Ulysses Exposed (Blaire Thorne Book 1) Read online

  My heart also suggested that I had probably slept with him at least once, too.

  I also remembered Sebastian’s smell, a combination of the ocean and extravagant French eau de toilette, from the few times he had been lying beside me and holding me in bed. He represented the potential for something new, exciting and promising. Ralph didn’t smell like that; Ralph smelled like home, like a comfort blanket you rush to when scared. He was the cup of hot chocolate to soothe nerves or a good book when it rained or snowed.

  I knew that I couldn’t ignore that feeling. I needed to ask him about it; to explore it a little. Whatever had happened between us was beginning to feel real the more time that I spent with him, even though I couldn’t fully explain why.

  “Before, you said we stopped before we even started. What did you mean by that?”

  “We had worked together for a few years when we finally admitted that there was an attraction between us, but you didn’t want either of us to get hurt. You didn’t want others to know that they could use one of us against the other. It could’ve gotten both of us killed. So, we had only that one night together, and since then, we’ve been the best of friends.” He motioned for the opening and started descending the stairs.

  I knew it; he was my comfort, my home. I laid my hand on his shoulder and followed him into the darkness until we reached the bottom of the stairs. I let go of his shoulder when we reached the floor, and he switched the light on and closed the latch. Bright stars flickered before my eyes, and it took a couple of seconds for me to get used to the fluorescent lights overhead.

  “Are there any photo albums or anything like that that I can look at? Anything else that might tell me what I was like?”

  “There are no photos, no albums, nothing that would tell others what you were like. We are all ghosts, Blaire; we are nobody. We are untraceable. Do you understand?” He raised his voice a little. “You can’t be the boogeyman and kill people for a living and expect to have a family photo album that’s full of smiles.” He sounded bitter and full of regret.

  “What made you do this job?” I asked. “Did Marcus pull you in, or was it something you wanted to do? How can we do this for a living, Ralph? I mean, seriously? It’s exactly as you said—we are the boogeymen. How on earth can we want to be like this?” My voice had risen, and I sounded angry. In the back of my mind, the words ‘monster killer’ sounded on repeat, spoken in Kit’s officious, matter-of-fact tone.

  Ralph realized that he had pushed my buttons. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have yelled at you. I know you are trying to sort through some things, but we are assassins, Blaire. I don’t know your story … your real story; we don’t know that side of each other. I only know enough for us to be able to work together at Ulysses. It’s how Marcus wanted things.”

  He was right. I was naïve to think that he would have more information on me besides what he knew during our time working together.

  I was an assassin. I was a trained killer. A ghost.

  “Fine.” I folded my arms across my chest. “What did you want to show me?”

  Ralph’s basement was a replica of mine, except for a table next to the armory cage on which a laptop, a desktop and four monitors were set. It was a techie’s wet dream. The powerful desktop and the rugged laptop clearly meant serious business.

  I dropped my overnight bag near one of the beds and stood by the table. “Well, then; get on with it. Search for Slayerbody, and let’s see what we are up against.”

  “Maybe tone down the bitchiness, Blaire. That side of you hasn’t changed at all.”

  That stopped me. All I could do was blink at him. “Sorry,” I muttered under my breath.

  He sat on his leather chair and started hitting keys, the monitors flaring to life with numbers and words flying across the screen. The search would take a while, and my body felt sticky. I pulled clothing and a towel out from my overnight bag and went to the little bathroom to shower. The water took forever to warm up, but when it did, I stood under the hot spray for a while. I washed my hair and body and let the hot water beat down on my skin until I was pink. My skin burned when I switched the water off, but the cool air began to caress me. The wall was also shoulder-height for me, so I could see Ralph tinkering away at his desk.

  He could be an ass, but then again, so was I.

  Why was I even angry at him? I felt grumpy and angry at everything and everyone. I dried my body and dressed in fresh underwear, the same jeans and a clean navy t-shirt. I wrapped the towel around my wet hair and applied face cream and deodorant. At last, I felt human again.

  My stomach made gargling sounds as I exited the bathroom. “Do you have any food upstairs so that we can eat? I’m hungry.”

