Bittersweet Blood (The Order #1)

“I think I should take a look around. See if I can get a sense of what went on there. What your aunt actually was and how she came to be. We’ll go tomorrow night. There is one more thing we can do tonight. I’d rather go alone, but it might help if I have the locket, and as you can’t take it off, you’ll have to come with me.”


“Where are we going?”

“The Order.”

A shiver of excitement ran through her. Graham had said the Order was ultra-secret. There would be vampires and maybe other things. But why would Christian take her there now? What was so important about the talisman?

The familiar weight of the locket comforted her, but she couldn’t shake the conviction that Christian knew more than he was saying. And what he knew wasn’t good.

“Just one thing,” Christian said. “When we get to the Order—”

“Yes?”

“Don’t do anything and don’t say anything.”





Chapter Eight


The drive to the Order took them along the embankment beside the river Thames, where the lights of the pleasure cruisers glinted on the water. Then past the London Eye, the giant Ferris wheel that rotated languidly above the city, and into the business district. They finally turned down a ramp and pulled into an underground parking garage.

Christian glanced at his passenger as he switched off the ignition. She’d finally stopped shaking. She was rattled and who could blame her? He was rattled himself.

He took a risk bringing her here—Piers wouldn’t like it—but he wanted one of the Order’s witches to take a look at Tara’s talisman. Maybe a witch would be able to identify the warlock who’d made the charm. They often left some sort of signature easily recognizable by others of their kind.

“Come on,” he said. “Let’s get this over with.”

He was about to get out when she put her hand on his arm. She licked her lips, her small pink tongue flicking out, and he remembered the taste of her; hot and sweet with just an underlying hint of bitterness to balance. Addictive, and he wanted more. Much more.

As the memory washed over him, he had a sudden flashback to the good part of the evening. The earlier part before he’d made a huge error of judgment and decided that getting down to business was the sensible move. He should have just kissed her some more. They might be in his bed now, not in an underground car park about to face six-foot-four of pissed off vampire.

“Christian?”

“Sorry, I was miles away.” Back in his bed with Tara sprawled naked on top of him. “What is it?”

“I wanted to thank you.”

He smiled. “I’m just doing my job. It’s what you hired me to do.”

She searched his face. “Is it just a job?”

She appeared so young and so uncertain that he leaned across and kissed her on the mouth. It had been meant as a reassurance but instead of the quick kiss he’d intended, his lips lingered against hers, relishing the taste of her. Definitely addictive. Finally, he remembered where he was and drew back.

“Does that answer your question?” he asked.

She licked her lips again as if tasting him, and heat flared in his groin.

She nodded. “Let’s go.” Without waiting for him, she opened the car door and jumped out. Christian sat a minute longer, willing his body under control, then followed her.

He’d called Piers from the car, and someone waited at the elevator to escort them. Tara sized up the guard.

“Is everybody here a vampire?” she asked quietly.

“Not everybody, but most of the agents. We’re actually here to see a witch.”

“Ella?

Christian frowned.

“Graham mentioned her,” she said.

He made a mental note to have a word with Graham. Though he had told him to tell Tara whatever she asked.

“Hopefully not Ella,” he replied.

“Why? Graham told me you used to be close.”

Yes, he was definitely going to have a word with Graham. “Not that close,” he said. “And a long time ago.” Why was he worried that Tara might believe him involved with Ella?

“Ella is not a big fan of mine anymore. But the Order employs other witches. Maybe we’ll get lucky.”

The elevator came to a halt, and the doors opened. Piers waited for them and, as expected, didn’t look happy. Without speaking, he whirled and strode off down the corridor.

Christian put a hand to Tara’s waist. He directed her after Piers, glancing down at her once or twice as they moved through the building. It was obvious she tried to be subtle as she stared—and failed totally.

Piers led them into his office and slammed the door.

“What the fuck is she doing here?” he demanded. “You know it’s against Order policy to bring unmarked humans.”

Tara stood straight and stared back, but Christian smelled her fear. And that meant so could Piers.

“Unless,” Piers continued, “you plan to kill her afterward.” He grinned as the little color in Tara’s face fled. “I could take care of that little job if you like.”

“Piss off, Piers.” Christian turned to Tara. “Go sit over there for a moment while I talk to this moron.”