Cat Adams - Blood Song

I’d combed out my hair and scrubbed my face by the time they reached the top of the stairs, so I was

as presentable as I could be when I stepped out to greet them in the hal .

“Hel o, Mrs. Cooper.” I watched eyes the violet of morning glories narrow slightly at my use of her

actual name rather than her stage moniker. “I’m surprised to see you here. You must have come

straight from the airport.”

That last was a guess, but a good one. Her royal purple silk suit had deep creases across the lap, as

if she’d been sitting in it for a long time, and even the perfectly applied makeup couldn’t completely hide

the evidence of tears. I was glad of that last. Vicki deserved more than a few tears.

Cassandra gasped at my appearance, flinching backward. One of a pair of large bodyguards

stepped between us, his hand automatical y going beneath his jacket.

Well, hel . I hadn’t said more than hello and already things were going badly. Of course, it could be

the pale skin, bruised eyes, and fangs. Nah.

“Celia?” Just my name, spoken in a tone that was more cautious than friendly. It occurred to me that

I’d surprised her by not reacting with outright hostility. She knew I didn’t like her, mainly because I

thought she’d treated her daughter shabbily. But Cassandra was Vicki’s mother, and her daughter had

loved her deeply. So I swal owed my resentment and forced myself to play nice and provide a basic

explanation. “I was attacked by a vampire the other night. I’m not a bat—but there have been some

changes. Go on into my office. Make yourself comfortable.” I gestured in the direction of the open

door.

As I expected, the two heavier guards went first, but only after they made sure Cassandra was out of

reach and protected by the third man. They were big—impressively so. They probably stood six four

and six six, with the kind of muscles that come from serious weight work, but without any of the musclebound stiffness you see in folks who neglect flexibility training. They wore expensive, wel -tailored suits

in navy, with crisply starched white shirts. The only bit of color on either of them was their ties. The first

wore one of knotted silk in pale yel ow; the second, a more traditional red. I watched them step

cautiously into the room, their eyes immediately seeking the source of the magic they’d felt downstairs,

and finding it in the safe.

“What’s in the safe, Ms. Graves?” The man standing between Cassandra and me smiled when he

spoke. It was a good professional smile, charming, showing straight white teeth in a face that was

handsome but not excessively so. Like me, he hadn’t won the genetic lotto, but he hadn’t lost his shirt,

either. He had a strong jaw and good cheekbones, but his nose was a little bit large and hooked,

almost, but not quite, a beak. Eyes the color of honey met my gaze easily, and I felt him sizing me up in

ways that had nothing to do with sex but weren’t ignoring the possibility. His hair was his best feature,

or would have been if he hadn’t cut it so short. It was a warm light brown with golden highlights that

would’ve fal en in soft, unruly curls if he’d given it the chance. Instead, it was cropped short enough to

be kept under complete control.

I recognized him from their television ads. John Creede. Second bil ing on the letterhead, he was

rumored to be the real power behind one of the biggest personal protection agencies in the business.

When you care enough to hire the very best.

“It’s a weapons safe,” I pointed out drily. “What do you think is in it?”

“Impressive.” This time when he smiled he meant it, and it changed his whole appearance. Just that

smal change, but I felt my heart speed up just a little, my body suddenly becoming aware of him. The

smal hairs on my neck tingled, as did my fingers. I’d say it was his magic testing what I was, and that

might have been part of it. But there was more to it. A deep shudder coursed through me as he

pressed power against me more strongly. He noticed the reaction, of course, and his eyes started

sparkling with mischief. Damned if he wasn’t intentionally teasing me. I’d never felt anything like what

he was doing. It was primal, wild, yet absolutely control ed. His eyes started to glow lightly, liquid honey

that forced me to stare while his magic made my skin ache. The worst part was I was pretty sure he

wasn’t even trying.

Stil , he kept his voice even and professional when he spoke. “I don’t know what you have in there, but

I could feel the power almost a block away, through the building’s shielding. It takes something very …

special to capture my attention. Makes me want to check it out personal y, Ms. Graves.”

I wasn’t sure how to answer that, but I was saved the trouble by the timely return of one of the guards,

finished assessing my office for threats.

“You can come in, Ms. Meadows,” red tie announced. “It’s clear.”

Cassandra strode into the office, taking the visitor’s chair opposite the desk. She crossed her legs

with lazy grace, showing a long expanse of silk-stockinged limb. I suppose they were good legs—I’m no

judge of such things. But Lloyd’s of London had insured them for some outrageous amount during her

last picture. Whatever.

Creede gestured for me to precede him. It was a polite gesture, so I did it, but my shoulders were

tight and twitchy until I was in my chair with a wal at my back. I could tel he knew it and was quietly

amused.

“To what do I owe this visit?” I kept my voice pleasantly neutral. So far, things had gone pretty wel . If I

was lucky, we would politely detest each other for a few minutes, get whatever business done, and I

could get on with my day.

She looked at me across the desk as if miles separated us rather than a few inches of polished

wood. I stayed impassive as those amazing eyes took in the bloodstains and the injuries. I caught her

staring at my legs and tried to convince myself she was looking at my tattoo. Unfortunately, it was far

more likely she was staring at the very old, very nasty scars that I tried not to think about but knew were

just visible beneath the hem of my boxer shorts.

I watched her search for the right words and not find them.

“Were you and my daughter lovers?” I could tel it wasn’t the question she’d intended to ask, but it was

the one that made it past her lips.

I burst out laughing, which startled her. “No. We were just friends. She was seeing someone the past

few months. It was starting to get serious.”

“Friends.” She shook her head. It was a gesture of unconscious grace that made her shining dark

hair move like a living thing around her shoulders. Her eyes met mine and I saw them shining with

unshed tears. “Do you know that in my entire adult life I have never had a female friend ?”

I wasn’t surprised. Friendships are usual y based on give-and-take between equals. Not many women

would be secure enough to consider themselves her equal, and I wasn’t sure she’d accept it if they did.

But saying that wouldn’t be polite, so I settled for something a little more neutral but no less sincere:

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

She gave a rueful grimace. “I came here intending to raise hel —accuse you of seducing my

daughter to get her money and not even giving enough of a damn about her to arrange for a decent

cremation.”