Matters of the Blood (23 page)

"There is death blood here,” he said. “Much death."

I put my hand on his arm. “It's a funeral home, Adam, there's always death. That's kind of the point."

He shook his head. “Maybe. Show me the embalming room."

We walked through the darkened building, only a few lights illuminating the corridor.

When we reached the security door, I punched in the code, swung it open and reached in to flip on the overhead lights. Adam stopped me, a hand on my arm.

"No light, not yet."

"Does the light bother you?"

He smiled. “I work better in the dark."

I ignored the double entendre and stepped back, away from the blackness of the room.

"I'll wait for you in the storage room ... down the hall and to your right."

I couldn't stand there with him in the dark. My senses could still feel Marty's death, the vision I'd had, the dream become reality. I couldn't be there in that room right now.

"Keira.” Adam gripped my arm again, stopping me. “Is something wrong?” The light from the hall cast shadows across his face. He looked worried.

"I'm okay, Adam,” I said. “It's just ... this room. It's too soon."

"Be safe,” he said, leaning over to kiss me lightly on the forehead. “I'll be through shortly."

I nodded and left him there.

The storage room didn't look any different from the other day, when I'd confronted Derek. Mini-fridge in the back, shelves full of cremains boxes and cremation urns above it, a battered desk on the left, piled with old
Mortuary Management
magazines and
Funeral Monitor,
flanked by a couple of old file boxes bursting with paper. A cupboard on the right was closed and locked. I knew that's where Marty kept his back stock of embalming chemicals.

I cleared a space on the desk and sat there, waiting for Adam. It didn't take him very long.

"There's been blood here ... recently, if my senses are correct. But nothing I could pinpoint."

I knew what he was thinking, part of me did, anyway. I was sure he suspected one of his people of having hurt Marty. It wasn't so much the blood he was looking for, but evidence of one of his own having been there. He hadn't found it. That was good news ... for him anyway. It still didn't get me any closer as to why Marty was killed. In fact, all it meant was that if the killer was indeed a vampire, that he or she hadn't killed Marty here. He could have just as easily been drained elsewhere.

I said as much.

"I know,” Adam said. “I was hoping it would be cut-and-dried. That I'd know immediately. But the lack of evidence doesn't clear any of my people. All I could scent was a faint trace of blood."

"Marty had an upswing in business recently,” I said. “At least, according to the paperwork. More bodies equals more blood—and more money. Check out that shelf. He even ordered extra urns. Carlton and I were looking at the funeral records and discovered Marty was paying the Albrights."

Adam frowned as I filled him in on what Carlton and I had found out the day before.

"That could be it,” he said. “I'm still hesitant, though. Something doesn't seem quite right.” He tilted his head and sniffed. “I keep smelling..."

He squatted down in front of the mini-fridge, swinging open the door.

"What was in here?"

I peered over his shoulder. The shelves were bare of anything but a few crumpled condiment packets and a couple of jars of jam.

"I'm not sure,” I said. “I imagine food. Derek was in here taking stuff out and putting it in his cooler. You smell blood?"

Adam shut the small door and stood up. “I can't tell,” he said. “Not conclusively. Someone's washed the shelves, used a bleach cleanser.” He shook his head. “I'm sorry, Keira, I can't be more sure. This is turning out to be a wild goose chase."

I sagged against a stack of magazines. “I'm not even so sure what kind of goose we were chasing, Adam."

"I'm not that sure myself,” he admitted. “I might have been jumping to a conclusion."

"Doing a bit of that tonight, aren't you?” I smiled at him, taking the sting out of my words.

"I suppose I am,” he said. “I'm not used to having to believe so many impossible things before breakfast. I may have jumped the gun a little.” He smiled at me, a little sheepishly.

"I guess you did,” I said. “It's okay, you know. We're all, well, not human, but not mistake-proof.” I smiled back at him.

He leaned up against the cupboard, his features relaxing.

"Has the mortuary been in business long?” Adam's voice was quiet, respectful.

"Not quite a century,” I answered. “My great-uncle built it. You can feel it, then?"

