Flesh And Blood: House of Comarre: Book Two (House of Comarre 2)

by Painter, Kristen

  Part of her – the small, feminine, rebellious part of her that had begun to strengthen these last few weeks – even hoped Mal found out. Maybe it would spur him to action.

  She returned and handed the cooler to Leo. ‘Tell Dominic I hope he’s well, and I’ll speak to him soon.’

  ‘Will do.’ The fringe nodded, fidgeting a bit, then walked back toward the car.

  She shut the door and returned to the journal she’d set aside. An hour into reading, her gaze caught on a sentence.

  And so, I had found a way to the Aurelian outside ordinary means.

  Chrysabelle read the sentence again. And again. Then she read further, devouring the information. To think, all this time …

  Journal in hand, she ran upstairs to her suite, skidding down the marble-tiled halls. Before her angled dressing room mirrors, she dropped her robe, turned halfway, and lifted her hair to study the gold markings covering her back. Her signum shone like living stars, glittering and moving with each breath she took.

  Holy mother, if what Maris said was true, there was no need to return to Corvinestri to get to the comarré historian.

  At last she could tell Mal she was ready to pay her share of the debt and take him to the Aurelian, the one person who might know how to break his curse. The way was written on her skin.

  Doc shivered in the freighter’s murky hold. Not because of the dark or because of the need to change coursing through his body on this second night of the full moon, but because of the fear that Fiona wouldn’t show again. And that if she did, he wouldn’t be able to help her.

  Of all the hard realizations of his life, the most recent had come to him last night as he lay in bed replaying over and over the ethereal scene he’d witnessed.

  He loved Fiona. He’d never said it out loud, but it was the straight-up truth. No one had ever got him the way she had. So what if she was human? Or a ghost. He didn’t care. He just wanted her back.

  And so he fought the change that had bested him last night, because he needed to speak to her, and holding on to that ability meant holding on to his human shape. If he had to stand here all night, dripping sweat and shaking with the effort, he would.

  He didn’t have to.

  A soft flicker of white broke the darkness up ahead. Doc strained to see, his varcolai eyes catching every stray mote of light. A shape emerged. A girl with a flashlight and a backpack and the most beautiful face Doc had ever seen.

  He positioned himself in the beam of light. ‘Fiona, it’s me, Doc. Can you hear me?’

  She faltered, her translucent brows furrowing. She glanced over her shoulder.

  Doc waved his arms. ‘Right here, Fi. I’m right here.’

  She spun her flashlight around. ‘Is there someone here?’

  ‘Yeah, me. Doc. Maddoc.’ He moved closer. She had to hear him. Then maybe she could tell him how to help her.

  Her gaze hesitated on him. Then her eyes widened in what he could only hope was recognition. ‘I know you.’

  Relief swept through him so quickly he almost shifted right then. ‘Yeah, baby, it’s me … Doc. The leopard-shifter. I live here’ – he spread his arms wide to indicate the freighter – ‘with you and Mal, the vampire. Or you used to live here, until … ’ Maybe he shouldn’t tell her she’d died a second time.

  She laughed. ‘Leopard-shifter? Vampire? That’s silly. There are no such things as vamp—’

  A thin, dark shape lunged up out of the tangible blackness surrounding her and grabbed hold.

  Mal. The scene from last night was repeating itself.

  Her mouth opened in a piercing scream. The flashlight tumbled from her hand and landed with the beam pointed at her.

  ‘No!’ Doc shouted. He reached for her, but his hand passed through her like she was nothing more than a dream.

  Not a dream. A nightmare. Last night’s gruesome scene replayed in hellish detail.

  Mal was almost a skeleton. Just bones with a little skin stretched over them. He clung to Fi and sank his fangs into her throat, tearing the flesh like paper. Blood gushed down the front of her college sweatshirt. He gorged himself as the fight drained out of her body. Her fists flew against him, their pummeling turning into weak flutters. Her feet twitched on the stone floor of the nightmare’s ruins.

  Helplessness made Doc’s hands tremble. Mal raised his head and stared through him with hazy eyes. A remnant of flesh hung from Mal’s emaciated jaw. Once again, Fi lay dead at his feet.

