BETWEEN BLOODE AND STONE

A Note from Mormo

There are many things in this world that don’t fit into humanity’s concept of what’s real. Much of the magir—that’s the paranormal community for you mortal types—has been kept secret. But there are some of us who’ve seen beyond realms, and we are right to fear what’s coming.

Granted, I find vampires annoying. First of all, they’re pretentious, referring to themselves as those “Of the Bloode.” Bloode, as you might expect, is very important to them. It’s not just that red liquid in their bodies. In a vampire, “bloode” is that essence infused with blood and magic; it’s what makes them what they are.

The petty bastards are powerful, and they don’t like to follow rules. Cursed by the gods not long after their creation, they are forced to keep low numbers. Vampires get along only with those in their own clan. A clan is like an extended family. Think in population numbers of ten to sixty members. I know, sounds like a small number. It is. It has to be.

Those clans belong to tribes, and a tribe can hold anywhere from a thousand to ten thousand Of the Bloode. The vampires have ten tribes, and each tribe has a different name. (See how they make everything so complicated?)

The strigoi tribe make powerful vampires. They can shapeshift into ravens and have the power of seduction over mortals. The nachzehrer, however, shapeshift into wolves, and they’re known to be able to call on a fierce, unstoppable strength at will. And so it is with all the tribes, powerful yet held in check by the need to kill those who aren’t of their clan, those who aren’t kin. Hell, even within the same tribe, the individual clans clash constantly.

They’re raging balls of chaos, and no one would really care if they all disappeared.

Well, except for my mistress. The goddess Hecate is lovely beyond words. Unfortunately, she’s got a soft spot for hard cases. And death. She insists the vampires might be the cure to the Darkness that comes to wipe out worlds.  

Her plan isn’t the best. Hecate has commanded me to take charge of their species, starting with a brand new clan of vampires, using six of the most annoying, contentious, miserable bastards I’ve ever had the misfortune to meet.

I know it’ll take more than dark magic to make these jackasses get along, let alone leave me alive and breathing at the end of it all. (Don’t think I haven’t seen them eyeing my neck like it’s bottling the finest of bloode wines.)

But I am Hecate’s humble servant, and I will serve. So here we are. But it’s so, so hard not to give into the urge to obliterate them on a daily basis.

Especially Varujan of the Crimson Veil. Because— Oh, just read on.

PROLOGUE

Mercer Island, Washington
Month of the Super Blue Blood Moon

The pain, though excruciating, felt familiar. Shadows bathed the room. The sound of battle and the scent of bloode, sweat, and excitement spiced the air. Varujan rolled away before the blade took off his whole hand. Three of his fingers lay scattered across the hated blue mat, the bright spatter of blood a welcome sight against the never-ending tedium of exhaustion and annoyance—or what that their jailer called their daily training. More like time spent in a torturous gymnasium for the damned.

“By the Black Crow, are you dancing or fighting?” Gwyn roared. “Pin him down, lads. Stop playing with your prey. He’s not dinner!” But no one paid Gwyn the slightest bit of attention, the plotting bastards competing to end Varu once and for all.

Gwyn Ap Nudd, a fae hero and renowned leader of the Wild Hunt, had a pedigree the gods must envy. He was eternally young, sound of mind and body, and beautiful. His green eyes were sharp, his hearing excellent, his ability to track unparalleled.

And he hated being ignored.

But what could he expect with students who despised being told what to do? Compliance? Vampires didn’t follow rules. Even Gwyn knew that.

Nachzehrer, revenant, vrykolakas. Known by their many tribal names across the world, vampires had two major things in common: they detested anyone not a vampire, and they loathed those outside their own clans. Cursed long ago to check their growing power, vampires could only coexist in small groups.

Yet despite their many conflicts, those Of the Bloode possessed similar traits. All vampires, no matter where they came from, were male in gender. They could go unnoticed by humans unless they wished otherwise, and they couldn’t survive sunlight. Most of them had dark hair and dark eyes that turned red when in extreme duress or excited.

Like now. All the vampires “training” with Varu stared with red eyes, their fangs visible, their nails steel-hard claws. The scent of bloode filled the room, and hunger pulsed in the air.

Gwyn thought that keeping vampires underfed and on edge would encourage an adherence to discipline during hard times. But he only made them more ferocious and uncontrollable.

