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

by Painter, Kristen

  Mal ground his teeth together, despising his weakness for her beauty. Pathetic. Fool. Getting lost in her loveliness wouldn’t save him, but he still couldn’t look away.

  At her side was a scrap of paper and a long, narrow pouch of red leather, like the kind that wrapped the handles of her swords. With her head bowed to her chest, she chanted softly for what seemed like an hour or two. The shadows moved around her as the sun sank lower, but she stayed in her place, never wavering.

  At last she raised her chin. He rose from his seat and moved a few steps to the side so he could see what she was about to do. Opposite him, Creek did the same.

  Her eyes stayed closed a moment longer. When she opened them, she took the small slip of paper and unfurled it across her lap. On it were the runes that decorated her spine. She took up the pouch, unfastened it, and removed a thin gold pipette. One end tapered to a needle-thin point.

  She bent her head again in what looked like prayer, but briefly this time. With her right hand, she lifted the pipette, the pointed end facing her. What little color she had drained away.

  She inhaled.

  Wrapped her left hand over her right.

  And plunged the pipette into her chest.

  Doc paced the freighter’s hold, the small wrapped bundle from Aliza as heavy as bricks in his pocket. The sun would be down soon. Just a few more minutes. He’d never seen Fi until after sunset. There was no reason tonight would be different.

  He exhaled, trying to calm his nerves. At Aliza’s, Dominic had told Mal things were square, but Doc didn’t believe Dominic. He knew the man, and the man liked his revenge.

  ‘Fi! Fi, you there?’ The sooner he could do this thing, the better. He flicked on the lighter in his hand, but the small flame was powerless to chase the hold’s gloom. Even the solars, strong at this hour, didn’t do much more than fill the cavernous space with extra shadows.

  ‘Fi!’ he shouted one more time. ‘Where are you, girl?’

  ‘Here,’ came the weak response.

  He whirled around but saw nothing. ‘You there?’

  ‘Yes. Trying to be.’ She stood a few feet away, so soft and transparent he could see only the brightest parts of her. The Cheshire glow of her eyes and teeth, the faintness of her pale skin. ‘It’s hard. I feel … like I’m not really here.’

  Excitement zipped through him. He pulled out the bundle. ‘I’ve got the cure for all that, baby. Stay with me now.’

  ‘You got it?’ she asked, growing brighter for a moment. ‘Sure do.’ He cleared a spot near her, making sure there was nothing but metal where he planned to start the fire. He’d brought a bucket of water with him, but if things got out of hand, that bucket wasn’t going to put out much. He pulled out the bundle and showed it to her. ‘I’m going to light this, then you have to pass through the smoke. Can you do that?’

  She disappeared entirely, then flickered back into view. ‘Maybe we should wait until a little later so it’s easier for me to stay visible. You know, if this works and things go back to the way they were, I could get snapped back to Mal’s side, wherever he is.’

  ‘Well, at least we’ll know it worked, then, won’t we? We gotta do this now.’ If Dominic still had that potion in his system, he could be headed here now. Doc listened a minute, trying to see if any odd noises filtered through, but the ship seemed quiet. ‘Try for me, okay? For us?’

  ‘Okay.’ She smiled. ‘For us.’

  He set the bundle down and lit the end. The gathered paper ends burned slowly until they hit the fat part. Whatever Aliza had packed in there went up with a bright flare. Greenish gray smoke rose in a thick column. He sat back on his haunches. ‘Go ahead, baby. Go through it.’

  She gave him a weak smile. ‘Here I go.’

  As thin and wispy as she was, she nearly vanished into the smoke. For a second, it seemed she and the smoke were one. She bathed in it, closing her eyes and cupping her hands full of it like it was water. ‘It’s soft. And cool.’

  ‘Not too long now. The witch just said pass through it, not spend all day.’ He grinned to soften his words.

  She floated through the smoke and stopped in front of him. ‘Do I look any different?’

  He nodded, hesitant hope filling him. ‘You do. You look … more solid. Try it. See if you can get corporeal.’

