Blood Entangled (36 page)

“Maybe I’d rather go out in your blaze of glory than live with the wasting disease.”

“I seriously doubt it.” Ethan drummed his fingers on a sleek table near the door, his other hand twisting something in his pocket.

“How do I know that you won’t blow up my house once you’re outside?”

“You don’t, of course, and I wouldn’t hesitate to lie to you. But, I do assume that you have a fire shelter of some sort in your basement. Don’t all modern vampires take that precaution?”

God he was awful. Hatred churned Lena’s gut. When she exhaled, it stung her throat. She flexed her fingers, no longer numb, which sucked, because now she was scared—paralyzed, unable to breathe, pee-your-pants scared.

Her pulse raced and the wound on her neck gushed hot blood. “What do you want with me?”

“Ethan, what’s going on?” Gwen stepped forward, still shaking. She wasn’t a bunny, she was a Chihuahua with tremors, and Mason had probably made her that way.

That decided it. Lena preferred the Hunters—at least they killed you when they were finished.

“Why are you letting him go?” The little woman’s voice rang with surprising steel.

Ethan blinked rapidly, and creases showed around his eyes. For a second, he looked human. Then he turned toward the door and spoke over his shoulder, already leading the way out.

“We must, Gwen, for the greater good. When we trade Lena for Marasović’s vineyards, the exiled vampires will continue to die. We eliminate hundreds or thousands of them, by letting Mason go.”

Gwen took a step toward him. “But he’s—”

Ethan spun on his heel and barked. “Enough.”

Lena’s head was full of cotton. She must have lost more blood than she thought. “Trade?” Her voice came out as a croak.

“That’s right. A trade—Marasović dismantles the shield, and he gets you back safely.”

Oh God. If only Mason had insisted on the blaze of glory, it would all be over. No terrible decision for Andre and Kos. And surely Bennett would never let her go anyway.

Hot, rough hands closed around Lena’s arms, pulling her elbows back, then shoving her toward the door.

“You’ve got one problem, Bennett,” Lena said. “Andre Maras hates me, and he’ll never trade me for the vines.”

Ethan ignored her, but she offered up a silent prayer that her words were true.

Chapter 27

K
OS
O
PENED
T
HE
D
OOR
to his room and inhaled past the tightness in his chest. Not a trace of Lena’s scent. He sniffed the pillow, the seam between the headboard and the mattress, the bathroom towels, the laundry hamper. Nothing. Some vampire—probably Zoey—had done an excessively thorough cleaning job, thinking she was doing him a favor.

He needed Lena safe. The tension in his shoulders had spread, turning all his muscles to stone. Inside the hard shell, his pulse hammered, and he could barely breathe. He’d put her in danger, and he could not let anything happen to her. But he was stuck, useless until twilight.

Deep in the cellar voices murmured—Andre, Zoey, Pedro, Lucas. They were thinking, planning. Thank God someone could. Fear buzzed in his brain like a swarm of bees, stealing all logic, demanding her.

If he could just catch a whiff of her sweet scent, maybe his body and mind would calm, and he could think about how to help.

Her room on the south wing was a wasteland. No personal items remained, and her lingering honeyed scent had turned bitter.

The pantry. Surely he could find her scent there.

He stepped into the kitchen, and the smell hit him like a wave. Was she here? He followed it to a drawer, the odor was so strong he could believe she’d folded herself into the tiny space under the coffee pot. He opened the drawer and jumped back at what he saw—his copy of
New and Selected Poems
, tattered and redolent of Lena.

All her hopes and dreams, shoved into a drawer full of rubber bands and twist ties. He could have made her happy, at least for a time, maybe even given her a child. And instead, he’d unknowingly sent her to Ethan Bennett.

Krist
, why hadn’t Vania called yet? Surely she’d arrived at Mason’s house by now. The first rays of sunlight were peeking over the hilltops, streaking the sky with gray.

A car screeched to a stop in the drive. Who the hell was that?

Moments later someone rattled the front door. It could only be—

The rattles escalated to pounding. A woman’s voice shouted in Croatian, calling the door the useless dick of a sheep.

Uta. Typical of her to arrive just as the sun breached the horizon.

His skin tingled in sympathy—she’d cut it too close. He reached the door in seconds and pulled her inside, slamming it shut as the rays singed his hands and face.

She hadn’t burned, old as she was, and she looked the same as always, only in modern clothes. Nearly as tall as him barefoot, her tall black heels would put her eye-to-eye with Andre and Bel, which was surely the point. Her auburn waves swept off her high forehead.

She tilted her head, eyes sweeping up and down the length of him. “What matter with you?” Her accent was funny—vaguely Eurotrash, but not simply a Croatian immigrant speaking poor English. A tongue tangled by knowing too many languages.

Awash with fear for Lena, his hatred for Uta didn’t find much traction. Still, he was not about to tell her anything.

“So, are you giving your aunt hug?”

“No.” He crossed his arms tight across his chest. She knew full well he held a grudge. That was her way.

“Where Bel?”

“Los Angeles.”

She let out a breath, smoothing her perfectly smooth hair. Frown lines on her forehead smoothed out too. At least she understood Bel would not be pleased to see her.

“And Andre?”

“I am here.” Andre swung open the cellar door with Zoey at his side.

Uta dropped her purse, flashing to his side and seriously invading Zoey’s personal space. “You are bonding again?”

Uta’s question broke through Andre’s scowl, and he replied on a laugh. “I did. Can you believe it?”

“Ne.” Her nostrils flared, and she sniffed Zoey from hip to head.

Kos wanted to tell Uta to go back to wherever she’d come. She had the worst timing in the world. Always had.