The fae aimed his majestic bow around the darkened gymnasium, targeting all of them so fast he looked a blur. But he didn’t fire, which wasn’t like him. “Let the training spell work through you,” he barked. “You should view each other as a team, not the enemy.”

In the past six months, the spell had yet to work even once.

The vampire closest to Varu made a rude gesture to Gwyn with his middle finger. Two across from the fae laughed outright, while the remaining pair watched Varu, waiting for another opportunity to slice him to pieces. That or take on Gwyn again. Only the fae’s keen ability to use that bow with his blessed arrows had kept him alive these past months.

Varu studied the blond bastard giving orders no one cared to follow. Heroic, annoying, and…tasty. Varu licked his lips, famished. He could really go for some fae right about now.

That inattention cost him. Varu cursed when claws dug into his shoulder, ripping into his muscle and forcing him to cut away, losing too much bloode and tissue, his regeneration hampered by his many wounds. He put on a burst of speed he could ill afford and nearly caught Gwyn. Unfortunately, in Varu’s current state, he was no match for the fae hero, who retaliated in force.

No one could shoot like Gwyn Ap Nudd. Varu dodged four of the arrows shot in the span of a second. Regrettably, he couldn’t avoid the fifth and sixth arrows that followed, piercing his femoral arteries. More blood sprayed, and his fellow teammates converged on him with the bloodlust that made their species both feared and crazed.

They cut into him, not to devour, but to kill. Vampires didn’t eat their own kind unless absolutely necessary. But their damage would take him too long to heal. They refused to stop.

“Maim, not murder, you monsters!” Gwyn shouted. “Remember, discipline, order. You…ach!” The first month he’d been with them, Gwyn had been the soul of patience and courtesy. Boy, had that gone the way of the wind—fast. “That. Is. It. I’m done with the lot of you!” 

Gwyn glared at all of them then turned his displeasure on a creature that appeared out of nowhere, and one Varu really could have done without. Mormo—a brutally strong, white-haired bastard, neither old nor young, vampire yet not, his energy a mix of death and magic and something unpleasantly powerful.

“I did my best to help,” Gwyn said bitterly. “But I honestly have no idea what your mistress was thinking.” The fae shook his head. “Vampires never work well together.”

Varu could have told them that from the start. In fact, he had. Several times. As had the others. But the great and powerful Mormo had ignored them all, too focused on supposed bloode-debts incurred by their clans, demanding recompense in a laughable idea of forced servitude.

And now, as Varu felt his life’s essence leave him, he could finally make that payment in full. For you, Father. I hope you’re fucking satisfied with me now.

Unfortunately, the others didn’t care that Gwyn had quit, or that Varu was on the verge of true death. They continued to come after him, caught in the euphoria of the kill. Varu twisted away from them, but his movements became sluggish as he slipped on his own bloode. The revenant tore through his biceps. The nachzehrer severed his Achilles tendon. The big vryko dug claws through Varu’s intercostal muscles and broke through rib bones, reaching for his heart. Varu locked eyes with the savage, doing his best to stop the monster from ripping out the organ, but a surge of power distracted him.

Everyone froze and as one turned to Mormo.

Mormo’s eyes blazed red as he took in the chaos around them, studying the mess of bloode and guts dirtying his precious training facility. He looked up at the sole window in the place. It had been covered in a black sheet of metal to prevent sunlight from entering during daylight. Because day or night, they had been forced to forego rest to become a “cohesive unit.”

“What? You need me to say pretty please?” Mormo grimaced as he stepped over Varu’s severed fingers and pointed skyward. “Just do it, Gwyn. Today would be nice.”

“Fine. You asked for it.” Gwyn aimed high and let his arrow fly, piercing the metal like it was nothing. At the same time, all Varu’s opponents darted for the walls, shielding themselves away from the sunlight that speared into Varu and smothered him with excruciating pain.

Agony filled every cell of his body as he slowly turned to dust. His sight left him, but he could unfortunately hear Mormo sigh and say, “It’s become painfully clear to me that we’re now all bound to suffer. Dickheads.” Mormo murmured something else under his breath, then said aloud, “Come closer, you who are Of the Bloode. Much, much closer…”

Varu’s attackers shrieked as Mormo released his magic. Varu felt it coat him as well, severing old ties and creating new ones, and he swore, long and loud. And after I’d just resigned myself to a true death after all…

1

Four months later, Seattle

The dim bar stank of piss and grease, the food a step above the overpriced booze and dirty clientele. A popular hangout for college kids and desperate older men wanting to get laid, the bar didn’t carry anything Varu would consider delectable—in spirits or women.

