Authors: Linda Howard
Blood Born (2 page)
The conduit was exhausted, robbed of sleep night after night by his warrior trying to contact him, but he wasn’t so tired that he couldn’t appreciate the view as Melody shimmied out of her clothes. When she was entirely naked she took his hand and guided it to her breast, where he held it as she slowly peeled his clothes off and trailed her mouth over each section of his body as she bared it. The anxiousness she’d seen in him for the past three days faded, replaced by desire.
She straddled him, took him in, closed her eyes and enjoyed the feel of coming together. Their position was awkward, thanks to the small space. His bed would’ve been better, but he didn’t want to go home. Home was no longer a sanctuary for him, poor thing.
Home was where contact with one’s warrior began, and sometimes ended. At home, alone, safe from uninvited visitors and the turmoil of public places, the conduits began to see or hear or simply sense the presence of their warriors. No wonder the poor boy had been sleeping on friends’ couches and in this very truck, where he could have a few hours of peace.
The sex was fast and sweaty and satisfying for both. There was a touch of awkwardness that was almost endearing. He was manly but also shy. He wasn’t a smooth operator with the ladies and never had been. If she hadn’t made the first move, he never would’ve spoken to her.
When they finished, for a long moment they lay awkwardly tangled, sweating and sated. Melody lifted her head, shook back her thick blond hair, and looked him in the eye. Even in the dark, he saw her … and she saw him. She caught his gaze, pushed, and his mind was hers. She was charmed by how easy and pliable he was. She’d be tempted to keep him for a while, if she didn’t have a job to do.
She extended her fangs, but because she’d already established a contact with his mind, he wasn’t alarmed. She already had control, and he knew what she wanted. Obediently he tipped his head to the side, exposing a long, strong, salty throat.
Melody lowered her head and bit down, breaking the skin, opening a vein. She couldn’t drain him; she’d been ordered to be cautious when killing the conduits, so there wouldn’t be a trail of bloodless bodies that might lead the humans to the center of power and blow the whole revolution thing. He tasted so
good
, as if the basic sweetness of his nature flavored his blood. Melody hummed a little in delight, and because she was a generous person she reached down and stroked his penis while she fed. He gave a little moan and pumped his hips against her hand.
“That’s good, sugar,” she whispered. “Isn’t it good?” Without waiting for an answer she drew deeply of his blood, lost in the moment, in the lovely feel of his body and the taste of his life force, in the energy that coursed through her as she fed.
Finally she made herself stop drinking; she didn’t
dare take any more. With lingering movements of her tongue she licked his throat, waited for the healing to kick in and close the bite. That done, she placed a strong hand over his mouth and nose, cutting off his air. She hated that she had to use this method to kill when her own appetite was so much more efficient. It just made no sense to waste that much food. But she was a good soldier, so she did what she’d been told.
He didn’t struggle, except for a brief twitch. She kept his nose and mouth covered until his heart had ceased to beat. Her job done, Melody patted him on the head, then touched his cheek. At least his last few minutes alive had been happy ones. She found some comfort in that thought. She wasn’t a monster, she was just …
different
. More than that, she was
better
. Better than she’d ever been before, better than humans, who knew so little and existed for the benefit of those like her.
She took her time putting on her clothes, watching through the tinted glass windows as the last of the bar patrons came out, got in their various vehicles, and left. They didn’t pay a bit of attention to the truck. He’d left it parked here a few nights lately, getting rides with friends when he was too drunk to drive, or sleeping in the backseat.
When the last patron left and the neon beer sign went out, Melody climbed out of the truck, closing the door behind her.
It bothered her that the conduit hadn’t fought. Even though he’d been glamoured, his body should have struggled for air. Maybe she’d taken too much. She didn’t have the kind of control an older vampire possessed, but that wasn’t her fault, was it? She’d get older … eventually. But if she’d taken too much blood and some backcountry coroner got suspicious, she’d be in trouble. It really would be best if there wasn’t enough left of the body for any medical examiner to study.
