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Seduced by Blood
Laurie London


Deep within a dangerous forest the battle between two vampire clans rages on.Hot-blooded and hard-edged, Tristan Santiago has an uncanny ability to see beneath the surface – a skill that serves him well as the Guardians’ region commander. But when a deadly plot against his fellow vampires is uncovered, he must turn to the one woman he can’t read: the beautiful yet mysterious Roxanne Reynolds, whose sensual presence soothes his tormented memories.Roxy had put love before duty once before, with devastating results. But to root out a dangerous traitor in their midst, she must put her faith in Santiago, the one man skilled enough to break through her defences. Posing as lovers, Santiago and Roxy must work side by side – but they didn’t expect the powerful passion that threatens to consume them both…










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Dear Reader,

I’m beyond thrilled to share the fourth installment of the SWEETBLOOD series, which centers around a group of vampire warriors based in the Pacific Northwest. The world is a deadly and seductive one, where Guardians fight to protect humans from Darkbloods—vicious members of their race who still kill humans like their ancestors did and sell their blood on the vampire black market. The rarest, called Sweet, is very addictive and commands the highest price.

It’s hard to believe that just last year the series began with Bonded by Blood. Don’t worry if you haven’t read the other books, though. I wrote each one to stand alone.

When I first met Tristan Santiago, the region commander, he stormed onto the pages of Bonded and stole the show. He’s hotheaded and very hard to ignore.

Because I own horses, I was reminded of the dynamics of herd behavior as I wrote Santiago’s story. In a nutshell, the horse that persuades the other horses to move their feet and get out of his way is the dominant one. I had a horse like this once. He was sweet to my daughter and me, but when he was around other horses, he expected them to move out of his space. And if they didn’t, he bit or kicked them.

That’s Santiago. If he gives you an order, he expects you to obey, and if you don’t… Well, let’s just say it’s not going to be pretty.

Once, my horse encountered another who seemed immune to his authority, who didn’t care that my horse thought he was in charge. It really threw the poor guy for a loop. He was confused and wasn’t himself for a while.

Guess what? Roxy Reynolds has that same effect on Santiago. Unlike everyone else around him, she isn’t impressed with his authority and does things her way. She doesn’t jump when he tells her to jump. She gets under his skin like no one else has ever done, which upsets his entire world and sense of self. And then, of course, he falls madly in love with her.

As you can imagine, I had a great time torturing Santiago with Roxy. I hope you enjoy reading their story as much as I enjoyed writing it.

All my best,

Laurie




Seduced

by Blood

Laurie

London







www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


To Tyler. I’m very proud of you!




ACKNOWLEDGMENTS


First, I’d like to thank you, the readers of the SWEETBLOOD series. Without your enthusiasm, this would not be possible.

Thanks to my critique partner, my sister Becky, who lovingly and gently tells me when I suck. And my beta readers, Janna, Mandy, Kathy, Shelley and Kandis, whose shrewd and thoughtful assessments have saved me a lot of heartache down the road. I love you guys!

To my wonderful editor, Margo Lipschultz, who seems to “get” me even when I don’t “get” myself. To all the people behind the scenes at Mills & Boon


Nocturne™, thanks for all that you do. And to the talented folks in the art department who make the awesome SWEETBLOOD covers: you rock!

Much thanks to Cherry Adair, Delilah Marvelle, Larissa Ione and Alexis Morgan for your friendship and your words of wisdom. I am so very grateful.

To the Cherryplotters, thanks for your creativity and inspiration.

To my GIAM buddies, my friends at Romance

University, my GWRWA chapter mates and the

Bookinville ladies, thanks for all your support.

And finally, to my husband, Ted, and two children: I love the three of you very much.


Also available from Laurie London

BONDED BY BLOOD

EMBRACED BY BLOOD

“ENCHANTED BY BLOOD”

in A Vampire for Christmas

TEMPTED BY BLOOD




CHAPTER ONE


WHEN ROXANNE REYNOLDS rounded the corner in her rental car, the last thing she expected to see in the headlights was a half-naked man stumbling on the side of the road.

She slammed on her brakes, pulled the car to the shoulder and fumbled to find the emergency flasher switch. Not only was this section of the Sea to Sky highway a terrible place to stop, but it wasn’t exactly somewhere a sane person would be taking a walk, especially after midnight.

With his shirt ripped down the front and one of the sleeves missing, the man held up a hand to shield his face from the glare.

Her first thought was that he’d been involved in a car accident. But when she noticed he wasn’t wearing shoes, she nixed that conclusion. Maybe a wild animal had attacked him. Given how remote this area was—the last town she passed had to be ten miles back—it wouldn’t be too hard to imagine. She wasn’t certain what sorts of predators lived in this part of British Columbia, but surely a bear or a mountain lion would be capable of taking down a full-grown man.

She found the switch and jumped from the car. But when she got her first big whiff of the cool night air, she knew instantly that it wasn’t an animal.

Although some would argue that a vampire was an animal.

The sweet smell of the man’s blood assaulted her senses, making her gums ache as her fangs prepared to drop. Running toward him, she automatically shut down her body’s natural instincts to his very rare and highly addictive blood-type and the sensation dissipated. Given her work as a scent tracker, she’d followed the trail of many sweetbloods, but unlike most vampires, she could control how they affected her without much difficulty.

The guy stumbled and fell to his knees just as she got to him, his legs clearly unable to support his weight any longer. He must have been running on pure adrenaline.

“Are you okay?” she asked, pulling him back to his feet. “What happened to you?” She’d come all the way from Florida to help out a friend, but this seriously wasn’t how she’d expected her stint in the Northwest to begin.

Blood splatters covered what was left of his long-sleeved shirt, scratches crisscrossed his exposed skin—including his scruffy, somewhat pimply face—and an IV line dangled from a piece of tape on his arm. The fact that he was young, barely out of his teenage years, didn’t surprise her. Sweetbloods rarely made it past the age of twenty, thirty at the outside, before a vampire somewhere came across them. The Darkblood Alliance made buckets of money selling vials of Sweet on the vampire black market. With just one taste, even those who had never killed a human before were likely to get carried away. A fact she knew firsthand but wished she didn’t.

“They tried…to kill me,” he choked, leaning heavily on her arm.

She didn’t need to ask who—she had a pretty damn good idea who’d do something like this. “Where were you being held? How far away?”

“I don’t know. It feels like… I’ve been…running forever.” He put his hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath. “A few kilometers on the other…side of the creek…just past those trees.” Without looking, he stabbed a thumb over his shoulder.

Thick, old-growth forest pressed in on them from both sides of the highway. Unaccustomed to trees this tall and roads this twisty, she felt claustrophobic not being able to see long distances around her.

“I’m so dizzy…they took a lot…of blood.” He pressed a fist to his forehead and his body swayed slightly. She held his arm tighter to steady him. “I know this is going to sound crazy but they…they were vampires.” His gaze darted around wildly as if he expected them to pop out from the woods or drop from the trees.

That didn’t surprise her in the slightest. She was half-tempted to track his captors herself, but that would mean the young man would have to stay here by himself. After what he’d just been through, she couldn’t in good conscience do that to him, even if his memory would get wiped later.

“Okay, in the car. Let’s get you out of here.”

Other than the residual smell on the man’s clothes, she didn’t detect any active Darkblood odor in the immediate vicinity, but that could change in the blink of an eye. Maybe they hadn’t discovered their prisoner was gone yet. If they had, they’d have quickly shadow-moved in the darkness, easily following the sweetblood scent, and retrieved him. Best to get out of here now.

“I’m serious,” he said forcefully, as if she didn’t believe him. His teeth chattered and his hands shook. “They kidnapped m-m-me in Vancouver…and brought me up here. They had fangs…black eyes…even their whites were black.”

Darkbloods for sure, then, and not some random rogue who got carried away when he ran into a sweetblood. A vampire’s eyes would turn black over time when they only consumed blood. She put her arm around him, trying to comfort him as she steered him to the car. He was going into shock and he needed medical attention. If only there was a blanket in the car to keep him warm, but all she had were a few light jackets in her suitcase. She took off her hoodie and wrapped it around his shoulders, trying not to think about how insanely cold she was. “What’s your name?”

“M-Mason.”

“Well, Mason, I believe you.”

His eyes widened. “You…you do? You’re not just saying that?”

“Nope.” And then, because she didn’t want to sound patronizing, she added, “I know it’s a fact because I’ve seen this before.” She wasn’t about to tell him she was a vampire and that she’d rescued lots of sweetbloods, including one an old lover had almost killed. The truth was necessary only up to a point. “Now come on.”

Unarmed and most likely outnumbered because Darkbloods worked in pairs, she wasn’t eager to confront the enemy if they stepped out of the darkness right now.

She helped Mason into the passenger seat, careful not to touch or focus on the bruises and scratches that ran up and down his arms. It was best to avoid contact with any of his blood, whether she trusted herself or not. “You’re going to be just fine. I promise.”

The medical staff at region headquarters would see that he was healthy before returning him to his normal life, the memory of his ordeal wiped from his head, and their agents could deal with the Darkblood situation themselves.

A pair of headlights pierced the darkness. Just her luck. They had company. Positioning herself between the young man and the roadway, she tried to block him from view. The last thing she needed was more human witnesses.

A red pickup slowed down and a man with a ball cap stared out at her. When she noticed the circular insignia on the side, her breath caught in her throat.

Cascade Search and Rescue.

Great. What were the chances that they’d simply drive past if they thought someone needed help? And what if they were actually out looking for this guy?

On the drive up here, she vaguely remembered hearing a radio bulletin about two hikers who’d failed to report back to their Whistler hotel, prompting authorities to organize a search. Maybe these guys were headed up there.

She smiled and gave a cheery wave to signify everything was okay. Manipulating the memory of one human who’d had an encounter with vampires was one thing, but multiple humans? Not only was she not skilled enough to perform a group mind wipe, but given that she hadn’t taken any blood in days, most likely she didn’t have the energy needed to perform one.

“Thank God, the authorities,” Mason said. “Someone needs to…go after those monsters…who tried to…kill me before they do this…to someone else.”

“I agree.” The authorities, yes, but not the human variety.

Darkbloods often brought human prey back to their dens, where they drained their blood and disposed of the bodies. Given the IV line, that clearly was what they’d been doing to Mason. He was lucky to have gotten out of there, especially considering he was a sweetblood. But it was odd they’d locate their den in this remote area and in the same vicinity as the region office. This wasn’t exactly a good place for an illegal blood siphoning operation and it was far from their clientele, who tended to stick close to larger cities where there were more humans to feed from.

Also, Darkbloods in northern areas weren’t normally as brash or bold as they were down South. Because ultraviolet light in the Pacific Northwest was low for most of the year, the energy in the human blood supply wasn’t as volatile. This in turn led to a less aggressive nature in the small vampire population who fed from them, including Darkbloods.

At least, that’s how it worked in theory. She’d never been far north enough to experience it for herself.

Mason’s hands couldn’t fasten the seat belt, so she snapped it for him. But before she could jog around to the driver’s side, she noticed that the red truck had eased off the road in front of them and turned around.

Damn. Her stomach sank like a pair of concrete shoes. They were coming to help.

Whatever happened to humans who didn’t want to get involved? The kind of people who could watch a mugging from a balcony and not call the police. The kind who would hide behind a Dumpster, either too scared or too indifferent to come to the aid of a dying man who had helped them. It was just her luck that the truck was not being driven by that kind of person. An image of a similar situation many years ago stirred in her mind, but that one didn’t involve humans. Cowardliness and apathy were common traits in both races.

But then she considered the flip side. The problem with being too concerned was that you could get sucked into doing something you hadn’t planned, which, ironically, was what had brought her here in the first place.

Her friend and former student, Lily DeGraff, had told her about a pre-wedding trip she was going to take with her fiancé and daughter—a trip that would have to be postponed because of her work with the Agency, the enforcement arm of the Governing Council.

Alfonso, her future groom, was excited to show them his ancestral home in the Hill Country of Spain as well as reconnect with his sister to invite her to the wedding this summer. Lily had dreaded telling Alfonso they’d need to change their plans.

As she listened to Lily’s predicament, Roxy had recalled the last time she’d been in Spain. She’d also gone with a man she loved, but she didn’t mention anything about it to Lily at the time. Some memories were best left in the past. No one had known the truth about Ian. Not their coworkers in the Agency, not his friends. Only his mother knew, and Roxy had vowed not to tell another soul. If the truth got out, it would’ve destroyed his family.