  Ralph turned in his chair. “There’s nothing upstairs, but you can alway have a look in the fridge down here. There must be something you can eat. But whatever you have, you have to make for me, too,” he said with half a smile and a wink.

  The pink mug at my place should have given it away. Why was the woman always the one to have to make the food? I shook my head, but I also couldn’t help smiling.

  I opened the fridge to find that it was full, and my mouth watered. I grabbed two small tubs of strawberry yoghurt and a loaf of bread, a tub of butter, cheese and cold meats to make the sandwiches. He had paper plates stacked on the table beneath a butter knife. I found mustard stashed in the fridge's door and made the best sandwiches ever—or, at least, I thought so.

  I set his sandwich on a paper plate and placed it with a yoghurt on his desk; he thanked me and started eating. I sat on the sofa in such a way that I could still see his monitors, put my feet up on its arm, propped the paper plate on my lap and enjoyed my sandwich.

  I woke up lying on my right-hand side, drool all over my hand and the paper plate on the floor. Alongside the plate was the uneaten tub of yoghurt lying upside down, its contents spilled on the floor. I sat up, lifted the tub onto the paper plate and threw it away. Grabbing a few paper towels, I cleaned the spillage, and when I had finished, I glanced at Ralph’s desk.

  It was empty, as were the bathroom and the four beds.

  I spun around. Shit. Where was he?

  I threw the dirty paper towels away and walked toward his desk. Ralph jumped in front of me from a crouching position behind the sofa and slapped me in the face. It stung and brought a tear to my eye. He planted his feet in a fighting position and started bouncing on the balls of his feet.

  I turned with my left shoulder facing him, pretending to kick him with my left leg but instead connecting my left fist with his jaw. I moved forward, and with my right hand, I hit him flat-handed in his solar plexus, winding him. He doubled over and crashed to the floor, but he somehow jumped up almost immediately. His smile widened and held a hint of mockery.

  I narrowed my eyes at him and went in for another hit. He blocked it with his right arm and used his left fist to hit me on my right side, striking the soft tissue between my hip and ribs. I doubled over and fell to my knees. There was too much pain shooting up my spine and into the base of my skull, and I fell on my ass, hugging my waist.

  “Shit, shit, shit. Are you okay?” Ralph’s concern sounded genuine. “I didn’t hit your left-hand side. I thought you had healed.”

  It wasn’t his fault; it was intended as good practice, and I had to admit that it was. At least we had ascertained that I still knew how to fight. That said, the pain was intense. Goosebumps raised the hairs on my arms, and pain shot up my spine like a lightning bolt. The sensation was so acute that I had to fight for breath.

  He held a hand out to me. “Good fight, though. Once you are stronger, we can go at it again. I don’t want to damage you today. I only just got you back.”

  I wiped tears from my eyes and took his hand, but pain immediately shot from my shoulder and ran down my side. I fell back onto the floor, screaming loudly.

  “I need help, Ralph. Fuck. There’s something wrong; it’s never been this painful before, and it’s not easing.”
<
br />   Sweat beaded on my face as Ralph grabbed his cell phone. He dialed a number and spoke hurriedly to someone, asking if they were available for a house call. He nodded fast and stared at me, said thanks and hung up.

  “She’s coming. She will know what to do.”

  “Who is?”

  “You won’t remember her anyway, so it doesn’t help to explain. I will when she gets here, though. I promise. Can I help you to a bed?”

  “Please.”

  Ralph sat on his haunches behind me, hooked his arms under my own and lifted me up. I screamed again, but he carried on pulling me up as slowly as he could. I looked at my stomach to see if my guts were spilling out, but it turned out it only felt like my insides were being torn apart. I began to pant, my breath short and shallow. Stars twinkled in the air above me, and darkness clouded my vision.

  I couldn’t keep my eyes open. I couldn’t stop the pain.

  I fell into the murkiness of sleep.

  CHAPTER 14

  I HEARD WHISPERING. There was no pain, except on my right hand. Attached to it was an intravenous line with red stuff going inside me. The whispering stopped. A hand touched my left shoulder, and Ralph’s face came into view, his expression filled with concern.

