Blurred Bloodlines [2nd in Blurred Trilogy] Read online

  "Yeah. I'll keep an eye on him for you if you want. Make sure he feeds enough.” Another nod, a smile, and another brush of Marc's hand over Kate's arm made her wish she could stay longer. “I'll miss you,” she murmured. “Both of you."

  It was her turn to press a quick kiss to Marc's cheek, and then she opened the door and stepped out. The car hadn't left the town yet, and already she was wishing she were back.

  His Master had given him a weapon.

  Not just any weapon, but his sword, Seneca, the blade that had saved his life countless times. The blade he had regretted so much having lost when he had been pushed through the breach. If he had had Seneca in his hand, certainly, things would have been different. He would have fought to the death. He would have given the demons no choice but to kill him. Not that he had let himself be captured that easily; after the first moment of confusion and disorientation, he had stolen an axe from a wounded demon at his feet. He wasn't as good with an axe as he was with a sword, however, and even though he had taken an opponent down, in the end they had disarmed him and then...

  And then...

  His hands clenched a little tighter on the scabbard of the sword. He hadn't dared bare the blade yet. He was afraid that it was yet another test. Afraid that, if he so much as attempted to wield the weapon, just to remind himself what it had been like to be a true warrior—a true man—he would be punished. More pain, maybe, or the loss of all the privileges he had earned...he still didn't know how. Maybe they weren't privileges at all. Maybe, like the sword, it was all a giant trap.

  But if it was, he would have a sword in his hand when the punishment came. And maybe, this time, they would have no choice but to kill him at last.

  As much as he would miss those short moments with Kate and worry about Daniel not feeding enough, Marc figured that a few days of just him and Blake with no interruptions to their routine might help Blake accept the new rules he had established.

  His hopes were heightened when Blake fed by himself at midmorning the next day. Marc watched from afar, wincing when half a blood bag ended up on the counter rather than in a mug. However, he refrained from saying anything other than, “It's OK, don't worry about it,” when Blake looked at him, eyes filled with pure dread. He was almost as messy the next time he fed; this time Marc struggled not to complain, but was glad he hadn't said anything when Blake started feeding more frequently after that. It was always in small quantities, but every few hours without fail, to the point that Marc wondered if he had unknowingly been starving Blake by offering him blood only twice a day. Could it be that he needed as much blood as a regular vampire, but broken down into smaller portions? Marc tried not to think too much about it; it was too late to change anything now, and there was no way he could have guessed. Still, he couldn't help the twinges of guilt every time he saw Blake feed.

  Unfortunately, the progress ended there.

  It didn't take long for what Marc had been anxiously expecting to happen; Blake's tented sweatpants, flushed skin, and unmistakable lust were anything but subtle. Marc waited for Blake to take care of it by himself, like he had fed on his own. He waited for three days, barely restraining himself, and in vain.

  It was just past noon when Marc lowered his sword after going through a series of balance exercises. He couldn't do much more than those slow movements; there was hardly enough space even for these in the living room unless he pushed the sofa out of the way, and he didn't want to touch it. He didn't dare to touch it and risk losing Blake's trust again. He didn't need the training, but he would have done anything to take his mind of Blake. Anything to pretend he couldn't smell the thick scent of lust permeating the house.

  Pretending only worked for so long, though. When he turned around to find Blake in the habitual position, kneeling naked on the floor, eyes pleading as he stared, he couldn't pretend anymore.

  "Not going through this again,” Marc growled. “You want to come; you do something about it. I told you, I'm not helping anymore, and this time I mean it."

  In response, Blake bowed his head and started trembling, hands closed in tight fists on his thighs.

  Had it been night, Marc would have stormed out and not returned for a few hours, for better or for worse. But the sun was high outside, and there was nowhere for him to go. Nowhere, except his room. If he couldn't go any farther, it would have to do.

  Blake's scent followed him, and Marc soon realized that without anything to do, he couldn't take his mind off Blake. Marc tried to ignore the growing tightness in his pants, but his hand had a mind of its own when he closed his eyes to get some sleep.