“He’s going to be so disappointed,” Lily had confided. “He’s been looking forward to this trip for a long time. I’m not sure how I’m going to make it up to him.”

Though Roxy had never met Lily’s region commander before, Tristan Santiago had a reputation for being a hard-ass and totally inflexible. Maybe that was the issue. He wouldn’t give Lily the time off. Roxy had worked with men like him, men who enjoyed their authority and weren’t afraid to use it. Lily’s commander needed to understand that he couldn’t keep treating his people this way. Technically, Lily didn’t actually work for him—she provided tracking services to his region. He couldn’t expect to—

“No, it’s not that,” Lily had said when Roxy voiced her opinion. “Santiago would probably let me go if I asked. I mistakenly scheduled myself to teach a Tracker Academy prep-class and my students are counting on me.”

Hearing the unhappiness in her friend’s voice, Roxy had thought once more about her own long-ago trip. The beautiful countryside. The gracious people. The food. The vibrant energy.

So she’d offered to teach the class in Lily’s place.

Getting involved did have its price, she thought now, and she sure as hell was paying for it. A dog barked inside the red truck as a man climbed out. Must be a canine search and rescue team. Good. She related better to people who liked animals.

She rubbed the onyx pendant around her neck, a habit she had when she needed a little luck. God, it was arctic-cold up here, especially without that thin sweatshirt. When had she last seen her breath fog in front of her face like this? If she had known she’d be outside, she’d have worn something warmer…like a heavy parka, ten pairs of wool socks, sheepskin boots, fuzzy mittens—

“What seems to be the trouble?” the man called, adjusting his ball cap as he approached. Mr. Search and Rescue wore jeans, cowboy boots and one of those quilted flannel shirts that acted like a coat. Clearly, a local who was used to the weather.

“Just picking up a guy who…ran out of gas.” She rubbed her bare arms, trying to get warm.

“Out of gas? From what we could see when we drove past, we thought a bear had mauled him. You know, they have a serious black bear problem up here.”

“Yes, I’ve heard that.” Not really, but she didn’t want him to go into a lengthy explanation about animal/human interactions. She just wanted to be on her way with as little conversation as possible.

“So, he’s okay?”

“Yeah, he’s—” Something pricked the veil of her awareness and she jerked her head to the left. Something way off in the distance through the trees. A slight breeze ruffled her hair as her tracker senses stretched into the night like an arrow shot from a bow. Although the scents here were much different from those back home, there was no mistaking this stench.

Darkbloods. Two of them. Somewhere deep in the forest.

From the strength of the smell, she estimated they were a mile or two away. If they were shadow-moving, she wouldn’t have much time.

“He’s fine,” she said hastily.

The man scowled, his eyes narrowing to slits. “What’s wrong? Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah, but we’ve got to get out of here.”

One eyebrow shot up. “I’m getting the feeling there’s more to this story than just a guy running out of gas.”

She didn’t have the luxury of time to come up with a reasonable explanation as to why they needed to hightail it out of here. Things wouldn’t be pretty if they stayed.

She started to reach for him, intending to give him a mental push to get back into his rig and drive away—if she could even manage it right now—when someone called out from the truck.

“What’s going on? Do you need me to call an aid car?”

Damn. The other guy with him.

She’d have to come up with another plan. If Darkbloods showed up while they were all still here, she’d have to take care of them herself and wipe the minds of the witnesses before they could alert the human authorities. At one point in her life, she’d have easily been able to take down a couple of Darkblood losers, but she was out of practice. She was a teacher now. She hadn’t been a field agent in years.

And if the DBs were high on Sweet… Shit.

So she did the only other thing she could think of.

Grabbing her cell phone, she called the one person who’d be able to help out right now, who happened to be the last one she wanted to ask.

THE GUY STARING up at Tristan Santiago was pleading for his life, but that wasn’t the reason he decided not to kill him.

Instead, Santiago yanked him to his feet and slammed him against the wall. The Darkblood clutched at his hands, trying to break the hold, but it was no use. Santiago outweighed him by at least forty pounds and was a helluva lot stronger.

“How did you know where to find us?” Santiago hissed through his bared fangs.

“What?”

“My men. How did you know we were waiting for you?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Had it been two weeks, two days, even two hours ago, he’d be handling things differently right now. He’d have unsheathed Misery, plunged the silver blade into the guy’s heart muscle, and watched him turn to ash. But as it turned out, he needed a few answers first.

“Oh, really.” It was a statement, not a question. The guy was bullshitting him and they both knew it.

There was no way DBs should’ve known Guardians would be coming. Their intel about the location of this den came through only yesterday. Now, one of his men had been injured on a job that should have been routine.

Misery hung heavily beneath his coat. He pulled out the blade, placing the point just inches away from the guy’s eye. Most Darkbloods wore sunglasses to hide the fact that the whites of their eyes were black, but this one didn’t. Either that or he’d lost his during the chase.

“Don’t kill me. I swear to God, I don’t know.”

“I’m not planning to kill you.” The guy relaxed ever so slightly and Santiago smiled, flashing his own set of fangs again. “But don’t think I’m being nice. I don’t do nice.”

His phone vibrated in his pocket but he ignored it. Instead, he let Misery’s razor-sharp point prick the skin and a small bead of blood teardropped down the guy’s cheek.

“Please, no,” the bastard pleaded.

The blade wanted to go deeper and Santiago considered letting it. No one fucked with his people. No one.

The lone overhead light snapped and fizzled as its filament started to fail, creating grotesque shadows on the curved cement walls. Soon they’d be enveloped in total darkness, which would make shadow-moving much easier. Footsteps pounded in the tunnel behind him as one of his men approached.

“What’s wrong?” Kip Castile glanced at the two of them, confused. Guardians didn’t show mercy when it came to their enemies. Justice was swift and unforgiving. “Why didn’t you charcoal him? Wait. You’re saving him for me, aren’t you?” With a cold smile, the young Guardian-in-training withdrew his stiletto and advanced on the prisoner.

What a sadistic son of a bitch. I knew I liked the kid.

The Darkblood cringed, tried to take a step sideways, but Santiago held him tight. “No,” he told Kip. “He is not to be injured.”

At least, not right now and not any more than he had been already. Let the guy be relieved for a while, get him to drop his guard, then they’d threaten him again, but with more force. This untrained Darkblood lackey would soon be singing like a canary.

Kip dropped his hand and tapped the flat part of the knife impatiently against his black cargo pants. The kid was like a runner in the starting blocks, itching to move, to do something. Luckily, he wouldn’t have to wait for long.

A quick pat down revealed the Darkblood’s black trench coat was filled with a shitload of syringes and vials. Santiago yanked it off and tossed it aside. “Planning on a little door-to-door selling, huh? ‘Ding dong, Darkblood calling.’”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” The guy sneered, making Santiago reconsider his decision to keep him alive. He should be pleading for his life, not acting cocky.

Maybe he should let Kip waste him. Or better yet, he’d do it himself and show the kid how it was done. Misery suddenly felt a little lighter in his hand, as if urging him to continue on with this way of thinking.

“Jet’s gonna be okay,” Kip said, looking at his mobile device. “Says it’s a surface injury. The blade didn’t go deep.”

Damn. That’s right. He couldn’t charcoal the guy. Santiago needed him alive to figure out what he knew about the operation that could’ve killed one of his men.

“Didn’t your mama ever teach you to tell the truth?” He shoved the DB face-first against the wall again, spread-eagling his legs using the oh-so-gentle toe of his boot. With a hand on his back, he searched him for weapons.

Kip piped up. “Shouldn’t you—”

Santiago shot him a cold look that said “Shut your piehole.”

Sure, regulation stipulated he put on a pair of latex gloves to protect him from the effects of any silver he may find, but his way was faster.

That was the problem with having a new guy shadow him. They knew all the rules and were puppydog-eager to demonstrate their knowledge. Like they were being tested. Which, of course, they were, but fieldwork was more flexible than that. You did things by instinct, by what felt right. Not by some rulebook you memorized in a classroom setting for a test you were about to take on a computer. Santiago had never let himself get caught up in bullshit created by the so-called experts, and his wariness had served him well over the years. Street smarts won out over book smarts when lives were at stake.

Kip mumbled something under his breath that Santiago didn’t quite catch and didn’t care to either.

He started to turn his attention back to the DB, when the guy jolted sideways away from the wall and made a move for the weapon at his feet. Before he could pick it up, Santiago stomped on his fingers and kicked the knife away. It spun against the cement floor, hitting the wall with a metallic ting that echoed down the corridor. The guy howled, tried to pull free, but trapped beneath Santiago’s foot, he wasn’t getting anywhere. His efforts got noticeably weaker as he squirmed on the pavement.

“See the metal strip on the toe of my boot there?” Santiago twisted it as if he was grinding out a cigarette butt. The man groaned. “Answer me.”

“Y-yes.”

“It’s on the heel, too. But it’s not steel. It’s silver.”

“What…what do you want from me?”

“The boots get ‘em every time,” Santiago said over his shoulder to Kip. With hands on his hips, he turned his attention back to the DB loser. “So you lost the attitude, have you? Ready to talk now?”

“Yes,” the guy groaned. “Just get off my hand.”

Santiago pretended not to hear and kept his foot firmly planted. “Tell me how you knew we would be at the landing.”

“I told you, I don’t know. We were just there.” His gaze darted furtively to the left a few times as he bit the inside of his cheek.

You didn’t need to be a shrink to figure out that this guy knew something and was trying to cover it up. “Well, you’d better pray you remember something. Next time, I’m not going to be as forgiving as I am right now.” He quickly cuffed the asshole with silver-lined cuffs, hauled him to his feet and shoved him at Kip. “Take him to one of the holding cells.” Maybe after a little persuasion, the guy’s memory would improve.

“Me? You want me to take him?”

A flash of anger heated Santiago’s veins. “Are you questioning me, boy?”

A muscle in Kip’s jaw ticked and his nostrils flared slightly. For a split second, he thought the kid was going to argue with him. Tell him it wasn’t his job. That it was for the capture team to bring in a prisoner, not a Guardian. Jesus Christ. Did youngsters these days have no respect for their elders? Not that Santiago was all that old, but he might have to show the kid a thing or two about respect.

An old friend’s words rang in his head. Respect is earned, Santiago, not demanded.

Ha. You respected what you feared.

Then, just like that, Kip’s brain started functioning again. He turned away and grabbed the DB’s arm. “No, sir.”

Smart kid. Santiago wasn’t known to react kindly to those who didn’t do exactly what he ordered. He expected people to do what he told them to do without asking any questions. And to do it with a damn smile on their faces. He didn’t lead by committee or a show of hands. In these parts, his orders were as good as the laws written in the old edicts. You did what you were told or you were out. It didn’t get any simpler than that.

As Kip led the loser away, Santiago stooped to pick up the DB’s weapon, careful not to touch the business end. He was about to tuck it into his weapons belt then check his phone to see who’d been trying to get ahold of him, when something about the blade drew his attention. From the uneven marks, it appeared to be hand-forged, not machine made, and the hilt was obviously carved by a talented artisan.

How strange. DBs were not known for their high-quality weaponry, but this thing was gorgeous. A piece of friggin’ art. He turned it over in his hands. When the overhead light caught on the metal, it flashed in his eyes like a powerful mirror, making his pupils contract.

Holy shit. He blinked a few times, wondering if it was just his imagination, but he angled the blade just so, the light flashed and his pupils tightened again.

Just as a real pearl could be distinguished from the fakes by the gritty feel of it against your teeth, only a few blades were so finely made that they’d cause an ocular reaction like this. Misery was one of them.

This was a Guardian’s weapon—Santiago was sure of it.




CHAPTER TWO


SANTIAGO WAS SURPRISED. And that didn’t happen often.

After listening to the voice mail Roxanne had left on his cell, he assumed he’d arrive on the scene to find chaos and a boatload of collateral damage: Darkbloods, screaming humans who’d need their memories wiped, maybe a few dead bodies. Instead, things looked relatively calm. Just two vehicles pulled off to the side of the road and Roxanne near the edge of the forest, standing over a pile of what probably used to be a Darkblood. From the looks of it, Misery wouldn’t be needed.

Although he’d heard of Roxanne Reynolds—Lily couldn’t say enough complimentary things about her—he’d never actually met her in person. What he did know, though, was that she was into some weird spiritual crap—meditation, mind-over-matter kind of shit. Sure, the touchy-feely stuff was popular with her students. Lily, for instance, gushed about her at every opportunity, but as far as he was concerned, anyone who practiced nonsense like that had to have a screw loose somewhere.

