Beloved Blood: BLOOD, #10

By Tamara Rose Blodgett

"This is your destiny. 5 BLOOD HEARTS..." ~ Cherri-Anne Boiston

From the New York Times and #1 Dark Fantasy bestseller Tamara Rose Blodgett, comes True Blood meets Twilight, in a dark tale of twisted loyalties, where one girl's blood is the salvation for both vampires and werewolves.

Julia and Scott discover joyous news that becomes shadowed by the necessity of giving up Singer pioneers to faery, as promised.

Marley finds herself trapped with a vampire who is not all that he seems; and is unaware of his deep immersion by subterfuge from William's coven.

Slash and Adi struggle running a den where strife and conflict come at all sides and the long arm of the Lanarre reach out to snatch their happiness.

Tahlia transgresses against Lycan protocol to risk everything for a human who saved her. Only to discover that he holds a larger role in her life than she could ever have imagined. Neil has enlisted Bray and his pack of turned Weres to defeat the Northwestern and snatch Tahlia back - thereby securing his Alpha status in the Hoh.

Tessa, Laz and Liadain travel to the Northwestern, unsuspecting of the convergence of many different beings in the same place. Can they survive long enough to ascertain who is friend - or foe?

Full-length novel. New adult fiction 17+

• Language: English
• Publisher: T. Rose Press LLC
• Release date: Oct 15, 2020
• ISBN: 9781005962159

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

MARLEY

There's a fraction of time when all of the supernatural players in the room freeze.

Then, with the speed of the vampiric and the ferocity of the Lycan—Jake meets the blurred charge of the vampire.

I'm a coward. It's that simple. If Marley were stronger or braver, she would help Jake against the vampire. The same one who'd shadowed her, Howard, and Jake when they traveled from the Lanarre pack in the heart of the Redwoods to the Northwestern in Gig Harbor, Washington.

But Marley can't make herself help Jake as she flattens her body against the wall.

Blood sprays as they meet with a smack of flesh and bone that echoes in the small space.

Marley yelps.

The vampire's eyes flick to her, and she sucks in a breath, desperately wanting to stay beneath his notice.

Jake's talons stripe the vampire's neck a nanosecond before he lunges, fangs deep in Jake's throat.

A muffled roar sounds. But there's too much blood for the warning to sound the alert necessary to bring other Were to Jake's aid.

Marley begins to slide along the surface of the wall, making her cautious way toward the open front door as Jake pierces the vampire's side over and over, knife-like talons driving deep into its flanks.

Blood droplets fly in a splatter pattern, dusting Marley's shoes with the metallic scent of battle.

Her eyes sweep to the pass-through and beyond, tagging the only exit. Marley continues to inch, finally reaching the end. Her shoulder presses against the wood where the wall borders the large opening leading into the tiny foyer.

She gives a final glance at the fighting pair locked in a death struggle. Jake, hands deep in the vampire's side as the creature frantically gulps at Jake's throat.

Marley shuts her eyes; the sound of feeding assails her ears, and she braces herself for what she must do. When she opens them, the thing is healing around Jake's talons as she watches.

Her eyes shift to Jake's frantic gaze, willing herself to move when she sees the silent message in them.

Leave me.

An Alpha Were would never willingly allow harm to come to a female.

The vampire rears its head back while still attached to Jake's neck.

Now.

Marley sprints for the open door, early night beckoning just beyond the threshold. Her periphery catches Jake tearing his hands from the vampire's sides then plunging them in again.

The vampire comes for her, Were blood dripping off its chin, dragging a still-attached Jake to its side.

Marley is at the door and through before a hit to her back sends her flying forward. Moon knows, Marley is an expert at taking and surviving abuse.

Unfortunately, the strike caught her just right, and she's airborne before she can correct her landing and hits hard on her bad leg. Marley screams, the leg breaking on contact, throat automatically closing as the wind is knocked from her body.

She tries to sink her fingers into the ground and pull herself away, but she only ends up moaning as the leg keeps her immobile.

A moment later, the vampire looms above her, shadowing her body from a moon too new to afford true illumination.

I can't breathe.

His face is slathered in Jake's blood, fangs gleaming. Gaping holes at his side pour more blood from damage meted by Jake.

Marley puts her arms above her face, knowing she'll die—leg useless. Breath sears her starved lungs as she desperately attempts to suck oxygen.

She doesn't die.

Cold hands slide beneath her body and effortlessly lift her. Marley shudders as a first, burning breath lights her lungs on fire. Her nose is blind to the smell of the vampire, but the chill of his skin is death upon her own—the sharp tang of Jake's blood causing her to choke.

Tucking her against his body, the vampire runs. Too fast for Were but apparently too injured to move at full speed.

