Page 50 of Bonded By Blood

Chapter Thirteen

“The next person who tells me I need to ‘take it easy’ is going to lose their head,” Brianna declared, a little more bitterly than she might normally have meant to, as she waved away Joe’s outstretched hand. “I’ve had plenty of blood, between the four full glasses and that irritating IV drip. I’m fine.” If she was anything otherwise, she was agitated.

“You needed all of that blood,” Joe reminded, his voice quiet and calm. He made no effort to follow after her as she crossed to her large wardrobe.

The fact that he was right was the biggest reason she was in a mood. It wasn’t fair of her to take that out on him, when all he’d done was help her through it. She knew that. Brianna let out a sigh as she pulled open the double doors to the oversized, antique piece of furniture. In all of her years, she’d never ingested more than a couple of drops of werewolf blood before that night. To think she’d been poisoned in her own home, at the hands of her own employee… It was infuriating. The best thing about the entire night was that they’d finally been released from the safe-room, and Brianna had been allowed—allowed—to return to her own room. Where she could change into something of her own choosing, and talk to Joe without her mother hovering over every word.

He wasn’t acting right, and that concerned her.

Then again, his murdered friend’s blood had been used to poison her, and nearly him as well. She could vaguely imagine the disastrous scene she’d been when he’d found her in the library. He was too good a man not to be upset by any of that. But… There was something else. Something more. She just couldn’t put her finger on it.

“Joe,” Brianna said as she extracted a simple dress from the lineup. “Tell me what happened. I know Mother was skating over the details earlier.” Probably to avoid upsetting her while she was weak with blood loss. Probably.

She looked back at him in time to see his eyes widen a fraction, but then he looked away and frowned. “I thought it was a decent summary, actually,” he said. He moved to the carved, Victorian-style sofa that she kept under the curtained window, ran his fingers briefly over the lines in the wood, and sat down.

Brianna frowned, laid the dress over the bed, and began stripping from her temporary clothing. “I barely got any summary at all. Mother said she was ‘complicit’ and that she’d ‘been dealt with.’ That doesn’t tell me anything, Joe.” Why wouldn’t he look at her? He’d gone from leaning forward to tilting his head back, staring up at the ceiling. Was there some kind of secret he’d been instructed to keep from her? Because that wouldn’t do. She wouldn’t be okay with that at all.

“Jasen made it clear he didn’t think she—Matilda—had put the poison in the blood herself,” Joe said, his voice barely more than a whisper. “But from her own story, she wasn’t exactly diligent … considering the circumstances.”

That answer cleared things up about as well as her own imagination. Brianna slipped her arms into the sleeves of her new dress and said, “I’m even more confused, then. What could she have been complicit in if not my poisoning?”

Joe closed his eyes and seemed to hold his breath for a second. “That is what she was held accountable for,” he replied at length.

“Joe.” What was he not telling her? Had her mother lost her temper and decided to make an example of Matilda? Brianna tugged her zipper into place and narrowed her eyes at her lover. “Why are you being so evasive about this?”

He lifted his gaze to her just long enough that she thought she saw him wince before he looked away, head down. Slumped into the corner of the sofa, he said, “I’m sorry.”

Brianna took a breath. She was upset about a lot of things, but maybe she wasn’t being fair. She’d been out long enough that something else could have happened. Joe was obviously bothered and she hadn’t even asked him why. She moved to the couch and sat down beside him quietly. It was her intent to reach for his hand, maybe rub his arm, but he pulled his arm away from her almost before she could try.

Something sharp, invisible, and distantly familiar stabbed her in the chest. Why…?

“Joe,” she said, unsure of the right question to ask, “did … something else happen?”

His hand curled into a tight fist and he kept his head turned away from her gaze. “I don’t know how to answer that.”

“It doesn’t seem that complicated,” Brianna said, confusion joining the pain inside her. “What’s going on with you?”

She watched his jaw clench, saw a muscle twitch in his throat.

“Trista decided to kill her,” he said, his voice low and distant. “But she said Matilda’s life wasn’t enough. So she was going to kill Matilda’s son, too. Some guy who had absolutely nothing to do with any of this. All because Matilda had ignored a couple of warning signs and unwittingly fed you poisoned blood.”

Brianna’s throat went dry. Matilda’s son? Her mother had gone so far as to order the execution of a human who had nothing to do with them, over an accident? No. That wasn’t what had happened, though. Not from the way Joe was speaking. She swallowed, wetting her throat, and carefully asked, “But that’s not what happened?”

Joe closed his eyes again and shook his head. “No.”

“Matilda’s son—”

“Should still be alive.” Joe clenched and unclenched his fists, as if to relieve tension. Then he stood, so suddenly Brianna had to rear back. “I’m sorry. I don’t want to talk about this.”

“Joe—”

“Bri!” The double-door entrance to the bedroom swung open, echoing the outcry, as Kendall rushed into the room.

Brianna jumped in her seat. She’d been so focused on Joe and their conversation she hadn’t heard Kendall’s approach. Joe jumped a little, too, and his head snapped toward the doorway. At least Brianna hadn’t been the only one too absorbed in the moment. A moment that was now lost, she was sure.

Kendall seemed oblivious, or insensitive, to having interrupted anything important. She glanced at Joe enough to acknowledge him and ran to Brianna. “Oh my gosh, I’ve been so worried about you!”

Guilt flooded her and Brianna stood, catching Kendall in an easy hug. “I’m sorry, Kendall. I’m fine, I promise. Nothing to worry about.” But, if they came after me… “What about you? Are you okay?”