Bad Blood

by Kristen Painter

  The cushion beside him sank down. He opened his eyes. She sat inches away. Wearing nothing but a robe. Son of a priest, didn’t she have any idea what she did to him? He might be a vampire, but he was also still a man. A dead one. He shifted away from her a little. “You really didn’t have to get out so soon.”

  She shrugged. “It’s okay.”

  Was it? Her pulse had risen and stayed that way since they’d gotten on the plane to come here. It had still been elevated when he’d met up with her again in Jackson Square. She’d been on edge. Maybe it was just the task ahead of them, but maybe it wasn’t. He’d seen her wince, and his gut said she was hurting and trying to hide it. He decided to take a risk. “The heat helps, doesn’t it?”

  “Yes, but not—What? I felt grimy from traveling. That’s all.”

  In this case, he hated being right. “You’re a bad liar.”

  “No, I’m not. You’re just hard to lie to.” She picked up the empty glass she’d set on the coffee table earlier and turned it in her hands. “I’m fine.”

  “You’re in pain. I’m sorry.” He was responsible for that pain, something not even the voices needed to remind him about. “Why don’t you have a shot of whiskey? It might help.”

  She set the glass back down. “I can’t, you know that. I have to stick to comarré rules, at least a little while longer.” She pushed the sleeve of her robe up, exposing a glinting length of flesh. Her right hand curled, her fingers flicking open the hidden blade of the ring she wore for just this purpose.

  “Wait.” No! Blood. Now.

  Her brows lifted. “You don’t want to feed, that’s fine, but I need to drain anyway or I’ll get sick.”

  “No, I want the blood. But I can’t stand seeing you in pain.”

  “I said I’m fine. Leave it.”

  He couldn’t. Not with her. He cracked his knuckles, flexing his fingers. Her gaze went to his hands, and the look in her eyes told him what to do next. “Turn around.”

  “Why?” Suspicion replaced interest in her eyes.

  “Relax.” He made a circular motion with one finger. Around you?

  “I can’t.” She twisted a little, still trying to watch him.

  He put his hands on her waist and turned her the rest of the way around so that her back was to him. “I’m aware of that. Which is why I’m doing this.” He moved her hair over her shoulder, reluctant to let the silky length out of his hands. Someday, he wanted to brush it for her. Like that would ever happen.

  He started on her shoulders, pressing his thumbs into the pads of muscle on the slope of her neck. Her ragged inhale stopped him. “Too much?”

  “No.” Her head dipped forward, giving him more room to work.

  He began again with the same pressure, making small circles into her skin. This time, he stopped on his own.

  Her head came up slightly. “What’s wrong?”

  “Robe’s too thick.” Without asking, he slipped his fingers into the neck of the fabric and tugged it down gently, exposing her shoulders and upper back.

  The scars shone more brightly than her signum, each one like a dagger to his own flesh. She pulled the robe tighter but made no effort to re-cover herself. His hands returned to her body. At first contact, she inhaled again, flinching a little.

  She laughed softly. “I should have fed you first.”

  He rubbed his hands together to warm them up. “Cold hands, warm heart. Or no heart, in my case.”

  “Don’t say that.” The kindness in her voice drove the scar daggers another inch deeper.

  “No talking. Just relax.”

  “You can’t stop me from thinking it.” But her head dropped back down as his thumbs traveled the sides of her spine, covering the white, pebbled marks where her signum had once been. He wanted to kiss them. Instead, he kneaded and massaged as best he could, trying to coax away the pain clinging to her. Where she wasn’t scarred, her skin was warm satin.

  Her soft sighs and gentle moans told him his efforts were working. Her grip on her robe loosened, dropping the folds of fabric until the small of her back was exposed. He ignored the desires of his flesh and focused on the soothing of hers, but if he was honest, this was as much for him as it was for her. Yes, he wanted to take her pain away, but he’d been desperate to touch her since the first night she’d walked into his life and nearly killed him. She should have.

  She was warm with the life he’d never have again, but touching her made it seem like his future could somehow be different. At least if she was in it. She won’t be.