  The fantasy was the same one that always sprung forward whenever he helped Blake come and needed to find his own relief afterwards. Blake's hands rather than his, Blake's lustful words, no fear in his scent, no pain, only arousal. The tightness of his ass when Marc finally entered him, the way he drew his legs up to let Marc farther in, the color of his eyes shifting from brown to gold and back as he barely held on to the last shreds of his self-control. His voice when he came, crying out Marc's name, and taking Marc with him into bliss.

  Marc didn't leave his room before nightfall, and when he did, it was only to rush straight out of the house, refusing to acknowledge Blake, kneeling where he had left him hours earlier. He still hadn't moved when Marc returned minutes before sunrise and fed quickly before retreating once more to the relative peace of his room.

  Blake was again in the same position when Marc emerged mid-afternoon after having been unable to get any rest. The only thing that was different, Marc noticed, was that Blake's eyes were now tightly closed. He looked in pain, and that, more than anything else, made Marc want to give in one last time and offer Blake some relief. He managed to stop, barely, by reminding himself that Blake would never cease to need him like this if Marc continued to cave in first.

  Walking away from Blake and back to his bedroom was one of the hardest things he had ever done. Unable to let go completely, he left the door ajar, so that he could keep an ear out for Blake.

  That was how he heard him approach.

  With slow, hesitant steps and brief pauses every few seconds, it took Blake several minutes to reach Marc's door. He stood there for a few moments, long enough for Marc to sit up on his bed and wonder what was going on, but Blake finally pushed the door open and entered before Marc could say a word.

  Each of Blake's movements screamed his hesitation, as did the pounding beat of his heart, yet he continued to move forward until he had reached the edge of the bed. Marc gritted his teeth when Blake knelt on the floor.

  "Here or there doesn't change a thing, Blake. I won't..."

  He stopped, shocked, when a trembling hand came to rest on his leg. It was the first time Blake had initiated any kind of contact with him since Leawood. Unsure of what was going on, he stood still as Blake's hand gradually moved up his thigh, faltering more than once on the way. The contact was maddening, barely firm enough to feel through the fabric of his pants and yet much more than Marc had experienced from a hand that wasn't his own since the night Blake had disappeared.

  When Blake's fingers finally brushed against his throbbing cock, Marc practically jumped into his touch; he hissed, wanting more, so much more, yet trying to convince himself he had to stop whatever it was that Blake was doing.

  Then, with a sudden and blinding clarity, he remembered what he had told Blake days earlier.

  You want something? You get it yourself.

  The memory instantly swept away every single argument Marc had come up with in the past months to prevent himself from taking Blake to bed the way he craved. It didn't matter at that moment that Blake had been so scared of Marc for so long and still was, sometimes. It didn't matter that touching him when he was in this state was only heaping on more abuse. It didn't matter that he couldn't say no, because with that hand, that touch, he was saying yes. He was getting what he wanted, just as Marc had told him to. And Marc wanted it too much to worry about right or wrong anymore. />
  It took only a second to pull Blake onto the bed; barely any longer than that for Marc to get rid of his clothes. Finally, it was skin on skin, face to face, and if Blake's hands were still a bit hesitant, they soon found shoulders to grip tightly as Marc rocked his body against the smaller, frailer one under him. Their cocks rubbing together sent fire up Marc's spine, and he wanted, needed to do more, to flip Blake onto his hands and knees and bury himself into his tight heat, and...

  And he wouldn't, because even though Blake had come to Marc, even though he had, in effect if not in words, begged for it, fear now laced Blake's scent.

  Marc couldn't stop, though, not now, not when they were both so close; his body simply refused to stop and sever the delicious contact. Instead, he accentuated it, slipping a hand between him and Blake to hold and squeeze their cocks together. Blake arched up into the touch as much as his position would allow, head thrown back and eyes closed. The sight was entrancing, but somehow Marc found himself asking, “Look at me, Blake. Open your eyes."

