Bad Blood

by Kristen Painter

  Creek continued. “Not just any comarré either. The girl was the mayor’s daughter.”

  Mal cursed softly. “If Dominic knew who that girl was and let her work for him anyway, he’s a fool. Does he know about the murder yet?”

  “If he doesn’t, he will soon,” Creek answered. “There were more fringe and othernaturals around the crime scene than humans.”

  Mal turned and shot Creek a look, but Chrysabelle caught it. She knew what he was thinking, so she said it out loud. “You think it was Tatiana? You think she’s sending me a message? Letting me know she’s here?”

  Both men looked at her. Creek spoke first. “This wasn’t just a case of a vampire who drank too much. She was shredded. Someone meant to make an example of her.” He leaned back. “We can’t rule out Tatiana at this point.”

  She drained the last of the juice, then stood and walked toward the back wall of glass doors. The lit pool glowed, but beyond that only the narrowest hint of dawn broke the blackness. When Tatiana had burned the Heliotrope, the dock had gone up in flames, too, taking out the dock’s security lights. “Creek, a while back you told me Algernon was some sort of KM double agent. Does the KM have anyone in Corvinestri now who can tell us if Tatiana’s there or if she’s already come back here?”

  She watched his reflection in the glass. “I can find out. No promises. They don’t always give me that kind of information, and when they do, I’m definitely not supposed to be sharing it.”

  “Understood.”

  He hesitated, like he had more to say.

  She faced them again. “What?”

  He glanced at her, then at Mal, then back to her. “The mayor has threatened to charge me with her daughter’s death.”

  “What?” Chrysabelle’s brow furrowed. “That’s ridiculous. Doesn’t she see what’s going on in the city? You’re the last person who should be on her suspect list.”

  Creek tipped his head to one side and lifted his brows. “I agree, but as I was covered in the girl’s blood from holding her while she died, they see it differently.”

  Mal stood and paced a few steps. “The mayor better wake up and realize the things going on in this city aren’t just going to magically resolve themselves.”

  “I explained to her about the covenant and, well… I tried to explain. Even outed her bodyguard as a varcolai.”

  Mal snorted. “Bet he didn’t take too kindly to that.”

  “No, he didn’t.” Creek sighed. “I don’t know if she’s ignorant by choice or if she’s just having a hard time facing reality or what.”

  “Come Samhain, she won’t have a choice,” Chrysabelle said.

  “Yeah, I know,” Creek answered. “Anyway, I offered to introduce her to some genuine othernaturals.”

  Chrysabelle went back to her seat beside Velimai. The sky was almost purple now. “You want me to talk to Mortalis? Maybe we could get his girlfriend, Nyssa—”

  “No.” Creek shook his head slowly. “I told her I’d bring you and Mal. She wants to meet a real comarré. Try to understand what her daughter was doing. I figured Mal would be the icing on the cake.”

  Velimai laughed, a wheezy sound like wind through a screen.

  Mal froze. “You want me to teach the mayor Vampire 101? Why not just paint a target on my back?” He cut his hands through the air. “No bloody way.”

  “When?” Chrysabelle asked.

  “Tomorrow night.”

  “I can’t. I already have plans.” Mortalis would be bringing her the ring. The mayor could wait.

  Mal made an unhappy noise. “She’s going to see Dominic’s signumist.”

  Creek frowned. “What for?”

  She gave Mal a look. Why couldn’t he keep his mouth shut? “So much for not causing any more drama.”

  He shrugged. “I’m not causing drama. You’re the one who’s going to get your signum put back in.”

  Velimai squealed, one of the few verbalizations she had that didn’t cause death in vampires. Her fingers began moving rapid-fire.

  “What the hell?” Creek’s whole body jerked back. “Why the hell would you do that?”

  Mal answered, looking smug. “She plans on going back to the Aurelian.”

  “I can speak for myself, thank you.” She rolled her eyes before walking back toward her chair. “Velimai, it’s all right. Calm down. I can’t read when you sign that fast anyway.” She stopped and sat between Velimai and Creek. “I need more information about my brother so I can find him. All she told me was that I would know him by his signum. Like that’s any help. All comarré have the same two basic sets of signum, just in different patterns and variations according to the signumist’s style. The last five sets are different for women and men.”

