‘Shifter, know this. You do not frighten me any more than a bit of refuse blowing in the wind. You are beneath me.’ She pointed at Octavian while keeping eye contact with the girl. ‘Your life is worth less to me than that human’s. Do you understand?’
‘I understand.’ The girl nodded and trembled with what Tatiana suspected was rage, not fear. ‘I also understand you wish to die by varcolai hands, bloodsucker.’
She could break this one if need be. Or let Nasir do it. ‘The only one in this room who’s going to die by varcolai hands is you, should you choose to take your own life.’ She stood, straightening herself to her full height. ‘Your name?’
‘Go screw yourself.’
Tatiana cracked her palm across the girl’s face. ‘Your name. Now.’
‘Mia.’ The girl’s head was down, her face hidden in a sweep of brown hair. She lifted her chin. Blood welled from the corner of her mouth, the scent hot and earthy like an ancestral forest after a summer rain. ‘You won’t get away with this. My pack will come looking for me. My brother works at the club. He’ll notice I’m gone.’
‘Really, Mia? Somehow I think otherwise.’ Tatiana laughed and turned to Octavian. Time to remove him from the room. She preferred her servants didn’t have a full grasp of her powers. Besides, a little havoc in the city would make things more interesting. ‘Set the Nothos free to hunt the comarré. Remind them to return her alive.’
‘Yes, my lady.’ Octavian bowed and trotted off to do her bidding.
She refocused on the girl and opened herself to the power the Castus had bestowed upon her. Sensation tingled through her. The girl’s eyes rounded and her mouth dropped open. Tatiana knew her change was complete and exact.
The shifter scuttled backward until she hit the wall. ‘How did you … You look just like me.’ Regaining her composure, she shook her head, her jaw working. ‘You’ll never pass for me.’
Tatiana pictured the girl’s wolf form in her head, and a second later, she was down on all fours looking out through animal eyes. Another second and she was back in the girl’s human form. The sudden back-and-forth left her light-headed and queasy, but she hid the ill effects by snapping her fingers for Nasir. He was at her side in a flash, and she grasped his arm as if preparing to leave.
Steadied, she retook her own image before addressing the shifter one last time, holding tight to Nasir as a new bout of dizziness spun her head. ‘As you can see, I will pass for you quite easily, and if you don’t give me the information I need, no one will even realize you’re missing until your carcass turns up as roadkill. Do we have an understanding, or do I need to make myself clearer?’
Mia tucked her knees to her chest and shook her head slowly. ‘No. I understand perfectly.’
Right foot, left foot, right foot, left foot. Chrysabelle concentrated on taking steady, even steps back to the house, but the air had become thicker, the earth slightly tilted, and her body traitorously warm since Mal had tried to make up for drinking her blood by kissing her.
Right foot, left foot. She could do this. She could make it into the house without wobbling or sighing or anything else that might give him a clue that what he’d done had affected her exceptionally more than she was ever going to admit.
After his reaction to her sending blood to Dominic, she knew he wasn’t going to like her needing to see Dominic about this new way of getting to the Aurelian, but he’d helped Maris through the ritual. Besides, who else was she going to ask?
She wished she could gather enough real anger to match the acting she’d done when she’d pulled away from Mal, but there was nothing to draw from. Painful as it might be to admit, he was right and she was wrong. If he did still own her blood rights – which he most likely did – sending blood to another vampire was the human equivalent of cheating on a spouse.
In noble society, he could demand his blood money back. Or worse. She glanced over her shoulder to see where he was and jumped, a small yelp escaping her before she could stop it.
‘Scare you?’ he asked from where he walked beside her.
‘No.’ Yes. Like he didn’t know. ‘I hate that silent speed thing. Worst vampire ability ever.’
He made a sound like strangled laughter. ‘I’ll try to make more noise in the future.’
So he assumed they’d be spending more time together? ‘No, you won’t.’
He tucked his hands into his pockets. ‘Have a little faith.’
His tone said he wasn’t just talking about making less noise. Had he kissed her for a reason beyond thinking he owed it to her? Had he been marking his territory? The anger she couldn’t find before was slowly making its way to the top of her head. ‘If you think—’
Loud, repetitive honking broke the night’s silence. Someone was at the gate.