  Nodding, she blinked hard. The wound on her throat disappeared along with the bloody sweatshirt, replaced by smooth skin and some funky off-the-shoulder top. She fell to the floor of the hold with a thud. She was solid. Laughter echoed through the space. ‘You did it. I’m me again! And I’m still here!’

  ‘You sure are.’ He scooped her up and squeezed her tight, thrilled there was a tangible body to hold on to, a warm neck to bury his face against. He inhaled until his head swam in the perfume of her. ‘I’m never letting you go again, I swear.’

  She wrapped her legs around his waist, then pulled away enough to get face-to-face with him. ‘Thank you. From the bottom of my heart, thank you.’ She kissed him, hungry and crazy and careless. Then she stopped as suddenly as she’d begun. ‘You know what?’

  ‘Hmm?’ He planted a few kisses on the curve of her neck, his mind already lost in the scent and taste of her.

  She twisted, looking over her shoulder. ‘If that smoke can fix me, I mean really fix me, like detach-me-from-Mal fixed, maybe you should go through it, too.’

  He paused. Her logic wasn’t half bad, but the fact that Aliza may have counted on him trying to remove his curse with the smoke was a very real possibility. Would the old witch have anticipated him going through the smoke, too? Could she have planned for it? ‘I don’t know, baby. What if something goes wrong?’

  She ran her nails over his shaved head in long, lazy scratches. ‘It could be your chance, but if you don’t feel right about doing it … ’

  He stared into the smoke. The fire was almost out. Courage, he told himself. This could be his one shot to be whole again.

  Fi traced the line of his ear. ‘If you don’t want to, then don’t. Doesn’t change the way I feel about you.’

  ‘No, you’re right. What do I have to lose?’ He put her down. ‘I’m going to do it.’

  She squeezed his hand. ‘Go ahead, kitty cat. I’ve always wanted to snuggle with a big ole leopard.’

  He kissed her once for luck and stepped into the smoke. It curled over his body like a cool mist, as soft as she’d said. Peace filled him and he understood why she’d stayed in it so long. Reluctantly, he walked on through.

  ‘Well,’ she asked. ‘How do you feel?’

  He turned and shrugged. ‘Good, I guess.’ But he’d felt good as soon as Fi had gone solid and he’d known Aliza had done what she’d promised.

  ‘Go ahead,’ Fi urged. ‘Change.’

  New nerves tripped along his back. He nodded and stepped away from her to get some space. Just in case things went … wrong. He winked at her. ‘Here goes.’ And gave himself over to his true form.

  The shift came easy and smooth in a way it hadn’t for years. Almost too easy. Suspicions crept over him, but he shook them off. This was a good thing. No point spoiling it by giving in to crazy guesses that Aliza had somehow tricked him.

  Not with the way Fi was looking at him. Her eyes lit up and her grin took over her face. She let out a tiny squeal and clapped her hands.

  At the noise, Doc blinked. Instead of being level with her calves, his sightline was at her ribs. He took a step toward her. The paw stretched out in front of him was the size of a bread plate. He flexed his toes. Claws like talons dug into the floor. Mother Bast, his curse was gone.

  Fi retreated a step. ‘I didn’t know you were going to be so … big.’

  The joy at being himself again welled out of him in a loud, guttural yowl.

  The look in her eyes changed to something a little less happy. She flickered back to her ghost form.

  He shook his head, trying to tell her not to be afraid.

  She swallowed. ‘You wouldn’t hurt me, would
you?’

  Not in a million years. He just had to let her know that no matter what form he was in, he was all about protecting her. Always. He’d nearly gotten killed trying to rescue her from the hell she’d been stuck in, hadn’t he? But that was behind them now. He laughed, which came out like a sneeze, flopped onto the dirty floor, and rolled over, showing her his belly and looking at her upside down.

  That got him a laugh. ‘Silly boy.’ She took a baby step forward. ‘I’m going to touch you, okay?’

  He kneaded a paw in the air. Her fingers brushed the tip of one ear. He held very still. Her hand traveled to the top of his head, caressing the width of his skull. ‘Wow, you’re so soft.’

  Human, ghost, whatever she was, he adored this female.

  She kneeled beside him and buried her face in his neck. ‘I love you, Maddoc.’

