Blood-Bonded by Force by Tracy Tappan

Author:Tracy Tappan [Tappan, Tracy]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: B. Reed Publishing
Published: 2015-03-06T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twenty-five

Topside: Nunu’s Bar, downtown San Diego, two days later, December 24th

Faith instinctively clutched her purse close to her chest as their group approached the grubby beige door of Nunu’s. She couldn’t believe Tonĩ had chosen to meet Aunt Idyll at a dive bar, although considering the topic of conversation was going to be the Symbol Killer, it probably did make sense to go someplace obscure and private. Plus, there probably weren’t many establishments open on Christmas Eve night.

Three of the Special Ops Team members stayed outside to surround the building: Thomal, Gábor, and a black-haired Vârcolac named Vinz, whom she remembered from that life-changing night in Ţărână’s garage. He had long sideburns and was Nỵko’s substitute.

Why had Nỵko been left behind? Faith had gnawed on her fingernails for the entire twenty-minute elevator ride to the surface as she’d considered options. Because his arm hurt? His arm hadn’t hurt two days ago when he’d been shot, so that was doubtful. Plus Thomal was here, and he’d suffered a worse injury. Was the team worried that Nỵko would stick out like a sore thumb at a topside bar? He would, but he could’ve manned the perimeter like the others. Or had Nỵko purposely opted out of this mission because he knew the Teague twins would attend a meeting with their aunt and he was, once again, avoiding Faith. She clutched her purse harder. That was the most likely and thus the most painful.

Warriors Dev and Jaċken accompanied Tonĩ, Kacie, and Faith inside. The dimly lit bar had cushioned burgundy-colored booths lining the walls and lamps of yellow-and-burgundy stained glass hanging from the ceiling over each. Faith relaxed a bit now that they were inside. With its offbeat color scheme and wood-burning stove, Nunu’s wasn’t without a certain quirky charm. Kind of a circa-1940s Sam Spade meeting place…although back then there wouldn’t have been all the TVs playing sports.

As they passed the large polished wood, U-shaped bar to head to the back booth where Aunt Idyll already waited, the bartender tossed them a friendly smile.

“My girls!” Idyll jumped up, stepping over her small suitcase to open her arms to Faith and Kacie.

They rushed into their aunt’s hug.

Open a Webster’s Dictionary and look up the definition for a Pagan priestess or shaman—or shamanka, as a female priestess would be called—and there’d be a picture of Idyll O’Shaughnessy. She fit nearly every stereotype. This evening’s outfit consisted of long ropes of beaded necklaces, bangles stacked on each wrist, hoop earrings, open-toed sandals, and a floor-length beatnik-style dress made out of the kind of rough-woven, patchwork fabric one might find on a carpet bag. The dress was sleeveless, exposing Idyll’s slender arms; the forty-seven-year-old woman still had a svelte body concealed beneath the roomy folds of her clothing. One non-stereotypical part of Idyll was her hairstyle. It was cut short, layered, and colored a chestnut brown with blonde, streaking highlights—very modern and fashionable.

Tears pooled in Faith’s eyes as the comforting fragrance of incense enveloped her, and she squeezed Idyll harder.

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