Sweetblood 02.5 - Enchanted by Blood (5 page)

WHEN TRACE ROLLED OVER, it took him a moment to realize the sheets against his skin weren’t his own. He cracked open one eye and looked around.

Oh, yeah, he was in the field office. And then, a heartbeat later, memories of last night crashed around him.

He’d stayed at Charlotte’s place too long, ignoring the taxi’s horn at first, then running out wearing only a towel to throw the guy a fifty.

It was well after dawn by the time he’d left, the sun of the living already cresting the mountains. Without a daysuit or any other protective covering, he struggled to make it out to the waiting cab, the energy leaching out of him with each moment spent under the ultraviolet rays. He wouldn’t be able to make the long drive back home, so he’d had the cab drop him off at the Seattle field office. They kept extra rooms available, and he’d slept here several times when he was up from Florida on Guardian business.

He grabbed his phone, half hoping he’d see a missed call from Charlotte before he realized he hadn’t left his number with her. She’d looked so beautiful when he stole out of her bed this morning. He’d leaned over, brushed a strand of hair from her sleeping face and kissed her goodbye.

Thinking about their intense connection yet knowing they’d never share a future gnawed at his heart like a freshly opened wound.

He could still hear her laughter ringing in his ears. Taste her on his lips. Smell her scent on his skin. He reached down and gripped the base of his erection. As he recalled every detail about last night, he imagined he was making love to her again and he climaxed quickly.

“Ah, Charlotte, what have you done to me?” he said aloud to himself. He got up and took a quick shower in the adjoining bathroom.

When he re-entered the bedroom, he checked the time on his phone. Six in the evening already? Great. He’d slept most of the day. Everyone in the field office had been up and working for hours. Yawning again, he knew he’d need to get some human energy—maybe blood, as well—to make up for what he’d lost in the sun.

Christ, he hadn’t been this unmindful of the hour since he went through his Time of Change centuries ago. As a youthling, getting accustomed to your body’s new cravings and staying out of the sunlight didn’t happen overnight. Without thinking, you’d step into the sun, then suffer the consequences. But he hadn’t done that in ages. However, Charlotte had always had a way of messing with his head.

What was she doing right now? he wondered. He missed her already. Not only had the sex been amazing—hell, one thought of her tight little body was enough to get him rock hard—but he’d loved her insanely funny stories about one of her clients, and the enchanting sound of her heartbeat when she was nearby. He wished he could call her to see how her day went. Had that table arrived for her neurotic client yet?

For the millionth time, he wondered if he’d made a mistake when he wiped her memories last Christmas. Would she have accepted him as a vampire after witnessing what she had? Sebastian could be a sadistic bastard sometimes, and although Trace hadn’t been present when Charlotte had walked in on him feeding from a human host, it had to have been graphic. The shock on her face had said it all.

He sat down heavily on the bed again.

Had Trace’s father been alive last Christmas, he’d have been furious at what happened, but he’d died a few months earlier. In his gruff tone, he’d have told Sebastian to be more discreet in his feeding habits, and to Trace he’d have said to quit screwing around with that human woman and act like a Councilperson. He would’ve chastised both of them into doing the right thing for the Westfalen family. Although technically Sebastian was from the Taft side of the family tree.

Staring at the blank phone screen now, he knew that he didn’t have a choice. Not then and certainly not now. It was his duty to take over his father’s position on the Council, and at some point, mate with a vampire female. He’d been preparing for this all his life. If he were lucky, the union would produce a child. Given that vampire fertility rates weren’t nearly what humans’ were, many of the old families had not been able to produce heirs over the years and their lines had died off. His father was adamant that this not happen to their branch of the family.

A sour taste formed in his mouth. After being with Charlotte last night, he couldn’t imagine having sex with another female for the purposes of starting a family. Somehow, it didn’t seem…right.