Marley's eyes are dry, but her soul is wet with grief.

Drek

Drek comes around slowly, his upper arms throbbing and swollen. But his mouth is no longer parched, and that's an improvement.

He remains motionless, cognizant that he is still in this realm of the living.

Slowly, Drek opens his eyes and studies his surroundings as he lies on his back.

He smells pack.

Not Were but wolves. The cave he finds himself in is warm, and gradually, Drek becomes aware of many furred bodies surrounding his own.

The wolves of the wild have kept him safe and warm while his body attempted to repair damage too extensive for him to live.

Yet... Drek did live.

A chuff sounds to his immediate left, and as Drek's eyes grow accustomed to the dim surroundings, the Alpha wolf, a great black beauty, lifts its snout and lays it across Drek's chest.

Grief lights Drek's eyeballs on fire, for all he can think of is Bowen's death, his whelpmate's gang rape by Were dissenters led by Neil, and a possible fate for Tahlia that doesn't bear dwelling on. Of course, that won't stop him from doing so.

A low whine thrums between the mouth of the Alpha and the bones of Drek's chest.

Clearing his throat, Drek gives the low growl of contentment so the Alpha understands his thanks.

Slowly, so slowly, Drek moves his hand from his side, sinking his fingers into the dense, inky coat of the wolf responsible for saving his life.

The beast gives Drek's hand a lick and stands, trotting from their position.

Drek's arm falls to his side again, a weary exhale leaving his body.

Returning a moment later, the wolf drops a warm and wet bloody bit of something on Drek's chest.

The heart from a ruminant animal immediately begins to chill against his heated flesh, soaking what's left of whatever clothing he'd worn when Neil had attacked him at the Dosewallips River.

The food is a gift. The wolf seeks to nourish him. Drek is touched and honored. Grateful.

With shaky fingers, he reaches for the morsel. Deciding he's too weak to even sit up, Drek rolls to his side, letting the portion of heart fall into his open hand.

Feeling the heavy weight of the dense meat, Drek begins to feed. With every bite, he feels his strength returning while the pack watches his consumption with avid interest.

Once finished, Drek gives a satisfied groan and rolls to his back. Lifting his arms, he notes the small wolf pack surrounding him again, licking and bumping his hands and body in the gentle nurturing way of his cousins who live in the wild.

Drek falls asleep again to the feel of warm canine bodies, floating in an ocean of their silky fur.

Laz

Laz feels his life dim, his tail breaching the guts of the angelic that has attacked them, holding the being high over his shoulders. An allover trembling begins, their bodies tethered as death comes for them both.

If Laz were Below, he would have the upper hand, or conversely, if the angelic were Above, the same would hold true. However, they are not in those realms but that of Between, and a stalemate has frozen their fates together.

Suddenly, Tessa is beside him, crouched low. His Redemptive is not affected by demonic or angelic functions.

"Take this fucker!" Tessa shouts, springing from the ground, legs flung wide, she drives her talons through the angelic's neck while simultaneously ramming the punishment of her hand to the right.

The head of the angelic detaches from the shoulders. Tessa lightly lands on the balls of her feet a moment later just as a human male clubs the back of her head.

With a small cry, Tessa slumps to the ground.

Tearing his tail from the angelic's corpse, the body falls with a wet thud to the ground.

Laz swings the warrior's end of his tail high. Like a baseball bat to a cantaloupe, connecting with a sharp crack, he tears half the face from the human, leaving a remnant of the jaw like a half-moon with teeth.

The human teeters in a horrific, final animation and, with a slow spin, topples onto the sidewalk to join the gored angelic.

Excellent. Laz allows a grim smile.

Swinging his eyes first left then right of their position, Laz ascertains the bodies that litter the ground are no longer a threat to Tessa and his relation.

He straightens from his crouch as Tessa groans.

Laz sinks to his knees beside her.

"That fucking hurt," Tessa mutters as Laz grips her body, dragging her onto his lap.

Pushing the inky hair away from her light amber eyes, he inquires softly, Are you injured badly, my Redemptive?

Tessa gives the barest shake of her head. I've got a hard head—but find your sister; she was beaten up pretty bad.

Laz reaches out with his demonic sense, a very specific one—like knows like is a classic expression from Below, and in this case, with a relation, that sense will tell him her location.

When his unique talent hits on another demonic, he adjusts Tessa and rises with her in his arms.

Drop me if another one of those dipshits decides to get after us.

Laz's lips curl. There is no other who challenges us at present. And as such, I shall not ʻdrop you.ʼ

She pulls a face, mumbling, Because we burned their dicks off.