He exited his vintage Corvette and jogged toward the red Search and Rescue truck. Oddly enough, two men were slumped over, sleeping in the front, while their dog barked its head off in the back. How could they not wake up with that racket? His acute hearing picked up the regular sound of their heartbeats, so he didn’t bother to open the door. It was obvious they were both healthy and alive.

“It’s okay, boy,” Santiago said to the German shepherd as he passed the vehicle.

Before he got to Roxanne, the Capture Team’s panel van pulled up alongside him and a tinted window slid down.

“Where do you want us?” one of the capture team agents asked.

“I’ve got things handled here.” He motioned for them to continue. “But I want temporary roadblocks set up ahead and behind us. If anyone asks, say there’s been a rock slide.” This remote part of the highway wasn’t well traveled at night, but he didn’t want to take any chances.

“Yes, sir.” The vehicle drove away and the sound of its engine was soon swallowed by the night.

He quickly assessed the scene as he crossed the road, his boots crunching loudly on the pavement. Crickets chirped in the nearby bushes, apparently undisturbed by what had just happened. He didn’t detect any live Darkblood scent, just the scent of the sweetblood who was stowed safely in what he assumed to be Roxanne’s car about twenty feet away.

“Hola,” he said as he approached. “Roxanne, I presume?”

She straightened her spine at the sound of his voice and turned to face him. And for just a moment, he forgot entirely why he was here.

Since joining the Agency over a century ago, he’d been stationed in various parts of the world that most people only experienced by reading books and magazines, seeing pictures online or news clips on television. And he’d witnessed many astounding things. Tattooed pleasure workers in Thailand, secret Incan mating rituals, French courtesans well versed in the sexual arts. In short, he’d seen a lot, experienced a lot. There wasn’t much that could take his breath away.

Until now.

“And you must be Santiago.”

God, he even liked the sound of her voice.

She picked at a twig nestled in her dark blond hair, which fell past her shoulders in messy, tangled curls, but she wasn’t having much luck.

“Here, let me get that.” Without thinking, he reached over and had to use two hands to keep from pulling her hair too much. “There, got it.”

It was only after he was done that he realized how intimate an action it had been. He stepped away and folded his arms over his chest as he studied her.

Despite the frigid night air, she wore a cream-colored tank top with a surf shop logo that sported a few blood stains, dark brown yoga pants—the kind that felt different depending on whether you ran your hand up or down the fabric—and slip-on, once-turquoise tennis shoes that were now covered in mud. The juxtaposition between feminine perfection and scrappy street fighter was so utterly arresting that the world fell away for one brief moment.

Although none of her individual features stood out on their own—straight nose, golden eyes framed by dark lashes, and lips that were neither thin nor generous—when they were put together, she was striking. Her face was oval, her skin smooth and unblemished except for a smudge on one cheek. He had the sudden urge to brush his fingertips against her skin to see if it was dirt or blood. She wasn’t old, but the confidence reflected in her eyes indicated that her Time of Change, when a vampire youthling’s blood cravings began, was decades behind her.

“So what do we have here?” he asked, glancing at the charred remains. His tone was purposely sharp and businesslike as he attempted to shake off his lingering reaction to her. He didn’t like losing control of his thoughts like this.

She fingered her necklace. “Turned out I was able to handle the situation on my own.”

“And the human witnesses?”

“They’ll need to be dealt with. I didn’t have the energy to wipe their minds, only to insert a sleep suggestion.”

Very clever, he thought, noticing for the first time the weariness in her eyes. “What about the other Darkblood? You said there were two.”

“I took care of them both. Here—” she toed her sneaker against the pile of ash at her feet “—and over there about twelve to fifteen feet beyond that downed tree.”

“I don’t understand. You said on the phone you didn’t have any weapons.”

“I didn’t.”

“Then how—?”

“I used theirs,” she said matter-of-factly, as if disarming two Darkbloods who were probably high on Sweet was something a teacher dealt with every day.

It still didn’t make sense. His confusion must’ve been apparent because she continued.

“I pretended I was trying to get away from the sweetblood human, that I was concerned I might kill him, and needed their help.”

“So they knew you were a fellow vampire.”

“Yes, but they had no idea I knew they were Darkbloods. As soon as they didn’t consider me a threat and dropped their guard, it was a simple matter to strip their weapons and use them to my advantage.”

Jesus, Mary and Joseph.

This woman performed under pressure as well as any Guardian he’d worked with, and yet she was just a teacher at Tracker Academy. What happened to the adage, “those who can’t do, teach”?

“Good work,” he said begrudgingly.

She shot him a faint smile, like all of this was no big deal, that she could’ve done it in her sleep.

There was nothing hotter than an attractive woman who could handle her own, especially when the odds were stacked against her. As his gaze roamed unintentionally over her curves, the heat of desire rushed headlong through his veins, muddling all rational thought for a moment. He was acutely aware of the thin fabric of her shirt stretched tightly over her breasts, molding to her narrow waist, and how her yoga pants hung low on her hips.

Since vampires’ sexual needs were much stronger than humans’, it wasn’t uncommon for friends or coworkers to sleep together. It was a safer, much more accepted way to expend extra energy than infighting or feeding on the blood of a host. But there was something different about this woman. Something unpredictable and unknown making him feel as if he had to tread carefully around her. That a roll in the sack would be a mistake. But for the life of him, he couldn’t quite figure out why, because, damn, she was attractive.

Reading beneath the surface of people was a skill that had served him well as region commander and he’d learned to trust his gut instincts. He had the vague sense that the two of them would clash. And that it wouldn’t be pleasant. No, he needed to keep the gorgeous Roxanne Reynolds at arms’ length and nix any thoughts of bedding her. She might be capable and loyal, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t trouble.

Determined not to be drawn in by her beauty, he did his best to ignore it. He preferred dealing with finite things that were within his control. Besides, he didn’t do women with baggage. His counterpart down in her region had hinted that she had some.

“Where did you say you charcoaled that other DB?”

She turned and pointed into the woods. “Over there.”

And that’s when he saw it. The tattoo on her shoulder. A small infinity symbol over a red rose. He took a half-step backward.

Damn. That explained the woo-woo shit and why he had such a strange feeling about her. He hadn’t known she was dakai, a member of the same blood-worshipping cult as his sister. Like Roxanne, Rosa had been a capable woman, with her whole life in front of her, until she’d gotten involved.

The dakai worshipped blood goddesses and required members to contribute their wealth in order to purify their lifeblood. Once their blood was “purified,” it was extracted and combined with other “clean” blood into the Chalice la Sangre from which they would all drink. Pure blood led to acceptance by the Great Mother, so that when they died, they’d ascend and become blood goddesses, as well. Or so they believed. It was all a bunch of horseshit as far as Santiago was concerned.

Roxanne stood with her arms hanging loosely at her sides. “Want me to show you where he is?”

“No, we’ll handle things now.” Sidestepping away, he texted the capture team and told them to get back here. He didn’t want this woman any more involved in agent enforcement issues than she already was.

“Need help tracking the scent back to their den?” she asked him when he finished. “I’d be happy to do that. It’s odd that they’d locate one so close to the region office.”

Her words were a rusty barb under his skin. He didn’t need a stranger—a dakai, no less—reminding him that this Darkblood operation was right under his goddamn nose.

“We don’t require your assistance any longer.”

Her eyes darkened with an emotion he couldn’t quite read. Was she pissed to be taking orders from him? Well, this was his jurisdiction and his decision. And this was his problem, not hers. He’d take care of the whole damn situation himself without further involvement from her.

“Will you be taking the young man, the sweetblood, back to region for a debriefing and a health check?”

“Yes,” he snapped. Just because a couple of DBs brazenly set up shop nearby didn’t mean things were out of control or that protocols weren’t followed. Those were standard procedures when a Darkblood prisoner was found. “We do things up here just like the big boys do down in Florida.”

He half expected her to argue with him, but the earlier fire in her eyes had been replaced by a flat nothingness, as if this sort of thing had happened to her before. He ignored the tiny voice inside his head that said he could be such a prick sometimes. Being a good leader meant that not everyone was going to agree with you or want to be your Scrabble buddy.

“Very well.” She rubbed her hands over her bare arms.

Good. She knew where he stood and what her role in Guardian affairs was while she was here—nada.

“I’ll wait by my car for you to collect him, then I’ll be on my way.”

Which, unfortunately, was to the same place he was headed.

A SOFT KNOCK on the door interrupted Roxy’s concentration. She looked up from the student files spread on her desk to see a flaxen-haired woman in hospital scrubs enter the classroom. She smelled faintly of sweetbloods—several of them.

“You must be Roxanne.” The woman held two coffee mugs emblazoned with the Guardian logo, but from the scent permeating the air, Roxy could tell they contained tea. “I’m Brenna Stewart. I work here at the medical center.”

Roxy smiled stiffly. She wasn’t exactly the best audience for a welcoming committee, preferring instead to keep to herself most of the time. Not that she didn’t like people, but she’d learned to be wary.

“Please, call me Roxy.” When people said her full name, it reminded her of her mother, who used it to get her attention. As a pre-change youthling, Roxy had had a habit of getting so engrossed in what she was working on that she’d forget the outside world existed. Although her mother had been gone for years now, she still got that ache around her heart whenever she thought of her.

The woman—Brenna—set one of the mugs on the desk then pulled up a chair. “Roasted green tea. Lily said it’s your favorite. Careful though. It’s hot.”

Roxy liked the woman’s comfortable, easy vibe. “You know Lily?”

“Yeah, she’s a good friend of mine. Sorry I didn’t come earlier. I meant to stop in and say hello as soon as you arrived, but we were treating several injured Guardians yesterday and then a sweetblood human came in needing to be rehabilitated. Things were pretty crazy in the clinic for a while.”

“No problem. I went straight to bed as soon as I got in anyway.” As she’d been bone-tired from the long trip and then that business with the Darkbloods, Roxy was glad the woman hadn’t popped in. She wasn’t used to idle chitchat anyway—most of her friends from her Guardian days had distanced themselves after what had happened with Ian and she’d never bothered to cultivate new ones at the Academy. Instead, she’d immersed herself in her work, reminding herself that if you didn’t let people in, you were less likely to get hurt. “How’s Mason doing? The sweetblood.”

Brenna looked confused. “You know him?”

“I was the one who found him walking on the side of the road yesterday.”

“That was you?” Her green eyes went wide. “I heard that someone took down the Darkbloods who were after him, but you’re not even an agent.” She didn’t say it maliciously or with condescension, so Roxy didn’t take offense.

“Yep. That was yours truly.”

“Well, I am superimpressed. No wonder you were exhausted when you got here.”

It had to have been someone on the capture team who’d told Brenna what had happened, not Santiago. She recalled how he’d arrived on the scene and taken charge, as if he was the one who took those guys down and not her. He was a typical domineering male who worked on the Agency side of things. It had come as no surprise that he didn’t take her up on her offer to help track the DB den. Men like him preferred to do things themselves and get all the glory, which was fine with her. She preferred to work on her own as well, though she’d just as soon stay out of the limelight.

From what she’d heard about Santiago, she figured he’d have a forceful personality, but she hadn’t been prepared for how formidable he looked. With short dark hair, a square jaw peppered with stubble, and a rigid, soldierlike posture, he was six and a half feet of pure dangerous male. And then there was that strange tattoo on the side of his neck, which stretched into his hairline. She hadn’t been able to see where it began or ended and even now, she found herself wondering how far it went. To his shoulder? His arm? Maybe down his torso?

And that voice of his. Oh, God, that voice. Rough around the edges like the gravel that had worked its way into her shoes during the Darkblood scuffle, and just as hard to ignore. She wondered what her name would sound like on his tongue. But then she remembered those eyes—hard and unforgiving—framed by equally dark thick lashes. It was as if he had the ability to look straight into her soul and didn’t like what he saw.

He was definitely a man to be avoided. She shoved him from her thoughts and turned her attention back to Brenna.

“Lily wanted me to tell you about Finn, my husband-to-be. He’s human and a sweetblood, which…ah…explains the smell on me. Most don’t notice it, but Lily said you definitely would, considering that you basically trained all the trackers working in the Agency today.”

Roxy had noticed the scent but assumed it was because Brenna worked in the clinic. “I don’t know about all of them.”

“Most then. How’s that?”

