Blood Claimed: Changed, #2

By Heather MacKinnon

Can he save her from herself?

 

Alexander is given one simple task: relocate a recent victim of a rogue vampire. A simple job turns complicated when he actually meets her. Charlotte Wakefield is headstrong, argumentative, and so damn beautiful, he can't help but want to be near her. But having a vampire for a bodyguard comes with its own slew of issues. She'd be better off without him, but he can't stay away.

Charlotte knows Alexander isn't the social worker he claims to be, but she has no other explanation for the gorgeous man who keeps saving her. Besides being devastatingly handsome, he's also rude, impatient, and such a jerk she's constantly in danger of slapping him. She knows there's more to him, though. Just like she knows there's a reason he's always there to save her.

Charlotte's blood is like a siren call and there's danger around every corner. Can Alexander keep her safe? Or is he the real threat to her safety?

 

This novel contains graphic language and scenes that are recommended for audiences 18 and older.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Heather MacKinnon
• Release date: Nov 10, 2020
• ISBN: 9798201599843

Book preview

Chapter 1

Charlotte

Hey, Charlotte! What are you doing back here?

I blinked slowly and my vision cleared, like there’d been some kind of film in my eyes preventing me from seeing clearly. But now that I could, I realized I was in the bodega down the street from my apartment.

Strange.

Charlotte?

I shook my head and met the concerned gaze of the shop owner, Mrs. Petrovsky. I’m… fine… I said slowly, not entirely telling the truth. At that moment, I didn’t really know what I was, but fine wasn’t it.

Did you forget something earlier? the kind middle-aged woman asked.

Earlier? I felt like an idiot, but nothing was adding up. And my head was so foggy. Like I’d just woken up from a month-long nap.

Yes, dear. You were here earlier for your weekly groceries. I didn’t think I’d see you again until next Monday.

Monday.

Right.

It was my grocery day. I’d come in earlier after spending the morning packing my dorm room. The semester had just ended. I’d taken the last of my finals, and now all I had to do was move out by the end of the week.

But what brought me back here?

In fact, I couldn’t remember what I’d been doing before I got here either. It was murky and filled with holes, but something was tugging on my thoughts. Some memory. Some event. Something important that happened today.

I took a deep breath and tried to start from the beginning. I’d woken up, had breakfast, gone shopping, come home to pack, and then… what? I wracked my brain as fragments of images sailed through my thoughts, none of them making sense. None of them adding up to a bigger picture.

Finally, all at once, it hit me.

Adrienne!

My roommate of four years had finally shown up after being completely M.I.A. for days. I’d been calling, emailing, even sending her messages on social media. Anything I could think of to get in touch with her.

Adrienne Wilkinson was an independent woman who’d had an upbringing almost as tragic as mine, but she’d never just disappeared like that before. I’d been so worried I’d gone to campus safety to report her missing. When that led nowhere, I’d tried the police, but all they’d promised to do was contact her family. Which I’d already done.

So, when she showed up at our dorm room today, knocking instead of just letting herself in with her key, I knew something was up. Problem was, I was so relieved to see her I hadn’t bothered asking questions. And then everything sort of went fuzzy.

Was Adrienne still in our room?

No. I think she left. Or was it me who left? Why would I leave when I had a million unanswered questions for her?

And where had she been all that time? Did she say? I searched my scrambled thoughts again but couldn’t find even a hint of a memory that explained her absence. But, while I’d been looking for that piece of the puzzle, another recollection surged to the forefront.

Adrienne was moving overseas for some job. But what job? If she’d applied to something in another country, I assumed she’d tell me that, right? We’d been friends and roommates for years. Sure, we weren’t that close, but that had more to do with her reluctance to get close to anyone than my lack of trying.

Charlotte, are you all right? Do you need me to call someone?

I looked back over at Mrs. Petrovsky and gave her the best smile I could manage at that moment. I didn’t know for sure, but I imagined she was around the same age my mom would have been if she was still alive. But I couldn’t know for sure because she was never talked about in my house when I was growing up. And really, there had always been a hell of a lot more yelling than talking going on anyway.

