Blood Revealed (7 page)

“The timing could be coincidental,” Roman pointed out.

Garrett knew Kate wouldn’t believe that any more than he did. “Want me to talk to some people?” he asked her. “They’ll be non-Hollywood types and they’ll have money to spare.”

Kate looked up at him, her eyes wide, letting him see the soft vulnerability she hid from everyone except Roman. She looked like a hurt child. “If the land of make-believe and fantasy can’t accept me—
us—
then the staid old world financial market is going to run away screaming.”

Which was perfectly true, but he wouldn’t confirm it. He wouldn’t add to her hurt. So he kissed her instead, putting all his heart into it, letting his lips and his body show that she wasn’t alone in this, that at least one person
did
accept her and her life, completely and utterly.

Roman pressed up against her other side, his mouth against her soft cheek, his hand around Garrett’s neck, holding them both close to him in wordless reassurance.

He couldn’t hurt Kate by speaking the truth any more than Garrett could.

Patrick usually ignored the television. He only had one in the house, a small flat screen he kept in his office and used as a giant computer monitor. He rarely watched live TV and avoided the Hollywood news shows with active distaste.

He was personally acquainted with most of the news being reported, anyway. The paparazzi were camped outside his front fence, three deep at times, creating a steady murmur of noise that washed over the fence, telling him he wasn’t alone even though there was no one else in the house.

On the third day after the press conference, Dominic Castellano arrived at the house and was passed through the security gate by Billy, as Patrick had directed. He was the first live visitor since Kate’s limousine had dropped Patrick at home that night. Whatever the reason for Dominic’s visit, it had to be compelling, because fighting a path through the media took real effort.

Patrick, alerted by Billy’s text, went to the kitchen door where Billy would have directed Dominic to enter the house, away from the prying camera lenses.

Dominic nodded hello as he looked around the kitchen curiously.

“Nial sent you?” Patrick asked. He stayed carefully far enough away that even if he forgot and breathed, he still wouldn’t absorb the man’s pheromones.

“Kate did.”

“She couldn’t email?”

“Not about this. And she can’t come herself, for the same reason I don’t think you could step outside the gate.” Dominic studied him. “Kate wants to know if you’ve spoken to anyone in the industry in the last three days.”

Patrick raised a brow. “She couldn’t ask me that on email?”

Dominic shook his head. “It’s complicated. Have you?”

“I’ve called a few people, sure.” Networking, schmoozing, staying in touch…Patrick barely had to think about it anymore. He did it instinctively. Maintaining friendships was as vital an art as extemporizing.

“Have they called back?” Dominic insisted.

Something squeezed in Patrick’s chest. “Not yet,” he said as lightly as he could. “That’s not unusual. They lead busy lives.”

Dominic crossed his arms. “It’s not unusual for
anyone
in Hollywood to leave Patrick Sauvage dangling for a call back for three days?”

Patrick looked at him, startled. It was the first time that Dominic had ever shown the slightest understanding of Patrick’s stature in the industry. It wasn’t exactly awe that he was expressing, though. It was a cynical knowledge that Patrick would have expected a long-term name in the industry to show, not a formerly deaf South American immigrant.

“I repeat,” Patrick said patiently, “they have busy lives. I just outed myself on national television. They’re going to hesitate about calling back. They’re going to think it over. We knew that would happen. Besides, I’m not shopping for a new movie right now, anyway.”

“Do they know that?” Dominic asked. “Try calling someone. Try really hard.”

“Why?” Patrick asked, feeling a thread of wariness.

“Just try. Kate is curious to know what happens when you do.”

Patrick lifted his hands and let them fall. “Fine. I’ll call Jim.”

“Jim?”

“James Cameron,” Patrick amended. “I’ve been in his submersible more than once.” In fact, Jim had taken him on a private tour over the wreck of the
Titanic
one memorable summer and despite never having worked together, they were good enough friends that the understanding was unspoken. When a role came up in one of Jim’s movies that was good for Patrick, it would be his.

He’d left his phone in the living room, so he turned on his heel with an impatient sigh and headed back to pick it up. He was surprised to find that Dominic had followed him into the room. Patrick stayed by the sofa and dialed.

