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

by Painter, Kristen

  His face went positively electric. ‘I’ll be waiting.’

  ‘Preferably on the bed and undressed?’

  He laughed. ‘That’s my girl.’ He kissed her and dashed up the stairs, passing Octavian on the way down. Anger contorted her manservant’s face. Sweet Hades, she adored that kine far more than was prudent.

  She put a finger to her lips and shook her head, indicating he shouldn’t say anything out of line. ‘Show me where the Nothos are.’

  He led her to the guesthouse, where the gruesome beasts were already destroying what their brothers hadn’t. A few of them paused to train their yellow eyes on Octavian.

  ‘Food?’ the closest one asked, coming closer to the kine. Octavian ducked behind her.

  ‘No,’ she snarled. Malformed idiots. ‘Pay attention.’ She pulled the scrap of fabric from Malkolm’s jacket out of her pocket and held it aloft. ‘Trace this scent to the vampire it belongs to, then follow him until his path crosses that of the comarré your useless brothers couldn’t track down. Bring her back to me alive. Understood? Not half dead. Not partially devoured. Alive.’

  Heads nodded in unison. One sneezed, spraying mucus across his brothers. Bloody hell, they were repulsive creatures. ‘If you cannot capture the girl without fighting, then don’t. I need you alive as well. Come back and get me and I’ll take her alive. Any breach of my instructions and I will personally hunt you down and disembowel you.’ Filthy beasts.

  She tossed the fabric into their gathered midst. They descended upon it like the ravening beasts they were. ‘Octavian, open the door and get behind it.’

  He nodded, his gaze never leaving the Nothos. As soon as he was protected, she shouted, ‘Go!’ and pointed out the door.

  The Nothos streamed into the night, whining and chuffing, their clawed hands and feet tearing up the flooring and leaving gouges in the cobblestone drive. The last one melted into the dark like a wisp of smoke.

  ‘It’s safe now.’

  Octavian came out from behind the door. ‘I cannot abide those creatures.’

  ‘No one can. But they serve a purpose.’ She looked around. Lamps lay shattered, sofas upended, curtains shredded. They were creatures of destruction, true to their twisted roots.

  He sniffed. ‘I will do what I can to straighten things, my lady.’

  ‘Don’t bother.’ She stared at him, studying the man she saw before her. The time was right. Perhaps overdue. ‘I have a much more important task for you.’

  ‘My lady?’

  She held out her hand to him. ‘I need you to die.’

  Creek stayed away from Chrysabelle’s for almost two and a half days, just to be sure Argent wasn’t hovering nearby. No matter what power this ring had, no matter if she chose to give it up or keep it, Creek wanted her safe.

  Sunset was still a few hours away, guaranteeing he’d have time alone with her.

  Chrysabelle had put his name on her visitor list, something the gate guard confirmed with a quick ID check. At her estate’s private entrance, the security cam scanned his face, then the gate opened and let him through. He parked opposite her front door.

  As he walked up, the door opened. Chrysabelle wasn’t as alone as he’d thought she was. Behind Velimai, an enormous, ebony-skinned man stood in the doorway. Sweat covered his shaved head and his eyes flashed gold. Feline varcolai. This was new. The man stepped in front of the wysper. ‘I got this.’

  The fae nodded and left.

  Creek studied the varcolai. ‘Chrysabelle here?’

  ‘Who are you?’ The man’s gaze swept him from head to toe and back.

  ‘Creek. She knows me. And you?’

  ‘Yeah, she knows me, too. What’s your business?’ He rolled one muscle-rounded shoulder. His hands were taped like he’d just stepped out of a boxing ring. Judging from his sweaty T-shirt, maybe he had.

  ‘My business is with Chrysabelle.’ Creek squared his body and narrowed his eyes. No one intimidated a KM.

  ‘Hey,’ a female voice called out. ‘You coming back up or are you tired of me whaling on you?’ At least he knew Chrysabelle was home now.

  The black man looked off to the left. ‘Man here says he has business with you. Name’s Creek.’

  ‘Be right there.’ And a few moments later, a flushed and glowing Chrysabelle appeared. Her white tank top was sheer with perspiration, showing her sports bra beneath it. The gleam of sweat on her skin set her signum on fire. She pushed tendrils of hair off her face with one forearm and wiped her forehead with the other. Her hands were taped just like the varcolai’s.