  Creek still looked dumbfounded. “I understand wanting to find your brother, but there’s got to be another way. After what they did to you, how could you want to go back there?”

  Velimai nodded.

  Chrysabelle patted the wysper’s leg, careful not to make skin contact. “If I can open another portal and you two can protect it from being closed, I can come back that way without ever stepping foot in the Primoris Domus. I’ll be perfectly safe.”

  “Yeah,” Creek said. “Because the Aurelian is such a warm, fluffy bunny of a woman.”

  Mal threw up his hands. “My point exactly. Not to mention the pain of enduring those signum when she’s not even properly healed.”

  Fed up with being talked about instead of talked to, Chrysabelle stood. “What I’m going to do is not open for discussion. I don’t care if you agree or not. I’m doing it. You’re either with me or you’re not, and if you’re not, you’d better stay out of my way or as the holy mother is my witness, I will remove you myself with whatever means necessary.”

  Creek and Mal went mercifully silent. Neither of them made eye contact with her for a few moments. Finally Mal looked up.

  “I’m with you. You know that. I don’t agree, but I’m not going to stand in your way. I’ll do whatever needs doing.”

  Creek nodded, his gaze meeting hers again. “What he said. Although there’s one little thing that might need taking care of first.”

  She put her hands on her hips. “And that is?”

  “After I found the comarré’s body this evening, but before I went to speak to the mayor, I got into a little fight.” He rubbed at his shoulder. “I’ve never seen one before in real life, but I’m pretty sure it was one of the ancient ones.”

  “Castus?” she whispered, not daring to say the whole name out loud.

  “Yes.”

  She slumped back down onto the couch. “I guess we’d better go see the mayor after all.”

  Chapter Nine

  Standing in the middle of an all-too-familiar hangar, Tatiana stretched. Being cooped up with Laurent on the plane was almost as bad as being back in New Florida. “Wretched place,” she muttered, trying to find the energy to get through the next few days, because she wasn’t going to last much longer than that. Wearing Daciana’s skin wasn’t as draining as wearing that of a varcolai or a remnant, but it still required a heavy usage of power. Combined with the creeping fog of daysleep, she was ready to pass out, but a few moments away from Daciana’s husband was worth fighting off the tiredness for.

  “What was that, love?” Laurent asked as he strode down the jet stairs. He stopped beside her, looking far too pleased with how things were going. Apparently, and despite his age, he’d never dreamed he’d make Elder, due to the politics afoot in the House of Tepes. A topic she’d listened to ad nauseam on the plane ride over.

  “Nothing.” At the last moment, she remembered to smile pleasantly.

  Laurent smiled back, sympathy in his daysleep-weary eyes. “My poor pet. Traveling doesn’t agree with you, does it? Not to worry.” Struggling with a yawn, he held up the dossier Tatiana had given him. Any spare moment he wasn’t chatting her up, he was reading through it. “I have Tatiana’s instructions and directions to the safe house. As soon as the
sun goes down, I’ll commandeer a vehicle and we’ll be on our way. We’ll get settled in, then head out to the comarré’s home. Until then, let’s get back in the plane and bunk down. I’m knackered. Not sure how you’re upright.”

  Because I’m not Daciana, you twit. How she wished she were home with Octavian. Or Octavian was here with her, but someone had to keep an eye on Daciana, make sure she stayed contained in the suite of rooms they’d prepared. “Yes, of course, we should sleep. I was just so excited to see New Florida.”

  He put his arm around her. “I’m going to do a bang-up job of this mission. Make Tatiana proud. Make it impossible for her not to appoint me Elder.”

  Her skin itched where he touched her. She managed to hold on to the sickly sweet countenance Daciana seemed to favor. Bloody good chance the prissy miss wasn’t smiling now. “I guess we’d better sleep, then, hadn’t we? So we’re fresh for the mission.” And so you’ll stop touching me.

  He kissed her temple. “Back in you go, then.”

