Out for Blood

by Kristen Painter

  This had to be played correctly, no matter how badly she wanted to punish his betrayal.

  She schooled her face into a mask of pleasantness and opened the door. The waft of blood scent caused saliva to pool under her tongue. Her fangs punched through her gums. With effort, she retracted them.

  He stood near the window but turned at the noise. His expression darkened into something more like anger than the fear she’d expected. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

  She jerked back in surprise. “You’ve been waiting for me?”

  He shrugged and turned away, his gaze directed into the growing twilight. “I must be dealt with. After all, I ran from you.”

  This was not how she’d imagined this going. “Yes, of course, that is not something that can be swept under the rug.”

  He said nothing, just continued to stare outside.

  “It’s well within my rights to have you punished.”

  Still nothing. The anger she’d shoved down pressed against her spine along with the surging desire to feed.

  “I could have you whipped.” She formed her metal hand into a tapered length of chain.

  He shifted to lean against the window frame. Her flesh hand fisted at his insolence. She relaxed it and took a few steps closer, dragging the metal whip over the floor. The succulent perfume of his blood teased the edges of her good sense.

  “Or beaten.”

  At last he moved, turning his head just enough to make eye contact. He exhaled with what could only be exasperation. “Or you could sell me or trade me for another or return me to the Primoris Domus and have the blood rights repaid. Which will it be? I don’t need a litany of possibilities, just the decision.”

  She stared, frozen by the hot rush of rage building inside her.

  He shoved away from the window and came toward her, suddenly twice the size she remembered him being. “Did you expect me to cower? To plead for your forgiveness? To beg to be returned to your good graces and the life I used to have with you?” He snorted. “I’m not Saraphina.”

  His insolence was too much. She snapped her hand forward, the chain hissing through the air. It caught him around the neck. She yanked hard, bringing him to his knees. He clawed at the chain around his throat as she stalked forward. “How dare you—”

  “How dare I,” he gurgled the words out. “Because you are a contemptible patron. A comar would have to be insane to want to serve you.”

  She raised her good hand to strike him just as the door opened.

  Octavian stuck his head in. “Forgive me for interrupting, but Lilith is crying. She wants you.”

  Tatiana almost forgot the impudent comar at her feet. She morphed the whip back into a hand. Damian sagged to his knees. “Be grateful my child needs me or—”

  “Grateful for what? For being treated as your chew toy?”

  She struck so fast, her hand was a flash of silver light. He fell onto his side, blood trickling from where she’d split his lip. Her stomach knotted in appetite. She grabbed him by his shirtfront and pulled him up until only a narrow slice of blood-scented air separated them. “I paid your blood rights and that means I own you.”

  Without turning away, she spoke to Octavian. “Tell Oana to feed my child and I’ll be along shortly.”

  “Oana says she isn’t hungry. I think you should—”

  She snapped her head toward Octavian, her words little more than a growl. “Leave us.”

  A short nod and he was gone.

  She peered into Damian’s blue eyes, searching for a hint of regret or fear, but found nothing but contempt. Her anger spiraled higher. “Owning you means I can do with you whatever I please. And what I please right now is to feed.”

  She fell on him, taking him to the ground in one rough stroke. Her fangs descended and she sank them into his neck. The ritual and pleasantries of drinking from his wrist no longer mattered. Not when he’d disrespected her so thoroughly.

  She drank deeply and without care, bringing him to the ash-flavored cusp of death before allowing him to fall from her grasp. She rocked back on her heels and wiped the corners of her mouth.

  “If the idea of begging for a return to your previous life here appeals to you, let me save you the effort. There is no chance for that.” She stood and brushed herself off. “You’ll be lucky if I let you live, you foolish cow.”

  She kicked him in the ribs and, satisfied with the sharp crack of bone and his grunt of pain, marched out.

  Her head swirled with questions and disbelief. What had possessed him to act that way? She stopped a few steps toward her quarters, cold shards of realization digging into her brain as her body came alive. She sucked in a breath. Not only had she completely forgotten about trying to get information from him about the comarré, but getting anything out of him now would take vast amounts of torture.

