Out for Blood

by Kristen Painter

  Mortalis nodded. “That’s fine. We’re fueled and ready to go. I’ll help with the bags.”

  “Thanks.” Chrysabelle went around to the trunk, pulled her sacres out, and slung them over her shoulder. Even though she couldn’t bring the swords into the ball, she’d brought them anyway. Mal couldn’t say as he blamed her. There was comfort in being well armed. She took one small bag from the trunk while Jerem got the rest. “Where’s the pilot? I’d like to meet him.”

  “I’m right here.” A familiar gray-skinned figure waved from the jet door.

  “Amery!” Chrysabelle waved back as she walked toward the jet. “I didn’t know you flew.”

  “One of my many talents.” He came down a few steps. “Malkolm, nice to see you.”

  Mal grabbed the handle of his worn leather satchel. “You too, kid.” Having another fae on board wasn’t a bad thing. Amery had been helpful enough when they’d been in New Orleans. If the need came to defend the plane against vampires, the shadeux and their ability to possess soulless creatures would come in very handy.

  A few minutes later, they were on board. Mortalis secured the door. “I’ll be in the cockpit with Amery if you need me.”

  “Thank you.” Chrysabelle took the seat next to Mal and fastened her safety belt. Her arm pushed against his as she got comfortable. The movement stirred a fresh waft of her enticing perfume around him.

  He growled softly, opening his mouth to let that velvet scent tease across his tongue.

  She smiled shyly. “You need to feed. We’ll take care of that as soon as we’re up, okay?”

  “I’m…” He was about to say fine, but that wasn’t the truth. He did need to feed. Drink her, drain her, all of her. “When we’re up.” He tipped his head back against the seat as the jet taxied out of the hangar. How was he going to go back to drinking her blood out of a glass after tasting it from her vein?

  He closed his eyes, lost in the thought of being able to pull her into his arms and hold her as he sank his teeth into the pale expanse of her gilded throat, the way she’d clutch him and inhale, the way their bodies—He abruptly opened his eyes and shifted in his seat. That line of thought was going to make for a very long plane ride.

  Chrysabelle laid her hand on his arm as the plane shot forward and the g-force of liftoff pushed them into their seats. “You okay?”

  He nodded. “Just thinking.”

  “About how you’d rather bite me again than drink from a glass?” She laughed. “No, I can’t read minds, but your eyes are about as silver as a new coin and if your face shifts any further, you might break a bone.”

  He forced his human features back into place. “Sorry.”

  “Don’t apologize.” Her lids lowered and one side of her mouth tipped up. “I was thinking about it, too.”

  Her words sent a bolt of heat into his belly. He squelched it. “No point in thinking about it. Can’t happen. I won’t risk killing you.”

  “Are you sure?” Her hands gripped the armrests. “We did it once and I’m still alive.” The plane started to level out. “Besides, even if you do accidentally drink too much, you can’t kill me. You might knock me out for a day or two, but then I’ll be as good as new.”

  He twisted to face her. “I was chained up. That’s not the same as being in a confined space with me. And we don’t know that you’ll survive dying again. You’re assuming that.” He glared at her. “If you’re going into this confrontation with Tatiana thinking it’s okay to die, you’d better get your head on straight. You take one foolish chance and I will pull you out of there so fast—”

  She clamped her hand over his mouth until he stopped talking. “There’s the Mal I’m used to. Bossing me around, telling me what to do. You must have been chomping at the bit, huh? Feel better now that you’ve gotten that out?”

  “I’m serious.”

  Her eyelids fluttered as she inhaled. “Yes, I know you are. I don’t plan on taking any unnecessary chances, but this isn’t just Tatiana we’re about to face. It’s the upper crust of vampire nobility. Something goes wrong and neither of us is getting out of there alive, which is why you need to keep your strength up. You need to be able to scatter in case that’s the only option you have left.”

  “I won’t leave you behind.” Too bad.

  “You won’t have to.” She reached up and cupped her hand against his cheek. “I kind of missed bossy Mal.”

  “I’m not biting you.” Do. Drain her.

