Blood Ties Read online

  She nodded, facing the archway as it began glowing blue, the tension in the room soaring as the magic bit at her skin. Robin felt the fear, deep inside of her, and clenched her fists tight at her sides. After everything Lucidia had done for her, after the years spent trying to protect her and after she’d thrown her life away to keep her out of Magnus’s clutches, Robin would either save her or die trying. Forcing her feet forward, she let the magic envelop her. Searing pain plunged through every cell in her body, ripping her apart from the inside out and then slamming her back together as she crashed onto the ground. Robin gasped, heaving in a breath. The air here was sweet, like ripe berries and sage, not salty with the ocean. When she looked up, she saw Darian’s fierce gaze glaring at her, immediately on guard. “No,” he growled. “Not now.”

  “I’m not here for you,” she said frantically. “We can help her. I can try to save her, like Harley.”

  His anger faltered, and he looked at Lucidia’s face for a brief moment, indecision wrestling inside of him.

  “We have to go, now, Darian!” Robin cried, looking back at the portal. “There’s no time.”

  In an instant, Darian had closed the distance between them, Lucidia’s weak body frail and limp in his arms, and Robin pushed them through the portal, the searing pain overtaking her once more.

  Reykon

  The rogue den was like nothing he’d pictured. First, it wasn’t a warehouse, or some shack that had been magically concealed. It was a bar. A popular, modern bar, with live music and three tiers of gyrating crowds. The five strongbloods he’d encountered in the alley led him further and further into the establishment, towards the back, where a red velvet curtain showed a private lounge. That was where it got strange. Because the door opened up to a small room, with a large round table and cushion seating, with two vampires sitting at the head, a man and a woman. Their gazes immediately focused on Reykon, and Reykon immediately stiffened, preparing for an attack. “Welcome,” the man said, extending his arms with a big smile.

  Needless to say, he was a little confused by the get together. Reykon relaxed his posture, eyeing them cautiously.

  “I am Rita,” the woman said in a smooth voice. “And this is my husband, Silas. We own this establishment and watch over the immediate city area.”

  Silas’s smile deepened. “You are most welcome here, and we are most curious about what our friends have described to us.”

  Reykon’s brow furrowed. “I’m sorry, who are you? What house do you belong to?”

  Rita gave a warm laugh. “We have heard tales of your houses and rivals, of your fights. Neither my husband nor I have ever participated in such institutions.”

  “How?”

  Silas shrugged. “We were turned three hundred and seven years ago by an old vampire that took an interest in our group of musicians. He killed our compatriots and then beckoned us to play a tune for him. Evidentially we chose the right one, because instead of ending us, he chose to give us the gift of eternal life. We settled in Virginia, but soon we moved on, further west, and for the moment, we have staked our flag here, in Tennessee.”

  Reykon’s mind whirred in confusion. “You never… you never even knew about the houses?”

  “Not until recently. We knew more of our kind must have existed elsewhere, but we had no care to find them.”

  Rita flashed him a smile, and Silas placed his arm around her, pulling her close. After a moment, Silas waved his hand at Reykon and the strongbloods. “Come, come, sit down. My table is your table.”

  Reykon took a seat, glancing at the other strongbloods. “But you’re refugees?”

  They nodded. The biggest strongblood leaned forward, arms encroaching on his compatriots’ personal space. “House Trenton,” he said. “Blown to hell by Cain’s troops. We were one of the first ones.”

  Reykon nodded in understanding. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  “Hang on,” the girl with emerald eyes said. “I’ve seen your face before. You’re that Thraxos guy. The one the betrayed your master and got dragged back by your balls.”

  A small alarm went off in Reykon’s mind, and he tensed slightly. Deserters and traitors weren’t exactly treated like royalty, depending on what circle you were in. He gave a tight nod, reading the room with a lightning fast judgement.

  “We were all rooting for you,” the woman with light green Strexos eyes murmured.

  Reykon raised an eyebrow. “Seriously?”

  “Oh yeah,” the big guy from Trenton said. “When we heard about it, and then with the attack, we figured you’d died, but word travels fast, you know? We were hoping you’d lash out and maybe lob Magnus’s head off. Someone beat you to it, though,” he chuckled.

