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

by Painter, Kristen

  Making those kinds of decisions also meant accepting the consequences when things went wrong.

  Things like what might happen with Mal if she gave him a chance at her heart. Or if she chose to get to know Creek better. Both of which appealed to her.

  There were more reasons that that, she knew, but those reasons, those feelings … she had no room for them. No desire to stir them up and acknowledge that her emotions concerning these two men were untried and unfamiliar and wholly frightening.

  Both of them had cared for her when she’d been injured. Both of them had joined her in battle and fought beside her. Protected her. And both of them had kissed her.

  She bent her head and rested it on the glass. Her breath fogged the pane as she exhaled.

  For a woman who had known only order, chastity, and servitude for the last one hundred fifteen years, having these two men in her life was a great deal to take in.

  Almost too much.

  She sighed, raised her head, and startled. A dark, familiar form leaned against the balcony railing. Her robe lay discarded across the bed, but she opened the door anyway, bracing herself for more complaints about Creek.

  Mal’s jaw tensed as his gaze traveled from the thin straps of her white silk nightgown to the tips of her clear polished toes.

  ‘Can I help you?’ She crossed her arms, hiding her breasts as his gaze returned to her face.

  ‘I see the resting is going well.’ Mal punctuated his question with a half smile. ‘Tired of being in bed or haven’t you been there yet?’

  She gave him a little smile in return. This was the Mal she liked most. ‘I rested on the couch, but Velimai has taken to mothering me. I couldn’t stand it anymore, so I came up here. If she knew I wasn’t in bed … ’

  ‘She’s right. Bed is exactly where you need to be.’ The silver in his eyes added layers of meaning to his words.

  She laughed to cover the surge of heat that must be coloring her skin and tried to make light of what he’d said. ‘Did I just hear you side with the wysper? Suddenly up is down and black is white.’

  He shook his head, grinning. His teeth gleamed feral and hungry. She swallowed and her hand strayed to her throat. ‘Go ahead, make fun. I can take it. I have broad shoulders.’

  Yes, he did. Among other things. Holy mother, that smile might be her undoing. Just the sight of his fangs revved her heart. Which he undoubtedly heard. ‘Why can’t we be this way with each other all the time?’

  He went still. The smile vanished and his eyes focused on the balcony’s tile flooring. ‘You realize you’re asking that of someone who hasn’t had substantial human contact in over fifty years. Before that, well, we both know how my contact with humans ended up. I’ve never been a people person. Even when I was human.’

  She sensed they were approaching rare ground. She had to tread carefully or the conversation would be over before it started. ‘Is it that hard? To connect with people?’

  ‘It is when your idea of connecting means sucking the life out of them. I’m never going to be normal. Even by vampire standards. Whatever that means.’ He pushed off the balcony and walked toward her. ‘I just came to check on you before I leave. I had an idea.’ He shoved his hand through his hair and turned away, inches from the invisible barrier her lack of invitation put between them. ‘On second thought, never mind. I should go.’

  Dawn was an hour away. He had time. ‘Tell me the idea.’

  He stayed facing away long enough that she assumed he wasn’t going to share. At last he turned back. ‘I know you’re hurting. Nothos poison isn’t something to mess around with. If you gave me some of your blood and I kissed you, it would give you a little extra healing power. It would help.’

  A delicious shiver went through her. She refused to acknowledge what that meant, because she certainly couldn’t deny how it made her feel. Nor could she deny how much she wanted what he was proposing. She struggled to keep those emotions off her face. ‘Yes, it would.’

  ‘Just a little blood,’ he qualified. ‘I know you don’t have much to spare after what you must have lost from the injury.’

  She gave him a little smirk. ‘I’m comarré. Blood production isn’t something I have trouble with. I’ll be right back.’

  Leaving the door open, she slipped into the bedroom, put on her robe, then went through to the sitting room and took a glass from the morning kitchen. When she returned, Mal was back against the rail.

  She walked out into the night air and eased onto the all-weather couch, mindful of her injury. The balmy air almost made her thin robe too warm, but somehow two layers of silk seemed better than one between her and the vampire who switched gravity off every time he touched her. She put the glass on the coffee table and held her wrist over the goblet’s mouth. Mal turned away and planted his hands on the carved marble railing.

