Blood Passage (Blood Destiny #2) Read online

  BLOOD PASSAGE

  Blood Destiny, book 2

  By Connie Suttle

  For Walter, because he made it possible

  For Joe, whose help has been invaluable

  Thank you

  Blood Passage, e-edition

  Copyright © 2009 by Connie Suttle

  This e-book is a work of fiction. Names, characters and incidents portrayed within its digital pages are purely fictitious and a product of the author's often warped imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Also by Connie Suttle

  (Blood Destiny Series)

  Blood Wager

  Blood Passage

  *Blood Sense

  *forthcoming, September 2011

  Chapter 1

  "Lissa, this is Brock." My surrogate sire, Merrill (as handsome as the devil with ebon hair and piercing blue eyes), introduced me to a vampire who was perhaps an inch taller than his own six-three. I'd been called into Merrill's overly large kitchen for the introduction. Franklin stood at the stove nearby, preparing dinner for himself and Lena, Merrill's housekeeper.

  Brock's scent told me immediately that Merrill had made him. That was my secret, now—knowing who'd sired whom. If I'd met the sire, that is. Perhaps I would tell Merrill of this particular ability someday. Perhaps. He'd frowned slightly when I informed him that I could determine the age of any vampire by scent. Not their exact age, mind you, but I could certainly tell which ones were older and which younger. Brock wasn't nearly as handsome and nowhere near as old as Merrill. I'd guessed the tall, brown-eyed vampire to be around a hundred, perhaps a little more. His scent was one of the lightest ones I'd encountered among vampires. Even Charles' was heavier and spicier.

  "Hello," I held out my hand politely. Sometimes vampires frown on touching, so I was taking a chance. When Brock smiled and took my hand, I almost breathed a sigh of relief.

  "Brock is here to teach you to take blood properly," Merrill said, motioning for us to follow him. Franklin turned from his cooking for a moment and winked at me before I followed obediently behind Merrill and Brock. Our destination was Merrill's study, where most of my lessons took place.

  "Remain standing," Merrill instructed, so I stood behind my favorite chair, which faced his beautiful, hand-carved, cherry wood desk. My favorite chair was the wingback on the left. I don't know why I preferred it to the one on the right; both were spaced evenly before Merrill's desk and were identical as far as I could tell. "I taught Brock how to take blood properly," Merrill went on, "so he will be taking from you, teaching you not only how to do it for yourself but what happens with the bite when it comes. This will enable you to take properly if you find it necessary and no bagged blood is available."

  Merrill's words made me want to shrink away from Brock. I'd only been bitten once—to my knowledge anyway—and that resulted in my turning. I had no memory of it and just the thought of being bitten frightened me. Merrill knew right away. I suppose he'd spent a very long time reading the reactions of others, vampires included. I was a new turn and most likely an open book. "Lissa, he will not harm you," Merrill scolded. I must have cringed enough to offend both Merrill and Brock. Drawing a steadying breath, I straightened up immediately.

  "I really won't hurt you," Brock said gently, attempting to reassure. He was giving me a lop-sided grin but that didn't help much. I didn't know this man—or vampire. At all.

  "Now," Merrill began, "if the donor seems reluctant, you must place compulsion."

  Brock's eyes met mine as he took my hand and murmured, "I will not harm you. You have nothing to fear." His weak compulsion washed over me. I nodded at him, my eyes wide with fright. Obviously, my terror was stronger than Brock's compulsion but I wasn't going to point that out to him or to Merrill.

  "Now, you must bring their body against yours and hold it securely," Merrill explained. Brock pulled my body against his with one hand while the other cupped the back of my neck. I shivered in his grasp.

  "Next," Merrill continued while pointedly ignoring my silent alarm, "you may choose to place a kiss. Your saliva holds just a bit of natural anesthetic, so any initial pain may be muted." Brock placed a careful kiss over the artery in my throat. I could feel his cool breath against my skin as he held my body firmly against his. The kiss, as careful as it was, did nothing to allay my fear. I knew what was coming, tightly embraced as I was against an unknown vampire. He held power over me—they all did. It terrified me.

