Sacred Blood

Alys B. Cohen

Sacred Blood

~~~

Smashwords Edition

Vancouver Independent Publishing

Publisher Information

Text copyright © 2013 by Alys B. Cohen

Illustration copyright © by Alys B. Cohen

All rights reserved.

No part of this work may be reproduced, photocopied, scanned, stored in a retrieval system, recorded or transmitted, in any form or by any other means, without prior written permission of the copyright publisher, except as allowable under the Copyright Act 1968.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents, are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual people living or dead, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental. For information regarding permission, write to:

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Vancouver Independent Publishing

(USA) PO Box 17253, Portland, Oregon 97217

AlysBCohen@gmail.com

Cohen, Alys B.

Sacred Blood / by Alys B. Cohen

Prequel to: Sacred Honor

Summary: Battered and frightened, Juliette St. Claire flees from near-death at the crushing hands of her boyfriend, to find her closest friend, Tristan Larocque, only to discover he has kept a vital secret about his identity.

Paperback ISBN: 978-0-9920729-0-2

E-book ISBN: 978-0-9920729-1-9

First Edition

Cover image and design by: Alys B. Cohen

Dedication

This book is dedicated to those who have found their own inner strength, and to those still searching.

Note From the Author

This book has its moments of humor. It also has its moments of sadness, and some frightening situations that may be triggering to some readers. I feel warning for the potential triggering content is appropriate. Yes, this could be a bit of a spoiler, but for the sake of those who are living with the trauma of experience, I have opted to give this information up front.

I was inspired by the abuse-as-romance trend that has permeated our culture in such sly ways that many have yet to identify it, and the need for books that show abuse for what it is. In Sacred Blood, the abuse is not romantic. It is not swept under the rug or glossed over. Juliette’s experiences at the hands of her boyfriend and his best friend are traumatic to her, as they would be to anyone who went through them. She endured physical and sexual abuse, and has to work to rise above it.

If you have survived abuse, or are living with it now, my heart goes out to you. May you find and hold onto the inner strength that every person surviving it has.

~Alys B. Cohen

Table of Contents

1. Juliette

2. Tristan

3. Worth

4. Wishes

5. Beginnings

6. Targets

7. Loss: Tristan

8. Loss: Juliette

9. Escape

10. Ojai

11. Discoveries

12. Return

13. Entanglement

14. Truth

15. Plans

16. Travel

17. Exploration

18. Pursuit

19. Found

20. Revelation

21. Strategy

22. Trepidation

23. Bloodshed

24. Domination

25. Restoration

26. Decision

Epilogue

Credits

1. Juliette

A shadow darkened the door’s frosted glass. From her seat on the soft, carpeted stair, Juliette St. Clair laced her fingers together and tightened them, staring straight ahead. The knob turned and the door swung open. She exhaled, relieved. For once he didn’t appear angry as he looked at her.

Nathaniel Jensen smirked, his chestnut eyebrows raised, and began his usual interrogating. Hey, Cutie, why are you sitting there? Were you waiting for me? Why’s the kitchen radio on?

Juliette patted her history textbook beside her. Her heart rate increased as she thought about how he might react to her request. Well, in class we were assigned to study groups, and we have to get together and have a report to present Thursday. A-At three today is the only time everyone’s free. I need to go. It’s important.

Will there be any guys? Nathaniel narrowed his eyes and glowered down at his girlfriend. He balled his hands into fists.

Juliette pulled her arms tighter to her sides and laced her fingers over her heart. Should I lie? No, he’d know. Yes, a few, and some girls too.

Then no.

But I have to go! It’s ten percent! Please! Juliette picked up her class schedule and held the page up to him, already overwhelmed by guilt if Nathaniel refused. Why are you still paying for me to go to school if you’re going to stop me from doing the assignments? Please let me. Fearing defeat, her shoulders and face fell.

Nathaniel snatched the paper and studied it. Where?

Juliette removed a sticky note from her book cover and glanced at the address. Her gaze wandered up, trying to read his expression. The man rarely changed his mind once he’d said no. Silently she begged him, hoping his amber eyes would stare into her baby blues and recognize her desperation. Please? Getting A’s is important to me.

Whose place?

A classmate named Tristan, but there will be just as many girls as guys.

Silence stretched between them. Juliette’s shoulders fell. Her eyes dropped to the red Spanish tile beneath Nathaniel’s feet. Strains of Vivaldi’s Four Seasons played quietly through the house. She closed her eyelids and focused on the chords to keep from crying in frustration.

