Out for Blood

by Kristen Painter

  “The names.” Chrysabelle turned to Mal, her eyes wide and her breath ragged.

  He nodded. “Now we know why they’re disappearing.” He faced the raptor. “So as long as I have names to spare, Chrysabelle will come back to life?”

  The raptor stood. “No more questions. I will be paid.”

  “Wait,” Chrysabelle said. “These souls that the power uses, do they get released or reborn through me? I don’t understand.”

  “No more questions,” the raptor growled. He rolled his shoulders back, straining the shackles. “I will be paid.”

  Mal pulled Chrysabelle behind him. “Don’t worry, I’m going to pay you.”

  The raptor stilled. Then his mouth drew back in a gruesome smile. “Very good, vampire.” He swung his big head around toward Mortalis. “Out.”

  Mortalis snorted. “That wasn’t part of the deal and you know it.”

  With a sharp crack, the raptor snapped the shackles and came face-to-face with Mortalis. “You think these hold me, shadeux? I am here to escape the tedium of the Claustrum, not because you commanded it. I have done what you wished. Now I will be paid.”

  “It’s all right,” Mal said. “But Chrysabelle goes with you.”

  Mortalis glared at the raptor. “Give your oath you will not leave this room.”

  “My oath,” the raptor answered.

  Mortalis nodded to Amery and the two of them took the few steps to the door. Mortalis opened it halfway. “Chrysabelle, you first.”

  She grabbed Mal’s hand, her eyes filled with the unspoken words he already knew. He nodded and squeezed her hand back. “Me too. Now go.”

  Worrying her bottom lip, she nodded and slipped out the door. Amery followed, Mortalis behind him.

  And just like that, Mal was alone with the raptor.

  Chapter Fifty

  So, vampire, you offer the payment for the comarré.”

  Mal pulled the chocolate bars from his back pocket and held them out. “Here.”

  The raptor laughed. How the oddly soft sound wasn’t shredded into something awful by those rows of teeth, Mal had no idea. “Sweets. How… sweet.” The creature latched on to Mal’s forearms, dragging him closer and knocking the chocolate to the floor.

  At the touch, the voices went into a dead, shivering silence, but the movement shocked Mal more than the quiet, hurtling home the reality that the raptor was now in control.

  The voices crouched in the back of his brain, as far away from the raptor’s contact as they could be. Even the beast trembled, cowering like a beaten dog. Mal’s skin began to itch as the names crawled back along his arms until, for the first time since the names had appeared on his body, there was bare skin where the raptor’s long, clawed fingers touched.

  “So much emotion,” the creature hissed. “Rage, bitterness, the desire for revenge, pain… all of it delicious, all of it there for my taking. Enough to sustain me for a very long time.”

  “Then take it,” Mal ground out.

  “But I can get all of those in the Claustrum. What I want is something else within you, something rare and sweet.”

  “Great. Take whatever it is and let’s be done,” Mal snarled. All he wanted was to be rid of this creature and be back at Chrysabelle’s side. To sink into her warmth.

  The fae leaned in, his razor-toothed maw widening in what Mal realized was another smile. “You’re thinking of the comarré now, aren’t you?” He tipped his head, bringing the rows of pin teeth closer to Mal’s face.

  The raptor’s nostrils flared. “Oh yes. I smell her in your blood. You’ve had her recently, haven’t you?”

  “You bloody—”

  “I know what I shall take from you, blood eater.” His bleach scent washed over Mal as vile and wrenching as a fish kill. “I will take your love for her.”

  Mal froze. “You can’t—” Pain sapped his words, his strength, his will. His head fell back and his vision clouded. Emotion drained from him like blood spilling from a gaping wound.

  A vast hole formed inside him and as the raptor released him, the voices rushed in, filling the emptiness with a raging chaos. Mal stumbled, falling into the back wall. The mirror cracked. He slid down, unable to wrench control back from the curse that had just been given free rein in his head once again. He felt himself losing ground, felt the chaos spread to madness. He pushed against it.

  “No,” he whispered, but it was too late. The darkness had won.

