Blurred Bloodlines [2nd in Blurred Trilogy] Read online

  Long after Blake had fallen asleep, Marc still didn't dare move. He had wanted to talk to Kate, spend some time with her, and make sure she was all right, but Blake's calm heartbeat stopped him from leaving. After the fear Blake had shown toward Marc earlier, this was an unexpected development and one to be grateful for.

  By early morning, Marc awoke with a start. He hadn't meant to fall asleep, and for a few seconds he was disoriented, unsure where he was exactly and whose body his arm had curled around. He soon remembered, and as he did, he realized what had woken him.

  The scent of blood.

  In his sleep, Blake must have scratched at the tattoo on his thigh, and blood was seeping from under his boxers. Marc made a mental note to trim Blake's nails and bandage the scratch if need be before capturing Blake's wrist and allowing sleep to claim him again.

  Steeling herself, Kate took in a deep breath and raised her hand. She knocked on the door twice. The hits were sharp, almost angry as they reverberated down the hall. She heard shuffling noises inside and steps coming closer to the door. The lock rasped, metal on metal, and the door opened slowly, revealing a disheveled Simon. His eyes, red and bloodshot, widened when he saw her standing there. He swallowed heavily and asked in a small, almost childish voice, “Are you... are you going to beat me up?"

  As hard as she tried to hold on to her anger, she found it slipping away from her, like water she couldn't quite hold in her cupped hands. He had cried, just like she had—although judging by his appearance, he had cried a lot more than she had. He didn't have anyone to comfort him, a sneaky little voice reminded her. She refused to listen to it. He didn't deserve to be comforted. She had been blind and naive, but he had known exactly what he was doing.

  She crossed her arms and frowned. “Yeah, because that's something I do all the time. Beat up fellow soldiers."

  He flinched at that, and she rolled her eyes at him. “Don't be stupid, and let me in. We need to talk."

  He opened the door wide and retreated inside until the back of his legs hit the bed. He sat down, so fast it seemed it was more an effect of his legs giving out rather than him choosing to sit. Without ever taking his eyes from Kate, he fumbled behind him for a pillow and pulled it to his chest as though it were armor. As before, she was struck by how much he acted like a child.

  After stepping inside, Kate closed the door behind her. There was a desk on one side of the room, magic supplies neatly arranged over it. She briefly wondered what kind of spell he had been working on, but dismissed the thought. It didn't matter. She drew the chair and planted it with a soft thud less than a foot in front of Simon. She straddled it and crossed her arms over the back, then rested her chin on her arms.

  For a long moment, she observed him, her gaze as cold and intimidating as she could make it. It wasn't long before Simon started fidgeting under her stare, and not much longer after that that he cleared his throat and said in a very small voice, “So... What did you want to talk about?"

  She let guilt and shame gnaw at him a little longer before she finally explained why she was there.

  "Jen.” The word felt like a curse on her lips. Just thinking about her, she could feel her anger rising again. She held on to her calm the best she could. “You're going to help me find her."

  Simon's eyes widened, and he started shaking his head. “I... I don't think that's a good idea. She's not a nice person, and I—"

  "Nice?” Kate interrupted him with a snort. “What do I care if she's nice or not? I don't intend to sit down and have a cup of insta-coffee with her."

  Simon swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down before he made himself ask, “What do you want with her, then?"

  "She knows what was done to Blake.” She felt a pang of pain at the thought and closed her eyes briefly. She wished she could help Blake, but Marc was right. She couldn't even be in the same room as Blake without sending him into a panic. She would find another way to help. “I'll make her tell me."

  "But... but...” Simon was holding the pillow to his chest so tightly that he was shaking. “She's a vampire. And she works with demons. How are you going to make her do anything?"

  Kate smiled at that, but judging by the way Simon blinked very fast, it wasn't a nice smile. “You'll help with that, too,” she said, her voice leaving no room for protest. “First you'll do a localization spell. I'll capture her. Then you'll put her under a truth spell, and I'll question her."

