Blood Ties Bundle: Blood Ties Book One: The Turning / Blood Ties Book Two: Possession / Blood Ties Book Three: Ashes to Ashes / Blood Ties Book Four: All Souls' Night

I frowned at the cell phone in my palm. “So…is this a James Bond type of device that shoots fireballs or sprays acid or something?”

“Not exactly.” He took the phone and pressed a button, lighting up the screen. “But it does speed-dial Ziggy’s pager. If you have any trouble, call him.”

My jaw dropped. “What? Ziggy’s at the hospital and you told him to stay off the streets.”

I wanted him to be annoyed by my protestations, but he remained perfectly calm as he prepared for battle. “Ziggy is better equipped to handle an emergency than you are. I trust him to keep you safe. Besides, there are plenty of weapons in the closet that you can use, and I really doubt that Dahlia will be back.”

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. “Hey, it’s my apartment burning down! I’m coming with you.”

“No.” Nathan shook his head adamantly. “Too dangerous.”

“Too dan—” I sputtered in my anger. “You’re supposed to want me to die! Hell, if you’re so loyal to the Movement, you should be shoveling vampires into burning buildings by the truckload.”

“This isn’t open for discussion. You don’t know how to fight, and you’ll be nothing but a distraction to me.” When I opened my mouth to argue further, he held up a hand. “I’m leaving. If you want to live through the night, you’ll stay here.”

Grabbing the axe, he stormed out of the apartment, slamming the door so hard the walls rattled.

“Well…fuck you!” I shouted, kicking one of the couch cushions to the floor.

How dare he! As if I were somehow incapable of looking out for myself in my own, albeit probably on fire, apartment. And what did he mean when he’d said I’d be a distraction? Did he think I was going to get in his way, asking questions with painfully obvious answers and twirling my hair while looking on with a vapid expression?

Jerk.

I tossed the cell phone on the table. It slid across the glass top, colliding with the notebooks piled there. Papers cascaded to the floor. Frowning, I knelt to straighten them. I lifted the papers one sheet at a time and shuffled them into a uniform stack. When I laid the pile aside, I noticed the top page was an Internet printout of a map. It was a map of the very affluent neighborhood on the east side of town, with a big red X drawn on in marker.

Now, this was interesting. I flipped the paper aside to examine the sheet underneath. It was a fax, dated three days before John Doe had attacked me. Sent from VVEM to N. Galbraith, the letter contained only an address. The same address on the map.

“I thought his last name was Grant,” I muttered to myself. I was about to flip to the next page when the cell phone rang.

“Nate, it’s me. I’m stuck in this emergency room. They put me in this curtained-off little room and haven’t been back since. I think they’re calling the police.”

I cut Ziggy off when he stopped for a breath. “Nathan isn’t here. Dahlia set my apartment on fire. He went to check it out.”

“No shit? And he left you there?” He sounded as surprised at Nathan’s actions as I was.

“He thinks I can’t defend myself.” I looked over at the computer desk in the corner. “Listen, a fax came after he went out. From VVEM? Is that the Movement?”

His curse resonated down the line, and no doubt through the stark, sterile emergency room. “Yeah. That’s them. I wonder what they want.”

“I didn’t read it,” I said, compounding my lie.

“It’s probably another kill order.” He cleared his throat. “Just stick it on the fridge. It’s the first place he goes after a fight.”

“Thanks, Ziggy.” I bit my lip. “When exactly did the order come down for Cyrus?”

“The original one? I don’t know, he’s got like forty by now. Hey, somebody’s here to take my blood and they’re not happy I’m on a cell phone here, so—”

“No, the last order for him,” I practically shouted into the phone. “When did that come through?”

“Why?” Ziggy’s tone was suddenly suspicious. “Maybe you should ask Nathan when he gets back. I have to—”

“Ziggy, wait!”

The line went dead. I threw the phone to the floor in frustration. This was too much of a coincidence, I concluded as I stared at the map. Three days. What were the chances he’d gotten this message about a different vampire three days before he’d attacked Cyrus?

I flipped a page. There was my answer, in black and white.

From: VVEM

To: N. Galbraith

Re: Case #372-96 Part 9Y

Assassination Order: Simon Seymour, aka Simon Kerrick, aka Cyrus Kerrick for Crimes against Humanity.

Well. There it was.

I glanced guiltily at the door and wondered how long Nathan would be gone. But did I really care if he found me missing?

Remembering his condescension earlier, I decided that I definitely would not care. This wasn’t any of his business, and I only had a few precious days left to make my decision about the Movement. I deserved to know the truth about my undead birth. As much help as Nathan had been, it wasn’t his blood flowing through my veins.

A curious ache filled me at the thought of Cyrus, and I wondered if this yearning was a symptom of the blood tie. And if it was, would this strange link protect me from more harm at the hands of my sire?

Without allowing myself to dwell on fear, I stuffed the map into my pocket. I called in to work to say I wouldn’t be in. When I hung up, a vaguely empty feeling came over me, the realization that I might not return to the hospital. I forced the thought aside and opened the closet.

Though there were plenty of weapons at my disposal, I took a stake, the smallest and easiest to conceal of the bunch. Besides, I knew what to do with a stake. The spiky-ball-on-a-stick thing looked considerably more complicated to operate. Of course, a stake wouldn’t protect me from Dahlia, if she was still waiting for me. But Nathan was a vampire hunter, not a witch hunter. I suppose I could douse her with water and melt her like in The Wizard of Oz, if it came to that.

I almost left a note for Nathan but decided against it. I realized there was nothing I could write that wouldn’t seem like I’d turned my back on all of his help. There was no way to soften the truth.

As helpful and considerate as he’d been, there were some questions Nathan couldn’t answer. For those, I’d have to face my fear the way I had that night in the morgue.

I had to meet my sire.

Six

John Doe

The day obviously hadn’t been a warm one. The twilight air was cold enough to steal the breath from my lungs.

I’d found my wool coat hanging over the towel rack in the bathroom. It appeared Nathan had spot-cleaned the blood from it. But it didn’t keep me warm as I walked the miles from Nathan’s apartment to the address on the paper. Being dead had some serious disadvantages, like constantly assuming room temperature, no matter what that temperature might be.

While my car still sat at the curb outside the bookshop, the keys were probably still on the ground outside the donor house. There was no way I’d go back there. I preferred walking.

I was familiar with the posh neighborhood. When I’d been new to the city, I’d often drive through the winding streets and marvel at the modern mansions and fairy-tale châteaus. They looked completely out of place in the sparsely wooded area. Tall brick walls and elaborate gates wrapped around the lots. Some had privacy hedges with formidable-looking security cameras that glared at passersby with cold, glassy eyes. From the shelter of my car, I’d daydreamed about the people living in these houses and imagined living in one myself ten years down the road. The fantasies had always featured a handsome yet oddly faceless husband and our adorable, ambiguous children. Only one house had ever been the feature of a horror story in my mind.

That one turned out to be Cyrus’s.

A severe Edwardian manor, it sat far back on a lawn surrounded by a stone wall. The wrought-iron gate at the drive looked as though it hadn’t been opened in centuries. There was no intercom or bell. I gripped the iron bars and gave a push. The hinges didn’t creak, and the gate swung open to admit me.