Blood Vengeance (Blood Curse Series Book 7) (7 page)

six

The next day

Fortunately for Tiffany, Ramsey had some important business in town the next day, and he had agreed to drop her off on the top floor of DMV Prime, at the executive suite of offices, so she could gather some of her things and make a few calls while he met with his
associate
in the lobby.

Needless to say, her head was pounding—she had already taken two aspirin, consumed sixteen ounces of water, and downed two cups of coffee, just for good measure—and to say she felt embarrassed by the turn of events would have been an understatement. Tiffany had never been a heavyweight drinker, but still, last night had been pathetic. She wasn’t sure if Ramsey had mixed actual poison in those drinks, or if the stress of the whole situation had compromised her judgment. Either way, it didn’t really matter. She had made an utter fool of herself; she had awakened wearing nothing but her panties and underwear; and Ramsey wasn’t saying much of anything about it, which was actually preferred as far as Tiffany was concerned. She figured he was either trying to be a gentleman, sparing her some major embarrassment, or in the worst-case scenario, he was a complete lecherous predator, and if that were the case, she would soon find out… in about forty-eight hours.

She rolled her eyes. Somehow, she knew that the latter scenario was not the case. What had he said?
I’m a lot of harsh things, little lady, definitely rough around the edges, but I’m not an animal. And I’m not a rapist.
She shuffled a few papers around on her desk and turned her attention back to the matter at hand and Ramsey’s explanation for coming into town: He had to meet with an associate.

Associate
,
her
behind!

Ramsey was meeting with Julien Lacusta, the valley’s most gifted tracker, and from what she had overheard, it had something to do with a potential teenage Dark One. Someone was going around the valley killing little kittens and birds and draining them of blood, and Saxson, Ramsey’s twin, wanted Julien to make sure the Dark Ones’ hunting packs weren’t feeding too close to home.

Whatever that meant.

Ah well, at least it was an opportunity: a temporary respite if nothing else, a chance for Tiffany to organize and gather her work, collect her wits, and try to call Brooke in private.

The two hadn’t spoken since the night before, the night Tiffany had tried to make a run for it on Prince Phoenix’s 250,000-dollar horse, and she was pretty sure the royal family was not all that pleased with her at the moment, let alone impressed with her powers of reasoning.

Hell
.

Who were they to
judge?

Even the king had nearly killed Ramsey once for insolence, insubordination, and just plain ol’ badness. Surely, they could understand Tiffany’s angst.

She sighed.

She stuffed another group of files in her bright blue backpack, grabbed her rolodex and the charger for her laptop, and sank down into the plush leather chair behind her smooth mahogany desk, wondering when she would see it again. And what would her life be like then?

She blinked away the inner turmoil before her eyes could fill with tears, and then she drew her cell phone out of her purse and hit the pre-programmed button for Brooke.

The phone rang four times before the beautiful, brunette queen of the house of Jadon answered. “Tiff, is that you?” Brooke sounded positively tormented.

“It’s me,” Tiffany said, getting the perfunctory greeting out of the way.

“Oh gods,” Brooke exhaled, not bothering to hide her concern. “It’s so nice to hear your voice.”

“Yeah, yours, too.”

There was an awkward pause before the queen finally asked, “So… how’s it going?”

Tiffany sighed. “How do you think?”

“That well, huh?”

“Just peachy,” Tiffany said. “Last night he made me alcoholic beverages, and I had four in a row.”

Brooke gasped, and Tiffany could almost see her recoil in her mind’s eye. “Ramsey got you drunk?”

Now this made Tiffany laugh,
inside
. If Brooke only knew; Tiffany had gotten
herself
drunk. “Completely blitzed,” she said, “and then he threw me on the floor and ravaged me against my will.” She didn’t know why she said it; it just seemed like a clever way to break the ice.

Brooke inhaled sharply. “
No
! No?
He didn’t
.” She took the phone away from her ear. “Napolean!”

“I’m kidding!” Tiffany rushed the words. “
Just kidding.
” Sort of.
Oh hell, that was all she needed
: Napolean to confront Ramsey, and Ramsey to confront her. And what was with this
run-and-tell-hubby-stuff
anyway? What was the king going to do about it? “Sorry,” she whispered.