  Doc dropped to his knees and tried vainly to reach her a second time. Her image flickered around his hand and then she and Mal were gone.

  Exhausted by the effort of holding off the change, Doc slumped forward and shifted instantly.

  In cat form, he panted, grieving, until sleep crept over him.

  A woman’s voice calling his name woke him up. Fi? He wasn’t sure. He opened his mouth to respond, but all that came out was a meow. The change was too fully seated for him to shift back to human now. He must have been asleep for only an hour or two. He shook himself and ran toward the voice.

  Again, the female voice called out for him. Then for Mal.

  It wasn’t Fi. It was Chrysabelle.

  He bounded up the stairs as she continued to call out. He ran down the passageway toward her, but the hatch ahead of him was shut. There was no way he could open it without hands. He cried loudly and scratched at the door.

  ‘Doc? Is that you?’

  He meowed in answer.

  The door opened and Chrysabelle walked through. ‘Why are you locked in here? Where’s Mal?’

  He rubbed against her legs, unable to help himself. She kneeled down and scratched behind his ears. Man, that felt good. A soft grumbling vibrated from his chest.

  The scratching stopped when she stood up. ‘Can you take human form? This is very important. I need to talk to Mal.’

  Yes and no questions he could handle. And if he was locked in, he assumed Mal had done that because he’d gone out. Doc sat on his haunches and shook his head slowly.

  ‘No human form?’ She frowned. ‘Do you know where Mal is?’

  Again he shook his head.

  ‘Great.’ She sighed. ‘Just when I think I can help him, too.’ She reached down to scratch his neck again. ‘Are you supposed to stay inside until you can shift back?’

  This time he nodded, even though the thought of running through the docks suddenly seemed like a very good one. There were rats out there the size of small cars. Why was he supposed to stay in?

  ‘When Mal gets back, can you remember to tell him I was here? If he comes home soon, tell him I went to Seven to see Dominic. Maybe he can catch me there.’

  Doc hissed.

  She held up her hands. ‘Sorry, I know you and Dominic have a bad history. Just remember to tell Mal I was here and that … that … Oh rats, just tell him we need to talk.’ She gave him a little wave and shut the door.

  Doc stared at the closed hatch and meowed. What had the human said about rats? His stomach reminded him that food was a good idea.

  He took off toward the galley. Rats liked the galley. And really, what else mattered besides the hunt?

  Chapter Four

  ‘I am deeply sorry about your brother, Nasir.’ Tatiana dug the tip of her tongue into one fang until tears came to her eyes. ‘So very sorry. I didn’t know him that well, but as any valued, upstanding member of the House of St. Germain, he will be missed by all of us.’

  Nasir snorted and muttered something in Arabic. ‘Really? Missed by all of you? The line of St. Germain is hardly given much respect by the other houses.’

  ‘I have a great deal of respect for the abilities of your house.’ She pulled the glove off her metal hand and flexed her fingers. ‘What your brother did for me … ’ She swallowed as though overcome with emotion and hoped that revealing her imperfection would gain her some sympathy. Otherwise Nasir would be reunited with his brother sooner than expected. ‘I will be forever in his debt. Your brother was exceptionally talented.�
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  ‘He was.’ Nasir nodded, all traces of umbrage gone from his face. ‘Your sympathies are greatly appreciated.’

  ‘As the Elder of the House of Tepes, it is the very least I can do.’ Tatiana smiled softly and took Nasir’s hand in hers. ‘The very least.’ Amazingly, she could actually feel the sensation of his fingers against her metal ones.

  She studied the vampire across from her. Nasir was quite possibly more beautiful than his late brother. But could he match Zafir’s talents?

  Nasir squeezed her hand tighter. ‘I still can’t believe he’s gone. Almost two hundred years we’ve been together.’ He swallowed and stared past her like he was remembering. ‘I keep imagining him in that fire, what it must have been like … ’

  ‘Now, now, you mustn’t torture yourself like that.’ Tatiana moved closer, letting her hand slide up his arm, discovering the delicious surprise that Nasir’s bulk came not from his clothing but from an abundance of muscle – at least twice what Zafir had carried on his much-leaner frame. A tickle of pleasure tightened the skin across her belly. ‘There was nothing anyone could have done. When I arrived, the fire had already engulfed the basement and first floor.’