He glared at his new kin, so tired of dealing with fellow vampires he wanted to vomit. Alas, he hadn’t ingested actual food in over three hundred years. He had no urge to try it again in this century.

Apart from Varu, Duncan probably came closest to being civilized. The revenant practiced seduction well enough. Always a cock buried in some female or other. Just what they needed on this particular mission.

Mormo wanted them to find a young woman in downtown Seattle. Considering the four-million-plus people in the city, Varu thought the asshole insane for even thinking they might suss her out with the help of a little spell. But then, Varu had forgotten who they were really working for.

Hecate, goddess of ancient magic, boundaries, and death. Not a bad goddess if one had to worship, he supposed. But those Of the Bloode didn’t venerate deities. They took pleasure in the hunt, the kill, and in victories earned through skill and ferocity. Prayers were for the weak who needed something other than themselves to believe in.

Besides, in the four months they’d been damned to live with Mormo in a human city, they had yet to witness Hecate in any way, shape, or form. No, a vampire needed only his own fangs and claws to get a job done.

He said to Duncan, “Plan A.”

“Right.” Duncan nodded. The large male had lived in England for just over two hundred years before his rebirth as Varu’s kin. Varu mentally cringed at the clan name Mormo had given them. The Night Bloode. How…pedestrian. But better than his first suggestion of the Seattle Bloode—which already belonged to the local upir clan. Seattle and vampirism went together as well as witches and fire. Not a great combination.

Still, Duncan didn’t seem to care what anyone called him. He would get the job done with minimal fuss. No matter what clan he belonged to, no matter whose kin, Duncan was a tremendously fast fighter, smart, and a master of seduction.

The revenant caught Varu’s glance and, with a wide grin, headed for the bar, shrugging away his ability to go unnoticed. Once he’d reached the attractive bartender in a shirt that looked painted on, Duncan started flirting with the witchy redhead for all he was worth. If she had any information on their quarry, Duncan would get it.

Leaving him to his task, Varu left the bar and spotted the dark SUV waiting for him in the alley. He’d told the others to leave him and Duncan behind. But had they listened? No.

He sighed. Since their recent rebirth into a new clan, they’d become used to one another’s company, no longer feeling an urge to kill since they’d been bound as kin. But the need to dominate was part of what made a vampire a vampire. Hierarchy within a clan was normal. With Mormo being the obvious patriarch, the next level fell to the most powerful—namely, Varu.

Except the others continued to test him. Varu had learned enough about them to know they probably felt they had that right. But what they didn’t know about him might just be their downfall.

Duncan typically followed Varu without complaint. An occasion to screw a pretty human, despite her being a witch, was nothing over which to argue. Fortunately, the somewhat problematic pair he often fought with had work away from the city tonight, so two less problems to have to handle. Which left Varu the other two idiots currently in the SUV.

He opened the passenger door and got in, not surprised to see Orion behind the wheel. The vryko, a vampire from the Greek island of Santorini, was tall, muscular, and stubborn. And like those of his tribe, he was skilled in powers of hypnosis rather than seduction. In a matter of sheer strength, Orion would likely best him.

Wisely, Varu never let that be the only point of contest between them.

With a glare, Orion peeled out of the alley.

“Head home,” Varu ordered. Home, what a joke. But now bound to Mormo and his goddess, what choice did they have?

Orion didn’t say anything.

Varu sighed. “Just get it off that huge chest.”

“Why use Duncan?” Orion growled, sounding more like a wolf than the raven he could shapeshift into.

“Because he’s funny and acts like he likes women.”

“I like women.”

“I like women too,” came a voice heavily accented in German. “Why do you always choose the weaker ones for this kind of job?” Kraft complained from the backseat. Like Orion, he had a large frame and dense strength, his hair shaggy though, not as short and coarse as Orion’s. A German nachzehrer, he could assume the form of a wolf at will and had a wonderful rage that added to his power. Too bad he also had a huge dose of dickhead in that DNA. “And why does Orion get to drive all the time?”

Varu silently counted to ten. “He’s behind the wheel. Does it matter?”

