Bond of Blood Read online

  "Don Rafael?" Lucien bowed as formally as at Versailles—one leg forward and flourishing his arm. Rafael gave the appropriate response of a head of state greeting a traveling diplomat—a perfunctory nod.

  Lucien glanced suggestively at the stairs into the house. Rafael made no response but Luis took a single step sideways, completely blocking the steps from Lucien. The visiting vampiro was now trapped in the open, watched by Rafael and his men.

  He cast his eyes down, more like a snake than a courtier studying how to mend fences. They flickered sideways, measuring escape routes from the rising sun. "Forgive me for being late but I was overwhelmed by the magnificence of your mountain scenery."

  Rafael waved his fingers for the newcomer to continue. The longtime city dweller had probably been thoroughly lost.

  "I have brought your gift as Madame Celeste ordered." Lucien turned and pulled the limo's door open with a flourish. A stench rolled out, worse than the foulest of sewers. Then he yanked Shelby Durant, the most promising actress of her generation, out of the black conveyance.

  The previous Christmas, the world had celebrated her as Joan of Arc, the warrior maiden who'd freed a nation. She'd been feted and showered with awards, including an Oscar. But today, a sewer rat would have been more attractive.

  She was covered in blood, vomit, and excrement. Her dress had been clawed to shreds, as had her underthings. A few drops of blood welled sullenly, slowly, from long scratch marks on her breasts and belly. Two great, purple bite marks gleamed at the base of her neck. Other than those, she was ashen white, as if she could fade into a mist. Her eyes were squeezed shut and her face was contorted into a grimace, while her tongue darted out over her lips. One hand plucked at her nipple, while the other rubbed continuously at her mound.

  "What the fuck—" Caleb muttered.

  Her once-golden head of hair came up in a heartrending parody of its former alertness. "Fuck? Yes. Now. All of you. We fuck." She stumbled across the grass toward the men, fumbling at the remains of her clothing.

  Rafael clenched his fists. Lucien had forced Shelby, famous for her strong views on premarital chastity, into El Abrazo, To see her deep in La Lujuria, an infant cachorra's mindless demand for sexual congress, was an abomination to both God and man.

  Could any of her sanity remain? El Abrazo was notorious for scouring a woman's wits to dust, more so than a man's. Dios alone knew how Madame Celeste had survived her passage. He'd always wondered how much of her sanity had been permanently scoured away.

  Lucien sauntered after Shelby, beaming like a proud father as she staggered forward. "You see, Don Rafael, the perfect fuck and the perfect meal, to seal the bargain with Madame Celeste. Durant will do anything and everything, just to get a little blood and sex from you, even when you kill her. Nothing like feeding on a dying vampira, while you're fucking her. We'll finish her off in the main house, then share a bottle of champagne."

  Rafael's fangs stabbed against his jaw as a stream of curses spun through his brain. But he had to rescue the young lady before he could kill Lucien, that spawn of Satan.

  He started toward her, speaking soothingly as one would to a very small child. "Dulce Shelby—"

  Suddenly the first bright shaft of daylight lanced across the hilltop. It caught Shelby in the back, the shock arching her slender body like a medieval saint in the grips of the final passion. For a moment, sanity—or something close to it—glinted in her blue eyes.

  Santísima Virgen… Rafael blurred into motion, hoping to pull her into the shade. But he knew, even as he leapt, that all his speed couldn't save her now.

  Shelby blazed—incandescent as a magnesium flare, brighter than the sun itself, brilliant as the love so many people held for her. Within two seconds, her flame consumed her and became a pillar of ash that quickly crumpled upon itself. A little breeze ruffled the grass but all signs of her were gone.

  "Merde," the murderer muttered.

  Rafael crossed himself.

  "Don Rafael, she was only a female, nobody to fuss over," cooed Lucien, fingers twitching nervously below his bloodstained cuffs.

  Ethan growled an order. Behind Rafael, soft clicks told of safeties being set on sniper rifles, soft thuds as boot heels snapped into place. Another order and the compañeros began to march.

  Lucien's eyes darted from side to side, his head swiveling, his tongue darting over his lips like a nervous cobra.

