Blood Secrets

fifteen



A GENTLE BREEZE RUFFLING HER HAIR AND THE SCENT of wildflowers forced Alex’s eyes open. The wind brushed her again and something slithering over her outstretched arm sent her heart into a frantic rhythm. She pushed herself away from whatever had touched her.

Soft things encircled her, and her mind began to piece together her environment from touch and smell. She lay on what she surmised was a huge bed, surrounded by mounds of pillows and a fluffy comforter. Sheer drapes billowing in the breeze from an open window beside the bed had brushed against her arm, startling her.

Wildflowers permeated the air with their sweet fragrances. Frowning, she searched for the bouquet. Her hand encountered a crystal vase on a table nestled between the bed and the open window. The flowers felt real enough, but how was it possible to have fresh-cut wildflowers in November?

A foreboding she couldn’t shake settled over her like a mantle.

She swung her legs over the side of the bed and was surprised when her feet didn’t touch the floor. Blood pounded in her head and the world threatened to spin out of control as she slipped off the bed and landed unsteadily with a loud thump. She closed her eyes and groaned, waiting for the dizziness to pass.

Once the sensation had eased, she opened her eyes and, sweeping her hands in front of her, slowly made her way to the window. Darkness still ruled her sight.

Alex heard the footsteps approaching seconds before a door opposite the bed opened. She spun to face the door and groaned loudly as the floor tilted beneath her feet. Her head pounded in response and her stomach threatened to release its contents. She slumped against the wall and sank to the floor, drawing her knees to her chest in misery.

“Darling, what are you doing?” A familiar man’s voice filled the room. “You shouldn’t be out of bed. You need your rest.”

Fear clutched her heart as the shadow of recognition nibbled at the edges of her brain. “Who are you?” she croaked. “What is this place?”

The man sighed. “You see? This is precisely why you shouldn’t be out of bed. You’re not fully recovered.”

She batted away his hands when he grabbed her arms. “Don’t f*cking touch me.”

An image of Varik, along with the muffled sounds of a struggle and then a horrible silence filled her mind. She opened the blood-bond, searching for Varik’s comforting presence, and was met with only a mind-numbing cold. An overwhelming sense of loss gripped her, constricting her lungs and turning her breath into short, rapid gasps.

“Easy, now,” the unknown man murmured. He clasped her hands in his, retaining a firm but gentle grip when she struggled to free herself. “Deep breaths. That’s it. Just take deep breaths.”

“What have you done to me?” she asked between gasps.

He brushed a strand of hair away from her face. “Why, nothing, darling.”

“Where am I? I want to go home.”

“You are home.”

She shook her head. “No.”

“You’ll come to love it here.”

“No.”

“But first, we need to get you off this cold floor.”

Before she could protest, he’d shifted to one side and scooped her into his arms. He laid her on the bed and then she could hear him rummaging in a table drawer.

She heard the tinny pop of a needle through thin rubber and the soft slide and gurgle of a syringe being filled. Alarm raced through Alex. She scooted away from him. “What is that?”

“Just something to help you relax so you can rest.”

“I don’t want it.”

“Now, this won’t hurt—”

Alex sprang toward what she hoped was the foot of the bed and the door.

A hand grabbed her ankle, knocking her to the bed, and she felt the sharp sting of a needle in the back of her thigh. Warmth spread through her and her muscles seemed to collapse under their own weight. She tried to push herself up, to no avail.

She heard him return the syringe and vial to the drawer.

He rolled her onto her back, slid her around until her head rested on an overstuffed pillow, and pulled a fluffy comforter over her once more. “There we go. That wasn’t so bad. Now, you get some rest.”

She tried to resist when he leaned forward and his mouth found hers. His tongue brushed across her lips, seeking entry. She made a noise of protest and turned her head.

His voice held a smile. “I have some work to finish, but if you need anything, just call.”

“Your name.” She struggled to get the words out as she sank deeper and deeper into the haze that had suddenly filled the room. “Tell me your name.”

“Peter,” he whispered and his voice shook as he continued. “Now get some rest. I’ll check on you in a little while.”