The song inspired her, and she immediately knew she could turn the situation in her favor. Nathaniel wanted the world to see him as the good guy he wasn’t. How would you like me to explain to them why I couldn’t make it when I already said I’d be there?

Keys jingled in Nathaniel’s hands. It’s quarter to three. I’ll pick you up at five sharp. If any of the guys touch you, there’s going to be hell to pay.

Thank you, and don’t worry. No one will put their hands on me. I don’t think anyone around here doesn’t know I’m yours. Juliette grabbed her book and stood with a small measure of pride, choosing to not reply to his threat. She had won this battle.

Silently she followed him to his car and slid onto the passenger seat. During the drive she stared out the window. While watching houses breeze by she wondered what it must be like to live in one of them and never worry about Nathaniel following through on the threats he made... or having to have to outsmart him when he made them.

Nathaniel turned up a long, circular driveway and whistled in awe. Juliette’s eyes darted around the large property with its expansive, well-manicured yard. Someone had clipped each shrub into spirals and topiaries. They paled in comparison to the stately white house with its Grecian columns.

Five sharp, Jules. You need to pack my bags when you get back. I’m leaving for training camp at seven. Be gone a couple weeks.

Okay, she whispered, surprised he had a trip planned that he had not told her about. Thanks for bringing me.

Juliette stepped out of the car and took slow steps up the stairs. She raised a fist and knocked. Behind her, the car’s engine purred. From within the house stamping footsteps grew louder until the door opened. A chestnut-haired man appeared and his smile quickly turned to a frown. He stepped aside and motioned her in.

Who are you? he asked, his voice tense.

Juliette St. Claire.

The man’s eyes widened. He jerked his head toward voices in another room. Through that door. Without waiting for a reply, he turned and ran up a wide staircase.

Baffled by the stranger’s behavior, Juliette did not look around, but walked where he had pointed, her stomach tied in knots. Amanda and Sandra sat to the left of a man with near-shoulder-length mahogany waves at the dark oval table while David and Lars relaxed to his right, a seat separating them from their host. Sandra laughed at something the stranger said, and as she threw her head back, spotted Juliette.

Oh hey, girl! We were waiting for you. Why don’t you sit down?

Juliette nodded and rushed to take the open seat to the man’s right.

He grinned at her. You must be Juliette. I’m Tristan Larocque.

Biting her lip, Juliette glanced up to his handsome, tanned face with his deep blue eyes staring at her. He reached his hand to shake hers. With a shy nod, she looked back down, embarrassed by the attention.

I’m sorry I had to leave before you got to class today. At least someone got the address to you. I hope meeting here doesn’t pose any trouble.

Juliette shook her head, wishing he’d stop talking to her. A man as attractive as he surely couldn’t be so kind.

David snorted from her right. You’d better take your hand back. No one’s allowed to touch Jensen’s girl. Frankly, you’d be lucky if she even talks to you.

Who’s Jensen?

Nate Jensen. One of the football players, Amanda said with a sigh. She’s so lucky to be dating that guy. She’s practically a kid.

I’m eighteen!

Well, still young for a junior. Shouldn’t you be in high school?

Juliette narrowed her eyes. I graduated when I was sixteen. I’ll bet you were learning to read or do basic math at that age.

Tristan raised his hands. Come on, let’s not fight. We have a real easy project to do here and should not spend this time bickering. All we have to do is a basic history of Vlad the Impaler. Can we cooperate long enough to get through this?

Juliette clicked a pen, waiting for the opportunity to speak. David and Lars repeatedly spoke over her when she started to say anything. So she stopped trying and just took notes. A couple times she glanced up at Tristan and the clock above him. He stared back at her each time, his blue eyes kind, a soft smile playing on his lips. The ease she felt next to him unsettled her. Discussion finished, Tristan closed his textbook and pushed it away.

Why are you ignoring Juliette like that? Sandra asked David. She tried giving information and she really knows a lot about this stuff.

Eyes avoiding Juliette’s, David laughed. Because I’m not going to get on Nate’s bad side.

Tristan glanced at Juliette, then at David. What do you mean, ‘Nate’s bad side’?

Star player’s girl? Be all improper and talk to her, and your rep’s trash. Bros before hos. David and Lars bumped fists.

Juliette took a deep breath and clenched her pen. Shut up, David. What would you know about dating at all?