  “Yeah,” Reykon said with a light laugh and a slightly confused expression. “I… sorry, I’m surprised to meet so many rogues in one place.”

  Another strongblood, a woman with frizzy brown hair scoffed at him. “The only strongbloods alive right now are rogues. Anybody that stayed in the strongholds to protect the vampires died, and all of us who were just itching for an excuse fled at the first sign of trouble. They can’t catch us all, right?”

  A wave of murmurs and light laughs spread through the room. Reykon was amazed at the support, from all the different houses, sitting in the room around him. Because houses never mingled, and strongbloods were kept in isolation from their other kin, cross-talk wasn’t really an option. They all had just assumed that the rest of the houses were more loyal than theirs, with a few notable exceptions famous for their weak morals. Reykon shook his head in amazement. “I’m just surprised that there’s so much opposition.”

  “There are thousands of freed strongbloods trying to slip into the human world, and they’re all just about as fed up with the vampires as we are. But most of us are scattered in rogue dens, so nobody really knows how many there are.”

  The woman with brown hair shrugged. “Some of us hung around. I was House Xander, and we were funneled into safehouses all over the place. I waited for weeks, but when tensions rose and the vampires demanded more humans, I just left and never went back. With all the crime spiking in every metro area and more vampire sightings each day, it won’t be long before the humans figure out what’s happening, and we have a repeat of the Spanish Inquisition on our hands. I want to be well established in some small corner of the world when that happens.”

  “Wow,” Reykon said.

  “You’re like the first ones,” the youngest strongblood said. A kid, with the same dark Thraxos eyes as him. “You and that Xander girl, who started all this talk about treason. People practically worship you guys,” he laughed.

  Reykon raised an eyebrow. “I had no clue. We didn’t mean to cause such an uproar.”

  “Between you and House Prior, who’s apparently offering refuge to anybody on the run and talking about some equality all-for-one bullshit, the whole strongblood world seems to be falling apart.”

  “Yeah, I guess you’re right,” Reykon muttered with a small smile. “But Seattle is attracting a lot of rogues, that’s for sure. We were there, a while back. They’re getting organized.”

  “Bout damn time,” the other woman said. “I’m only two-fifty, and I’ve got over half my life left to sip margaritas, lie on a beach, and never see a vampire again.”

  Silas and Rita laughed. “Exactly,” Silas said. “When we heard about your plight, we knew that we had to act. We’ve been hosting refugees ever since, offering jobs and experience blending into the human world.”

  “Thank you, truly,” Reykon said in an earnest voice. “If you don’t mind me asking, where do you keep them all? This place doesn’t seem that big.”

  “We own the hotel across the street, with an excellently hidden loading dock to usher creatures in with a little discretion. We’ve got plenty of room for all the wolves and strongbloods alike.”

  Reykon’s brow pulled together. “Sorry, did you say wolves?”

  Silas nodded. “They’re coming by the tho
usands, but most of them are continuing on. Only the young or weary stop with us.”

  “Why are the wolves fleeing?”

  The big strongblood from Trenton raised an eyebrow. “You haven’t heard?”

  “I’ve been in hiding since... Well, for a while.”

  “Fausta’s rekindling old vampire customs and enslaving the wolves as soldiers for her battle against the vampires. She’s taking whole packs at a time.”

  Reykon’s mind whirred with the implications of that. It was an old-time practice, but the reason it had died down was because it never, ever, ever ended well. It was fine for a little, until the wolves decided to rebel, which they always did. Reykon rubbed his forehead. “And I thought Cain was a problem.”

  “Cain’s an even bigger idiot, but not as greedy. He’s just been taking humans off the streets and waltzing around like the king of the world. Texas is in an ammunition shortage because everyone’s so edgy about all the disappearances and vicious animal attacks. They’re going to figure it out first and start hunting vamps like elk.”

  “Jesus,” Reykon muttered.

  “Yeah, because the vamps are becoming a major issue, we’re all really curious about how you took one down with a single hand out there, Thraxos,” the big one said.

  Reykon let out a slow breath. “It’s a long story, but one we need to spread. Are rogues still chatting with each other?”