  Rafael's lip curled. He didn't need to look to know that his men had now taken their place as an honor guard, their weapons at rest before them. His compañeros lined up around the drive, circling him and Lucien, while his vampiros stood deep within the house's shadows. And compañero snipers stood erect on the roofline like gargoyles ready to hurl evil away.

  "What is the first law of La Esfera de Texas?" Rafael asked, his deep voice carrying effortlessly across the hushed space.

  "Only El Patrón de Texas may create a vampiro in Texas," the assembly growled behind him.

  Lucien muttered something profane under his breath.

  "What is the penalty for breaking this law?" Rafael continued.

  "Death."

  "Give me an hour and I could get you another girl. Eighteen—no, call it twelve—hours after that, she'd rise and be desperate to be fucked. You could fuck and feed on her easily," Lucien suggested desperately. "Or maybe you'd prefer a boy?"

  Rafael looked Lucien straight in the eye. "Last night, I refused Madame Celeste's offer. She left an hour later with the rest of her entourage."

  The slime turned pale and shot a glance at the limo, checking the distance. Too far, compared to the speed advantage Rafael's greater age gave him, even if he managed to get past the compañeros.

  "You broke Texas's first law when you gave El Abrazo to Señorita Durant," Rafael continued implacably, "and are hereby sentenced to death. However, because you have been a diplomat for Madame Celeste, I will offer you a choice. You can fight a judicial duel against me, to earn the right to return to New Orleans. Or you can be executed here and now, under Texas's law."

  Lucien's jaw dropped. "Duel against you?" He shook his head. "I won't give you the opportunity to drink my blood. I'll die when and how I want."

  He snarled at Rafael like a cornered rat. "But I've seen someone who's faster than you are and will drink your blood on the dueling field one day: Beau, Madame Celeste's little toy. When she tells him to kill you, she'll grind Texas into dust."

  He bowed mockingly to Rafael, sweeping his hand high over his head as if he doffed a plumed hat. Sunlight caught his fingers. His fist became a torch, then his arm and head…

  Rafael crossed himself. El hombre propone y Dios dispone. Man proposes and God disposes.

  Even so, I will never create a vampira. It is the only way to guarantee protection of the innocents, the women who cannot survive El Abrazo and stay sane.

  The sun rose up over the horizon, all golden magnificence—as if it was laughing at his determination.

  Someone waved a cup of coffee under Grania's nose. She was in the vets' lounge at the clinic, sleeping on the sofa as usual. "What time is it?" she answered, without opening her eyes.

  "Dawn in Texas where you're going," Beth answered quietly. "Your owl's doing great, my coyote's vitals are stable, and the techs will be here soon to start feeding the rest of the animals. Time for you to wake up so we can spend the day at the spa."

  Grania opened one eye and reached for the coffee. "If I can pay you for it."

  "You can repay me by getting your nails done the first time you go out with a guy in Austin."

  Grania snickered and sat up. "Pink or blood-red?" She sipped the perfectly made brew.

  Beth sat down facing her and took a sip of her own coffee, her exquisite manicure very much in evidence. "Hmmm, not blood-red. Maybe lipstick red?"

  "Or blue?"

  "We're talking both fingers and toes," Beth pointed out. "How about pink—and I won't demand you get a bikini wax."

  Grania laughed. "Deal."
>
  Beth nodded, satisfied. "Have the dating services found you any interesting guys yet?"

  Grania shrugged.

  "Were they that bad or didn't you look?"

  "Truly dreadful," Grania admitted. "But I just want to try my hand at dating. Not jump right away into love and marriage and the baby carriage."

  "Try your hand?"

  "I've only had sex with three guys in my life. Seems to me I should practice, so I know what I'm doing, before I start seriously hunting for Mr. Right. Otherwise, things could go seriously wrong."

  Like they did for my mother when she met my father. If she'd known more about men, she might not have fallen for such a slimeball.

  Beth shot her an incredulous look and started to laugh. Grania's color mounted but she kept her chin up. Dating services seemed so trivial anyway, after those dreams of the love Blanche and her knight had shared.