It was somewhat unusual for a vampire to be in a relationship with a human, much less a human who was a sweetblood and knew that he was in love with someone who could kill him.

Brenna continued, “Finn’s a helicopter pilot for the Seattle field but doesn’t come to region much. Not all of us can be trusted being around a sweetblood. I still worry about myself sometimes, although he has been trying to talk his way into becoming a changeling.”

Although changelings were relatively rare, Roxy had met a few of them over the years. Except for those who’d been illegally turned against their will, most went through the transformation because they fell in love with a vampire. A painful process that required the blood of two vampires, it had to be approved by the Council after a long waiting period, but it was possible.

“There must be something really special between you then. Sounds like he’s totally in love with you.”

“Yeah,” Brenna said, staring into her cup. “And I’m crazy about him, too.”

Roxy detected some reluctance. “You don’t want him to become a changeling?” Some vampires thought of themselves as monsters, was that it? Brenna didn’t want the love of her life to become like her?

“Oh, God, I want nothing more than to live out our long lives together without worrying about my friends and coworkers being around him. And he wants to be just one of the guys in the Seattle office. It’s just that I’m worried about the actual process, you know? It’s not without risk. He could die. Given my line of work, I see the worst of the worst. Motorcycle accidents, gunshot wounds, regeneration problems, head traumas, silvies that miss the heart by inches. To knowingly put my man in danger like that is not something I’m prepared to do. I like him the way he is. Alive. But believe me, he’s trying to wear me down.”

Roxy wrapped her hands around the mug and found it to be just a notch below scorching now, so she took a sip. “Roasted green tea. Lily knows me too well.”

Brenna smiled, the trace of worry gone from her eyes. “Speaking of Lily, have you heard how she’s doing?”

“No, and I’m not really expecting to either.”

“You’re not?”

Roxy shook her head. “I told her if she so much as checks in with anyone here, I’ll know about it.”

“Sounds like she listens to you. I could’ve told her that but she never—” Brenna’s pager vibrated. She glanced at it then stood up. “Gotta go. Hey, do you run? I could show you some great trails around here.”

“That’d be nice, but isn’t it too cold to be outside?” She remembered just how chilly it was when she found Mason. Would her warm-weather body be able to withstand the frigid elements well enough to go running? She certainly didn’t have the right workout clothes. Hell, when she got to her room after yesterday’s adventure, she’d never been more thankful in her entire life to see an electric blanket on her bed. “I’m kind of a wimp when it comes to cold weather.”

“It’s actually been mild for this time of the year,” Brenna said, her hand on the door, “but I forgot you’re from Florida. Do you swim? We’ve got a great pool.”

The two women made plans to meet later so that Roxy could get a tour of the region’s pool and gym facility located on the far end of the complex.

Besides, she had a lead—albeit a slim one—about Ian’s death that pointed to the Seattle area, so she wanted to ask the woman a few more questions about Agency operations here. Although she didn’t hold out much hope—all her previous leads had gone nowhere—she couldn’t not investigate.




CHAPTER THREE


SANTIAGO AWOKE EARLY. His sheets were sandpaper against his skin, his pillow a contoured brick under his head.

He threw back the covers, his feet hitting the cold tile floor with a thump, and stumbled to the small refrigerator he kept in his sleeping quarters. He ate a piece of leftover pizza and chugged orange juice directly from the carton.

With the sun still high in the late-September sky and his delivery not coming till later, he couldn’t leave for the Ridge yet, though he was antsy to get up there. Only a handful of his top people knew he had a home located in a remote part of the mountains but even they didn’t know what he did there. Frankly, it was no one’s business but his own.

He hadn’t been expecting to go again so soon, but running into Ms. Reynolds had changed his plans. When she’d pointed out the fact that Darkbloods had located a den so close to region HQ, he didn’t need to see the disdain for his leadership in her expression—he could hear it in her voice. But then, as always, he needed to be realistic. She’d identified his weaknesses and, as much as he hated to admit it, things had to be dealt with.

Although he could’ve used her help in tracking down the den, he’d managed to find it on his own. Given that Darkbloods were notoriously sloppy and the tiny house had been clean, almost barren, it was obvious that the place hadn’t been in operation for long. Even their coffins—which most DBs were sleeping in nowadays as a nod to their violent ancestors—weren’t there yet. He and the capture team had lit the place on fire and watched it burn to the ground.

But her subtle criticism remained, ringing in his ears long after he got back and taunting his nightmares. Sure, she hadn’t come right out and said anything specific, but he could tell she was thinking it. Thing was, she was right. No way should a den have been located that close to region. It reflected badly on him and his leadership ability and could hurt his reputation among his kind. Despite his best efforts, somehow he’d let himself get lackadaisical and careless and that just wasn’t acceptable. Winners didn’t allow their enemies to take advantage of them and make them look like fuckups. Only losers did.

After quickly showering and dressing, he made his way from his chambers to his office before anyone else was up. Normally he liked the quiet, but after last night, he was on edge. His hands and feet began to tingle, but it had nothing to do with the chill. By the time he sat down at his desk and began working, the numbness had snaked its way through his gut, making it hard to concentrate.

His errors could not go unpunished. He would do what he needed to do in order to get rid of this deadlike sensation. These feelings of nothingness threatened to overtake him whenever he made a mistake and caved to weakness.

On virtual autopilot, he worked throughout the late afternoon and into night. He took a few calls, had a few meetings, talked to one of his counterparts down South who was having trouble with a particularly aggressive den of Darkbloods, and reviewed all the sweetblood reports that the field offices had recently turned in. Then he approved a few big-ticket expenditures from both the region’s medical director and from Jackson Foss’s fiancée, Arianna, who was starting a sweetblood refuge home just over the border in Washington State.

Fortunately, the delivery came shortly before dawn, so rather than wasting time until night fell again when he could comfortably get to the Ridge, he’d be able to leave now.

He pulled back the heavy damask drapes in his corner office. The early-morning sky had lightened to an inky purple. Given the cloud cover, the UV light wouldn’t be too strong yet, and although he’d still feel the pull of the energy drain as he headed out, after today he wouldn’t be able to tell the difference anyway.

He gathered up a few files from his massive mahogany desk and put them into his briefcase next to the laptop. Although he wasn’t sure why he bothered. He never looked at work when he got to the Ridge. It was more a formality and, he had to admit, for appearance’s sake, as well.

“Jenella, I’m taking the next few days off, so I’ll need you to handle my calls and inquiries.” He stepped out of his office and pulled the door shut behind him.

His assistant tucked a pencil behind her ear as she placed a notebook on the shelf behind her desk and selected another. “Yes, I know, sir.”

She did? How? He hadn’t said anything to her yet.

He must’ve had a confused look on his face because she added, “You had me move tomorrow’s staff meeting to next week, you blocked off the next few days on your calendar and you tidied up your office. That’s what you always do when you leave.”

God, was he that predictable?

But then, not much got past Jenella, which was why he liked her. That, and because she was the only one who would put up with him. She was efficient and knew what needed to happen whether he was there to give her the specifics or not. She didn’t need to be babysat. But there still were a few things she didn’t know about him. No one would. He preferred to keep some details all to himself.

“Very good. If Eddie calls, tell him I haven’t forgotten our plans. I’m still flying out next week to visit.”

He thought about his good friend, who’d been badly injured several years ago while on assignment in Mexico and was left with a horrible disfigurement. A vampire’s natural ability to regenerate damaged tissue and bone only went so far. Although the guy was lucky to be alive, he didn’t always believe he was. Even though he would never admit it, he thrived on Santiago’s pep talks.

“Text me if one of the field offices needs something and I’ll get back to them.”

When he’d appointed the field office team leaders, he’d been careful to select individuals who could make wise decisions independently from him. He let them think he was breathing down their necks, but it was partially the specter of his potential wrath that drove them to make the right decisions in the first place.

The What-Would-Santiago-Do mentality kept the Horseshoe Bay Region and all its field offices running efficiently.

When each individual was strong, the whole team was strong. He didn’t need or want his people checking in with him for every little thing. He wanted the region to run efficiently and the field offices to feel as though they had the authority to make many of their own decisions without needing his input.

Oh, sure, he knew they chuckled behind his back whenever he’d give one of his infamous motivational talks, but it didn’t bother him. They could laugh as much as they wanted, but his methods worked. He was driven, a hard charger who expected a lot from his people, but they respected him for it and got things accomplished. A good leader knew when to press his people and when to back off. Yin and yang, give and take, dickhead and best friend.

“And if Ms. Reynolds needs anything, I trust you can handle it.” He hoped that wouldn’t come back to bite him. The last thing he needed was his staff deciding they should burn incense and start meditating like she did. He’d walked past the classrooms earlier and the scent of eucalyptus had been heavy in the air.

“Yes, of course.”

An hour later, he was unlocking the front door of the Ridge—keys in one hand and the small delivery box in the other. The sky had lightened to the point when he could feel a slight drain from the sun. But he didn’t pay much attention. Things were about to get much worse.

After changing into a T-shirt and shorts, he pulled a box cutter from the top drawer in the tiny kitchen. Carefully, he slit the tape around the cardboard and lifted out the red plastic box inside. Unsnapping the metal latch, he opened the lid. There, arranged in neat little rows, were two dozen vials of human blood. AB negative, his personal favorite. He stuffed three into the pocket of his shorts and refrigerated the rest. Although he was tempted to grab a fourth, he had enough to get by. Besides, he’d be desperate for the rest of them later.

With a glass of water in one hand and a small hand towel tucked under his arm, he climbed the narrow ladder in the living room and pushed open the trap door in the roof. Early-morning sunlight streamed into his eyes, burning his retinas. He pinched them shut to block out the sting then squinted and climbed the rest of the way through. Like water in a leaky bucket, energy began to trickle from his body. Slowly but surely, he became weaker and weaker.

A mattress covered in plastic lay between two iron stakes bolted to the roof. At least it wasn’t raining this time, he thought as he glanced at the sky.

An eagle soared high overhead and several smaller birds followed close behind. Dive-bombing and squawking, the weaker birds tried to chase the eagle away, but he didn’t alter his course. Strong and majestic, he kept circling until finally landing in the top of a nearby Douglas fir. He perched like a beacon and surveyed the terrain, unperturbed by the voices around him.

After setting the water glass on the roof next to the mattress, Santiago double-checked that the key was still hanging from a hook near the trap door. He knelt down, grabbed the chains and snapped the cuffs around his ankles. He pulled to make sure they were tight. Yep. He wasn’t going anywhere.

Then, as the sun rose higher in the sky, he lay back on the mattress, stretched out his arms and closed his eyes.

SOMETHING STRANGE IS going on with Santiago.

Even though she didn’t know him well, she couldn’t quite put her finger on it. He seemed…different.

Earlier this week, he’d left for a few days and when he returned, Roxy noticed an odd intensity in his demeanor that hadn’t been there before. Although he walked through the region offices as confidently as he always had, there was a numbness behind his eyes, a weariness, as if a tiny part of him had died.

When she’d mentioned it to Brenna, the woman shrugged and said he would get that way sometimes and they’d all learned to watch their step around him.

Was something bothering him? Roxy wondered.

Since she’d arrived, she’d done a good job of staying out of his way, but every time she did interact with him, he made her feel vulnerable, stripped bare. She didn’t let many people past her defenses, but there was something about him that weakened them, that demanded she let him in.

And she didn’t like it.

Now, in an empty exercise studio in the gym, she was doing a few yoga poses when something outside the window caught her attention. She looked up to see Santiago arriving via a seldom used outside entrance rather than the main lobby. He stopped, reached his hand in his pocket then stooped down. What was he doing?

She walked closer to the glass for a better look. With the lights off inside, he wouldn’t be able to see her.

His arm was stretched out and he had something in his hand. Was that a—

It looked like a peanut in a shell.

Just then a squirrel ran out from a nearby bush and stopped about three feet away from him. His lips moved as if he were talking to it. She wondered what he was saying. Though he wiggled the peanut, the animal didn’t advance any closer, so he tossed it. The squirrel quickly grabbed it with his little paws and ran away. Santiago mounded a few more peanuts near his feet then stood and entered the gym.

What was a man like that doing keeping treats in his pockets for the squirrels?

Twenty minutes later he was lifting weights, heavy ones, over and over like a machine, not making eye contact with the two other agents in the room. All traces of what she’d just witnessed—the gentleness, the kindness—were gone.

