Primal Burdens: (The Uruwashi Series #5) Read online

  Pritchard considered him a moment and then put his notebook back into his breast pocket and came back with a card. “That’ll be all. Thank you for your time, Mr. Blum.”

  “Yeah, sure,” he mumbled and stayed where he was, watching until the detectives left. He didn’t want them snooping around the house, or worse, going next door and bothering his friend. With the car finally out of sight, Tristan deflated, letting out a heavy sigh that turned into a groan and shuffled inside.

  Lance was hovering inside the front door when Tristan went in and he pushed past the worried fae spouting off rapid-fire questions. The low, almost unperceivable weight of Wren’s sleeping presence was like a balm, a comfort he didn’t know he needed—liked.

  “It’s fine, everything’s fine. There’s nothing to worry about. I don’t think I’m a suspect, he just wanted to follow up a lead.”

  Lance let out a long sigh, slumped forward, looking broken.

  “There’s something else…?”

  The fae looked down at his feet. “Master just called.”

  Tristan cringed. “That’s just what I need, her bugging me from half a world away. Well, what’d she want?”

  “To talk to you. She made me promise her that you’d call. Please call her back, it sounded important.”

  Something about the way he looked worried Tristan. “If I don’t, she won’t hurt you, will she?”

  Lance bit into his lip, eyes downcast. “I don’t know.”

  “Your wife?”

  Lance shrugged. “She’s still with Master, for now.”

  “Look, if she threatens you or your wife, know I’ve got your back, okay?”

  Lance looked up, hope in his green eyes. “Really?”

  “Absolutely. You’re a good guy, Lance. You don’t deserve to get in trouble because I’m a pain in the ass.”

  The fae smiled. “Okay. I’m going to go nap now, unless you need something? I’ve already sorted all the herbs that we have. And I’ll go out shortly for the last few.”

  “No, go on. I’m going up too. Wake me up when you get back from shopping.”

  “Will do. Rest well.”

  Tristan mumbled his reply and went to his room. He plopped onto the edge of the bed and stared at the little box Eric had given him, his belated birthday present. They held onto it all this time with the hope that they’d see Tristan again.

  He let out a steadying breath and tore into the blue paper. It was his favorite color. The sparkles and glitter were Gillian’s doing, the silly card was Eric’s. Inside it said simply: “Remembering all the happy times with those we love, Gillian & Eric.”

  Just the card touched him in a way he hadn’t expected and his eyes burned. But it was the gift inside the box that broke the dam. Inside was a lovely wood frame that, no doubt, was handmade by Mr. Thompson, with a photo in it Tristan had never seen but knew existed. His parents and Gillian’s parents were all sitting on a railing at the National Zoo, before them stood Tristan with his arm around Gillian’s shoulder, her arm around her little brother, Jeremy. Eric took the photo, but he was there in spirit, the shadow on the ground between the group and the camera lens.

  He couldn’t possibly have felt any more like an ass than in that moment and he vowed to do everything in his power to make things right again. After all, if he couldn’t reconcile something small like a relationship, then how was he expected to handle being a cold-blooded killer?

  THE HOUSE was dead quiet, but in his own head Tristan was flipping the shit out of tables. Across from him, ensconced in a circle of ashes, the reduced lives of Tristan’s mom and dad, Wren had a glass in each hand held out before him at eye level, measuring out the last of the potion. On the side of caution, the vampire opted to overcompensate the amount and that left them with four full portions.

  Tristan was eyeing the clear brown liquid and picking at the new bandage on his left arm, the cut Wren gave him six days ago to break him from the kitsune’s kōmajutsu reopened for a good cause. The spell called for blood, so Tristan made the executive decision that it would be his. Of course, the other men argued, but in the end, Tristan won. He was regretting it now as he cut a little too deeply and Lance ended up having to give him a few stitches to keep it closed long enough to clot. Itched like a son of a bitch too. He was going to have a new scar. If it fixed Ash, though? Totally worth it.