  She patted his cheek. “Yes, you are. If things go poorly, Mortalis can slip inside you and pull you off me. It’ll be fine, you’ll see.” She unlocked her safety belt and got up. “I’ll be right back.”

  “Chrysabelle.” But she kept walking until she reached the cockpit. Fresh fear rose up like bile in his throat. He agreed that being at full power for what they were about to face was important, but not at her expense. What if the beast took over? Could Mortalis wrest control of that much darkness? He looked out the window into the pitch-black night. The face reflected back was the ugly reminder of just how much of a monster he was. He turned away. Laughter rang in his head.

  Doing this was a very bad idea. Do it do it do it. The voices were proof of that.

  Chrysabelle came out of the cockpit, Mortalis behind her. Mal shook his head slowly and stared at the tan carpeting covering the walkway, his jaw popping to one side.

  She sat beside him, reaching for his hand. “Ready?”

  He pulled away. “No.”

  Mortalis took the seat opposite them. “It would be better to try this now before you need the blood so badly your control is undermined.”

  “It would be better not to do this at all.”

  “I won’t let you hurt her.”

  Mal got out of his seat. “You think you can control what’s inside me?”

  Mortalis scratched one of his horns. “There’s only one way to find out, isn’t there?”

  Something nudged Creek’s side. He opened his eyes, wondering if his lids were the only part of him that didn’t hurt.

  “What the hell happened to you?” A black shadow stood over him. Annika.

  Slowly, he pushed to his knees. Shards of glass pinged to the concrete. He blew out a slow breath, his insides aching like they were sunburned. Yahla had done a number on him when she’d been in there. “Damn it. What time is it?”

  “Couple hours after sunset. Why?”

  He’d been out too long. Hopefully Yahla was still recovering from her last attempt to possess him. That would buy him some time. Whether or not it would be enough time remained to be seen. He got to his feet and brushed his hand over his head, loosening one last splinter of glass from his Mohawk. “I gotta go.”

  “Not until you answer some questions.”

  A little ambient light spilled through the broken skylight, turning the floor of the old mechanics shop into diamonds. “My grandmother’s in trouble. I have to go help her.”

  “Spent the grocery money on bingo again?” Annika smiled.

  He narrowed his eyes at her. Up until that point, he’d almost started to like Annika. “I’m going to pretend you didn’t just insult my grandmother, because I have a thing about not hitting women.”

  Her smile disappeared. “Sorry. I didn’t—I like your grandmother. What kind of trouble could she be in?”

  There was no point in hiding what had happened. “Yahla.”

  “What’s that?”

  “The woman you smelled on me the first time you visited.” He snagged his motorcycle helmet off the worktable. “I’m pretty sure she’s going after my grandmother to get revenge on me.”

  “Why?”

  “Long story I don’t have time for.” He grabbed his crossbow and his halm.

  “A fight? I like a good fight.” Annika’s smile returned. “When do we leave?”

  “Sure, you can come, thanks for asking.” He rolled his eyes as he went to open the door. Pushy women plagued his life. Hopefully after tonight, there’d be one less.

/>   “This Yahla, is she really that dangerous?”

  He stopped, hand poised above the door’s locks, and turned to look at her. “Argent killed her once. It didn’t take.”

  Annika’s brows lifted above her permanent shades. “Argent was here? We were starting to think he was dead.”

  “Oh, he’s dead all right.” Creek shoved the metal door back. “Yahla made sure of that.”

  Annika followed after him. “Explain.”

  He went back for the second helmet, glad for the wireless comms that would let them chat. “Ride with me. I’ll tell you on the way.”

  By the time they got to his grandmother’s road, Annika knew everything that had happened with Yahla from the first time Creek had met her. He slowed the bike as they approached the little house. Annika’s arms loosened from his waist. Up ahead, his grandmother’s metal roof came into view above the mangroves and pepper trees lining the dirt road. The metal gleamed in the starlight and a soft curl of smoke drifted from the chimney pipe. Everything appeared normal, but he knew with Yahla, normal meant nothing.

  He parked the V-Rod at the end of the long driveway and slipped his helmet off, then leaned back to Annika. “Stay quiet.”

