Out for Blood

by Kristen Painter

  She shook her head. Her city was in deep. “What’s your solution?”

  “Deadly force. Make an example.”

  “And cause a riot.” She tapped her fingers on the desktop. “Pull whatever varcolai patrolmen you have and put them down there. Let them deal with their own kind.”

  He nodded. “Will do.”

  She was about to ask why he hadn’t done that already when Valerie buzzed the intercom. “John and Luke Havoc are here, ma’am.”

  “Send them in.” She stood. “Chief, if you’ll excuse me, I have another matter to attend to.”

  He nodded and left as John and Luke entered.

  John dipped his head in greeting. “You sure you want to do this?”

  “Positive.” A frisson of emotion zipped up Lola’s spine. “This child is my flesh and blood, my familia. There is no question about what I’m willing to do to get her back. None. And I owe it to Julia.”

  “I get that. Family is important to us, too,” John answered. “You ready, then?”

  “Yes. Let’s go.” She would have gone on her own if she didn’t recognize the foolishness in that.

  “Wait,” Luke said. “I know I’m new to your employ, but I still have to tell you this is one of the dumbest things you could do.” John started to say something, but Luke held his hand out to silence him. “But if it were my kin, I’d do the exact same thing. I just don’t want you getting hurt. You have a city to run, after all.”

  “A city in which both human and othernatural citizens are looking to me for guidance. If I show fear in this situation, what will they think? How will they take it if their mayor is too cowardly to face a vampire even if it means rescuing her grandchild? I must do this.”

  Luke nodded. “I understand.”

  She straightened a little, buoyed by his words. “He has no reason to hurt me. We are joined by blood now. We share a common interest.”

  “He may see you as a threat,” John said. “And not to belabor the point, but he’s a vampire unlike any other. He can daywalk. He lives in a freaking abandoned church, a place no other vampire can comfortably set foot. He’s not predictable in any way.”

  “Then we are alike in that manner, because I doubt he expects me to come to his door.”

  “No one expects that,” Luke muttered.

  “That’s the point,” she responded. “Now take me to Preacher’s.”

  “Welcome, sir.” The butler bowed and moved to the side to let Doc enter his new home. Leaving the freighter behind wasn’t something Doc was completely ready to do, but since he’d killed Sinjin and become the Paradise City pride leader by default, moving into Sinjin’s old crib was kind of a requirement.

  “Lose the sir,” Doc said, his gaze roaming the penthouse, trying to take in every bit of the lux joint at once.

  “Yes, sir. Er, my apologies, si—” The butler stiffened, his face reddening.

  “No worries.” Big worries, actually, but Doc wasn’t going to give the man grief for doing his job. Figured Sinjin had a butler. Man always did have a big feeling about himself.

  The penthouse spelled that out pretty well, too. Made perfect sense this was where Sinjin had lived. Leopards liked height. Doc was no exception to that. What he didn’t like was everything else that came with this joint. Like the butler. Like being leader of the Paradise City feline varcolai pride. And being husband to Sinjin’s old lady. That last bit was not sitting well with Fi, not that anyone could expect it to. Doc had spent the last two days trying to calm her down, when he should have been here, figuring a way out of this mess.

  Wasn’t like he’d planned on taking Sinjin out. Doc shook his head, no longer seeing the fully loaded pad around him but instead replaying the fight between him and Sinjin, the moves slowed down in his head, each punch, kick, roll, and grab like part of a choreographed dance that had gone horribly wrong when he’d suddenly gone up in flames and turned Sinjin into barbeque. The memory of that night brought a rush of heat to Doc’s skin. He popped another ketamine just to be safe.

  Why the hell had Sinjin thought that framing the vampires for fake comarré deaths was a good idea? The beef between Sinjin and Dominic wasn’t a secret, but killing off Dominic’s counterfeit comarré was no way to go about settling things. Doc had no love for the vampire either, but those girls didn’t deserve to die for it. No one did. Except maybe Dominic.