“Did you know your accent appears when you’re annoyed?” Orion said, wearing a smirk. “What part of Romania do you hail from? Or was it called Dacia? You know, back before Christ was born.”

“Fuck off.” Sometimes he forgot his exact years, but Varu knew he had only just passed his first millennium.

“Orion always gets to drive,” Kraft continued to complain. “I’m tired of having to do what you tell me. Who made you boss, Varujan?”

Instead of diving into the back to strangle the irritating vampire, Varu said nothing, watching the raindrops splash against the windows as they drove through Seattle’s wet streets back to the mansion. For all of Kraft’s bitching, Orion drove well enough, weaving through traffic before they stopped at a red light.

The rain ceased. The moon pierced the gloom of night, full and ripe overhead as the clouds drifted apart. As a beam struck him, Varu felt a craving for blood, and he wondered if Mormo would throw a fit if they took a breakfast break. At just past midnight on a cold September night, those frequenting the bar and club scene had started to thin. Few meals wandered alone, most in pairs or packs. Easy pickings, if only Mormo would take that stick out of his ass and allow them uncontrolled feedings.

Screw him. I’m feeding on whatever I want. Having made the decision, Varu felt a little better.

Kraft continued to mutter, “I mean, what would it hurt if I drove? It’s not the autobahn, but I can deal.”

For four months they’d been—loosely—following Mormo’s stupid orders. He told them who to track, who to kill, and who to capture when they weren’t training or praying for a true death to alleviate the boredom. Varu had recently succumbed to watching television. He’d just finished bingeing Breaking Bad, Sons of Anarchy, and The Punisher. He was desperate for something new to watch. Or new to kill. And at the rate Kraft was getting on his nerves…

“America. Blech,” Kraft grumbled. “I’m dying for rich blood. Someone who’s eaten a decent wurst or Sauerbraten. A hefeweizen would really go down well, come to think of it.” He paused then said, “Now I’m thirsty.”

Varu tuned him out. Life should be about more than tracking down rogue witches and warlocks. Bagging errant vampires and escaped beasts from the underworld started to wear on a guy. Hunger wasn’t helping. Nor was his irritation that Mormo refused to give any reasons behind the capture of their latest target.

Staring at the moon, Varu longed for something he couldn’t quite name. “Anyone hungry for lycan?”

Orion shrugged. “I could go for fae.”

Kraft stopped bitching enough to say, “Give you ten bucks to say that to Gwyn’s face.”

“Twenty, and you’re on. But you have to convince Mormo to invite him back.”

“Done.”

Orion reached behind him to shake Kraft’s hand.

Orion, like several of the others, didn’t mind Mormo. Varu couldn’t stand the arrogant prick. The secrets and the condescension, so different from what Varu had been used to for hundreds of years, rankled.

“Gwyn will gut you,” he warned.

“He’ll try.” Orion flashed a fang, his good humor restored.

“He’s going to stick you hard, many times. Turn you into a porcupine.” Kraft chuckled. “He’s damn fast with that bow.”

 “You do realize he’s been King of the Hunt for hundreds of years, right?” Orion, think, you idiot. “He wasn’t too happy with us not listening to him. He quit, remember? If he sees you again, he’ll shoot first then ask questions.”

Orion shrugged. “So what? I’m stronger than all of you put together. I can crush one tiny fae.”

Varu and Kraft exchanged a glance, and Kraft said, “Sure, Orion. Whatever helps you sleep during the day.”

The light turned green, and Orion started to turn. He slammed on the brakes as something—no, someone—landed on the windshield. The glass cracked as that someone pushed off with his feet and shot across the street into a nearby alley, running all-out.

His hunger driving him, Varu darted out of the vehicle as gunshots tore into the SUV. Knowing Orion and Kraft could handle themselves, he followed the creature who’d hit their vehicle, only to see the hooded figure disappear into an abandoned storefront. The door remained open, a cracked bay window hiding the interior.

With a speed no human could match, Varu tracked his prey inside and waited, seeing clearly in the darkness. The attack came from the deepest shadows. It was fast and furious but no match for Varu. He manhandled his prey and easily grabbed him by the throat off his feet, yet his prey’s hood remained in place, concealing his features. Curious that his attacker was somewhat smaller than he’d expected, Varu studied the male, at least a good head smaller than Varu and slighter of form.

