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

“Deb is a regular,” he explained, almost apologetically. “You might as well go upstairs.”

“Not to my apartment?” I asked hopefully.

He stared at the ground. “Yeah, I was meaning to tell you about that.”

“It’s completely gone.” I could tell by the look on his face.

He couldn’t meet my eyes. “I’m sorry, Carrie.”

I went to Nathan’s apartment, my head still spinning. What had I been thinking? I’d met this man just over a week ago, and now I was rolling around on the floor with him. And after his tall, dark and surly act. Had I really become the wilting Southern-belle type, just waiting for a big, brooding Rhett Butler to come and dominate me?

I wandered around, absentmindedly picking up clothes strewn around the living room. Once the dirty laundry was folded, I moved on to the coffee table.

I straightened the hopeless pile of books and papers. Not too thoroughly, lest I be accused of snooping again. Thinking of everything he’d said downstairs only made my blood boil, so I gathered stray dishes and dropped them unceremoniously into a sink full of soapy water. I meant to wash them, until the coffee mugs turned the water a soft pink and I lost my stomach for the task.

My manic cleaning spree continued through the house. In the past nine days, I had become homeless, hunted and, soon, unemployed. I probably had enough money in my bank account for a few months’ rent and utilities, but the point seemed moot since I didn’t have an apartment anymore.

Did the Voluntary Vampire Extinction Movement pay a salary?

Nathan had offered blood, shelter and protection. The least I could do was tidy up the place. Because he’s not getting anything else. My behavior downstairs might have raised some of his expectations. I’d have to nip that situation in the bud.

Moving to his bedroom, I stripped the sheets from the bed and threw them into the corner that appeared to be his dirty-laundry hamper. Vampire or not, it appeared men just couldn’t clean up after themselves.

A pang of sadness washed over me as I realized I no longer had a home to clean. Or clothes. Or major appliances.

How had my life suddenly become so complicated? How would I survive as a vampire? How long has it been since he’s flipped his mattress?

I eyed the goldfish bowl on Nathan’s bedside table as I wrestled the heavy mattress off the box springs. I’d read somewhere that goldfish had a memory span of three seconds. Every three seconds, that poor fish had to come to grips with a new and frightening reality. I could definitely identify with that.

I lifted the bowl, pressed my face against the cool glass and counted to three. “Surprise.”

I sighed as I set the container back in its place. It didn’t seem to phase the little orange guy. He just kept on swimming. Another three seconds passed as I wrestled the mattress over and back onto the box springs. Panting and sweating, I looked to the fishbowl. No reaction.

Fish were survivors.

I opened the closet doors to look for clean sheets, on the off chance he owned some. There were assorted bare hangers and a few shirts that hadn’t been worn in so long that the shoulders were dusty. Three mismatched tennis shoes huddled together in the corner next to a dried-out, curled-up object that resembled a dead mouse.

I found a set of sheets on the top shelf and pulled them down. Something heavy and sharp came down with them and landed on my foot. I said a few choice words and leaned over to pick up the offending object. It was a small picture frame, weighty for its size. The picture was yellow and faded.

A pretty young woman beamed at me from the photograph. She wore a simple white blouse and a long tartan skirt. She clutched a bouquet of wild flowers tightly to her chest. A young man in a plain-looking suit stood next to her. The couple posed on the stone steps of a small country church. I squinted at the man. He bore a remarkable resemblance to…

I flipped the frame over and carefully removed the photograph. There were no names, but someone had recorded the date. June 23, 1924.

I stared at the picture. Nathan, just twenty years old, stared back.

“Carrie? Sorry I took so long, but you wouldn’t believe how that woman can talk about her cats.”

I put the photograph back into the frame, replaced it on the top shelf and slammed the closet doors shut.

“Wow, this place looks great,” Nathan called from the living room, veritable appreciation in his voice. He came into the bedroom and laughed when he saw me. “You’re making the bed, too? Do I have to pay you?”

“And I flipped the mattress. That’ll be twenty bucks.” I eyed the shopping bags he held. “Or whatever’s in that Victoria’s Secret bag.”

He laughed, a tight, embarrassed sound, and dumped the bags on the bed. “I didn’t know what size you are, so if these don’t fit, we’ll return them.”

Nathan had thought of everything. There were sweaters and T-shirts in safe, neutral colors from Old Navy, jeans, and pretty silk panties courtesy of Victoria’s Secret. “I saved some of your clothes from the fire, but they were so full of smoke, I didn’t think they’d ever come clean.”

A lump formed in my throat. “Nathan, you didn’t have to do this. I—”

I didn’t realize I was crying until my voice grew too thick to speak.

“I didn’t mean to make you cry. I just thought you could use some stuff.” He cleared his throat and handed me another bag. “If I give you this, do you promise to stop?”

I snorted through my tears. “I’ll try. When did you buy all these things?”

“When I got back from the fire. You were gone and I was pissed off, so I went shopping.”

“You went shopping because you were mad at me?” I took the bag from his hands. “Remind me to stay on your bad side.”

He chuckled at that. “Must be some lingering feminine influence from a past life. If you ever catch me watching The View, go ahead and kill me. I just figured you might come back, and I wanted to make you feel really guilty.”

“Don’t worry, I do,” I said, reaching into the bag. It was plastic, stamped with the logo of a local grocery chain. I froze when my fingers closed on a familiar object. “Nathan…what?”

With trembling hands, I pulled out the small framed photo of me and my parents on graduation day. It had been on my dresser when I’d last seen it. “Oh, thank you.”

Appalled at the sight of my fresh tears, he backed away. “Whoa, whoa. I thought you were going to stop doing that.”

“I’m sorry. Nobody’s ever done anything so nice for me.” It wasn’t a lie. I’d been raised to believe that nothing came easy, nothing was free, and the only person I could depend on was myself. I reached into the bag again. “Is this my…this is my diploma.”

“I figured you might want to keep it, for nostalgic purposes.” He scuffed his shoes on the carpet. “You know, this fire might be the perfect way to break ties with your former life. People die in fires all the time.”

Former life. My photo album. My journals. Everything I’d valued as irreplaceable was gone. My father used to say our society puts too much value on the past. I wished I could scream his words back at him now. My past was all that was left of you. Now that it’s gone, so are you.

“Let’s not talk about this right now, okay?” I said as I dabbed my eyes on the back of my hand. Before Nathan could protest, my stomach growled loudly.

A look of concern crossed his face. “How long has it been since you’ve fed?”

I cringed at the memory of the dead girl. “Cyrus offered, but I couldn’t…feed. Not the way he did.”

Nathan’s jaw tightened, but he said nothing. He headed to the kitchen, and I followed.

“So, did you get The Sanguinarius back?” I watched as he pulled a bag of blood from the refrigerator and poured it into the teapot on the stove.

He shook his head. “I didn’t have time to look for it.”

Surprisingly, I found myself savoring the metallic smell of the warming blood. “But you had time to look for my diploma, and the picture of my parents?”

Shrugging his shoulders, he poured me a mug and left the rest on the stove. “I had priorities.”