Bonded In Blood (A Dark Legacy Book 1) Page 2

  “It won’t take long. I told you. I’m a shoo-in for that anchor position at CBC News. Otherwise she wouldn’t have set up this dinner.” When Taz didn’t respond, she eased forward to lay a hand on his shoulder. “I’ll be done no later than ten thirty. Still plenty of night left for us, okay?”

  “No problem.” He grinned at her over his shoulder as he headed for the door. “Call me when you’re done.”

  It’s your own damned fault, the more often than not Truthful Inner Man bushwhacked him as he slid behind the wheel of his Jaguar XK. Sure, he could blame the Old Man for taking away his ‘Licence to Kill’ – an indefinite house suspension – for the outcome of the San Diego assignment. And, maybe he could also blame his mother – Lady Elsbeth (forgive me, mother). But, after eventually giving in and sampling a half dozen from her list of ‘nice vampire girls from good Pureblood families’ he’d almost considered taking a long walk in the sunlight. Couldn’t they understand?

  No, they couldn’t understand. Nice vampire girls – nice girls, period – were just that. Nice. It was one of, if not the main reason he often favoured the Human side of the dessert cart. Mortal girls were different. Not great, not always memorable, but a lot less smarmy, smug, walk-on-water I’m-the-cream-of-the-crop from the house of Ooga-Booga crap. With almost all vampire women, nice or not, it was attitude. It was ‘all right, impress me’ but with mortals it was ‘oh wow!’

  So, here he was two and a half months into the Old Man’s ‘slap on the wrist’, nothing but time on his hands and Zip-Bam-Boom, he fucked up. It didn’t seem that way at the time. But then most of the biggest wrecks in your life always start out on a smooth road.

  He’d had that drink with Gayle Hunter, Shadowfall’s Manager, in her office during one of her breaks. They’d known each other a while. Not as long as he’d known her employer, Kane Thoth, but long and well enough to socialise; to carry on a conversation without the need to be guarded or encumbered by the fundamental barriers of gender. Gayle had mentioned his companion from the previous night – the middle daughter of the head of the affiliated House Nikaris’ Clan of Dayman. He couldn’t recall precisely what his response had been, but he remembered Gayle’s.

  “Well, you get what you get when you do what you do,” she’d paused a moment, enjoying his down-in-the-mouth state. “Not that I know all that much about life on the privileged side of the tracks, but I got big ears and people around here don’t keep their voices low. I know how they… how your father feels about turnbloods. And the only reason they tolerate a halfbreed like me is ‘cos of my job title and who I work for.”

  “If there’s a point in there, I think I missed it,” Taz replied, pouring himself another tall glass of Wild Turkey.

  Gayle shrugged. “Actually, I had one but never mind. What I have is more of a suggestion – an offering. As in I know someone you might be interested in. A friend of mine.”

  Taz quirked an eyebrow. “Vampire? Halfblood?”

  “Human,” she told him, holding up a hand to stave off the protests she knew would come. “And before you push it away, hear me out first. I have also overheard a few of the discussions you and Zuron had about you ‘jumping the fence’. Me and the entire club the way you two go at it, but that’s beside the point.

  “Her name’s Kayla. You’ve probably seen her. She hosts a celebrity entertainment show on one of the local channels. We’ve been friends a couple of years now. She’s good people, Taz. She’s different.”

  Different. It was that distinction that had caught his curiosity. And he had seen her. A beautiful girl – dark haired, euro-exotic, an ass that wouldn’t quit. And, after seeing her in person, the promotional glamour photos Gayle had shown him did not do her justice at all.

  It had been perfect in the beginning – at least that’s what Taz had told himself. She owned (leased, at any rate) a house in Beacon Hill, which eliminated the need to take her back to his private sanctuary at Shadowfall. Her job at KOMO-TV had her up and out of the house by 4 am, and with research, rehearsals, makeup and the show’s final taping, kept her there until well after 6 pm. They got to spend most of the night together, the occasional dinner and club scene, then home for the prerequisite dance between the sheets. He was out and back at Shadowfall by no later than two in the morning.

  And then it had started. Two months ago – the dreaded breathless declaration in the afterglow of orgasm.

