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Although she didn’t hear the voice again, something tangible still called to her. A silent longing tugged at her heart as an ache settled into her bones.
Her lips throbbed, felt swollen, and she detected a slow rhythmic sensation in her head. Not painful, just strange. It didn’t seem to match that of her own heart doing cartwheels and clanging around her rib cage. The sound in her temples was steady and quietly reassuring.
Two heartbeats? Okay, think. Well, she knew she couldn’t be pregnant. It took a man as well as a body capable of carrying a child. Two things she didn’t have. No, definitely not pregnant.
What about the missing chunk of time? What if … She felt between her legs and rubbed her hands over her breasts. Nothing. She’d know if she’d had sex last night, especially since it had been ages. No, she was positive she hadn’t been with a man.
Could the migraine be coming back? What the hell was happening to her? She needed to seriously calm down and figure this out. There had to be a completely rational explanation for this … this … whatever this was.
Air. She needed fresh air. She flung open the French doors of the dining room, and a rush of coolness whispered over her damp skin and hair as she scanned the perimeter of her backyard. For what, she had no idea.
The dewy green of spring was everywhere and her cherry tree was starting to blossom. Ceramic pots on the patio waited to be filled with flowers, and a swallow swooped under the eaves, its beak filled with bits of dried grass. Everything seemed the same, normal, but she knew things weren’t.
She concentrated on the slow thumping beat in her head, rather than her racing heart and was startled to find that the more she focused on it, the more comforting it became. Gradually, the tempo of the two beats got closer together and eventually meshed into one.
One rhythm. One sound. One heartbeat.
She leaned against the doorjamb, her skin flushed hot, and for some crazy reason, she imagined the crush of a man’s muscular body against hers. She closed her eyes, wrapped her arms around her toweled body, and could almost feel the strong muscles of his shoulders moving beneath her hands. The musky fragrance of his passion in her lungs. Wetness surged between her legs as if her body were readying itself for him.
Her breath came in short bursts, and drawn to the backyard by an invisible thread, she stepped onto the patio. Like an electric charge, an unseen yet shimmering presence in the air, something called to her. She wanted to respond, to answer, but she didn’t know how.
Then, just as it had started, the second heartbeat was gone. Not a gradual fading, but a tearing away. A bandage ripped from a wound. She waited a few moments, but it was gone.
Shuffling back inside, she collapsed into a chair.
What the hell just happened?
She had to be losing it. Or going completely mental—as her mother’s British friend at the nursing home would say. Imaginary orgasmic sensations? Oh great, how would she explain that one to a doctor?
“Well, I was home alone, when I heard an imaginary guy talking to me, and then I almost had a real orgasm.”
Yeah, right. Can you say crazy? She forced herself to laugh, hoping to lighten her mood so she could think more clearly.
But there was something about the voice in her head that nagged at her. Like she should know it. Like she had heard it before. She racked her brain but came up with nothing.
And what about her missing day? What the heck was going on?
She took a deep breath, squared her shoulders and pushed away from the table. No sense wasting time worrying or pondering. She would do what she always did—she’d either find some answers or she’d quit dwelling on things she had no control over and move on. She’d had a lot of practice with that.
After mopping up all the water she’d tracked in from her shower, she finished getting ready and jumped on the Triumph. Armed with a plan, she roared out of the garage.
THIS CAN’T be happening. It’s just a Hill Country legend. An old Cantabrian myth. Not real.
Dom swung his silver Porsche away from the curb and followed the woman—Mackenzie—through her neighborhood and onto a major thoroughfare. With a bandanna on her head and two braided pigtails bouncing on her back, she handled the bike deftly. Where was her goddamn helmet?
Of course, he had heard the old stories told during the Feast of the Longest Day. But that was all they were. Stories. No one actually knew anyone who became telepathic and bonded through blood sharing. And certainly not with a human. It was just a tale about sex and love told by the elders late at night around the bonfires. A gothic romance causing girls to swoon and boys to snicker. No one thought it had any basis in reality.