"Death is something I know intimately. There have been a great many dead things here. So you feel it, too?"

"It's part of what I am. Kind of a natural pull, a draw."

I sighed, grateful my shields reduced the effect of his relentless aura. “I've been an intimate of death for a great many years, Adam. My job, before the Marty babysitting gig. I...” I let out a breath, trying to figure out how to explain myself. “We don't die. Unless we choose to. I help escort people across."

"Across?"

I didn't look at him. Even though my work was perfectly acceptable in my family circle, having been brought up with humans made me look at death a little differently. Kind of seeing both sides of the coin, in a way.

"Until two years ago, I helped clan members die. Fed them poison—a potion of herbs and death magic concocted by those who know how. My job was to be there to greet Death when he came to get them. Make sure they took the trip. My people don't do death well, even when we choose it. So, yeah, I kind of know a lot about it. I've learned to shut it out, not let it affect me."

His laugh surprised me, echoing off the silent walls.

"My love, I don't know who you think you're fooling."

"Fooling? About what? I mean—Shit."

Red-faced, I picked up one of the magazines and riffled the pages. Not that I was in the least interested in its contents. I needed a moment to collect my thoughts.

Adam remained where he was, still leaning, arms crossed over his chest. Damn if he didn't look almost exactly the same as the first time I'd met him. Thick dark hair cascading past his shoulders, touching the middle of his back, framing the rugged beauty of his pale face. His long, lean body relaxed, yet underneath the fa?ade, energy, something that I now knew was power contained. I'd felt the pull of him then, just as now.

He was wrong. Even though I could feel death in here, it was just another aura to avoid. That's all.

The other shoe dropped.

"Is that a British thing?” I snapped.

"What?"

"Calling me ‘love'."

I watched his neutral expression turn to what could be amusement.

"Yes ... and no."

"What do you mean, ‘no'?” I was beginning to feel a little queasy.

"What do you think it means?” he countered.

"Adam, you don't even know me, how can you begin to think you love me?"

"Know you? How could you possibly say I don't know you?"

He pushed himself away from the cupboard. “For more than eight years I watched as you pretended to avoid me, tried to pretend you didn't feel anything toward me. But here we are and things have changed."

I looked back down at the magazine, not seeing what was on the page. “We never even exchanged so much as a kiss, never went on a date."

"You can't deny you feel the same.” His voice remained even, almost amused. He was playing games with me; he had to be. “You can't possibly deny that you felt me, felt the pull ... knew I was something different."

"I don't know what I feel—felt.” Just call me the Queen of Denial. I didn't really know why I was avoiding this, whatever it was. Attraction, lust, the power of hormones.

"Keira.” Adam crossed the small room and stood in front of me, taking my hands in his. I tried not to watch.

"Keira,” he repeated. “Eight years ago, when you first walked into that silly soiree, I felt you. From across the room, I recognized something kindred. I know you did, too. You spent all that time coming to the same events, deliberately never spending too much time around me, but at the same time, making sure you were close by. Close enough to talk, to flirt, to make sure I knew you were there. But you never crossed that line. Yet, I knew."

"I thought you were human. I couldn't cross
that
line."

No matter how much I'd wanted to,
I thought. He was right. Despite my then on-and-off again relationship with Gideon. I'd instantly been attracted to Adam—and just as instantly put the brakes on my feelings.

"No, you couldn't,” he agreed. “But as surely as I'm dead, I knew. I still know ... love."

"Lust,” I said. “Not love."

He laughed softly, his hand reaching down to stroke my cheek. A thrill ran through me, heat tracing down my skin where he'd touched me.

"Lust ... love ... in me, for you, they blend. Keira, you're how old?"

"Thirty-seven,” I answered, my mouth almost too dry to speak.

"I was older than that when I died—too many years ago to count. I know what I feel."

I watched his face as he drew closer. Close enough to feel the breath of his words against my lips, but not touching, not quite. Shimmering energy danced across my skin. My pulse quickened, as I drew in a breath, and with that breath, his scent followed, assaulting my senses, flushing me with desire. The stillness of his being washed over me as I felt a great well of cool darkness inside, deep within him.