  ‘It’s okay, Doc.’ She patted his arm. Maybe Doc was some kind of trainer. ‘Hit the shower if you want. That’s enough for today.’

  Doc grunted, gave Creek a look of pure warning, and disappeared into the house.

  Creek waited a few seconds longer to be sure he was gone. ‘I don’t know how you stand all that friendly.’

  Chrysabelle smiled. ‘Doc’s a great guy. He’s just been a little on edge lately. What brings you by?’

  ‘I need to talk to you about something. Can I come in?’

  ‘Can’t stop you, can I?’ She moved to let him in. ‘It’s not like you’re a vampire.’

  Not by a long shot. ‘I won’t come in if you don’t want me to.’

  She shrugged. ‘It’s fine.’

  He walked into the foyer, waited for her to close the door, then followed her into a large sitting room. White and ivory dominated the decorating. Very comarré. She sat at the edge of a snowy leather sofa. He took a seat across from her. She lifted the hem of her tank top and wiped sweat from the hollow of her throat. The gauze covering her stitches was gone, leaving three pink sutured lines visible on her skin. They seemed to be healing well. And fast.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I realize I’m intruding. You’d probably rather be showering.’

  She laughed. ‘Is that your way of telling me I smell?’

  ‘No. Hell, no. I’ve always been partial to a healthy sweat on a beautiful woman. It’s the ones who never exert themselves you have to worry about. I take it you were training?’

  She nodded. ‘Have to stay sharp. Doc makes a great sparring partner.’

  ‘So would I.’

  She smiled a little. ‘I’m sure you would.’

  He gave her an out by pointing at her stomach. ‘You should probably get those stitches out if you’re healing as quickly as you seem to be.’

  She flushed, or maybe she’d been that shade of pink already. ‘It’s not hard, right? Just snip and pull? I can get Velimai to do it.’

  ‘I’m glad you’ve got her. Wyspers are good to have around.’ Very good. Particularly if vampires dropped by unexpectedly. Which gave him a way into the real reason he was here. ‘Especially if there’s something in the house worth protecting.’

  Her brows furrowed. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

  There was no point in skating around it. ‘I – that is, the Kubai Mata – we know about the ring.’

  She pushed back, her jaw tensing. ‘Does everyone know about that wretched thing? I suppose you think I should give it to you for safekeeping, right?’

  That answered the question of whether she’d be keeping the ring or not. He leaned his elbows on his knees. ‘Not me, but back to the Kubai Mata, yes.’

  ‘Back to them? You make it sound like it was theirs to begin with.’

  ‘It was. Your patron, Algernon, was working with the KM as an inside source. Somehow he found out about the ring and stole it from the archives. Flipped on them. The grand masters are not happy.’

  ‘Algernon?’ Her hands unclenched. ‘I never would have guessed that about him, but our relationship wasn’t exactly deep.’ She shook her head, taking it all in. ‘Do you know what the ring’s power is? Why Tatiana wants it so badly?’

  ‘No.’ He snorted out a breath. ‘I may be KM, but I’m also just a grunt.’

  ‘What does that mean?’

  ‘I’m not high on their trust list.�
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  She tipped her head and looked at him like she was seeing him with new eyes. ‘I trust you.’

  He hadn’t expected that. ‘You don’t know me well enough to trust me.’ Although he wanted her to. Very much.

  ‘You saved my life. I trust you until you give me reason to do otherwise.’

  He bowed his head. ‘I hope that doesn’t happen.’ And he meant it. Someday she’d understand that what he was doing was for her good and the good of mankind. He lifted his chin and looked into her eyes. ‘Do you feel that way about Malkolm?’

  She narrowed her gaze. ‘You mean do I trust him?’

  ‘Do you?’

  She hesitated. ‘Yes.’

  ‘But?’

  Her fingers wound around each other. ‘No but. I trust him.’

  ‘What about that thing he becomes?’

  She dropped her chin slightly. ‘No, I don’t trust that part of him.’

  Creek couldn’t blame her. ‘Do you think he would ever attack you when he’s like that?’