But what else could it be? She clearly heard his thoughts and he had heard hers. If he hadn’t made that realization and shut his mind off to her, who knew what she would have done with that knife. There were stories of that, as well. And for God’s sake, they’d practically made love from a distance. His balls still ached.
After he had nursed her through the night and most of the day, when he was confident her condition had improved enough, he planned to drive out of her life. He didn’t have time for this. So why was he following her?
He really should turn around, head home. She looked fine now. But when he lifted his foot off the accelerator, a pain cut into his gut like a blunt knife. He needed to flick the turn signal, crank the steering wheel, but he couldn’t make himself do it. He rubbed a hand over his chest, which actually ached. When he pressed down on the pedal again and the vehicle moved a little closer, the pain faded away.
What the hell was going on? This seemed much more than just a sweetblood attraction. Alfonso had never mentioned any of this shit happening to him.
And where was she going? He didn’t dare probe her mind to find out. If things felt to her as they did to him, the sounds in her head might cause her to run off the road. Could she feel him, too, and just not understand the sensation? Unlike his thoughts, his presence was something he couldn’t block from her.
She turned the bike onto the freeway on-ramp and headed north. The aching pit in his gut expanded and he knew it was worry.
Then his phone rang. Santiago. The Region Commander.
And the pit stretched wider.
“Dom, how’d it go? Get it locked up with that woman?”
“A little too locked up, I’d say.”
She wove in and out of cars like a lunatic on that bike. It was the tail-end of rush hour and traffic was still heavy on the wet roadways.
“How so?” Santiago sounded apprehensive, like he was ready to get pissed off. “Wait. Are you in the car? At this hour?”
“Uh, yes.” Dom gritted his teeth, preparing himself for the inevitable verbal onslaught. “Remember when we talked last night and I told you the woman was dying? Lips turning blue? Vital signs weakening?”
“Don’t fuckin’ tell me. Don’t you say it. I told you to just walk away.”
“Well, I didn’t.”
“And you—” Dom turned down the volume as his boss yelled.
He knew Santiago would freak out. What did he expect? Dom would be lucky not to be hauled in front of the Council. What he’d done this time was more than just a simple infraction.
Although she was five or six cars ahead of him, he could see the exposed skin on her back between her jacket and the low waistband of her jeans. Was everyone else on the road staring at the same tantalizing inch he was? White-knuckling it, he accelerated and the Porsche surged forward.
“Listen. She was going downhill fast and I thought she wouldn’t make it. It was a small amount. Just a couple drops of my blood. She appears to be doing fine now, so it worked. But there’s a little problem.”
“More than an illegal blood transfer? What could be worse than that, Dom? What in God’s name could possibly be worse?”
Mackenzie changed lanes, spraying an arc of standing water and causing the car behind her to slam on its brakes. What the hell was she doing riding a motorcycle with these road conditions anyway? He eased up on the gas and the Porsche downshifted automatically. Seeing an opening ahead, he cranked the wheel and accelerated into the next lane.
“In addition to a sudden lack of UV sensitivity, I am—She is—We’re telepathic.” There, he said it.
“You’re what?”
“I can hear her and she can hear me. Thank God I was able to set up a mental barrier when I realized she could hear my thoughts, but there was nothing I could do about her feeling my presence until I left.”
Santiago was uncharacteristically quiet.
“You still there?”
“You’re not shitting me, are you?”
“This isn’t a damn joke. I’d walk away right now and forget all about this mind-reading bullshit, but she’s still in danger.” That wasn’t the only reason he didn’t want to walk away, but he wasn’t about to tell Santiago about the stabbing feeling inside when he thought about leaving her. Hell, he didn’t understand it himself.
“Goddamn it. You never should’ve done it in the first place. You know better than to blood-share with a human. And now you put me in a position where I should report your actions to the Council. Then you’ll really be screwed. What the hell is wrong with you?”
“Whatever. Do what you need to do. Screw them.”
“At this rate, you’re going to be stuck up here forever. I thought you wanted to get back to one of the southern field offices. Where all the Darkblood action is.”