  “I love you, Taz.”

  He’d blown it off, of course. But from there it had accelerated. The questions about his livelihood; where he lived; who his family members were and when she could meet them; when he wanted to meet her folks. His cover-story and excuses only seemed to placate her for so long. More than a dozen times in the past month alone shouting matches had erupted over said issues. To be fair, she’d done most of the shouting, he’d just walked out and within an hour or two she was predictably calling him crying and apologising. It was time he broke it off, and he knew it. But he’d been putting it off because, as pathetic as it sounded, Kayla was the most interesting prospect he’d met in the last six months.

  Six months…

  There’d been one – six months ago – in Las Vegas. Anna. She’d refused to give him a last name or anything else about her, in fact. But he remembered her face. It was imprinted on his eyelids every time he went to sleep. And that inky blue-black hair, and those brown eyes that darkened to almost black when she came. And the way she moved, and her scent. And yeah, okay so she’d pulled a gun on him. And shot him. And, damn it, he hadn’t been that excited by a woman in a very long time.

  Would he ever see her again? He wondered as his Jag cruised through the entrance to Shadowfall’s underground garage. The way my luck’s been running lately, only in my dreams.

  ~*~

  COME HOME

  Morgan must have read the text message a hundred times. She hadn’t replied to it, not even to ask who the sender was because there was no need to. She knew. Just as she knew he wouldn’t have sent it if something trivial was going on. Not that it would have mattered – when he sent an order, she followed it. That was the way it was.

  She pulled up to the kerb outside Shadowfall, ignoring the yellow lines and the frantic waving of one of the doorman who would ask her to move the car. After switching off the engine, she sat for a minute, hands braced on the steering wheel while she fought nausea caused by the still-bleeding knife wound. Once she was confident she could stay upright without collapsing, she opened the door and exited the car, eyeing the doorman as he ran over to her.

  “You can’t park there!” she heard the agitation and dismay in his voice.

  “Sure, I can.” Morgan dredged up a smile. “Call down to Cam and tell him there’s a gift for him outside.” She tossed the keys to the man who fumbled the catch. “Give those to him. He’ll know who it’s from.” Without waiting for a reply, she sauntered past, ignoring the long queue of people and walked inside.

  “What? Wait!” The doorman dashed after her.

  Morgan sighed and turned to face him. “Why doesn’t Kane ever hire someone for the doors who has a brain as well as brawn?” She reached into a pocket, pulled out a small business-card and handed it to the doorman who glanced down at it and paled before handing it back to her.

  “I’m sorry, ma’am. I’ll contact Cam right away.” He backpedaled a few steps, whirled and disappeared back outside.

  Morgan shook her head and slipped the card back into her pocket. She didn’t like to use the card – which identified her as working for the Nikaran house – but sometimes there was no choice. Turning back to face the lobby, she located the information desk and approached it.

  “Welcome to Shadowfall, ma’am. How can I help you?” The receptionist gave Morgan a bright smile.

  “Will you please call up to the penthouses and ask for Hamish Satori?” Morgan asked.

  “I’m sorry, ma’am, but there’s no Hamish Satori staying here.”

  “We both know that’s not true. Hamis
h will be staying on the fourth floor with his wife.”

  The receptionist’s pleasant voice and smile didn’t falter. “If you could tell me what it is regarding, I could see if there is someone else available who can see you.”

  “How about Zuron Dasmalle?”

  The smile dulled around the edges. “I’m sorry, ma’am. Without a prior appointment, Lord Dasmalle is not available.”

  Morgan gave serious, albeit brief, consideration to shooting the woman. She immediately discarded the idea since, although she was friendly with Shadowfall’s owner – Kane Thoth – she didn’t think he’d appreciate her murdering his staff, no matter how irritating they were being.

  She took a deep, steadying breath and after taking a second to peel away the material of her t-shirt where it was sticking to the wound beneath her jacket, she planted both hands on the reception desk and leant forward.

  “Look,” she began, then broke off when she spotted a shockingly familiar figure sauntering toward the private elevators beyond the Rottweiler on the desk. “Him,” she said. ”You! Taz!” She raised her voice before she could stop herself. “You know me!”