  She stood, walked to the back wall of glass doors and looked out. ‘He has.’

  Anger pushed Creek to his feet. ‘When?’

  ‘About a month ago.’ She shook her head. ‘It’s nothing to worry about now.’

  He went to her side. ‘If he did it once, what makes you think he won’t do it again?’

  ‘Mal won’t.’ The glass reflected her scowl. ‘He has better control now.’

  Creek had pushed her far enough. A seed of doubt existed in her. That was all he needed to know. He backed off. ‘You know him better than I do, I’m sure you’re right. Other than the beast part of him, he seems like a … decent guy.’

  ‘He is.’ She looked at Creek with sudden curiosity. ‘Although you’re the last person I’d expect to say such a thing.’

  ‘We’re trying to be civil. For you.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  What other thoughts rolled through her head? He knew what was going on in his own, and it didn’t have anything to do with the vampire. This close, not touching her felt impossible.

  ‘I need to ask you a question,’ she said. ‘And I want you to answer me honestly.’

  ‘Of course.’

  She looked at him as though she were trying to see into his soul. ‘Have you been killing off fringe vampires?’

  ‘What do you mean killing off?’

  ‘Numerous piles of ash have been found in your neighborhood. All in the same area.’

  ‘Not me.’ A comarré caring about fringe? ‘But I have killed a few who were putting human life in danger.’

  She nodded and looked outside again, the faraway glaze returning to her eyes.

  He jerked his chin toward the vast lanai beyond the sliding glass doors. ‘That’s some pool.’ And some luxury yacht parked in the deepwater slip a little farther out.

  She tipped her head like she was seeing it for the first time. ‘I hardly ever use it.’

  ‘How come?’

  Her mouth quirked to one side. ‘I’m not a great swimmer.’

  Genuinely shocked, he laughed. ‘I thought swimming was a comarré prereq.’

  ‘It is, but I never seemed to get the hang of it. I did enough to pass my classes, but that was it.’

  He unlocked the latch on the slider. ‘Never too late to learn.’

  ‘Yes, I think it— Hey!’

  But he had the door open and his shirt off before she’d set one foot after him. ‘Last one in’s a rotten egg.’ He shucked his jeans on the run, almost tripping in the grass, and dove headfirst into the cool blue.

  He bobbed to the surface, swam back toward the shallow end, and waited for her. ‘Coming in?’

  She stayed on the edge, staring at him with disbelieving eyes that were very clearly not focused on his face. ‘You don’t have a bathing suit on.’

  ‘Boxer briefs are close enough.’ He winked and a hot, wicked surge charged through him like a freight train. ‘I’ve already seen you in your underthings, so quit stalling. I won’t let you drown.’

  ‘Drowning isn’t what I’m worried about.’ Her gaze remained downstream.

  He planted his feet. ‘Plus, you could use a bath.’

  ‘What?’ Her head came up and her hands went to her hips. ‘I thought you said I didn’t smell.’

  He shrugged. ‘My mother taught me better than that.’ He ducked underwater as her tank top sailed at his head, then broke the surface laughing. His laughter died the moment her fingers went to the drawstring of her loose pants.

  She untied the string and let them drop.

  It was a very good thing the water was on the cool side. He’d seen her tangled in the sheets of his bed, her body broken and bruised, but this … this was … very different. She stood at the pool’s edge, glazed by the sun’s dying light. Her blonde hair, her pale skin, her signum all a thousand shades of gold. He ached at the sight of her. At being so close to such beauty, and in that moment, his insides clenched with a powerful hunger.

  He wanted her. Not just because he’d been seven years without a woman, but because of the woman she was. Didn’t hurt that Mal wanted her, too, but that was just the alpha male in him. Chrysabelle was the only woman who might ever really understand his purpose as a Kubai Mata.

  ‘You’re staring,’ she said.

  ‘Yes, I am. Because you’re beautiful.’ He moved toward her and patted the tiled edge. What he was about to do bordered on inappropriate, and he didn’t give a damn. ‘Sit. Let me have a look at those stitches.’

  She dipped her head, her hair swinging forward as she sat, almost hiding the color rising in her cheeks. She dangled her legs in the water. ‘This feels very much like you’re trying to seduce me.’