  “Thank you.” Chrysabelle accepted a cup of tea and a small plate of cookies from Velimai, but set the tray on the nightstand without touching any of it. “I’m not that hungry at the moment.” Her stomach hadn’t felt right in a week. Not since everything had happened with Mal. The stress of not knowing was killing her. Or maybe it was the possibility that he was never coming out of this… coma or whatever he’d lapsed into.

  Velimai nodded and sat in the far corner. Chrysabelle closed her eyes, but the image of Mal passed out on the floor and the raptor slack-jawed in ecstasy standing over him flashed through her head again. She opened her eyes. Watching him lie lifeless in the guest room of her house wasn’t much better. At least this room was in the part of the house that had already been helioglazed.

  She closed her eyes again and replaced the bad memory with the one of being in bed with Mal on the plane. She ducked her head to hide her smile. What would Velimai say if she knew about that? Her smile faded. Did Velimai know Chrysabelle had slipped into bed beside Mal these past seven nights? That she’d laid her head on his soundless chest, wrapped her arms around him, and begged him to come back to her?

  A knock on the open bedroom door made her open her eyes again. “Mortalis. Come in.”

  “Any change?”

  “No. Nothing yet.” She tried to smile, but what did it matter? Mortalis didn’t need her to put a brave face on. She shrugged, then shook her head. “How am I supposed to know what to do? It’s not like I can check his breathing.”

  Hesitantly, Mortalis reached out and squeezed her shoulder. “I feel like this is my fault. I exposed you to the raptor. I knew what the risks were—”

  “You knew that creature would do this to Mal?”

  “Not exactly. I just knew the potential for things to go wrong was there.”

  She went back to staring at Mal’s motionless form. “I don’t regret finding out what the ring of sorrows did to me, but this…” She sighed. “This is… hard. What if he doesn’t wake up?”

  “He will. I’m sure this is just a side effect of whatever the raptor did.” Mortalis heaved out a breath. “If you need anything, Nyssa and I are here for you.”

  She nodded. “Maybe you could talk to Damian. I’m sure he must think I’m a psychopath. I saved him from Tatiana only to ignore him in favor of the vampire she used to be married to.”

  “I don’t think he thinks that.”

  She laughed, a sad, bitter sound even to her own ears. “I’ve seen him three times in the last week. At least he’s got that other comarré Dominic brought back to keep him company.” Even so, her guilt at abandoning her brother to the guesthouse was a small thing compared to what had happened to Mal because of her.

  Damian told me you should take all the time you need, Velimai signed.

  “Time. I’m starting to hate it.” She swallowed a nauseous rush of panic. “If Mal… if he doesn’t…”

  “He will.” Mortalis walked to the windows and pulled the curtains back. “Sun’s down.”

  She glanced over her shoulder. The sky was purple with twilight. “Mal loved this time of night. When the evening was full of possibilities.”

  “Bloody hell.”

  She and Mortalis turned at the same time. Mal sat up in bed, a steeliness in his eyes she’d never seen before.

  “Mal, you’re—”

  “You.” He glared at her, his eyes flashing from silver to the full-on black of the beast, then back again. His lip curled back. “You did this to me.” He whipped the coverlet back, jumped out of bed, and star
ed down at the pajama pants he wore. “Where the hell are my clothes?”

  She pointed at the chair on the other side of the bed. “There. Mal, why are you acting like this?”

  “Acting?” He yanked the loose pants off, shredding them, then grabbed his jeans and tugged them on. “This isn’t acting. This is who I am.”

  “No, it isn’t.” She stood, wondering if she should put some distance between them. “This isn’t the Mal I know. You must still be sick.”

  Velimai stayed in the corner, but Mortalis came to stand beside her. “Could be some residual effect of whatever the raptor did to him.”

  Mal sneered as his head came through the neck of his T-shirt. “The raptor did me a favor.” He snatched his jacket and started for the door.

  She took a few steps after him. “Where are you going?”

  “Anywhere I want to.”