  "The bite comes next," Merrill said while Brock sank his fangs into my throat. I stiffened as I felt his teeth enter my skin, and whimpered while the most intense orgasm I'd ever experienced washed over me before blackness descended.

  * * *

  "Lissa? Wake up, child," Merrill slapped my wrist. Franklin was there as well, I could tell by the scent. He was also the one washing my face with a cold, wet cloth. My eyes blinked open and I stared at Merrill and Franklin both.

  "I don't know why I wasn't expecting this, at least on some level," Merrill chastised himself. I was lying on a sofa in his bedroom—Merrill's suite was near his study, so they'd taken me there to bring me around.

  "You haven't known her very long," Franklin attempted to calm Merrill down. "How would you know?"

  I was listening to them with barely half an ear. I'd fainted only once since becoming vampire and remembered it vividly; Gavin kissed me and then blackness had come. Gavin was currently on assignment but when he returned and called to see if I'd go out with him, he had some serious explaining to do.

  "How do you feel?" Merrill patted my hand.

  "All right," I sat up on the sofa and looked around. I'd never been inside Merrill's bedroom before and probably would never be there again. It was richly decorated in a masculine sort of way. There was only one photograph in the entire suite and it rested on Merrill's bedside table. I didn't linger long on the image.

  "Maybe you should drink a little of this," Brock walked in, offering a unit of blood. My cheeks might have flooded with color if I'd still been able to blush. I accepted the blood with my own version of embarrassment, shaking hands and all.

  "This isn't embarrassing or anything," I muttered, biting the top off the bag to drink.

  "We knew the climax would come, I just hadn't any idea how intense it would be," Merrill said. "For that, I apologize."

  "Well, that's the first time I ever did that with two men in the room," I grumbled as I sipped blood. Franklin snickered.

  "If it's any consolation, I'm gay," Brock said. "So, only one of the men was straight."

  I met Brock's steady gaze, his clear, brown eyes revealing a bit of worry. "I don't think my body knew the difference," I shrugged.

  "Tomorrow evening we will take you out and you will do this for yourself," Merrill informed me. "We planned to go out tonight, but your faint has precluded that activity."

  "If you could eat them, I'd make brownies for you," Franklin smiled as he took the bag of blood away. I'd only finished half of it.

  "I remember chocolate," I heaved a shaky sigh. "Thanks for the thought." I smiled back at Franklin. We'd become good friends, he and I. He patted my shoulder.

  "Come, we'll do other lessons tonight," Merrill helped me off the sofa. I followed him on unsteady legs as he walked toward his study. Brock and Franklin turned toward the stairs lying in the opposite direction.

  "I know Gavin gave you rule four," Merrill began, once we were seated in our usual spots. "Rule five is this: You cannot attempt to turn anyone unless you are past your five year apprenticeship. After that, you may only attempt ten turns over your lifetime. This rule played a large part in Edward and Sergio's death sentences; they'd turned ne
arly thirty between them. I think you were twenty-eight or twenty-nine. Another died while they hunted you. They'd also killed all your predecessors, playing their sick games. You were the only one that lived."

  "Wow. I had no idea." I was shocked. No doubt, there were missing persons reports on many a detective's desk, and all because two fanged morons thought it was fun to play with people's lives.

  "There are other stipulations as well," Merrill steepled his fingers and gazed across his desk at me. "First, it must be a viable candidate, in a place where the turn may be completed without interruption or observance by other humans. By viable candidate, we mean that they must be dying or near death, of good character and over the age of eighteen. Obviously, if they are a criminal as a human then they will be a criminal as a vampire. The commutative property taking effect as it were." Merrill was smiling slightly. "You will be considered rogue and subject to the death penalty if you ever drink from or attempt to turn a child. And once you do perform a turn, you must monitor that individual, watching over them every night until the transformation is complete. You must do this so they will not wake unsupervised and in confusion as to what they are. You must take responsibility for your child from the beginning, making sure he is carefully taught everything he should know to become a member of the vampire race. If your child disobeys, he must be punished. If he becomes unmanageable, then you are expected to notify the Council, who will order the child brought in for questioning. If the Council determines that the child is unfit, they will order the death of the child and that death will come swiftly."