‘Stay here,’ Mal said.
Without bothering to answer, she left him behind and raced into the house to see what was going on, grabbing her sacre as she hit the foyer. The security camera showed Mal’s ancient sedan outside her gate, Doc at the wheel. He leaned on the horn again as Mal came speeding into view on the monitor. She hit the button to open the gate and went outside, where Velimai and Mortalis stood by Dominic’s car.
What’s happening? Who’s here? Velimai signed.
‘Doc,’ Chrysabelle answered.
With Mal jogging behind, the old gasoline-powered vehicle screeched to a stop in the circular drive and Doc jumped out. He twisted to face Mal. ‘What were you doing in the Pits?’
‘Taking care of business.’
Doc shook his head, clearly incredulous. ‘Ronan could have killed you.’
Mal snorted. ‘And you care because … ?’
Doc’s hands were clenched, his body a fuse waiting to be lit. ‘Because without you, Fi’s gone.’
Mal shot Chrysabelle a look. ‘Fi is gone, Doc. You know that.’
Doc’s fist slammed the car’s side panel, denting it slightly. ‘No, she’s not. I’ve seen her. She’s stuck in some kind of nightmare loop. She shows up every night in the cargo hold and then … ’ He glanced down, shaking his head in obvious anger.
‘And then what?’ Chrysabelle asked as she walked forward.
Doc turned his leopard-yellow eyes to her. ‘And then Mal kills her. She’s stuck repeating the night she died over and over.’ His voice cracked. ‘Every night, she stumbles through those ruins and every night’ – he leveled his gaze at Mal – ‘he rips her throat out.’
‘Is she … aware of what’s happening to her?’
‘Yes,’ he hissed.
‘Holy mother,’ Chrysabelle whispered. Mortalis cursed softly in faeish. How awful for Fi. And for Doc, who so clearly loved her.
Mal’s jaw went slack and he seemed somehow to pale. She knew those memories weren’t easy ones for him. Being reminded of them couldn’t be pleasant. How much worse would it be to have them played out for everyone to see? And poor Fi. To die every night, suffering through the pain and fear …
‘Well,’ she announced loudly, as if volume superseded emotion, ‘there’s got to be something we can do.’
‘There is. But I need to see Dominic first and I can’t find him.’
‘You’re in luck.’ Her voice sounded a lot more chipper than she felt. ‘We’re just about to go see him.’
‘We are?’ Mortalis asked.
‘Velimai will stay here, but yes, the rest of us are,’ Chrysabelle answered.
Mortalis crossed his arms. ‘No. I’ll get Dominic, bring him to the club. We can meet there.’
Chrysabelle pointed her blade at the fae. ‘I realize you’re protecting him, but if you don’t get in that car and drive us to his penthouse immediately, so help me, holy mother, I will slice those horns off your head and insert them into a body cavity.’
Mal snorted. Mortalis frowned. ‘You’ve lost your mind.’
She lifted the sacre a little higher, the sword buzzing with her emotion. ‘Get in the car.’
He did, muttering more incomprehensi
ble things in faeish.
‘Nicely done, comarré.’ Doc started for Dominic’s car. ‘Dominic won’t be happy about this, but he should probably know someone is killing off his customer base, too.’
‘What?’ She stopped, hand in mid-reach for the car door.
Doc paused on his side of the vehicle. ‘Yeah, I stumbled onto a fringe graveyard. Must have been eight, nine piles of ash.’
‘I can’t imagine who would do that.’ Other than Creek. Maybe. He’d had no problems knocking off the fringe attacking her. Chrysabelle swallowed down the suspicion. He’d come to her rescue. That made him one of the good guys, which meant they were technically on the same side.
Weren’t they?
Chapter Twelve
Creek kept to the shadows while on the streets. Not that he needed the protection, but it helped him blend in with every other mortal brave enough to show their face after dark. Those who went out after sundown in this part of town were either looking for trouble in the form of a score, a woman willing to do the most for the money, or a chance to mingle with the other-natural crowd, or they were plain stupid. Regardless, that made for dangerous company.
His kind of night.