  She swallowed the urge to gag. “Yes. See you at twilight.” She scooted past him, hoping to make it to the bed before there was any more touching.

  He swatted her backside as she left. “Twilight it is, my pet. Then I’ll do what I’ve come to do and we’ll be on our way home to get what we deserve.”

  “Indeed.” Tatiana laughed softly. He might get what he deserved a lot sooner if he touched her like that one more time. If only she could kill him and go back to being herself, but she couldn’t take the chance the council might find out she’d left Corvinestri. If things went according to plan, she’d nab Chrysabelle, get the ring once and for all, and be back before anyone was the wiser.

  Then she’d kill him. And his simpering wife.

  Doc woke up to a shriek and the sound of flies buzzing. “What? What? I’m up.” Pain radiated from his left hamstring. He pushed up onto his hands, the freighter’s deck gritty beneath him.

  “You’re hurt. What are you doing out here anyway? What happened?” Fi hovered over him, literally.

  Fortunately he’d collapsed in a shaded part of the deck. Unfortunately, the wound Preacher had given him hadn’t completely healed and was oozing pus and a slight stench. Which was drawing the flies. “Damn, that’s nasty.” He reached for a metal stanchion and pulled himself up. “What time is it?”

  “Almost nine. Stop stalling and answer my questions.” Fi punched his arm lightly. “What happened? Who did this to you?”

  “Preacher.” Doc twisted to look at his injury. “And apparently he puts some kind of poison on his blades.”

  Fi looked at his leg. “Is that why you didn’t heal?”

  He nodded. “And why I passed out before I got inside. I don’t even remember getting here. I think it’s mostly out of my system, but I better clean that thing.”

  “Why did you go see Preacher? Last I knew you were asleep next to me. When did you leave?”

  “After we… you know. You were asleep and I couldn’t. Kept thinking about that nightmare and how real it felt. I couldn’t shake the urge to check things out for myself.”

  Fi crossed her arms. “You are telling Mal about this immediately.”

  He nodded again. When she was right, she was right. “Yeah, I agree. Things are weird.”

  She reached for him. “You can explain weird while we get you inside and start cleaning that leg.”

  He put his arm around her shoulders and, limping a little, let her lead him into the freighter. “In my dream last night, I killed the comarré I saw at Preacher’s. When I went there last night, Preacher threatened me, said if I was the one who killed Julia, he’d turn my hide into a rug.”

  They followed the main corridor to the galley. Fi pulled a chair out for him and he sat on the edge. “I think Julia must be the comarré he had the baby with, but how can she be dead? I dreamed it, but I didn’t do it.” At least he didn’t think he had.

  Fi cranked the tap and filled a bowl with steaming water. Solar made sure they never had a lack of that. “Of course you didn’t kill her. Just because you kill someone in a dream doesn’t mean it really happens. If she’s dead, someone else did it.” She threw a few clean towels over her shoulder, hooked a finger through the ancient med kit, then hoisted the bowl of water with both hands and carried it all to the table. “You need to lose those jeans.”

  He raised a brow.

  “So I can clean that cut. Save the cute for later.”

  “I’m making a mental note of that.” He stood and dropped trou.

  “Good. Now bend over the table.”

  “I love when you talk dirty to me.” He did as she asked, resting his forearms on the old Formica top.

  “Stop changing the subject.” She dipped a towel into the water, then wrung it out. “What else was weird?”

  He inhaled as she laid the hot towel against his wound. It was a good distraction from the question. “Holy crap, that’s hot.”

  “Needs to be to get the poison out. Now, what was weird?”

  Like a dog with a bone. He shook his head, unwilling to mention how he’d felt coerced while he was there. Like an unseen force had wanted him to look at the child. It was just natural varcolai curiosity, that was all. “Seeing Preacher with a baby isn’t weird enough?”

  She removed the towel, rinsed it, and started wiping at the cut. “Yeah, but it’s not new weird. You’ve known about that for over a week. What else?”

  He gritted his teeth against the pain and twisted to watch her work. “Nothing. Are you almost done?”

