Bittersweet Blood (The Order #1)

“I think it might be better if we wait until we’re back in town. Give me a little time to think it over. I don’t want to tell you something now, get you all riled up, and just have to take it all back later.”


He knew from her fixed expression that it wasn’t going to be that easy.





Chapter Fifteen


Christian reached out and ran a hand through her hair.

Tara knew he meant it to be soothing. Instead, the caress made her scalp prickle. She gritted her teeth. He was lying. He knew something, and he wasn’t telling her.

All her life her aunt had told her, “listen to me,” “I know best,” and Tara had listened, believing she’d had her best interests at heart. Look how well that had turned out.

Crap! That was how it had turned out.

Her aunt had died—or did whatever it was that reanimated corpses did—leaving Tara alone, without a clue. Why couldn’t she have told her before it was too late instead of leaving her to blunder on in total ignorance.

Now, here was someone else expecting that just because she cared about him, she would quite happily do whatever he said and not ask any awkward questions.

Not going to happen.

He waited for her answer, but obviously so confident that she would go along with anything he asked.

She had run the gamut of emotions tonight. She’d been worried, wildly excited, scared. Now the first flicker of a deep-rooted anger rippled through her. It felt good. It had been part of her life for so long, simmering under the surface. She’d tried to suppress it, but it had grown, feeding on all the things that stood in her way. Her breathing slowed until she took long deep breaths, and with each intake of air, her anger intensified. She opened her eyes and smiled. Yeah, she was pissed—well and truly pissed. He didn’t want to get her riled? Well, it was too damn late!

“I’m not going anywhere.” Surprise flickered across his face, and a wave of savage satisfaction ran through her. “I’m not going anywhere until you tell me what you know.”

“We’re going back to London. Now.”

“You might be going back to London, but until you tell me what’s going on, I’m staying here. And unless you want to force me, you’re going to have to live with that.”

For a moment, he studied her as though he seriously considered the force thing. He eyed the distance between them, but Tara stood her ground. Finally, he relaxed and nodded.

“Okay, get dressed. I’ll make you a coffee, and see you in the kitchen.” He left the room and closed the door behind him.

As soon as he agreed with her demand, Tara wished she could retract it. She stared at the closed door, wanting to call him back.

She dressed slowly, repacked her bag, and carried it down to the kitchen. She put it by the back door, and took a seat opposite Christian. He pushed a mug across to her. Picking it up, she held it close to her nose and breathed in the aromatic scent of the coffee. She took a sip, it was scalding hot, and she put the mug back down.

“Is it so bad you can’t tell me?” she asked.

“No,” he said, shaking his head. “What is it you want to know?”

“The spells around the house and the talisman, what are they hiding?”

“They’re hiding you.”

It wasn’t the answer she had been expecting, though maybe she should have been. The spells around the house might have had some other purpose, but the talisman could have only ever have been for her.

“Why, what’s so special about me? I’m just ordinary. Aren’t I?”

His eyes wandered down over her. “No, there’s nothing ordinary about you.”

A shiver ran through her. “I’d really like to believe you meant that in a good way. But you don’t, do you?”

Shoving his chair back from the table, he rose to his feet. He thrust his hands in his pockets, cocked his head to one side, and considered her.

“Neither good, nor bad. We are what we are. I’ve had a long time to accept this, and still sometimes, I wonder if I should exist at all. But perhaps that’s something you still have to learn.”

“Of course that might be easier if I knew what it is I’m supposed to be accepting. What am I?”

“When I said I wasn’t entirely sure, I was telling the truth.”

She gritted her teeth. “Then tell me what you think.”

“You have demon blood.”

For a brief moment, she presumed she’d misheard him. Her gaze shot to his face. He appeared deadly serious, and she took a deep breath. She could cope with this. Couldn’t she?

“Explain exactly what you mean by ‘have demon blood.’”

“You’re part demon.”

“Which part? Forget that question.” She picked up her coffee and drank it slowly. Her mind flashed back to those things that had attacked her in the alley that night. The red skin and yellow inhuman eyes. “You mean I’m part one of those things that attacked me.”

“Perhaps, but there are lots of different demons.”

She scrutinized her hand still holding the mug of coffee. Her flesh was pale, creamy, not red. “I can’t be part of one of those. I don’t look anything like them.”