  He had played her and she’d fallen for each line of his song like a lovesick gadje standing in the crowd, pining after the Roma fiddler. Fool. No, not a fool if she didn’t fall for it twice.

  She tossed her head back. Perhaps the comar had won this round, but the next time they met, she would show him just how much pain his soft human body could endure. That would cure him of his games.

  Smiling as the scene unfolded in her head, she went to care for her child. Someday, all this would belong to Lilith. Until that day, Tatiana would do whatever necessary to protect it for her.

  When Lola heard who the first othernatural captured was, she knew Malkolm and Chrysabelle wouldn’t be far behind, especially since the comarré had been with the shifter. Now the pair stood across from her desk.

  Creek’s plan had worked out brilliantly. Better than either of them had anticipated. Now she’d not only get to make an example of the varcolai, but she’d also get to punish the vampire for refusing her request. She just wouldn’t let him know she’d remembered what he’d done. Not yet.

  “I know why you’re here.” She spoke without bothering to look up from the nonessential paperwork she was examining intently. Let them think it was about them. Let them think what they wanted.

  Mal shifted. “Good. Then we can dispense with the small talk. We want Doc—”

  “So you think I’m an idiot, do you?”

  Mal shook his head. “I never said that.”

  “I did,” Chrysabelle answered quietly. “It was said in the heat of the moment and for that, I apologize. I still believe the curfew is a very bad idea.”

  Creek snorted softly from his chair in the far corner.

  Lola set the paperwork down. “Unfortunately, city hall is unequipped with a suggestion box, but I’ll make a note of your disapproval.” She stood. “Unless, of course, you’re a registered voter. Then you can express yourself next November.”

  “I’m not a—”

  “Citizen of this country. I know.” The information Creek had given her made this so much easier. “Unlike your mother, you’ve yet to take care of that. Or even make yourself useful to this city in any way.”

  “Look here.” Chrysabelle started forward. “When you needed information on what was happening in this city and what had happened to your daughter, you had no problems talking to me and taking my advice then.” She glanced at Creek. “You of all people should have explained to her what a mess this curfew is going to make of things.”

  He jerked one shoulder. “You’ve only been helpful when it suited you, comarré. Why should we help you now?”

  “Creek, what is going on with you?” Her face fell. “I thought we had an understanding.”

  He unfolded himself from his chair. “I understand that you have no interest in helping the mayor retrieve her grandchild.”

  Angry shadows filled her eyes. She took a few steps forward. “You told me that was the KM’s mission. Not the mayor’s.”

  Lola looked askance at her. “Did you think I’d leave my grandchild to rot with those creatures?”

  “No, I just”—Chrysabelle glanced back at Malkolm—“I have some things of my
own to deal with before I can take on someone else’s troubles.”

  “Just like when my daughter’s killer was on the loose.” Lola came around to lean against the front of her desk. “Sometimes the greater good must come before our own wants and desires, but then you’d know that if you’d spent any time in the real world.”

  Chrysabelle’s cheek twitched. “Finding my brother is not a want or a desire. It’s a need. He’s my family. And figuring out what’s happening to me physically? Also a need. Don’t tell me about the greater good. My entire life has been about the greater good.”

  Malkolm stepped up beside her and put his hand on the small of her back. She seemed to calm at his touch. A spark of jealousy lit within Lola’s bosom. No wonder the vampire had turned down her offer. He didn’t need a free-spirited mortal woman when he had his obedient little blood pet. How had Julia lowered herself to that? Deep down, Lola knew. Because the vampire’s darkness called to the darkness in her, just as it must have for her daughter. “As to the reason why you’re here, there is no denying Maddoc is guilty of violating the curfew.”

  Malkolm nodded. “You’re right. He’s guilty. We’re not arguing that. We want to work something out. Doc isn’t just any varcolai; he’s the leader of the Paradise City pride. Humiliating him like this could buy you more trouble than it’s worth.”