  “I don’t even think a nuclear holocaust could stop that,” the woman chuckled. Reykon gave a slight laugh and collected his thoughts, starting at the beginning of the insurgence.

  Chapter 6 For Blood

  Megan

  When Megan woke up, she’d been dressed in a fresh outfit, curled up underneath a thick fur blanket on her bench in Fausta’s chambers. The fires were roaring, and a few vampires were engaging in quiet small talk, the kind of formality conversation that Fausta always griped about as soon as they were alone. Megan kept her eyes closed. She wished to high heaven God she’d open them and find herself on the rickety pull-out couch in the shoebox living room of their cabin, the place where she’d waited for two years during the wolf wars. Those mornings, pristine and foggy, so tranquil. She dreamed about it more and more, now almost every night she closed her eyes. Seeing the tall evergreens of the forest sway gently, as though there wasn’t a care in the world. Megan’s mother had chosen the cabin with no regard for her illegitimate daughter’s education, so Megan had to drive the truck forty-five minutes each morning at 4:30 just to get to school on time. She’d had to forge her mother’s handwriting and make up some stupid excuse about her parents working in Europe or Florida or something.

  Now, though, she would do anything to be back in that cabin for just five minutes. Five minutes of peace and tranquility, a bowl of peaches-and-cream oatmeal in the microwave, a pot of coffee brewing. Her father’s warbled snore whining out from the back room. Anything but this fear that clung to the air, ever-present and haunting. Anything but the hollowed-out shell of a person that she’d become, surviving, trying to stay alive for just one more day…

  And for what?

  So she could be a slave for the rest of her life, until Fausta grew tired of her? Or, until she did something bad enough to piss the vampire off and land her in the same boat as Magnus? A shiver raced up her spine at that thought, the idea that she might be endlessly tortured until death was dangled in front of her like a sweet release.

  In the end, she did open her eyes.

  She opened her eyes and was greeted by the same room, that same place that was her prison, her sanctuary, her hell, and her heaven all in one. And there was Fausta, on the couch, surrounded by three royal vampire schmoozers, and several humans in various states of delirium.

  Fausta’s eyes flitted to hers and a smile spread on her face as the vampire queen beckoned Megan over. Megan rose, shrugging out of the blanket and walking to the couch, perching next to Fausta, staying entirely still as the vampire pulled the golden choker out of her cloak and fastened it around Megan’s neck, the delicate chain falling down Megan’s back. Fausta tucked Megan’s hair behind her ear and leaned forward. “I heard that you had a bad day, little wolf. I have something for you.”

  Megan’s eyebrows ticked together slightly, and she watched as a vampire servant brought a large plate with three massive pancakes piled high, a perfect cloud of whipped cream sitting on the top. “Thank you, Mistress Fausta,” she said, breathing in the warm maple syrup.

  Fausta smiled and turned back to her royal vampires. “Americans love pancakes, I’ve observed.”

  They mumbled something or another about their observations of the strange customs that the American heathens had. Megan tuned those conversations out. She was too invested in the pile of syrupy goodness sitting in front of her. She watched the windows, the humans in front of her, anything but the vampires. Anything to keep her from drawing attention to herself.

  When she was done, one of the servants took her plate and wiped her hands with a warm, moist washcloth. She gave a polite, chiseled smile and offered her rehearsed thanks even though they never responded. The vampires continued talking for a few more moments, or hours, maybe, until Fausta waved them away and used her diplomatic smile to ensure them that she’d reach out to them soon. When the doors had closed, Fausta let out a long breath and smoothed her gown before standing and offering Megan her hand. “Walk with me, little wolf? I have something to show you.”

  Megan nodded, taking the vampire’s icy hand and following along blindly, matching her pace. They went past row after row of vampire guards, through the hallway and private stairwell leading up to the master’s suite. They continued down the long staircase, and then down another, as vampires nodded to them in passing and servants bowed their heads slightly, freezing in place for a moment before continuing on their ways. They walked through hallway after hallway, Megan recognizing the maze of passageways bringing them closer to the prison. They made another turn, this hallway entirely desolate, deserted and shadowy except for a tapestry hanging on the wall. Fausta slowed, and then stopped.