“She would’ve died without it.”
“Humans die every day. We can’t get involved in their affairs beyond just covert protection from Darkbloods.”
“Yes, well, they don’t die because of me.” Dom jabbed the climate control button and cranked the A/C, but the cold air did little to cool him off.
If Santiago launched into his standard lecture about there being billions of humans on this earth, but very few vampires, or that humans represent the grains of sand on a beach whereas the number of vampires could be sifted through your fingers, Dom was going to need another new phone. He’d been a Guardian almost as long as Santiago and he sure as hell didn’t need to hear another patronizing sermon outlining the concerns of the Council and reminding him what he should and shouldn’t do.
Santiago was silent for a few moments. “Where are you headed now?”
“She’s going back to the cemetery where she found me, if she gets there alive. She drives like a goddamn maniac.” His jaw ached from clenching it so tightly. “I think she’s trying to piece together why she blacked out. Her last memory is from there.”
“Did you sweep it yet?”
“No, and her scent is all over that place. When I brought her home, I took evasive measures and hid our trail. If the Darkbloods showed up at the cemetery last night, they wouldn’t have been able to follow us. But, if they’re slow and track me there tonight, her new scent will lead straight back to her house. I’ve got to do something to cover it up again.”
He eased up on the accelerator and concentrated on hanging back a little farther. It made him inexplicably nervous having her too far away.
“Seems a little excessive. Didn’t you use any scent neutralizing granules? They do an adequate job of absorbing the trace of a sweetblood.”
Dom choked back a few swearwords. Was he serious? “That carbon crap works only temporarily and only if the Darkblood forgets to breathe or has a sudden allergy attack.”
“Oh for chrissake, they’re effective enough. Why don’t you call someone for backup then, if you’re so worried about them tracking her? Who do you have on duty tonight?”
There weren’t many choices. They ran a lean operation.
“Foss.” But the thought of having the biggest man-whore in the Guardian ranks anywhere near the woman made him nauseous as hell.
“Hey, where the hell is that data? I’ve been waiting for you to upload it.”
Dom steeled his shoulders to prepare himself for Santiago’s inevitable reaction. “As soon as I can locate the phone I downloaded it to. I dropped it sometime after I was shot and because I floated so far downstream, the phone could be anywhere. And, most likely, it’s no longer functioning.” He should have searched for it immediately, but strangely enough, it hadn’t crossed his mind until now. “I’ll find it.”
Santiago let loose with a volley of foreign profanity Dom had never heard before. Yes, his boss definitely had a way with words.
“I’ll see if we can pick up its GPS signal. You’d better pray you find it. That mission cost us a lot. Stryker was hit after the two of you split up.”
Oh, shit. His new guy. “Is he okay? What happened?” He shouldn’t have allowed someone as inexperienced as Mitchell Stryker in the kill zone, but when they hacked into the Darkblood system, they’d been so focused on copying everything, he’d forgotten all about protocol.
“Yeah, you cut out on our conversation last night before I could tell you. He’s still in the clinic. Shot by a silvie, just like you were. But he didn’t hit pay dirt and run into a sweetblood.”
Clamping his teeth together, Dom’s pulse jackham-mered behind his eyeballs. He took a couple of deep breaths and willed himself to calm down. He wanted to acquaint his boss with some of his own favorite swearwords, foreign and domestic, but biting Santiago’s head off would only anger him more and Dom needed him on his side. The Council could kick his ass to a really remote location if he wasn’t careful.
Then he’d be even farther from him. From the whole reason he joined the Agency.
In a scene he’d pictured in his mind every night for the past century, Dom visualized his hands around his neck, choking the air from stale lungs, before he crammed a stake into his black heart and spit on the ashes. Being a field team leader all the way up here was bad enough. Where else could they send him? Anchorage?
He mentally shook off those images and forced himself to think about Stryker. “What’s his prognosis? Will he be all right?” Mitchell was a good guy. A little over-eager, but he reminded Dom of himself when he first started with the Agency. He’d visit him when he finished tonight.