  “You know Taz I’Ane?” The receptionist gave Morgan a more considered look. “Of course you do,” she answered her own question. “Mr I’Ane?” she called.

  Taz twisted his head at the sound of his name and froze mid step. The woman leaning on the reception desk was immediately recognisable to him. Anna! Ruthlessly squashing the surge of elation he felt, he turned and advanced toward her.

  “Mr I’Ane? This lady claims you know her.” The receptionist caught his attention, which was focused on Morgan.

  Taz let his eyes drift over the woman he had last seen six months earlier standing wrapped in Egyptian linen with a gun pointed at him. He grinned. “Intimately, sweetheart.”

  “She is requesting to see a Mr Hamish Satori, sir.”

  “Is that right?” Taz drawled.

  “I’m sorry sir, she claimed she knew you.” The receptionist stammered, drawing Taz’s attention back to her shortly before the woman beside him claimed his focus again. Nostrils flaring, he bent his head and inhaled deeply.

  “Are you sniffing me?” Morgan demanded.

  Taz gave her a lazy smile. “I can smell blood. Did you shoot someone else?”

  Anger flared in Morgan’s eyes. “No, the blood is mine!”

  “Someone shot you?” Taz asked, one eyebrow arching.

  “Stabbed,” she corrected him. “Could you please contact Hamish?” Morgan fought another wave of dizziness, flattening a palm against the desk, aware that if she didn’t sit down soon, she’d be falling down and that wasn’t happening in front of this man.

  “Who are you?” Taz wondered aloud. “And what do you want with Hamish?”

  “So, you admit he’s here?”

  Taz shrugged. “No, I just wonder what you want with him.” He reached out and tugged open her jacket before she could stop him, venting a low whistle at the spread of blood across her t-shirt. “No wonder everyone is looking this way. Come on.” He curled his fingers around her wrist and led her past the now-silent receptionist and into one of the waiting elevator cars. He dropped his hand, releasing her wrist, as the doors slid shut and leant against the wall, his arms folded across his chest and studied her with open curiosity.

  Stalker? Possible. But with her leaking blood like a busted spigot from a blade wound in her side, and her making enquiries about the House of Nikaris’ Chief of Security… highly unlikely. That and the fact that stalkers tended to be timelier in their pursuit of their chosen prize.

  Hitter? Also possible. The scenario of a self-inflicted wound to pass herself off as a victim of an attack – a damsel in distress – to get past security and reach her target. But if she knew Hamish and who he was, and the situation surrounding him, her plan was both foolhardy and amateurish. Unless this was a kamikaze run. But somehow, and Taz was damned if he knew why, he didn’t get that impression either.

  Enraged lover? Nahhhhh! He dismissed that. First, at a guess, this woman was no more than thirty. And the birthplace of Christ was doubtless still a goat pasture when Hamish Satori was in his teens. It would be like a ninety-five-year-old Kirk Douglas sleeping with a twenty-two-year-old Emma Watson. And second, there was only one other married couple he knew who had been as faithful to each other as Hamish and Hannah Satori, and they were his own parents.

  So, who was she?

  It looked as if things were about to get very interesting.

  “I am very curious how you—“ Taz said as the elevator stopped and the doors slid open. His words halted when Morgan stepped away from the elevator wall, her eyes rolled back into her skull and she pitched forward. Taz caught her, just short of the floor, and hefted her up into his arms.

  They were several feet down the corridor when her head jerked up. “Wha-what are you… put me down! I can walk!”

  “Bullshit,” Taz muttered and continued walking.

  Morgan glowered at him. “I’m not one of your little dainty things to faint away at the loss of a little blood. Put me down.”

  “Let me put it to you this way,” Taz stopped meeting her gaze eye to eye and smiled. “It’s either this way or I throw you over my shoulder like a sack of potatoes. Your choice.”

  “You do that and I promise the next time you sleep, you won’t be waking up again.”

  “Ohhhh baby, foreplay.” Taz rolled his eyes and chuckled, then resumed their journey. When she muttered something beneath her breath, Taz quirked an eyebrow. “I didn’t quite catch that.”

  “I said you’re an asshole.”

  “On a good day, sweet thing.” He laughed. “And since you showed up, today is turning out to be a damn good day!”