  Now the mayor had even more ammo against othernaturals, especially since the first fake comarré killed had been her daughter. Dammit. This was such a mess. Doc didn’t know where to start fixing things. When he hadn’t been calming Fi down, he’d been searching for a loophole that would free him from being pride leader, but he’d found nothing. If the pride leader challenged you and you took him on in a fight and killed him, you were the new pride leader. Plain and simple. Black and white. Done deal.

  “Sir? I mean…” The butler cleared his throat. “How would you care to be addressed?”

  “Doc is fine.” How much did a place like this cost anyway? Did the pride really have that kind of cash?

  “I wouldn’t feel comfortable with that.”

  Doc turned to the butler. “Look, I don’t feel comfortable having a butler, so we both need to compromise, you dig?”

  The butler nodded.

  “You have a name?”

  “Isaiah.”

  “Good name.” Doc nodded. “My grandmother would have approved.”

  Isaiah smiled. “Thank you. May I call you Mr. Mays, perhaps?”

  With a deep inhale, Doc shook his head. “You call me Mr. Mays and I’ll be looking for my father. How about you call me by my full name, Maddoc.”

  “Such a civilized name for an alley cat,” a voice purred. Another feline presence filled the space, and Doc turned, his gaze landing on the person who’d caused the heartache in his relationship with Fi these past few days.

  Isaiah gave her a little head bow, then held his hand out toward her as he addressed Doc. “Maddoc, this is Heaven Silva. Your wife.”

  Chapter Four

  Velimai’s mood hadn’t improved since Chrysabelle had thrown Mal out, so Chrysabelle walked outside to meet Creek after the guard at the front gate had called with his arrival. She perched on the fountain’s edge in the center of the circular drive, trailing her fingers through the water and listening for the sound of his motorcycle over the fountain’s gurgling.

  The bike’s rumble preceded him and a few seconds later, he drove through the estate’s open gates and parked a few feet away. He climbed off the bike, set his helmet on the seat, and smiled. “It’s good to see you. You look healthy.”

  “Good to see you, too. And I am healthy. I guess. What brings you by?” She had nothing against small talk, but her mind was elsewhere.

  “Straight to it, then.” He sat beside her on the fountain’s wide ledge. “Look, this is hard for me to tell you, but try to remember at this point, I’m just the messenger. I want you to understand that.”

  “Okay.” Had to be Kubai Mata business. Creek always seemed so apologetic about it. “What’s going on?”

  “Samhain evening, my sector chief informed me that the Castus have the vampire child.”

  She nodded. “We already know that.” She’d kicked Mal out and yet she’d just said we. Like the two of them were a unit.

  He nodded. “I figured you did.” He worried a small hole near the knee of his jeans. “The KM want you to get the baby back.”

  “Why me? Why don’t they send their own warriors in?”

  “We’re too obvious. Too detectable. Nobles would scent us out immediately—if we even got past the city wards.” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “Those sacred brands? They make our blood smell sour. Ask Mal, he’ll tell you.”

  She shook her head. “The KM has resources. They could figure something out.”

  He sighed. “They have figured something out. That they want you to get the baby back. I’m sorry, Chrysabelle. I know you probably have no desire to go back there.”<
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  She studied him. The bend of his mouth and the way he sat a little hunched over told her he wasn’t enjoying this. “And if I refuse?”

  He dragged a hand over his Mohawk. “They’ll start by eliminating Mal.”

  She laughed sharply. “If the nobility can’t kill him, I’d like to see the KM try.”

  His gaze shifted and his voice lowered. “Then they’ll come after you. I’m powerless to stop them.”

  Anger ripped through her. “I’ve done nothing to them. They have no reason to involve me in this.”

  He sat back. “That’s not totally true. You haven’t returned the ring of sorrows to them.”

  “Why should I even care about returning a ring to an organization I know so little about? If I even still had the ring.”

  He stood and paced a few steps away. “I don’t know much about them either, and half of what I do know, I question.” He raised his hand as if to stop himself from talking.

  “Then why keep working for them?”

  He looked sideways, like someone might be watching. “I owe them, Chrysabelle. Big-time. For my freedom. For things they’ve done for my family.” He shook his head. “They own me. At least for a little while longer.”