  “How are you feeling?” he said, his smile faltering.

  “What’s wrong, Ralph? You look like someone’s died.”

  He sobered. “You almost died, Blaire. If Désiré hadn’t got here in time, you would have.”

  A woman stood beside Ralph and held my right hand. She was warm to the touch. “Ralph told me about the attack, and I was telling him that whoever it was, they’re cursed.”

  I frowned. “Cursed? Why do you say ‘cursed’?”

  “When were-animals attack humans, tests will come back with a positive or negative result, but the color of their blood stays red. Your blood is black, Blaire. I’m still waiting for the results of your bloodwork to come back, but I’ve started you on a transfusion regardless of the result. What I’m trying to tell you is that your blood was poisoned, and it’s slowly killing you.”

  Her eyes flickered to the blood bag and then back to me. She was about fifty years old, with straight black hair that reached down to her waist. She had small, dark eyes, and in them, I couldn’t make out where the pupil ended and the iris began. Along with crow’s feet, there were also lines next to her thin lips, and she had a sharp chin and a button nose. Short and petite, her full height barely reached Ralph’s shoulders.

  She wore a white blouse with black dots and a colorful skirt. Tied to her forehead was a headscarf which kept her long hair back from her face. Her appearance seemed to remind me of a traveling gypsy.

  As I focused on her, I came to realize that the dots of her white blouse were not an intentional pattern. Instead, it was haphazardly covered in splotches of a deep red or black. Unfortunately, the color was becoming all too familiar to me.

  “Yes, this is what your blood looks like.” She touched the dark marks on her blouse.

  “I’m sorry I ruined your top.”

  She smiled and held my hand again. Tiny pinpricks traveled up my arm, gently at first but then starting to burn. Her power spread throughout my body, and it made me gasp, the air sucked out of my lungs. I pulled my hand out of hers, and it was only then that I could breathe again.

  “Why did you do that?” I said, rubbing my hands. “I couldn’t breathe.”

  “You felt all of it?”

  “Yes.”

  “That’s very interesting, Blaire; I wasn’t sure that you would. You may not remember me, but this isn’t the first time we’ve met, and when I saw how different your aura was, I knew I had to try. It’s unusual for a human to feel power like you just did from a vampire or a witch. Either you are a vampire or a witch and have powers, or you don’t—it should be that simple. I’ve only read about a handful of humans who were able to feel and use power against whoever was pushing it into them. If I’m remembering correctly, the last human recorded to have this ability was alive in the 1600s.”

  I shook my head a little too quickly and stopped before I threw up. “I don’t understand. What do you mean?”

  “Your aura shines bright white, Blaire.”

  When I didn’t answer her, she said to Ralph, “Do you remember her being able to feel power or magic?”

  “No. In all the years I’ve known her, she has never mentioned that she could sense any power. Ever. And no one picked up on it if she could.”

  Désiré smiled mysteriously. “I didn’t pick up on it, either. Well, my dear, it would seem that you have been hiding a special gift.”

  Now felt as good a time as any to come clean. “There is something I need to tell you about which may have caused this. The vampire, Léon—to save my life, he had to mark me. He made me his human servant. Could that have caused whatever I have now?”

  I watched for Ralph’s reaction, but there was none.

  “No, my dear; a vampire’s mark works quite differently. It will give you certain benefits such as healing properties derived from their life essence, but it won’t give you what you have. If my thinking is correct, you can syphon power and use it later—but don’t quote me. Let me find out the specifics, and I’ll get back to you?”

  “Please, that would be great.” It felt good to hear someone referring to my newfound abilities in an almost authoritative way. At least someone was able to quantify them. I wasn’t entirely reassured, though. “Is the poison out of my system now?” I asked, staring at the bag beside me.

  “No, you will need to receive a transfusion every day or, failing that, every second day. The poison is so severe that I couldn’t detect that a vampire had marked you.” Désiré’s expression became pensive. “Perhaps if the vampire was to finish the ritual and gave you the second mark, it might stop the poison and remove the curse.”