  Blake's eyelids fluttered open even as his nails dug into Marc's shoulders. The prickling of pain, combined with eyes shining with lust, urged Marc on, and he covered Blake's lips with his own, the gesture as urgent, as needful as the fast dance of his hips. His tongue pressed in, encountering no resistance as he took possession of Blake's mouth. Long forgotten habits resurfaced, and his fangs descended, nicking Blake's lips and his own to flavor the kiss with blood. Blake went completely rigid under him, and Marc felt the warmth of Blake's release. It would have been enough to trigger his own, except for the fact that, having tasted a drop of Blake's blood, he couldn't think of anything other than his need for more. Again, what had once been habits took over, and his mouth drifted to the crook of Blake's neck.

  Blake didn't flinch at the bite, still caught up in his pleasure, his blood more flavorful for it. One mouthful was all it took for Marc to come, his ecstasy almost painfully ripping through him as he held on to his Childe.

  It was only after a few seconds of gentle suckling and slowly falling into a contented languor that he realized the blood coating his tongue was warm and remembered why. He stopped instantly, horrified by what he had done, ready to apologize and explain and—

  Blake pulled him back down on top of him when Marc started moving away, effectively using him as a body-shaped blanket. Marc didn't dare move any more, and watched, puzzled beyond words, as Blake slowly fell asleep under him.

  Confusion didn't even begin to cover how Marc felt. Back in Kate's apartment, when seeing her had upset him so much, Blake had pulled Marc into the bed with him. Was this the same thing? Comfort? Or was it something else altogether? Blake had been afraid at some point; his scent had spelled his fear quite clearly. Yet he hadn't tried to leave the bed, hadn't tried to stop Marc from biting him, either. And he had come there willingly, Marc reminded himself as well as the increasingly loud nagging voice that said he was no better than Blake's tormentors. Blake had reached toward Marc as he had reached for the blood in the fridge, fulfilling a need for himself, by himself, without any ambiguity possible.

  Yet Marc's guilt increased with each passing second. He was supposed to take care of Blake and help him get back to normal. Taking advantage of the situation didn't have any part in it. As long as he had kept Blake's pleasure and his own separate, it had been relatively easy to believe he was only acting for Blake's benefit. But this had been different. He had crossed a line by allowing Blake into his bed.

  Even worse, he had bitten Blake, taken his blood, forgetting everything including that Blake was still recovering, and that there was no way to know what effect losing blood would have on him.

  It couldn't happen again. And it wouldn't.

  Or so Marc promised himself as he eased his body off Blake, ready to leave the bed and the room. A pair of shiny eyes looking at him with what resembled discontentment stopped him. Faltering, he laid on his side, just far enough that he wasn't touching Blake, wondering what would happen.

  Blake closed his eyes again and slid closer to Marc, falling asleep seconds after he had pulled Marc's arm over him.

  There wasn't much left for Marc to do except get some sleep, too, and try not to think, at least for a little while.

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  Chapter 21

  As soon as they reached the town where Jen had been detained, Kate and Daniel looked at each other, their expressions darkening in the same way.

  "What... what happened?” Simon stammered from the back seat.

  "Demons,” Kate replied darkly, although by now Simon shouldn't have needed to ask. Under the light of the early night moon, the signs were easy enough to recognize.

  The worst of the rubble had been cleared away, but the damage was still fresh, the defense walls still torn down. Kate tried to remember how large the town's militia had been; she hadn't seen much of it, but somehow she doubted they could have pushed back a demon attack massive enough to breach the walls so thoroughly.

  Daniel was waved on by dispirited guards at the town's entrance and drove through what seemed like a ghost city. If not for a few lights in the houses lining the streets, Kate would have thought the demons had won this battle for good. There were signs, though, that humans were not giving up or preparing to move on to a better-fortified city quite yet. They wouldn't have started cleaning and repairing if they were.