Sandra stared at Juliette. I’d give anything to date Nate Jensen, even for a night. How did you bag such a hottie?

Juliette’s cheeks warmed. Sorry, no offense, but I’m not comfortable with my personal life being the topic of conversation. I’m just here to get a good grade, not to gossip about myself and Nathaniel.

Why not? Every girl with any sense is jealous of you.

Tristan spared Juliette from having to answer. Come on, you guys, stop, and, Dave, I don’t want you calling anyone a ‘ho’ in my house again, or you’ll have to leave.

But--

No.

Juliette gazed up at Tristan. Without meaning to, she flashed him a smile and glanced at the clock again.

I have to leave, she told Tristan while stacking her things. My ride’s going to be here soon. I really should wait outside.

I’ll go with you.

With her books in her arms, Juliette turned her back on their classmates, noting Tristan didn’t address them on his way out.

Those people are jerks, he told her as they stood by the door. Good for you standing up for yourself in there.

Juliette shrugged. It’s normal. Guys don’t want anything to do with a football player’s girlfriend and other girls are jealous and want to hear all about him. Most people just ignore me.

"Would you have any objection if I talked to you?"

As long as Nathaniel’s not around.

Tristan raised one eyebrow. One of those possessive guys, he said dryly.

Yes, but I guess he’s got to guard what’s his. Juliette hugged her books to her chest and sighed.

Well, will he let me be your friend?

Definitely not. Anyway, why would you want to be?

Anyone who’s bullied is probably an interesting person. You snapped back at them like a spitfire. I can tell you’re smart, even though Dave and Lars wouldn’t let you say much. Self-defense and intelligence are admirable qualities that I appreciate.

Juliette lifted her chin and stared straight into his eyes, upset with herself for misjudging him. I’d like us to be friends then, but it can only be in class, and Nathaniel can’t find out. By the way, thanks for being nice to me and having my back in there.

Tristan half smiled and shook his head. Don’t thank me for that. You shouldn’t have to express gratitude over someone not acting like a jerk. If I can be your friend only in class for now, I’ll take it. That gives us four days a week. History and lit.

Thank--...Okay. I’d appreciate that. Usually I’m shy talking, directly with a guy I don’t know. But there’s something different about you. Butterflies fluttered in Juliette’s stomach at his sincere and easy charm. She realized that he avoided Nathaniel’s name. Her face burned as her thoughts returned to the man in front of her. Anyway I’m surprised you paid any attention to me in lit. I sit behind you.

You’re cute when you blush. Tristan shoved his hands in his pockets like a shy schoolboy.

Juliette’s jaw dropped in pleasant surprise as she tried thinking of an appropriate response to the flattery. Tristan! I do have a, um... Her smile faltered.

I’m sorry, he whispered bashfully. The words I spoke should have stayed in my head. It’s not like me to do that.

I don’t get compliments much, so I’m not sure what to say. Um--

A horn honked. Juliette’s eyes widened and she peered through a window. Oh, shoot! I was supposed to be outside waiting. He’s going to be so mad. I’ll see you in lit tomorrow night! She yanked the door open and ran out. Nathaniel’s furious face stopped her a few feet away. Her body trembled. Juliette glanced back toward the house as she tried to calm her short breaths. Her shoes felt heavy as lead as she closed the distance and slid into the seat and buckled her belt.

Without looking at her, Nathaniel’s nostrils flared as he shifted his coupe into drive and peeled out.

* * *

Nathaniel yanked Juliette out of the car, his mouth in a hard line. Once inside he tossed her to the floor. Juliette pressed her hands to the cold tile. Without warning, a hand pulled her back up by her golden hair and his other slammed into her face. She dropped to the ground again and curled into a ball, one of her palms covering the painful throbbing around her eye and cheek.

I said outside by five, not five-oh-one!

I’m sorry, she gasped, struggling to hold in the tears that would make him angrier. It was an accident. I was only a minute.

One of his feet connected with her left shoulder. She screamed in shock at the sharp pain. As she tried to push herself up, her arm locked up and she fell. Careful to use only her right hand, she pushed up again and stood.

I’m so sorry. I’m--

Wasting time. Pack my stuff!

Frantic, Juliette fled up the stairs to Nathaniel’s room and folded and packed football gear. Every movement in her shoulder burned her socket. She gasped, trying to keep half her body as immobile as she could. His favorite practice jersey was still in the dryer. She lifted the heavy bag with her uninjured arm and downstairs to retrieve his shirt, hoping he would be lenient that she hadn’t yet finished.