  And then, she finished for herself, she would kill Jen. A small repayment for what her allies had done to Blake.

  "But... what about the... the breach?” Simon seemed to be grasping at straws. “They need me here to close it. And then Daniel will want to go somewhere else, and—"

  "We'll close the breach here first,” she grudgingly acquiesced. “And I'll deal with Daniel. Once we're done here, you and I will hunt. You owe it to Blake."

  Pushing herself off the chair, she returned it to the desk. She expected Simon to raise more objections, but he remained quiet until she reached the door.

  "I was only trying to help him,” he murmured, stopping her before she could turn the handle. “You know that, right?"

  She turned her eyes to him, and was surprised to find that he had stopped shaking so hard.

  "I'd never hurt him,” he insisted. “Say you believe me."

  Kate left without another word. She believed that he had not wanted to hurt Blake, but whether he wanted it or not, he might have done just that.

  And if the guilt from it motivated him into doing what his fear would have prevented otherwise... Well, she wasn't above using all the weapons at her disposal. And Simon was certainly the best weapon she had to find Jen and force answers from her.

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  Chapter 13

  Marc woke sometime in the middle of the afternoon and was startled by the dark eyes mere inches away that were fixed on him intently. Blake flinched when he realized that Marc was awake, eyes immediately cast down as he retreated as far as the bed would allow.

  "You pulled me in here, so don't play the offended maiden now,” Marc grumbled with a yawn. He sat up in bed and tried very hard not to notice the bulge tenting Blake's boxers. “I'll go see if Kate got that blood like she said she would."

  The only word Blake reacted to was, again, Kate's name, and frustration rose in Marc when he understood that, despite the confrontation of the previous night, nothing had changed. Blake was still just as scared of her, for whatever reason. Showing him how to be Blake again promised to be quite a fight. Hopefully, it wouldn't be a literal one.

  The trip to the kitchen was uneventful, except for Kate biting down on her bottom lip, probably in an attempt to keep her remarks to herself. He didn't linger in the kitchen, and instead returned to the bedroom as soon as he drank some blood and warmed some for Blake.

  "If you even think about getting on that floor, I swear I'll kick your ass."

  Blake froze, one bare knee already on the ground, and he diffidently looked up as Marc stepped inside the room.

  "Get on your feet,” Marc demanded, his tone leaving Blake no choice. “And put your pants on."

  Slowly, so very slowly, Blake stood, clearly unsure about whether he was doing the right thing or not. Without even realizing what he was doing until he had voiced the words, Marc encouraged him with a quiet, “Good boy.” He winced at the patronizing tone of his voice, but Blake seemed to be reassured by the praise, and he stood a little straighter.

  "Pants,” Marc reminded him.

  Blake bent down to pick up the sweatpants he had taken off to sleep; he struggled to put them on, and as Marc watched, he felt a pang when he remembered what his mind had been trying to suppress: the horrible state of Blake's hands. Apparently, pushing clothes off was easier done than putting them back on. And to watch Blake fight a pair of sweats—and lose—was curiously painful.

  Blood washed over the edge of the glass when Marc set it down on the desk, his hands shaking with nerves the s
ame way Blake's were with effort.

  "I'll help you,” he said, taking the pants from Blake and squatting down. Doing so brought him uncomfortably close to the erection straining Blake's boxers, but he ignored it the best he could and instead focused on getting Blake's feet inside the pants legs. A small voice in his head reminded him of what Simon had said, but he refused to even think about jerking Blake off. To help him get dressed was one thing. To give him an orgasm when he was so damn scared of Marc was completely different. It didn't matter that he knew Blake's body well enough to make him come in seconds, he would not...

  He blinked, realizing that although Blake's pants were in place, he was still down with one knee on the floor, his hands on Blake's hips, his gaze on the almost obscene tenting that pulled at the soft fabric. Standing up, he cleared his throat and turned back to the desk and the glass of blood there.