The phone rang out and the impersonal voicemail message kicked in.

Patrick redialed and this time the phone went straight to voicemail.

Frowning, he worked his way through his Contacts and found the direct line to Cameron’s office and tried that. When the line went unanswered, he dialed the main line for the office.

The phone was answered immediately.

“Carol, hi,” Patrick said, injecting pleasantness into his voice. “This is Patrick Sauvage. I’m trying to reach Jim. He’s not answering any of his phones.”

“Oh, hi, Mr. Sauvage!” Carol said brightly. She was a bubbling strawberry blonde with riotous curls and dimples that had fooled many people into thinking she was a walk-over. However, she had a spine of steel and no one got past her if she didn’t want them to. “Mr. Cameron is at home today. Did you try the house phone?”

“I did. Maybe the voicemail kicked in before he could untangle himself. Could you connect me with the house again?”

“Of course. Just a moment, Mr. Sauvage.” The line went dead while she did whatever she did to connect to the other phone. Then Patrick heard it ringing.

And ringing.

No voicemail picked up the call. It just rang endlessly, the buzz almost hypnotic.

Patrick hung up, jamming his thumb hard against the button. He glanced at Dominic. The man was watching the piano again, like it might leap out of the corner and take him down if he didn’t monitor it every second.

Patrick pushed aside the doubts and worry that were building like a knot in his chest and stomach. He thought for a moment, then searched his contacts again and dialed another number.

This time the phone was answered after a dozen rings, which was just enough for Patrick to swear under his breath. “Sandy,” he said. “It’s Pat.”

Sandy Ackerman had directed one of Patrick’s early movies. He was a classic film director and unpopular in Hollywood because he wouldn’t play the political games, which he called A-Grade Bullshit, so work didn’t come his way as often as his talent deserved.

The silence that followed Patrick’s greeting was heavy and Patrick’s heart started to thud of its own accord. “Sandy?” he prompted.

“I wondered how long it would take you to work down the chain to me,” Sandy said, his gravelly voice loud over the phone. Dominic could probably hear what he was saying. The man didn’t believe in volume control. “This is sooner than I expected.”

Patrick realized he was sitting on the sofa. He couldn’t recall sitting down. He gripped the phone. “You’re my second call,” he said flatly. “The first wouldn’t answer. I know you will tell me to my face.”

“Aye,” Ackerman said heavily. “You’re poison, boy. You didn’t think you could dump that shit on us and not have everyone rear back and faint?”

“You’re one of the unbelievers,” Patrick categorized, almost automatically. “Does that mean everyone thinks I’ve lost my marbles?”

“Of course they do,” Ackerman replied smartly. “We only peddle fairy tales here. We don’t
believe
them.”

“No one has to believe anything,” Patrick said. “All they have to do is let me sell box office tickets for them.”

“You think the public is gonna swallow that crap any more than I did?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Patrick shot back. “They’ll come and see the movie because they do believe, or because they don’t believe. Either way, curiosity will get bums in seats.”

“And who do you think in this town will be mad enough to risk casting you, just to find out?”

Patrick swallowed, even though saliva wasn’t something he had to worry about any more. “I’m not crazy.” It was a desperate last plea for clemency.

“Maybe, maybe not,” Ackerman said judiciously. “Either way, it wouldn’t matter to most people. There’s been more than one actor who worked on a movie who was crazier than a shithouse rat. You, though, went out and
told
people how fucked-up you are. That doesn’t buy forgiveness around here.”

Dominic was watching him now. If he was able to hear Ackerman as clearly as Patrick suspected he might, then what Ackerman was saying was enough to pull his attention away from the piano.

Dominic’s gaze reminded Patrick of why he had phoned in the first place and that it hadn’t been to find work. “If you think I’m so crazy, then I have nothing to lose by speaking the truth,” he said flatly. “There’s a war coming, Sandy. It’s a war you’ll end up fighting for yourself. No marines to march overseas and sort it out for you. You’ll be the soldier.
You
. This is coming to your doorstep. The Others…they’ll hunt you and your loved ones down.”

Ackerman drew in a deep breath, like he was controlling his reaction.