A teenager or young man, perhaps? No, make that, a young woman. He noticed the slight swell of breasts at the same time he drew in her scent. It burst on his tongue and caused instant elation. So very strange. He frowned, but as the sweet, sultry taste of her wound around him, his fangs grew, hunger bursting through him from head to toe. He let go of her neck and gripped her by the shoulders, continuing to keep her off her feet a few inches from the ground.

He needed to see the face that went along with that scent. Like the finest perfume… except she didn’t exactly smell like prey.

The longer he held her, the less he felt like draining her. His body woke up, his fangs not the only thing growing large.

Orion yelled something outside. Distantly, as if dreaming, Varu glanced through the bay window to see Orion punch two men hard enough that they flew into a brick wall and slumped to the ground in the alley. Then he engaged with what looked like a lycan.

Hmm. Breakfast…

Kraft snarled at something that snarled back. Then he started hitting and biting and moved out of sight. More noise outside, then a cough distracted him. Varu looked back at the female, peering at the unnatural darkness under her hood. He thought he could make out her eyes. A silver glow appeared and brightened.

Then she was petting him, and he sighed with pleasure.

“That’s right. Good vampire. Just a little more. Down, boy.”

He lowered his arms, setting her on her feet. And then he was no longer holding her, his arms by his sides. He blinked, feeling silly. He’d missed what she’d said. But…

A lovely laugh that made him smile in return broke the silence between them.

“Oh, I’ll be the toast of the town when I return with upir gold.”

Upir gold? He should know that term.

A small but gracefully shaped hand with trimmed red nails trailed his forearm to his shoulder. She reached up to touch his hair, rubbing the black strands between her fingers.

“So soft. Who would have thought?” Her voice sounded like the tinkle of wind chimes, magical and soothing. So sweet.

She leaned closer, and he scented that delectable perfume again. The one that made him hungry for something other than food.

Her finger caressed his throat.

He froze.

The touch of a stranger against the most vulnerable part of him shocked Varu out of his stupor. Wait. Had she said upir gold? Considered a delicacy in many parts of the divine world, and a bountiful harvest to those who dealt in power and sacrifice, a vampire’s bloode and brains—upir gold—could fetch a pretty penny.

He snatched her hood back, exposing a female with long black hair threaded with white streaks. Her eyes were lavender, the sclera a small presence of white, the irises glowing, her pupils, a darker purple, overly large. Her face was inhumanly beautiful. The pearlescent shine to her skin, a lovely shade of light gray—no, a pale cream color, he thought as the moonlight streaming through the window changed—emphasized her plump, blood-red lips and rosy cheeks lush with life. He could hear her heart racing, the evidence of her vitality intoxicating.

Yet for all that, she wore nothing out of the ordinary, just jeans and a hoodie and sneakers. So plain and uninteresting.

Overwhelmed by a confusing sense of lust and danger, he started to lean forward, unable to help himself.

The dagger she thrust at his throat had him springing back several feet with a snarl, flashing his fangs. How the hell had she surprised him once again?

Instead of being properly intimidated, she narrowed her eyes and threw the dagger at him.

He hadn’t expected her to throw with such speed and accuracy. The damn thing nearly severed his head from his neck and bounced off the wall behind him.

Done playing the fool, Varu retaliated immediately, launching himself and tackling her to the ground. He pinned her down while avoiding her stare, since she’d earlier beguiled him into letting her go.

“Get off me, blood-sucker.” Several more swears and insults to his lineage followed, her voice husky with anger, no longer so airy and musical.

He grinned at the epithets, not at all offended. Instead, he found himself intrigued. It had been so long since he’d had anything to smile about.

The female continued to struggle with a strength not common to humans. Definitely not a mortal, then. Interesting that she lacked the power of a stronger magir, like a shapeshifter or lycan.

She planted her hands flat on the ground, trying to push him off her. To his astonishment, she started to gain leverage.

What was she?

He leaned closer to sniff her neck, and she screamed.

The sound shattered his eardrums, and the force of it threw him through the already cracked bay window into the alleyway.

But immediately up and moving, he ignored the ringing in his ears and wiped away bloode obscuring his vision from a jagged head wound, even now healing. He raced after her, hearing her pounding footsteps on the other side of the building. Except he got there too late.