  "I don't think I'll be trying it," I whispered, stunned over Merrill's explanation. The thought of taking responsibility for an adult vampire gave me the shivers.

  "I've only turned five and two of those are dead," Merrill informed me, the emotionless mask sliding into place across his features.

  "I'm sorry," I said. Merrill inclined his head in silent acceptance.

  * * *

  We parked several blocks away and walked to the popular nightclub in London—Merrill, Brock and I. There were young people everywhere outside the brick building, talking, laughing and standing in a long line. It was Friday night and the place was crowded, with loud music thumping through the air from a live band playing inside.

  "I will select your target and you must get him alone and drink from him," Merrill instructed quietly as we approached the club and the spillover of humans outside it. He'd deliberately kept me from eating before we left the house. Now it was after midnight and I was definitely feeling hungry. I'd had regularly scheduled meals since coming to live with Merrill.

  "No," I whispered, as Merrill pointed out the one I was supposed to target. The young man had short, spiked hair, black roots with blond tips, piercings in every visible body part and additional piercings that I could make out beneath his thin shirt and low-riding jeans. What wasn't pierced was tattooed—everything from skulls to spider webs. I think he even had a gun and knife tattooed on each of his biceps.

  "Lissa, you will not always have the luxury of picking and choosing. Go get that one and be done with it," Merrill ordered sternly when I shook my head and attempted to back away.

  Disliking my surrogate sire for the first time ever, I squared my shoulders and stalked unwillingly toward my target. Merrill had instructed me to dress casual chic, as he termed it, and I'd found a sleeveless tank top in cranberry and my short, black skirt with sandals. I was overdressed for this crowd, I discovered.

  "Hi, handsome," I said to the young man, a strong desire to gag making its presence known as I trailed a finger suggestively down his tank-top-covered chest. He was probably stoned along with being drunk; a faint scent of alcohol was on his breath. With blue eyes unfocused and pupils merely pinpoints, he smiled at me. Since I didn't smell much alcohol on his breath, I figured it was drugs. And as heroin or opioid addiction causes the pupils to contract, it was likely he wasn't new to his habit. Resigning myself to impending and subsequent impairment, I placed the initial compulsion, suggesting that we walk toward a nearby alleyway. He agreed eagerly, draped an arm around my shoulders and tried to kiss me once before we reached a dark spot where we wouldn't be seen. I took his blood quickly, following Merrill's instructions to the letter before placing compulsion to forget me and the act I'd just committed. Merrill was somehow behind me when I finished and he and I walked toward Brock, who now leaned against the car, waiting for our return. I was wobbling by the time I arrived.

  "What's wrong with you?" Brock asked as I nearly fell into him. He managed to catch me with one hand while opening my door with the other.

  "Lover boy was stoned," I giggled a little. It doesn't take much to get me drunk; that's how I got vampirized to begin with, I thought to myself. Is vampirized even a word? I giggled again.

  "Let's get her out of here," Merrill muttered. He and Brock herded me into the back seat of the car. Brock was driving while Merrill leaned over the back of the passenger seat, keeping a watchful eye on me as we made our way through the outskirts of London.

  "I used to go through the drive-through window of my favorite donut shop and say 'gimme a half dozen, I want to commit a sin'," I threw a hand in the air and giggled at my own joke. Donuts were a favorite form of gluttony back then. Merrill remained watchful and silent, choosing to lift an eyebrow at my antics instead.

  Brock pulled into valet at a popular London restaurant and Merrill ushered me inside, Brock following along behind. I was still behaving erratically and wobbling just a little. Merrill's hand was beneath my elbow to steady me after only a few steps. "You must appear to be human and completely normal," Merrill hissed in my ear. I stared at him briefly before exploding with laughter. "Lissa, do not force me tell you again," Merrill snapped. I straightened right up. The threat of compulsion had saturated his words and there wasn't any way I wanted more of that.