  “So, what do you think?” Tristan asked, still picking at his bandage. He stopped when he saw the look Lance was giving him, like he was silently swatting at him to knock it off. Tristan smirked a little.

  “About?” the vampire asked, lowering his arms. Wren looked truly tired. And maybe he was, vanillas had less oomph to live on than Master vampires with their wellspring of seikonō, so they had to eat more often or feel like zombies. The fact that Wren hadn’t fed at all since waking was obviously causing him discomfort. And he was, apparently, too much the gentlemen to ask a faerie that belonged to another vampire for a small sip even if they were friends. Tristan was a little surprised, actually, that Lance hadn’t offered already. Maybe it was another of those stupid vampire rules he didn’t care to learn about.

  “Did we do it right?”

  Wren let out a long sigh as he swiped his foot through the ash, breaking the circle. Maybe it was Tristan’s imagination, but he felt a shift in hair pressure with the small, seemingly insignificant gesture. Wren crossed the kitchen into the dining room to sit down. He shut his eyes and rested his forehead against his hands. His completion was a little grey, now that Tristan took a moment to notice.

  “Honestly, I don’t know.” He lifted the bottom of his mask to scratch at the scar tissue hidden underneath. Tristan got a tiny peek at the mess Desmond left behind and he felt sympathy for the vampire.

  “I feel that I followed the instructions as best as I could interpret them. But my ancient Greek is not complete, not like Ash’s and there are things in here I just can’t read, alchemic symbols and annotations meant only for the pythia who wrote them.”

  Tristan nodded, he knew all this already, had listened to Wren mutter under his breath about it for hours. “I’m not asking you analytically if it’s right. I’m asking you how you feel about it. What’s your gut say?”

  Wren lifted his head enough to peek at Tristan and then lowered his head into his hands to rub half is his face. Sitting back, crossing his legs he made a regal figure amongst the soft décor. Still, he looked tired and ill. “I feel confident enough.”

  Tristan glanced back at Lance who was standing against the sink, silently taking it all in. The fae proved to be very useful when it came to prepping the plants, but when it came to destroying them, it was clear it pained the man. Poor faerie.

  Tristan shifted to lean against the fridge, hands in his pockets when he suddenly felt the thing he’d shoved in there last night. It’d been a lump in his pocket since last night but he’d forgotten about it. He smiled and pulled the necklace from his pocket by the leather cord, careful not to touch the spelled part so he wouldn’t give away its secret yet.

  “Uh, hey, Wren?”

  The vampire looked up with a huff. “Yes, Tristan?” His brow furrowed at the talisman. “Sore wa… nani ka?” Yeah, the guy was exhausted.

  “Something made just for you… I took it off one of the twins last night and I want you to have it. To thank you for helping me.”

  Wren shook his head, waving Tristan off when he approached, trying to hand him the necklace. “No, my helping you with this spell settles the debt between us. I.O.U. paid in full.”

  “Then call it a gift.”

  The vampire scowled, looking exhausted. “Really, Tristan.”

  Tristan could barely contain himself, because if this worked the way he and Lance had theorized, it would help Wren. “I insist,” Tristan said in firm Japanese to make his point clear.

  Wren flinched before giving a slight bow of his head and took the necklace, turning it over to examine the circle of metal. There were shapes and words engraved upon it,
that neither Tristan nor Lance could read. Wren probably understood a few.

  Tristan grinned big, liking that he was right—for once—as the necklace activated in the vampire’s hand. “Put it on, around your neck and make sure it touches your skin.”

  Without questioning Tristan, the vampire did just that.

  Tristan smiled bigger. “You should go look at yourself in the mirror… and take off your mask.”

  Wren started, his eyes widening.

  “Oh, Goddess…,” the fae whispered in astonishment and seeming to understand, Wren burst to his feet and rushed off to the closest mirror. There was one in the adjacent sitting room and he stopped short, tilting his chin to the side and lifting his hair to expose the melted side of his face.

  “Mattaku,” he whispered and slowly undid the mask. When he had it lowered enough to show his forehead and eye he started, cursing under his breath and dropping the mask.

