Blood Brothers (Rocky Mountain Shifters) Read online

  Tristen leaned his head back and pressed his temples. His head pounded. That, he could cure with painkillers. His ribcage constricted. A lover’s spat, he reminded himself. Nothing more.

  Then why did it feel as though his chest was being blasted open? The things he’d wanted to express to Fin now swam in his head.

  He loved Fin, was in love with him, and needed to make their relationship permanent or as solid as they could manage. He wanted him, desperately, and this thwarted need had begun to spin inside him, disrupting his thoughts and perpetuating the bleakness of sensing his lover’s unhappiness, corrupting a perfectly good morning. Fuck. He thought being in love was supposed to be uplifting.

  He rubbed his thumb against the side of his cell phone. What he needed to tell Fin wasn’t something for a text message. More than likely, Fin would be driving into the city and wouldn’t be up for a personal call at that moment.

  He punched in the number of the business he’d planned on doing a random inspection on. With the surge of crime, he’d decided every business was going to get a going-over starting after the meeting with Shawn. He’d start Santo on a training course immediately. Getting the manager’s voicemail, he almost hung up, then rethought and left a message. A few more calls, and he had his iPad out. Making notes, he kibitzed with site managers, and within a few minutes he was into the groove of his job.

  Santo opened the backseat door and laid a navy blazer across the seat. His pitch-colored hair was damp and combed back. Santo now glowed a buffed hue instead of the bluish color of skim milk.

  “You look alive, whatever you did in there.”

  “Yes. I feel like a million bucks. Almost live.” Santo laughed. “Excuse the black humor.”

  “Everyone’s got their perspective. All right. Then let’s do this. We’re heading to Shawn’s office. Not more than ten minutes away.”

  ***

  As he suspected, the meeting was more a formality that an actual interview. Santo was ushered back into the waiting area while Tristen met with Shawn.

  “He’s an intriguing addition to our team.” Shawn picked up a file and handed it across the desk. “Remarkable find.”

  “Thanks to Fin.”

  “I think he’ll fit right in.”

  “Interesting.” Tristen opened the folder to find black and white photographs of Santo taken with several well-known Hollywood beauties. Standing in the background, of course. The man definitely had the ability to keep a secret. Then Tristen flipped to a stack of photographs and the sea of naked flesh blinded him. And there Santo was, standing in a corner, his arms crossed over his chest. His fully clothed chest. Fuck. He wasn’t some bodyguard. He had to be a keeper. His records said he was fully able to work full moons, the hardest stint, and one edgy shifters and vampires typically avoided. Last night, Santo hadn’t seemed much of a keeper. He’d fucked like a banshee.

  All the sex clubs had keepers, a staff member unaffected by gravitational pulls of the moon or tides. They were able-minded at all times. Shawn was the closest he’d seen to the temperament of a keeper, but he was the owner of the Den and an alpha leopard shifter. Almost a keeper, but not quite. It would behoove the Den to have a staff member charged with that position. Bodyguards never ever crossed a line with a club client. Ever. Not easy, given the temptation, but they were paid well for the ability to stay the course. One mistake and the male or female was banned from the profession.

  “I take it he’s a keeper? In more ways than one?”

  “Yes. But I’m thinking Vegas. Not here in Denver. Our business there is less stable. Reports are coming back that things are heating up. In other ways than here. Train him, get him ready, and then we’ll drop him in the middle of Sodom and Gomorrah.”

  “Will do.”

  Shawn picked up his phone. “Trish, send in Mr. Camio. Thanks.”

  ***

  Twenty minutes later, Tristen and Santo walked out of Shawn’s office. Tristen narrowed his eyes and jerked his chin at Santo. “Let’s get you ready.”

  The receptionist smiled broadly at the vampire. Another member for his fast-growing fan club.

  “What about turning in the personnel forms?”

  “Come with me for just a minute.” Tristen walked down the hall toward an office he used at Matrix. Allowing Santo to enter first, he closed the door behind him.

  “Well?” Santo glanced over.