As the last vestiges of consciousness slipped away, her whisper was consumed by the darkness. “Varik …”

The Nassau County medical examiner’s office was housed in a little-used wing of Jefferson Memorial Hospital and shared a morgue with the facility. However, the county officials had thought to secure a separate entrance for the ME’s office, a feature Varik was grateful for as he slowly made his way up a loading ramp to a gray metal fire door.

He pushed a button on the security pad next to the door and heard a faint buzzing from inside. He waited a moment and then waved his FBPI credentials in front of the small camera attached to the security pad. A red light on the pad turned green and a series of clicks sounded as the door unlocked. Entering the hallway, he paused to allow his eyes to adjust to the fluorescent lights before limping toward the distant offices and autopsy room.

A young human carrying a clipboard appeared from around a corner and stopped as he caught a glimpse of Varik. “Holy shit!” Jeffery Stringer exclaimed. “You look like reheated hell.”

“Where’s Doctor Hancock?” Varik asked, stopping in front of the deputy medical examiner.

“Autopsy room, finishing up his notes on Trunk Girl.”

Varik pushed past him.

“Do I want to know what the other guy looks like?” Jeffery called after him.

“Not nearly as bad as he will once I get my hands on him again,” Varik shot over his shoulder.

Jeffery emitted a low whistle and quickly picked up his route to wherever he’d been going.

Varik winced as he turned a corner. The pain in his leg was decreasing, but the muscles still protested being used so quickly after his fight with the Dollmaker. He’d been stupid, had let his guard down, and now he was paying the price.

Alex was paying the price.

He replayed his confrontation with the Dollmaker, looking for anything that would give him a hint of who he was and where he might be holding Alex. However, nothing presented itself. The only trace left in the wake of Alex’s abduction was the diamond ring he’d given to her last night—its chain broken.

The physical pain he could manage. He’d certainly been hurt much worse during his time as a Hunter. It was the pain of knowing the Dollmaker had Alex that made his heart ache until he felt it would explode.

Thoughts of what could possibly be happening to her crowded around him. He refused to acknowledge them, to give them weight. If he did, he would break down and become immobile. He had to keep going, had to find her, had to save her.

Ever since the attack, he’d kept the blood-bond open, hoping for some sign of life from her. The bond remained cold and empty. No welcoming warmth greeted him when he extended his thoughts in search of Alex. Not feeling the constant weight of her mind pressing against his filled him with grief and rage. Desperation gnawed at him, filled his thoughts with chaos once more.

What if she was dead?

No, she’s couldn’t be dead. He would know.

But the Dollmaker had her and could be—

Varik forced himself to focus on the door ahead of him and not allow his imagination free rein. He refused to accept she could be taken away so easily.

Doctor Philip Hancock looked up from his notes as Varik entered the autopsy room. A gleaming bald head and thick bottle glasses that enlarged his brown eyes gave the rotund man the appearance of a startled owl. “Enforcer Baudelaire, I wasn’t expecting to see you so soon after your unfortunate encounter.”

Since taking over from Alex as the official Enforcer for Jefferson, Varik had gotten to know Doc Hancock much better after their initial frosty meeting. Doc was human but accepting of vampires, quick-witted, and a closet Lady Gaga fan, a fact Varik had discovered by accident and had since been sworn to secrecy.

Varik reached the stainless steel autopsy table and leaned against it heavily as a muscle spasm momentarily weakened his right leg. “I’m full of surprises, Doc.”

“Are you sure you should even be working?”

Varik nodded. “I have to find Alex.”

“Still no word from the son of a bitch who grabbed her?”

“No, and there won’t be. We figure he’s a collector and Alex is his prize possession.”

“Hmm, well, that may work in your favor. As long as he continues to think of her that way, he’s less likely to actually hurt her.”

“Doesn’t stop me from thinking of the ways he could though.”

“No, I suppose not.”

Varik sighed and pushed away from the table, eager to find out what Doc Hancock knew. “You got an identification on our salvage yard Jane Doe?”

“Dental records do not match Mindy Johnson. That’s the good news. Bad news is the forensic odontologist in Jackson was able to match it to a girl who’s been missing for two weeks: Vicki Pettersson.”