Just as he was getting up, the door banged open. Jackson Foss sauntered into the room wearing black sweats, flip-flops and a graphic T-shirt with the name of some gym plastered across his chest. The Guardian had changed the streaks in his hair to crimson since the last time Trace had seen him.

“You look confused.” Jackson gestured at Trace’s phone with the sandwich he held. “Trying to decide if you’re going to click some naked pictures on the internet or what?”

“Don’t you knock?”

Jackson ignored the question, took a bite and continued talking. “Oh, wait. I forgot. You’re on the Council now. Gotta behave yourself.”

“It’s not official yet,” Trace said, sitting back down on the edge of the bed. “The elders are voting on it next month, right after the first of the year.”

“Yeah, but that’s just a formality.”

“I don’t know about that,” Trace admitted. He wouldn’t have said this to just anyone, but he counted Jackson as a friend. “I’m starting to think something more is going on behind the scenes, like someone doesn’t want me to take over. Maybe the incident that happened with my great-uncle is to blame. Our name isn’t exactly untarnished.”

George Westfalen had been found to be keeping a blood slave on his property to feed his Sweet habit, an act forbidden by Council law. Although the old man had been manipulated by an unscrupulous business manager who got him addicted to the rare human blood in order to gain control over his vast finances, the fallout had reflected poorly on the whole family.

“Any word on how the guy’s doing?” Trace asked. “The…ah…blood slave. You keeping tabs on him?”

Most of the field offices kept a list of known sweet-bloods in the area—people who usually came to their attention as the result of an attack. When time permitted, they did drive-by status checks of these humans most vulnerable to unscrupulous vampires. In accordance with Council law, their memories had to be wiped, but the Agency felt it was their duty to watch over them as best they could.

“The sweetblood guy? Finn? He’s cool. Doing work for the field office as a helicopter pilot. And he’s got something pretty serious going on with one of our medics, Brenna Stewart. Don’t know if she was here when you were, but she’s working at one of the clinics now.”

How interesting. Most of the field offices did have a few humans working within their midst who knew about the existence of the vampire race, but a sweetblood? He recalled that Dom’s wife had been a sweetblood before becoming a changeling. Maybe that had something to do with it. “Her name does sound familiar.”

Jackson stuffed the rest of the sandwich in his mouth. “Since you’re on your best behavior, I take it, no hanging at the Pink Salon for you? A couple of us are heading there later.”

The downtown club had always been one of Jackson’s favorite places to pick up women. Actually, he did more than just pick them up there. An entire relationship consummation occurred. “They name one of the private rooms in the back after you yet?”

“No, but I’m working on it.”

Trace laughed. “I’ll bet.” A part of him yearned to be that carefree again. No policies, traditions or family obligations hanging over his head, dictating his every decision, where the only concern was where you were going to go after work with your buddies to get drunk and get laid.

“Then come with us,” Jackson urged.

He scrubbed his face, not sure why he was suddenly feeling this way. When he left Florida, he’d been eager to leave the life of a Guardian behind him.

“Best behavior, remember?” He told Jackson about the two guys he’d pounded on last night. “God, it felt good to beat the living crap out of a couple of losers. I do miss that the only conflict you deal with is between your fist and a DB’s face. Now, all the sparring and conflict in my world is verbal.”

“You’re so full of shit. Come on, you’re a natural at this stuff—schmoozing with the suits, getting them to agree with you. Besides, you’ve got it all. A job where everyone knows and respects you. A beautiful home. You’ve probably got women throwing themselves at you. I mean, you were a decent-looking sonofabitch before, but now that you’ve got power and money, you’re the man. I’m sure all the single ladies want a piece of that. And some of the married ones, too.”

“I’ve been too busy with Council affairs to chase women.” He sighed. There was only one woman he wanted to find him irresistible and she was off-limits. He’d need to be satisfied with the memory of last night.