  "Only you—" Beth gulped. "Only you, dear friend, would think of dating that way." She fumbled for a paper towel and wiped away the tears of laughter. "Have you ever been on a date?"

  "Not really."

  "Not really?" Beth's voice rose a little. She cast a quick glance around but there were no sounds of anyone else around. "How can you never have been on a date and not be a virgin?"

  "There's lots of guys around while you're out in the field, surveying owls. But there's not many places to go on a date out there."

  "True. Plus, who the hell has the time when you're working sixty to ninety hours a week just to get your degree and keep a roof over your head?"

  "Amen. Back at school, dating was impossible. Sleep becomes a luxury, let alone hunting a man."

  "If Steve hadn't been a cop who understood long hours, I don't think we would have made it." Beth's voice became gentler, as her face softened with memories. "So you're thinking of taking a lover for some advanced education, before you start husband hunting?"

  Grania met her friend's eyes steadily. "Why not? Good study habits worked in school. They should do just as well in preparing for a stable family."

  Beth giggled suddenly. "Wonder if you'll meet a real cowboy, if you're not looking for someone who wants marriage right away. Hope you'll find somebody really sexy anyway."

  She raised her coffee cup in a toast, which Grania matched. "To cowboys!"

  "To cowboys!" Grania echoed.

  * * *

  Chapter Three

  Rodrigo took the cold compress off his forehead and forced his eyes open. "When you searched the battlefield, then prevented us from being beheaded…"

  "Bah! We are cousins, Hamza, born of the same grandfather. Of course I would help you in every way I could." A warrior's strong hands gently replaced the compress.

  Rodrigo briefly gripped his cousin's hand. "I am grateful, Achmed. Every day, I give thanks to God and pray He will bless you and your children for generations to come."

  "We are united in blood, as we could be united in the same faith. Do you remember how we learned the Quran together as children?"

  Rodrigo smiled reminiscently at lost pleasures from a simpler time. "When we recited its beautiful Surahs for my mother, reminding her that in the eyes of Allah, as the Prophet said—peace be upon him—Muslims, Christians, and Jews are all children of the Book."

  " 'We make no distinction between any of them and unto Him we have surrendered.' "

  "Surah Al-Baqara, ayah 36," Rodrigo agreed.

  "Have you thought of taking the next step and embracing Islam fully?" Achmed asked quietly.

  Rodrigo stiffened, unready to disappoint his cousin, no matter how long he'd expected this question.

  A low growl echoed through the room. Rodrigo knew, without opening his eyes, that Fearghus's fine Scots temper had been roused. He lightly touched Fearghus's hand and his friend relaxed somewhat.

  "I have the greatest respect and admiration for Islam, as you know, my beloved cousin. The Five Pillars on which it is constructed are foundations every man of faith can admire. Shahadāk, the open testimony; Salāt, ritual daily prayer; Zakat, poor-tax; Sawm, the fast, and Haj, the pilgrimage to Mecca."

  "Then you are agreed! You will be known as Hamza all the time, not only when you visit us. It is a most praiseworthy name, since it belonged to the Prophet's uncle."

  "No, Achmed. We can argue the merits of the two faiths for hours, as we have done so many times before. My heart belongs to Jesucristo and always will, no matter what comes. And I venerate the Santísima Virgen, without whose feminine purity, wisdom, and grace none of us would obtain the reward of Heaven."

  Achmed stormed to his feet, knocking over a stool. "Conversation will save your life, especially when that eastern fanatic preaches of killing all infidels. Be reasonable for once."

  "I am being reasonable," Rodrigo answered calmly. "I am deeply honored that you consider me worthy of celebrating Islam. But I will walk in the footsteps of my fathers."

  "Our grandfather was born a child of Islam," his cousin retorted.

  Rodrigo opened his aching eyes and speared Achmed with a steady look. "True, but that was before he was shown the light, like St. Paul on the road to Damascus, and converted to the Christian faith. I am a child of that path and am sworn to follow it, no matter what comes after."

  "Are you certain? You would find safety as a Muslim. These new men, who come out of Morocco or further east, think only of killing infidels. They do not even try to take captives and ransom them later. If we had not found and claimed you, you too would have been executed at Ecija."