  She laughed. “I love that you’re so concerned with how I come out in all this. Very touching.”

  Creek sat back down in the chair, perching oddly on the edge. “This conversation is pointless.”

  But Malkolm went on. “What happens in this city affects us all. Putting Doc on display will cause more unrest.”

  Lola crossed one ankle over the other. “And your solution to this? Because I assume if you’ve come this far, you have a better idea.”

  “I do,” Malkolm said. The comarré looked at him as though this was the first she’d heard of his alternative. “Let Doc go. Take me in his place.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Fi sat waiting on the balcony of Chrysabelle’s guesthouse, watching the circular drive for the lights of Doc’s shiny new sports car. She sighed and kicked her feet onto the railing. By now, Doc and Chrysabelle should have been back. How long would they stay out looking for her?

  She thought they would have searched the guesthouse, but not yet. She was tired of hiding. Bored of sneaking around the house, not daring to turn on the lights or holovision in case she got found out. But she was ready to be found now.

  It wasn’t that she was over being mad at him. She was still mad and probably would be for a good long time. Unless his explanation and apology were world-class, which they’d better be, but she couldn’t judge that until she’d heard them.

  Which is why she’d decided to show herself when they got back. Not that hiding out in Chrysabelle’s guesthouse was such a hardship, other than not being able to turn on the lights or TV. The place was nice. Maybe not as fancy as Doc’s new penthouse, but considering the guesthouse didn’t have a snooty Brazilian varcolai in it who deserved to be thrown out on her fancy, designer-clad butt, Chrysabelle’s digs were plenty nice.

  Screw Heaven and her twelve-hundred-dollar shoes. Fi sniffed. Those should be her twelve-hundred-dollar shoes. That should be her in that penthouse with Doc. Not some dead man’s wife. She huffed out a breath. Pride law was stupid.

  Maybe she should go down and let Velimai know she was here. Velimai was a good listener, and she might have some ideas about what to do with the whole Heaven/Doc situation. Beyond letting Doc do some groveling, because hell yeah, she’d earned some groveling.

  Fi stood and peered over the edge of the railing, but from here she couldn’t see enough of the house to figure out what Velimai was up to. She inhaled, sniffing for the scent of something cooking, but apparently dinner was over. Too bad. Fi could eat. And unlike the freighter’s kitchen, Chrysabelle’s was always stocked and her fridge was always full. And not just with blood.

  Fi shuddered at the thought as she made her way into the house and downstairs. If she lived to be a thousand, she’d never get how anyone, vampire or otherwise, could stand the taste of the stuff. She shuffled across the yard, wondering if she was setting off the pressure plate sensors installed beneath the sod. She’d arrived in her ghostly form and hadn’t touched anything until she was well inside the house.

  As if in answer, the security lights flipped on, almost blinding her. She shielded her eyes with her hand and hustled to the front door. She pounded on it a few times with her fist. “Hey, Vel, it’s me, Fi.”

  A few seconds later, the wysper opened the door. She took a quick look at Fi; then her eyes roamed the property behind her. You alone? she signed.

  “Yep, just me.” She shrugged. “Did I trip the alarm?”

  Yes. Velimai tipped her head. Doc’s looking for you.

  “I know. He just wasn’t looking hard enough. I’ve been in your guesthouse.”

  Velimai moved out of the way so Fi could come in. Ready to make up?

  “Maybe. Mostly tired of hiding. And hungry.”

  Velimai laughed, a soft wheezing sound. You always could eat.

  Fi entered and headed toward the kitchen. “Hey, I like food. Is that such a bad thing?”

  Not when it’s my cooking. I was just about to get some dinner. It’ll be good to have company. Velimai shut the door and walked with her. Besides that, I’m actually getting a little worried they haven’t returned yet.

  “Why?”

  About to reach for the fridge handle, Velimai paused to sign, Because of the curfew. She opened the door and began taking out leftovers.

  Fi got plates down and began to set the table. “What curfew?”