Hurry up, Stupid! I have to take off. Get my bags packed up! Nathaniel ripped the bag from Juliette as she hurried past him and slugged her stomach, smirking at her shocked scream as she crashed into the cream wall and slunk to the ground. A porcelain vase fell from its pedestal, dousing her in cold water as it shattered. He grabbed her arms, loudly popping her shoulder back into place, and turned her to face the hallway mirror. Do you like your eye? Do you want another?

Juliette stared at the newest bruise darkening her eye. She nodded and shook her head in turn to his questions, longing to get away from the hands hurting her. Those hands spun her around and slapped her across the face.

You didn't answer me! Did you like your ugly eye, and do you want your other to match?

N-n-no, Sir! She wanted nothing more than for him to let go. His fingers digging into her flesh were bruising her, and her punched arm and dislocated shoulder hurt like hell.

Juliette’s side slammed into the wall again with another malicious throw.

Learn to listen to what I tell you. Now hurry up and finish or you'll get worse!

Despite her injures, Juliette ran as fast as she could, continuing to gather and loading his gear, glad he was going to be gone for a couple weeks and she'd have several days to sleep in peace and recover. The thought of his absence motivated her to keep standing.

With a last zip, Juliette finished the packing. Nathaniel snatched his duffel bag up and pressed a finger hard against her chest. Clean up the hall before the housekeeper gets here. You better be good. Break any rules and I will find out. Stay inside until you look normal and no school. Sorry about your eye, but you pushed me to my limit. I don’t know why you make me hurt you. You know I have a temper.

The wet kiss smashed to her lips sent deep ache to Juliette's heart, tempered only slightly by him walking out of the house. When she was certain he wouldn't walk back in, she ran up the stairs and slammed her bedroom door shut. Hopeless, her trembling body dropped to the bed.

She pressed her mouth into the eyelet-covered pillow and screamed with all her might, but the tears still came. Juliette pounded her fists next to her head.

The cell phone on her nightstand beeped. Nervous, Juliette checked the new message.

Behave.

You jerk! The audacity of the man she called her boyfriend disgusted and confused her.

A quivering smile crossed her lips. She had two weeks before he returned, a vacation from fear. The mirror on her dresser reflected her pale face with its unsightly decoration. What would her new friend say? Tristan Larocque hadn’t shown the reverence toward Nathaniel that the others had when her boyfriend’s name had been brought up.

But Tristan could not see her eye. He’d know the truth. Thursday’s class would have to happen without her. Her only other friend, Libby Collins, had never seen her injuries before, and couldn’t visit now. Fearful of Nathaniel's wrath if he were to find out she went to school before her bruise healed, Juliette sniffled and tossed her European history text onto the floor. She lay face down again and screamed desperately. The shriek only helped let loose a stream of tears until she forgot about her class and started wishing she could bring her misery to an end, before Nathaniel did it for her.

2. Tristan

In his darkened bedroom, Tristan tapped his fingers on the large oak desk in front of him and sighed.

What's wrong now? His adopted sister, Emma Shah, stood in the doorway, her arms crossed.

Haven't you ever thought of knocking instead of just standing around watching people?

Emma strolled to the window and opened the heavy green curtains. I would knock if the door was closed. Are you familiar with this thing called smiling or letting some sun into this cave? Darkness and you're listening to 'Moonlight Sonata'? Is your goal to depress yourself, Kid?

The bright sunlight blinded Tristan for a moment. He shielded his eyes against the glare. No. I'm checking up on our stocks. One just tanked.

Big loss?

Tristan shrugged. Not the end of the world. What do you want, Em?

Emma grabbed his blankets and tossed them over his bed. For you to stop moping. This funk has been going on for a week solid now. Your moods and behavior are so erratic. Happy one minute, completely depressed the next, then back to okay. I’m worried about you.

Don't you have a husband to annoy?

He already left for university. So I'm all yours! Emma smiled and opened her arms.

Their older sister, Gabrielle Caldecott, lightly rapped on the open door. Lunch has been ready for a while and is already cold. Breakfast food. Come on downstairs.

Emma's eyes twinkled a challenge to her brother. Tristan raised an eyebrow and jumped from his leather chair. Shouldering each other aside, they raced down the dark wooden stairs.

What's the occasion for fine china, Gab? Tristan sat down at the head of the elegantly-set table, appreciating the contrast between the white dishes with their elegant platinum scroll patterns atop blue silk place mats set against the deep cherry tone of the wood beneath. Gabrielle had placed an expertly-arranged basket of flowers in the middle. Beautifully formal, just like his beloved, auburn-haired sister.

