Page 11 of Blood Lovers (American Vampires #1)

We should definitely have sex first.

Blood lover.

Blood lover.

I must’ve heard Zusi or Tristin say these words because the phrase is running through my head on a near-constant basis. I try to drown it out with music and earbuds, and it goes away for a few hours or a night, but then, the next thing I know, it’s back.

And they are purple words. This didn’t make sense to me at first, but when I hear the words in my head, I see them in front of me too. They shimmer and are surrounded by the same haze that comes with a dreamwalk.

I looked this phenomenon up. Seeing letters and numbers as colors. It’s called synesthesia and about four percent of the population has this unusual extrasensory sight. But the website also says that most develop synesthesia in childhood. And that’s not how it presents for me.

This is new.

I could ask Zusi and there’s a fairly high probability that she’s heard of this, but there’s a part of me that’s afraid that this new skill is due to the shock of ice magic my grandma gave me when she died.

If that’s what it was.

I’m not sure it’s magic. When I was growing up in the Guild, magic was, of course, forbidden. I didn’t care because I don’t know how to do it. But if I told Zusi about all this, she would probably have a duty to tell the Guild what was happening.

I appreciate them. I really, really do. They raised me. They sent me to college. They gave me a job in their spectacular library. They’re taking care of me still.

But I am a Black witch with Black blood running through my veins and that means, despite the fact that they have cared for me for decades, I am still their mortal enemy. I am not a threat to them right now, but that doesn’t mean I can’t be. And if they knew that my grandma gave me some kind of gift in the moment of her death, they would have questions.

Questions I wouldn’t be able to answer.

Questions I would not want to answer.

I don’t tell Zusi about the magic, or the purple words. Because if I do, it will change things. It will change the relationship I have with the Guild, which includes Zusi, and this terrifies me. They are all I have. They are my only reason to live. I have no purpose in life without them.

So I just try to put the blood lovers out of my mind.

This is our last day at the beach. We’ve been here the required two weeks and both Tristin and Zusi are convinced that the threat is over.

I would agree, but in addition to the blood lovers thing, I’ve also been having weird dreams about the hunter. Not a dreamwalk, either. Just a regular dream.

And it’s weird because I don’t know what he looks like, but I absolutely know it’s him.

Like we’ve done this before, like we’ve met before, like he’s somehow connected to me.

I think that seeing the vampire Paul in that forest dreamwalk is what started all this. It was so unsettling for many different reasons. First, of course, because this is the first time I’ve seen his face and he was terrifying. Which is not surprising, in and of itself. It was the way he held that baby. The way he gazed down at it before he looked up at me. Like he… loved it, or something.

It’s weird. Because if a monster can love, is he a monster?

But also because the second time I saw him he was beautiful. And that’s just gross. Because eh was drinking a little girl in that dreamwalk.

“Ready?”

“Huh?” I realize I’ve been staring into my purse for several minutes as these thoughts ran through my mind.

“What are you looking for?”

I wasn’t really looking for anything, just zoning out. But Zusi will start asking questions about this, so I just pull out my lip balm and hold it up for her. “This.”

“OK. Well, Tristin has the car so let’s go.”

I get up, hike my purse over my shoulder, and we leave the tent. I sigh and look over my shoulder at it as we walk away. “I’m gonna miss this place. This was the closest thing I’ve had to a vacation in, well, ever.”

Zusi smiles at me. “I’m sorry that things got so stressful back in Colorado. And I know that it was hard to leave your grandma.”

“It’s fine. I was emotional. She and I went our separate ways years ago. You know that.”

“I do. But still. It was sad. You were sad.”

Was I sad? I can’t really decide. I’m so unaffected by things these days. Life has always been unfair to me. I’m used to it now and getting emotional about things just doesn’t seem helpful.

So I change the subject. “Where are we going now?”

Zusi winces.

“What? Why are you making that face?”

“I’m being called back to the Guild. Tristin and I both.”

“Oh.” Now this does make me sad.

“I’m sorry.” She reaches over and squeezes my arm. “But the Guild says you’re totally safe now and, well”—she shrugs—“they pay my bills, ya know?”

