Blood Rights (House of Comarre 1)

by Kristen Painter

  ‘I’m serious.’ What had she thought? That he’d age in the short time since she’d last seen him? That time would temper his addictive beauty into something easier to deny? That her body would forget everything that had happened between them?

  ‘So am I.’ He sat up. ‘You must need the help desperately.’

  She powered the iBot down to a seated position, folded her hands in her lap and took a deep breath. Her lungs filled with his seductive aroma. She exhaled. ‘It’s not for me, it’s for my niece. Who is also … who is still comarré. And, I fear, in terrible danger.’ She shook her head, thinking of the note of warning she’d received from Rennata. Trouble comes your way. This was not what she’d wanted for Chrysabelle. Not at all.

  ‘What do you need from me?’ He leaned forward. ‘Protection?’

  ‘No.’ She rested her hand on his, knowing how persuasive her touch could be to a vampire. Especially this one. ‘I have to find her.’

  ‘Do you think I need to be reminded of your allure?’ He pulled his hand away. ‘Why not send your wysper?’

  ‘And leave myself defenseless?’

  Dominic laughed. ‘We both know you’re not defenseless. Does your sacre still hang above your bed?’

  ‘Yes.’ His remembering where she kept her weapon should not be reason enough for her cheeks to heat, but it was. The memory of when they’d shared a home nearly broke her. She bent her head to remove an imaginary piece of lint from her linen pants.

  ‘Please, Dominic,’ she whispered, bracing herself for the lie she hoped would sway him. ‘She is like a daughter to me. The child we … could never have.’

  He went rigid at those words, then stood and strode to the edge of the pavers. A shard of light from the young moon filtered through the palms, tipping his hair silver. Beyond him, the patio curved around the infinity edge pool and down to the deep water slip holding her favorite way to escape, the Heliotrope. He stared at the yacht. Was he remembering the last time they’d been aboard her? The last time they’d made love? ‘Twenty years since you walked away from me, but I remember as though it were yesterday.’ When he turned, his eyes matched the moon glow. ‘Come back to me, cara mia. Not the way things are now, but the way they were.’

  Of course he remembered. She focused on his tie. Looking there was easier than looking into his handsome face. Did she look older to him? She must. ‘Dominic, please. We’ve been down that road. I can’t. That life,’ she sighed, ‘it holds too many bad memories for me.’

  He came and kneeled at her feet. ‘I can erase those memories, Marissa. Give you new ones. What we had—’

  ‘What we had was wonderful, but brought too much pain. Dominic, I’ve changed. You’ve changed.’ Although not physically. She cupped his cheek as the old feelings swirled through her. For her, he had willingly become anathema, accepting the banishment the nobility inflicted on those who fell out of favor for one reason or another. For Maris, Dominic had made it so much easier to walk away from everything she’d ever known all those years ago. He’d been her safety net. She had loved Dominic, once.

  Now, the older she got, the further away she wanted to be from the past and the pain it held. And unfortunately, that included Dominic. They’d both gone too far in opposite directions to meet at any kind of middle now.

  ‘I had to change in order to survive. To take care of us.’ He pressed his cheek into her hand, then turned his face and kissed her palm before rising to his feet again. He smoothed his suit. The lines of sentimentality disappeared from his face as well. This was not a new conversation for them, but they’d not repeated it in several years. ‘Of course, we have moved beyond the past, you and me. What falls between us now is business. Duty. Nothing more.’

  Cursing the bitterness of her own heart while praising the coldness of his, she nodded. ‘Yes, Dominic. That is the way of it.’

  He put distance between them again and stared out to sea. ‘What is it you wish me to do?’

  She held out a copy of the address Jonas had given her. ‘She went there, two days ago, and has not returned. Jonas is not returning my calls and I am tired of imagining what has happened. I want to know if … things have not gone well.’

  He walked over, took the paper without looking at it, and tucked it into the inside pocket of his jacket. ‘I will find out tonight.’

  ‘Grazie, Dominic.’

  ‘And in return for this information?’

  She’d known he’d expect payment. Prepared herself for it. After all, this was business now. She unbuttoned a few buttons, spread her shirt collar, and tilted her head back. At the edge of her vision, she spotted Velimai whirling like a hurricane behind the sheers. ‘I trust you will be gentle.’

  His fangs gleamed. Her weak body betrayed her with its eager response, tightening in anticipation. He leaned in. ‘Ah, bella mia, as always.’