I’m fine. I tried lying again. I just have a headache. And I forgot... I glanced in my basket quickly, …avocados earlier. I tried for another smile, but I didn’t think it was working.

Mrs. Petrovsky frowned. You bought a whole bag of avocados this afternoon.

I shrugged, the smile becoming more brittle by the second. Can never have enough avocados, am I right?

She smiled back, but it was almost as strained as my own. It was clear I wasn’t acting like myself, but I didn’t know how that could be helped. I’d just basically woken up in the middle of a grocery store with no idea how or why I got there.

Things weren’t adding up at all, and that didn’t sit right with me. This felt too much like when I was younger, and nothing was in my control. When I was at the mercy of a terrible man who was supposed to protect and love me.

I’d promised I’d never feel that way again. That I’d do everything in my power to always be in control of myself and my future. That I’d never rely on anyone else again.

Right then, though, it might have been nice if I did have someone to lean on. Someone I could talk this all through with. Someone who would listen and not think I was as crazy as I felt.

But that wasn’t an option, so I shook that thought from my head and paid for my superfluous avocados. Too bad the damn things went bad so quickly.

I hurried home, still digging through my thoughts, trying to make sense of this day. By the time I got back to my dorm, I realized I was getting nowhere. I couldn’t remember what had happened, no matter how hard I tried. There was only one other person who might be able to clear some things up for me.

I pulled out my phone to search through my contacts when there was a knock on the door.

Adrienne!

She must have come back for something, although from the looks of it, her side of the room was already empty. Maybe she realized she had some explaining to do.

I unlocked the deadbolt and pulled on the handle, ready to tear my roommate a new one, but stopped short with the door only halfway open.

It wasn’t Adrienne who’d knocked.

Suspicion instantly made me cautious, and I closed the door a little more. Can I help you?

The man tilted his head in the air and sniffed. "Moglie. She’s here."

I slowly closed the door another inch and wedged my foot behind it so he couldn’t push it open. I’m sorry. I don’t know what you’re talking about.

Do not lie to me, human. You will not like the outcome.

I frowned at the man, noticing for the first time how strangely he was dressed. Like he didn’t belong in this century. Maybe I’d disregarded it at first because this was New York City where anything goes, but now it caught and held my attention. I didn’t think it was a costume he was wearing, although he could easily have been on stage playing a character in a Shakespearian tragedy in this getup.

I don’t know what you’re talking about, and I think you should leave.

I moved to close the door, but his pale white hand shot out and stopped me. My wife. I can smell her here. Tell me where she is, and I’ll let you live.

"Let me live? Have you lost your fucking–"

The rest of my sentence got lost as the man shoved the door open all the way. I stumbled backward across the room, my heart racing unevenly in my chest.

This was not good.

This was not good at all.

I needed to get this guy out of my apartment, or I needed to get out. Immediately.

I searched the room for a weapon, just in case, but almost everything was packed. I spotted a box cutter that could come in handy, but it was all the way across the room and this giant asshole was in the way.

I met his gaze again, just in time for him to throw something at me. The plastic cards bounced off my face and fell to the ground. Thankfully, one landed upright so I could see what it was.

What are you doing with Adrienne’s driver’s license? I asked, my voice beginning to tremble with newfound fear.

He pointed at the cards on the floor. "Where is she? My moglie. Bring her to me at once."

So, that’s what this was all about?

I shrugged and took a half step to my left, angling myself closer to that box cutter. She doesn’t live here anymore.

Take me to her! he yelled between gritted teeth.

I don’t know where she lives now. She said she was moving out of the country. I’m sorry, I can’t help you and I think you should go now.

I’m not leaving without my property, he growled, the sound sending ripples of chills down my spine. Bring her to me now or I will kill you.

And there went the end of my patience. I knew I shouldn’t. I did my best to hold my tongue, but I’d already taken enough verbal abuse for five lifetimes and I just wasn’t putting up with that shit anymore. That was the only excuse I had for my next words. Who the fuck do you think you’re talking to like that? I swear–

A shocking strike to the side of my face drowned out my next words before I was knocked off my feet. I came crashing to the hard ground moments later, my head spinning and my jaw aching.