“I get it. I’ll be fine.” But will I? I don’t even have a place to go.

“We’ve set you up in a house in Idaho.”

“Oh.” My tone is brighter. “Well, thanks. What kind of house? What kind of town?”

“It’s a little tourist place. Mostly for fishing and rafting, but it’s dead right now. Still very much winter up there.”

“Yeah.” I sigh as we approach the car and give the five-star beach one last look over my shoulder before I get in.

“But it’s pretty,” Zusi says, continuing our conversation.

Tristin is driving. He turns around to look at us in the back. “What’s pretty?”

“I was telling her about the place up in Idaho.”

“No one cares if it’s pretty, Zusi. It’s safe. That’s the only thing that matters.”

Zuse and I exchange a look. He’s so uptight. But we forgive him because he’s about as handsome as they come. Six-foot-two, broad shoulders, dark blond hair that is just long enough to casually slick back with a sweep of his fingers. And he dresses nice. Usually, he likes a suit, but he looks good on the beach too.

I’ve been teasing Zusi about him since I woke up. They make the most ironic couple. She’s all tiny and cute and he’s all tall and cut. Plus, her personality is what most people would describe as bubbly and his is… well, uptight really is the right word for him. But it’s uptight in an adorable way.

She should date him.

When I said that, she slapped my arm. “It’s so forbidden. The Guild would shit a gold brick if we dared to even hold hands, Syrsee. It’s not gonna happen.”

And I replied, “What I just heard is, ‘Yeah, he’s hot and I want to jump his bones, but I’m temporarily choosing my kickass job over love. But one day—’”

She slapped me again. Playfully, of course.

Still, I just have a feeling that they will end up together.

Tristin drives us to the airport, but he doesn’t park. He pulls up to departures.

I look over at Zusi. “You’re not coming in? Not even to walk me to security?”

“I can’t, Syr. We have a flight waiting for us at the private airfield. But here’s your schedule. It’s a ten-day journey.”

“What? Why? I thought you said it was safe.”

“It is.” Tristin turns in his seat to look at me. “But we can’t be sloppy. You will leave here, land back in Miami, then you will take a bus—”

“A bus ? Zusi!”

“It’s only to Pensacola.”

“When you get there, you’ll take another plane to Portland.”

“Oregon, right?” I raise one eyebrow at Tristin.

“Maine.”

“Dick! No! What the fuck? That’s literally three thousand miles away from Idaho.”

“That’s the point.” Zusi pats my shoulder. “We’ve got Guild members who will cover your tracks the whole way, but it’s not a joke, Syrsee. This is serious shit. Your life depends on this.”

I sigh. “Fine. Then where?”

“Ontario.”

“Great.”

“Then New Orleans, Omaha, Phoenix, and finally Boise.” Tristin faces forward in his seat and looks at me in the rear-view mirror. “You will take a bus from Boise to Grangerville, where a car is parked in a Super 8 Motel. Enjoy a night on us. And then continue north to White River the following day. The address is in the glove box.”

“Wait.” I put up a hand. “This isn’t non-stop traveling, right?” Zusi winces. “Zuse! Ten days with no hotel. I will stink!”

“Technically, it’s nine. And there’s a shower at the bus stations.”

“Tristin, shut the fuck up.” He recoils at Zusi’s snappish tone. “Let me handle this.” She turns to me and smiles sweetly. “There’s a shower at the bus stations.”

I can’t help it, I laugh. “It’s not funny though.”

She holds up a finger. “Bitch. Do you really think I would leave you hanging like this?”

“Umm… no?”

She opens her purse, then wallet, and then hands me a silver card.

“What is it?”

“It’s the key to to the Guild Lounge.”

“Zusi!” Now it’s Tristin’s turn to snap at her. “That’s against the rules.”

“Fuck the rules, Tristin. It’s a ten-day journey. She needs pampering.” Then Zusi turns to me. “Oh, my God. You must get the pedi in Phoenix. It’s uh-mazing.”

I take the card and hold it up. “Will I even have time to enjoy it?”