  Megan did, too, running her eyes up and down the images that she recognized as the dichotomy of her people. The bloodlines, all of the bloodlines, displayed in a beautifully stitched scene of power.

  “Darian Xander had this requisitioned from the wolf wars,” she said, her eyes tracing it over in lukewarm admiration.

  “It’s beautiful,” Megan breathed. She could have looked at it for hours, tracing her eyes over the different Blood Alphas, or those very first wolves that had started their bloodlines. There was a magnificent, regal wolf in the middle, with pure white fur that shimmered in the soft light. She knew him by name: Asmund. Not only was he the father of her people, her bloodline, but his line was the most feared and powerful out of all of them. Megan’s own line. But power breeds resentment, and the snow wolves had been no exception. Further their numbers had dwindled, until the wolf wars, when the members who’d fled and remained unaccounted for were in the single digits, herself not included, not that she counted. She had no claim to her heritage, under traditional wolven law.

  Next to Asmund was the chief wood wolf, Solveig, light brown, like the color of bark in the sun. Then stood the stone wolves, the most difficult to distinguish because some were gray and others were reddish orange, like rocks in New Mexico. The stone wolves came from the twins, Vragi and Brynja, also nearly indistinguishable from the mountain wolves, led by Haldor. Mountain wolves were closest to the sand wolves, who had a light tan pelt that shimmered against the tapestry. They were the smallest, but tallest, of all the wolves, coming from the great wolf Ruinya. Then came the night wolves, a shadowy, midnight black pelt like liquid darkness. They hailed from the Alpha Gunnar. Finally, the smallest bloodline was featured at the fringe, only really visible if you were counting and you knew that the water wolves and their strange midnight-blue fur and glacier eyes were technically included in the great lineage, even though they were freaks of nature and had been eradicated. N
ot freaks of nature, but they came from the night wolf Olvir, who’d befriended a caster and been given the gift of some magical alteration. Nobody knew what the water wolves were given because they’d been hunted and killed off long before her time.

  “The history of your people,” Fausta hummed.

  Megan’s smile widened as she looked at the beautiful, regal figures, reminding her of the stories her grandfather had told her as a child, until her steely eyed grandmother would come in and chastise them both.

  “Tell me, little wolf, where do you fit in?” Fausta asked.

  Megan looked to her, eyebrows pulled together slightly.

  “Show me your bloodline,” she said, a warm smile on her lips.

  Megan’s face was carved from stone as she let a small smile form, hiding her nerves. She’d practiced this a million times. She’d nearly convinced herself that her first shift would make her sprout brown fur, but she knew that it would be snow white, pristine and icy. Not that she was planning on having a first shift. For someone in her position, it wasn’t an option. Megan turned back to the tapestry and pointed at the great brown wolf, Solveig.

  “A wood wolf?” Fausta asked.

  Megan nodded in a small, controlled movement, the anxiety tightening around her lungs.

  Fausta’s next words were like steel. “Are you certain?”

  Megan swallowed hard, her eyes dropping from the tapestry to the ground in front of her, muscles tensing even though she knew it made her seem guilty, suspicious. Before she had a chance to explain herself, Fausta continued.

  “I am disappointed, Megan. Do you think I would have kept you if you were simply a wood wolf?” the woman returned in a voice like burning ice. “They grow like weeds. What value could I possibly gain from keeping vermin?”

  Megan’s eyes widened slightly as she realized what Fausta was saying. The vampire queen knew that she was a snow wolf. An impossibly rare, supposedly stronger breed of wolf that was near extinction. And then she realized the grave mistake she’d made, lying to Fausta. She’d seen creatures ripped apart for less than that. Terror flooded her, crashing through her veins in a tidal wave of adrenaline. She opened her mouth to speak, but it was cut off by a lightning fast hand, coming up to Megan’s face, stinging her cheeks like a hot iron. Fausta’s grip was stone against her face, unmoving, unwavering. “Do not lie to me, ever, girl,” she hissed. “Even the dullest vampires can smell the differences between wolven bloodlines.” She held Megan in utter terror, complete fear, for a moment longer before releasing her.