Next, there was a blow to my midsection, and I’d know that pain anywhere. I’d just been kicked in the chest, and I knew from past experiences I had at least one broken rib now.

I gasped and wheezed around the pain as I tried to climb to my feet. I’d learned the hard way that the sooner you got up, the less damage they could do. But I only made it to my knees before there was another devastating kick to my side.

I grabbed my ribs, trying my best to hold them together and apply pressure. The man came closer, each step seeming to reverberate through the floor beneath my face. He stopped when he was only a few inches away and leaned in close.

You should have just given me what I want, he whispered before his boot flew toward my face and everything went black.

I woke up choking on something and just barely had enough strength to roll to my side. My stomach heaved as I continued to vomit on the floor, my face, my hair, and anything else that had the misfortune of being too close.

As soon as the sickness subsided, I rolled onto my back again and stared up at the ceiling, my whole body aching in a way that was all too familiar.

I’d gotten my ass kicked. That much was obvious.

What was even more obvious was that, this time, things were different. This wasn’t a black eye, or a broken rib that I could just live with until it healed. As the room spun around me and my stomach heaved again, I knew this was more serious. And I knew I needed to get help.

I turned onto my stomach and was sick again, my body having nothing left to expel at that point. My ribs ached, it was hard to breathe, and I could barely see out of my swollen eyes, but I knew I needed to find my phone.

I attempted to crawl forward, but quickly learned that my left leg was useless, every movement sending blinding pain shooting through my body. With a growl, I grit my teeth and slithered forward anyway, trying to ignore the way my right arm hung uselessly at my side.

My phone was almost always on my charger since it was old, and the battery was going. That meant I only needed to make it the two feet to my nightstand and then I could get help. Then I could rest. Then I could go back to sleep while I waited.

I was sweating and shaking by the time I made it those twenty-four inches, but damn it, I made it. Flopping onto my back again, I dialed 911 and told the operator everything I could recall, which wasn’t much.

I strained to remember the attack, or even the man who hurt me, but my memories were frustratingly vague and fuzzy. Just like earlier, my thoughts seemed to be little shards of a puzzle that didn’t all fit together.

Once the operator assured me there was someone on the way, I let the phone fall to the floor and closed my eyes. I remembered hearing that if you had a head injury you weren’t supposed to go to sleep, but I couldn’t help myself.

I was in so much pain it was hard to wrap my mind around it. Never in my life had I been beaten so thoroughly. Usually my dad would get bored after a while and leave to find more alcohol. Or drugs. Or a woman to disappoint for the night.

I never cared where he went, as long as he was gone. Thankfully, he spent more time out of the house while I was growing up than in it or I’d have had a lot more broken bones.

Unlike this man, my father had always made sure to steer clear of my face. It helped that I always wore long sleeves and pants, but that wasn’t for him, that was for myself. I wouldn’t have been able to handle the embarrassment of my whole school knowing my father beat the shit out of me on a regular basis.

I ground my teeth together and did my best to shove thoughts of him aside. He represented the worst parts of my life, and I’d rather forget them. The only reason he was on my mind now was because of what happened tonight. Because this was the first time someone had laid a hand on me since the last time with my dad.

The time he’d finally gone too far, and I’d wound up in the hospital. It looked like I’d be making another trip, but thankfully, this ER wouldn’t have half the town working in it.

As I lay there, I could hear the 911 operator’s tiny voice coming from my phone, but I couldn’t work up the energy to answer them back. The edges of my vision were darkening, and I knew I had only moments left before I was unconscious again.

I used those precious seconds to think hard about my life.

I’d worked my ass off throughout high school, both on my grades and my part-time job so I could get out of the hell-hole I’d been raised in. And the first chance I’d gotten, I’d done just that. Packed up in the middle of the night and left without a backward glance at the piece of shit that called himself my father.

Yet there I was again.

Broken, bleeding, barely conscious on the floor of my bedroom. The predicament brought me back to my childhood,