  Fortunately, Nasir had his own house. Unfortunately, it was in the same wretched neighborhood. ‘The fire wiped out everything. Did you share a laboratory with your brother?’

  He shook his head. ‘No, I have my own. Zafir and I were very competitive in our work.’

  Well, that was good news. ‘You must go on with yours. He would want that.’

  Nasir pulled away slightly. ‘I don’t know that I can.’

  She leaned in, allowing the neckline of her gown to fall open. ‘I have endured great loss in my life as well, but I have never let it stop me from achieving everything I put my mind to.’

  ‘How?’ Dark lashes fringed his eyelids. ‘How did you get past it?’

  She hadn’t. Her hand reached his hard bicep and trailed across his chest to smooth the lapel of his mourning coat. Bloody hell, he was a rock of a man. ‘By surrounding myself with things that brought me pleasure. Losing myself in them. Reminding myself how good it felt to be happy.’ She tried to remember what innocence looked like, then fixed the memory on her face. ‘Perhaps you would let me help you?’

  ‘My lady—’

  ‘Please, call me Tatiana.’ Her breasts brushed his forearm. This was almost too easy. She tamped down the urge to giggle.

  A flicker of understanding registered in his eyes. ‘When you say help, are you suggesting … I mean, I wouldn’t want to take advantage—’

  ‘I could use someone with your talents in my employ. Besides, you cannot take advantage of something freely offered.’ She flattened her hands on his chest, feeling his body stiffen under her touch. ‘Why should two creatures as beautiful as us be alone?’ She stuck her bottom lip out a fraction. ‘Or do you not find me beautiful?’

  ‘I find you very beautiful. My brother and I often remarked that not another noblewoman in Corvinestri could compare to you.’

  ‘Then kiss me,’ she whispered, giddy with the sound of puzzle pieces sliding into place.

  He bent his head and did as she asked, filling her with great satisfaction that her charms were very much intact and that men’s defenses against women had evolved so little in so many years.

  Each minute that ticked by filled Mal’s head with another reason why he shouldn’t be here, in a place he’d vowed never to re-enter, about to fight for a woman who was only out for herself. Then he reminded himself that if Katsumi really could get Dominic to help him remove the curse he was under, life could be … bearable again. The voices howled at that thought. He pushed them down. No matter what happened, he would not let the beast out. Yes, you will. He already had a reputation. He didn’t need every fringe vamp out to make a name for himself knocking at his door looking to take on the big, bad anathema.

  Son of a priest. What was he doing here?

  Fighting. He could do that. Had been doing it all his life.

  He paced from one side of the small anteroom to the other, every muscle in his body aching to coil and strike, every bone remembering the damage he’d earned in this place. The pain. The humiliation. Loser.

  He would use those memories. Let them fester until the rage exploded out of him with an unstoppable force. Kill, kill, kill. No, he wouldn’t kill. No matter how hard the voices pushed. He wouldn’t give Katsumi the satisfaction. A kill paid more, but he didn’t care about that. All he needed was for his opponent to concede. A fair win. That was enough. Never.

  Who would Katsumi put up against him? He had a good idea it would be Ronan, the fringe vamp who was Seven’s head of security and the one combatant Mal had never beaten, thanks to the weakness produced by inadequate blood supply. Ronan would jump at the chance to fight Mal again, that was certain.

  Ronan would be cocky, ready to trounce Mal like he had so many times in the past. Ronan would want to punish Mal for the blade Chrysabelle had sunk into Ronan’s shoulder. Nothing worse than being humiliated by a comarré. Not in Ronan’s world anyway. But then, all he knew of comarré were the weak imitations Dominic managed to produce.

  What would Chrysabelle think if she knew Mal was about to step into the Pits? Not that he cared what she thought. Not that she cared what he did. She still hadn’t tried to contact him. Probably wouldn’t either. Now that she was free, why should she? She’d gotten what she wanted. He was anathema. Beneath her.