“He’ll be fine in a week or two. Bullet got him in the thigh. Staff tells me he’s been asking about you. So how’s the shoulder doing?”
Dom had actually forgotten all about it. Reaching a hand into the open collar of his shirt, he shrugged, half-expecting to feel a twinge, a pull, something. But he felt nothing. Even the skin of his shoulder was smooth, as if he’d never been shot. He kneaded the muscle a few times just to make sure. “Fine, I guess.”
“Sangre Dulce blood is very healing in addition to the incredible rush, right?” Santiago dropped his voice. “So how was it? I’ve only heard the stories. I still can’t believe you did a Stop and Release on a sweetblood in your condition. A goddamn S and R.” He whistled into the phone.
“You can’t imagine. Drinking from her was so …” He searched for the right word. Utterly exquisite and complete perfection came to mind. But these were private recollections and he didn’t want to share them. “Amazing.” Generic enough, he supposed.
“What’s up with you? I can’t remember when I’ve ever heard you so affected by a woman. Sure you didn’t prong her with the sharps and the blunt?”
“Fuck no. That’s the last thing on my mind.” Did he sound convincing?
Santiago’s laugh reflected his apparent disbelief. Guess not. Oh well, his boss could think what he wanted.
“Given just its taste, can you understand why there’s such a huge black market for the shit?”
“Unfortunately, yes, I can.” And that’s what worried him. Now that he knew what it was like, he didn’t want to be tempted again. It was one thing to wonder, but it was completely different to know for sure.
CHAPTER THREE
AT THE CEMETERY, Mackenzie retied the red bandanna, flung her thick braids in front of her shoulders and grabbed her notepad. With the sun already dipping below the tops of the trees, she had only an hour or so to wrap things up.
Squinting in the direction she came, she estimated the distance from the paved road to the cemetery entrance. It was too far to pace off. A mile? Two miles? She’d clock it on the odometer when she left. After measuring the width of the gravel road, she scribbled the figures in her notebook. The camera and equipment trucks took up a lot of space, as did the large special effects trailer, but this road had no shoulder. Where would they all park? They’d have to drive the rigs in single-file. Would there even be enough room to pass another vehicle if they needed to move one closer? Access might be the real problem here.
Her research seemed correct that this was an old logging road, but she jumped back on her bike to explore a little farther.
Just around the corner, a rickety bridge spanned what was probably Bear Creek and her stomach sank. With a missing railing and cracked wooden slats, it couldn’t accommodate a heavy vehicle. The crew wouldn’t be able to park beyond the bridge, which didn’t give them a lot of room. After snapping a couple of pictures anyway, she climbed on the bike and headed back to the cemetery entrance.
At least it was only a one- or two-day shoot with none of the main actors and only a handful of extras. They didn’t need to accommodate a huge catering facility and provide private dressing rooms. Most of it was just special effects stuff. Yeah, maybe it could still work.
She licked a fingertip and flipped through the pages of her notebook. It looked like she’d gotten everything. After she tucked the pad and camera into the saddlebag, she grabbed her gun and stuffed it into her pocket. Now it was time for a different set of answers. Maybe something in the cemetery would jump-start her memory.
The clearing was cool and damp and the wind whispered through the branches of the trees, lifting them in an orchestrated wave as if welcoming her back. She took a deep breath and shivered, nervous about what she may find.
Stepping over the headstones, she swept her gaze over the pale green mounds of tufted grass and weeds that seemed to cover everything. She spied a familiar marker but wasn’t sure if she recognized it from being here yesterday or from the photos she’d reviewed back home today.
Then she spotted it. Her portable tripod. It lay on its side, still fully extended, as if she had removed the camera and left it there. How could that have happened? It was almost second nature to grab it when she did a shoot. Camera strap around the neck, unhook the camera, grab the tripod, fold up the legs. She’d done it so many times and she’d never left it behind before. Had she been distracted or startled yesterday? A chill snaked up her spine.
Distracted or startled by what?
She turned slowly, making a complete circle as her eyes combed the forest perimeter. Did this look familiar? Yes, maybe.