Laz gives a low chuckle, walking around the building where Tessa and he had washed the gore and grime from their bodies caused by travel and messy wild game feeds.

His lungs freeze when a casual gaze sweeps the broken body of the relative Laz senses is his sister. She lies half on the sidewalk and half on the short grass that runs beside it.

Tessa has been watching his face. Is she okay?

I do not know. He frowns.

Set me down.

Laz swings his Redemptive to her feet and gently leans her against the wall.

Her eyes light on his face, and he has an intense moment of relief, seeing her alive and well—the threat subdued. Thanks, babe. I'll just hold this building up.

He frowns at her weak smile and strange words, but with the immediate threat neutralized, he makes haste to the demonic female. Everywhere his gaze travels, there are the marks of beatings and partially healed wounds. Humans. Only humans would perpetuate this level of violence. After all, the beings of hades are gruesomely practical. Revenge isn't a thing to be considered. It is a luxury of time. Time, which none of his kind has. There are perpetual duties to perform. If there is anything Laz knows, it is the importance of seeing a task through, as that endeavor must be accomplished in a certain preordained timeline. Or suffer consequences too grievous to entertain.

Staring at the female, he knows her life lingers as a fragile wire strung taut as Laz senses the scope of her injuries. She is gravely injured, he says for Tessa's benefit.

Do you have any magic demon juice to figure that out? Tessa asks from the short distance that separates them.

Laz spares her a glance. I have nothing in this realm of importance.

I could bite her. Tessa offers with a small lift of her shoulder.

Laz turns his body to fully face Tessa, hand momentarily resting on the concave stomach of his sister. No.

Tessa sets her jaw stubbornly, which normally promotes a certain caution from Laz. But not in this matter. As it stands, Tessa has been bludgeoned and carries his demon spawn.

Those are the primary considerations.

Reading his expression, Tessa gives an irritated exhale. I'm not endangering the hot dog, Laz.

His Redemptive has been known to behave irrationally, so she might forgive him his caution. She has taught him it. Fine, but I will not have you die, even to spare my relation.

Tessa smirks, pushing off from the wall and slowly walking toward the demonic female on the ground.

Is she going to torch me on contact?

Laz takes a moment to consider her meaning then shakes his head. She must will that biological response. And currently, she is unconscious from the abuse the wretched human males meted.

Tessa's smile is thin as she kneels beside the demonic female. Those ʻwretched malesʼ aren't breathing anymore, Laz.

He feels a savage grin sprout. And that fact brings me joy.

Tessa's humor matches his own. Yes, demon mate. Her attention shifts to the female. This is going to hurt, and she might come around, trying to go all full-demon on me...

I will restrain her.

Laz bends over his sister, pressing his palms against her arms.

A breath eases from Tessa, and Laz realizes that she might have been willing and brave enough in the attempt, but in truth, a touch of anxiety remains.

Bending low over the female, Tessa's lips nearly brush the female's shoulder. Tessa opens her mouth wide, fangs lengthening.

Laz finds the sight slightly erotic, feeling himself harden in a breech of timing. Typical. Cocks are an uncooperative body part in his experience—eschewing reason, circumstance, or the will of the male they are attached to.

Tessa gives him a sidelong glance of amusement, no doubt scenting his lust spike—she strikes, sinking fangs deeply into the meatiest part of his sister's shoulder.

Eyelids flip open. Blue irises rivaling Laz's fling wildly, clearly attempting to gain insight as to why another is latched onto her body.

Arching her back, she attempts to grab Tessa's head, but Laz holds firm.

No, Laz says softly, she heals you.

The demonic female's disoriented gaze lights on Laz, and he feels their connection as he holds her arms down. Her leg, however, is free to kick him.

Right in his crotch.

The instant pain is a mudslide of hot agony, and Laz begins to list to the side like a butchered tree.

Before landing, Laz turns his head at the last moment, evacuating his stomach of whatever contents remained.

Tessa shrieks as his relation grips the tail of her braid and yanks down hard.

Still vomiting, Laz snakes his hand out and grabs the female's arm, jerking her body close to his.

Spitting out puke from his mouth and gritting his teeth, Laz says, Sister or no, I will gut you if you touch my Redemptive in harm again.

They stare at each other for a full moment, and finally, she nods.

And I would advise you to never kick me in the prick, he adds between hoarse, gasping breaths, Ever.

Tessa sits on her rear, watching them with wide eyes. I think she about tore my hair outta my scalp. Some thanks... Pfft.

Inhaling and exhaling carefully so Laz doesn't divest himself again, he carefully rolls away from the demonic female and crawls to his Redemptive, sitting on his own ass beside her, prick throbbing in time to his heartbeats.