She hands me the envelope with my itinerary. “You will. I made sure of it. The Guild has lounges in every airport, bus station, and train depot. Just look for this symbol”—she taps the card—“and follow the signs.”

“Will I get in trouble?”

“No. It’s my personal card.” She glares at Tristin. “And I’m allowed to use it any way I want.”

He puts up his hands. “Fine. When you get demoted, don’t come crying to me.”

“If you’re gonna get in trouble—”

“I won’t.” She sets her jaw. “And I will see you soon. Please don’t lose it, though. I will get in trouble if I lose it.”

“I promise.” I lean in and kiss her on the cheek and then get out of the car and walk into the airport.

The first two legs of my journey leave me few minutes to even think, let alone find the Guild Lounge. But when the bus finally pulls in to Pensacola, I realize I have four hours before my flight to Maine, so this is my chance.

The symbol Zusi told me to look for is a figure eight on its side. Like an infinity symbol, but the lines don’t connect. There is a small gap. And in that gap is the head of some kind of creature.

I’ve seen this symbol. It’s called an ouroboros. And the creature is a snake eating its own tail.

But this is not a snake. I’m not quite sure what it is, but it almost looks like a horse. The other end, which would be the snake’s tail in the common version of this symbol, appears to be some kind of human. They are facing each other. Not chasing one another. I decide to call them the Horse and Rider.

I don’t know what it means, but once I see it in the bus station, I feel like it’s everywhere. Like the Guild spared no expense when it came to guiding their guardians towards rest and respite.

At first, I’m confused because they don’t really show a direction. There are no arrows or anything like that. But then I realize that the horse and rider change directions. Sometimes the horse is on the right. Sometimes it’s on the left. And when I follow the horse pointing left, it leads me to another horse pointing left. Then another. And that’s how I know where to go.

I have always known that the Guild of Guardians was weird, but they don’t tell me their secrets and they obviously don’t share their transport lounges with me, either. So this is next-level shit.

When I asked Zusi questions about the Guild, she said it was like a fraternal brotherhood, except not fraternal.

“So like the Freemasons?”

“No.” She was very adamant about that. “It’s not like that at all. I can’t really explain it. But trust me, they’re good people and you want them on your side.”

What was I gonna do? Disagree with her? On what grounds? So… whatever. I just went with it. Though in the back of my mind I still picture them as a secret society cult.

Weird rituals. Bizarre rules. And austerity. Lots and lots of austerity.

But holy shit, was I ever wrong. These lounges? Even the bus station one? Luxury to the highest degree.

The lounges are all different, but they have one thing in common. The staff, the facilities, the atmosphere—they’re all there for ‘you’.

And I suddenly find myself wishing I was a full-fledged Guild Guardian.

It’s like a family. And I know Zusi considers me family, and I her, but this feels so… big. Like lots of open arms welcoming you, no matter where you are in the world.

In fact, it’s more than just a feeling of family.

It’s an all-encompassing sense of safety once I walk through those lounge doors.

Like I am being taken care of.

It’s a little bit shocking, actually. That I didn’t see it before now, but also that she offered this perk up to me, even though I know damn well that she’s not supposed to lend out her card, let alone practically invite me into their secret world.

On the last leg of my journey I spend the night in the Super 8, get up before dawn, and head out early in the black Ford F-150 that was left in the parking lot. White River is a little over two hundred miles north of where I’m at and it takes the whole morning to get there.

Coming from the tropics, as I did, the fact that winter is in full swing up here turns my spirit of adventure—which I have been trying to adopt—into cold, sharp reality. And when I finally roll into town under the umbrella of a massive thunderhead that threatens to blanket the world in an ocean of snow, find the address, and realize that I now live in an apartment above a hardware store—I can’t even remember what a sense of adventure feels like, let alone conjure up the enthusiasm to make it happen.

I just feel… I don’t know. Denied. Like I’ve been skipped out on.

The place is pretty, I’ll give it that. But when I checked the average temperatures up here last night in the hotel and realized it’s not going to get to a temperature that I would consider warm until the better part of June —yeah. Depressing.