Varik flipped open the file the doctor handed over. Scanning the reports, he frowned. “How did a girl from Vegas end up in the trunk of a car in Jefferson, Mississippi?”

Doc Hancock slipped a new report on top of the file. “Jumped a bus and went as far as her money would take her, which was apparently here.”

“That still doesn’t explain how she got in the trunk.”

“Well, now, that’s your job, but I can tell you she had help.” Doc Hancock grunted as he slipped off the stool on which he’d been perched. His knees popped and crackled as he made his way across the room to an X-ray display panel.

Varik followed and squinted against the sudden bright illumination before focusing on the large black-and-gray photo negatives. “Are those all broken?”

“Poor girl’s rib cage was crushed like an egg, and look here.” Doc Hancock pointed to an X ray of a skull. “Multiple fractures of the jaw as well as at the back of the skull. Not to mention one leg and both arms were also broken.”

“So she was tortured?”

“Yes and no.” Doc Hancock switched off the display panel. “All the breaks and fractures occurred postmortem, after she was already dead.”

“Where does the torture fit in?”

He handed Varik a stack of color photos. “I found evidence of starvation and dehydration. She also had multiple lacerations around her neck, but they’re so shallow I can’t even begin to speculate the reason.”

“Only her neck?”

Doc Hancock nodded. “And I didn’t see any signs of sexual assault.”

Varik frowned as he studied the photos. Several showed long regular patches of exposed tissue. “What about these areas?”

“Those are the weird bits. They’re concentrated on her back, stomach, and legs. I saw no evidence of healing so it had to have been done after she was killed. Very precise cuts and tissue removal. Someone skinned this poor girl. My question is, Why?”

“That’s what the Dollmaker does. He uses skin from his victims to make dolls in their likenesses.”

“I’ve heard of a lot of strange things in my time, but that’s just f*cked-up, as my granddaughter would say.”

Varik sighed and handed the photos back to him. “What was the official cause of death?”

“Exsanguination. Her throat was slit from ear to ear.”

An upbeat techno rhythm filled the room and Varik pulled his cell phone from its holster at his hip. He checked the caller display before answering. “Any word, Damian?”

“Not yet. Teams are still sweeping the area and fanning out into other sections of town.”

“We have to find her, Damian. Bring in more Enforcers from Jackson or Hattiesburg if you have to.”

“We’re doing everything we possibly can.”

“Doc Hancock and I are finishing up.” He glanced at the medical examiner and received a confirming nod. “I’m going to join the sweeper teams when I leave here. The bond isn’t working but maybe if I get close to her location then I can—”

“Negative,” Damian interrupted. “I need you back here as soon as you wrap up with the ME.”

Anger flared within him, hot and blinding. “What the f*cking hell for? I’m not going to sit on my ass while that psycho has Alex!”

“Did I say anything about you sitting on your ass? There’s someone here you need to interview.”

“Get someone else to do it.”

“Her name is Piper Garver. She’s Mindy Johnson’s cousin, and someone tried to kidnap her a few blocks from JPD, killed a truck driver in the process. She’s got one hell of a story, but the important part is the guy who tried to abduct her knows a vampire who likes redheads.”

Adrenaline surged through his system and melted away the pain in his legs as he sprinted from the room.

Tasha closed the door of her sedan and paused to take in the grandeur that had once been Cottonwood Plantation.

A sweeping oak-lined drive nearly half a mile long led to the multistory home that had seen better days. What had once been a simple farmhouse had been expanded over the years. Each generation of the Corman family had added their own touch to the house until it became a mishmash of various architectural styles.

The house sat on a couple of hundred acres of mixed pasture and groves. Once the plantation had grown cotton but it had switched to pecans sometime in the 1950s. Cottonwood had been well-known in southwestern Mississippi for producing some of the finest pecans in the region until Benjamin Corman died. After his passing a few years prior, the house sat vacant and fell into disrepair while the estate searched for an heir.

One had finally stepped forward and it was that heir Tasha had come to see.

