Blood Law (17 page)

A
very pretty blonde woman sauntered toward her. Her curvy hips swayed, as did
her full breasts beneath a thin white T-shirt. Her narrowed eyes gave Falon the
once-over, twice. Her upper lip curled. “Leave here while you can, or stay and
die,” she sneered.

A
big, dark-haired man emerged from the group. He grabbed the blonde from behind
and slapped her hard across the cheek. The woman screamed, and so did Falon.

“How
dare you show disrespect? She is the chosen one,” he ground out. With a boot to
her back, he forced the woman to her knees before Falon. “On your back. Now!”
he snarled. Falon stepped back and shook her head.

“It’s
okay, really, she doesn’t need to do that.”

The
woman glared at the man then looked longingly up at the wolf that ignored her.
She cried out when the man stepped on her neck, forcing her to grovel.

“Please,
stop!” Falon moved toward the woman. As she reached down to pull her up, the
woman jerked away from her touch. The rest of the occupants in the room
gathered around, their faces anxious. Falon didn’t know what was expected of
her, but she had the distinct impression if she did the wrong thing, these
people would turn on her. “Where is Rafael?” Falon asked, knowing he would do
something.

The
woman on the floor laughed hysterically, glaring at the group. “She doesn’t
know? She doesn’t know!” Her laughter turned maniacal.

The
big man reached down to slap her again, but Falon had had enough. An odd
tightening in her body seized her. She pushed through it and grabbed his fist,
twisting him around. No one was more surprised by her strength than Falon, but
she didn’t back off. “Never raise your hand to a woman in anger again. Not in
my presence, at least.” She squeezed his hand. Bone cracked. “Or you will be
the one on your back on the floor.” She pushed him away.

He
dipped his head in a submissive gesture and backed away. “As you wish.” The
hushed and humbled crowd backed away with him.

Falon
looked down at the woman who had gotten up on all fours and who looked at her
in awe. Instinctively, she knew if she offered her hand, it would be refused.
“Get up.”

Slowly,
the woman did. The big wolf beside her snarled and moved in on the blonde.
Blondie got the message. Get out of here or get hurt by me this time.

She
hustled off toward the front door, never once looking back. The wolf then
nudged Falon toward the savory aromas wafting from the back of the structure.
Her need for sustenance overrode her uneasiness. Mouth watering, Falon followed
his lead into the kitchen, where the long carved oak table sagged beneath an
orgy of food.

She
swallowed her drool. The wolf nudged her to the closest seat. Falon plopped
down and devoured the display with her eyes.

A
cheery-eyed, middle-aged woman bustled in from what Falon guessed was a walk-in
pantry. She smiled and said over the counter, “I am Galiya. Anything you want,
I will cook for you.” She poured Falon a huge steaming bowl of meat stew.
Before she could set it down, Falon grabbed a spoon and started to eat. She
closed her eyes and moaned. It was the most delicious thing she had ever eaten;
she was famished. Falon tossed her manners out the window and ate bite after
bite. She could not get the food in her mouth fast enough. The wolf sat down
beside her and seemed mesmerized by the sight of her eating. After a few
moments, it shook its head as if to clear it, then lay down.

“Galiya,”
Falon said with a mouthful of stew and bread. “This is so good.”

She
gobbled down two deep bowls of the wonderful concoction and nearly half a loaf
of the most delicious soft honey bread she had ever eaten. She sat back and
burped. “Oh, my God, I don’t think I can move.”

The
cherubic woman eyed the big wolf now snoozing on the floor beside her. “No
reason to,” she said with a small smile.

Falon
burped again. If she could, she’d eat more. But there wasn’t a molecule of
space left in her belly.

She
started when a large hand tapped her shoulder. Turning, Falon stared wide-eyed
at the big blond guy who had taken the woman who burned herself to the
hospital. His clear blue eyes lowered. “Thank you for aiding my sister, Marta.
She is better because of it.”

Falon
warmed and smiled at the man who shuffled his big feet as if embarrassed. Falon
gently touched his forearm and said, “I was glad to help.”