  "Pig's,” he announced as he picked up the glass and faced Blake again. “Tastes terrible, but we don't have much of a choice for now. I'll let you drink from me again after you've had this. You need to feed more to get stronger."

  As soon as they were settled, they would get into some kind of pattern, Marc decided. Feed at regular hours, so that Blake wouldn't go hungry until he was able to feed by himself. Finding a source of human blood might be a good idea also; Blake had a lot of healing to do, and he didn't seem to be getting better as quickly as a vampire would have.

  It took a few seconds for Marc to suspect that Blake wasn't going to drink from the glass any better than he had the first time, and Marc didn't have the patience to start teaching him how to do that right there and then. He drained the glass himself and reopened the slashes in his wrist.

  At nightfall, Marc went to get his car so Blake wouldn't need to walk around Leawood. Kate waited for him to return by pacing through the living room of her suite. Daniel had used his influence to get her an apartment when they had found Blake, going as far as to yell at the camp's administrator to get what he wanted. Kate supposed she would have to move out again now, but she didn't care. She didn't want to be alone in the overly large suite, with nothing to distract her from the fact that she hadn't been able to help Blake.

  When the front door opened and Marc came back in, she stopped in front of him and looked him in the eye.

  "Do you really have to leave so fast?” she asked, hating how her voice was trembling. “Maybe if you stayed a few more days..."

  She trailed off when Marc cupped her cheek in his hand. “A few days wouldn't change anything, Kate. I'm sure you know it."

  She covered his hand with hers and nodded. “I know, but...” She sighed quietly. “I've lost you two once already. It hurts to lose you again."

  Marc drew her to him and wrapped his arms around her. “You're not losing us,” he said, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “It's just for a few weeks. You have the directions to find us. We'll be waiting for you.” He slipped a finger beneath her chin and tilted her head up. “Both of us."

  She raised herself to the tip of her toes and pressed a short kiss to his lips. “All right,” she murmured. “A few weeks."

  She hugged him again before going to her bedroom so Blake wouldn't see her and become upset. She hadn't told Marc about her plan to find Jen and get answers from her; she didn't want to raise his hopes in case she failed, nor did she want him to tell her it was too dangerous. What else was she supposed to do for these few, long weeks?

  If Marc had needed further proof that Blake, whatever he now was, wasn't a vampire anymore, a simple look in the rearview mirror, angled to show the back seat, would have sufficed. Blake was laid down under a blanket, curled up like a child. His eyes were scrunched tight, giving away his state of discomfort.

  Marc's eyes returned to the road, and his jaw clenched. He wouldn't touch him. He refused to do it. Not like this, not when Blake was still reeking of fear.

  He wouldn't. Period.

  The slash across his wrist was no more than a thin red line now, but Marc could still see it in his mind, blood welling to the surface between Blake's small licks. Hardly the most efficient way to feed, and Marc had needed to reopen the cut twice before Blake had finally pulled back, apparently having had enough, although Marc doubted that so little blood could be sufficient. That kind of feeding also had a major drawback; it had been arousing, almost painfully so, for both of them, and by the end Blake had been literally trembling with need. Yet Marc had held on to his resolve and left the room, telling Blake that he wasn't Simon and that he would have to take care of himself from now on—or stop being so scared of him.

  It had been more than obvious when Marc had returned, having finished his preparations for their trip, that Blake had not found any relief. The scent of his arousal somewhat lessened when Marc had forcibly guided him out the room. Wide eyes looked in all directions, undoubtedly searching for Kate, who had hidden out of sight at Marc's suggestion. Leading Blake out to the car had not been a pleasant exercise, in great part because the sight of a trembling man, barefoot and held tightly around the shoulder by another man, raised more than a few eyebrows on the short way to the car. Marc tried to ignore the pointed looks and instead started a list in his head. Shoes, which Kate had apologized for not having bought yet, thinking that Blake wouldn't need them for a while. Blood, preferably human. Changes of clothes. Medical supplies. First and foremost, though, they needed a safe place to live. A two-night drive should take care of that.