She eyed the crumbling front steps and lack of hand railing but climbed the steps nonetheless. Boards creaked and bowed beneath her as she crossed the porch to the front entrance, its protective outer screen door hanging to the side by a single hinge. She knocked on the weather-beaten wooden door and waited.

A large group of crows took flight from a field adjacent to the house, startling her. The black birds cawed and squawked to one another, flying farther out to field, and Tasha remembered reading the technical name for a flock of crows was a “murder.” She’d never understood why and seeing so many so close to a house made the hairs on the nape of her neck prickle.

She knocked on the door again. “Hello,” she called. “Anyone home?”

Only the distant call of the crows answered her.

Tasha stepped around a missing board to reach one of the windows near the door. She cupped her hands to the side of her eyes and pressed her face to the torn screen, trying to see inside.

Heavy curtains blocked her view. She tried the windows on the opposite side of the entrance and discovered their broken panes had been boarded over from the inside. Sighing, she returned to the door and knocked a final time. “Hello! I’m Lieutenant Tasha Lockwood with the Jefferson police. If you can hear me, please open the door.”

Again, no answer came from within the house.

“Shit,” she muttered. She pulled a business card from her pocket, wrote a brief note asking the homeowner to call her, and stuck it in the crack between the door and the jamb.

She retraced her steps to her car and hesitated as she opened the door. For a moment she thought she saw movement in an upstairs window. She caught sight of it again and realized it was simply drapes blowing in the breeze from an open window. She slipped behind the steering wheel and headed back to Jefferson, cursing Damian for sending her on a wild-goose chase.

Today was the second day the police had come to his door. Peter knew it would only be a matter of time before they returned. He’d hoped to have more time to prep Alexandra before leaving this town to start their new life together but it wasn’t meant to be.

He thought of how much work he had before him. He would have to accelerate his plans to separate her from Varik. It carried a risk of damaging her beyond repair, but it was a possibility he must accept nonetheless.

Peter slowly opened the bedroom door, careful not to wake Alexandra. She was finally his to possess. He slipped into the room and crept to the side of the bed.

Her breathing remained steady and unchanged. The last rays of sunlight from the window turned her auburn hair into a blaze of deep reds, mahogany browns, and copper. Beneath closed lids, he imagined her gold-rimmed emerald eyes sought him in their rapid-dreaming movements.

Watching her sleep, he ached to touch her, to climb into the bed and make her his for always.

But he couldn’t. Not yet. She had not yet given herself to him willingly and he wouldn’t accept her any other way. Much work needed to be done before their bodies could finally join the way their souls had already combined so long ago.

First he had to purge her of Varik’s influence.

He kissed her forehead, closed his eyes, and inhaled her exotic scent of jasmine and vanilla.

She moaned and shifted in her sleep.

“Soon, my darling,” he whispered, smoothing her hair. “I promise.”

He straightened, made his way to the door, opened it quietly, and slipped into the hallway beyond.

As he closed the door, she shifted in her slumber once more, mumbling incoherently but one word struck like a dagger to his very core.

“Varik …”

Rage surged through him, hot and blinding.

He stormed up the hall to his own bedroom and flung himself onto the low, narrow bed. Beating and strangling his rival wasn’t enough to sever their bond. He’d known it wouldn’t be, but he’d foolishly allowed himself a small hope that it would at least weaken it. As soon as he accessed the Hall of Records and used the information he’d gleaned from its vast store, she would forget all about him.

“And then you will love me,” he whispered and closed his eyes, surrendering himself to the void as he parted the Veil and entered the Shadowlands.

Emily felt as though she were in a nightmare dreamscape and unable to wake. Numbness had settled into her brain, dampening all thought and dulling her senses. She could only sit at the kitchen counter, an untouched mug of coffee and her cell phone before her, and stare at the small photo she always carried with her.

It was taken eight years ago during a family vacation to Cumberland Falls in the southeastern part of Kentucky. The photo had been taken at night as she stood between Stephen and Alex on the observation deck overlooking the falls. Light from the full moon played through the spray and created a beautiful moon-bow that hung in the air behind three smiling faces. It had been a magical week for them all.

It’d also been the last vacation the three had spent together.