  ‘I don’t mind,’ she said softly. She almost wanted him to watch.

  ‘I do.’

  She nodded, knowing he couldn’t see her. She flicked the blade out of her ring and pierced her vein. The pain was brief. As the first trickle of blood filled the glass, Mal groaned. The scent must be overwhelming. Or maybe it was the knowledge that he was about to partake of her blood.

  At the sound of stone cracking, he yanked his hands off the railing and crossed his arms over his chest. It would be a lie to say her power over him didn’t hold a certain appeal, but that seemed such a base emotion, she didn’t want to own it.

  Glass filled, she pressed her thumb to the small wound and held her wrist up. ‘I’m done.’

  Mal flashed to her side a second later, eyes silver, face fully vampire, fangs extended. There was no cajoling to get him to drink, no arguing on his part. Without delay, he lifted the glass and drained it, then set it down and settled back against the cushions as the blood visibly worked its power through him.

  His eyes closed, but his mouth hung open like he was panting. Soon, he was, his chest rising and falling as his lungs expanded. His muscles tightened, and he shuddered, jaw clenched with what looked like pain. A few moments later, he relaxed and his hand strayed to his chest. He pressed his fingers there and opened his eyes. ‘Never fails to amaze me.’ He sat up, took her hand, and placed it over his now-beating heart.

  His body was warm beneath her palm, another effect of her blood. She ached to feel his skin against hers, but the act of touching his black-inked body still shocked her. Wicked, wicked comarré. ‘It must really be something to feel when you’re not used to it.’

  ‘It is.’ Still holding her palm to his chest, he moved closer until their thighs touched. Heat penetrated the layers of silk. Such closeness was dangerous. Like him. The heat seeped into other parts of her body, and his scent surrounded her in a haze of spice and earth and possibility. ‘Now your turn.’

  She twisted toward him and winced. She pulled her hand out of his and pressed it to her stomach. ‘Moved too fast.’

  ‘That won’t do.’ He slid his arms beneath her legs and around her back and just like that she was on his lap. His hands dropped to the small of her back and her knee, but his touch reverberated through her entire body.

  The contact made her foolish and eager. And vulnerable. By now she should be used to feeling that way around Mal, but this was something more than just the defenselessness born of his being a vampire. It came from his being a man.

  They were at eye level. And for some reason, he was still smiling.

  ‘Better?’

  Oh, better was one word to describe it, but there were a few others she could come up with in her vampire-addled brain. Breathless. Electrifying. Frightening. ‘Yes, that’s fine.’ Fine. Because why not use a word that in no way scratched the surface of her emotion? She was as stunted as Mal when it came to relationships. Although the patron–comarré relationship was something she’d had plenty of experience with, this was nothing like that. Nothing. At. All.

  ‘Good.’ He lifted his hands to cup her face as his own shifted back to human, his fangs
neatly out of the way. His thumbs smoothed her cheekbones. ‘Beautiful,’ he whispered. His eyes glittered as if something inside longed to be free, but he said nothing, just brought his mouth to hers.

  She closed her eyes, shut out the weight of her past telling her not to enjoy it, and did exactly that. She reveled in the pressure and softness of his mouth. The tenderness with which he caressed her face. One of his hands went to the nape of her neck, gently massaging, then his fingers threaded into her hair. She shivered with the overload of sensation.

  No wonder Maris had given up everything for Dominic. At that moment, Chrysabelle understood her mother. She sighed with contented pleasure, allowing herself to feel the bliss in the joining, and wondered what his bite would feel like. The question aroused an ache in her that nearly made her cry out.

  She forced the thought away and concentrated on the kiss, because that was all they would ever share. A kiss. Just like the last one she’d had. Except that kiss hadn’t been with Mal. It had been with Creek.

  Suddenly, guilt stung her, the memory of another man’s mouth on hers as sharp and hot as the signumist’s needle. She pulled away, her heart pounding. She hoped Mal thought it was because of the kiss and not because there was something unconfessed between them. He would be furious if he knew. Enough to harm Creek.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ he asked.