  A fresh wave of lust rose from the back seat, and Marc sighed. Sunrise was an hour or so away, and it was time to find a place to rest for the day. Neither of them would be getting much sleep, however, if Blake's scent of need remained so strong.

  His thumbs drumming on the steering wheel, Marc tried once more to distract himself and think about anything but Blake's arousal. He had told Kate where to find them, when the time would come, and made her promise she would wait for him to contact her before she came. He hoped she would listen to him. She was good at following orders when they pertained to fighting and the squad, but he didn't know if she'd be so amenable when his orders involved Blake. It might have been easier on her if he had given her more time with Blake, but if Blake's reaction to her hadn't changed in the week before Marc's arrival, it wasn't likely to change any time soon.

  From Kate, Marc's mind jumped to Daniel. He had been in town, but Marc hadn't had the chance to see him and make sure he was all right. He was worried that Daniel still didn't feed enough, but with Daniel refusing his help, there wasn't much he could do about it. He knew why this was happening—knew that, when hunger pushed at a young vampire, any human nearby became all too tempting, and it was easier to ignore the hunger altogether rather than feed on animal blood and crave human blood with each mouthful. This was why having a Sire was important, and he still reeled that Daniel hadn't allowed him to be as much for him.

  The distraction worked until Marc pulled into the parking lot of a roadside hotel, but it was hard to fool himself any longer when he had to help Blake out of the car. Marc couldn't do much about the sight Blake made, barefoot, trembling and hard beneath the blanket wrapped around him. He slipped an extra bill to the bleary-eyed receptionist when he started to look like he would be trouble.

  The room was barely larger than the bedroom at Kate's apartment, with two rather small beds crammed inside it, but it did have an attached bathroom. Marc made sure to close the curtains—Kate had told him Blake could bear sunlight now, but he couldn't. Too tired to think clearly, he told Blake to get in bed while he himself slipped into the bathroom for a quick shower. He returned to the bedroom, a towel wrapped around his waist, and was startled by what he found, even though he later admitted to himself he ought to have expected it.

  Blake had once more interpreted his words over-literally, and he was on his hands and knees on the bed, eyes closed tightly and head bowed. His cock was straining toward his belly, harder than ever, the tip glistening with precome. Frozen by surprise, Marc remained immobile for an instant,
all too aware of the way his own body was reacting to the display.

  "I'm not going to fuck you,” he said gruffly. “So you might as well lie down.” The tension in his voice made it unclear whether he was trying to convince Blake or himself.

  For a few more seconds, he tried to decide what he should do. Blake would never be able to sleep in that state, and it was doubtful that Marc would, either. He was still convinced Simon had been wrong to literally lend a hand, and he loathed the idea of doing the same, yet at the same time he recognized that not doing anything would be extremely cruel. In the end, he made up his mind, and if he wasn't happy about his decision, he would have to learn to live with it.

  "Blake?” he called out quietly. “Stand up. Please."

  Blake's eyes opened and looked at him, questioning and wary, yet he obeyed and stood lithely. And immediately started sinking to his knees in front of Marc.

  "God, no! That's not..."

  Noticing the rise in Blake's fear, Marc calmed his voice and helped Blake stand again.

  "That's not what I meant,” he continued in a more even tone. “We're going to get you cleaned up, OK? You must be sore after that long drive; it will relax you."

  Blake, of course, did not answer, but he allowed Marc to pull him into the bathroom, and he stepped into the shower when asked. Marc turned on the water and observed him for a second, wondering whether he would wash by himself. Blake did not move one way or the other, and examined his hands with a blank look when Marc suggested that he start washing. Marc ground his teeth and joined him, dropping the towel around his waist after a brief hesitation.

  "Let's start with your hair,” he said, resigned, and lightly guided Blake's head under the spray before pulling him back. Picking up the small bottle of complimentary shampoo, he poured it directly onto Blake's scalp and started massaging the soft locks gently.