  I love you, too, Fiona. He started to purr.

  Chapter Thirty-seven

  ‘What the hell?’ Creek rushed forward to stop Chrysabelle, but Mal blocked his way.

  He leaned in toward Creek. ‘She said not to touch her.’

  Creek’s whole body thrummed with the urge to stop her. ‘She’s doing this for you. Anything happens to her’ – he stabbed his finger into Mal’s chest – ‘anything, and I blame you.’

  ‘Nothing’s going to happen to her. I won’t let it.’ Mal stalked away.

  In an almost trancelike state, Chrysabelle seemed not to notice them. With her index finger over the open end of the pipette, she slid it out of her chest and inhaled. Blood bloomed from the wound, but the stain spread no more than a few inches.

  She started chanting again, so softly it was hard to hear. Maybe that was on purpose, to keep them from understanding the words she was using. From what Creek could make out, it sounded like the Aramaic the KM recited in their rituals. Using the pipette like a fountain pen and her blood for ink, she drew a perfect circle on the floor in front of her. At the top of the circle, she drew the phoebus, the sun symbol that was every comarré’s first signum.

  He glanced at Mal. The vampire was practically salivating. His eyes were silver, his fangs visible as he watched open-mouthed. Who could blame him with that much blood? No wonder she’d been reluctant to do this in front of him. She probably worried his beast would break free and devour her. Creek exhaled hard. He’d die before he let that happen.

  Circle completed, she bent forward, supporting herself on one hand. With the other, she continued with the pipette, this time writing inside the circle. Creek and Mal shuffled a few steps closer. She copied the runes from the paper into the circle, whispering the name of each one as she went.

  After the last one, she set the pipette aside and stood, arms outstretched, palms up. The runes sketched in blood began to expand. Blood flowed from them and filled in the blank spaces within the circle until an almost solid pool of red shimmered before her. The blood expanded until the last empty spot was covered.

  A flash of golden light gleamed across the surface. The blood rippled like water. Creek took that to mean the portal was open. Chrysabelle picked up her skirts and stepped forward.

  Creek caught movement out of the corner of his eye. Mal shifted nervously. Like he meant to go with her. Creek wasn’t willing to take that chance.

  He lunged to grab Mal and hold him down. Chrysabelle’s foot touched the portal. Mal jumped forward out of Creek’s way, his hand snagging the trailing sleeve of her gown. Creek snatched the back of Mal’s jacket. Blinding light surrounded them, then plunged them into darkness. A stone wall slammed into Creek and new lights danced in front of his eyes. He shook himself.

  Correction. Not a wall. A floor. Mal was a few feet away. Slightly ahead of them stood Chrysabelle, head bowed. Books and scrolls covered the shelves lining the walls. He followed the volumes around until he saw a woman unlike any he’d ever seen before.

  Seated at a massive table, its edges overflowing with more scrolls, charts, and star maps, was a tall, slender Persian. The kind of woman who might devour her mate. He wanted to look away, but her coal-black eyes held an age and wisdom that bored into his core and mesmerized him. His body felt screwed to the floor. His joints ached and he knew somehow that she controlled him.

  The Aurelian.

  Her mouth twisted cruelly as she glowered at him, then at the vampire. She rose, hefted a sword few mortal men would have been able to lift, and pointed it at Chrysabelle. ‘You have violated the rules of my sanctuary.’

  ‘What? No, my lady.’ Chrysabelle shook her head. ‘I did everything as I was instructed.’

  ‘You brought a mortal and a vampire into my presence.’ The Aurelian’s voice shook the intricately carved walls and rattled the candelabras lighting the enormous room.

  Chrysabelle spun to look behind her. Horror marred her expression. ‘You fools,’ she breathed. ‘What have you done?’

  Mal answered. ‘It was an accident. Creek’s fault. He grabbed hold of me at the last minute.’

  ‘Idiots,’ she hissed. ‘Both of you. Do you think this is a game? This is my life.’ Her hands fisted as she closed her eyes and inhaled. When her eyes opened, they held as much anger as the woman hefting the sword.

