Chrysabelle glared at Mal. ‘I never used the word shove.’
Dominic’s laughter interrupted them. ‘Bravo, bella. You are most assuredly your mother’s child.’ He sobered a bit. ‘If you needed to speak to me, why is it necessary for all of you to be here? Couldn’t you deliver the information to Mortalis and have him bring it to me?’
Chrysabelle shook her head. ‘Someone stole blood from me in your name, and Ronan ended up with it. That needs a face-to-face explanation.’
Doc wondered how Dominic managed not to react to that news. On the way over, she’d explained to the rest of them what had happened, and the severity of the situation had registered immediately. Had Dominic somehow already known? Maybe he’d given the blood to Ronan after all. Mal looked like he’d come to the same conclusion, judging by the cords tightening in his neck.
‘There are other, more private matters I need to speak to you about as well,’ she added. ‘Doc also has news you should hear.’
Yeah, and a small request for a vial or two of blood. Nothing major.
With obvious reluctance, Dominic stepped out of the way. ‘Come in, then, but if I find any of you have shared this location with anyone, you will see a side of me you do not like.’
Doc held back the response burning his tongue.
Many minutes later, when they were seated in Dominic’s surprisingly sleek living room, and Chrysabelle and Mal had finished explaining everything that had happened, Dominic finally looked shocked. ‘I would never ask you for blood. I know too well what is and what is not appropriate when it comes to comarré.’ He looked up for a moment as Isabelle refilled his wine. ‘Mortalis, you must find Leo and ask him for the details of the night he went to Chrysabelle’s. Who gave him the letter? Where did he deliver the blood?’
‘On it.’ Mortalis nodded. ‘What about Ronan and Katsumi?’
‘We can’t assume anything until we know more. I’ll talk to Katsumi first, then Ronan.’
Mal leaned back in an angular leather chair. ‘Both of them lie. How can you believe anything either of them says?’
Dominic waved a hand through the air. ‘I have ways.’
‘You mean drugs,’ Doc muttered. Dammit. That wasn’t going to help his case.
Dominic’s gaze arrowed in on him. ‘Perhaps now would be a good time for us to speak.’ He stood, palming the bowl of his wineglass. ‘Let’s go to the library, shall we?’ He lifted his glass toward Chrysabelle. ‘If you’ll excuse us.’ Without waiting for an answer, he headed out of the room.
Doc went after him, staying back until Dominic stopped and twisted the matte steel lever on a black lacquered door.
‘After you.’
Books – real books, not just digital copies – filled the floor-to-ceiling brushed steel bookshelves. Was there anything the man didn’t spend money on? Doc stood in the middle of the room and ignored the chairs. This was not a conversation you sat down for.
Dominic closed the door. ‘Well? What is so important that after all these years you come to me this way? Or have you finally realized that the blame for your curse rests elsewhere? Have you decided to come back to work? I can always use good help.’
Like that would ever happen. Doc unclenched his jaw and blew out the breath he’d been holding. ‘Someone’s killing off fringe vamps. A few streets away from Seven, there must be eight or nine piles of ash. I thought you should know, given that they’re your club’s bread and butter.’
Dominic’s brows lifted for a moment. ‘I appreciate the information. I will have someone investigate further. But that’s not what you really came to discuss, is it?’
‘No.’ Here went nothing. ‘I’m here for Fi’s sake.’
‘Malkolm’s ghost? I don’t understand.’
Doc explained what had been happening, ending with an abbreviated version of his trip to see Aliza. ‘There’s one thing she needs to bring her daughter back.’
Dominic swallowed a sip of wine. ‘My blood.’
Doc checked his surprise. ‘Yes, but how did you know that?’
‘Aliza’s been trying to get it for years.’ He swirled the wine in the glass. ‘If I haven’t given it to her, what makes you think I’m going to give it to you?’
For a moment, Doc was stunned, but he quickly remembered this was Dominic he was dealing with. The man did nothing unless he stood to gain. ‘We’re talking about restoring the lives of two women.’ Then Doc remembered something Chrysabelle had quoted from her mother’s journals. Some thing Maris had attributed to Dominic. ‘Sometimes love is worth the risk.’