Tessa smiles and says, Hands off, bitch, or the next time I bite you, it'll be your face. Tessa's black brows arch high. Got it?

Steam rises from the female's light red skin like the mist of dawn. Yes, she concedes quietly, looking between the two of them then promptly bursting into tears. The kind of hades where they fall wet and burn when they hit the ground like wet acid.

I'm confused, Tessa admits in a tired voice.

Not more than he.

CHAPTER 2

VERICUS

William would be proud, Vericus muses. He gave his life for the Blood Singer queen, and now another of the same lineage has been found. Though distantly related, she is of a royal line—and can be used for the re-formed kiss from which Vericus hails.

Gabriel is now dead, but that doesn't mean Claire has grown weary of seeking another Singer who rivals Julia—the queen of them all.

Since his special talent is the minuscule amount of Were blood he possesses from a most unfortunate breeding four generations back, he can scent a Singer, no matter where they might be hiding, and one of the rare few who possess Angelic blood as well.

A tremendous find.

If that fucking Alpha back there had been a bit less accurate with his stabbing, why—Vericus might be healing better.

He is not.

Forced to flee before he could take blood and restore himself, he had to run hard before he was ready. One Alpha is pesky enough; more would have failed him. And with the load of the mixed blood female he carries, however slight, it has further disadvantaged the healing of his wounds. They weep blood.

Blood he can ill-afford to lose.

He must find shelter and bind the female. Otherwise, she will escape. Then, there is the matter of his strike. She's such a frail thing that the blow he gave her was merely meant to slow her. But the intended strike had not. Instead, she'd flown four meters and landed on her leg the wrong way, breaking the limb on impact.

Vericus had run twenty miles and stopped, carefully laying the Singer on her back.

She had not stirred, her body already trying to heal the injury incorrectly. Vericus could not have that as it would heal improperly, leaving her maimed.

She'd screamed from the pain, and he'd been forced to subdue her. Striking her with deliberation—that had quieted her.

Vericus felt nothing. This female is an assignment to him. An avenue to cement his increased stature within the coven. No more will he be seen as lesser when he returns with a rare, daywalking potential.

For that is the big boon, is it not? This one can produce offspring that, when bred with a vampire, will possess all the strengths of his kind without any of the inherent constraints of the day.

She might be unwilling, leaving the coven divided. There are those who would like to have mates, not just a brood mare as it were. Vericus understands that precept. He has needs and enjoys a rut with a female. Of whatever species, though he has never been so moved to be mated to one. That would mean sacrifice and compromise, and those mental positions do not engage Vericus. He is ancient, and the way he has remained alive in his long lifetime is to love no one, seek power, and trust only himself and no other.

Vericus feels this mindset has been a solid investment for his longevity.

If he had not had a fourth great-grandmother who was Were, he would have been in a position of power long ago. However, he would not have been able to procure this female without that acute scent advantage, gifted to him but by a fluke of genetics.

Upon his return, Vericus will be celebrated for that exact difference after all—the trait allowed him to secure the Were female. And Vericus is vampire enough to leave no scent.

The Were never knew what hit them. Metaphorically and literally.

With a dark chuckle at his own cleverness, Vericus veers through a well-worn hiking path. Dawn takes its first, yawning white breath as he dives into a small cave that had clearly been last occupied by a hibernating bear if the smell is any indicator.

No matter, the female stirs, and with fresh injuries of leg and head, Vericus supposes he will have to seek out food to help her healing process.

And blood for himself.

It will be a long day, for light edges the entrance of the cave, taunting him with its nearness. He can move if the shadows are deep, but it is not easy or ideal.

When the female opens her eyes, she has the look of one who would think screaming is a good choice.

That look dies with his next words, Scream, and I will strike you again.

The female stares at him, and he returns her solemn regard.

Vericus supposes they might have come to an understanding. Rising from his small boulder perch, he draws lengths of ropes from hidden inner pockets of the silky pants he wears.

Binding her.

Indifferently, Vericus notes she is the most lovely female he's ever seen in the nearly eight hundred years of his vampiric existence.

Not a bad fact as physical perfection adds to her value.

He does not like her personality as such. A weak, beautiful fragile flower. Leg breaks the instant she has a toss. Cries while awake, cowers whenever he draws near.

Skittish as a colt.

He scents there is nothing wrong with her fertility. That is the most important component, of course.

"Must I gag you too?" Vericus asks, rising from securing her wrists and legs together.

No. Silent tears well, dripping down her finely constructed face, and Vericus gives a grunt of disgust. You should feel honored.

What? she asks, luminous petal purple eyes searching his features.

Vericus frowns, feeling a brief stab of hate for her beauty. What do they call you?