An old nylon windbreaker, pulled over his hair and tugged low so it almost covered his eyes, and baggy jeans, which supplied ample room for extra bolts, painted him as just one more punk out for an evening of mayhem and mischief. The jacket also covered the chest holster carrying his crossbow and halm, the lengths of titanium comfortably reassuring against his ribs. He cruised the section of town surrounding Seven, looking for a chance to run into Chrysabelle again. Meanwhile, he might find an opportunity for a little more practice.
Three working girls of the fringe variety hung on the busiest corner, waving at the cars that slowed as they drove past. Creek shook his head and slipped into a doorway across the street to hunker down and wait. The idiot who picked up one of those hookers probably wouldn’t be coming back. Creek’s fingers dug into his empty back pocket for a smoke before he realized what he was doing. Old habits died hard.
The tallest of the trio postured as a silver sports car coasted down the street. She flicked her long blue hair over one shoulder and sashayed toward the curb in high-heeled boots. The red glow of brake lights lit up the car’s back end. Human curiosity of vampires was hitting a new peak. More and more were coming to believe the fanged monstrosities were real, and those who believed fell into two camps: those who feared the vampires and those who wanted to be vampires. The latter tended to be pale-skinned, fake-fang-wearing sycophants who dressed like they were going to a graveside orgy. What did they hope for? To find a vampire who would grant them eternal life? At the thought, the marks on his back itched.
The car pulled up and idled, the passenger side window rolling down. The tall fringe, so narrow-hipped and muscular Creek wondered if she might actually be a he, approached the vehicle and leaned on the door.
After a few minutes of conversation, the fringe got in and the driver eased away. Creek peeled off from his perch and headed after them, a slow lope at first so he wouldn’t arouse suspicion. Once they were a few blocks away, he poured on the speed and caught up, then slowed again as the car turned down an alley. He followed, as silent as the vehicle’s electric engine.
The car parked and the headlights flicked off, leaving only ambient light to see by, but it was more than enough for him. Anyone who survived the KM rituals got rewarded with a whole heap of amped-up abilities. Speed was one of those. Great night vision, another.
The pair in the car seemed to be chatting. Creek moved closer, keeping low and watching his steps so as not to disturb any debris that might make noise. The john was paying her. How ironic, considering he was about to pay again with his life.
The female stuffed a few bills into her top and laughed, her fangs shining in the moonlight. Time to roll or the man in that car would be a bloodless sack of bones in three … two …
Creek sped to her door. His hood fell back. In a single fluid motion, he whipped out a bolt and yanked the car door open. This close, the crossbow was overkill. She was mid-lunge, fangs bared. She snapped around in his direction, spitting like a wet cat.
‘Hey!’ the human male yelled. He reached for the female. Light glinted off his wedding ring. ‘Get your own—’
Creek sank the bolt into her chest. She screeched, her eyes rounded in shock, then she crumbled into ash. He shook the bolt off. A few plastic fifties clung to the end, pierced through. He pulled them off and pocketed them. The john didn’t deserve them back. He pointed the bolt at the man. ‘You married?’
‘What the—’ The man scowled. ‘Yes.’
‘Kids?’
‘Yeah, why?’
Creek reached through the car and yanked the man halfway out. ‘Because you’re a piss-poor excuse for a husband and father, out here trying to score a little vampire tail. Go home and apologize to your family. Do something nice for them.’
The man nodded, his eyes wide.
Creek tossed him back into his seat. ‘Don’t let me see you here again. I won’t be as merciful.’
The man kept nodding. Creek watched until the car pulled away, hard memories clamping down on him. Too bad no one had ever given his father the same warning. But then, some people only understood brute force.
Doc slouched against the cold white marble wall of the foyer while Mortalis went through the retinal scan that would get them into the elevator and up to Dominic’s penthouse. His jaw ached from clenching it, but Venetian Island oozed luxury like a head wound oozed blood. It worked his last good nerve. Especially since he’d been one of the mules carrying the heavy load that had paid for this palace. Knowing that made every inch of this upscale ivory tower a personal insult, where a visit to Chrysabelle’s didn’t bother him one bit. Maris had paid for her crib via Lapointe Cosmetics, not drugs and fake comarrés and pit matches.