Fast-forward to their present, and Emily found herself in a mother’s Hell. Only a few weeks had passed since Stephen was kidnapped by drug runners looking to get even for Crimson Swan stealing a large portion of their customers. He didn’t talk about what happened to him and most of his physical wounds had healed, but Emily knew the psychological healing would take much longer.

Now Alex was missing—abducted by a madman who Varik said was obsessed with her.

Emily traced the outline of Alex with her finger. Tears welled in her eyes. No matter how much she fought, how much she tried to protect them, it seemed the world was determined to rip her family apart, and she couldn’t let that happen.

She angrily brushed away her tears and traded the photograph for her cell phone. She dialed Gregor’s number and listened to the steady ringing on the other end, counting each tone as they passed unanswered. After ten rings, she sighed and hit the button to end the call. Where was he?

Lost in her own thoughts, she ignored the chime of the doorbell and Janet’s hurried footsteps. Stephen had left earlier for a meeting with investors regarding the rebuilding of Crimson Swan. Emily had insisted he keep the appointment despite what had happened with Alex. He needed the distraction. He would’ve gone insane with worry had he stayed home.

A startled shout and the sound of a man’s angry voice drew Emily from the kitchen. “Janet?” she called, hurrying into the living room. “What’s wro—”

The barrel of a revolver shoved in her face stole her words. Angry golden eyes bored into her from behind stringy and sweat-soaked brown bangs. The scent of blood, pepper, and sage was strong in the air. The hand holding the revolver wavered slightly as the stranger spoke, showing fangs. “Who the f*ck are you?”

Her gaze flicked to the frightened Janet, held tightly against the unknown vampire’s side. “Emily,” she replied, surprised by her own calm. “I’m a friend of Janet’s.”

The stranger inhaled sharply. “You smell like a vampire, but I don’t see fangs.”

“I had them filed down and capped a long time ago.”

He grunted. “You’re one of Janet’s clients?” He didn’t wait for Emily to respond before tightening his hold. “I never knew you swung both ways, Janet. That would’ve made for more interesting suck and f*cks. A little girl-on-girl action, huh?”

“You’re hurting me,” Janet whined.

“Let her go,” Emily said.

“You are not the boss here, bitch!” He cocked the revolver’s hammer and Janet sobbed. “I am!”

Despite the wild pounding of her heart, Emily spoke calmly. “Yes, you’re in charge, but you’re obviously injured. I can smell the blood. If you let Janet go, I can help you. That’s what you want, isn’t it? You want someone to help you?”

Several moments passed in silence while the stranger stared at her and Janet sobbed at his side. Finally, he shoved Janet into Emily’s arms, where the girl sobbed even harder and clung to Emily like a frightened child. “No tricks,” the stranger rasped. “Or you’re both dead.”

Emily nodded her understanding. “Come into the kitchen where there’s better light.”

She guided Janet into the kitchen with the stranger following slowly. They reached the counter where Emily had been sitting, and she indicated for Janet to sit on one of the stools.

The stranger entered, eyes darting from one side to the other, revolver held at the ready.

Emily swiped her coffee mug and cell phone from the counter while he was distracted. She slipped the phone into her bra and dumped the coffee into the sink. “No one else is here,” she said with her back to Janet and the stranger. Turning to face him, she pointed to the stool most distant from Janet and grabbed a clean dishcloth. “Sit there.”

Wincing in pain, he obediently climbed onto the stool.

Emily patted Janet’s arm as she passed. “Show me,” she ordered the stranger. Standing next to him, she could not only smell the blood but see where it had soaked through the side of both his shirt and jacket. She also caught the faint scent of alcohol on his breath.

He clumsily removed his jacket and lifted his shirt. Blood seeped from an angry gash along his ribs. It was short but deep, and its placement made for a painful wound.

She pressed the small towel against the gash and he hissed in response. “I’ve seen worse but you’re going to need stitches.”

“No doctors,” he growled.

“I thought you’d say that. I can do it but I’ll need to get some supplies from the bathroom.”

He leveled the revolver on the counter, aiming at Janet, and fixed his golden gaze on Emily. “If you’re not back in two minutes, I start shooting.”