  “What the hell are you doing in bum fuck Egypt, aka Denver, working this shtick? You’ve got a chip, don’t you? And by the way, you got the job after this show and tell.” Tristen whipped out one of the photographs.

  “So? It was a job.”

  “You’re closed mouth. I’m training you, and then Shawn wants you in Vegas. Any problems with that locale?”

  “None. That’s a fine position.”

  “Mind telling me why you kept one very specific piece of info to yourself, keeper?”

  “Shawn’s good. His investigation people are skilled to have unearthed that information in such a short time.”

  “Did you think they wouldn’t? Would you have kept your secret?”

  “Look, it doesn’t matter. Regardless, I’d rather stay busy than just sit around. And yes. Chip and caps. Part of the plan. It’s a job like yours. I know people.”

  “Know people. You fucking get inside their heads while maintaining a cool-as-fuck demeanor. Do you even have the capability of feeling emotions?”

  “Whether or not I experience my own is irrelevant. I experience others. And keep the peace.”

  “Except you tempted Fin, and for what? Was last night some sort of game or a distraction? You baited him and me.”

  “You’re wrong. I thought I could help you both get closer. I let you both experience what you needed. No more.”

  “Man, don’t bullshit me.”

  “I’ve told you what you need to know. I can’t make the moves both you and he must make.”

  “You must have nerves of steel. But you know all of this, don’t you?”

  “Not exactly. I’m tempted, like any creature. After the war, I made a choice on how I wanted to exist. I can take these caps off at any time. I might not have a beating heart, but I feel. I’m not a block of ice just because my body temperature indicates otherwise.”

  Tristen observed the expressions flickering across Santo’s face. “Fine. Ready?”

  “Yes. Where to first?”

  Unwilling to totally put last night behind him, Tristen spoke between clenched jaws, “You tell me, hotshot.” He opened the door and walked toward the exit.

  Tristen nodded to the receptionist on the way out of Matrix. At the elevator, he punched the button, glancing over at his new underling. Hell, the man should be training him.

  His head was completely screwed on backward. It was true all Santo had done amounted to giving advice. The vampire had done what he was told last night, and then this morning had been the first person to decipher Fin’s monolithic impermeability.

  Tristen jingled his keys in his pocket. “Never a slip? Ever been in love?” He kept his voice low in the empty hallway.

  Santo’s appeared to think about this response before he answered. “No. And yes. Of course. I still am.”

  That last piece of news surprised him. Facing forward, staring into the polished metal elevator doors, Tristan let his curiosity get the better of him. “Where is the object of your affection?”

  “He’s in Spain. San Sebastian. Jaxo Echevarria. Dr. Echevarria. Jaxo is a pathologist from a very old family. He’s married to his third cousin, a woman from an arranged marriage. They live in the same household, but do not maintain a similar orbit. So now you know as much about me as I know about you. Feel better, Tristen?”

  He exhaled. “As a matter of fact, yes, I do.”

  Descending from the penthouse, they were silent as more and more passengers entered the elevator. The elevator doors opened below, and they both moved with the throng of people into the corridor.

  Within the mezz
anine, Tristen sniffed the air. He immediately caught a whiff of a sharp scent that irritated the hairs all over his body. He scanned the area as adrenaline surged within him.

  The shifter wolf crouched, waiting, while he tried to sort out who provoked this primal lupine response, but inside the busy mezzanine, the morning rush was a haze of suited men and women moving in every possible direction. There was a coffeehouse with a satellite kiosk in the corner. Several vendors were set up along the wall, selling breakfast items, newspapers, even an old-time shoeshine station operated by polo-shirted, khaki-wearing men. “You up for a test of your keeper skills?”

  “Is this job-related?”

  “Yes. Are those men like you?” Tristen asked, cocking his head.

  “Yes. Both of them. As are those wearing the green aprons at the kiosk. The woman selling muffins is a shifter. She’s surgically sterilized. More than likely, she is trying to pass for a human. Do you want a rundown of anyone else? Someone specific?”

  “Give me a second. Let’s grab a cup of coffee. You want anything?” He scanned the area again, this time turning and gazing from the front entrance, carefully taking in every suit, dress, and outfit in the place.