  “No one should be indebted like that.” Her anger with him defused. She understood exactly the position he was in. “You have to find a way out.”

  He exhaled, his words quiet. “I can’t. Not yet.”

  “Do they know what I’ve done with the ring?”

  “No.”

  She stood, ready to go back inside. “Then tell them.”

  Something close to fear shadowed his eyes. “That’s calling down trouble.”

  “I can handle it. And I want them to know they don’t control me. So tell them exactly what I did with their precious ring and that there’s nothing you can do about it. Then maybe they’ll leave you alone.”

  “Nothing will make them leave me alone.” He spoke the words quietly, his tone resigned.

  Her anger on his behalf grew. “In fact, tell them I want nothing to do with them and will consider them enemies if they contact me again.” She turned and headed back to the house.

  “Chrysabelle—”

  She spun back around. “I don’t mean you, Creek. You can contact me, but not on their behalf. I like you. You’ve been a good friend to me.” More than that. He’d saved her life more than once. Fought at her side. Kissed her. She tempered her anger for the sake of their friendship. “If the Kubai Mata want that child, they’ll need a new plan. I’m done being a pawn for the greater good.” She paused. “So should you.”

  By the time she reached the front door, the sound of Creek’s motorcycle had already begun to fade. She slammed the door behind her and stormed into the kitchen. Her anger wasn’t completely at the KM for wanting her to do their bidding. No, much of it was at herself for pushing Mal away. Velimai glanced up from where she was setting plates of dinner on the table.

  “That was Creek,” Chrysabelle said. Like Velimai hadn’t heard when the guard had called. She threw herself into one of the kitchen chairs, her temper darkening with each passing minute. Why was she so afraid of facing things? Why did Mal raise such emotion in her? Answering those questions meant coming to terms with what she was feeling. Something she was so not ready to do.

  She wished Velimai would just sign something. Anything to break the stoniness that had settled over the house since she’d thrown Mal out. Velimai sat, intent on her dinner. Chrysabelle cut a bite of steak and stuffed it into her mouth, but all she tasted was anger. Enough. She swallowed and set her fork down. “I didn’t mean for things to go that way with Mal. He just has a way of… pushing my buttons.”

  Velimai looked up from her meal, putting her silverware aside to free her hands. How did you mean for things to go?

  “I don’t know.” She slid her plate away. “Why do I do that? Why does everything with him have to be a battle? Why does he always find a way to do exactly what I don’t want him to do?” She lifted her gaze toward the ceiling for a second. “Why do I even care?”

  You two are very much alike. You need each other. Both seeking something that can’t be found alone.

  Chrysabelle pursed her mouth. “Riddles don’t help.”

  Velimai shrugged and went back to eating.

  Chrysabelle’s appetite was gone, Velimai’s words ringing soundlessly in her head. “I should get Jerem to take me out to the freighter and apologize. Plus I owe Mal blood.” And she could fill him in on what the KM was up to. She stood, dropping her napkin onto her plate. “Will you tell Jerem I need the car? I’m going to shower first, but then I want to go out to Mal’s.”

  Velimai nodded.

  Chrysabelle turned away and almost ran across the living room and up the stairs. What did Velimai think she and Mal were seeking? Freedom? That was true. But did they really need each other? The thought of being without him upset her. Did that mean she cared for him? If she did, why did she fight with him this way? Why did he always set her off so easily? She would not travel the same path as her mother. Falling in love with a vampire had gotten her mother nothing but years of misery. And ultimately, death. Not that Dominic was so awful, but something had gone wrong between them. Enough that Maris had ultimately chosen to live alone rather than with him.

  Chrysabelle pushed through the doors to her suite and didn’t stop until she was naked under the pulsing jets of her shower. She would visit Mal, apologize, and give him blood. Then she might as well talk to Damian and see what she could find out. Mal had said the comar was at the freighter. Why, she couldn’t imagine, but if Mal had done it to keep the comar out of her hair while she recovered, then she owed him one. The floral scent of her shampoo did nothing to soothe her. If Damian was with Mal, where was Saraphina, the comarré who had run away with him?