She dropped the towel on the counter, and Janet whimpered as Emily stepped around the stranger, leaving the frightened girl in his direct line of fire.

“Wait,” he said, grabbing Emily’s wrist as she passed. “Empty your pockets.”

Emily slowly turned out her pockets, placing a few coins and an old crumpled shopping list on the counter. “Satisfied?”

“No. You.” He motioned for Janet to join Emily. “Pat her down.” His face contoured into a wicked grin. “I’m sure you remember how it’s done.”

Janet’s hands shook as she quickly ran them over Emily’s waist, legs, and torso. “She’s clean,” the girl muttered.

“Check her bra.”

Emily kept very still as Janet tentatively ran her hands over her chest.

Janet stepped back. “Nothing.”

The stranger smacked the back of Janet’s head, making her cry in pain. “Get your hand in there and feel between her tits, you stupid cow.”

Anger rippled through Emily but she forced herself to remain still. If she attacked him, he would undoubtedly kill them both. She could only hope Janet didn’t betray her and left behind the phone she hid in her cleavage.

“I’m sorry,” Janet whispered.

“It’s okay, dear. Just do what you need to do, and we’ll get out of this.”

Emily kept her focus on Janet as the girl reached inside her blouse. She felt Janet’s hesitation at finding the cell phone and saw the question in her eyes before extracting her empty hand.

“She’s clean,” Janet said, her voice a little more steady.

“Good.” He grabbed Janet’s arm, pulled her roughly against him, digging the revolver’s barrel into her side, and glared at Emily. “Your two minutes start now.”

Emily purposefully kept her pace to a brisk walk, determined not to let him see either her anger or her anxiety. Once in the hallway bathroom, she pulled her cell phone from her bra and grabbed bottles of rubbing alcohol and hydrogen peroxide from beneath the sink. She used a hand towel to muffle the sound of her phone’s keys as she quickly typed in a text message:

NEED HELP. GUN.

“One minute,” the stranger called from the kitchen.

Emily hit the send button, dialed a preprogrammed number, and then switched the phone to silent mode. She stuffed it back into her bra and rummaged through the medicine cabinet, grabbing dental floss, tweezers, bandages, and a roll of tape. She gathered the supplies and hurried back to the kitchen as the stranger began a countdown from twenty.

“Took you long enough,” he grumbled when she dropped the supplies on the counter. He pushed Janet onto the stool beside him. “You stay there, where I can see you. I’ll need a snack after this, anyway.”

She ignored him and focused on Janet. “I need a needle. Do you have a sewing kit?”

Janet nodded. “Top drawer beneath the microwave.”

Under the stranger’s watchful gaze, Emily opened the drawer and riffled through the various take-out menus, expired coupons for Vlad’s Tears, paper clips, used twist-ties, and spare batteries until she located the small travel-sized sewing kit. She added three bowls, a roll of paper towels, and another clean dish towel to her pile of supplies.

Silence reigned between them as she filled one bowl with water and poured equal amounts of alcohol and hydrogen peroxide into the other two. She measured out several lengths of floss and dropped them into the alcohol along with the two small needles from the sewing kit. Finally she scrubbed her hands with hot water and a liberal amount of antibacterial soap. Using the water in the bowl and the towel she’d first used on the wound, she cleaned the site until she could see the edges.

“What’s your name?” she asked the stranger while she carefully threaded one of the needles with the sterilized floss.

“Why do you want to know?”

“Because I’d like to know the name of the man whose flesh I’m about to stick a needle into.”

He studied her for a moment before answering. “Kirk.”

“Well, Kirk, I’m going to need you to hold very still and bite down on this.” She handed him the clean dish towel.

He looked at her in confusion.

“I don’t have any way of numbing this wound,” she explained. “It’s going to hurt. A lot. Unless you want the neighbors to hear you screaming and call the cops, I suggest you bite down on that towel.”

Kirk hesitated, apparently gauging her seriousness. “Just make it quick,” he said and stuffed the towel in his mouth.

“I’ll do my best,” Emily replied and drew a steadying breath.

As she guided the needle into Kirk’s side, the first of his muffled cries filled the kitchen.