Who knew this fierce warrior had a soft spot in his heart for animals? She had a feeling he wouldn’t be happy to know she’d seen that. She thought about her own dog back home. Was Ginger missing her right now? Roxy sure missed her. As she continued her own workout in the privacy of the darkened studio, she found herself drawn to this powerful and fascinating man.

In between sets, he headed to the water fountain and opened up the cabinet underneath, searching for something. A towel? She glanced at hers sitting next to her water bottle. She’d taken the last one. Yeah, that must’ve been what he was looking for because, not finding one, he stripped off his collegiate gray T-shirt and mopped his forehead.

Good thing she was in an enclosed space because she almost lost her balance and most certainly gasped.

His chest and stomach rippled with corded muscle, the skin stretched tautly over them. To call them washboard abs wouldn’t have been accurate because that implied a flat plane. Twin ridges of muscles on his hips angled inward, drawing her attention down, down, down…to a thin line of dark hair on his lower belly that disappeared beneath his waistband. Even though she wasn’t into hot yoga, beads of sweat trickled between her breasts. She grabbed her towel and dabbed her chest then her forehead. Try as she might, she couldn’t wrench her gaze away.

She’d always wondered how far his tattoo went and now she had her answer. Well, almost. The strange barbed curlicues stretched from his hairline, along the left side of his neck, to his shoulder blade and heavily muscled back, then disappeared somewhere beneath those shorts.

Good God, he’d have been the perfect model for the original Grey’s Anatomy drawings. She shook her head. She didn’t need to be thinking this way. He was egotistical and insensitive and totally not her type. She turned up her music and resumed a different pose. One that wouldn’t allow her to watch him.

But little good that did. Soon, her attention was drawn to him again.

Facing away from her now, he straddled a bench and lifted two sets of huge dumbbells. The muscles in his back glistened and flexed with every movement. She found herself wondering if he’d be able to bench-press her. If she did a plank pose, how many reps would he be able to do? Would he lift her with ease? And what would it feel like to have his hands on her? She imagined how hard his magnificent, powerful body would feel beneath hers. He was strong, of course, but could he be gentle?

Then she remembered the squirrel.




CHAPTER FOUR


VENTRA CAPELLI KNEW that her days were numbered—not just as the Seattle area sector mistress, but in general. The Darkblood brass wasn’t pleased that one of their most profitable companies had been destroyed and that two sector masters had been killed because of her.

The man across the table from her lifted the wineglass, swirled the contents for a moment, then brought it to his lips. “I’m sure you can understand my position.”

“Yes, of course.” Ventra twisted one of her priceless sapphire earrings, a gift to herself when she’d been appointed sector mistress. It was a tangible reminder of her success.

The whole thing was not her fault and yet she was being blamed for it. Consequently, her superiors felt she was a weak and ineffective leader. And that pissed her off.

How was she to know that the Guardians had an insider working for the company? As a result, one of them had sneaked onto the yacht and killed the two sector masters just as she was presenting a business idea to them. If she hadn’t held that sweetblood girl for leverage, she’d have been charcoaled, too. It was the only thing that had saved her.

Although she’d love to get her hands on the Guardian who did the killing—she’d never encountered a living vampire who had the powers he did—the real enemy was his superior, who’d orchestrated and approved the whole thing. He was the one she wanted, because once that thorn in her side was out of the picture, the rest of them would be easy pickings.

She resisted the urge to nervously touch her earring again. Instead, she folded her hands carefully in her lap and watched her guest.

“This really is quite lovely,” he said after taking a sip.

“Thank you.”

Ventra was completely aware that Loric Rayne, second in command under the new Overlord, held her fate in his hands. These next few moments were crucial.

Even though her two loyal bodyguards were stationed just behind the dining room doors, she didn’t want to have to use them, for if she did and Rayne was killed, she’d forever be on the run from the Alliance. Her future in the organization was teetering on the edge of a blade right now and it was because of those goddamned Guardians. All she’d ever wanted was respect and they’d taken that from her. Those self-appointed protectors of their people had no real authority anyway. Centuries ago, they’d usurped the power from the old ones, convincing their people that humans and vampires could exist peacefully, yet secretly, side by side. Well, that was bullshit. There was a reason vampires had fangs and a craving for blood. Because they were meant to feed from humans, not make friends with them.

Rage erupted inside her, but she didn’t let it show on her face. On the outside, she was as calm and cool as a glass of ice water—sparkling, with two twists of lime and a fancy little umbrella—but inside, she was a boiling caldron of oil. “I’d be happy to show you how I prepare it.”

“You didn’t import it?” He swirled his glass again and watched how the blood clung to the sides like a fine wine. “It’s got quite a zip to it. More than I’d have expected from the supply up here.”

“No, sir. Harvested from a local human under a technique I came up with.”

Because the UV levels in the Northwest were fairly low, the energy in the indigenous population was low as well—a big reason most vampires hated living too far north. But if the host was exposed to several hours of UV light—either a full spectrum tanning bed or a sunny day—their blood was infused with more energy than what was typical here. Not quite to the levels you’d find in humans down South, but much better than one pulled directly off the street and drained. A little patience and prep work always paid off in the end. Other vampires were willing to pay more for the fortified stuff and although it wasn’t as good as Sweet—hell, nothing was as good as Sweet—the supply was much more plentiful, which meant a lot more money in her, and the Darkbloods’, coffers.

“Yes, I’m very curious. I’d like to see how you do it sometime.”

Her tightly knotted shoulders relaxed just a touch. The fact that he referenced a sometime meant that there was hope for her within the organization. Maybe he didn’t come to Seattle to kill her after all and she would be given a chance to make things right. She had a few things in place already, and if given the chance by her superiors, she’d strike the Guardians when they least expected it.

After I get through with them, they’ll wish they had the agreement some of their other field offices have with the Alliance.

“As I was saying,” Rayne said, his gaze wandering to the center of the table, “you’ve put me in a precarious spot. I went to bat for you in Prague, believing you had what it took to exploit the Seattle area to its fullest. Blood raves, blood clubs, pinpointing our target market through that video game, and Sweet addictions on the rise. I had high hopes for you, Ventra, but I’m afraid you’ve greatly disappointed me. Your failures don’t sit well with the Overlord. And when he’s not happy, I’m not happy.”

Setting down his now empty glass, he reached for the centerpiece, which was laid out on a plastic sheet covering the table. “But I’m willing to give you another chance.” With the pads of his fingers, he caressed the skin of the donor host’s belly with great care.

When the female whimpered, Ventra shot her a withering look that said “Move a muscle and I kill you and your sister.”

The look in Rayne’s eyes was almost trancelike as he continued to gaze at the living centerpiece, which gave the concept of body shots a whole new meaning. With her golden skin and the smell of sun in her hair, she was a beautiful girl, giving him every reason to stare. But then again, he was probably trying to decide which vein to start with first. Drinking from a live sweetblood could be pretty intoxicating. Who the hell cared what they looked like, although Ventra was a firm believer in the power of eye candy.

“But only if,” he said, pushing his chair from the table and standing up, “you can do something to prove you haven’t lost total control here.”

He leaned over the female and the greyed-out whites of his eyes darkened further.

“Oh, God, please. No.” Black mascara tracked down both sides of the human’s face.

Rayne tilted her head to the side, and without any more preamble than that, sank his teeth into her neck. She screamed and arched her body as best she could, but the bindings on her ankles and wrists kept her firmly affixed to the tabletop.

Ventra had debated whether to gag her or not but at the last minute decided to keep her au naturel. And she was glad she did. Many vampires liked the thrill of hearing their victims scream in terror—the fear added a special zing to the energy—and Rayne seemed no different. With his lips seared to her neck, he swallowed mouthful after mouthful of her sweet blood.

After a few moments, when the girl’s screams had died down to a weak whimper, he lifted his head, his lips stained deep crimson.

“Magnificent.”

“Glad you like her. I kept her outside all day to maximize the ultraviolet energy in the blood.”

His gaze roamed the female’s body. “Ah, that explains the bikini then. And the smell of the sun on her tanned skin.” He removed his expensive Italian suit jacket and set it carefully over the back of his chair. “I have faith in you, Ventra. You’re able to think outside the box. This—” he swept his hand along the woman’s thigh and rested it just inside her knee “—is evidence of that. I believe you have what it takes to make even the most dismal city a success.”

She beamed with pride that such a powerful player in the Darkblood organization felt so strongly about her. She vowed not to fuck it up this time.

He loosened his tie and rolled up the sleeves of his handmade dress shirt. Indicating the female’s right arm, he said, “Remove the binding. I’d like to try that vein next.”

DOMINIC SERRANO FLATTENED his back against the dingy brick wall and waited for his team to get into position. Peering through the darkness, past a torn blue awning outside an import/export company in south Seattle, he had a clear view of the target location.

Knee-high weeds grew in the cracks around the entrance and a few fast-food wrappers had gathered in the shallow door well. A basket with long-dead plants hung from a hook to the left of the roll-up doors. Situated in a run-down portion of the industrial district, the warehouse appeared to be vacant, but according to their intel, it was anything but empty.

He glanced at his watch. A few more minutes till they went in. Several days ago, they’d learned that Darkbloods were expecting a large shipment of illegal weapons and Guardians weren’t about to let them get distributed.

Had it really been almost three years since he’d last been to this part of town? It was where he’d charcoaled one of the DB bastards chasing Mackenzie. He flexed his fists and felt her blood coursing through his veins.

Fighting their enemies always cranked up his energy level. Given their blood bond, she knew it and sensed it from him. He didn’t care where she was or what she was doing when he got home after being out on a mission like this. He needed sex. And he needed it badly.

Once, after a crazy pursuit of several DBs that took all night, he’d found her in the field office computer lab. She’d known he was coming for her and was wriggling off her panties as he stormed into the room. Thinking the place was empty, he shoved her up against the wall, unzipped his fly and plunged himself into her heat.

“Nice ass,” Jackson had said to him the next night when they were shooting hoops in the gym.

“Huh?”

“A couple of us guys were playing poker over at Cordell’s.”

“Yeah, and?”

“You apparently forgot that he set up a live feed to the computer lab to answer questions while he was home helping Shannon after her surgery. We enjoyed the show last night, although all we could see of it was your cute little bum.”

“Glad you liked it,” he’d said, throwing the basketball hard at Jackson’s chest. “Hope you picked up a few pointers.”

“We were glued to the monitors.”

Electronic static crackled in his ear and jerked him back to the present. When he got home tonight, he’d make sure to check for wayward camera equipment first.

He touched his earpiece. “Everyone in place?”

Jonah and Sadie answered first. “Affirmative.” Positioned on the north end of the warehouse, they’d enter the building at the loading docks.

The line crackled again then Jackson said, “Mitchie and I are ready to kick some Darkblood ass.” A grunt and scuffling could be heard through the connection.

“Hey. Ouch.”

Mitch didn’t like that nickname, which only gave Jackson more ammunition to harass him with.

“Ladies, no catfights.”

One more team to report, then they’d go in.

Based on intel Santiago had obtained from a DB captured near Region, they surmised that the shipment contained very deadly weapons—blades and bullets—made from high quality Mexican silver. Merely touching Santa Muerte silver would weaken a vampire, which was why the Agency used it in handcuffs and other restraints. One nick from a blade caused very severe silver poisoning, more than a lesser-quality silver would. If this shit got out on the streets and into the hands of DBs and other reverts, it could cause all sorts of problems. While most Agency-forged blades were made with the stuff, Darkbloods’ weapons weren’t. Having been shot by such a bullet once, Dom knew only too well how devastating an injury from it could be and absently rubbed his shoulder. If Mackenzie hadn’t stumbled across him when she had, he surely would have died.

It wasn’t often this kind of silver was found in non-Agency weapons. Many years ago, the Santa Muerte mines had been shut down and sealed. Darkbloods conducted raids from time to time, trying to get their hands on the raw material, but as far as anyone knew, they never succeeded. The weapons they did find were ones they’d plucked from charcoaled Guardians.

“Team three? You there?”

No answer.

“Gibson?” With Lily gone, he’d requested Jackson’s friend Val Gibson come up from the San Diego office to help them out here in Seattle. They often traded personnel when either of the two offices needed more agents. He’d arrived yesterday and had been fully briefed on the situation.

Where the hell was he? His team should’ve checked in by now.

For a moment Dom wondered if they did things differently down there. With the relatively small vampire population up here compared to Southern California, there were apt to be variations in protocol. But they went over everything back at the field office and Gibson assured him he understood procedure. His team was to get into position near the west entrance and wait for the signal from Dom. Wasn’t the guy right behind them when they got out of the van back at the staging point a mile up the road?