  “Mal, wait, we need to talk—”

  He stopped, spinning to face her. “Do we? So you can explain why you’re holding me here?”

  She backed up. “I’m not holding you here. I thought you’d want to be here. I’ve been taking care of you.”

  He laughed. “Oh, that’s rich. You, taking care of me.”

  Her stomach soured at the brutal tone of his words. “I love you.”

  He rolled his eyes. “Spare me, princess.”

  A shudder built along her spine. “You asked me to marry you.”

  His face took on a hard, cruel set. “Let’s get something straight. I don’t love you. I don’t want you around me. And I sure as hell don’t want to marry my food.”

  “That’s enough,” Mortalis snapped.

  “You’re damn straight it is.” Mal turned and stalked out.

  Her ability to breathe went with him. Chrysabelle reached for the chair she’d been sitting on, trying to find something to keep herself from collapsing. “I don’t feel so good.”

  Velimai rushed forward and Mortalis grabbed her as she started to fall.

  She leaned into him. Cold sweat rolled down her back. “What happened?”

  Velimai pointed to the bathroom.

  He nodded. “Let’s get a cold cloth for your neck.” He looped her arm around his shoulders and walked her into the bathroom, then helped her sit on the vanity bench. He ran the water while Velimai opened a cabinet, took out a washcloth, and handed it to him. He wrung it out and came toward her. “Lean forward.”

  She did, running on some kind of autopilot that was happy to have someone tell her what to do.

  Mortalis brushed her hair aside and laid the cool cloth on the back of her neck, then he kneeled in front of her and took her hands. “I know what happened.”

  She nodded for him to continue, unable to manage much more.

  “The emotion the raptor took from Mal. It had to be his love for you.” Mortalis’s voice broke and she looked up at him, causing the cloth to slip free. A thin line of liquid rimmed his lower lids. “I’m so sorry,” he said quietly.

  “He doesn’t love me anymore.” She closed her eyes and an image of Mal laughing in bed beside her flashed across her field of vision. Everything that had happened between them, everything they had been through… none of it mattered to Mal anymore. None of it. She opened her eyes and pulled her hands from Mortalis’s to cover her mouth.

  Her stomach rebelled. She ran to the toilet and vomited, heaving her guts out. She sat back on her heels. Velimai kneeled beside her and handed her the washcloth, then signed something to Mortalis that Chrysabelle caught out of the corner of her eye.

  She wiped her mouth and shook her head. “Don’t. Don’t say that. There’s no way that can be true. Not now.”

  Velimai’s hands stopped moving and she glanced at Chrysabelle. Sorry.

  But somehow, Chrysabelle knew Velimai was right. She dropped the washcloth and folded her trembling hands over her thumping heart. Slowly, they slid down to her belly.

  “Holy mother.” A debilitating weight settled over her. “I’m pregnant. How is that possible?”

  “The plane…” Mortalis trailed off, looking slightly ill.

  “I know how it’s possible, just not how it’s possible between Mal and me.” She covered her face with her hands for a moment as it hit her. “Holy mother. This is why comarrés aren’t supposed to sleep with their patrons.”

  Velimai nodded. He bit you, didn’t he? For those few moments, he was as mortal as you are.

  Chrysabelle shook her head. “But it’s only been a week.” Her stomach rolled again and she swallowed.

  You’re comarré. He’s a vampire. You both regenerate at an accelerated rate. Velimai frowned. It might not be too late to rid yourself of—

  “No,” Chrysabelle shouted, her voice bouncing off the bathroom walls. She pushed to her feet even though she felt like collapsing. With a hand on her stomach, she stared down the two fae across from her. “I don’t want to hear another word about getting rid of it, and I don’t want anyone knowing what’s happening until I figure out what to do about this, understood?”

  Mortalis and Velimai both nodded.

  Chrysabelle walked out of the bathroom and sat on the edge of the bed Mal had just vacated. “I’d like to be alone now.”

  Nodding, they both left, closing the door behind them. She lay back on the bed and stared at the ceiling. Mal’s dark spice permeated her sheets. She rested one hand on her belly. Pregnant. With a cursed vampire’s child.