  Velimai closed the fridge. Haven’t you heard? The mayor held a press conference. No othernaturals out from sundown to sunup.

  “What? That’s crazy. Othernaturals have rights, too.”

  Not as many as we used to. Wait, I’ll put the TV on and you can see for yourself. Velimai walked into the living room and picked up the remote, tapping the touch screen. The holovision flared to life, projecting its image into the room, but no sound. Velimai tapped the screen a few more times, changing the channel until she hit the local news station.

  A female reporter was standing in the town square. A crowd had gathered and other camera crews were milling about.

  “What’s going on?” Fi tried to see past the reporter, but the camera lights didn’t extend enough into the darkness to show detail. “Turn it up.”

  Velimai tapped the screen again until they could hear the reporter’s voice.

  … the crowd behind me is only going to get larger as the night wears on, I’m sure. Especially with this new development.” The reporter fiddled with an earpiece. “Apparently, the varcolai who broke the curfew is being released due to a second othernatural taking his place. Can we zoom in on the action?”

  “They caught someone already? Are they serious?” Fi shook her head. This was going to rile people up big-time.

  The camera moved off the reporter to focus on the center of the square. Lights, electric lights, had been set up on tripods and aimed toward the area. The sudden brightness caused the camera image to flare; then the scene became clearer as the balance adjusted.

  Between two posts set into the ground, a man was chained at his wrists and ankles. A very familiar man.

  Fi fell to her knees, her hands at her mouth. “Oh no. Please no.” A sob caught in her throat. She swallowed it down. “That’s Doc.” She stared blindly for a few seconds more, no longer hearing what the reporter was saying. “I have to go to him.” She pushed to her feet, her stomach churning.

  Wait, Velimai signed frantically. They’re releasing him.

  “What?” Fi turned. Sure enough, a group of cops, dressed in heavy-duty SWAT gear, were unlocking the manacles on his wrists. Doc kept his head down, but Fi would have known him anywhere. “How did he let himself get caught? The pride is going to go crazy.”

  Transf
ixed, Velimai just shook her head.

  Fi went back to watching. They were leading Doc away now. Where to, she had no idea. “They better be releasing him and not just putting him in a cell somewhere.” Velimai nodded. Fi wished she wasn’t having the thoughts she was having, but the truth was, as much as she wanted Doc free, she didn’t want him going back to Heaven.

  She rubbed her eyes. They had to get this worked out. She sat on the couch and leaned her head onto her hands. There had to be a solution. She couldn’t just walk away from him. Or could she? The ache in her heart and her soul at the very idea said there was no way. Not now, not after all they’d—

  A slapping sound lifted her head. Fi looked up. Velimai was smacking the couch’s arm. She stopped and pointed at the TV.

  Fi glanced at the screen. Doc was gone. The SWAT team was shackling his substitute into place. A new panic filled her as the camera zoomed in on the man’s face. “Oh no. That can’t be. Why would he do that?”

  The man lifted his head as if he wanted to be seen.

  The man was Mal.

  Lord Syler and his Elder, Edwin, arrived first at Tatiana’s. Lord Grigor and Svetla were the last. “The last to arrive,” Tatiana spat out. “Can you believe that? They did it deliberately to show their contempt for me.” She growled from her spot on the raised dressing platform as the servants under Kosmina’s watch scurried around with the finishing touches.

  Octavian gently nodded. “They are petty fools, but don’t let them upset you. At least they’re all here now and in record time. I’d say word of Lilith has spread. And wait until you tell them what we’ve discovered about our angel.”

  Resplendent in the same unrelieved black they’d all chosen, Daci nodded. “Octavian’s right. There’s so much more to concentrate on than their pettiness. Idiots. They have no idea how passé they are about to become.”

  Only a few weeks ago, their words would have made Tatiana snap, but now she had to admit they were right. She lifted her chin. “I suppose watching their faces when I tell them about Lilith’s special ability will make it all worthwhile.” The nobility would be rocked to its core with jealousy. “For that, I cannot wait.”