He
looked at the big wolf, who watched him intently. He nodded to the animal then
to her before he turned and nearly ran from the room. It wasn’t like she was
going to bite him or something.

“Yuri
is not accustomed to thanking females,” Galiya, said, a hint of amusement in
her tone.

Falon
looked up into the woman’s cheerful eyes. “It was nothing, really; if I hadn’t
helped, someone else would have.”

“Perhaps,”
Galiya commented as she cleared the empty dishes from the table.

Her
response challenged Falon. “Why do you say that? I get the feeling this is some
sort of big extended family. Wouldn’t they each help one in need?”

With
her back to Falon, Galiya answered, “Some more than others.”

Realizing
she would not get more specific on the matter, Falon changed subjects. “Where
is Rafael?” she asked, moving from the table to a more comfortable spot on a
big-cushioned chair near the warm hearth. She stretched her feet out, and
sudden fatigue grasped her. Her hands dropped over the armrests. Her left hand
touched the thick, soft fur of the wolf. Absently, she stroked him and knew as
long as he was near, she was safe.

“Most
days he spends away on business,” Galiya answered as she washed Falon’s bowl
and utensils.

Falon
yawned. “What does he do?”

“Mostly
real estate.”

“Real
estate?” Falon scoffed even as a yawn took over her words. “He hardly looks the
type.” Her lids suddenly became heavy. But she looked around at the beautiful
stone and oak kitchen. “Where am I? Why does Lucien want to kill me?” Falon
fought through the fatigue that had settled in like a hunk of lead. Hot tears
stung her eyes. “I won’t stand by like a stupid lamb waiting for the wolf to
come. I’m a survivor.”

Galiya
smiled as she bustled around the kitchen. “Rafael is fair and just in his
dealings.”

“That
doesn’t answer my questions,” Falon countered. She opened her eyes then
narrowed them. Was the room moving in and out? Or—

“Rafael
is fair and just,” Galiya repeated.

Falon’s
lids became heavier, as if a hundred-pound sack sat on them. Warmth washed through
her. Absently, she wondered if she had been drugged. She didn’t care. She felt
so warm and cozy . . . “That’s nice,” she said as she yawned again. “Very
nice.”

I
DON’T CARE if it’s the president of the United States; tell him I’m not
interested in any deals!”

Abruptly,
Falon woke to Rafael’s angry words. She rubbed her grainy eyes and looked
around. Slowly the fog in her head cleared. She was still in the kitchen. The
evening shadows had descended on the compound. Geez! She’d slept the entire
day! She pushed herself up to a sitting position to see Rafael standing with
his back to her at the doorway. His aura flared red. Anger and passion were but
shades of crimson from the other.

“Rafe,
it’s his daughter, for Christ’s sake,” a familiar voice implored.

It
was the man who’d slapped the blonde. Her body snapped to attention when she
remembered her immediate rage at the man and the way she’d challenged him and
more importantly, how easy it had been to physically restrain him. What was
happening here?

“I’ve
got more important things to do at the moment, or hadn’t you noticed? Christ,
Anton, in two and a half months—” Rafael looked over his shoulder to find Falon
staring at him.

“What
happens in two and a half months?” she asked, slowly standing. The room tilted
a little to the left then righted itself.

“Nothing
that concerns you,” Rafael bit off as he strode toward her. His eyes traveled
up and down her body twice as if to make sure she was whole.

Falon
shrugged, feeling rather smug. Power did that to a person. “I suppose if your
brother has anything to do with it, you’d be absolutely correct.”

Rafael
growled. “My brother can go to hell.”

“Rafe?”
Anton called. “May I have a word with your—woman?”

Rafael
and Falon both turned to face him. When Rafe nodded, he came slowly into the
room with his head slightly bowed and his shoulders rounded. “My apologies for
this morning,” he said to Falon.

Her
mouth dropped open. She’d expected the man to be hostile, not so deferential.
Noting that Rafael was watching, she raised her chin. “I’m not the one you
should be apologizing to, sir.”