  After what Tatiana had done to get a hold of Preacher’s child, what would she do when she found out Mal had fathered one with a genuine comarré?

  Or worse, what would Mal do when he found out? He no longer loved her. She had no reason to believe a child would change that.

  She covered her stomach with both hands as fresh fear iced her skin. One thing was certain. She would protect this child no matter how much blood she had to spill.

  No matter who that blood belonged to.

  Be on the lookout for the

  next House of Comarré novel:

  LAST BLOOD

  Acknowledgments

  The more books I write, the more my network of support grows. Each story raises new research questions, and answering those questions sometimes requires more brain power than my own, which is why I rely on my brother’s knowledge of ships, Kimberly Menozzi’s Italian skills, and Larissa Benoliel’s help with Portuguese. Everyone who’s helped me in some way deserves thanks, but inevitably I’ll forget someone. If that’s happened, please forgive me.

  To begin with, I want to thank my Creator for the talents He’s given me.

  As always, I must thank my agent, Elaine. She’s phenomenal and you should all be jealous. In truth, the whole TKA family is awesome and I’m so glad they’re part of my support group.

  Of course, I am so thankful to my tremendous(ly scary) editor, Devi, who lets me write the stories I want no matter how crazy. Susan, her assistant, deserves props for all her hard work, too. (She does work for the most dread editor in the biz. Just saying.) The entire publishing team at Orbit, including Alex, Ellen, and Lauren, never cease to amaze me with their talents. So good!

  I’d be remiss if I didn’t thank the Writer’s Camp chicks, Laura and Leigh. You should probably be getting paid for keeping my fingers on the keyboard. To Rocki and Louisa, thanks for sharing this journey and always being there.

  To all my readers, you guys are the reason I write. You’re awesome!

  Lastly, big thanks to my parents and brother for their unwavering support and to my husband for proudly pitching my books to everyone he meets. Even if he does think I use too much description.

  extras

  meet the author

  KRISTEN PAINTER’s writing résumé boasts multiple Golden Heart nominations and praise from a handful of bestselling authors, including Gena Showalter and Roxanne St. Claire. A former New Yorker now living in Florida, Kristen has a wealth of fascinating experiences from which to flavor her stories, including time spent working in fashion for Christian Dior and as a
maître d’ for Wolfgang Puck. Her website is at kristenpainter.com and she’s on twitter @Kristen_Painter and on Facebook.com/KristinPainterAuthor.

  introducing

  If you enjoyed

  OUT FOR BLOOD

  look out for

  FULL BLOODED

  Jessica McClain: Book One

  by Amanda Carlson

  It’s not easy being a girl. It’s even harder when you’re the only girl in a family of werewolves. But it’s next to impossible when your very existence spells out the doom of your race… Meet Jessica McClain—she just became part of the pack.

  Idrew in a ragged breath and tried hard to surface from one hell of a nightmare. “Jesus,” I moaned. Sweat slid down my face. My head was fuzzy. Was I dreaming? If I was, this dream hurt like a bitch.

  Wait, dreams aren’t supposed to hurt.

  Without warning my body seized again. Pain scorched through my veins like a bad sunburn, igniting every cell in its path. I clenched my teeth, trying hard to block the rush.

  Then, as quickly as it struck, the pain disappeared.

  The sudden loss of sensation jolted my brain awake and my eyes snapped open in the dark. This wasn’t a damn dream. I took a quick internal inventory of all my body parts. Everything tingled, but thankfully my limbs could move freely again. The weak green halo of my digital clock read 2:07 a.m. I’d only been asleep for a few hours. I rolled onto my side and swiped my sticky hair off my face. When my fingers came in contact with my skin, I gasped and snapped them away like a child who’d just touched a hot stove.

  Holy shit, I’m on fire.

  That couldn’t be right.

  Don’t panic, Jess. Think logically.

  I pressed the back of my hand against my forehead to get a better read on how badly I was burning up. Hot coals would’ve felt cooler than my skin.