Page 77 of Black Bird

Conrad’s smile fell in a strange relief. “You’re kidding.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Do you have any left?”

“One bag. That’s all of it, senator. I’ll have her deliver it to you once she’s fed properly. You need to find a suitable host, quickly, if you plan to write off our generous CEO.”

“There’s a benefit at the end of next week for the children’s hospital. I’ll choose a name.”

Dahlia huffed a laugh.“You’re darker than I thought.”

She hung up and he dropped the phone into his lap. If the blood worked on a vampire, then it had to work on a mortal. And if he was right … he’d be one of the most productive and well-respected people in the world. Untouchable. Immortal in his own right. If he was right, then Nick Specter wouldn’t need those sealed files. They’d get what they needed straight from the source. Conrad smirked as he raised his glass to his mouth.

The small frame of his child lay peacefully under a blanket decorated with rocket ships and stars; little three-eyed green aliens smiled amongst them. Nick Specter pored over emails and numbers … all the bullshit he wished he could leave at his office as he glanced down to the soft face that rested on his lap. He brushed his fingers through the silky strands of brown hair and smiled when his son’s mouth twitched in deep sleep. A ping from the laptop distracted him and he pushed his reading glasses further up the bridge of his nose.

That girl had only been there for a few days. Two weeks later, she still wasn’t able to return to work. If he wasn’t so damn afraid of Athan Kane, he’d let her go. He wished so badly he could wash his hands of all of them, pack up his wife and kid, and go hide in some remote part of the world to escape all this. They’d find him. No matter where he ran, they’d find him. He knew that. He agreed to hold her spot for a while longer. He couldn’t help but feel deeply sorry for Sarah St. James, though he still wasn’t wholly sure what it was about her that everyone demanded so badly. He had a bigger part in her situation than he’d ever wanted, and still wasn’t able to crack the seal on those records Conrad Stratford hadpaid him for. Instead, he offered a mere two bags of her blood that was being stored from her stay at the local hospital.

It had seemed pleasing enough, he’d figured out, as the senator took them as carefully as a ticking bomb and transported them to the underground coven. Nick wondered what kind of claws she had in Conrad, and how deep they went. He didn’t want to be in this position, but he was at least glad he wasn’t in that one. It did, however, leave him in another shitty predicament with Detective Kane, as Nick hadn’t told him about his little gift to the senator and the serpent that lurked in the darkness on that side of the city. If Kane found out, he’d promised to kill him. Nick knew he’d make good on his word.

His son stirred under his elbow and Nick peered down at him. Two little green eyes raised to meet his, heavy with sleep. “Daddy?”

“Hey, buddy.” He smiled softly, ruffling the little boy’s hair.

“Can we go to bed now?” he asked, rubbing his eyes with his sleeve.

Nick closed his laptop and removed his glasses. “Yeah.”

It was nearly three in the morning when Brent rolled over on the crisp sheets of his king-size platform bed in his high-rise apartment on the upscale side of Boston. He was careful not to wake the sleeping blonde, whose name he’d already forgotten, while she tugged those sheets higher over her naked body. He slipped out of bed, making to see to his needs in the bathroom before padding downstairs into the large kitchen and grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge. Standing in nothing but his dark night pants, he looked out over the lit city from his floor to ceiling windows in the living room.

He was a disgrace. Undeserving of anything. As much as he told himself he never loved Sarah, the thought of her sleeping in that detective’s bed was still crawling under his skin. Weeks later, he still hadn’t forgotten the way she’d looked at him, even in that drunken stupor and that ridiculous slutty outfit. Sarah had never looked at him like that. No one had. They had promised to be there for each other after they’d broken it off … but he understood why that couldn’t happen anymore. Why she’d never allow it to. She had every right to hate him for what he’d done to her. Then there was Wren.

Wren with her fiery attitude, and her unhinged will to tear them apart. She had Brent figured out from the very beginning. He’d heard of her incident, and the man she’d killed. He had been stupid enough to reach out to her, asking her how she was holding up and if there was anything he could do for her. She’d responded the way he expected her to, not so kindly telling him to go fuck himself. He was alone. He’d sold out his father, who still had no idea. He’d lost the girl he was supposed to be marrying. He had no friends to speak of, and the press was still eating up all the details of his diminished engagement.

They had finally started leaving Sarah alone, as she’d kept herself pretty scarce from view these last weeks and moved back to following him everywhere instead. He reminded himself it was what he deserved.

A disgrace … a soiled piece of laundry thrown to the winds.

He thought about the girl in his bed. The third one he’d brought home in the past few nights. Brent had made certain that each one had gotten her fill of being in the spotlight. Made sure each one didn’t look a thing like Sarah. He wondered if they’d noticed that when they rode him in his bed, his eyes would close every so often. Wondered if they suspected that he was thinking of someone else. Would he ever get over this? Did Detective Kane already close the deal with his ex-fiancé? It made sense. They were more alike than he ever dared to realize. He couldn’t compete with someone like him. Wouldn’t even bother.

Brent took several long swallows from his bottle and sighed against the glass window.

“God, this is agony!” Rhaena squealed, seemingly dying to move her leg as Wren dug into her ankle with her tattoo gun on her living room floor. Sarah watched on, giggling while she let her squeeze her hand. “Why do people put themselves through this shit?”

Wren shook her head, smiling as she wiped more blood from the tattoo that was slowly coming to life beneath her needle. “If you’d hold still, it wouldn’t hurt as much. Just relax, detective.”

“That’s like a dude with a dick the size of a tanker truck telling you to relax before he rams it into your—OH MY GOD!” She winced, squeezing Sarah’s hand tighter, and biting down on her knuckle as she turned her face away. Sarah couldn’t stifle her laugh. Neither could Wren.

“I’d say you’re doing well for your first bloodletting.” Sarah chuckled, her fingertips numbing from the pressure of Rhaena’s grip. The smell of food was filling her senses and her stomach growled. It had been a couple of weeks since the chaos ensued after Wren’s unfortunate ordeal. Everybody had since gotten into a routine while staying amongst each other between these two apartments, and by the grace of God, Rhaena had even allowed Denver to stay. Wren and Northwood seemed to be getting along really well as roomies, and Sarah was happy to see that the trauma of what had happened was slowly easing off her best friend. Wren’s boss had told her to take the time she needed and Rhaena had agreed to let her tattoo her, if for no other reason than to get it out of her system.

Things with Kane weren’t as tense either, though she hadn’t made any other moves to seduce him. It didn’t stop either of them from standing too close, or occasionally having moments where that damned line was the most difficult thing not to test. Sarah had even woke on the couch one morning to him leaning against it while sitting on the floor with her hand clutched to his chest. She didn’t want to admit how badly she wanted to accept his invitation to take his bed when he’d offered to sleepon the couch. She wanted no part of that unless he was in it, too. He seemed comfortable having her around, and their closeness was building day by day. Sarah was content not to risk losing any of it by asking him what he was obviously keeping from her. She assumed that if he ever felt strongly enough to want more between them, then he’d eventually come to terms with telling her whatever it was. The heaviness of it being something she didn’t want to hear still loomed over her on a daily basis.

“Okay, can we take a break? I’m dying.” Rhaena whined, the outline of the small wolf’s head on her ankle barely done. Wren stopped, scoffing at her, and wiping at the tattoo again.

“For a tough lady cop that comes home with bruises and busted knuckles, you sure are a pussy when it comes to—”

“Say that again, Vintorri …” Rhaena shook her fist at her, and Wren snorted.

“Fine … take five.” She laughed, easing back, and peeling off her gloves. Rhaena laid out over the carpet in her living room, sweating and palming her face.

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