Blood Pool

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  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  Samhain Publishing, Ltd.

  577 Mulberry Street, Suite 1520

  Macon GA 31201

  Blood Pool

  Copyright © 2009 by B. Ella Donna

  ISBN: 978-1-60504-382-1

  Edited by Linda Ingmanson

  Cover by Anne Cain

  All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  First Samhain Publishing, Ltd. electronic publication: February 2009

  www.samhainpublishing.com

  Blood Pool

  B. Ella Donna

  Dedication

  To my husband, Michael. And my sons, Christopher, Matthew and Ryan.

  You’re the lights of my life.

  Acknowledgements

  Thanks to my children for their support, ideas and laughs. Mom, thank you for everything. Jessica, you have my never-ending gratitude for all your assistance with this book. Amy, you always show support and I appreciate it. Sofia! Who at the mere thought of her always brings a smile to my soul. Serena, thank you for your precious friendship and for allowing me to bounce ideas around with you. You’ve got amazing insights. Maria, I know no matter what, you’re always there for me.

  To all those at Absolute Write, without the support of everyone there I would never have achieved this much, thanks and bootay shakes. They continue to be my lifeline. To all the writers out there who inspire me to strive for the best I can do, and Linda, my editor, who pushes me to do better. Thanks.

  My musical muses who inspired me with their wonderful lyrics and magickal melodies, Evanescence, John Mayer, Coldplay, Enigma, Peter Frampton, Loreena McKennitt, Blackmore’s Night and of course, my Gold Dust Woman, Stevie Nicks. I could go on and on.

  Of course, my readers, to those of you who pick up my book and take the journey, thank you!

  Last, but not least, my husband. For giving me the opportunity to write, and for believing in me when I did not believe in myself. I love you, infinity more. Beyond. Ditto.

  Chapter One

  Artificial light gave the three dancing figures on stage the macabre look of corpses—and Raven knew corpses. Monotonous shades of gray stretched across the dance floor, even darker in the corners where secrets hid. She should be used to it. The dreary color surrounded her daily. Still, Raven longed for the vibrant jewel tones of the autumn season. But ominous shadows were part of the ambiance of Blood Pool, a favorite local haunt.

  However, these three dancing works of art were far from dead. They were very much alive, and Raven took note of that fact intensely. Smooth skin covered rippling muscles, and the silky, oiled physiques, clad in miniscule costumes, caught her attention. That was, if you could call them costumes. There wasn’t much fabric used on all of them combined.

  No need for an imagination here.

  The dancers tonight included a scantily-clad Amazon warrior, a biker in a tight, black leather thong, and, of course, the vampire with little more than the traditional Dracula cape draped over his chiseled, ivory physique.

  Tonight was Ladies’ Night at Blood Pool, a treat for the eyes because that meant dancing gods: hot, sweaty, gorgeous men, full of life with healthy auras. Raven also knew the beaming glow of a vital aura. The reds and greens pulsed around them to the beat of the music. Her preternatural sight allowed her vision to go beyond 20/20. She delighted in the sights and sounds that surrounded her.

  “Hey there, Raven. Can I buy you a drink?” Solaris, a petite, magickal powerhouse, asked as she wiped down the sleek bar top.

  “Yes, thanks.” Raven looked over to where some friends from the hospital played pool. Beyond the pool tables in the back rooms were the video games “Kill the Hunter”, “Blade War”, “Hell Games” and War Mongers”, to name a few. Off to the other side of the game room was the sports bar. There she spotted Greg Davis, her young assistant.

  “Hi, Doc,” he mouthed, waving.

  “Hi there,” she answered, grabbing some nuts from a pumpkin-shaped bowl.

  The lower level was for those who liked to gamble or play cards or roulette, and there was always a poker game going on.

  Smoke from cigars and various pipes filled the room. The guests at this establishment had no worries of the dangers caused by cigarette smoke, or any other smoke.