The apartment isn’t bad. It’s furnished. Thankfully. There is nothing worse than heading to a new place only to arrive and be reminded, in the most in-your-face way possible, that you own nothing.

I still own nothing. This stuff is not mine. But at least I have a couch and a bed.

There’s a wood stove and a note from, presumably, the landlord that I can help myself to the wood stacked out back whenever I want.

I do that immediately because there doesn’t seem to be a thermostat in here to turn on some heat and it’s fucking freezing.

So I haul wood up the stairs and stack it in the little alcove outside my door, enough that I don’t have to do this every few hours, plus some for inside too. I’m pretty good at making a fire. Bonfires were a thing at the Guild school. It’s in the mountains too, but not the Rockies—Vermont. Which is prettier, I think. Lots of trees. Not just pine trees and aspens, like here.

Soon, my little apartment is toasty and warm and I’m curled up in a fluffy blanket that someone left folded on the couch.

To say that sleep comes easy is an understatement.

And this time, no purple follows me.

When I wake up the place is going cold again because the fire is nothing but embers and ashes. But I have bigger problems. I’m starving and I have no food.

So I bundle myself back up, go down to my truck, spend nearly ten minutes warming up the engine and scraping snow off the windshield, then hit up the town for sustenance.

This is when my new situation finally hits home. Because this town has no grocery store, only a diner and gas station that sells junk food. But only the gas pumps are open after six PM, so I have to fight the storm and make my way down the road to the edge of town where the diner is, only to find out that it’s closed until May .

It’s January-something right now and it doesn’t open until May.

What. The actual. Fuck.

I text this to Zusi, but she doesn’t answer me.

I text again, and again, and again, with an increasing number of exclamation points, only to realize that my texts aren’t being delivered. Because I don’t have service.

So here I sit, in the empty parking lot of the White River Historic Diner—closed—and pound my fists on the steering wheel as the tears of exhaustion, and frustration, and abandonment roll down my cheeks.

And that’s when a man knocks on my window and scares the ever-loving fuck out of me.

I scream. He backs up, hands in the air like he’s surrendering.

“Sorry!” He yells this through my closed truck window. “Didn’t mean to scare you. I live across the road.” He points. “In those cabins. I’m the caretaker, actually.”

My mood improves. Because holy fucking shit, if all Idaho men look like him, then I am totally OK with no gas, no food, and no phone. I could for sure force myself to cozy up to this one until May.

I smile, then buzz my window down a few inches. It’s snowing like crazy, so I don’t go overboard on that.

“Hi.” He smiles and tries again. “I’m Ryet.” He points to the cabins again. “I’m the caretaker of those hideous things they’re calling cottages. I saw you out here and thought maybe you needed some help.”

Wow. He’s like a lumberjack on a romance cover and he’s even got the rugged name to go with it. I blink at him, hastily wipe my tears, and then smile. “I was looking for food. I’m new in town and there’s nothing to eat in my apartment.”

“This place has apartments?” He looks towards downtown, which is only about half a mile away, like he’s trying to figure out where the miniscule mountain town of White River, Idaho, might be hiding apartments.

“It’s above the hardware store.”

“Ohhh.” He looks back at me and grins. And is that… a dimple? “I’m pretty new here too. But I was absolutely certain that this town does not have apartments.”

We just stare at each other for a moment.

Then I say, “So, where can a girl grab a bite—” while he’s saying, “We’ve got food at the lodge, if you want to come in and eat.”

We both look over at ‘the lodge’ and laugh.

“Lodge might be overselling it.” And he flashes me that dimple again.

“Well, beggars should never be choosers. So sure. Thanks. Hop in. I’ll drive you home.”

His smile grows even bigger. His eyes might twinkle. Then he takes me up on the offer even though we’re only going across the street.

I plow the truck through the snow, park in front of ‘the lodge,’ turn the truck off, and start to open my door.

But he puts a hand on my shoulder. “Hold on.”

“What?” I turn to look at him. He’s wincing. “What’s that look?”

“Here’s the thing—”

“You’re not really the caretaker?”

