Laurie London - Embraced by Blood

Alfonso gripped the handle of the cart so hard he was afraid it would bend beneath his fingers. There was a reason he preferred talking to Santiago on the phone: so he could hang up on him. Good thing they were out in public or he’d have the guy by the throat right about now, even though Santiago was one menacing vampire with a hair-trigger temper and a Dempsey-like left hook. The black military shit inked on his neck was just icing.

“What would my brother say if I suddenly became one of his Agents? He’d go ballistic on your ass, not to mention mine. It’s not like he and I are suddenly best friends. Centuries of thinking your brother is one of the bad guys isn’t rectified in one short year. Besides, I’m tired of Darkbloods. I’m tired of the Council.”

Santiago stared at him with those dark, piercing eyes, clearly not buying any of it. For chrissake, the guy never took no for an answer. How did Dom put up with this? What did he have to say to get through to him?

“Listen,” Alfonso continued. “I worked for centuries on the inside, trying to redeem myself in the eyes of everyone I cared about, and for what?” He pounded a fist on his thigh and a sharp pain pierced through the dull ache in his knee. “I’m permanently injured and my family wants nothing to do with me.”

Given that he’d been marked for assassination, it probably wasn’t safe for them to be around him anyway, but he wasn’t about to share that little tidbit with Santiago. Alfonso could hardly stand knowing what he’d pledged all those years ago.

And what it had cost him.

He sure as hell didn’t want to admit it to the Council. They could very well revoke his pardon.

“I’m tired of everything, and it’s probably time for me to move on anyway. You’re right. Maybe the house is a stupid pipe dream.”

“But—”

“Shut the—” He glanced around. Seeing an elderly man nearby, he lowered his voice. “You seriously think I’d want to come back? You wasted your time coming down here, Santiago. I’ve put in my time, so leave me the hell alone. Go find yourself someone who cares, because I’m done.”

“So then it makes no difference to you that Lily is back at the Seattle office?”

Like a shot from an air compressor, his heart slammed against his rib cage, and he struggled to keep the emotion off his face. He couldn’t have been more surprised if someone had doused him from behind with a bucket of ice water. “I thought she transferred down to one of the southern regions,” he said, his voice almost as gravelly as Santiago’s.

“She did for a while. Guess it was too hard commuting back and forth with her daughter up here in the Horseshoe Bay region with her parents. Getting to British Columbia was no longer an easy three-hour drive over the border.”

“But she and Zoe were together. I heard she was … trying to make a go of it with Zoe’s father again.” At least that’s what his sister-in-law had told him. Part of him just wanted Lily happy, but another part of him desperately wanted— Don’t go there , he reminded himself. Don’t do it .

Santiago shrugged. “I don’t get involved in my staff’s love lives. I’d need a damn social secretary for that. I’m just glad she’s back.”

My God, given this new DB intel, he’d have been keeping tabs on her had he known she was back in the area. “Does she know about this new threat against Trackers? She’s not going out alone, is she?”

“She’s in charge of on-the-job training for the rookies coming out of Tracker Academy. So, yes, she knows about the threat and, no, she’s not alone. Jesus, Alfonso, if I didn’t know better, I’d think you still had a thing for her. Still wish she was your Agency contact? Your handler? I’m sure we can arrange to have her handle something of yours, if that’s what it’d take for you to join the team.”

Alfonso’s gums ached as his fangs threatened to elongate. Santiago had no idea. The guy could laugh all he wanted, but he had no fucking clue. Not even Lily knew the truth about why he’d left her. He grabbed a saw blade off the shelf and shoved it into the cart.

“So what do you say? Can I count on you this time, Alfonso? Can we make an honest man of you yet?”

“On the contrary, I’m afraid you’ve given me the best reason of all not to come back.”

Santiago raised his brows, clearly clueless.

Alfonso pushed the cart toward the checkout stands. “Lily.”

“WHAT’S so interesting on the other side of that window? You’ve been staring outside all night.” Although Mel had first served the guy almost an hour ago, she’d not had the gumption to strike up a conversation with him till now.

Not that she was timid or anything—far from it—but he had that don’t-mess-with-me vibe, and she did her best to respect that. As a bartender in this joint for years, with the gray hair to prove it, she’d learned who was approachable and who wasn’t into chitchat. He fell into the latter crowd. But something about his expression made her ask tonight.

He pulled off his knit cap and ran a hand through his hair. Right now it was mainly dark blond, but some strands were much lighter. She’d be willing to bet that in the sun, it’d bleach out to a surfer’s golden blond.

She cracked open the longneck—only his second since he’d arrived—and slid it toward him, the wisp of escaping carbonation evaporating into the air. The guy nursed his alcohol like a first-time mother did her baby.

Not really expecting an answer to her question, she wiped a small water spot from the polished oak bar and grabbed his empty. But as she turned away, she was shocked as hell when he replied.

“Just keeping an eye on an old friend.”

She retrieved a fresh bar towel from the stack under the counter and flipped it over her shoulder. His leather bomber jacket, worn to a lighter shade of black around the wrists and neckline, creaked just a little when he lifted the beer and took a long swallow.

“Friend, as in friend? Or friend, as in an enemy you want to keep tabs on?”

“A friend.”

Having just tossed the bottle into the recycle where it rattled with the rest, she wasn’t sure if she’d heard him correctly. She lifted her eyebrows, waiting for him to say more.

Somehow he didn’t seem like the type to be pining over some woman, nor could she picture him as a stalker. More like the other way around.

The guy was working-class handsome, with rugged hands that no doubt knew how to swing a hammer and a slight limp he tried to conceal. He definitely wasn’t an accountant. A light stubble covered his jaw, and his eyes, despite their crystal-blue color, were intense and hinted at something a little frightening. Yes, his picture could seriously be in the dictionary next to dangerously handsome . She prided herself on being a pretty good judge of character. No, the guy wasn’t a stalker. But a heartbreaker? Oh, yeah.

He saw the question in her expression and tipped the bottle toward the window. “A woman I used to know is over there. In the Pink Salon.”

Ah, but maybe he was jealous. The Pink Salon wasn’t a place people went for a dart tourney with coworkers. “How long ago did you two break up?”

He narrowed his eyes. So her guess had been accurate. “Last year.”

“And she’s out with someone else?”

“No, working.”

“Yo, Mel,” called one of the guys at the far end of the bar. “Show us a little love down here.”

She filled a couple drink orders, and when she returned, Mr. Not-An-Accountant was still looking outside. Several club hoppers stopped on the sidewalk in front of the window. He scooted his barstool a few inches to the left to get an unobstructed view of the garish pink sign across the street.