  "I am as certain of this decision as I am of my mother's name." Rodrigo shifted against the pillows, catching and almost tearing one of his half-healed wounds. He choked on the pain but forced his voice to remain calm. "I will follow the way of the True Cross as long as there is breath in my body to worship Jesucristo and the Santísima Virgen."

  Achmed sighed. "Very well, you stubborn fool. I will keep your sword in a safe place until you can return to your wife. It's too fine to leave where idle eyes might see it and catch the wrong idea."

  "True," Fearghus rumbled. "The Castilian king might be better at poetry than politics but he gave Rodrigo one of the best swords in Toledo."

  "I'll also send another message to your wife, Rodrigo, since there was no answer to the last. Allah forbid another missive goes astray."

  June first and the start of her first full month in Texas. No more classes, no more exams, no more papers to grade. She was finally free to live her own life.

  Grania grinned at herself in the small bedroom mirror, as she finished braiding her hair and pinning it up. Her movements were totally automatic, learned before she could write her name. She'd practiced them on other girls at the orphanage under the watchful eyes of nuns who'd never wasted anything, especially a girl disciplined enough to help with the younger children. Now the easy fluidity of long experience allowed Grania to pay more attention to her adorable small cottage than her hair.

  It was a tiny bungalow in the Mexican style, all plaster walls, soft curves, brilliant color, and quixotic works of art. Its warmth was nothing like the orphanages and group homes she'd grown up in, with bunk beds stuffed into every available bedroom. This wasn't even similar to where she'd lived while in college. Not a dormitory, an apartment, nor a cabin miles from the nearest road and shared with a group of noisy fellow students.

  No, this home was a cottage and an acre of land only ten minutes from work, all for her. A small workroom just off the laundry room even provided private storage for her guns.

  The little house was completely furnished, thankfully, since she owned no furniture of her own. And if she ever brought a man home for the night, they'd have to make love on the living room floor: It was the only space big enough for two people to come together. Unless, of course, they lay on top of each other in the single bed.

  Grania snorted at the thought as she pushed the last pin into place. Her five-feet-ten length was barely comfortable on that narrow bed. Any man taller than she was—such as her knight
from the dreams she'd had all her life—would have a hard time lying down on it, let alone making love.

  She touched the cross at her throat, remembering how he'd looked in his sick bed—all pale and wan, with a great, white cloth bandage wound around his head and almost covering his eyes. Holy shit, that wound could have killed him. She shook off her automatic medical speculation about coma, concussion, blood clots on the brain… After all, he was only a dream.

  Soon she was standing in her usual uniform of polo shirt—emblazoned with the raptor center's logo—and neatly pressed khaki pants. Her cowboy boots were impeccably clean, although not polished. Her watch did an excellent job of telling the time or acting as a stopwatch, no matter how often Beth urged her to replace it with something more feminine. She was neat, clean, and a wildlife veterinarian tonight. After all, the raptor center's open house was hardly the place to go man hunting.

  Grania tossed a smiling apology to Beth's picture. So far, the dating services' offerings had been uninspiring, to say the least. But she'd keep trying. She was now putting down roots in one place for the first time in her life. She could afford to take time to learn how to date, before getting serious about any particular fellow.

  In the meantime, she had a lot of unpacking to do. All her books, of course, and at least some of her posters, like the one showing a sabre-toothed tiger's muscles and skeleton.

  Her late godfather Tom McLean's official portrait hung in pride of place on the mantel, in the full glory of his deputy sheriff's uniform. She had other pictures of Tom too, but her favorite was the one she'd taken herself, from when he was totally focused on finding a lost child in the Arizona desert. He'd learned tracking from his father, who'd been taught by his uncle, one of Geronimo's last surviving braves.

  Folks said Tom McLean could follow a pocket mouse across solid rock. She was just glad he'd found her in the abandoned commune, then become her godfather. No closer kinship was possible between them since Arizona state law didn't permit an abandoned baby, like her, to be adopted. Tom had done as much for her as he could, especially teaching her everything he knew about wildlife and how to watch them. Someday she'd pass the same skills on to her children. She'd clean his guns on his birthday next week the way other women lit candles in remembrance.