  ‘Why do you … like me?’ The question came out before she could stop it, but she was glad it had. She wanted to know. With Creek now in her life, she needed to know what kept Mal coming back to her. ‘Is it just the blood?’

  His face darkened. ‘No.’

  ‘Then what?’

  He stared into her eyes, his lips parting, then closing again like he’d changed his mind about what he was going to say. ‘The voices tell me not to. That’s reason enough for me.’

  She dropped her head, nodding.

  ‘And,’ he continued, ‘I’ve never known anyone like you. You’re … good. And yet you still like me.’

  She lifted her head to look at him again, but he turned away so she couldn’t see his eyes.

  He wasn’t a bad man, no matter what his curse had made him do. She caressed his hand. ‘Thank you for the kiss. I’m sure that was enough.’

  He turned back to her, eyes blazing silver. ‘I’m not.’ He retook her mouth like he had a right to it.

  Another full minute passed before the guilt ate its way back into her brain. She broke the kiss for good. Tried to breathe. ‘Thank you for helping me.’

  He laughed softly, his face very close to hers. ‘Yes, clearly that was all about helping you.’ He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. ‘It’s okay to take pleasure from life. There’s far too little of it for most. You and I especially. Don’t deny what comes your way.’

  Denying pleasure was not her problem, but he didn’t know that. She sighed.

  He raised his brows. ‘Or perhaps you found no pleasure in that kiss? If so, you should have been an actress, because it certainly seemed you did.’

  ‘No, it’s not that. Kissing you’ – the very words heated her skin – ‘is definitely pleasurable. At least when you intend it that way, it is.’

  He sat back. ‘Ah, so I’m to be punished for past transgressions?’

  ‘Just making a comparison is all.’ Because she was not comparing Mal to Creek. Not in any way.

  ‘Then what is it?’

  She’d wanted the kiss. Now she must deal with the emotions it had created. She eased off his lap and onto her feet. Already her senses sharpened and the tightness of her wounds lessened. ‘It’s my past, the last century of my life, lived in a very different way. It weighs on me. Colors my actions. I am still very much comarré at heart, despite the new circumstances of my life. Those rules are hard to discard.’ If that was what she even chose to do. Sometimes those rules made more sense than anything else she knew. Having no man was infinitely simpler than having two. She shook her head and walked around the couch to the door. ‘Am I comarré? Am I human? What rules do I live by? I’m not making excuses. Or maybe I am.’ She rested her hand on the door frame and turned. He stood on the other side of the couch, staring at her. ‘I just need time.’

  ‘And as long as you need me, time is all I have.’

  She wasn’t sure what he meant by that, but she liked the sound of it. ‘Give me a couple of days to recover, then come back and we’ll talk about what it’s going to take to get to the Aurelian.’ She’d tell him everything, including the fact that she had a brother.

  He nodded, a smile lighting his eyes. ‘Two days. I’ll be back.’

  ‘Good night, Mal.’

  ‘Good night, Chrysabelle.’ And he was gone, disappearing over the railing in a soundless blur.

  She closed the door, confident of only one thing. She wanted Mal and Creek in her life. How she would accomplish that without destroying them both remained to be seen.

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Daysleep. Laudanum. Colloidal silver.

  Each blanketed Dominic in a thick, numbing fog. His struggle against them had been short-lived. Giving in was so easy. Too easy. The only choice.

  And so he had let go of consciousness and fallen into a bottomless abyss of anesthetic blackness. It was peaceful here, like daysleep, but darker and thicker and adrift with strange dreams.

  Now something tugged at him from the other side. It pulled at him. Lifted his limbs. Shook him. Slapped his face.

  ‘Dominic.’ The voice came and went in the miasma. It flitted in and out, like a tiny white farfalle among the lemon blossoms of his mamma’s orchard. Again the voice called him. ‘Dominic.’

  ‘Mamma,’ he answered, unsure if the word left his throat.

  ‘Dominic, wake up.’ That voice didn’t belong to his dear sainted mother, may she rest in peace. It belonged to … someone else. His mother’s apron was muslin, bleached by the sun when she hung it to dry. He watched it flap in the breeze. Felt the sun on his face.

  ‘Dominic, please.’