  ‘I own you?’ Fi almost bounced on her toes.

  ‘You don’t own me, only my blood rights,’ Chrysabelle explained for the third time. Why the ghost took such happiness in this, Chrysabelle didn’t understand. ‘And actually Mal owns them. Stole them, really.’

  ‘Enough with the stealing. We didn’t know.’ Mal ground his teeth and glared heavenward. ‘I need sleep.’ He shoved a hand through his black hair. ‘I should be getting up at sundown, not going to bed.’ His gaze shifted from Fi to Chrysabelle. ‘Try not to kill each other for the next four or five hours. Or do, I don’t care. Doc, you’re in charge.’ Shaking his head, he left.

  ‘Whatever that’s worth,’ Doc called after him from the kitchen, where he was fixing plates of something he optimistically termed dinner.

  Chrysabelle sank into one of the chairs surrounding the worn table. She rested her head on her hands and stared at the scarred surface. This really wasn’t the new life she’d envisioned for herself. In that life, she wasn’t wearing a black T-shirt and baggy pajama pants that reeked of male vampire. A male who had not only stolen her blood rights, but didn’t seem to care one way or the other what that meant. She glanced at Fi. ‘Why are you so excited about this anyway?’

  Fi cocked an eyebrow. ‘You don’t get it, do you?’ She leaned in. ‘Those voices in Mal’s head? I’m one of them, or at least I was until I got your blood in me. Since he killed me, I’ve had to listen to that chaos just like him.’

  ‘Why do you stay?’

  ‘Like I have a choice?’ Fi’s gaze strayed to Doc. ‘Mal’s not so bad. Not since he stopped killing. And look, being a ghost is better than being dead altogether.’ She glanced at Doc again, a slight smile on her face. What a strange pairing, the varcolai and the ghost. ‘Things aren’t so awful here.’

  Chrysabelle kept her voice low. ‘You love him?’

  ‘Yes, she does, and I can hear you, you know,’ Doc called out from the kitchen.

  Fi laughed as she turned back. ‘I can’t leave anyway, so might as well make the best of it. I tried once. Went corporeal and started walking. Six blocks and I got snapped back, like some big metaphysical rubber band attached us.’ She sat back. ‘So now, with your blood in me, I can’t hear the chaos anymore.’ She grinned. ‘Thanks.’

  ‘You’re welcome. I guess.’ Chrysabelle studied the girl, feeling a sense of sympathy she hadn’t before. What a strange existence.

  Doc put plates of pasta in front of her and Fi. ‘Eat up. You must be jonesin’ for food big-time.’

  ‘I am, but’ – Chrysabelle poked at it with a fork – ‘where’s the meat?’

  ‘Beggars can’t be choosers,’ Fi said.

  ‘I am not a beggar.’ She wanted to add you little thief, but it was Mal’s fault, not Fi’s, that this had happened. ‘I need protein. It’s kind of important for someone like me.’

  He squeezed Fi’s shoulder but spoke to Chrysabelle. ‘Meat’s spendy, especially when there are three of us now.’

  ‘Varcolai need meat, too.’

  He shrugged and took the chair beside Fi. ‘I eat it every few days.’

  Chrysabelle r
aised her brows. ‘Please tell me this ship is just naturally rat-free.’

  ‘I buy the meat,’ Doc said, stabbing his pasta. Clearly, she’d hit a nerve.

  ‘Every few days isn’t really enough, is it? Just because Malachi chooses to starve himself doesn’t mean you have to.’

  Fi’s expression wrinkled. ‘Malachi?’

  Doc shot the ghost a look. ‘We call him Mal. That’s what he likes.’

  Fi shot the look back but stayed silent. Something wasn’t right.

  ‘Regardless,’ Chrysabelle continued. ‘I … we don’t need to suffer too. If money is a concern, I’m willing to help out.’

  Fi laughed. ‘With what?’

  ‘Where’s the bag I brought with me?’ Chrysabelle asked Doc.

  ‘Should still be in Mal’s office,’ Doc answered.

  ‘All right, I’ll just be a moment.’ She pushed her chair back.

  ‘Where do you think you’re going? We’re supposed to watch you.’ Fi’s indignant look made Chrysabelle stifle a laugh. She had to give Fi points for trying.

  ‘What are you? Twenty-three? Twenty-four?’ She slanted her eyes at Doc. ‘You’re not much older, are you? I don’t need children minding me.’ She strolled toward the door, hiding her slight limp as much as possible. Her broken foot already felt better than it had when she’d woken up.