He
looked from her to Rafe. “Lana was disrespectful, she was about to—” Getting no
help from Rafe, Anton once more looked at Falon. “Her kind only understands
corporal punishment.”

“I
only understand that it’s wrong for a man to strike a woman in anger.”

Once
again, Anton looked to Rafael for help, but he stood silent. Falon glanced up
at him and did a double take. He was grinning! “Surely you heard what happened.
Do you think it’s funny that he slapped her around and shoved her to the
ground?”

Rafael
looked down at her, his eyes twinkling. “No, I am amused that my sergeant at
arms was brought low by a girl, and he’s the one apologizing.”

“What
would you have me do, Rafe?” Anton implored. “Show the same disrespect as
Lana?”

Rafael
put his big hand on Anton’s shoulder and squeezed. “You know you did the right
thing, but that doesn’t dispel the absurdity of it.”

Falon
scowled at both men before she turned her full attention on Rafael. “Why won’t
you help the man with his daughter?”

Rafael
groaned. “I am not the village savior. I pick and choose who and when I help,
not the other way around.” He looked toward the great room. “Besides, there is
nothing any of us can do for his daughter now.”

Falon
looked at Anton. “What’s wrong with the man’s daughter?”

“She
was murdered. He wants Rafael to hunt down the killer and exact justice.”

“Shut
up!” Rafael hissed. He looked at Falon. “None of this concerns you.”

“What
kind of man are you?” Falon demanded, shaking her head. Then she remembered.
“How could I so easily forget? You’re the kind to murder an innocent woman. How
could you even think to help your fellow man in his time of need?”

Shaking
her head in disgust, she looked down at her oversized, disheveled clothing and
realized she didn’t have a decent outfit to wear to her own funeral. She also
realized that Rafael Vulkasin was as far from being a real estate agent as she
was from being Mary Poppins, and it was time for her to get the hell out of
here. And she was going to use the man who came to Rafael for help to that end.

“There’re
fresh clothes upstairs for you.” Rafael quietly said.

Perfect.
She’d go change, but first a detour. Raising her nose, she walked imperiously
past them both. Instead of going straight upstairs, Falon picked up speed and
strode into the great room where a crowd of people had gathered. Auras flashed
like fireworks around her; the blasts pulsed with energy.

In
the center of the crowd, she could just make out a steady bright red and gray
aura. She stopped in mid-stride when the pulsing black aura of another flared.
Falon’s heart rate increased uncomfortably. She’d seen it before. Not
frequently, but throughout her life the black auras had come and gone.
Instinctively she shied away from them. The last such men, Conan and his
friend, were dead. She didn’t need an instruction manual to know that they were
all connected in a malevolent way. And now, one was twenty feet away. Had he
come for her?

Fear
skittered around the lining of her belly. Automatically she looked toward the
kitchen. Rafael was already coming after her, anger etched along the planes of
his face. Despite her fear and Rafael’s anger, she felt the pull of the other
man. The grieving father. Keeping a cautious eye on the threatening black aura,
Falon moved quickly into the crowd, pushing bodies aside until she stood by the
man with the red and gray aura. He was dressed in casual yet elegant threads.
Bracing herself, she looked at the man next to him, hoping she’d imagined his
darkness.

She
hadn’t. His aura pulsed with a deadly force all its own. The man turned dark,
soulless eyes on her. The same dark, soulless eyes of Conan.

Falon
shivered but did not retreat, despite the waves of malevolence that washed off
him. There was no denying the vibe. It was the same as Conan. They were cut
from the same cloth. Slayers, Rafael had called them. She looked expectantly at
Rafael, his entire focus on her. Couldn’t he feel the darkness in the man?

Rafe
grabbed her by the arm, pulling her away. She jerked free. He growled low, so
that only she could hear. She ignored his warning. She really didn’t give a
crap. He had his plans, she had hers, and right now, she wanted to know why
these two very different men were here.