“Gibby,” Jackson said, the strain in his voice obvious. “Where the hell are you?”

Dom was seriously considering aborting the mission when the guy finally answered.

“Yeah, sorry.” He sounded out of breath. “Tambra and I are here and in place.”

Jackson cursed through the line. “What the hell were you doing? Getting a blow job?”

“Ha, I wish. Maybe later.”

A woman coughed. “Don’t you be giving me the hairy eyeball, Gibby, because it’s not happening.”

Joking aside, Dom was proud of his team, how everyone worked together. They poked fun and harassed each other, but they were some of the finest Guardians in North America—highly trained and very loyal. “Now, does everyone know what we’re doing when we get in there?”

Yeses and uh-huhs echoed through the line.

“None of you better be lying to me about wearing your protective gear either. If this shipment is what we think it is, they’re going to be armed with Santa Muerte silver.”

He tugged at the neckline of his vest. Even though it was standard procedure, he’d always been averse to wearing them, but now that he was a husband and father, he was living for more than just himself. The snug fit and added bulk wasn’t the pain in the ass it used to be.

They all confirmed they were wearing their gear.

Knowing they had this mission tonight, he’d taken Mackenzie’s blood so that he was fully energized and able to use his special powers if he needed to. Because they were Enlazado por la Sangre—bonded by blood—her lifeblood did all sorts of things to him, including infusing him with the ancient power to vapor. By turning himself into smoke, he could seep through the smallest of cracks.

The ability had come in handy several times, including last week when his son accidentally locked himself in the bathroom. Miguel was crying and couldn’t figure out how to unlock the door from the inside. When Dom vapored under the door and materialized on the other side, Miguel stared at him a moment then burst out laughing. With thick tears still streaming down his face, he held out his fat little arms for Dom to pick him up and comfort him. His heart swelled just thinking about how much he loved his son and loved being a father.

The scent of Darkbloods was thick in the air. Dom considered having his Guardians go in stealthily, but they needed to get in fast and prevent anyone from leaving or destroying anything. The Agency needed to find out how they were getting the weapons, who was supplying them.

“Okay, then. We go in on three…two…one. Go.” Dom spun away from the wall and sprinted across the small expanse of pavement to the east entrance. A well-placed kick and the door flew open. Once inside, he morphed into the darkness and shadow-moved quickly past a row of stacked pallets.

Jonah and Sadie emerged from the left. Jackson and Mitch came through the double doors at the far end. Gibby and Tambra ran in from the right. They all met in the middle.

Dom stood with his hands on his hips and surveyed the place. Where were the DBs? Though he was no tracker, he distinctly picked up the scent of several of them and yet the place seemed empty. Something must’ve alerted them to the Guardians’ presence. With rows of boxes and shelving that stretched to the ceiling and several offices along the back wall, it was possible they were hiding.

“They’ve got to be in here,” he said through clenched teeth. “I can smell them.”

“Me, too,” someone said.

“Let’s fan out.” As everyone scattered, he followed the scent to several palettes of flattened cardboard in front of a Dumpster. They must be inside.

Dom kicked the Dumpster and the sound echoed throughout the warehouse. Nothing stirred inside. As he reached for the warped lid, the scent hit him. It was old blood without an energy signature.

Carefully, he lifted the black cover and peered inside. There, on a big heap of garbage, were the mangled bodies of three Darkbloods. Regeneration could grow back limbs, but not severed heads.

He didn’t understand. His team was the only Guardian unit with authority here. He’d even pulled a few agents off other assignments. But if not Guardians, who else would’ve killed them? And why wouldn’t they have been staked? That was the typical way his people dispensed with their enemies, not by dismemberment.

Something wasn’t right. He backed away from the Dumpster, noticed a few of his agents slipping between the rows of shelving. It occurred to him that maybe it hadn’t been Guardians who had done this, but other Darkbloods. It was vicious, not clean and fast.

Why would DBs kill their own people? A turf war? Maybe another group not affiliated with them were after the weapons and—

“What the hell is that?” Sadie came up behind him and pointed to a series of wires on the ground leading from the nearest pallet and disappearing behind one of the shelves.

Craning his neck, he noticed similar wires wrapped around the metal support beams, but he couldn’t tell where they originated. The tiny hairs on the back of his neck prickled.

And then a goddamn freight train sounded in his ears.

“It’s a trap!” he yelled at his team. Darkbloods had dismembered their own people in order for Guardians to think they were inside. “Get your asses out of here.”

Boots pounded and echoed through the building as everyone bolted for the doors. Everyone, that is, except Sadie.

Goddamn it. He spun around and, spotting her back by the Dumpster, he shadow-moved to her as quickly as he could. “I gave an order, Agent. Let’s go.”

“Hold on. I’ve been trained in render safe procedures. I can disarm it.” She started to follow a set of wires down one of the aisles, but he grabbed her arm.

“There’s no time. It’s too risky.”

“But—”

He didn’t wait for her to finish. Instead, he hauled her toward the nearest exit, ignoring her protests.

As he shoved her through the door, he heard a faint clicking noise behind him and threw a quick glance over his shoulder. Was another member of his team still left inside? He could’ve sworn he’d made an accurate head count. Goddamn it, why didn’t any—

And then the building exploded.




CHAPTER FIVE


THE HELICOPTER LANDED just before dawn. Many of the people who worked at Region stood near the landing pad or just inside the doors, waiting for the injured to be taken off the aircraft. From what Roxy understood, there’d been an explosion in Seattle and several Guardians had been severely injured.

Santiago rushed the helicopter as the rotors spun loudly above him.

The doors opened and the medics wasted no time whisking a dark-haired man wrapped in bandages into the region’s medical facility. A young woman followed closely behind them, her face ashen, a squirming toddler wrapped in her arms. Brenna waved to the pilot as she fell into step behind the group.

“Jesus Christ, what the hell happened?” Santiago asked the man on the gurney.

This was obviously someone of importance, as he didn’t address his question to the two other people who had climbed out of the aircraft under their own power. The attendants who were pushing the patient down the sterile hallway didn’t slow down, so Santiago had to jog after them to keep up.

“Our location…compromised,” the man called out, his voice strained and laced with pain. “They knew…we were going…to be there.”

The gurney burst through the doors of the surgical wing and Brenna had to stop Santiago and the woman from following.

“Please tell me he’s going to be all right,” the woman sobbed. “That man…is my life.”

Brenna gave her a quick hug. “We’ll do everything we can to save him, Mackenzie. I promise.”

The double doors had hardly swung shut before Santiago erupted in a volley of cursing and punched his fist through the wall. Clutching the boy like a lifeline, the woman slid to the ground.

EVER SINCE THE injured had been brought in, the offices had been strangely quiet. No loud talking or laughing by anyone anywhere, just hushed whispers. Although the tragedy had happened down in Seattle, it clearly had a profound impact on everyone. The gym was empty, the cafeteria subdued. When someone passed in the hallway, instead of a “Hi, how are you,” no one gave more than a thin-lipped smile of acknowledgment. Having gotten used to everyone’s friendly and welcoming natures, the change was obvious to Roxy.

Her students filed into the classroom one by one, their gazes fixed to the ground. As usual when Roxy pressed the button on the remote control for the interactive whiteboard showing today’s topics, nothing happened. The screen should’ve dropped from the ceiling and the Powerpoint slides, which were displayed on her monitor, should’ve been displayed there, as well. She pressed another button. Still nothing.

She glanced around the room. Her go-to guy hadn’t arrived yet. No matter. She was an intelligent woman and this was just a simple piece of technology. Hell, she used such teaching equipment down at the Academy, just not this brand.

Pushing a chair directly under the ceiling-mounted control panel, she kicked off her heels and stepped onto the seat, careful not to let her skirt ride up too much. Just inches away from it now, she aimed the remote right at the thing and stabbed at a few more buttons. Again, nothing.

Exasperated, she stepped down. “Is Raymond coming?” She could’ve sworn that she was pressing the same buttons he did, but he was the only one who could get the thing to work.

“I’m not sure, Ms. Reynolds. He knows one of the guys who was hurt, so I’ll bet he’s pretty shaken up.”

Without putting her shoes back on, she sat down on the edge of the desk, thinking. Given that three other students weren’t here either, Raymond wasn’t the only one too upset to come to class. And of those who did come, she could see in their eyes how distracted they were. If only there was a chalkboard or something else to write on, but that fancy whiteboard was it.

“Tell you what. I can see that everyone’s heart isn’t into this. And to tell you the truth, neither is mine. How about we cancel class for today and I’ll email you the assignment?”

The students murmured their agreement.

“Let’s hope we hear good news soon.”

After everyone gathered their things and exited the classroom, she tucked her laptop under her arm and left, as well. She considered heading back and getting lost in a book for the rest of the day, but the thought of sitting by herself wasn’t very appealing. Normally, she enjoyed being by herself, but with everything that had happened, she found herself dreading being alone.

Seeing Mackenzie’s husband laid out on the stretcher reminded her of the night when Ian was killed. Only Ian wasn’t brought in on a gurney, but in a plastic bag. She only hoped that Mackenzie wouldn’t experience what she had all those years ago, when the man she once loved had died.

No, she definitely didn’t want to be alone in her room in a strange place. It brought up too many terrible memories she’d just as soon forget.

She planned to head back to drop off her things and change, then go find the sanctuary Brenna had told her about. She’d light some candles and say a few prayers for the injured. She was deep in thought when she realized she was in a part of the labyrinth of offices she hadn’t been before. Nothing looked familiar. And then she heard the soft sounds of a woman crying.

She peered around the corner into a small waiting area and realized she must be in the medical clinic part of the offices.

There in the corner on a sofa sat Mackenzie. Her son was wrapped in a blanket on her lap, his thumb in his mouth, sleeping. It was apparent she was trying not to cry and wake him.

Roxy hesitated at first. Maybe Mackenzie wanted to be alone in her sorrow. But then she remembered the horrible emptiness she’d felt while she waited for news from the doctors. She had hoped they’d come in and tell her that the charcoaled remains weren’t Ian’s. That he’d just been injured and it was one of the other agents who’d been killed. She’d longed for someone to sit with her quietly and be her rock, but she’d had no one.

She grabbed a box of tissues from a nearby side table and set them next to Mackenzie. “Can I get you some water?”

Mackenzie looked up at her with tear-filled eyes and nodded.

Roxy wanted to wrap her arms around her and tell her that everything was going to be okay. That her husband was not only going to live but that he’d make a full recovery so the two of them would have a long life together, filled with happiness and many more babies. Instead, she returned a moment later with a bottle of water from the small refrigerator near the door.

“Want me to hold him for you?” Roxy whispered, handing her the bottle and sitting down next to her.

Mackenzie smiled gratefully and took a small sip. “That’s okay. He’d probably just wake up anyway.”

The woman drank almost the whole bottle and Roxy wondered when was the last time she’d had anything to eat. “They’re good up here, you know. The clinic.” Lily’s mom was one of the finest doctors in all of North America and if Roxy ever got hurt, she’d want to be treated by Dr. DeGraff.

“I hope to God it’s enough.”

“WE’RE COMING back.”

Even through the secure video feed into the region’s conference room, the stress on Alfonso’s face was as obvious as if it had been etched with black sharpie. Normally an expert at hiding his emotion, he was having a hard time controlling it today. Santiago had to bite his tongue to keep from ordering him to stay put. He knew the man needed the time away, but Dom was Alfonso’s brother. The two had been estranged for years and just recently had been able to put the past behind them.

“They’re doing all they can to save him. There’s not much you can do at this point except pray.”

“Not much we can do?” Alfonso looked as though he might lunge through the monitor and strangle him. “We can be there for my sister-in-law and nephew.”

“How’s Mackenzie doing?” Lily asked, her hand on Alfonso’s arm. “I’ve been trying to call her but it keeps going straight to voice mail.”

Her pained expression was a stark contrast to the bright colored headband she wore, which she’d probably picked up in one of the Hill Country’s local markets. Santiago could hear Spanish guitar music floating in through the open window behind them.

“She’s pretty shaken up,” he replied. “But Roxanne has been staying with her. Hasn’t left her side.”

That morning, he’d walked past the clinic waiting room and had seen Mackenzie crying into her shoulder while Roxanne rubbed her back. Why did everyone else seem to find her presence so calming when she had just the opposite effect on him? She drove him crazy with her incense and candles, and for some reason, he became acutely aware of his faults, his every imperfection when she was around. It made it hard for him to think clearly.