“Speaking of carousing,” Jackson said, “are you going to throw that big holiday party again this year? Last year’s was the bomb. People are still talking about it—the party atmosphere, the food, the dancing, the sexy times. I hooked up with a couple of lovelies who did me right and I wouldn’t mind a repeat performance. Who says that under the mistletoe is just for kissing?”

“No party. Not with everything that went down with Uncle George. The family is lying low.”

“Aw, man, that’s the very reason you should throw a party. Everyone had such a good goddamn time.”

Trace shook his head. “I don’t think so.”

“If you’re worried about the vote, what better way to spread goodwill than by throwing a party for everyone to enjoy themselves? A celebration of epic proportions will trump what happened with your uncle. Push it into the past.”

He hadn’t thought about it that way. Last year’s party had been great. He propped the pillow up behind his head. “Yeah, but it’s already late in the year. I’m not sure I could pull everything together in time. Besides, people probably have plans already.”

“Some will, some won’t. Why don’t you just hire that cute little gal who handled everything for you before? She seemed pretty capable.”

His gut lurched as if Jackson had just punched him. “Charlotte?” The Guardian’s most notorious playboy remembered her?

“Yeah,” Jackson answered. “Is she the one with the—” he gestured pointedly “—and the—?” another gesture.

Trace could feel his pupils dilating with anger. He wanted to grab his friend by the throat and shove him against the wall. Sure, he liked knowing that other men thought his woman was hot, but he didn’t want to hear it put quite so crudely. And he sure as hell didn’t appreciate knowing they were ogling her. Through narrowed eyes, he scrutinized Jackson. If the guy was thinking about her sexually, so help him, the shit was going to hit the fan in a very big way.

Charlotte was off-limits. She was his, and his only.

He rose from the bed and paced to the other side of the room, his heavy footsteps rattling a bunch of crap on one of the tables.

Wait. Why was he thinking so possessively about Charlotte? What was he thinking? Despite their hookup last night, she was definitely not his woman. He rubbed a hand over his stubble and listened to the rasp. What he needed was to be more like Jackson. After having sex, chicks became a distant memory. His friend was in it for one thing and one thing only.

“Since she handled the party once,” Jackson continued, apparently clueless that he’d pissed Trace off, “this year should be a snap.”

“It would be if she remembered she’d done it.”

“What are you talking about?” Jackson stared at him for a moment before he narrowed his eyes at the realization and laughed. “You dog. You boned her and accidentally pronged her, didn’t you?”

Trace’s fingers curled into fists at the vulgar way he made it sound. If he had ever taken Charlotte’s blood, he’d have discussed it with her first and he’d have been gentle, so as not to frighten her. “No, I didn’t.”

“So what happened then?”

“During the party, she walked into one of Sebastian’s little sexcapades.”

Jackson whistled. “I’m assuming she saw more than a little horizontal action?”

“Yep. Apparently, she saw him in all his glory. Fangs, blood, sex. All of it.”

Jackson’s brow furrowed. “You wiped her memory of just what she’d witnessed, though, right?”

“No.” He grabbed his suit jacket, which had been hanging over the back of a chair, and pulled out his folded scorpion knife. Opening and closing the dual blades a few times, he nodded, satisfied, at the clicking sound it made. “I wiped her memory of the whole time we were together.”

Jackson spread his hands, palms up. “Dude, why?”

Trace shrugged. He recalled the deathbed promise he’d made to his father about duty and honor and family. “I realized things had to change.”

Sure, he could’ve wiped her memory of the incident and continued on as normal. In fact, he’d automatically touched a hand to her forehead to begin the simple process of sifting through her memories. But as he looked into her eyes, he’d realized how unfair and selfish he was being. He had lied to her and would need to continue to lie in order to maintain their relationship. For his sake, and his sake only. In the end, he’d respected her too much to do that, so he’d done what he thought was best, even though it was one of the hardest decisions he’d ever made.

“It was best to just clear her memory of the whole thing.”