“You gave me a break when no one else would,” Patrick told him. “I haven’t forgotten that. That’s why I’m letting myself sound as crazy as you think I am. Take precautions, Sandy. Don’t let your grandkids out alone, especially at night. I don’t know when the Others will show up, but they will. Don’t let yourself be the first among the victims.”

“For Christ’s sake, Pat,” Sandy said roughly. “Do you know how fucking nuts you sound?”

“I know,” Patrick said evenly. “Although now I’ve got nothing to lose, so I’m doing you the only favor I have left to do. I’m warning you personally. When the first of the Others arrives, you’ll know I’m not crazy. Remember what I’m saying now and be smart.”

He disconnected and let the phone drop to the sofa cushion and hung his head. His heart was thundering in his chest and there was a tightness across it that he might have said was the forewarning of a heart attack, except that that was simply not possible for him anymore. His breathing was ragged, like he’d run a hundred yard sprint.

The tight, coiled tension in his gut and the urge to
move
finally alerted him.

He clenched his hand on his knee and looked up at Dominic. His vision had altered. Dominic was picked out in the morning light in variations of gray. Patrick could almost
feel
the man’s pulse.

It was calling him.

“Get out of here,” Patrick ground out.

Dominic pulled his cell phone out of his pocket, in an almost reflex movement. “What’s wrong?” he said sharply.

“Nothing. Everything.” Patrick gripped his knee, digging his fingers in. He opened his mouth and drew in air in a frantic gasp.

He could
smell
the human. It was a spicy, rich scent, touched with the coppery heat from the blood coursing through his arteries, a crimson chant that beckoned with more vigor than a glass of scotch ever had.

Now the man was standing next to him. “It’s blood fever,” he said into the phone and listened. Patrick didn’t recall him dialing, or speaking. Time was fracturing around him.

The man looked at Patrick sharply, a deep frown between his brows. “If I must,” he said slowly. Then he put the phone away, his gaze not shifting from Patrick. “They’re coming, but it won’t be quick enough. You’re going to have to feed from me.”

Patrick gasped. “No.” He didn’t know why that wouldn’t be a good idea, except that it was somehow tied up with sex or lust or…his thoughts wouldn’t hold together. The reluctance to feed from the dark haired man faded.
What was his name
?

He was taking off his jacket.

“I don’t know how to control it,” Patrick warned him, with the last of his coherence.

“I do,” the man replied calmly.

Patrick fell on him.

* * * * *

Pure ambrosia! The heat of the liquid lined his throat with golden joy. He could feel it infusing his body with energy. Radiance. He was glowing with it. He could sup upon this forever.

He had never been more aware of every inch of his body. It throbbed with health. It was powerful. Sleek. An animal at its prime, ready to work hard.

He bent his head to feed again, reveling in the glory of it all.

* * * * *

Dominic groaned as blatant, powerful arousal bloated him with aching need. He had been warned about this. Sebastian had told him that he wouldn’t understand until he had experienced it. Now he understood.

He barely noticed the minor pain from his torn blood vessels as they leaked his life blood. He was more aware of the vampire’s mouth on his neck and the sounds of lust he was making as he fed.

As soon as he heard the first thought that was clear and coherent, Dominic leaned back and shoved the heel of his hand against the man’s forehead and pushed steadily and hard, pulling his mouth away from his neck.

When there was enough room, he swung his arm in a full, hard circle. His hand cracked against the vampire’s cheek. He didn’t hear it. Instead, he felt the power of the slap in the way his hand went almost instantly numb.

Sauvage staggered backward. His eyes were back to human normal. There was intelligence and understanding in his expression…and horror. He pressed the back of his hand against his lips, blotting the last of the blood there.

“You have to heal me,” Dominic said shortly. Already, the aphrodisiac was leaving him and the raw pain of the tear in his flesh was increasing.

The horror turned into mortification. Dominic thought Sauvage would have blushed if he’d been human. “I’m sorry,” he said, moving back toward him. “Sorry,” he repeated again, awkwardly.

“It’s fine,” Dominic told him. “Just fix this for me. It’s hurting.” He turned his shoulder to give Sauvage access to his neck.