  Behind him, Lance was laughing with joy. Tristan looked smug but happy for the vampire as the blood tears of joy welled.

  “I am beautiful again.” He glanced at Tristan in the mirror and then spun. “How?”

  “It’s an aura talisman made to reduce a percentage of age from a person, at least that’s what Lance and I have come up with. I took it off a vampire who was using it to look like a vanilla.” And since Wren was really a vanilla, there was no big change to his vampire appearance. But it did roll back the clock on him enough to a time when his face wasn’t burnt.

  Tentatively Wren reached up to touch his face and jerked his hand away when he’d only just made contact. “I’m still ruined,” he said with sorrow in his voice.

  Tristan nodded. Yeah, he thought it’d be strictly aura rather than a physical change since he’d felt Castor’s age last night and all but ignored it. “It’s something though, right?”

  Wren turned to look at himself in the mirror again. He was silent for a long time. Finally, in a small voice, he said, “Hai. I cannot thank you enough for such a generous gift, Tristan.” He turned and surprised Tristan by taking his hands. “Allow me to repay you for this.”

  “Aw, come on, Wren. It was a gift. I want you to have it, no strings.”

  “All the same…”

  Tristan thought a moment and then smiled slyly. “How about, when things settle down with the twins, Ash and I sit down with her pythia book and we find you something more permanent. Then you can owe me. This is a gift.”

  The vampire nodded, lost in thought, then looked up and smiled. “Ii daro,” he agreed.

  “Great!” Tristan clapped a hand on Wren’s back and then turned away to march into the kitchen. “Now that that’s been decided…”

  The others were right behind Tristan but neither of them could know what he meant to do with his mind closed up tight. He marched confidently up to the counter where the spells sat, picked one up and downed the entire portion.

  “Tristan!” the vampire hissed, snatching the empty cup from him. “Ittai nani wo yatte irunn da?” That Wren lost his English in his anger wasn’t a surprise—something along the lines of what the hell?

  Tristan harrumphed, taking a moment to suck the bitter flavor off his teeth. “Look. I’m not going to give Ash something I can’t trust to take myself. God, do all pythia spells have to taste like moldy ass?”

  “You’re a reckless fool!” Wren was angry, yes, but he looked more worried. Poor Lance was white as a sheet.

  Tristan snickered. “Don’t I know it.”

  Wren heaved a sigh, exchanging a look with the fae. “Well, how are you? Do you feel okay?”

  He shrugged whimsically. “Eh… So far. I mean, I don’t have any memories that were spelled like the Ash, so I doubt I’d feel anything anyway.”

  Hmm… Innokentiy was spelled in Greece too. Maybe if this worked, Tristan could offer one to the ancient vampire and find out if the one who doped him was Jason or someone else. If they could track the kodaijin down. Tristan made a mental note to call the man later. “The important thing is it didn’t kill me even if it did taste like death.”

  Lance let out an audible breath and Wren smiled. “Very well, now that we know it’s not deadly, let’s find out if it does what it’s meant to do.”

  A big, nasty smiled came over Tristan. “Hey, Desmond was memory fucked too.” He wiggled his brows deviously. “Wanna make him a Guinea pig?”

  Wren only laughed in answer.

  7: The Past

  HO-LY shit,” Tristan gasped.

  Lance was smiling and nodding from the back of the van, his head sticking out between the front seats. “Nice, huh? Ash really did a great job with the design. I’ve seen inside during construction, it’s really amazing.”

  Tristan turned in his seat to look at the fae. “She designed the house herself?” She never told him that.

  “Yeah, then an architect drafted it to code and all that. I’m pretty sure she picked out every appliance and furniture item too.”

  Tristan’s brow was furrowed and the fae slumped. He never knew any of that. Did she think he wouldn’t be interested? Surely, she had to know that he was an electrical engineer at an architecture firm before the accident, that he liked that sort of stuff. Guess he should have paid more attention to the whole thing than he had from the start.