  “No, that is not an option.” No way in hell that was happening. “I don’t want the second mark. I don’t want to go to him for help again. Not if I can help it.”

  “Then the only alternative, Blaire, is to find the were-animal who bit you. You need them to tell you who it was that cursed them, so that the witch responsible can undo it. Only that witch can remove your curse; unfortunately, there’s no way I can, even if I wanted to.”

  Dammit.

  “Do you have any spare blood packs for me so I can do this myself?”

  “Not on me, but I can get more from the hospital. Ralph knows where I work. Stop by when you need, and I can set it up for you.” She looked me straight in the eye. “You have lost a lot of blood the last couple of days, Blaire. I have given Ralph a course of tablets for you; take them, or you will stay weak.” She nodded firmly. “When you come to the hospital, I will supply you with more.”

  “Thank you, Désiré.”

  Désiré shifted uncomfortably on the balls of his feet. “Oh—and Blaire? I’m sorry I can’t remove the curse. To do so would mean using a dark spell that’s forbidden and punishable by death.” Her voice was grave. "Once you know who did this, give me their name.”

  Ralph smirked. “If you need an assassin, Désiré, you know who to call. We’ll even do it for free.”

  She laughed and squeezed his shoulder. “Thanks, Ralph, but it will be best if we handle it. The witch responsible needs to be taught a lesson, and for an example to be made of them to the rest of the covens.” Her eyes sparkled. “Sometimes, there are worse things than death.”

  Shit. I would hate to be on her bad side.

  Désiré kissed the air beside Ralph’s cheeks and touched my hand one last time. I felt her power flare through me like ice and fire; hot and cold, all at once.

  Désiré left me with a handful of vitamins and some saline solution to keep me hydrated. She waved goodbye as Ralph led her back upstairs.

  I honestly didn’t know what Léon would do if I went back to him and asked that he finish the ritual to see if it would help save my life. Would he even care? Would he bother completing the ritu
al knowing that I could turn around and kill him? I was a danger; not only to him, but also to his little empire. Would he help keep someone like me—an assassin—alive?

  If I was killed, he could simply pull power from all his little vamps and still survive. He had been right, all those nights ago. I had no power to offer him in return.

  The only thing left to do was to find my attacker, learn the truth behind their curse, locate the witch who had invoked it and have them remove its effects from me.

  But I could only solve one problem at a time. I needed to drink my vitamins, eat and sleep.

  Ralph descended the stairs and closed the latch. He went directly to his desk, sat down and began typing on his keyboard.

  I sat up slowly, still light-headed from the transfusion, and then I tried standing, leaning against the intravenous stand. When I didn’t fall over, I dragged the drip over to Ralph. When I touched his shoulder, he flinched, and I recoiled.

  “Sheesh, someone’s skittish! What’s wrong?” I looked at the monitors. Open on the screen was a search engine through which he was researching ‘vampire mark’. My interest was immediately piqued. “Oh, what does it say?” I kept my hand on his shoulder, also noticing that he didn’t shoo me away.

  “Not much. There’s not much definitive information out there about vampire marks and human servants. Fair amount of speculation—but nothing really to sink your teeth into.” We both smiled at his poor attempt at humor. As much as I felt it myself, I could sense his frustration behind the words, and he felt tense beneath my hand.

  I let go of the drip and started rubbing his shoulders, kneading the tight knots in his muscles. He relaxed and started to read out loud.

  “The first mark sets the groundwork for the vampire to assess whether the human is compatible with the process. The vampire shares power through a single bite, and thus the first mark on the human remains. Afterward, vampiric abilities are continually shared, but only up to a point. The main one is healing, but there can be some invasion of the mind and dreams. If the vampire is happy with their little human, they can instigate the second mark. This ritual is formal and gruesome; the vampire makes a cut near their own heart, and the human drinks from the wound. Consumption of the vampire’s blood solidifies the bond between the master and the servant, and the vampire’s power is further absorbed by the human, completing the ritual. In this way, the human gains all the benefits of being a vampire without bursting into flames.”