  The only possible exception was the warning smoke of a fire burning their flesh.

  Raven winked at Solaris. Raven’s eyes were tired from lack of sleep, overwork and not enough blood. The blood bank needed replenishment. “Hey, can you make it a double? I’m not working tonight.”

  Solaris obliged. “Enjoying the view?” she teased, her cognac-colored eyes sparkling in the dim lighting. “I’ve got some type O in the back fridge—you want?”

  “No, thanks, I’m trying to cut down,” Raven replied, and smiled tightly.

  “You’re looking extra sexy tonight. Gonna sample the help?” Solaris teased.

  “Now, you know I don’t do that anymore,” Raven answered, pouting. Well, almost never. Occasionally, when the blood lust merged with sexual need, Raven indulged in a taste.

  Solaris smiled and handed her friend a Grey Goose on ice. “I didn’t mean taste in that way.”

  “You never know, I might,” Raven teased.

  She checked her lipstick in the reflection of Solaris’s magick mirror hanging on the wall. Yes, Lamai had a reflection. Being non-reflective was one of the many stereotypes she found hilarious. That along with the tale of garlic being fatal to vamps. She loved garlic and cooked with it often. That’s right, they ate food, too.

  She was hungry tonight, but not for blood, though it had been a while since she’d fed the Lamai hunger.

  Raven eyed a tall, sandy-haired Adonis standing at the far end of the bar. His energy was especially masculine, raw yet vulnerable. Raven liked vulnerable. It complimented her need to be in control, and in her line of work as chief medical examiner, she had to be.

  Outside, the autumn winds blew off the ocean, moaning as they hugged the rooftop and whipped around the back alley. Raven’s hearing allowed her to separate the sounds that originated inside the bar from those outside. A preternatural talent. It felt like a storm was brewing. It was hurricane season, and forecasters predicted the northeast was due for one.

  “Go for it,” Solaris joked as she followed Raven’s line of sight to the Greek god-like creature. He caught her watching him, and she that found a bit unsettling. Raven was capable of many things, and one was observing without attracting attention.

  She psychically probed the handsome stranger to try to get a better feel for him. He was not like her, of that she was sure. He was neither a Lamai nor a shifter. There weren’t too many hybrids in the northeast. There were fewer still on the island. Raven detested the term “hybrid”, which was what she was. It sounded to her like an automobile: safe for the environment with great gas mileage. Regardless of Raven’s objections, that’s what people called those who were half-human and half-vampire. On the other hand, most of the island inhabitants were full-blooded vampires. The island’s occupants ranged from Vampires of the Lamai clan to shape shifters, fae, sirens, witches and wizards, with a smattering of gnomes and leprechauns.

  Even though this was a magickal community, there still exist
ed some pockets of prejudice. Solaris experienced it as much as Raven, she being a full-blooded witch from Africa. However, the bias was slowly diminishing, which was why they called Mirabelle home.

  Raven sipped her drink, savoring the way it warmed her insides, if only for a moment. She gazed at the handsome man through narrowed eyes as he made his way over to her. She drew him toward her, whether he realized it or not.

  She was hungry.

  “Okay, I know this sounds really dorky, but do you come here often?” he asked.

  Raven looked up into the bluest eyes she’d ever seen. When Adonis spoke, his voice echoed of loneliness.

  “Matter of fact, I do. My friend Solaris owns this place,” she answered, directing her gaze at Sol.

  He puffed out his chest a bit. “I knew that. I’m a little bit psychic.” He let out a nervous laugh. “Gods, I am so pathetic,” he muttered.

  “What’s ‘a little’ psychic—how little?” Raven asked jokingly, noting the easy way he stood, relaxed and slightly self-assured, with just the right amount of awkwardness.

  Handsome enough to be in a Ralph Lauren commercial, he had an upper-class air about him, of fresh sea air, tanned skin and sun-streaked hair. She could imagine him jogging in slow motion down the miles of white sandy beach, wearing the Amazon warrior’s swath of suede, his well-toned muscles flexing as he ran.