  ‘Children?’ Fi scoffed. ‘Pot meet kettle.’

  Chrysabelle paused. ‘I am one hundred fifteen years old.’ She flicked a glanced at Doc and tried not to smile. ‘That’s in human years.’

  Doc jumped up and grabbed her arm. ‘I’ll get your bag. Wouldn’t want you wearing out those old bones.’

  She tugged her arm out of his grasp and forced down the surge of fighting instinct that had arisen at his touch. She had to stop reacting like that. Humans touched each other. She had to get used to it. ‘That would be nice of you.’

  Thankfully, Fi kept quiet. Maybe she sensed Chrysabelle’s struggle.

  Chrysabelle went back to her place and sat down. The food barely registered on the scale of what she was used to. Comarré ate well. The best foods made for the best-tasting blood. But that was her old life, this was her new.

  She spun the noodles around her fork and took a bite. Jarred sauce. No meat except what had been used to flavor it. Fi wolfed hers down like it was foie gras. ‘You really like spaghetti, huh?’

  Fi swallowed her current mouthful. ‘I like everything. Ghosts don’t really get to eat, you know? Since I became alive again, I just want to eat everything. We had the best tuna melts yesterday. Doc loves tuna. Guess it’s a cat thing.’ She stuffed another forkful in.

  ‘What do you mean, alive again?’

  ‘Since I got your blood. I don’t even have to think about staying corporeal, I just am. Used to be I had to work at it, think about it, you know?’ She shrugged. ‘I haven’t been in my spirit form since.’

  Warning bells clanged in Chrysabelle’s brain. ‘Have you tried?’

  Fi didn’t bother swallowing this time. ‘Nope.’

  ‘Could you try now?’

  ‘You’re a fat pain in the ectoplasm, you know that?’ Fi smirked, took a long drink of water, then closed her eyes. A moment later, she opened them. ‘Did I go fuzzy?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ Fi’s eyes sparkled. ‘Wait, let me try again.’ Another interlude of eyes opening and closing. ‘Well?’

  ‘Not even a flicker.’

  ‘Wow! This is awesome. I really am alive again. I can’t wait to tell my parents!’ Her fingers strayed to the back of her right ear. ‘I wonder if my com cell still works.’

  Chrysabelle leaned back slightly. ‘I don’t think telling your parents is such a hot idea and I wouldn’t let Mal know if your com cell does work. He might make you take it out.’

  ‘Why shouldn’t I tell them?’ Fi’s nose wrinkled. ‘And why would Mal make me—’

  ‘Tell who what? What about Mal?’ Doc walked in carrying Chrysabelle’s bag. He set it beside her chair, then retook his. ‘What did I miss?’

  Chrysabelle pulled her bag onto her lap. ‘I was saying Fi shouldn’t tell her parents she’s alive again because it might not be permanent, and if her com cell works, she probably shouldn’t mention it. You know how othernaturals are about that stuff.’ None of them, vampire, fae, or varcolai, used the devices. The tracking potential was too great.

  Fi’s hand came away from her ear. ‘Doesn’t work anyway.’ She turned to Doc. ‘I’m not a ghost anymore.’

  ‘I know. I hung with your unghosty self all day yesterday.’ He gave her a wink and picked up his fork.

  Chrysabelle pressed her thumb to the bag’s scanlock. It recognized her and clicked open. She checked through it. Everything was there.

  Fi kept talking. ‘No, I mean like not at all. I’m completely alive again. I can’t become a ghost even if I try. Which I just did. Twice.’

  Chrysabelle pulled out a fat velvet pouch and removed one of the jewels.

  Doc put his fork down. ‘How? You sure?’

  ‘Totally sure.’ Fi tipped her head at Chrysabelle. ‘Her blood.’

  His brows rose. ‘Wow. Cool.’

  ‘That’s what I said.’

  ‘Here you are.’ Chrysabelle slid the gem across the table to Doc. ‘Sell that for whatever you can get and then fill the larders. I’d love steak for dinner tomorrow. Get everything you like. Lots of produce, fresh vegetables, and meat. Lots of meat. Organic when you can. Game hens, steaks, lots of steaks – Kobe if you can get it, wild salmon – none of that cloned stuff either.’

  Doc grimaced. ‘I agree, I hate that crap.’ He picked up the stone. ‘This what I think it is?’