  The farfalle buzzed at him like a bee. It was a bee. He tried to lift a hand to swat the pest away. He couldn’t tell if he moved or not. He didn’t care. The voice left him alone, and he drifted back toward the childhood memories so distant he could scarce remember them until the laudanum had sharpened their edges.

  Fingers pried his mouth open, and soft, cold flesh pressed his lips. Scented like flowers. Blood trickled onto his tongue, spilled down his throat. By instinct, he drank.

  The memories began to fade as the laudanum and silver slowly lost their grip. The wrist vanished from his mouth. The voice came back.

  ‘Dominic, please wake up.’ Not a butterfly or a bee. A woman. Small hands, feminine but incomplete, held his face.

  He knew that voice. The woman’s image drifted like smoke through his brain. Katsumi. He tried to open his eyes, but they rolled back in his head. He managed to lift a hand to her forearm. ‘Drugged,’ he whispered.

  ‘I know,’ she answered. ‘You reek of laudanum and silver.’ Alarm framed her words. ‘Who did this to you? The varcolai?’

  Dominic stayed still. He would deal with Maddoc on his own terms. ‘Help.’

  ‘Of course, my lord.’ She scooped her arms around him and brought him to a sitting position.

  His head lolled against her shoulder. With his face against her neck, he inhaled her jasmine-scented skin. The sweet aroma of blood danced below the perfume. ‘Feed me.’

  ‘Take whatever you need. I fed just before I saw you leave.’ She turned in toward him, more willing than he had memory of. ‘Forgive me for following you. I know I’m supposed to be confined, but I was concerned.’

  If she’d followed him, she’d seen the varcolai. ‘Leave the cat to me.’ He mumbled the words against her flesh.

  ‘Of course.’

  All he cared about was fresh blood to wash the poison from his system. He opened his mouth and bit down. Weakness made his bite unsure.

  Katsumi cried out softly but held still. ‘Agai
n, my lord,’ she told him. ‘Take the vein.’

  So he did, managing to pierce her properly this time. Blood poured into his mouth. He suckled, feeling his strength return with every swallow.

  Katsumi’s hands found his cheeks. ‘Enough, please. You weaken me.’

  He released her, barely able to keep himself upright. Rubber muscles clung to lead bones. Movement was almost impossible. His head cleared quickly, but his body would take time. Days perhaps. He needed to be home. ‘Get me out of here.’

  She pulled his arm around her neck and slid her own around his waist. With only slight effort, she got him to his feet. He shuffled forward, his weight on her. ‘Car?’

  ‘Yes, I have a car. No driver, though. I … I didn’t want to alert anyone to what I was doing.’

  He nodded. No driver was good. He didn’t want anyone knowing what had happened. Weakness could mean death. With each faltering step, his anger increased toward the varcolai. ‘Why did you follow?’

  ‘You left with the varcolai. I know that history. I was worried. I see now I was right to think you were in some kind of trouble.’

  ‘Si,’ he muttered, wanting to waste no more effort on speaking.

  They made it to the car without interruption, although Dominic had partially expected to see Malkolm. Katsumi helped Dominic into the backseat. He lay down on the leather and, while imagining how he was going to kill Maddoc, passed out.

  He woke up in his bed in his suite at the club. The clock showed nearly seven – a.m. or p.m., he didn’t know. He remembered Katsumi waking him to drink blood, and by the taste of it, it had been from his comarrés. She slept on the chaise near the fire. Judging by the effort it took to move his body, he was right to think it would take days for him to fully recover. He watched Katsumi for a moment. She seemed different somehow. Softer. A little worn around the edges. When he was well, he would reward her for saving his life.

  She could have taken advantage of the situation. Could have killed him. Taken control of Seven for herself. But she hadn’t. It wasn’t proof of her desire to change, but it was worthy of reward. He would give her navitas. Having a noble vampire who was previously fringe on his side would strengthen his hold on Paradise City immeasurably. Especially if war broke out between varcolai and vampires once again, which it very well could when Dominic killed Maddoc. The varcolai might be on the outs with his pride, but Sinjin wouldn’t let such a thing go unanswered. Yes, another noble ally could make all the difference.