Blood Trade

“Well, crap. My sources in the Natchez vamp community are dying off faster than I can locate them for a tete-a-tete. According to Francis, Narkis and Zoltar have been plotting against their dad.”

“He did name his boys Narkis and Zoltar.”

“Good point. I’d have shot him too. Okay. I’ll get the Kid to see what he can dig up.” Pun intended. Before Eli could groan, I hung up. Staring at my cell, I considered my next call. I now had names given to me by a caged prisoner, yet I needed more data. I dialed Bruiser.

“Jane,” he said, and my insides twisted. “How are things there with the boyfriend?”

I sighed, but kept the sound away from the phone. How was I supposed to answer that when Bruiser and I had . . . issues? Beast’s wanting-to-fool-around issues, and my the-man-betrayed-me-and-should-die-for-it issues. I decided to ignore it all. “Just ducky. What effect would vamp blood have on a child with acute lymphoblastic leukemia? The worst kind of all.”

“One moment.” I heard clicking and realized he was typing. Looking something up in a database I knew nothing about? I wanted access, but was in no position to ask for it. Dang it.

“The news is neither good nor bad,” he said. “Sometimes it helps. Sometimes it does not. Are you talking about the little girl? Misha’s daughter?”

“And you know about Charly how?”

I could almost hear his smile when he said, “Reach, of course.”

“Humph.” This call was on an official cell, so I figured that Reach was listening in. I said, “Hey, you big-eared rat. Telling tales works both ways.”

There was a moment of silence, and then Bruiser said softly, “Thank you. Jane, if you decide to try to feed the child, I’ll ask a Clan blood-master to attend you. Reach. I suggest that you call me. Now.”

“Thanks, Bruiser.”

I hit END and waited as I walked back out of the house, the cell in hand. The door closed behind me, leaving me standing in the chill air. Seconds later, my official cell rang. “What the hell was that about?” Reach demanded, heat in his voice.

There were lots of reasons why I’d given Reach away, the most important among them that Bruiser would have figured it out soon anyway and asked me why I let it continue. Being on retainer to the MOC meant I had to play politics, protect myself, protect the chief fanghead, and protect his interests. No way was it in Leo’s best interests to have Reach listening in on the calls. And it sure wasn’t in my best interests, not anymore. Now that I had the Kid, it was time to take Reach down a peg or two. I shook my head. “You figure it out, hotshot.” And I hung up.

“You’re just getting all your jollies today. Aren’t you?”

Without turning around, I said, “You do know that sneaking up on a skinwalker is dangerous, right?”

Eli laughed. “I like you. I might be certifiable for it, but I like you.”

It made little sense—except that somehow Eli had become family—but I smiled and ducked my head around to find him leaning against Jameson’s car. He still smelled of charnel-house effluvia. “Yeah. I like you too,” I said.

“So, why are you so jumpy today? Leftover depression working itself out of your system?”

I started to deny having been depressed, but it would have been a waste of time and a lie. “Probably.” I felt better having said it aloud again. And I was jumpy. I frowned. “Want to spar?”

“Been hoping you’d ask. I found a gym over the garage.” He jerked his head at the building and I followed him, our boots loud in the thin winter air. “So,” he said as we climbed a set of outside stairs to the garage’s second floor. “Are we ever going to end up in the sack together?”

I was startled and then amused. “Ewww. It would be like sleeping with my brother.”

Eli burst out laughing, looked back over his shoulder, and teased, “So let’s get it on, baby.”

I shook my head. “Idiot.”

“Bitch.”

“Wrong species.”

We were still laughing when we reached the room over the three-car garage and I stood in the doorway, taking in the gym. “Swuuueeet.” It had everything: free weights, a ballet barre, a total-workout machine that targeted different muscle groups, ski machine, stationary bikes, two treadmills, a hot tub in the corner, a large open space with thick rubberized flooring suitable for yoga or sparring, and a shower and dressing area. I pulled off my boots, tossed them in the corner, and removed my weapons. In the opposite corner, Eli was doing the same, our reflections casting back to us from a wall of mirrors.

“When we last sparred, how much were you holding back?” he asked.

“You walked out of there.” When he looked confused, I added, “I left your joints intact, didn’t break your spine, and didn’t hit you in the xiphoid process, piercing your diaphragm or liver. For starters.”

Eli nodded. “Let’s keep the same rules, then. You hold back. I’ll try to kill you with my bare hands.” I was still laughing when he attacked.

Beast slammed to the surface and spun me to the side, my left hand sweeping into a claw that had to hurt as my nails grazed his ribs through his shirt. He retaliated with a leg sweep and a series of fast punches, all below the belt, followed by a chest strike intended to bruise a breast. Two of the punches and the chest blow landed. I oofed out a pained breath and hit in him square in the jaw, twisting into the motion with all my new, more muscular body weight. A lesser man would have been lights-out. Even Eli might have hit the floor, except that he landed on a weight bench and rolled over it, giving him the seconds needed to shake his head and come back at me.

“Your eyes are doing a funky gold-glow thing,” he said, trying to distract me as he did a punch-kick-sweep- of-legs combo I hadn’t seen before.

I dodged, blocked, and leaped over the leg sweep. “My Beast likes this,” I said, hearing the lower, coarser grate of my voice, a Beast growl.

“Yeah? Screw your Beast.” He caught my hand and flipped me in some kind of throw I’d never seen before, and didn’t really see this time. I went flying. I landed on my back, hard. The breath whoofed out of me and I didn’t get back up. I lay flat, blinking up at the fluorescent lights swirling overhead. When Eli interposed his head between the ceiling and me, he was upside down and at an angle. I closed my eyes and waited for the ability to inhale. It was a long time coming, and when my lungs did finally expand, I thought I’d maybe broken something, it hurt so bad. It sounded horrible too.

Beast receded with a soft purr. She’d had fun and was now leaving me with the pain.

“What was that?” I said. Actually I whispered it, so I cleared my voice, took two slow sets of breaths, and tried again. “What was that?” It came out slightly better, but not by much.

“That was your tax dollars at work—MAC, better known as Modern Army Combatives.”

“That was cool. Teach me. You know. When I can stand again. Breathe again without pain.”

Eli lowered his hand and pulled me to my feet. He still had my hand when the gym door opened and Rick LaFleur stepped inside, his eyes glowing that green glow of his black panther. He gave a low growl, and before I could disengage my hand, he leaped. Landed on Eli.

The Ranger rolled with the impact, my hand jerking free. And suddenly the two men were yards apart, a spitting mad, neon green ball of fur and claws on Rick’s throat. The smell of blood filled the air, blood not quite human, not quite were.

Rick screamed, a coarse, barking shriek of pain, all cat. The grindylow leaped away and landed on the nearest weight bench, her fur standing out all over, as if static electricity had filled her coat. Her jump left the raw, scored, bloody mess of Rick’s throat visible.

He managed a wet-sounding breath, his hands reaching for his wound as his eyes blurred back to black. He was bleeding, but not the pumping of carotid blood, which would likely have been fatal because he couldn’t shift. This time, he’d live.

Shock washed through me, an adrenaline wave that rocked against my nerves and rolled away. The attacks had both taken maybe three seconds.

“You idiot,” I said to Rick, bending over Eli to see if the were-cat had punctured his flesh anywhere. “Did the idiot bite or claw you?” I asked the Ranger.

Eli rolled slowly to his feet, inspecting himself in the mirrors without taking his eyes from Rick. “No. I’m