Where are the others? Emma scooped eggs onto her china plate.

Do I need a reason to use good dishes, Tristan? And, Emma, if your husband wouldn’t teach early classes, perhaps your brothers would stick around too. They ran off to their band practice. Gabrielle sniffed disapprovingly as she always did when the band was mentioned.

Tristan, forever a gentleman in the presence of the two ladies of his family, waited until Gabrielle and Emma had finished serving themselves to begin filling his own plate with scrambled eggs and bacon.

I heard from that old cougar Jane Underwood late last night, Gabrielle started. She rambles on so sometimes. The Canadians’ number is now supposedly around a thousand. I wish she’d stay here with us and retire.

If she’s right about this and we could find them, is there a chance we may be able to assimilate? Tristan asked, trying to hide his eagerness.

Emma smiled slightly and shook her head. I doubt they’ll be receptive to newcomers if they've had no outside contact.

Gabrielle reached out to Tristan and squeezed his hand. I know what you're thinking. It's not fair that finding someone to love should be so hard for those like us.

It’s not so much that, Tristan lied. I just want to escape this lie of a life.

Emma perked up. Tristan, you're not considering searching for them, are you? They could be anywhere. There are tens, maybe hundreds of thousands of square miles they might be, if they exist as more than just some senile woman's fantasy. We all know Jane would love to find them.

Can you blame her though? How hard and tiring must it be for her to keep up with technological advances and societal changes for so long? Why would she want to stay here if she had the option to settle in peace? What do I know though? I am thoroughly convinced she’s keeping something from me. Gabrielle set her fork down and reached for the milk. Emma, never forget how much we owe her. We'd all be lost without her finding us and bringing us together.

Emma nodded and glanced down at her clasped hands. I forgot. You're right, Gab. We are definitely in her debt.

I would love to not live this charade. Tristan smashed some eggs between the tines of his fork. Simultaneous flares of hope and despair for his heart’s desire coursed through him.

Tristan, you know we must, Gabrielle reminded him, and as long as this is so, we should make the best of it. Did something happen to bring this on, Tristan? Usually you're not like this, not wound up about things. It's been a week with hardly a smile.

What does it take for us to get to settle down? I'm tired of moving, and if there's a group of our kind somewhere, I want to check them out and learn anything possible. It would be amazing to set roots and get married, to have what you have, Em.

Emma sighed. I'm sorry, Tristan. I understand this is hard for you. Are you sure you don't want to keep, uh, 'sampling the local cuisine,' as William calls it, until we can stay somewhere semi-permanently?

When the notches on the bedpost start looking like some deliberate pattern, I think it's time to give that up. Tristan stared down at his plate, rearranging the food without eating any.

Emma shook her head. What happened? You were all smiles one night, and the next, aloof and bummed. Please tell us what cause this change in you.

Remember the group I had here last week for that report? I met someone-

A girlfriend? Emma interrupted.

Tristan slapped his hands onto the table. No, Em! You know I won’t date someone like her.

But-

Emma, drop it. Gabrielle scraped the last of the eggs onto her own plate.

Emma turned back to her brother. And? What does that have to do with anything?

Her name is Juliette. The other people weren’t so kind to her. The girls wanted to talk about her boyfriend. The guys shunned her. Her boyfriend expected her to be ready by five and we were by the door, though she wasn’t outside. He honked and she freaked. I spied through the window and the sheer curtain, and she was scared. Grades are important to her, but she missed our last two history classes. She also wasn’t in our lit class. This whole thing isn’t sitting right with me.

Oh, Tristan, Emma sighed. You’re probably worried about nothing and didn’t see correctly through the curtain. Cheer up.

Gabrielle studied Tristan for a moment, her lips in a hard line. She turned to Emma. So do you want to go get some of that new matte foundation?

The voices of his family faded to a background hum. Tristan's appetite had disappeared before even his first bite. Jane Underwood was flighty, but she would refuse to say a word if she was confused. He had no reason to think she might be mistaken. Of bigger concern, where was Juliette?

* * *

Tristan sprinted around the property, keeping under the shade of the massive pine trees framing the expanse of the finely manicured lawn. The racing of his heart reminded him that, at that moment in time, he was no more dead than the ones he loved. Near his home, he dropped and did a long series of push-ups. His own weight was no longer a challenge, but the exercise let him feel the cool, gritty earth beneath his palms. With each upward thrust he inhaled the ground's clean earthen scent.