“Not funny,” Brooke said wearily. “I’ve been out of my mind with worry.” And then, in the background: “No, sweetie. Everything’s fine. Really. It was just a miscommunication. Yes, I’m sure. Thanks anyway.
Love
you
.”

Yikes
, Tiffany thought.
Really dodged a bullet there, especially if Brooke was throwing in ‘I love you,’ just for good measure
. “You know better than to even hint that you’re upset about something to that vampire,” Tiffany said, preaching. “You have to stop doing that, Brooke. Seriously. If we’re going to talk, you can’t do that.”

“If we’re going to talk?” Brooke echoed.

“
When
we talk,” Tiffany reassured her.

“And you have to stop making up such horrible stories about Ramsey. I mean, I know he’s a bit harsh, but Tiff, that was quite unsettling.”

Tiffany grew quiet.

A bit
harsh?

“Tiff?”

She rubbed her face in her hands and tried to force some fake cheer into her heart. Couldn’t do it.

“
Tiff?
”

“I’m here.”

Brooke sighed. “Oh, Tiff, I’m sorry. You’re right. I shouldn’t have said anything to Napolean just now. I overreacted… especially when I know you so well.”

“Meaning?”

“
Meaning,
whenever you lead with snarky jokes and inappropriate humor, it means you’re dangling on the edge. You’re not okay, are you?”

“I can’t go there right now, Brooke. I honestly can’t.” She fought to keep her voice steady, and Brooke waited about two or three seconds before regrouping.

“Okay… so… where would you like to go, then? You lead, and I’ll follow.”

Tiffany managed a faint smile, truly appreciating her friend’s words. “Are
we
okay?” she asked sheepishly.

“You mean
you and me
?” Brooke asked. “Always, in my mind, but you tell me. The last time I saw you, I know you were rattled. We both were. And I know you felt like I should’ve given you my keys, and maybe I should have—I don’t know—but like I said, we were both so rattled.” Brooke took a deep breath, like she was trying to avoid mixing up the order of her words. “And I’m sure you aren’t happy that I told Napolean about your wrist, that you were Ramsey’s
destiny
, but Tiffany, you have to understand: I was truly concerned for your safety. And Ramsey? He wasn’t going to be denied—”

“Brooke—”

“Not by me. Not by Napolean. And not by the laws—”

“
Brooke…
”

“That govern the house of Jadon. Ramsey knew that Napolean had taken your blood, and he insisted on having him track you.”

“Brooke!”

“What?” she murmured in a low, conciliatory voice.

“You’re rambling.”

“I know.”

“It’s okay. I mean, it’s not okay, but you didn’t do anything wrong. You were in an untenable situation. I get it.”

Brooke let out a deep sigh of relief. “Do you?”

“Sort of. That’s all I’ve got right now.”

“Will you ever forgive me?”

Tiffany felt her eyes dampen with moisture. This was such a mess, this whole damn thing,
the whole damn Curse
; and now, it was affecting her relationship with her dearest friend.

“Tiffany? Will you?”

“I will. I have.
I do
.” She pinched the bridge of her nose as if such a thing could stave off tears. “I just wanted to call and let you know I’m alive, let you know that I don’t hold what happened against you, and I’ll be in touch.”

“Don’t go,” Brooke urged rapidly, her voice growing thick with compassion. “Tell me what’s going on. Please. Tell me how I can support you.”

“There’s nothing you can do right now,” Tiffany said honestly. “There’s nothing anyone can do. I just need some time to—”

“Carlotta packed all your clothes, and they’re being dropped off by courier, even as we speak.”

Tiffany slumped in her chair. Brooke was going to continue rambling. She would do just about anything to keep the connection open at this point, which meant she was still feeling insecure. “That was nice of her,” Tiffany said, staring out the window at the beautiful horizon of trees and mountaintops framing an immaculate, well-designed parking lot. She wanted to be
available
, but she wasn’t ready to talk about Ramsey or this particular Blood Moon, and she wasn’t able to fake cheer or sweep all her very real concerns under the rug. “So, I’ll call you in a day or two then?”

“Oh, Napolean found Bobee!”

Tiffany couldn’t help but bite. “Really? Where was he? I swear, I looked everywhere!”

“He was in Napolean’s master closet, stuffed inside a pair of steel-toed boots.”