  Chrysabelle tied the pouch and tucked it away in her bag. ‘What do you think it is?’

  ‘Some fat pink ice.’ He turned the gem in his fingers, holding it up to the light. Fi was blissfully silent, mesmerized by the sparkle.

  ‘You’re right. Fancy Intense Pink. Not quite two and a half carats. It was a gift from my patron. Cost him nearly two million almost seventy years ago. Get as much as you can.’

  Fi’s mouth dropped open. ‘Two mil? He must have been filthy rich.’

  Chrysabelle laughed joylessly. ‘That’s nothing compared to what he paid for my blood rights.’

  Both Fi and Doc looked at her expectantly. She shook her head. ‘Please, I don’t wish to discuss him anymore.’

  Doc rolled the diamond around on his palm. It glittered against his dark skin. ‘Why you trust me with this?’

  ‘Trust is earned, right? We have to start somewhere.’ She lifted her hands in a gesture of surrender. ‘I’m not used to this life enough yet, I know that. I like to live well, but I guess that makes me soft. I just need time to adjust.’ She half-smiled and lifted a shoulder. ‘Buy whatever else you need with what’s left over, all right?’ She plucked at her borrowed T-shirt. ‘Although I could use some new clothes too.’

  Fi stuck her hand up like schoolgirl. ‘I can buy those. I’m good at clothes.’

  ‘I thought you couldn’t get more than six blocks away from Mal?’

  ‘I have a feeling this permanent corporeal state will change that. If not, I’ll send Doc.’

  Chrysabelle nodded. ‘Okay, that would be wonderful. I’ll have to measure myself, all I know are comarré sizes. I’ll make a list for you.’ White clothing shouldn’t be too hard to come by in this warm locale. ‘I think I’ll go for a walk around the deck, if that’s okay with both of you.’

  ‘No can do.’ Doc shook his head as he pocketed the gem. ‘Sorry, but you outside is a bad idea. Especially with Mal counting sheep.’

  She sighed. ‘I really can take care of myself.’

  ‘Really?’ Doc raised a brow. ‘Then why’d you come to him in the first place?’

  ‘I meant physically.’ Chrysabelle pushed her plate away. ‘I’m done, thank you.’ She stood, testing her weight on her broken foot. Barely a twinge. She bent and picked up her bag. And re
alized she had nowhere to go. ‘It’s occurred to me I don’t actually have a room on the Titanic.’

  Doc tried not to smile. ‘Shouldn’t have kicked that door down, GI Jane.’

  ‘Thanks for the reminder. I need to add shoes to the list. Something sturdy.’ She slung the bag over her shoulder and stared at him expectantly.

  ‘What?’ Doc asked.

  ‘Is there a room I can use or should I just pick one out? I’d like one without all the locks. On the outside. Inside locks I’m okay with.’

  Doc dipped his napkin in his water and wiped his mouth with it, then stood. Chrysabelle chalked up the extra cleanliness to his feline bloodlines. ‘Follow me. There’s a bunch of empty cabins you can pick from.’

  Fi jumped up. ‘I’m coming too. I don’t want her too close to ours in case she snores.’

  ‘I don’t snore but I’m happy to have a little space.’ Except maybe from Mal. Despite his contribution to her losing her blood rights, she couldn’t help but feel some comfort in the fact that he’d done what he thought best and taken care of her afterward.

  The three of them walked down the hall, Doc in front, Fi behind. Chrysabelle decided to subtly test the waters.

  ‘So … what’s Mal’s story?’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Doc asked.

  ‘Where’s he from, what Family is he, that sort of thing.’

  Fi snorted. ‘You mean how’d he get those names all over him?’

  So much for subtle. ‘Yes, that too.’

  Doc shook his head. ‘He’ll spill his info when he wants, if he wants.’

  Which is exactly what Chrysabelle had assumed.

  ‘He’s anathema, you know,’ Fi added, like that was news. Chrysabelle looked over her shoulder and laughed. ‘You don’t say? Living here with you two? I thought perhaps he was preparing to ascend to Dominus any day now.’

  Fi’s brow wrinkled. ‘Dominus?’

  ‘Big-time head vampire,’ Doc explained. Chrysabelle let it go. She was in no mood to give a primer in vampire politics. Instead, she changed the subject.

  ‘Why do you stay, shifter? Did your pride kick you out?’

  ‘As a matter of fact, they did. Plus Mal and Fi saved my life. You got a problem with varcolai?’