  Santo placed his order, talking about the differences here and in Europe of service and the changes in modernization in the larger cities. Tristen paid for the beverages, pretending to read the newspaper lying on the counter. His senses, once alerted, frustrated him if he couldn’t immediately ascertain the cause. There wasn’t anything specific, other than the edge of lingering scent. Bodies passed by, the air moved, and he perceived a male essence, bitterly metallic, denoting fear or apprehension, bordering on anger.

  Nothing new, considering this was a cutthroat business district. Except yesterday, he’d set himself as a target. He wasn’t a fool. But the act of looking over his shoulder made him an easy mark.

  If this had been another day in paradise, he’d have dismissed the foreign aromas. With his nerves already pulled taut, an alarm rang in his head and spiked his hormones. His wolf senses were on the verge; another jab and he would respond. He’d end up shifting. Not cool. And very much against the law. Humans forbade shifters transforming in public places.

  Regardless if this threat targeted him, he had to get out of the lobby. Immediately. The air swirled over him. Shit. No mistake. This one was directed at him, and the reason unknown. Same thing in war. It didn’t the fuck matter.

  On the next heartbeat, his breath froze.

  Not true. If in retaliation for yesterday, Fin could also be a target. He was a far different type of beta wolf. And his senses wouldn’t alert him of a scent he had no history of knowing. He’d be blindsided. He turned to Santo. “Fuck. I’ve got to get to Fin.”

  Santo nodded. “I know you’re under stress. I can’t discern the specific cause.”

  “Got that.” He took out his phone, hitting redial for Shawn.

  “Yeah. What’s doing?”

  “Lock the doors and call security. Something…fuck, I don’t know. It doesn’t feel right. We’re in the lobby.”

  “You sound…on the verge. Get out of there. I’ve got firepower here.”

  Tristen’s vocal cords were pulled taut. “Is Fin up there?”

  “No. He’s off-site, down the block. Do you need him?”

  “No. Just checking. Call him and tell him to stay put. I’m going to see if we can draw them out. Don’t move until you hear back.” Jesus. Only now, he had Fin to be concerned about. What would happen to him? In warfare, retribution was the name of the game. Tit for tat and it went on and on until someone called a truce. Not in this type of deal. Any crime lord setting up would want to make a name for himself and set parameters of what would be tolerated. He’d basically bitch slapped someone. And these things had a tendency to go Biblical—an eye-for-an-eye type of shit.

  Before, it was only his eyes he risked getting gouged. Now his hard-ass behavior might come back and bite Fin. Fuck, was he getting soft? Or, was this another part of being in love he’d discounted?

  The woman set the cups of coffee on the counter. Santo lifted his, blowing into the steaming brew. Their eyes met. Santo’s irises kept moving around the area. The vampire downed what had to be scorching liquid, then elegantly shrugged, tossing the empty into the garbage. “There’s more dishonesty in this area than you’d like to believe. And yes, someone here wants you dead. I’m set. You?”

  “Any way to give me a hint? Who?”

  “That area over there. Near the circular door.”

  Tristen surreptitiously scanned the corner Santo had indicated, turning around, this time slower, trying to come closer to the source of the odor. Nothing visual held his attention. Too many bodies, doors opening and closing, the air in a constant state of movement. He could stand here all day in a state of confusion if he tried to pinpoint one specific scent.

  “Let’s go.” He began walking toward the exit for the garage. “We’re heading out north today. A couple of distribution centers.” He spoke loudly just in case anyone close by was in on the matter.

  “Shawn’s businesses are very diverse.” Santo walked alongside, flipping through a pamphlet, yet Tristen could see him glancing around the area over the edge of the page.

  “One never knows which way the market will blow. Tomorrow we’ll do the grand tour of the east. Real estate investments and holdings. Easy, considering we meet with the property managers on each site.” Tristen took the side entrance into the parking garage.