The good thing was, she had a natural talent that had come to life when she’d been turned, one that came in very handy when she wanted to hide some evidence. She lifted her hand, applied some concentration as she stared at her palm, and a small lick of flame flared to life there. She didn’t feel any pain or heat from the flames, because it was
her
fire.
She stood back and with a flick of her hand sent that flame toward the pickup. It caught, licked across the seat, and with her mind she sent it racing through the cab, where it engulfed the body. Stepping farther away, she drove the fire onward, sending it in search of the gas tank. That took some doing, because she really wasn’t sure where gas tanks were located, but by the time she struck pay dirt—so to speak—she was far enough away that the explosion didn’t do much more than ruffle her hair.
A man came running out of the bar, alarmed by the noise of the explosion. Taken aback, Melody stared at him. She’d completely forgotten about the bartender. The older man raced toward her. “Dear God, what happened?” he yelled as he fumbled for the cell phone in his pocket.
Dammit! Under most circumstances Melody wouldn’t have cared that her presence had been noticed, but her orders were clear: don’t draw attention to what was happening, or else. She didn’t want to find out what “or else” meant, though she had a very good idea. The last thing she wanted was to make Sorin unhappy. She had to handle this, and do it fast.
In the blink of an eye she moved in front of the bartender, startling him. “Wha—” he began, already stepping back, but she caught his gaze and he was hers. She saw the reflection of the fire in his eyes, then she was in his mind.
“I wasn’t here,” she said calmly. “That poor boy’s
been sleeping in the back of his truck lately, and you knew that but didn’t mind.”
“I didn’t mind,” the bartender echoed.
“Poor fella,” Melody continued. “He hasn’t been himself lately. He’s been moping around about the divorce, and he just seemed so sad.” Slowly she walked away, and when she was out of the bartender’s line of sight she released his mind.
She watched as he fumbled with his cell phone, listened to the frantic call. “Send the fire truck, the ambulance, whatever you got!”
Walking down the side of the narrow road in the darkness, Melody smiled to herself. That had been fun.
Another conduit would soon be hers. As soon as she reported in that she’d succeeded here, she’d be given another assignment. How would she kill the next one? Knife, pillow, gun, a shove off the side of a cliff … it all depended on who and where. She had to be more careful about taking too much blood next time, though, but when the rebels succeeded and vampires ruled, she wouldn’t ever have to be careful again.
Cool
, she thought. Very cool.
ONE
The Scottish Highlands
There was something special about Scotland in the summer that made it one of his favorite places in the world. It was more than the rain and clouds and heavy mist that called Luca Ambrus here; it was the taste of what had come before, a palpable history that flowed so vividly in his memory that sometimes he could close his eyes and hear the voices of people long gone, feel the impact and vibration of a sword in his hands during countless battles, smell the peat fires. He’d actually been born in Greece—his olive skin gave away his Mediterranean heritage—but he’d spent many more years in Scotland than he had in Greece and was far more at home here. Greece was too hot and sunny; he much preferred cool, misty, foggy places.
There were times when he craved the noise and movement and excitement of a city, but more often he preferred his own company and his own thoughts. If he hadn’t been comfortable within himself, he’d have gone mad many centuries ago. But he
was
comfortable and grounded, to use the current phrasing, so he was very content to pass days, weeks, at a time without seeing another soul. The trick was to live in the moment, to
enjoy each successive year for itself, for the changes that came both slow and fast, and for the things that never changed. He enjoyed life, and didn’t necessarily require companionship.
His home here in the Highlands was an elegant cottage with all the modern conveniences, far away from the larger cities. He saw no need to sacrifice his comfort for solitude when he could have both. Once he’d have had to choose between them, but no longer. Times changed. What good was living through the centuries if he couldn’t enjoy all that was offered?