Alfonso scrubbed a hand over his face. “From what you’ve said, I can’t help thinking there’s a traitor in the Seattle field office.”

“Impossible.” Jackson put his boots on the conference room table and leaned back in his chair. He’d been quiet up till now. “I know everybody there. We’re a tight-knit group. None of the Guardians would do something like this.”

“I agree,” Lily said.

“Was there anyone on the outside who knew about the bust?” Santiago asked. “Any support staff? Warehouse worker?”

Jackson scowled, thinking. “Not that I know of. Just the Guardians who were there. Could it have been a setup? You got the intel from a DB up here, right?”

Santiago nodded, remembering the guy with the Guardian blade. “I’ve thought about that already, but we had to torture him for the information. He wasn’t forthcoming.”

“Then it’s got to be a traitor,” Alfonso said. “Having been a double agent for years, I know how these things work. You build up trust and loyalty with your peers and when they think you’re one of them, you can get lots of information.”

“I don’t know, love,” Lily said. “I have to agree with Jackson. I can’t imagine anyone in the Seattle office who would be capable of that.”

Alfonso shook his head. “Would you think I was capable of such deception when I worked inside the Alliance?”

The silence in the conference room was heavy. No one could picture how Alfonso had lasted all those years inside without his cover being blown.

“How else do you explain it?” he continued. “Darkbloods knew that Dom and his team would show up. Sounds like an inside job to me.”

A traitor under his command? Santiago pounded his fist on the table, making the video monitor jump. “Then I’m going down there and talking to every goddamn person in that office. And when I find out who it is, I’m going to stake the bastard myself.”

“It could be a woman,” Lily said.

“Then I’ll stake the bitch.”

“Or a human,” Alfonso said. “I ran across several who worked for the Alliance who’d have done anything to be changed. Evil sycophants. That’s what my friend N—” He coughed, looking uncomfortable for a moment. Santiago knew the Agency had others working on the inside, doing just what Alfonso had done for decades. “That’s what I called them. They could be more cutthroat and brutal than Darkbloods themselves.”

Santiago gripped the edge of the table so hard that a piece of it broke off. He hurled it against the wall and heard the sound of glass breaking. “Then I’ll rip his…or her throat out.”

“An equal opportunity killing,” Jackson mumbled from across the table.

Alfonso leaned in close to the monitor. “If the person truly is a good enough liar to have fooled everyone, what makes you think you’ll be able to root him or her out? They’ll spook. They’ll see you coming a mile away and either take off or have their guard locked up so tight you’ll think they’re as trustworthy as your father.”

Bad analogy, Santiago thought. His father was as far from trustworthy as they got.

Lily cleared her throat. “Santiago, I’m afraid I have to agree with Alfonso. You’re not exactly subtle. Have you tried picking up the scent track from the warehouse? Maybe the trail will lead you back to the traitor.”

“Kip tried but came up with nothing.” Santiago picked at a wood splinter in his finger with his teeth. “It’s been raining solid since the explosion and all trace of any scent has been washed away.”

“What about Roxy?” Lily asked. “Have you asked her?”

Santiago froze. He didn’t need or want an outsider involved in an issue that should be handled as quietly as possible from within. Especially a critical outsider.

“No.”

“Why not? She’s the best tracker in the Agency. I learned everything I know from her. Besides, she’s really good at reading people. If the scent trail is gone, she might be able to figure out who in the office is behind this.”

“Take it from me,” Alfonso said, “having worked undercover for years, you get a nose for when people are poking around. If Roxy goes down there and starts asking questions, they’ll totally be onto her.”

“Yeah, that won’t work,” Lily said, shaking her head.

“Hell,” Jackson said, “what if you and Roxy pretend you’re lovers?”

Santiago’s head snapped up. “What the hell for?” It didn’t surprise him that Jackson would bring up the topic of sex. Before Arianna, there hadn’t been an attractive woman within miles of him that he hadn’t bedded or thought about bedding. At the clubs, they practically threw themselves at his feet. Sex was all the guy thought about.

“You know, Santiago,” Alfonso said, slowly, as if Jackson’s dumbass comment was for real, “that’s not a half-bad idea.”

Jesus, Mary and Joseph.

He rubbed his temples. He was seriously on the verge on one giant motherfucking headache.

Jackson jumped from his chair and rubbed his hands together gleefully, like a youthling preparing to do something naughty. “Think about it. The two of you could masquerade as a couple so that no one realizes she’s down there to scope things out. You could attend the regional awards gala and be all over each other. Dancing, kissing, slipping into one of the private salons for a little—” he made a kissing sound “—and no one would think anything of it.”

Clenching his jaw so hard that his molars ached, he did his best to ignore Jackson’s asinine idea. “That reminds me. I’m cancelling the ceremony. It doesn’t seem right to celebrate Guardians’ achievements when several of our own are suffering. I’ll postpone the event and give out the awards another time.”

A few of them murmured in agreement.

“Plus,” Lily said, “it may not be safe. This attack was orchestrated, premeditated. Guardians are clearly a target and until we find out who’s responsible, Darkbloods could strike again and injure innocent members of the vampire community.”

“I disagree,” Alfonso said, shaking his head. “Cancelling the ceremony would be a big mistake.”

Santiago scowled. He didn’t like to be challenged.

“In my personal opinion,” Alfonso added benignly.

“A mistake?” The more he thought about it, the more his pupils dilated with anger. Trying to keep his people safe wasn’t a strong enough reason to cancel the damn party?

It was Santiago’s responsibility to keep the region as free from Darkblood scourge as possible, not Alfonso’s. He needed to ensure the safety of the small vampire community who lived peacefully among the humans here in the Northwest. Thanks to Dom’s contact in the Seattle Police Department—a man he knew through some military training they’d done together—a meth lab explosion was what the papers had reported. Damage control when humans died or disappeared was difficult enough. But an entire building?

He stood, kicking the chair out from behind him and paced around the room. He’d root out these bastards once and for all. Wearing a daysuit, he’d find where they slept in those coffins of theirs and let Misery carve them into little pieces. They’d find justice all right. At the point of his knife. He sure as hell didn’t have time for a damn party.

“Listen,” Alfonso said. Santiago spun around to see him holding up his palms. “I’m not trying to challenge your authority on this, but in my opinion, the ceremony shouldn’t be cancelled. Darkbloods may not know the extent of the collateral damage. If you cancel it, they’ll know they succeeded. They’ll scurry around like a bunch of rats when the cat dies and you’ll have more problems on your hands. On the outside, I say it should be business as usual. Don’t let them know how deeply they affected us. And then behind the scenes, when they’re least expecting it, we nail their asses.”

Jackson pulled out a half sandwich from somewhere and took a bite. “He does make a good p—”

“Stop. Just shut the hell up. Everyone.” Santiago fired off a string of expletives in several languages, ignoring that they all were lifting their eyebrows and rolling their eyes at his outburst. Let them. It was no skin off his nose. They could bellyache all they wanted, but in the end, it was his decision to make.

The room was uncomfortably silent as he absently scraped at another splinter in this thumb. Last thing Santiago wanted was for Darkbloods to think they had the upper hand. Leave it to a guy who spent years inside Darkblood operations feeding intel to the Agency, to know how the bastards thought and operated. He had to admit, Alfonso did make some good points.

“We’d have to step up security,” Santiago said finally. “Eliminate all possible breaches.”

For the next few minutes, they hashed out exactly what needed to be done if the ceremony wasn’t cancelled.

“That doesn’t solve the original problem,” Lily said quietly when everyone was done talking. “We don’t know the source of the leaks.”

“I still think you and Roxy should pretend to be lovers,” Jackson said bluntly, wiping the back of a hand over his mouth. “What a fun way to find the traitor.”

“I don’t care about fun.” Santiago pinched the bridge of his nose as his head began to pound. The lingering effects of UV exposure weren’t something he needed right now. If he had known all this was going to happen, he would have fought the urge to go to the Ridge. “Some might know she’s the head tracker at the Academy.”

Jackson shrugged. “So what? We have various trackers there all the time. She could be your new hot girlfriend who’s in town because she’s going to the ceremony with you. She could poke around, ask a few innocent questions, and no one would be the wiser.”

Alfonso turned to Lily. “Do you think she’d go for it?”

“I could ask,” she said.

“I don’t see why it has to be her, why we have to involve an outsider.” Santiago was well aware that his argument was getting flimsier, but this couldn’t be the only solution. “I’m perfectly capable of reading people. I’ll go down there myself.”

Lily laughed. “And you’re about as subtle as my fist to Jackson’s nose. Seriously, Santiago, Roxy’s amazing at analyzing people and their underlying motivations.”

“Hey,” Jackson protested. “Leave my nose out of this.”

Lily recounted an event that happened when Roxanne was mentoring her out in the field when she was a trainee at Tracker Academy. “We were following Darkblood scent in New Orleans, which led to a small voodoo shop in the French Quarter. With all the smells permeating the small space—herbs, potions, gris-gris—I was having a hard time distinguishing the one I’d been tracking. The shop owner, an elderly human woman whose face was as weathered as a dried apple, was arguing with a customer. It was obvious she didn’t want him to leave. I assumed she wanted him to buy one of her concoctions, but Roxy said it had nothing to do with making a sale. She could tell that the woman’s motives for keeping him in her shop were pure, not selfish. But the man didn’t listen. Ten minutes later, he was killed in the middle of Canal Street by a runaway carriage.”

Jackson sat forward in his chair. “So the old woman was a psychic.”

“Yes, and Roxy knew she was telling the truth simply by listening to her.”

“Remind me not to invite her to play poker,” Jackson said.

Alfonso was nodding his head. “That’s pretty compelling, Santiago. She didn’t have to talk to the woman to get a good read on her intentions. All she did was listen. I say you should do this thing. What would it hurt?”

Santiago was fighting a losing battle and started to protest again.

“Guess you could always send her down there on her own,” Lily said.

“Kind of defeats the purpose though,” Alfonso countered. “People would wonder why she was there. Sure, you could invent something, but this is the simplest solution of all. She’s Santiago’s girlfriend, in town to attend the gala. Doesn’t get much simpler than that.”

With every beat of his heart, this headache grew stronger. Santiago did not want to pretend to be Roxanne Reynolds’s lover. That would mean she’d have to share his room at the field office, that they’d have to put on a show and act like they cared about each other. She was too different from him to make a charade like that work.

Besides, he didn’t let affairs of the heart control him in real life, so he sure as hell didn’t want to pretend they did. Hell, he wouldn’t even know how to act in a fake relationship. He rarely let himself carry on with a woman longer than a few days and he always kept his heart out of it. His father’s philandering ways had destroyed their family and Santiago had vowed long ago that he’d never repeat his mistakes. A night or two with the same woman was one thing, but several weeks?

He could almost smell his father’s cigar now as he thought about one of the last conversations they’d had.

“The sins of the father are passed down to the son,” his father had said, tilting his head back and blowing out a thick stream of smoke. “You have to realize that the men in our family were not meant to be monogamous. This nature of ours—it is in our genes and there is nothing we can do about it. Our seed does not belong inside just one woman.”

As far as Santiago knew, his father hadn’t produced any children outside his marriage, but it wasn’t from a lack of trying. His parents had been pressured to get married and have more offspring after his mother had gotten pregnant. Given the low birth rates among their people, when a pairing turned out to be fruitful, their society urged them to have more.

Having seen what his father’s actions had done to his mother, Santiago swore he’d never do the same to any woman. If promiscuity truly was in their genes, then he didn’t want to destroy a woman like his father had done. Because when the mother suffered, so did the children. And he sure as hell didn’t want to produce sons who’d do the same thing. As far as he was concerned, the sins of the father stopped with him.

Besides, there was something about Roxanne that unsettled him, caused him to think about things he’d rather not. And he happened to like himself just the way he was.

“You two could play house,” Jackson said. “Who knows? You might actually like it.”

For the second time tonight, Santiago pounded his fist on the conference room table. “Absolutely not.”

THERE HAD TO be a crib here at region headquarters somewhere, Roxy thought. Mackenzie said there wasn’t, which seemed crazy. Miguel couldn’t be the only child to ever stay here, no matter how uncommon vampire children were. But if there really wasn’t a crib here, then Roxy planned to head into town and buy one. And Santiago would just have to run it through as an expense.