  “Where are we going anyway?” Morgan conceded that pushing the walking issue would not be the best decision she could make at that moment.

  “My place,” he replied. “My suite, down the hall. Then I’ll get the house doctor to take a look at you.”

  “There’s no need,” Morgan’s refusal was immediate. “it’s only a flesh wound. I really need to see Hamish.”

  “Flesh wound, my ass. You dropped at least a litre of blood on the lobby carpet. And don’t worry, I wouldn’t miss a chance to find out about you and Hamish for the world.”

  “So, he is here?” The tension in her body abruptly eased, making Taz keenly aware of the way her curves pressed against his chest.

  He nodded. “I’m curious as hell why you came here to find him to begin with. Care to enlighten me?”

  “Because this is where he usually is.” The look she angled at him said she thought he was an idiot.

  “Doesn’t quite answer my question, but it’ll do… for now.”

  Morgan rolled her eyes but didn’t bother replying and they continued the walk in silence. When they reached his suite, Taz held her effortlessly with one arm while he opened the door and, recognising the challenge in his eyes, Morgan didn’t complain. He kicked the door shut behind him, crossed the room and lowered her onto the sofa.

  “Stay put,” he told her and picked up the phone.

  “Lobby. How may we be of assistance today?” A much too cheery female voice responded on the third ring.

  “Taz I’Ane. Suite three-oh-five. Could you page Dr. Chambeau and send her up. An emergency,” he said. “Then call the top floor. Code White, my suite as soon as possible.” He hung up without waiting for a reply.

  “Code white?” Morgan tried to sit up, gasping when the movement caused the wound in her side to twinge.

  “I don’t think you’re in any condition to be a Code Red just yet.” He glanced toward the wet bar in the corner of the room. “Drink?”

  Morgan eased back against the arm of the sofa, one hand pressed against her side. “I’ll have a glass of water, please.”

  The doctor had arrived by the time Taz had finished opening a bottle of mineral water and poured it into a glass. “Quiet night?” he quipped as she walk
ed in and the doctor laughed.

  “It’s always a quiet night when you’re off duty, Taz.” She hefted her bag. “Where’s my patient?”

  Taz waved behind him. “On the sofa. Knife wound.” He missed Morgan’s slight shake of her head when the doctor’s eyes landed on her and widened in recognition.

  “Okay then.” She gave Taz a quick once-over glance. “Why don’t you busy yourself elsewhere while I deal with this – preferably the shower?”

  Taz looked down at himself. The entire left side of his sport jacket, shirtfront and left pant leg were splotched with blood. “Good idea, doc.” A change and – he sniffed himself – a shower was definitely in order. No doubt he’d soon be within sniffing distance of the Old Man and the way things had been between them the last few months the last thing he needed was the scent of a mortal female and sex on him.

  Taz lingered in the shower a while longer than he needed to, enjoying the sting of the scalding spray while his thoughts danced over current events. Specifically, the woman – Anna – being treated by Dr. Chambeau in his living room.

  Life, he chuckled to himself. Just when he thought there’d be no more surprises – BOOM! He’d given up hope of ever running into his ‘lost weekend in Las Vegas’ every again. And, if anyone had told him that one day he’d walk into the lobby of Shadowfall and find her at the front desk it might have gotten a good laugh. But here she was. Wounded and bloodied, but what the hell – he could still work with that.

  That was where the amusement factor took a sharp nose dive. The knife wound, her showing up in Seattle, at the club, and asking to see Hamish. Kinda painted a different complexion on their meeting in Las Vegas.

  ~*~

  Back in the living room, the doctor busied herself cleaning up Morgan’s wound. While there had been a lot of blood, the wound itself wasn’t fatal – a few butterfly stitches and a bandage and the job was done. It was only then – and after a quick check that Taz was still safely in the shower – that she spoke.

  “I assume Taz doesn’t know who you are?”

  Morgan shook her head. “There’s no reason why he would. Normally he’s off doing one assignment or another when I’ve been called back to Seattle, and I never stay in Shadowfall if I am here for longer than a night. But,” she hesitated, glancing toward the bathroom door. “I hear his wings have been clipped recently.”