“She much better than Mila. I can tell.”

Krist
, Kos hated her.

Andre elbowed in between Uta and Zoey. “What are you doing here?”

“I here representing Yousiticia.”

Zoey peered around Andre. “What’s Yousticia?”

“The Justicia. It is the council of the oldest vampires.” Andre angled himself to form a semi circle with the two females. Kos purposely remained too far removed to complete the shape.

“Andre, you are guessing when I send picture?”

“I suspected, but I hoped it was not the case.”

Zoey inched toward Andre. “Guessed what?”

“Bhat Kahn is dying three weeks past—wasting disease. You next in line.”

Andre’s teeth slid and crunched in his usual grind. “Just what I need.”

“How many are on this Justicia?” Zoey took his hand.

Kos already knew.

“Ten,” Uta replied.

Hard to believe. Andre was old, but a century ago there were at least one hundred vampires older than him. “What’s happened to the rest of them?”

She shrugged. “Wasting, Hunting, sun walking.”

What—vampire suicide? Kos rattled his head, trying to clear out the distraction of the puzzling news. Lena was all that mattered.

Uta shrugged out of her jacket. “You are accepting?”

“Do I have a choice?”

“You are knowing choice. They send me because they hope you are not refusing. I am not wanting to kill you.”

Andre grasped Zoey’s hand. “I do not risk my life unnecessarily. Though, for the record I could easily defeat you.”

Uta’s fangs were out in a flash, but she was laughing. It gave Kos goose bumps. She was the only vampire he knew who could do that, and it was eerily beautiful.

“Too bad we are not knowing for certain. Give me hand.”

Andre obeyed, and Uta pulled out a ceramic vial. She nicked his thumb with her fang and dripped a few drops of his blood into the vial before his wound closed.

“It done.” She held up the vial.

Every vampire who had ever been on the Justicia must have bled into it—potent little object.

“Pretend you are happy!” Uta commanded.

No one did.

She pressed the back of her hand to her forehead and let out a soap-opera worthy sigh. “You are bonding. You have miracle wine. But you three are looking like it first day of exile. Why?”

“We fear a former member of my household has been targeted by Hunters…” Andre was at Kos’s side in a blink, his hand an extra burden on Kos’s shoulder. “Kos loves her.”

Everyone’s eyes were on him, waiting for him to deny it. He didn’t.

“Why she leave?”

The muscles in his throat had seized. He couldn’t speak.

Andre’s fingers pressed gently into the flesh at the front of his arm. “Mila and I set a poor example for Kos. He fears the bond.”

“He is having good reason.” Uta’s gaze settled on Kos, and her eyes were surprisingly soft. “She is going to another household, and Hunters find her?”

Zoey grimaced. “We think so.”

Hearing the words sent him over the edge. The foyer spun. He gripped the banister.

Uta cracked her knuckles. “What vampire?”

He focused on the voices to find his balance.

“Kos’s old friend, Mason Kearney.” Andre’s voice sounded far off, and Kos opened his eyes, hoping the room had stilled. It had.

“Kearney?” Uta’s forehead wrinkled as her brows rose.

Kos managed to croak. “You know him?”

“Yes I am knowing that sick twit.”

Sick? Kos’s phone rang. Please let Vania have good news.

“Is she safe?”

“I don’t know. I can’t get anyone to answer the door, but I can see Kearney blurring around upstairs. I’m going in through a window.”

“Who is this on phone?” Uta asked.

Kost covered the mouthpiece. “She works for Bel. Her name is Vania.”

“Yes, yes. Give me phone.” Uta reached her hand out.

Kos retreated, taking the phone with him.

“Fine. You are using speaker, so Vania hear me.”

Why not? He turned it on.

“Shout to Kearney. Tell him you work for me—Uta Illirye.”

Vania’s defiance came through the phone loud and clear. “Who the hell—”

“Vania,” Andre commanded, “please do what Uta says.”

Vania’s yells came through the phone. Then there was silence. Finally she spoke. “The door is opening. I’m going in.”

“You are giving him phone,” Uta said.

Seconds later, Mason’s voice came over the line, high and frightened. “Uta? What a pleasure. How can I help you?” Kos had never heard him sound so puny.

Uta rolled her eyes. “Where is girl?”

“Girl?”

“Mason, are you forgetting I am very old friend of Andre Marasović. Where is girl?”

“I didn’t hurt her, Uta, I promise.”

“My patiences are running out, Mason.”

“Hunters came for her.”

Kos’s heart stopped. If she was dead, he could not live with himself. He would walk into the sun.

Andre shouted. “
Davo.
It is your duty to protect your household.”

“I traded her in exchange for my life. That is not against vampire code, Uta. I’ve done nothing wrong.”

Krist
, was that true? Vampire code permitted humans to be sacrificed to Hunters? Mason’s betrayal slid over Kos in an oily slick of anger and fear.

Uta brooked no argument. “If the girl lives, I am asking her myself if you are breaking code.”

Mason was silent. Kos wanted to break every bone in his body before snapping him in half.

“You are not leaving your home, Mason,” Uta repeated. Her long fingers drummed on her equally long thighs, belying the steadiness of her voice. Along with her forceful protection, that minute display of nerves sparked some kinship in him, a sentiment for his Auntie he’d thought long lost.

“But—”

“With my power as member of the Yousticia, you are not leaving home under penalty of sun. I will arrive at twilight.”

“Yes, Uta.”

“Where did they take her?” Kos shouted.

“I don’t know. But they want to bargain. Kos, old buddy, you should expect a call.”

“Mason. We are not buddies. Code or no code, I’m going to rip you apart with my fangs—”