  Nice body. Her gaze traveled to his hands. For as long as she could remember, Raven had had a hand fetish. After observing a man’s eyes, she checked out his hands, which in this case had not seen much physical labor. He was probably an artist, a bum, or in the healthcare field.

  Or he was insanely wealthy.

  He smiled and revealed the sexiest dimples and whitest teeth.

  “Not that little,” he said, signaling Solaris for another round. “Psychic or otherwise.” He winked as he set the record straight.

  Adonis pulled over a stool and sat. Raven could tell he wanted to become more than a bar buddy. Whether his interest was merely sexual or something more would take a bit more time to determine.

  “Is this a natural ability, or one you’ve practiced over the years?” Raven asked as she grabbed a handful of pretzels that sat in a bowl. The bar top, adorned festively for the harvest season, overflowed with tiny gourds, apples, pumpkins and mums.

  “I didn’t inherit these gifts, if that’s what you mean. Although there are stories told by my family that my great-great-grandmother was a full-blooded gypsy from Romania, or Austria, or some such place.”

  “That’s interesting. I have family from there, too. Romania, I mean. Where are you from? I mean, in the States?” Raven lifted her cocktail, watching her attractive drinking companion.

  “Gloucester, originally, then Atlanta. I lived in California for a few years, too.”

  Raven turned toward the young man for a moment. “Let me guess, your father is a long-liner?”

  Adonis fiddled with his shot glass as Solaris grabbed the bottle to fill it again. He smiled at the bartender. “Yup, for over twenty years. He has a small fleet of boats that he uses for lobsters, but he has a crew on a boat that still goes out for swordfish.”

  Listening to him while looking into those pools of blue, she saw an intensity burning behind his eyes. Before she realized it, he’d taken her hand. His skin was golden and taut. Suddenly, the catcalls, hoots and hollering that filled the air faded away. Her skin warmed to his touch. Raven’s inner alarm went off. Not too many people were able to physically affect her this quickly. The part of Raven that people thought of as unnatural ran on the cool side of ninety-eight point six, which was quite ordinary for her and about a third of the island’s population.

  The bar was noisy, and Adonis had leaned in closer so Raven could hear him. “I actually worked at the CDC for a time. Then I went off to the west coast to do my own research. Creating vaccines, or at least trying to make viable ones. It was very interesting work. Tedious and challenging, it kept my mind sharp.” He smelled like sugar cookies.

  Something was in the air—something more than lust.

  Her curiosity piqued. “What type of research?”

  “I actually worked with hot agents for a while.”

  “Wow, lethal viruses! That’s risky work. Which ones? How did you get involved with that?” Raven asked. Her mind attempted to prioritize some of the hundreds of questions she wanted to ask.

  He ran his fingers through his hair and said with a sigh, “I was personally invited and I really couldn’t say no. It was a great opportunity. Not too many like that come up.”

  “Which viruses did you work with?”

  In an instant, the excitement of talking with someone who’d worked with lethal viruses was eclipsed by the sound of a deeply male and extremely sexual voice from behind the bar. Bo Wasake. “Hey, Raven.”

  She knew that voice intimately and turned to find her gorgeous on-again, off-again lover, Bo Wasake, standing in the shadows. Her heart skipped a beat or two. He did that to her every time. For all of her level-headedness, when Bo was near, Raven’s knees went weak and her insides turned to mush. Even after ten years.

  “Hey, Boo.” He got a charge out of trying to scare her whenever he had the chance, hence the nickname.

  Bo had mixed blood. Delicious blood. And the thought of it made Raven’s mouth water in anticipation of a taste. Pavlov’s vampire.

  His mother was an extraordinarily powerful witch. His father was a Lakota shaman, like Bo’s grandfather and great-grandfather, and so on down the line. Somewhere, a few sprinkles of human blood coursed through his veins, or so he claimed. Raven thought he said that just to make himself seem even more appealing to her—as if that were at all likely. He was pure perfection in every way possible.