Dominic’s eyes burned silver for a brief second, but that was all the acknowledgment he gave the words. ‘And sometimes it is not. I’m sorry for Fiona, but Aliza’s daughter is another story. Her greed got her where she is, the abuse of that which she purchased from me. Not what I sold her, but how it was used. She has reaped what she sowed.’ He wandered to a bookcase and leisurely perused the spines, his back to Doc. ‘Tell Chrysabelle to come in, would you?’
Just like that, the conversation was over. The flame of hope in Doc’s chest went out, replaced by a darker fire. One that blazed hotter. One that burned away the fine line between right and wrong.
One that didn’t care who it reduced to ashes.
Chapter Thirteen
Mal leaned his forehead against the wall of glass that made up the north side of Dominic’s ultramodern penthouse. Mortalis had already left to follow up with the driver and Chrysabelle had been talking to Dominic in the library since Doc came out looking like murder incarnate. Whatever he and Dominic had discussed, it hadn’t gone well.
From this height, the city beyond the bay seemed like a glittering jewel of tranquility. Precious electricity flowed into this part of town without interruption. Couldn’t have the inhabitants of Venetian Island being reminded what a dump the rest of Paradise City was. The condo buildings on this secluded haven were well maintained, no signs of vandalism or even the acid rain corrosion that marred most other areas. The streets had an abundance of trees. Mostly palms, but still. No wonder this small island employed their own harbor police to patrol the borders.
It reminded him of where Chrysabelle lived, of the luxury her mother had left for her, and, once again, of how great a delta existed between Chrysabelle’s world and his. And how little you deserve her.
He rapped his head softly on the glass, the lights beyond blurring, and stared at his reflection. ‘Why do you torture yourself thinking about a future with her?’ Because you’re a fool. ‘Once she helps you, she’ll be gone.’ Good, good, good. They would go back to their separate lives. Her in her castle. Him in his slowly sinking rust bucket.
He closed his eyes and shut out the scowl on his face. ‘She only sends you blood because that’s what a good comarré does for their patron. It’s an obligation.’ Blood, blood, blood. And since his curse meant he couldn’t drink from her veins anyway, why shouldn’t she keep her distance and send it to him? Why not drain her? Drain her, drain her. He rolled his forehead against the cool glass, trying to flatten the voices. Those miserable plastic containers of blood lacked her warmth and her smell and the sweet symphony of her breath and her heartbeat and— Enough. He would deal with it, just like he’d dealt with every other wretched aspect of his life.
Mal opened his eyes, the glittering scene in front of him coming into focus. Something about the next island over seemed familiar. No, not the island, but something about it. He looked harder. Big boat. Pool that overlooked the water. Nothing about that unusual for these man-made islands. They’d been created to keep the wealthy a healthy distance from reality.
But the design in the bottom of the pool … what was that? It looked like a swirl. Or a starburst. It reminded him of the phoebus signum Chrysabelle had told him all comarré wore on the backs of their necks. It was the same as the logo Maris had used for her cosmetics company. The design Chrysabelle had engraved into Maris’s headstone.
His jaw loosened a bit.
That was Maris’s pool. Chrysabelle’s now. How about that. Had Maris known? Mal straightened and glanced back to where Doc sat staring daggers into the air. Mal tucked the info away for future reference as he walked over and sat beside the shifter.
‘Why do you look like you’re going to kill someone?’
Doc shrugged. ‘Don’t know what you’re talking about.’
‘I’m talking about whatever happened between you and Dominic just now.’
‘With all due respect, what went down isn’t your business. Understand?’ Doc threw back the last of his drink and stood. ‘I’ll be in the car.’
If not for Chrysabelle and Dominic returning at the same time, Mal would have gone after him.
She smiled weakly. ‘We should probably go as well. Dominic needs to get to the club and we should—’
‘We should go check on Nyssa like Mortalis asked us to,’ he finished for her. It was a complete lie, but she clearly wanted to go. Had she not had any success with Dominic either?
‘Yes, we should.’ She nodded, eyes brightening at the out he’d given her.