  The Aurelian strode to the front of the table, sword still pointed at Chrysabelle. ‘None but comarré are allowed here. This trespass must be dealt with.’

  Chrysabelle nodded and turned away from them to face the woman. ‘Yes, my lady, of course. My deepest apologies. I instructed them not to follow me through.’

  The woman lowered the sword a fraction. ‘Then you know them?’

  ‘Yes, I know them, but I told them not—’

  ‘They were present during the ritual?’ Fresh sparks glinted in the Aurelian’s eyes.

  Chrysabelle dropped her chin, her hands tightening until her knuckles went white. ‘Yes.’

  The Aurelian walked toward Mal. ‘The penance for this act is death.’

  Tatiana motioned for Octavian. He joined her behind a clump of bushes in the side yard of the comarré’s home. ‘Anything?’

  ‘No. That side of the house is dark top and bottom. What about here?’

  She pointed toward the kitchen windows. ‘The wysper. Disgusting creature.’

  ‘Any sign of the girl?’

  ‘No. If Malkolm or that kine is harboring her, it’s going to take longer to track her down. Fortunately, with the scrap of fabric I took from the comarré, the Nothos will find her.’

  He tipped his head toward the back of the property. ‘What about the yacht? There are lights on there.’

  She turned to look. So there were. She’d been so fixated on the wysper she hadn’t noticed. Suddenly the lights within the boat flared brightly. Like a flash going off. ‘Come. Let’s see what that’s about. Unless someone calls that vessel home, we should be able to get in without a problem.’

  They kept to the property line until they were at the water’s edge, then they snuck across to the dock. She glanced back toward the house. Nothing had changed. She listened for signs of life on the boat. No heartbeat. That meant no comarré or kine were present on the yacht. She sniffed the air. The scent of comarré blood made her mouth water, but past that she picked up the subtle spice of vampire and the earthy sweet smell of a kine but with a lingering sourness.

  The scent of the Mohawked kine who’d hidden his heartbeat at the witch’s. He and Malkolm could be on the boat, but there was no comarré. So what had caused that flash? Had Malkolm done something to the girl? If he’d killed her to get the ring for himself, Tatiana would kill him for it in turn.

  She motioned for Octavian to follow. Together they boarded the craft, weapons drawn. Octavian held the short blade that had once been Nasir’s. She fashioned her hand into a smaller version of the headsman’s sword she’d come to favor. She opened the first door she came to and slipped in.

  In the center of the empty salon, a perfect circle of blood shimmered with an unnatural gleam. The blood scent rushed her, almost knocking her back. Behind her, Oc
tavian growled low. She glanced at him. His fangs were out, his nostrils flared, and his face a warrior’s mask of hard angles and sharp bone. For a vampling like him, this much blood scent would be overwhelming. ‘Focus. You’ll feed soon.’

  He nodded, sniffing hard. His eyes rolled back into his head slightly.

  She punched his shoulder. ‘Control it.’

  ‘I’m trying,’ he grated, shaking himself.

  ‘Try harder.’ She slunk toward the blood, weapon ready even though they were alone. Some kind of ritual had been performed here. Near the circle lay a sharpened gold straw. The pointed end leaked blood. At the top of the circle was the sun sign she’d come to recognize as the mark of the comarré. That symbol had first led her to the old comarré, and now it would lead Tatiana to the young one and more importantly, the ring.

  She leaned in and held her natural hand over the circle, lowering it closer and closer until the buzz of power bit into her skin. She stood and nodded. ‘A portal. See that symbol? It can only mean the comarré’s run home.’ Tatiana laughed sharply. ‘If she thinks the Primoris Domus can protect her, she’s wrong.’

  Morphing the gleaming sword at her side back into a hand, she turned to Octavian. ‘Time to return to Corvinestri and end this game.’

  ‘But how do you know she won’t just slip back through the portal?’

  ‘Because she can’t come through a portal that isn’t here.’ She glanced around the vessel. ‘Set the boat on fire.’

  Chapter Thirty-eight

  Chrysabelle fell to her knees in front of Mal, arms outstretched. ‘No, please, I beg you, my lady. Spare their lives. They came only to protect me. I’m sure of it.’