  The lot was enclosed and Shawn had several allocated spaces on the ground floor for himself and staff. This side of the lot was less crowded. The door behind them slammed shut. Tristen perused the dimly lit garage, unable to shake the eerie feeling. Their footsteps slapped against the floor. He unsnapped the holster, unwilling to let himself be caught empty handed.

  He distinctly heard the door behind them open again, but it didn’t slam shut. He turned to see who had entered after them.

  Fuck. Inhaling, he removed his weapon and dropped his cup of coffee, splattering the liquid over the cement floor.

  “What the hell?” Santo jumped nimbly out of the way of the caffeine splatter.

  “What’s your business?” Tristen asked, bringing up his weapon.

  The other man was in the shadows, moving rapidly in their direction. In the dim lighting he made out the stranger also had a gun and aimed it at Tristen. He continued on a path, until the light played on his features.

  “What the fuck do you want, Mike? This will end badly.” Tristen almost lowered his Glock, unwilling to believe this son of a bitch could harm him. The image of Fin flashed. Tristen focused on Mike, unrelenting this time.

  “I told you those men didn’t play. They’ve got my family. My blood. You got me into this. Now, I’m coming….” Mike pointed the pistol. “For you.”

  The man fired, then they both fired. The first shot didn’t strike Tristen. The second did. He stumbled backward, discharging his gun. He hit Mike but not before the other man fired a third time. Santo moved, caught the bullet in his hand, and threw it down. Tristen had never witnessed anything like that. For a second, he didn’t react to the wound in his shoulder.

  The vampire moved without Tristen being able to follow him. He was on top of Mike, his hands curled around his wrist. There was the sound of bone breaking, and Mike cried out.

  Tristen covered the distance and stared down at the man in Santo’s grip. The effort didn’t strike him as Santo doing more than holding a moth. Mike’s throat was pinned to the ground by the vampire’s hand. His face was turning various shades of blue.

  “Loosen your hold, Santo. We don’t need the problems associated with a killing.”

  “Oh, but I think you do.” The voice came from another man positioned behind them. Tristen turned just as the man fired his weapon. The spray of bullets had Tristen diving to the side while Santo stood and faced the man. The gunshots continued without impeding the vampire, again moving too fast to perceive. He reappeare
d behind the man, his forearm catching his throat. Santo removed his platinum caps. Dagger-sharp canines bit down on the man’s wrist. Not his neck. That thought floated around Tristen’s mind. He met Santo’s stare. “No, don’t.. The police will cart you off to the detention center awaiting destruction. Don’t do it.”

  Christ. Tristen reached up to his opposite shoulder and the exit wounds left by the bullets. He’d taken at least three, if not more. There was the familiar burning sensation, akin to flaming baseballs being hurled from his body, through his wounds. Warm blood oozed down his chest and shoulder. He slumped against the wheel of a car, unable to do more than gasp for air from lungs that stabbed his ribcage with each breath.

  He closed his eyes for just a second and returned to the stadium, another baseball game, his shoulder aching. College ball. So long ago and he’d dug his cleats into the pitcher’s mound. Up in the stands, his grandfather sat, cheering. His whole future ahead of him if he could deal with the pain. Work through the pain. Then he sucked in a breath, forced his attention to the ball in his grasp. The wind-up on the pitcher’s mound. When he let go, it wasn’t a baseball, but an automatic rifle he held. He was back on the battlefield and the scent of burning flesh filled his senses. Tristen flickered in and out of consciousness. The catcher signed a curve ball. The last thing he remembered was hearing Santo threaten the man. “I can get rid of you easier than taking out the trash.”

  Chapter Eight

  Fin removed his cell. He inhaled, slowly. Santo’s number was displayed on his screen, and he was tempted to silence the ringing. “Yeah,” he barked.

  “Where are you?” Santo’s plate glass voice came across smooth. Too smooth.

  “I just got back. Why?” Fin tapped a pen, putting aside the tight feeling moving across his chest. His mind had been a whirlwind this morning after seeing Tristen with his dick in a state of arousal. His thoughts had turned and twisted for hours. After getting into his groove on the job, a lull had begun, carrying him without thought or emotion.