Dominic paused beside her. ‘Perhaps after that, you could investigate this street Maddoc told me about near the club. Supposedly there are piles of fringe ashes there.’ He sighed. ‘I can’t have someone killing off my customers, especially near the club. It’s bad for business.’ He set his empty wineglass down. ‘This city doesn’t need a fringe uprising either.’
‘We can take a look.’ Mal had planned to check that out anyway after dropping Chrysabelle off. If someone was killing vampires, it seemed like something he should know about.
Chrysabelle frowned. ‘Won’t you need your car back if you’re going to the club?’
Dominic laughed. ‘I have more than one, cara mia. Now off you go. You have much to discuss with your patron, no?’ He gave Mal a very serious look. ‘You will do as she says. Understood? I will not have the child of my beloved harmed in any way. This thing she proposes to do, it is not easy. The outcome could change everything. And not just for you.’
Mal shot back an equally serious look. ‘If you think I would ever let harm come to her, you don’t know me very well.’ And suddenly Mal wondered how well he knew himself. Was he willing to put Chrysabelle in harm’s way in order to remove his curse? She’d been visibly shaken when she’d entered the room. He caught her gaze. ‘What exactly does this visit to the Aurelian entail?’
She cleared her throat before answering, lifting her chin slightly. ‘Blood sacrifice.’
‘Whose?’
Her face steeled with determination like she was preparing for a fight. ‘Mine.’
Tatiana entered Seven as easily as if she actually worked there, her guise of the bartender Mia firmly in place. So far, all the information she and Nasir had tortured out of the shifter was accurate. The employee entrance was exactly where Mia had said it would be. Tatiana punched in the code Mia had supplied: 55-21-16. The door clicked open. The little beastie had told the truth. Tatiana smiled. Amazing how powerful the sight and stench of a single Nothos could be.
She paused inside the door and smoothed her hands over the new body she wore. The cheap purple velvet bustier and black pleather pants were an affront to the beauty of her usual haute couture, but Tatiana willingly made the sacrifice. If the night went well, she would find the comarré whore, capture her, and torture her until the twit gave up the ring. Then, so long as her ex-husband, Mal, kept his distance, Tatiana would never have to return to New Florida again.
Seven’s back corridors were also as Mia had mapped out. Tatiana tried to walk with the nonchalant confidence of someone familiar with her surroundings. She shivered at the thought of having to hold down such a menial job, of relying on such work to live. In her human life, she’d made her way as a thief, a fortune-teller, and sometimes a whore. That, in combination with being Roma, had led her to the gallows. Then to Malkolm and the role of wife and mother, and ultimately to the transformation into the powerful creature she was now and the life she felt she’d always been meant for.
A male and female pair of fae walked toward her. With their dark eyes, dark hair, and scantily clad bodies covered in henna patterns, they looked like twins. Mia hadn’t mentioned anyone fitting their description, so she gave them a brief nod as they approached.
The pair slowed and the female nodded back, eyes bright. ‘Hello, Mia. How are you this evening?’
Bloody hell. ‘Just great, thanks. Gotta run. Don’t want to be late.’
The male laughed as the pair came to a halt, effectively blocking her path. ‘No, we don’t want that, do we?’
‘No.’ She was starting to wonder if she should kill them and move on, but hiding the bodies would take time and could arouse suspicion.
The female leaned in, nostrils flaring. Her long-lashed lids fluttered as she inhaled. ‘You smell delicious this evening. Is that a new perfume?’
‘Yes,’ Tatiana answered. ‘I just got it. Now if you’ll excuse me, can’t keep the boss waiting.’
The female wrapped her arm around the male’s waist. ‘So you’ve heard?’
‘Heard?’ She scanned her brain for a forgotten bit of info. What was she supposed to know?
The female lifted her face from where she nuzzled the male’s neck. ‘Dominic’s back and he’s questioning all the employees.’
Dominic. Dominic. What did she know about him? He was the dead comarré’s lover. Anathema. House of St. Germain, same as Nasir. He might know where the daughter of his former screw lived. Time to find out a little more. ‘What’s he questioning them – us – about?’