She pushed open the door to his outer office, but it was empty. His assistant’s chair was tucked into her desk and the few personal things on the top were arranged neatly. Had the woman even been in today? It sure didn’t look like it. Either that or she was extremely neat and tidy. Glancing around at how orderly the colored files were behind her desk, Roxy figured the latter was true.

She stared at the closed double doors, wondering what she should do. If she knocked, would he even answer? Her tracker senses told her he was there. Maybe she should come back another time when Jenella was around. As she debated what to do, she heard a series of crashes behind the doors. Without thinking, she grabbed the handles and pushed them open.

The office was an absolute mess—chairs overturned, papers scattered everywhere, chunks of plaster and dust covered much of the floor. He’d thrown something—a chair, maybe?—at the ceiling at some point. With his back to her, Santiago said something in a language she didn’t recognize—no doubt a curse—and swiped a hand over the remaining items on his desk. Everything on top of it went flying, including his computer monitor.

“Whoa,” she said, ducking. It landed with a crash on the wall about three feet away from her and shattered.

He spun to face her, an angry fire blazing in his eyes. “What the hell do you want?”

This was madness. What had gotten into him that he’d want to completely destroy his office like this? It wouldn’t be a matter of just righting a few desks and chairs and straightening papers. This would take a whole crew of repairmen to fix the damage.

Breathing heavily, he stared at her, his nostrils flared, his mouth slightly ajar, exposing the tips of his fangs. His tattoo seemed darker all of a sudden, more ominous than it had before.

At first, she thought about turning on her heel and coming back another time. Clearly, she was not meant to have witnessed this, but she wasn’t going to let him scare her off. Where was the in-control man she was used to seeing around the offices? The man who confidently fired off orders that people eagerly followed through on? Even though a part of her wanted to leave, she knew she needed to stay strong and continue.

“I came to ask a question but I can see that the commanding officer has been possessed by a madman.”

“Where’s Jenella?” His voice sounded as if he’d just straight-shot a glass of gravel. “Why did she let you in?”

Roxy shrugged. “She wasn’t there.”

He kicked at what she thought was a part of his printer. “You shouldn’t be here either. Leave.”

She bristled. Not before she got what she came for.

“Are you through yet?” She could see him stiffen, but she wasn’t dissuaded from continuing. Miguel needed a crib. Mackenzie needed him to sleep in one, in order for her to get some decent rest. Something told Roxy to keep pushing. “What’s gotten into you? Why have you destroyed your office?”

“You weren’t supposed to see this,” he said. “No one was.”

“Well, the noise was hard to miss.” Several books were balanced precariously on the edge of the shelf so she pushed them all the way in and stooped to pick up one from the floor.

“Don’t.”

“Don’t what?” She slid it back onto the bookshelf. Judging by the leather spines, there were some old ones here. It’d be a shame if any of them got bent or torn.

“I don’t want you coming in here and…cleaning up.”

Yeah, he probably expected his assistant to do it. Maybe that was why she was gone in the first place. She wanted her boss to clean up his own damn mess for once.

His chest continued to rise and fall, the muscles in his arms bulging, reminding her of a bull in an arena ready to charge. Only she wasn’t scared. She’d always felt sorry for the bulls.

“This wasn’t the reason I came.” She spotted another book on the floor behind the broken computer monitor. Oh, for goddsake. It was a first edition of The Call of the Wild. “What is the matter with you?”

He exhaled, his shoulders slumping slightly in defeat. “What do you want?”

She flung her hand around. “I want to know what this is about.”

“There’s nothing for you to understand. I already told you to leave. This is none of your concern.”

But she couldn’t just leave. She wanted to know more. Why the tantrum? He seemed like the most controlled and in-charge man she’d ever met. And this, she thought, looking at all the broken computer equipment and upended furniture, was far from that.

She narrowed her eyes and studied him. He seemed to have calmed down a little; his pupils weren’t quite so dilated, his breathing had slowed. Maybe the problem was that he was cool on the outside while torment raged on the inside. She had no idea why, but for some reason, it was important for her to keep pushing in order to better understand him.

“What if I don’t want to leave? What if I…care why you’ve done this?”

His head snapped up as if he’d been slapped, his eyes dark and menacing. “Why would you care about me? I’ve not exactly been warm and welcoming to you.”

He made it sound as if he’d been consciously trying to act like a jerk. She’d done nothing to warrant being treated like that on purpose. Then it dawned on her. Maybe her past had followed her. Maybe he’d heard the accusations from long ago and didn’t want her here.

She stood a little taller and put a wall of iron around her heart. “Well, for one thing, I need to know how to get a crib set up in Mackenzie’s room. She’s exhausted and the only way she’s going to get any rest is if Miguel sleeps in his own bed. Which means the region needs a damn crib. If you don’t have one, then I’m driving to the nearest town right now and buying one. And you’re going to reimburse me.”

His expression seemed to soften just a little and he leaned on the edge of his desk. “And what was the other reason?”

“I… I…don’t know. Guess I just wanted to see if I could help.”

His gaze darted around the room. He seemed to see the destruction for the first time through the eyes of a reasonable man because he actually looked a little sheepish. He strode over to the wet bar and grabbed a bottle of scotch. “Want one?”

Was that supposed to be a peace offering of some sort? She crossed her arms over her chest. “Not if I’m going to have to drive to the store and buy a crib.”

He smiled then, not one of those big, movie-star smiles with the gleaming eyes and the perfect teeth that made you want to strip off your panties, but a quiet, almost diminutive smile that said he knew she was right, he was wrong, and that maybe her past was still in the past after all.

He picked up his phone, barked a few orders and hung up. “Okay, Roxanne. Miguel will have a crib within the hour.”

“Thank you. That’s going to make it so much better for Mackenzie.” She ran her hands along the spines of the books and smiled. “Please, I’d like it if you called me Roxy.”

He studied her face for a moment before his gaze traveled slowly down her body all the way to her feet then back up again as if he were seeing her for the first time, as well. A ball of warmth concentrated in her belly and radiated outward, making her cheeks feel as if they were on fire. She resisted the urge to cool them with her palms.

He held up the bottle again. “Are you sure?”

“Um, thanks, but no. I’m a frou-frou drink person all the way.” At the amused expression on his face she added, “You know, daiquiris, cosmos, anything that comes with an umbrella.”

He poured himself a drink and knocked it back in one swallow. Twisting the glass around in his hand, he seemed to be inordinately interested in the tiny amount of scotch that was left at the bottom. A tiny muscle in his jaw ticked as if he was chewing on his thoughts.

“Positive?” He set the glass down and looked at her pointedly. “Because you might want one after what I’m about to ask you.”

A dozen red flags flapped in her head and her mouth went dry. First he wanted her out of his office and now he wanted to chat? Why the turnaround? She had a really bad feeling about this. Maybe she should take him up on his offer because she was suddenly very thirsty. Too bad she hated scotch.

She supposed it wouldn’t hurt to hear him out. Trying to maintain her composure, she opened the small refrigerator and spotted a small can of grapefruit juice. “Got any vodka?”

“Right here.”

“Then I’ll have a greyhound. And don’t add too much juice. I want to be able to taste the alcohol.”

Grabbing a glass that hadn’t been broken, he made the drink, poured himself another scotch and pointed to the couch, the only piece of furniture unaffected by his tirade. “Take this and sit down,” he said in that gravelly voice of his. “But I’m afraid I’m fresh out of umbrellas.”




CHAPTER SIX


THE CHAMBER WAS lit only by candles. Hundreds of them. Encased in identical frosted-glass votive holders, they sat on almost every flat surface, casting a warm, flickering light on the stone walls.

People came here for answers, comfort or guidance, which Santiago had never understood. He didn’t feel he should have to look beyond the borders of his own skin for validation or support. He was a firm believer in being the driver of your own life. If you wanted something, you took it. If you worried about something, you figured it out. If you needed someone to do something, you told them. You didn’t stew or fret or ask for opinions. He sure as hell didn’t live his life by committee—earthly or divine. A savvy combination of fists and brainpower was the only formula for success he subscribed to and it had served him well the past two hundred years.

So, when he stepped inside the sanctuary, it wasn’t answers he sought.

Roxy was bent over the small altar on the dais, lighting candles with a long match that reminded him of the cigarette holders used by old Hollywood starlets. And like those women, there was something timelessly beautiful about her look, something that would never go out of fashion.

Nothing about her was hurried. She was agonizingly slow in everything she did and it drove him mad. Deliberate and methodical, she spent way too much time thinking about shit. Introspection and Santiago were like oil and water. They didn’t mix no matter how hard you shook them. He was a shoot-now-ask-questions-later kind of guy, but without the questions.

Her off-white gauzy dress skimmed her ankles and because her movements were slow and fluid, it gave her the appearance of floating on the stage. She was barefoot, and the light from behind silhouetted her long legs through the thin fabric. Her arms were ballet-dancer graceful and something sparkled in the soft, loose curls that fell past her shoulders. Whether it was now or a hundred years ago, men would find her classically beautiful and elegant.

If she thought she could avoid dealing with “his proposition,” as she’d called it, by running and hiding out here, she was sadly mistaken. Not much happened around region headquarters without him knowing about it. A snap of a finger or a terse phone call and his people told him everything he wanted to know. Which included reports that she’d gone into the sanctuary.

But it wasn’t a proposition he’d given her back in his office. It was a goddamn order.

She still hadn’t acknowledged him with so much as a glance in his direction or a nod of her head, so he shut the heavy, hand-carved doors behind him with a bang. She didn’t jump or act surprised. She simply turned around and those golden eyes burned right through him, as if she’d known the whole time that he was here.

Undaunted, he strode up the center aisle between the rows of pews, the sound of his boots echoing irreverently throughout the chamber. “Are you trying to hide from me, Ms. Reynolds?” Going back to formalities emphasized who was in charge—him.

“Hide? Try ignore.”

“Because if you are, it’s a waste of time. My people tell me everything. You cannot—”

Wait. Did she say she was ignoring him? He came to a screeching halt. The woman came here because she was…snubbing him? Impossible. No one gave the region commander the brush-off. When he gave an order, people did what they were told.

“No one ignores me, Ms. Reynolds.”

“Am I supposed to be thrilled for you?” She turned back around and continued lighting those damn candles, dismissing him.

His blood boiled up like an active volcano and he spat out the toothpick he kept clenched between his teeth.

She was belittling him, discounting his authority. No one dared defy him like that.

No one.

He wanted to pound his fists through the walls and rip the sanctuary apart. Yank out a bench, lift it over his head, and throw it across the room. Instead, he stormed between the last set of pews and kicked at a hymnal that someone left lying on the floor. When he stomped onto the dais, the whole thing shook and a dozen tiny flames flickered.

She turned to face him, hands on her hips. From the defiant tilt of her chin, it was clear he didn’t intimidate her in the slightest. “What is your problem?”

Eucalyptus from either her shampoo or lotion faintly filled the air around him, while the fire in her eyes stirred up his insides. Both sensations were pleasing and he started to relax until he remembered the dakai thing. His sister had smelled of weird scented oils, too, because of that cult.

He moved in close until he towered over her, but she didn’t back away. Even with her head cranked back, she seemed to be able to level a stare at him. This vexed him even more. “I gave you a direct order.”

“Yes, I know you did.” She wasn’t at all impressed. “Too bad you have no authority over me.” There was a gleeful tone to her voice. It was subtle, but it was there.

Rather than stare her down, he stormed off the dais and stalked around the room.

“And don’t think you can go and have another one of your juvenile tantrums to make me cave,” she called after him.

“Juvenile? Where do you get off thinking you can call me that?”

“Oh, I’m sorry. You’re right. You’re not juvenile.” He started to relax. She was right to be apologizing because—

“You’re more infantile than anything.”

What? His head was seriously going to explode. No one spoke to him this way. Back in his office, he’d told her she was going to accompany him to Seattle and masquerade as his lover in order to root out the traitor. End of story. He didn’t expect her to like the plan, but he damn well expected her to go along with it.

With an expression devoid of all emotion, she’d listened quietly to the rationale of posing as lovers in order to throw people in the Seattle field office off guard. When she didn’t react, he continued. He told her what Lily had said, that she had an uncanny ability to tell if someone’s motivations were good or not. Figuring he was stroking her ego, he assumed she’d jump at the chance to work on such an assignment with someone of his stature. When he was done, however, she’d stood from the couch, calmly placed the glass on his desk and walked out of the room without a word or a backward glance. He’d been so stunned by this it took him a moment to go after her. But by then, she was gone.




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