  The three of them were silent until they reached the police station, which had been converted into headquarters for the militia where they had interrogated Jen before. Daniel parked in front of what was left of the building, and Kate had a flashback to the City. The level of devastation was the same: fallen facade, broken windows, sunken roof. All that was missing was swirling fog to cloak the ruins.

  Next to her, Daniel let out a string of foul curses. Taken aback, Kate blinked and turned to face him. She couldn't remember ever hearing him swear before. His eyes were glowing, his teeth almost bared. His entire body seemed tense, coiled like a spring ready to unfurl.

  "When's the last time you fed?” she asked, already twisting in her seat to grab the cooler in the back.

  "What? I'm not hungry,” Daniel snapped, glaring at her.

  Kate opened her mouth, ready to call him a liar, but a quiet shuffling sound in the back seat stopped her. She turned to Simon, who squirmed uncomfortably under her hard gaze.

  "Why don't you go find out what happened?” she told him, and somehow the words sounded like an order.

  "M—me?” Simon asked back, eyes wide and a little scared. “But there's no one out there, who am I going to ask? And there could be de—demons! Aren't you going to come with me?"

  "That looks like some kind of official building,” Kate said, pointing at the lit edifice across the street. “Start there. We'll join you in a minute."

  Simon's mouth twisted unhappily. Before he could argue any more, Kate gave him a look that made him jump in his seat. He pushed the door open and slipped out of the car, hurrying across the street to the building Kate had pointed out. She kept an eye on him until he had disappeared inside, then turned fully to Daniel. He was looking at her as though ready to ask if she had lost her mind.

  "I know you're not feeding enough,” she said, her tone calm but strong. “That's why you've been such a pain since we—"

  "I'm still your superior,” he cut in, his eyes pinning her down, “and you will not talk to me like this."

  Kate snorted. She tried to project confidence, but of their own accord her hands clenched on the cooler. “I'm not part of the squad anymore. And neither are you."

  "How dare you!"

  Her eyes narrowed, and she shook her head. She remembered how strange she had found it that Daniel would leave the squad, and how easily he had agreed to accompany her and Simon. At the time, she had believed that seeing his Sire again was what had motivated Daniel, but now she had a feeling she might have been wrong. Daniel hadn't seemed all that happy to see Marc again, and he had jumped at the opportunity
to leave Riverton and get away from him. It all added up to a conclusion that now seemed evident; she had noticed the changes, but she had been too distracted by the situation with Blake to realize the extent of what was going on with Daniel.

  "You didn't decide to take a break, did you? They fired you."

  Daniel didn't reply. He didn't need to. The way he gritted his teeth was answer enough.

  "Don't you get it?” she asked, meeting his fiery gaze without flinching. “The soldiers of the squad started complaining about your temper just weeks after you were turned. I was...” She swallowed and blinked away the memories of those dark months. “I was too hurt to take them seriously. They must have gone over both our heads and complained to your superiors."

  Daniel's eyes glowed golden. “I do not have a temper!"

  Kate winced. “You'd be a lot more convincing if you weren't shouting."

  "I'm not—” He drew in a sharp breath and dropped his voice to a more reasonable level. “I'm not shouting."

  "And you're not starving either. Right.” She rolled her eyes at him. “How long have we known each other? Do you think I can't tell when there's something wrong with you? Marc can tell because he's your Sire. I can because I'm your friend."

  She reached out and laid a hand on his shoulder. His body tensed even more, and for a moment, she was sure he would shake her off. He didn't, though, and turned his face away, facing the ruins rather than her. She rubbed his shoulder in what she hoped was a soothing manner.

  "Why don't you feed?” she asked quietly.

  He gave a tiny shake of his head. “I do feed."

  Kate sighed. She squeezed his shoulder before dropping her hand. “Not enough, judging by how short-tempered you've become."

  His head whipped to her again. The annoyance reflected in his eyes felt forced now, a last boisterous attack; he was losing this fight, and he knew it. “It has nothing to do—"

  She interrupted him before he could finish the lie. “I've been friends with vampires. I'm in love with two of them. You think I don't know what effect hunger has on you guys?"