The fae pair shrugged simultaneously, but only the male spoke. ‘We can’t say, as our turn hasn’t come yet, but it might have something to do with that fight the other night.’ They laughed conspiratorially. Clearly there was something she wasn’t getting.
‘Okay, well, gotta run. See you later.’ She squeezed past, brushing against the male. He inhaled sharply, as if she’d hurt him. She rolled her eyes. Stupid, sensitive fae. She didn’t have time to go back and apologize, regardless of what Mia would have done.
She was around the corner when he called out for her to wait. Ignoring him, she found the employee access for Vanity and slipped inside.
She took her place behind the bar, a monstrosity of crystal bits and glass tiles that was actually shaped like a peacock. She gave a little half smile to the bartender she must be relieving. He was fringe, tall and not unattractive. Mia had insisted she had no amorous relations with any of the other employees, but based on how this one looked at her, Tatiana had to wonder. She wiggled her fingers at him. It seemed the kind of puerile gesture Mia might make. ‘Hi, there.’
‘You’re late.’ He winked. ‘But in that outfit, I forgive you.’ He tossed a small white towel onto the shelf beneath the bar and came toward her. ‘Everyone’s taken care of at the moment.’ He pointed toward the sink in front of her. ‘There are a few glasses I haven’t washed yet.’
‘I’ll do those. Don’t worry about it.’ She picked one up and looked for a rag.
His eyes widened. ‘Aren’t you going to spray gloves on?’
‘No, I’m fine.’ Why should she bother with gloves? This wasn’t her skin anyway.
He tipped his head and lifted a shoulder. ‘Alrighty, then. Well, I doubt you’ll be too busy. It’s been slow. I think people are a little freaked out about all the missing fringe.’
More nonsense she didn’t understand or care to. She just wanted him gone so she could tend to her own business. She scooped up a rag and waved it at him. ‘Well, you have a good night. Better get home before the sun comes up.’
He gave her a mock salute, gathered his things, and left through the door she’d come in. As soon as he was gone, she tossed the rag down and surveyed the rest of the lounge. What she saw stunned her. Some kind of cheap imitation comarré. They didn’t glow. She inhaled. Didn’t have that same sweet blood scent. No, these were clearly kine masquerading as comarré. Was this some
sort of parlor trick?
All around the room, idiot fringe indulged themselves with the counterfeits. Didn’t they know any better? Or was this their way of mimicking their noble betters? Anger at such posturing churned in her gut. What fools.
The sound of glass shattering tore her attention away from the scene. She glanced down. Her hand was clenched and the tumbler she’d been holding in her right hand lay in pieces on the metal countertop. Bright platinum peeked out where the glass shards had gouged the false flesh she wore. She adjusted her illusion to mend the wounds and swept the pieces aside.
‘What kind of beer do you have on tap?’
She tucked her hand behind her and looked up into the face of a remnant. Disgusting mud-blooded hybrid. She’d had enough of this part of the charade. Waiting on these half-wits was getting her nowhere. Time to find someone who could lead her to the girl. ‘Taps are dry. Go home and drink there, freak.’
Finding some small joy in the remnant’s shocked expression, she flipped up the service bar and headed out into the rest of the club. If tonight proved fruitless and she had to return to this dump, she was going to reward herself by killing a few of the patrons.
She deserved that much, didn’t she?
Chapter Fourteen
Chrysabelle extended her stride to keep up with Mal’s long legs. They’d dropped Doc off at the freighter, then parked in Dominic’s private garage near the club. She’d pushed for driving to the streets Doc had told them about, but Mal had insisted that driving might scare off anyone lingering nearby. Which was exactly why she wanted to do it. Any opportunity to get Creek out of their path. Well, Mal’s path. She wouldn’t mind another chance to talk to Creek, find out exactly what he was up to without Mal freaking the guy out. Creek might be human, but his speed and weapons said there was more to him than that. What human killed vampires with so little fear?
Which led her to wonder what was going on with the dead fringe if Creek wasn’t killing them. The deaths could be the result of a turf war. The fringe were getting more territorial lately and definitely bolder. The way she’d been tracked was proof of that.
Flesh And Blood: House of Comarre: Book Two (House of Comarre 2) Page 13