  She flicked his thigh with her finger. “You’re a bad liar. We’re going to see Mal after I wrap this.” She applied a layer of ointment, then fished out a roll of gauze.

  “I’m not waking him out of daysleep.”

  “I will. I don’t care if he gets mad at me. He needs to know what’s going on.” She secured the gauze with tape and looked up at him. “Done. Pants. Let’s go.”

  He hitched his jeans up and zipped them, giving her a wink. “You woke up on the pushy side of the bed this morning.”

  “Pushy?” She stood and gave him an appraising look. “You left after we made love last night. You’re lucky I didn’t wake up stabby.” She pointed at the bowl of water and first-aid kit. “You can clean this up after we talk to Mal.”

  He surrendered, hands up. “Will do. Let’s go see the old man. But first…” He grabbed her and kissed her hard, letting her go a long minute later. “Thanks for fixing me up.”

  “Bothersome creature,” she whispered, her cheeks flushing. Squirming out of his arms, she grabbed his hand and tugged him down the hall toward Mal’s room. The solars were bright this time of day, but the passage dimmed as they approached Mal’s. Here a section of solars had been removed to keep the light to a minimum when he slept.

  Doc stopped a few feet from his door. He tipped his head and kept his voice down. “Go head. You wake him.”

  “Coward,” she teased, reaching her fisted hand toward the door. She knocked softly. “Mal? Can we talk—”

  The door swung open. The room was empty.

  Chapter Ten

  Ting, ting, ting.

  The soft chiming opened Chrysabelle’s eyes, erasing the remnants of the dream lingering in her subconscious. Velimai stood near the bed, ringing a small crystal bell. Chrysabelle yawned and sat up, pushing the hair off her neck. “What is it?”

  Velimai set the bell down on the nightstand and signed, Mortalis is here. He won’t come in.

  Suddenly more awake, Chrysabelle’s heart rate kicked up a notch. Mortalis was early. And about to hand her the ring that had started all this trouble.

  The ring that was going to change her life once again.

  She nodded. “Let me get dressed and I’ll be right down. Mal and Creek still sleeping?” Because of the late hour last night, she’d let both men stay. Not because she needed the protection with a Castus in town and not because Mal’s presence would assure the guest comarré stayed in their own quarters. Those
were just perks.

  Velimai shook her head. Doorbell woke them both. Breakfast?

  “That would be great. I’m sure Creek’s hungry after his fight last night. And I can always eat. Mal…” Mal’s need for blood hung in the air like a bad smell. “I guess I can’t send Mal to the guesthouse for his breakfast, can I? Wouldn’t be very hospitable of me.”

  They should contribute something, Velimai signed, a wicked glint in her soft gray eyes.

  “Vel, you’re a bad influence. Is there any blood in the fridge?”

  Yes, but it’s old.

  “It’ll have to do. I could use the strength the exchange would give me, but I am not kissing Mal right now.” Although she’d planned to last night. Just like she’d planned to let him stay anyway before Creek had shown up.

  You tell him that. He doesn’t like me. Velimai, whose tolerance of Mal had only grown marginally in the last few weeks, frowned, took the bell, and left.

  “Really? Sure it’s not the other way around?” Chrysabelle called after her. Kissing Mal while his heart beat with the power of her blood would give her a share of his power, the same exchange that normally happened through a bite. But her emotions, both good and bad, were too close to the surface this morning for such intimate contact.

  Shaking her head, she slipped out of bed and stretched slowly. The ache in her back had become a permanent thing. Leaning forward, she took a few deep breaths to push it away. At last she rose and shed her silk nightgown for a white tunic and pants and white leather slippers. A quick brush of her teeth and hair and she was ready. Heading downstairs, she twisted her hair back with a band and inhaled the happy scents of coffee and breakfast wafting up from Velimai’s kitchen. In the living room, Creek sat on the edge of one leather sofa while Mal hung in the most shadowed corner near the foyer. Both men looked as rested as she felt, which wasn’t very. “Morning.”

  “Morning,” Creek said.

  Mal lifted his chin toward the door. “You expecting company?”