  She rinsed the soap from her hair and skin. Maybe Mal had her, too. If so, Chrysabelle might be off the hook for giving him blood. In fact, if Saraphina stayed with him, Mal wouldn’t need Chrysabelle’s blood at all.

  The bittersweetness of that thought brought an unexpected ache to her soul. She leaned her head against the slick marble wall, closed her eyes, and let the water beat down onto her.

  Holy mother. Maybe Velimai was right. Maybe she did need him. She shook herself and shoved those thoughts away. There was too much to deal with right now to worry about something as insignificant as feelings. Like finding her brother.

  Nothing pressed on her so much as finding him and fulfilling her mother’s wish. After everything Maris had done for her, getting her brother home was the least Chrysabelle could do. To know that she had family, real family—not just the preordained brothers, sisters, aunts, and uncles of the comarré life—made her long to know him with a yearning that sprang from her soul. She would find him. No matter what it took.

  An hour later, she walked up the gangway to Mal’s abandoned freighter, wearing both sacres, a pair of wrist blades, and a new attitude. She would not let Mal upset her. If he wanted to talk about what had happened at Atticus’s, she would politely steer the conversation in a new direction until such time as she felt comfortable dealing with whatever Mal thought was going on.

  The ship, as always, was dark and deserted, lit only by the weak solars that dotted the never-ending labyrinth of passageways. “Mal? It’s Chrysabelle.” As if he wouldn’t know.

  She had a general idea of which way to go. Her heightened sense of smell helped a bit, too. Mal’s dark spice pervaded the ship’s space, but it was stronger in some directions than others. She followed the path she remembered in her head, taking a flight of stairs that seemed familiar and taking a turn that looked right, passing corridors and doors that, one after another, seemed to blend together.

  Frustration building, she called for him again. “Mal! Hello? Anyone?”

  A shimmering image burst through the wall ahead of her and turned into Fi. “Hey. What are you doing here?”

  “Fi, I’m so glad someone’s he
re. I’m trying to find Mal. I think I got a little turned around.”

  The ghost girl frowned. “Last I saw him, he was at your house. Did he leave without telling you?”

  Chrysabelle sighed. “I may have thrown him out.”

  Fi’s face was blank for a moment, then she laughed. The laughter faded fast. “Men suck.”

  Chrysabelle’s brows lifted. “Something going on with you and Doc?”

  “I take it Mal hasn’t filled you in on what’s been going on?”

  “No.” Not that she’d given him a chance.

  “Walk with me to the galley.” Fi’s feet hit the floor a second after she became corporeal. She turned down the closest corridor. “Long story, but the short version is he’s the new Paradise City pride leader, and that job comes with a wife.”

  Chrysabelle easily matched the shorter girl’s stride. “And you don’t want to fill the position?” She’d thought the varcolai and Fi were crazy about each other, but maybe she’d been wrong.

  Fi shook her head. “The position’s already been filled by the previous leader’s wife. When Doc killed Sinjin—who was the one killing off Dominic’s comarrés, in case you hadn’t heard…”

  “I hadn’t. Go on.”

  “Anyway, when Doc killed him, he inherited everything that had been Sinjin’s. Including the guy’s wife.”

  “What?” Chrysabelle stared in disbelief. “That’s rather archaic.”

  “That’s pride law. The same set of rules that kicked Doc out of the pride have now put him in charge of it.”

  “Wow.” Chrysabelle took a moment to process. What else had happened in the last few days that she didn’t know about?

  “Wow is right. Freaking sucks is more like it.” Emotion thickened Fi’s voice. “Where does that leave me?”

  “Well, you still love him, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “And he still loves you, right?”

  “I suppose.”

  “Fi, come on.”

  She blew out a long, hard breath. “Yes, he still loves me.”

  “So why can’t you and Doc just explain things to this woman? I’m sure she’ll understand. She probably doesn’t want to be married to Doc any more than you want her to be.”