  ‘Maybe I am.’ He moved between her knees. ‘Can you blame me? I’m a man.’ He checked the wounds. The flesh had knit seamlessly back together and was as new and unblemished as the rest of her body. The stitches no longer served a purpose.

  ‘Who hasn’t had a woman in a long time,’ she added.

  That was for damn sure, but he’d had plenty of practice keeping his libido in check. ‘These stitches really need to come out.’

  She pulled one foot out of the water. ‘I’ll get some scissors.’

  ‘No need.’ Hands on her hips, he pulled her to the very edge and leaned in toward her stomach.

  Her fingers tightened on his biceps and she arched away from him. ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘Removing the knots. Hold still.’ He brought his mouth to her warm skin, found the knot with his tongue, and bit it off. She inhaled, body tensing. He leaned back, pulled the knot out of his mouth and showed it to her. ‘See?’

  Her eyes had the look of a woman drunk on something she’d never tasted before, but there was conflict there, too. ‘We shouldn’t do this. I shouldn’t do this.’

  He held on to her. ‘Then tell me to stop.’

  She swallowed. ‘I don’t want to, even though I think I should.’

  ‘Because of Mal?’

  She didn’t reply or try to leave. Enough of an answer for him. He took longer this time, trailing his tongue over her salty-sweet skin. Her nails dug into his flesh and she moaned softly.

  ‘Oh,’ she breathed. ‘That feels … ’

  ‘Good?’

  ‘Wrong.’ She exhaled. ‘We shouldn’t be doing this.’

  ‘You said that already.’ He kept his hands on her hips. The heat from her skin melted into his palms and traveled through his veins, sparking a fresh blaze within him.

  ‘It goes against everything I was raised to believe.’

  A tick of desperation tensed his jaw. ‘The covenant is broken and you no longer live under comarré law.’ Despite the fact that she clung to many of the old ways. He forced the frustration out of his voice. He understood she was still finding her path. He brushed his thumbs over her ribs before taking his hands off her completely. ‘No one owns you. Not anymore.’

  ‘You mean Mal, don’t you?’ she said softly.
/>   ‘I just mean you’re free to make your own decisions.’ The pool lights switched on, surrounding them in a pale blue glow. He wanted to kiss her. Not a halfhearted peck like the last time when he’d been short on courage and long on doubt. A real kiss. The kind that would stay with her well after he’d left her for the evening.

  But more than that, he wanted her to kiss him. For the intimacy to be her idea. Even now, he could see the temptation playing in her eyes.

  She put her hands on the edge of the pool and lowered herself into the water, then planted her hands on his chest. ‘You’re smoother than I thought you’d be.’

  She’d thought about what he would feel like. Knowing that made standing still a test of his control. Not pulling her into his arms was nearly impossible. He shivered with pent-up energy but let her do as she wished. Her fingers mapped the hollow of his throat, the crevices of his collar-bone, the valley of his chest.

  ‘Turn,’ she directed him.

  He did, feeling the weight of her gaze on him, on the words branded into his skin. He stood for her, letting her look her fill.

  After a bit, her fingertips found the raised lines and began to trace them. ‘Omnes honorate,’ she whispered.

  ‘Honor all men,’ he answered back.

  ‘Do you?’

  ‘The ones who deserve it, yes.’

  Her fingers traveled on, sending small electric shocks through his body. ‘Fraternitatem diligite.’

  ‘Love the brotherhood,’ he translated, knowing full well she could read the words.

  ‘Have the Kubai Mata been good to you?’

  ‘They’ve brought me to you.’

  She sketched the next phrase. ‘Deum timete.’ A smile played in her voice.

  ‘Fear God.’

  ‘What else do you fear?’

  More things than he could count. ‘Nothing.’

  ‘Regem honorificate.’ Her fingers stopped there, making the rest of his body ache for the same attention.

  ‘Honor the king,’ he responded.

  ‘Who is your king, Creek?’

  He turned to face her. ‘Who’s yours?’

  Her eyes held a rebellious sparkle. ‘I have no king. Now answer the question or I’ll alert the KM that you don’t uphold your vows.’