  She nodded, removed her helmet, and got off the bike. He did the same, then motioned for her to follow him. Mawmaw’s porch light brightened the night enough that he could see perfectly. He hugged the line of sawgrass and pines that bordered the property line. After that, it dropped off into impassable swampland. He kept an eye out for gators, pythons, and anything else he didn’t want to step on.

  Together they crept toward the back of the house. It was too quiet. The glades at night should be loud with buzzing insects, croaking frogs, and gator calls, but all he could hear was Annika’s breathing. Even Pip hadn’t barked to announce their arrival.

  A yell pierced the quiet. Mawmaw’s voice. He ran for the back porch, Annika behind him. No longer caring about being quiet, he sprinted up the steps and skidded to a stop.

  The sliding door was open and half off its track. Just in front of it, like she’d almost gotten inside, Mawmaw sprawled on her stomach, one arm stretched toward the sawed-off pool cue his grandfather used to carry around in his pickup truck.

  “Mawmaw, what happened?” He started forward, but the air above her smudged with smoke and feathers.

  Yahla stepped out of the house, cocked her head at him, and frowned. “You are late.”

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  From what Tatiana could see, achtice’s Primoris Domus occupied a slightly smaller estate than Corvinestri’s but was no less grandly appointed. The center hall of the main building, the only one she and Daci would be allowed entrance to, dripped with crystal, artwork, and gilding just as the comarré estate in Corvinestri did. Obscene, really.

  The woman in charge here, Madame Vilma or Velma or something, was just as uptight, just as militant about them not stepping a foot beyond the center hall. Apparently, Syler’s insistence that Daci be allowed to purchase a comar despite there being no prior appointment had flustered her. As if Tatiana and Daci would even want to see more of the place. Tatiana had been down the halls of the Corvinestri house. Those dull little cells held no attraction.

  She snorted softly.

  “What is it?” Daci asked.

  “How these comarré live and the way they act considering how well they’re paid.” She shook her head. “Look at this luxury. And for what? A little blood? A little power?” She leaned into the brocade sofa and crossed her arms. “And they call us parasites.”

  “Ladies.” The voice came from behind them. Daci twisted in her seat. Tatiana merely lifted enough to look over the back of the sofa. The comarré housemother stood waiting. Had she heard what Tatiana had said? Not that it mattered, except she might further inflate the comar’s blood rights. “My available comars will be out shortly. Is there anything else you need?”

  “No, thank you,” Daci answered. “Just the comars.”

  The woman nodded her blond head and disappeared down a hall. Daci leaned in. “How much do you think this is going to cost me?”

  “As much as they can get out of you. Primoris Domus comarré are the most expensive and the best quality.”

  “Which is why they’re the only house allowed within vampire city limits. I know that, but no one ever really talks about how much it takes to purchase blood rights.”

  “That’s a requirement of the paperwork you’ll sign. You agree not to reveal what you’ve spent.” Tatiana rolled her eyes. “That’s part of their mystique.” She thought for a moment. “We could always go outside the city to one of the lesser houses, but I’m not sure we have that kind of time here in achtice. Maybe when we get home to Corvinestri?”

  “No, no.” Daci shook her head. “I want a Primoris Domus comar and I want one now. I want to show him off at the ball. I am the House of Tepes Elder, after all. I just hope I pick the right one.”

  “Ask the questions I told you to ask and you’ll be fine.” Not that she’d fared that well with Damian, but how was she to know he’d turn into such a problem? At the time, he’d been the cream of the comar available, and there had been no question of whether or not she’d purchase his blood rights, just the negotiation as to how much she’d pay.

  The sudden rush of blood scent filled the room, causing both women to gasp softly.

  “Here we are,” the headmistress announced as she walked into the hall’s open space. Behind her followed four comars. All blond, all blue eyed, all dressed in white, and tattooed in gold. Each one a perfect specimen of their breed.

  Tatiana watched as Daci scrutinized the men standing before her, although calling two of them men was a fair stretch considering they probably weren’t more than seventeen. She sat back to see how Daci would do.

  Daci strolled both sides of the row of comars with a practiced nonchalance, getting a good look at each one. Then, without the slightest indication of her feelings upon her face, she stopped in front of Madame Vilma. “Have any had their blood rights purchased before?”