"Why is your skin hot?” I asked, breathing my words against him.

"It's not,” he answered. “Feel...” He placed the palm of his hand against my cheek, the soft skin of a man to whom manual labor is only a concept. I started to tell him he was wrong as heat pulsed against my face, on fire from the warmth of his hand.

But then, suddenly, I realized he wasn't wrong. If I concentrated, I could tell that his skin temperature was no hotter than the room we stood in. It wasn't him. The heat was coming from me.

"And you still think you can shut out the dead."

I closed my eyes against the truth, pulling away from his touch. “Is that all this is then? An attraction to the dead?"

I stood, pushing him away, then turned, not able to face him. My hands gripped the side of the desk. I wanted to ground myself, to swallow the feelings that threatened to take over my rationality.

A pulse of power, an angry red aura from behind me was my immediate answer. It dissipated almost immediately, only to be replaced with a thick tension, a silence almost tangible in its heaviness. Then words, at first almost too soft to hear.

"That's the way it started,” he began. “You could lie to yourself, keep it neutral. Pretend that it's the draw of power, of the magick that makes me live, of the death that makes me who I am. But we both know better. It's moved beyond that. You're not drawn to Andrea, to any other vampire the way you're drawn to me. Just as I'm not drawn to anyone else."

I stayed still, unmoving, not trusting myself to say anything.

The soft voice continued. “I lied to you, Keira. About the ranch. About why I chose to settle here. I've always known where you were."

I turned at that, needing to see his face, needing to know that what he spoke was truth.

He stood silently, watching me with the same need on his own face.

"Always?” I could barely get the word out.

Adam nodded. “I came to find you. To find out why I couldn't forget you."

"But ... you've only been here for a couple of weeks."

"More than that,” he said. “I've been traveling back and forth for the better part of two years. A great deal of construction was necessary before we could live here. Construction and preparation took more time than I anticipated."

"The other night, did you know I was here ... at the mortuary?"

A smile crossed his face. “That was pure serendipity, my love. Fate playing her twisted little game. I really had come to talk to your cousin. I wasn't ready to see you yet. I wasn't yet ready to play my hand."

"Your hand?"

He stepped closer, reached out tentatively, stroked my hair. I shut my eyes again, reveling in the sensation, almost not hearing his next words.

"I wanted it to be perfect. I wanted to make it so perfect that you couldn't say no. I was going to throw a soiree, a masquerade ball for Halloween. Invite the townspeople, invite you, especially. The Inn would have looked beautiful. The perfect setting. I had a plan."

My eyes opened, catching his gaze. “Then you had to get caught in a rainstorm and so much for the perfect setting."

His thumb brushed my cheek as he drew even closer.

"But that didn't matter quite so much, after all, did it?"

As his lips met mine, I knew I didn't have to answer...

A thousand years later, we pulled apart, my mind hazy, whirling with the possibilities, but knowing if this was going anywhere, it wasn't going to happen here in the storeroom of the funeral home. I could think of a lot better places.

"Adam,” I croaked, barely able to speak.

He stared at me, unseeing, the clear green of his eyes as dark with craving as they had been earlier in the night, when I'd shared my power with him. He blinked, once, twice, then a shudder went through him and he settled, once again the suave sophisticate that I knew. His hand caressed my cheek again, a smile on his face.

"I think we have a dinner date, love. You still haven't eaten and it's still early."

"Dinner. Goddess, you made me forget again."

His laugh made me smile. “I distract you?"

"Totally,” I said, and stroked his hair. “You are a complete and utter distraction."

"There are so many things I want to do with you, Keira Kelly. But you need to eat. Then we must talk to my staff about your cousin.” A sigh, then a slight scowl. “Business before pleasure, my sweet. Time enough."

Damn. I couldn't argue with him. The sooner we found out who killed Marty, or at least whether or not it was a supernatural kill, the sooner Adam and I could get down to our own business—the business of finding out what was next with us.

[Back to Table of Contents]