  “What about you?” Adonis asked, turning toward Raven.

  “Oh—I’m the M.E. for the island.” Raven’s gaze followed the lines of Bo’s taut muscles rippling beneath his sky blue suede shirt. A sterling and turquoise belt wrapped around his narrow waist, and she envied the silver strap. She ached to encircle her legs around his hips, but the timing was all wrong.

  As was his habit, he would come into her life with exploding passion then disappear for weeks. Each time he left her heartbroken and unsure of herself, a feeling with which Raven was not comfortable. She had to guard herself against this magnificent creature. This creature who thought and acted like the wolf that was so integral to his being.

  They were on pause at the moment, though Bo always managed to seduce her back into his arms. Standing over six feet tall, with the proud features of his native ancestry—long, silken hair and obsidian eyes—he was an incredibly hard habit to break.

  She directed her comment to Bo. “You tending bar tonight?”

  He smiled. “Yeah, I’m helping Sol out for a few hours.”

  “Can I come by later?” The words appeared in her mind, an unspoken form of communication that for some reason only Bo and Raven shared. She could never say no to him, no matter how hurt she felt. He was irresistible.

  “Hey ya, sweetness,” a familiar voice called from the other side of the bar. It was Bethany Logan, and she wanted Bo’s attention now. Raven watched the redheaded woman and noticed her brown eyes flash to gold for a brief second as warning to Raven. Bethany wanted Bo for her mate. She was the alpha female in their pack. Bethany had had her chance years ago and couldn’t hold onto Bo, but she wasn’t ready to give him up yet.

  Raven ignored the childish power play. She knew Bethany would be going home alone, and eventually Bethany would realize it, too.

  “Sure,” Raven answered Bo, trying not to look as excited as she felt, grateful for the part of her that hid the sudden blush she felt rise to her cheeks. His full lips spread into a delicious grin. Gods, she hated loving him. In spite of their weeks apart, there remained a connection that refused to be severed.

  Raven finished her drink and started to get up.

  “You’re leaving,” Adonis said, disappointment written all ove
r his face. “We were just getting to know one another.”

  She began to feel the hunger build within her. It was time to go. “Yeah, I’m kinda tired.”

  She pulled her claret leather coat off the back of the bar chair, then, like a gentleman, Adonis helped her into it. He gently pulled her waist-length black hair out from the collar. His hands grazed her behind. Raven’s tight leather pants hugged her curves. She noticed Bo watching Adonis’s every move. Raven thought she heard a low rumble erupt from him. She liked to think of Bo as her man. Her warrior.

  “Can I take you home?” Adonis asked softly.

  Raven’s eyes widened. “I don’t even know your name,” she said, sensing Bo’s watchful stare on her back, feeling the heat of it penetrating inside like invisible fingers. His gaze sent waves of pleasure through her body.

  She relished this taste of things to come.

  He looked down at his feet. “I’m sorry, you’re right, that was rude. It’s Derrick. My name’s Derrick.”

  Raven felt torn. It seemed to be the theme of her entire life: torn between one world and another, one man and another. She’d had other relationships, but Bo was always there in the back of her mind, like a song that refused to stop playing. She wanted stability in her life and, up until now, Bo had been far from stable. To her, Derrick felt grounded, dependable. Raven needed dependable—she craved it like the blood lust.

  The wild times of her youth had passed, and now she longed for a life she could nestle into, perhaps even have children someday. Raven had always pictured that life with Bo in it. That would require great patience on her part. He would always be a proud shifter, and when the blood called out to him, he would long to run with the pack. Raven knew how he rejoiced in the feel of the wind gliding across his black fur, the sun beating down, warming the ground beneath him.

  He loved the camaraderie of the pack—the same pack that included Bethany. She still had her sights set on raising a family with Bo as well, and she made that crystal clear.