The elevator swooshed open, a wood-paneled, sculpted-carpet coffin. Mortalis held the door while Mal and Chrysabelle got on. The fae looked at him expectantly.
Doc followed, his reluctance increasing with each step. He hadn’t seen Dominic since the trip to Corvinestri, and that was fine with him. Now he had to ask for help from the very man who’d caused his curse in the first place.
Nothing sucked more than needing your enemy’s assistance.
Mortalis moved his hand out of the way, and the doors closed with a soft ping. The lift shot up, smooth as old cognac. Which Dominic probably drank by the bucket. Doc flicked a claw out on his pointer finger and gouged a scratch into the mahogany paneling. Petty and childish, but then leopard-shifters weren’t known for their personal growth.
‘Remember,’ Mortalis said. ‘I go first.’
‘Yeah, thanks, I’d forgotten the other hundred times you told us.’ Doc blew out a breath. Tension crackled along his nerves. This was not going to end well, he could feel it. But whatever it took, he’d help Fi. Or die trying. Maybe he could come back as a ghost, too? Then he’d haunt Dominic. And Aliza. And maybe Mal just for funsies.
The doors opened onto Dominic’s private foyer. Un-freaking-believable. Even Mal whistled. The ceiling was a mural of some gods and goddesses getting their chow on. Gilding covered everything that wasn’t stone or polished wood. Doc snorted. ‘Lemme guess, this is from the early Mafia period of history?’
Chrysabelle glanced at him. ‘Actually, that ceiling is a copy of The Feast of the Gods by Bellini.’
‘Feast, huh? Figures.’ Perfect for a vampire who devoured life like it was his personal porterhouse.
Mortalis hit the HOLD button on the elevator, then stepped out and approached the penthouse. Doc wondered if he’d be able to restrain the urge to accidentally break something once he got inside. Mortalis rapped the lion’s-head door knocker hanging off the set of bronze double doors. Once, twice, a pause, then a third time.
The door opened, revealing a slender, lavender-eyed female in a clingy black dress. Everything about her looked h
uman, except for the lack of life in her unnaturally colored gaze and plasticky smooth skin. ‘Welcome.’ Her voice was an automated purr. ‘How may I help you?’
Chrysabelle leaned over to Doc and whispered, ‘What is that?’
‘That,’ Doc answered, not bothering to lower his voice, ‘is a symbot.’ When he’d still been in the business, he’d seen them at some of the homes of his wealthier clientele, but he hadn’t known Dominic had one. Made sense though. A lifeless android was the perfect companion for a lifeless vampire.
Mortalis cleared his throat. ‘Isabelle, I need to see Dominic.’
‘Of course.’ She smiled blankly and pivoted, extending her arm toward the room beyond. ‘Please come in.’
‘I need you to bring him here.’
‘One moment, please.’ Like the well-oiled machine she was, Isabelle disappeared into the apartment.
Mortalis glanced back.
‘We know,’ Doc said. ‘Let you do the talking.’
Chrysabelle reached out toward the fae but let her hand drop without touching him. ‘Mortalis, if Dominic fires you, you can come work for me.’
‘It’s not being fired I’m worried about.’
Footsteps interrupted them. Dominic. They heard his voice first.
‘Buonasera,’ he called out to Mortalis. ‘Why didn’t you come in?’ He came into view, Isabelle behind him. His expression went cold when he saw Doc. His gaze shifted to Chrysabelle, then to Mal, then back to Mortalis. ‘Why did you bring them here?’ He held a tense hand out toward Chrysabelle. ‘No offense, cara mia, but you must understand my need for protection.’
She stepped forward. ‘Of course, Dominic. That’s exactly why we came. Forgive Mortalis. I threatened him with harm if he didn’t bring us to you immediately.’
A strange light entered Dominic’s eyes. ‘You threatened him? With what?’
Mortalis cleared his throat. ‘It was nothing.’
Mal stepped out of the elevator. ‘She threatened to chop his horns off and shove them into a body cavity.’
Flesh And Blood: House of Comarre: Book Two (House of Comarre 2) Page 12