  Forcing myself to eat a light meal after the drug-laced blood I'd ingested may be one of the hardest things I've ever done in my life. Merrill and Brock also ate a little. I was instructed to speak with the waiter and to make sense while I did it. I wanted to smack Merrill and Brock—when I asked them to excuse me so I could go to the ladies' room and eliminate what I'd eaten by coughing it up, Merrill wouldn't allow it. Brock drove us home afterward, the motion of the automobile making me feel worse with each passing moment. The drugs were having a bad effect and the food was about to make me ill, if that was possible. I couldn't help myself; the moment Brock parked inside Merrill's garage, I was out of the car and rushing through the still-open garage door. Dropping to my knees, I coughed up my toenails on the nicely manicured lawn outside. Merrill tried to help me up afterward but I slapped his hand away, got off my knees and wobbled into the house, wiping tears as I went. I may have slammed the door to my bedroom, too, while I was at it.

  * * *

  "I can't say I liked that lesson much either," Brock muttered when he and Merrill heard Lissa's bedroom door slam shut. Merrill sighed.

  "She won't speak to me for two days," he said, walking toward his study.

  "Sounds about right," Brock agreed and went to find a book to read.

  * * *

  Still furious when I woke the following evening, I ate, got my shower and dressed. Merrill would be holding class again at the usual time. I didn't speak to him or ask any questions the whole time he talked and he didn't force the issue. My arms were crossed tightly against my body throughout the lesson and when Merrill dismissed me, I was out of his study so fast I was a blur. The rooftop was my place to sulk or think and I was there, sulking for the remainder of the night. Rain fell two hours before dawn; therefore, I was soaked when I came inside. I wasn't worried about Merrill's expensive rugs, antique or otherwise, when I made sure not to track water and wet grass on the floors and carpets. I didn't want Franklin and Lena to be forced clean up after me. My shoes and socks were removed before I entered the house and I ran through the entryway so I wouldn't drip on anything.

  The second nig
ht was just the same. Merrill talked; I listened and sulked. Once again, the roof was my place to hide. After the third and fourth nights of silence (on my part, at least), Merrill studied me from behind his desk. "I have to hand it to you," he said finally. "All the others were angry for two nights and then began talking again. You hold the record."

  "I'm sure the world record people will come calling any minute now," I muttered sarcastically. I would have drawn my knees up to my chin but that would be rude and I might damage the furniture with my shoes.

  "Lissa, you must behave as a human will, no matter the circumstances," Merrill scolded. "You may find yourself in the position of having taken bad or tainted blood and then having to behave normally. That was a test. If you hadn't passed it, we would have repeated it."

  "Oh, God," I mumbled. I was feeling ill, just by thinking about it. I have no idea how that young man remained on his feet. I was completely under the influence by taking only a little of his blood.

  "You look green," Merrill remarked as he rose and walked around his desk.

  "I feel worse," I said. "I think I'm going to be sick again." I was out of his study and down the hall in a blink, then on my knees and dry heaving into a powder room toilet in less time than that. "I don't know what's wrong," Merrill was suddenly beside me. Someone else was with him. Someone not vampire. I was too busy trying to heave up something that wasn't there when the second man knelt down next to me. A warm, strong hand was placed on my forehead and he leaned me back, even as the urge to keep on vomiting faded away. It was a blessed relief, actually.

  "What's wrong with our little girl?" the man crooned. I gazed helplessly at a tall, brown-haired man. He didn't appear old at all, but an endless depth of knowledge and experience flickered and shifted behind hazel eyes. So deep, in fact, was that abyss that it might take centuries for me to reach the bottom of it. And there was no scent—as if he were shielded somehow. Only the smell of sunlight clinging to his clothing let me know he wasn't vampire. In my sickly state at that moment, I was too confused to attempt any explanation for it. Blinking back tears that had come with the dry heaves, I stared at him and tried to say something—ask him who he was—but he placed two fingers against my forehead and I was asleep.