Bonded by Blood

chapter TWENTY-TWO

A THICK, OPPRESSIVE blanket of clouds covered the sun, reducing the UV output dramatically. With a skull cap, long sleeves and his collar pulled up, Dom hoped he’d be able to withstand the daylight for a short while before noticing an energy drain.

He arrived at the art school just as his buddy on the Seattle Police Department, Johnny Sinclair, pulled up in an unmarked vehicle. They’d first met when Johnny was in Special Forces and Dom was an expert they’d brought in to teach knife-fighting skills. The two men had stayed in touch over the years. When Johnny joined the SPD and Dom was transferred here by the Agency, they occasionally helped each other out. Johnny was one of a few select humans who knew about his world.

“Anything?”

“A man named Paul Cook called in a missing person’s report this morning on a Martin Johanovich. They were supposed to meet last night for dinner but the guy never showed. He was also a no-show at work. He own this art school, too?”

“Yes. He was teaching a class that my…that someone very special to me was supposed to teach. He left a message on her voice mail at 9:43 p.m. saying two men were after her. He sounded scared and out of breath, like he had been running. We believe this is connected to something that happened to her two nights ago. She was chased by a couple of Darkbloods but she got away.”

“Think it could be the same guys?”

“Uh, no. We took care of the first two a*sholes. These two must be their replacements.”

“Wow, someone wants her in a bad way. Any idea why?”

“Because she’s Sangre Dulce.”

“Shit, man. And she’s your woman?” Johnny let out a low whistle when Dom nodded. “Let’s go in and see if we can find out what happened to Mr. Johanovich.”

Johnny barely had the door open when an undeniable stench filled Dom’s nostrils.

“F*ck. Darkbloods.”

“Look at the blood over there. We got us a crime scene. Gotta step outside and call this one in.”

On the sidewalk, Johnny pulled a cigarette from behind his ear, closed his eyes and sniffed it.

“I thought you quit that,” Dom said as he stepped under an awning, attempting to shield himself further from the light.

“I did. I just like the smell of ’em from time to time. Makes me feel more in control that way. Like I could light it but choose not to. Stupid, I know.” He rubbed a hand over his short-cropped dark hair. “So, tell me about your woman. Must be serious if you’re going out during the daytime for her. Can’t remember if I’ve ever even seen you before sundown. Thought you didn’t have time for anyone if it lasted past breakfast.”

Dom shrugged. “I’m going to check around back in the alley.”

Johnny chuckled at the brush-off. “Well then, let me know if you find anything.”

Dom rounded the corner to the alley and there it was again. Although the smell had faded, he was positive the Darkbloods had come out this way. He detected the same blood scent from inside, but it was much more potent out here. With every step, it got stronger until he followed it to a nearby rusted-out green Dumpster.

“Ah, hell.”

A SHORT TIME later, Dom entered the loft and burst through the doors of the bedroom. Mackenzie looked up from her laptop, eyes wide. She’d pulled his overstuffed chair to the window where she sat with her feet tucked beneath her.

He barely paused to hit the controls closing the automatic blinds and with three giant strides he was at her side, pulling her into his arms. With his nose buried in her hair, he held her tight, almost too tight, but he couldn’t help himself. He had to feel her close, to reassure himself she was all right. She was their intended target. It could’ve been her that he found, not Martin.

“Dom, what is it? Where’s Martin? I’ve been trying to call him but—”

He struggled to speak, his throat tight with the magnitude of what he had to tell her.

“What happened? Where is he?”

“He’s dead, Kenz. Attacked by Darkbloods at the art school.”

She staggered and he held her close. “How do you know? Are you sure?”

“Kenz, I was the one who found him.”

Her legs went limp and he sank to the floor with her, wishing he could wash away her pain.

“So what are you going to do? Meet Corey at the restaurant and say, ‘oh, by the way, your sister couldn’t come but it’s real nice to meet you?’” With her hands on her hips, Mackenzie stood in the foyer of the loft. Despite the fact that her whole body ached from all the crying, she was pissed at the stupid idea.

“Things are way too dangerous for you to be out,” Dom said as he snapped the strap of his knife holster, securing a big-ass weapon to his torso, and shrugged into his wool peacoat. With two handguns strapped to his back that she did see—one of them she was pretty sure wasn’t even legal—how many other weapons did he have on him that she didn’t see? The man was a walking arsenal. “I’ll go to his house and check him out. I should be able to detect from outside if he’s got the sweetblood or not.”

“Well, that’s just crazy.” She wiped the heel of her hand across her swollen eyes. “What if he is Sangre Dulce? What then? Are you going to knock on the door and make him come with you when you’ve never even met? That’s so not going to fly.”

And like hell was she going to sit back in the loft and wait again. She was tired of all the waiting, of letting things happen around her—she’d been doing it all her life, waiting for the inevitable. Waiting for a hammer to fall.

