Don’t say that.” Faith smiled supportively. “You’re a beautiful dancer.”

Her sister exhaled. “And what about you? You
can’t do it
, Faith. Your knee hasn’t fully recovered. This man”—she gestured at the open email with her kitchen knife—“does he even know that?”

“My knee is all but sound,” Faith responded firmly, stiffening her spine.

Kacie hacked a plump mushroom in half with a single stroke of her knife. “Don’t try to pull the wool over my eyes, Faith. You know I can tell it isn’t.”

Faith and Kacie enjoyed—or suffered—the identical twin oddity of sometimes being able to feel each other’s pain. Many days her twin’s healthy knee ligament probably twinged as much as Faith’s unstable one.

Faith’s eyelashes twitched as she was suddenly catapulted back in time, reliving the sequence that had devastated her life.
Coupé-chassé-coupé-jeté en tournant
—and
clunk
. She’d torn an inner knee ligament coming out of that turn.

Air leaked past Faith’s lips as her stomach iced, same as it did when the doctor had told her that her Medial Collateral Ligament, or MCL, had been severely damaged. Besides being told both of her parents had died from E. coli poisoning when she was ten years old, she’d never received worse news. Maybe that made her small-minded. How many people in the world were worse off than she was? But dancing and performing on stage were the only dreams she’d ever had, and now they were…put on hold.

How long and hard had she fought to become a success? At the prestigious Joffrey Ballet, she’d studied dance 24/7 while Kacie had bounded off to NYU to enjoy a normal university experience. After four years of grueling work at Joffrey, Faith had thankfully been discovered by a choreographer from New York City Ballet during a summer intensive program. That next spring, at the age of twenty-two, she’d joined their company. Which naturally had led to more punishing work, first in the corps de ballet, then as a soloist, then as a principal, and finally she’d reached the pinnacle so many ballet dancers aspired to but few achieved; she was hailed as a prima ballerina by press and public. She’d enjoyed the spotlight as a star for one year before she hurt her knee—
one
. Not nearly enough. Not at only twenty-six years old.

She stiffened her spine another notch. “I
can
dance, Kacie.”

“Only with a brace on,” Kacie reminded her with a levelheadedness Faith should’ve celebrated in her flighty sister.

Except she didn’t particularly care to hear anything logical right now.

“You can’t wear a brace onstage,” Kacie added unnecessarily.

“Well, I’m not ready to quit.”

Kacie stared down at the mushrooms.

Why wasn’t Kacie agreeing with her? Their opinions matched as inevitably as their appearance. “So here’s what we’ll do,” Faith said in the matter-of-fact tone that always got Kacie hustling along in the right direction. “We’ll fly out to San Diego next week and meet with this man. I’ll tell him about my knee and we’ll hear what he has to say. After that, we can travel to Los Angeles for Christmas with Aunt Idyll. We haven’t seen her in a long time, and we owe her a visit.”

Kacie chewed on her bottom lip.

Faith pushed to her feet, impatient now. If Kacie wouldn’t go, Faith certainly couldn’t. Her sister needed to stop hemming and hawing. Because Faith
needed
to go. “What harm could it do just to talk to this”—Faith glanced at the name at the end of the email—“this Raymond Parthen?”

“I guess it couldn’t hurt,” Kacie finally conceded. Looking up, she smiled tentatively. “Okay, let’s go.”

Chapter Seven

Topside: somewhere in San Diego, same night, close to midnight, Pacific time

Thomal breathed heavily through rounded nostrils, his teeth gnashed around the gag in his mouth. He probably should’ve been scared shitless, considering he was chained to a chair in a seedy downtown hotel room, and the Topside Om Rău ass-can who was in the room with him looked like he planned to do some serious tap dancing on his balls. But he could only muster pissed-out-of-his-skull. A slanting glance at Arc, similarly bound to a chair next to his, confirmed his brother was in an identical foul state. It didn’t help either of their moods that they’d landed in this goatfuck by seriously screwing up.

We’re only talking a few questions, right
? had been the absolute wrong attitude to take. Thomal had been way too chill about this mission, which had left him unprepared to find that lip-scarred Om Rău lunatic, Videön, already at Ria Mendoza’s house.
Yeah, go figure
. A Bătaie Blade had been used during the crime against Ria’s sister, so, surprise-surprise, an Om Rău had been at her house.
Fuck me
…

Videön had opened the door with a Taser gun already pointed and ready to deploy.

Thomal and Arc had proceeded to stand in place like a couple of dickless wonders and let the Om Rău take them out with about as much effort as shooting fish in a barrel. After that, they’d been tied up and transported to this shithole of a hotel room, then for some reason, handed over to Mürk. Maybe Videön’s schedule was too full of ripping the wings off butterflies and skinning live cats for him to waste time river dancing on the balls of a couple of dickless wonders. Maybe Videön knew how much Mürk hated Arc—Arc had viciously broken Mürk’s hand about nine months ago—and so he’d done Mürk a solid.

As far as hate went, the feeling was way fucking mutual on Arc’s end.

The hand-breaking incident had been in retaliation for Mürk shooting Arc: a little disservice that had made it impossible for Arc to save Thomal—and himself, for that matter—from a four-story fall down to some nasty pavement kissage.

All in all, as far as hate went, Thomal and Mürk had their own baggage. On the night of Tonĩ’s kidnapping at Scripps Hospital, Thomal had stabbed Mürk in the neck with a pair of medical scissors. So Thomal would probably have his own turn at the table for whatever Mürk was dishing.

Blah, blah, blah
. Bottom line was: tonight was going to be filled with some major hurt. Kind of might’ve been better if the community hadn’t released Mürk back when they’d had the Om Rău in their custody. But Mürk was Tonĩ and Ãlex’s half-brother, and that had clearly colored the decision.