The things he’d seen come into being during the past hundred and fifty years! Even he, who was seldom surprised by anything, had watched with bemusement as change piled on change. Electric lights, telephones, automobiles, airplanes—it was almost too much to take in, though he enjoyed them very much. He loved movies and television, the travel, the thrill of driving a fast car or getting on a plane and a few hours later being thousands of miles away. The humans had even managed to go into space; the audacity of such fragile creatures was either valiant or incredibly stupid, and despite two millennia studying them he hadn’t yet decided which it was. Both, perhaps.
He had money, and he had time. If he was in the mood for city life he stayed in his place near Seattle, Washington. When he wanted peace and quiet, he came here. In a while he would tire of the quiet and move on, but for now … for now the solitude was as necessary to his survival as blood. Immortality didn’t come without a price.
Still, he never stayed in one place very long—“long” being a relative term. A month might seem long to some, but to him it was the blink of the eye, a heartbeat. It wasn’t in his nature to nest. He was a hunter at heart, and he enjoyed the thrill of the chase even more
than the inevitable end when the prey was his. One day soon he would feel the call—or receive an actual call—and in a flash he would leave behind his beloved solitude to lose himself once more in the blood hunt.
When twilight came, Luca left his cottage and walked out into the cool fresh air. This was the time of day he liked best, when the fading light and gathering darkness accentuated the aloneness he sometimes craved as if it were as tangible as the earth he walked upon. He took a course that led him through a fragrant meadow, with the craggy mountains looming over him and deepening the shadows. His boots cut slowly through the tall grass. There was no hurry in his movements, no need beyond the moment. He was old enough that he no longer had to feed very often, unless he was burning a lot of energy, which allowed him to escape from the world for days, even weeks, at a time. The hunger, the
need
, would eventually come, and when it did he would feed.
But he wasn’t hungry tonight. Tonight he was satisfied to walk these stark, dramatic hills and remember the battles that had been fought here. There was a lot to remember, because there had been so many battles, so many wars. Easily destroyed or not, his human fellow warriors had thrown themselves into war with such complete lack of caution that he could only marvel. It wasn’t as if they didn’t know they were mortal; they did. And still they fought, often long past the point where sanity or common sense should have kicked in. Even after centuries of watching them, preying on them, sometimes fighting beside them, humans could still bemuse him.
He didn’t know exactly how old he was; he knew he was over two thousand, but he couldn’t pin down a year or even a birth date, if he’d ever known it at all. Vampires in general weren’t big on calendars, even
assuming his mother had known the date he’d been born. He’d kept track for a while, the first four or five hundred years, but after that he’d lost interest because the number wasn’t important; after all, no one would be throwing a birthday party for him. All that was important was his personal power, which had grown with each passing century and would continue to increase, until now the number who equaled him in some ways could be counted on one hand. In power lay safety, and one of the first lessons he’d learned was to always watch his back, even with his own kind, which was why he didn’t live among them.
He had everything he needed here. In a lot of ways he was more comfortable with humans than he was with the kindred, because he could relax with humans. He didn’t fear them, didn’t have to be wary of them. They were puny in so many ways, a lot of fun in others, and best of all, they never remembered him.
A small village lay just over the farthest hill. When he had to feed, he went there. And when he left after feeding, the people he’d met, even those he’d fed upon, immediately forgot he’d been there at all. Every time he entered the village, the residents greeted him as a new visitor. That was his power, his curse, his salvation: no one remembered him. When he passed by, he passed out of their lives as if he’d never been there at all. Only the strongest of his own kind could resist the power, which meant he could come and go as he wished. To be forgotten as soon as he was out of sight was as good as being invisible, and gave him a freedom that other vampires could only dream of having.
He was engrossed in one particularly delicious memory when the portable satellite phone in his pocket rang. He cursed under his breath. The one thing he didn’t enjoy about modern life was the ease of communication. In the old days, the Council would have
had to send him a written summons, which, depending on where he was, could take months to reach him. Not that the length of time mattered, because no matter how long a rogue vampire had to go to ground, Luca always found his prey.