“No, I am. But…” His eyes dart over to the lodge.

“Your wife is in there?”

He laughs out loud and looks back at me. “No.”

“Then what’s the problem?” I should maybe be worried at this turn of events because I don’t know this man. We literally met three minutes ago. But for some reason… I dunno. I’m kinda into it.

He lets out a long breath. “Well, my boss? His… thing … is in there.”

“Thing?”

“You know. She’s not a girlfriend, she’s not a wife, but they’re attached. He gave her this place, and he’s making me renovate it, because she’s pregnant.”

“Ohhh.”

“Yeah. It’s that kind of thing. But not the point. The point is she’s in there, checking some shit out, and I don’t want to go in there. I would like to go in there .” He gestures to the cabin next to the lodge.

“Ohhhhhh.”

“Yeah. It’s not looking good, is it?”

I laugh. “The creep factor is gettin’ dialed up, buddy. That’s a fact.”

He puts his hand over his heart. “I promise, I am not a creep. I would like to get you out of this weather, stuff you with food, and then… I dunno. Play vinyl records and reminisce about old times.”

“Wow. You’re kinda poetic.”

“I have my moments.”

“Here’s the problem with that.”

“Hit me up. I’m nothing if not a problem solver.”

“We don’t know each other. So we can’t reminisce.”

“You’re in luck.”

My mood has improved by a thousand percent, so I practically giggle. “Am I?”

“You really are. Because here’s your solution. We make shit up.”

I laugh out loud. “That’s pretty much just… lying.”

“Some call it fiction.”

“So let me make sure I’m understanding you. You would like me, a stranger, to go inside that cabin right there, with you, also a stranger, so we can eat, warm up, play old records, and then create a fictional past so we can pretend to reminisce about it.”

“You totally get me.”

“Well.” I let out a long breath. “This could go one of two ways. One, I fall madly in love with you, we get married, have kids, have grandkids, and sixty years from now, when we tell this story, everyone thinks we’re making it up.”

He unleashes that dimple a third time. “What’s two?”

“I could turn out to be a serial killer—”

He guffaws.

“Why is that funny? You don’t think I’m capable?”

“Statistically speaking, serial killers are not women.”

“Fine. Two, you could turn out to be a serial killer—”

“Much better.” We both laugh. And he points to me. “You’re fun.”

“Ya know, I don’t think a single person has ever called me ‘fun.’”

“Shut up.”

“Seriously.”

“Ya know what I think?”

“Why stop this banter now? We’re getting really good at it. Hit me up. Tell me what you think.”

“I think you’re the girl I was never waiting for.”

I cover my mouth with my hand because I almost spit out the laugh.

“What did you say your name was?”

“I didn’t. But it’s Syrsee.”

“Syrsee. That’s kinda sexy.”

“Dude, sexy? Your name—I mean, Riot? Come on. That’s a crowd-pleaser.”

“You’re getting confused. It’s not spelled R-I-O-T. It’s R-Y-E-T. My real name is Zecharyet. But no one calls me that.”

“Zek-a-riot. Holy shit, you’re a hot nerd.”

“I’m hot? Really?”

“Come on. Look at you. You’re all lumberjack-y and shit. You waltz over to me in the middle of a storm, when I’m in the middle of a new-home-stress breakdown, and offer to save me ?” I sigh. “You know what, Ryet?”

“Tell me. I’m dying over here.”

“There is a one-hundred-percent chance that I go inside that cabin with you.”

“Really?” His eyebrows shoot up.

“For reals. I’m in. But I would just like to apologize up front for falling asleep during sex. I’ve pretty much been up for ten days and the moment you put food in my belly, I’m gonna pass out on your floor.”

He puts on the most serious face ever. “Then we should definitely have sex first, Syrsee.”

And then he gets out of my truck, walks around to my side, opens my door , and offers me his hand.

I am the dumbest girl alive when I take it and let him lead me inside his cabin.

But I don’t care.

This shit-show of a trip—hell, this shit-show of a life —is finally, finally in its closing act.

And everything from now on is gonna be bliss.