“Huh?” Tiffany asked, utterly perplexed. “Why would the little prince put him there?”

“Well, from all that we could piece together, Phoenix associates those boots with Daddy working, with Daddy going to kick some—”

“Ass.”

“Exactly. And since he thinks of the purple dragon as a protector of sorts, he thought—”

“Bobee would go with Napolean and keep him safe.”

“That’s what I think, anyhow. He just said, ‘Bobee fight wif Papa.’”

Tiffany smiled—actually smiled—and then she broke down in tears.
Oh hell,
what the heck was happening to her now, and why was
this
the thing that finally sent her over the edge?

“Don’t cry,” Brooke urged. “I found your car keys, too. They were in a laundry basket.”

Tiffany was just about to come up with a hard-nosed, irrefutable excuse to get off the phone, when a haggard-looking woman with thick, multicolored hair came to the doorway of her office and stood in the threshold, looking more than a bit disheveled.

She appeared entirely lost.

Tiffany wiped her eyes and sat up straight in her chair, swiveling around to face the stranger. “Hold on, Brooke, there’s someone here at the office.” She held the phone away from her ear and cocked her eyebrows. “Can I help you?”

The woman didn’t respond immediately. She just stood there looking disturbingly freaky, in her poorly dyed black-and-red hair, an awful choice for a lot of reasons.

“Hey, Brooke, let me call you right back.” Tiffany hung up the phone without waiting for an answer, and then she posed her question again. “Excuse me,
may I help
you
?”

The woman blinked in surprise, as if she hadn’t heard Tiffany the first time, or she hadn’t expected her to actually have a voice… Okay, this was getting weirder by the second.

“Yes.” The woman stared at the placard on the door. “Tiffany Matthews?”

Tiffany nodded her head. “That’s me.”

“Oh, oh, wonderful. May I come in for a moment?”

Tiffany frowned. “What’s this about?”

The woman sauntered through the door as if she didn’t hear her, again, and for the first time, Tiffany got a real good look at her eyes… and her clothes… and her demeanor. And all of it screamed
walking tragedy
.

The woman appeared to be young, late twenties, early thirties, and she was pretty enough, but she looked like she had really been through the wringer: There were bags under her eyes, her fingernails were dirty, and her hair was curiously disheveled. On top of that, she was wearing a man’s silk white shirt, at least several sizes too large, over a pair of—were those actually
pajama
bottoms?

Tiffany did a double take, trying to make sense of the material: Granted, the pj’s looked like they cost at least a hundred dollars—they were satin and pleated, for heaven’s sake—but still, they were definitely pajama bottoms. Men’s pajama bottoms.
What the hay?
“Are you in some sort of trouble?” Tiffany asked.

The woman looked positively rattled by the question, and she quickly shook her head. “No,
no
, not at all. Nothing like that.” She looked down at her clothes, absently smoothed her expensive shirt, and walked confidently to Tiffany’s desk, where she held out her hand in greeting. “My name is Tawni Duvall.”

Tiffany took her hand and shook it cautiously. “Hello, Tawni. I’m Tiffany.”

The woman threw back her head and laughed then—
inappropriate much?
—and then she sighed with apprehension. “I know I must look a mess. Oh my gosh, I can’t believe I’m still wearing pajamas.” She tried to cover the snafu with another inappropriate giggle. “Please, let me explain.” She looked at the black marble container full of business cards resting on Tiffany’s desk, and boldly reached out to take one: “
Tiffany Matthews, Graphic Design & Marketing…
” She read it out loud with a smile. “You see, I’m new in town, and I’m also a graphic artist. And I was hoping to apply for a job.”

Tiffany coughed into her hand to subdue a harsher reaction.
She was job hunting in a man’s shirt and pajamas?
“Um… well… we only hire from the inside.”

The woman nodded. “I see. But I was kind of hoping to get some sort of contract work. You know, to provide remote assistance, if possible. I can do just about anything, and I work from home. So—”

Tiffany reached toward her desk phone. She was about to call security, which, honestly, was the last thing she wanted to do since Ramsey Olaru was still parked downstairs in the lobby, all six-foot-five, mean-as-hell inches of the warrior-sentinel; but this woman was truly weirding her out.