“I don’t care if you can massage his memory. I don’t want that done to my brother. I need to be there, whether you like it or not.”

Dom pulled his pant leg down over his boot holster, which held another knife, and when he straightened, he leveled her with a hard stare.

There was no way she was letting him leave without her. She grabbed his arms and wrapped them around her, pinning his wrists against the small of her back.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he asked.

“It’s not as if I’m going out alone. You’ll be there. I’m safe with you.”

His nostrils flared slightly, that tiny muscle in his jaw flexing. “Get your things,” he said finally. “We’re late.”

The restaurant parking lot was half full when Mackenzie and Dom arrived an hour later. Through the large picture windows, the sun was still setting over Vashon Island, but she felt so numb she hardly noticed.

“How are you holding up?” Dom asked, his arm cast protectively around her shoulders as they made their way to an empty table in the bar.

“Barely.” Martin’s terrified voice kept replaying over and over in her mind. “But I can’t possibly wait to find out about Corey.”

“You look as though you’ve been crying. What will you say to him?”

She rolled her eyes. “Trust me. He won’t notice. Besides, it’s dark enough in here that even if he wasn’t perpetually stoned, he still wouldn’t notice.”

“He’s that much of a pothead?”

“Family curses aside, you’d be a stoner, too, if you lived with someone like Vanessa. There he is now.” She waved him over. Please don’t let him be like me, she prayed silently. Perched on the edge of her chair, hardly daring to breathe, she chewed on the inside of her lip as her brother zigzagged through the tables.

In true skater-boy fashion, his longish sandy-blond hair curled into his eyes and resembled a wild mop on the top of his head. He wore a gray T-shirt that was actually vintage—Mackenzie recognized it from his high school years and knew it probably still had that small hole under one of the arms—emo-tight jeans that hung from his lanky hips, and turquoise skater shoes that were unlaced. She managed to smile. He’d been dressed exactly the same the last time she’d seen him, down to the black shark’s tooth and small macramй cross worn on leather cords around his neck.

She stood to hug him and noticed a raspberry scrape alongside his face, as well as an acrid smell like burning leaves on his clothes. He’d probably smoked out in the parking lot. Either that or he hadn’t washed this shirt since the last time he’d gotten high.

“Kenzie!” Corey gave her a brotherly hug, almost yanking her off her feet, and when he clapped her on the back, her molars rattled. He held a hand out to Dom across the table. “Hey, I’m Corey.”

Mackenzie kept her eyes on Dom as she introduced them. When Dom gave her an almost imperceptible shake of his head, a huge weight lifted from her shoulders. He’s safe, thank God. “I’m sorry Vanessa couldn’t come. I hope that didn’t cause any trouble between you guys.”

“Nah, I love last-minute stuff. Vanessa—not so much.”

They ordered a round of drinks and appetizers, and as they waited for their food, Corey talked about school, Dom told him the abbreviated version of what he did for a living, and Mackenzie filled him in on her website, trying to act excited. She decided not to tell Corey about Martin—at least not right now, not while the pain of losing him was so fresh. The server returned a few minutes later with a pitcher of Hefeweizen, teriyaki beef skewers and a huge plate of nachos for Corey, along with his always necessary side of Thousand Island dressing.

“So how did you get that nasty-looking raspberry? Looks like it hurt.”

“Skateboarding. Don’t worry.” He held up his hands, a chip clutched between his finger and thumb as he made a goofy okay sign. “Had a helmet on, so chill. A buddy opened up a new indoor skate facility in South Tacoma. One of the rails was slicker than I expected, and bam.”

Dom gave her a dry look and she lifted one eyebrow in a silent question. With the hint of a smile, he shook his head and grabbed another skewer.

“What else have you been up to?” Mackenzie asked as she ran a finger around the thick rim of her beer glass. Dom put a beef skewer on her plate, but she knew it’d sit there untouched. She wasn’t hungry. “Did you get that money I deposited in your account for books?”

“Yeah, thanks.” Corey dipped a cheese- and jalapeсo-laden chip into the Thousand, crammed the whole thing into his mouth and started talking. “Visited Mom the other day and she looked pretty good. Said you and your—” Corey swallowed and laughed, took a swig of his beer. “Sorry, Mom thinks you guys are married.”

Mackenzie glanced at Dom and saw the corner of his mouth twitch.

“What’s Vanessa been up to?” Mackenzie asked, changing the subject. “I’m sorry she couldn’t make it tonight.” Not really, but she felt it was her duty to at least ask about his live-in girlfriend of the past year.

“Same old. Her Seasonal Affective Disorder is giving her a lot of trouble ’cuz of the dark winter and dreary spring. Even with one of those light boxes, she says she’s not getting enough UVA or UVB. All she wants to do is lie around and watch TV.”

Somehow, Mackenzie doubted Vanessa’s bad attitude could be blamed entirely on SAD. She was bitchy in the summer months, too.