  Madame Vilma nodded at the last one, also the oldest by his looks. “Daniel has. Unfortunately, his patron passed on but Daniel’s returned to us, eager to serve another.”

  “He’s dismissed.” Daci waved her hand like she was pushing him away.

  Tatiana smiled. Her Elder was doing well.

  As that comar left, Daci asked her second question. “Which one is the youngest?”

  “Jonah,” Vilma commanded. “Step forward.”

  “His age?” Daci asked.

  “Sixteen.”

  Daci went to stand before the boy. He was easily a head taller than her and his broad body eclipsed her slim build. She leaned in and inhaled. He stood motionless under her scrutiny. She shifted her face and dropped her fangs, opening her mouth to breathe in his scent. He didn’t flinch, but his cheeks flushed the deep red of strong blood. The sight made Tatiana’s gums ache. This was the one.

  “My lady,” he murmured, dropping his head a few centimeters.

  Daci smiled and pulled back. She nodded, casting a glance at Tatiana before speaking to the housemother. “He’ll do.”

  Tatiana covered her mouth to hide her prideful smile. The slightest twinge of jealousy bit at her, knowing that Daci would be the first to break that boy’s tender skin and taste the life that flowed in his veins.

  She’d never wanted to rid herself of Damian so badly.

  Fi couldn’t stop trembling. Beyond the ready room, the noise of the gathering crowd in the arena filtered through. The crowd that was going to watch this madness unfold. The crowd that would cheer Heaven on, because Heaven was one of their own.

  All of them varcolai. All of them, save Doc, Omur, and Barasa, here to watch Heaven destroy her.

  Heat built at the back of Fi’s eyes. Heat that meant tears. Why had she done this? She tipped her head back. She would not cry. No way in hell. She might be scared. And stupid. But she wasn’t going out there looking like a cryb
aby who’d suddenly realized what a jack-witted thing she’d done. Besides, she knew what she needed to do when she got out there.

  She breathed a few steadying breaths and forced herself to run through the moves Omur and Barasa had taught her. Just in case. The way to move when Heaven lunged, how to anticipate a punch, how to take a punch.

  How not to die.

  “Mercy,” Fi whispered, tasting the word to see how bitter it was. She didn’t plan to use it, because using it meant losing Doc, but if not using it meant dying, she might. Dying would give Heaven complete access to Doc. Unless… Fi sat down on the narrow bench attached to the wall. Would she actually die? Or would she just be unable to return to a solid form? Or worse. Fi shuddered. If she died and got stuck in that nightmarish loop of repeating the day Mal had killed her…

  She got to her feet. That wasn’t a chance she was willing to take. Not with the old witch Aliza dead. Who would cast the spell to get her out of the loop if it happened again? She shook her head and began to walk the perimeter of the room.

  Doc burst in. “Fi.”

  The tears she’d been holding back rose up fresh, spilling down her cheeks. She ran to him, buried herself against his hard body. “This has got to be the stupidest thing I’ve ever done.”

  “Hey now.” He petted her hair as she sniffled into his chest, then gently pulled her back. “I think we both know falling in love with me was the stupidest thing you ever did.” He smiled and winked, but his eyes mirrored the fear she was feeling.

  She smiled back anyway, knowing that was what he wanted. “I’m afraid.”

  He frowned. “Your plan’s going to work. I know it will. And don’t be afraid of Heaven. Please, baby, you’ve already been through worse than anything that woman can dish out. You died twice, for Bast’s sake. You’ve lived with all the crap that goes on in Mal’s head. Heaven can’t be scarier than that.”

  “She’s not. I’m afraid of losing you.” She sniffed and wiped her nose on the sleeve of the oversized jumpsuit she’d been issued. At least the boots they’d given her fit. Didn’t hurt that fashionista Heaven would have to wear one of these getups too. It was supposed to help even the playing field. “And you’re right.” She nodded. “I can do this.” But those words were for him. Inside, doubt raged. Would Heaven really let her cry mercy if something went wrong? Somehow she didn’t think so. “It’s going to be fine.”