Exploding into the road behind the storefront, with Orion and Kraft right behind him, he watched a fast-moving van snap her up. As it carried her away, she stuck out her head, stared back at him, and flipped him off. Then the van turned out of sight.

Varu cracked his neck, annoyed, intrigued, and bless it all, amused.

Orion scowled. “What the hell was that?”

“Varu, you have bloode on your face.” Kraft frowned and handed him the dagger the woman had thrown. “Here. I found this inside the building. It wants you.”

Varu clasped the dagger, shocked at the sudden hum of connection. “We need to find her.”

“We need to get out of here,” Orion corrected. “Mormo was pretty clear about not calling any attention to ourselves. I left five bodies in the alley.” He paused. “Kraft left two.”

Kraft scowled. “Hey, I killed those two before I had to fight battle beasts. Not my fault I couldn’t shake them to help you with those pesky humans.”

“Dick.” Orion huffed. “Like I needed any help.”

Kraft ignored him. “I’m still hungry.” He paused. “And I want to drive home.”

“You drive like a ninety-year old.”

“I am a ninety-year old!”

Orion scoffed. “You hit like one too.”

“Oh yeah?”

While they bickered, Varu studied the dagger. Touching the edge burned, so he knew it to be silver. The leather hilt, however, had been pressed with runes. And beneath it, something beckoned the bloode inside him. So peculiar. He sniffed the weapon and scented the odd female all over it. Longing pulsed, a repeated plea to touch, to claim. But from the dagger, or was that in response to the murderous female?

Irritated, Varu concentrated on the weapon. He rubbed the leather, felt the power underneath it, and pulled back the leather binding to see a red stone the size of a dime.

Kraft cut off what he’d been saying to Orion and blinked. “I told you it wanted you. But now I can feel it pounding in my chest. What is it?”

Orion gaped. “Fuck me. I feel it too, and it’s not happy. What is that?”

“That’s a very good question.” Varu’s mouth dried, knowing without knowing how he knew. He held in his hand a thing that couldn’t possibly exist outside legends and myth. “If you believe that Bloode Stones are real, then you’d know they have been hidden for thousands of years, created when our ancestor first bled upon the earth.”

Kraft’s eyes widened. “I thought they formed from his tears hitting the earth. Rumor has it the Bloode Stones can bring vampires together. A legendary bridge between the tribes.”

Orion frowned. “That’s not possible. Our kind is limited by bonds of kin. Hell, even those of us of the same tribe want to kill each other. I actually like my uncle, but he moved to another clan, and now I want to rip his throat out whenever I see him.”

“All of us here with Mormo are outside each other’s tribes, and we haven’t killed each other.” Kraft stated the obvious.

“Yet,” Varu answered. “But that’s due to whatever spells the death goddess and Dickhead Senior cast.”

“Fucking Mormo.” Orion snorted. “Not to be confused with Gwyn, Dickhead Junior.”

Kraft chuckled, though his gaze remained on the dagger.

Varu rubbed this thumb over the stone and hissed as it made contact with the power deep inside him. The stone seemed to purr as if alive, then it started singing.

He hastily covered it back up with the leather binding, muting, but not cancelling, that song of kinship.

“It can’t be a Bloode Stone,” Kraft argued, though he didn’t sound so convincing. “The six stones have been missing since the Kin Wars.”

Orion huffed. “Exactly. Besides, even it if was, only one Worthy of the Bloode could contain it.”

Varu nodded. Orion had the right of it. Only a vampire could touch a Bloode Stone. And only one Worthy could wield it. Varu knew he was far from deserving of any title so grand. Plus, a woman had thrown that dagger, yet there were no female vampires. No, the stone couldn’t possibly be one of the legendary gems.

He clutched the dagger tightly. “So, the question is, who is she? How did she get this dagger?”

“And how did she kick your ass?” Kraft asked with an innocent expression Varu didn’t buy for a second. “Because she did, and I think everyone will want to know more about that.”

“He has a point.” Orion remained stone-faced, but Varu saw the laughter in his eyes.

He glared at the pair. “We can talk about it once we get back. Oh, and I’m driving us home.”

An unhappy Kraft and Orion joined him in the SUV, and after kicking out the windshield, they headed back to the house.

But Varu’s thoughts remained on the dagger, wondering why his meeting with the strange female felt less like an accident and more like something that had been planned.

Between Bloode and Stone