  Wouldn’t she have a fit if she knew he’d finally drunk the blood she’d sent over? Not all of it, just two containers’ worth. He hadn’t seen a way around it. If he fought while weak and lost, what would be the point of fighting? And if he won after drinking her blood and Dominic was able to get the voices out of his head, he’d let Chrysabelle off the hook for helping him, since technically she would have helped already by giving him the strength to win.

  Except, if she found out, she would want him to kiss her again. The voices howled. But they had nothing to worry about, because that was not happening. Just like he was not thinking about the softness of her mouth or the sweetness of her—

  A sharp rapping on the door interrupted his thoughts.

  He leaned against the wall and tucked his hands into the pockets of his leather pants and did his best I’m-so-confident-I-almost-forgot-I-was-here look. ‘Come.’

  The soft beeps of buttons being pushed on a keypad echoed through the steel door, then the lock snicked open. Katsumi entered and shut the door behind her. Her hair was wound in an elaborate knot and secured with tasseled picks that coordinated with the red and black silks she wore. She looked like she’d already won. ‘Are you ready, Malkolm-san?’

  ‘Don’t I look ready?’ Ready to lose.

  Her nostrils flared. Could she smell Chrysabelle’s blood on him? He doubted fringe could pick up on things like that. ‘You look like a man about to change his past.’

  ‘I’m not here to change my past. I’m here to change my future.’ He peeled off the wall. ‘Let’s go.’

  ‘Not so fast.’ She reached into her long embroidered coat and extracted a bag of blood. ‘A little something to help you.’ She tossed it onto the small table beside him. ‘From Dominic’s best comarré.’

  The voices spun into a frenzy. Drink, drink, drink. He didn’t need the blood after drinking Chrysabelle’s, but refusing would make Katsumi suspicious. He grunted in derision. ‘Dominic’s comarrés are as real as you are noble.’

  The reminder of her fringe status earned him a brief flicker of anger. ‘Their blood is still better than the average human’s.’

  ‘I wouldn’t know.’

  ‘Which is exactly why you need to drink it. Or have you reconciled with the daughter of Dominic’s former whore?’

  He stopped suppressing his anger. His face shifted into the hard angles and sharp lines only nobility could achieve. His fangs extended. ‘Use that term for either of those women again and I’ll kill you faster than the sun rises on South Beach.
’

  Katsumi smiled. ‘So, you do still care.’

  ‘Leave. I’ll be out when I’m done.’

  Her brows rose. ‘Drink the blood now.’

  ‘You like to watch. Is that it?’ He stepped toward her and went for a more menacing tone. ‘I’m not here for your entertainment, ane-san.’ He laced sarcasm into the Yakuza term of respect for little sister to remind her how far she’d fallen. ‘Get out.’

  She crossed her arms. ‘No. I won’t have you go in there weak. I have a lot of money on this fight. Drink it or you can forget I ever offered to help you.’

  He snatched up the bag, sank his fangs into the plastic, and drank. More, more, more. The blood was almost sour, like the barely remembered taste of citrus, so different from the complex, drugging sweetness of what ran in Chrysabelle’s veins. Or maybe it had just been so long since he’d had human blood that he’d forgotten the taste. Either way, he couldn’t understand how Dominic made any money off his fake comarré if this was the best of what they produced.

  Finished, he tossed the bag down and waited. There was no rush of power, no sudden jolt of his heart beating with temporary life, no flush of heat. Had there ever been before Chrysabelle’s blood? No, not with human blood. No wonder nobility paid any price to own comarré. The blood in their gilded veins was more addictive than any human street drug.

  Which made him a junkie. More. He exhaled, trying to drive out the rising need, but failed. More. The craving to taste her again surged hard within him, as bitter as the aftertaste left by the inferior product coating his tongue. More. His skin craved hers, that warm flesh that spun his head and recalled his days in the sun.

  ‘There now,’ Katsumi cooed. ‘Isn’t that better?’

  Yes, more blood, more blood now. Hell, no, it wasn’t better. All it had done was rouse the voices and remind him of one more woman who’d betrayed him. Mal cracked his knuckles. ‘Let’s go before I change my mind.’