  Was he not paying Ash enough attention? Like… relationship wise? They were always fighting for their lives, it seemed. And when they weren’t doing that, they were training for the next round. Was there really a relationship at the core? He loved her, that was for damn sure, but things were… well, not normal.

  “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

  “No, it’s.” Tristan sighed. “It’s fine. I just, I didn’t know is all.”

  “Well, um, I only know because Lilith told Master and she told me to supervise and stuff…”

  “It’s fine, man. Don’t get your dust in a ball.”

  The fae frowned, not understanding but the vampire next to Tristan snickered. Then again, not that sort of faerie, was he? Whatever.

  “What is the plan?” Wren asked.

  “Good question,” he sighed, staring up at the huge home that was his. He still couldn’t believe he was supposed to live here. He had picked out the plot himself, over a hundred acres of undeveloped land that back other farms. It had an old farmhouse that needed to be torn down and not much else. From there on, it’d been all Ash.

  The driveway cut to the very edge of the property line and was flanked with a locking gate. Fortunately, due to the construction, the gate was already open, otherwise they’d have to scale the tall fence that enclosed the entire property. The actual house was set back about a mile from the road and with a forest of trees between the house and road, and pretty much every other house nearby. They had complete privacy.

  Build into the side of a hill, the house was two towering stories with the three-car garage level with the basement that only just peeked out of the earth on the front side. Just across from the house was a large man-pond complete with a little cabin and dock, a gravel parking area shaded by huge oak trees between the two.

  If just the outside managed to impress him this much, he could only guess what waited for him inside. Too bad he didn’t have time to gawk and admire, he was here to do a job. He needed to help Ash remember. That she was even there seemed hopeful since their rental Aston was parked in the driveway along with a SUV. There were lights on inside the house too, hell the damn place was lit up like there was a party about to happen.

  “Well,” Tristan said, “I think Lance should stay behind. No offense, but you’re fodder.”

  Lance put his hand up. “Understood.” He suddenly grinned. “I was kind of hoping to stay with the car anyway. The car won’t eat me.”

  Tristan smiled, shaking his head at him. “Not unless it’s a Decepticon—Wren, do you think you can put up with Desmond, assuming he’s inside.”

  The man was nodding before Tristan finished speaking. “I will do whatever I must to help Ash. Beside
s, Master puts on more of a fuss than what he feels in his heart… Things between us aren’t as bad as he makes them seem.”

  Tristan harrumphed, unsure of the man’s assessment and glanced at Lance, taking in the fae’s apprehension as he chewed his lip, and then back to Wren, smiling big. “Just shoot him if you have to. I’ll do what I can to keep him from killing you.”

  Wren clapped a hand on Tristan’s arm. “Glad to have the Uruwashi on my side.”

  Tristan laughed a little as he got out of the car. He couldn’t say it aloud, but he really appreciated having Wren and Lance with him, and both of them being such good-natured people really helped ease his tension.

  After Tristan went to bed, Lance ran out for the last of the supplies they needed. And since he ended up near Baltimore, he swung by the plane and pulled the rest of the luggage off. He ended up coming back to the house in a work van rather than the Lexus sedan he had before. And for good reason.

  Stashed in the back he’d brought back with him several crates that held the rest of Tristan’s apartment and one large trunk that Tristan was really excited about. When he saw it last in France, it was full of weapons, a few clothes and a stash of pythia supplies. Now it was packed to the rim with guns and swords. Instead of unloading it at his parent’s, they brought the whole mess with them to the house, the place he was supposed to live from now on.

  Wren was quietly but eagerly going through the trunk when Tristan met him at the back of the van. He smiled to himself and affixed Ash’s sword to his right hip, his own going on the left. He already had on two guns in his semi-new custom leather harness.

  Tristan joined Wren at the trunk, digging around each other until he found the stash of ammo near the bottom. He plopped the box down and held out a small Beretta he’d picked out. Wren waved it off with a small hand and made a little noise of appreciation as he finally found what he wanted.