  He shoved the voices away and went back to work. His fingers stroked each muscle until she leaned into his touch. He went a little harder and she rewarded him with a sigh. “That feels amazing.”

  “How’s the pain?”

  She was quiet for a moment. “It was gone about five minutes ago, but I didn’t want you to stop.”

  “I won’t until you tell me to.”

  “You can. If you want. You must be tired, too, what with not having daysleep and all.”

  “And if I don’t want to stop?”

  She didn’t answer, but her body stiffened, undoing what he’d been working so hard at. Damn it, he’d pushed too much.

  “I… I need to feed you. But a couple more minutes wouldn’t hurt.”

  He splayed his fingers over her back, using lighter strokes this time, tracing the remaining signum as he worked his way up toward her neck again. Maybe he hadn’t pushed too hard after all. Maybe… He bent forward and brushed a kiss across one of the worst scars.

  She sucked in a deep breath. And leaned into him a little more.

  He added a second kiss, letting his mouth linger on her skin.

  “Mal,” she whispered. “We shouldn’t.”

  “I know,” he whispered back, placing a third kiss on the sun signum on the back of her neck. He rested his head against the golden mark, content just to be with her in that moment. Her beating heart filled his ears, the rush of her blood throbbing into his skin with a siren’s call. His fangs descended and the beast within him reared its head, erasing the traces of his human face. Bite her. You’re so close. Do it. Drain her.

  Unable to help himself, he pressed his face into the crook of her neck and opened his mouth. Yessssssss…

  Her hand crept up to cradle the back of his head, her fingers threading through his hair, and she turned, somehow exposing more of herself to him. The touch almost undid him. “I want it, too.”

  Her words were so soft only his ears could have heard them. They couldn’t be real. Something inside him broke. He pulled away. Fool. “Don’t say that.”

  She twisted to look at him, then quickly looked away. “You’re right. I didn’t mean it.”

  He grabbed her arm. “Yes, you did. And I understand, but feeling that way and saying it to me are two very different things.” He let her go, realizing that he was trembling and that she could feel it. “I have a bloody hard time controlling myself around you as it is.”

  She tugged her robe back up and secured it. “I know. I shouldn’t have said it. Heat of the moment. Too much blood in my system. Won’t happen again.”

  He stared at her, knowing he should keep his mouth closed but unable to. “The moment or the words?”

  Pushing her sleeve up, she exposed her wrist. The next second she had the blade on her ring flicked out and was holding her arm over the glass. A sharp jab and blood flowed into the glass.

  The dark, seductive aroma set him on fire, but he held still, waiting for her response. She didn’t say a word. “You’re not answering me?”

  Without taking her gaze from what she was doing, she shook her head noncommittally. “I don’t know.” She sighed. “Maybe. Probably.”

  “To which one?”

  She bent her arm, pressing her thumb over the puncture mark, and stood. “You’d better drink that while it’s warm.” Then she walked away, leaving him unanswered.

  He picked up the glass, the heat of her blood warming his hand immedia
tely and making his jaw ache. As soon as he drank this, he’d get his answer, because there was still one kiss left.

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Tatiana had sent Octavian to another part of the house while she waited alone in the living room. There was no need for him to witness whatever was about to happen, no need for him to be in harm’s way. Now that she was Dominus, the need to protect her small family had become a priority, regardless of how loyal Daci truly was. So far, she had done nothing to lose Tatiana’s trust, but her actions in Paradise City would go a long way toward cementing her place in Tatiana’s inner circle. She actually hoped Daci did well, and not just because Tatiana desperately wanted to close the comarré chapter of her life.

  The hard truth was, Tatiana liked Daci. Maybe she wasn’t cut from exactly the same cloth, but they were very similar spirits. Letting someone in was dangerous, but then, she’d let Octavian in and up until a few weeks ago, he’d been a servant. Now he was her most trusted ally.

  Her fingers worried the scrollwork on the chair’s carved arm. Had power made her soft? No, not soft. She was still capable of carrying out whatever had to be done. But power had shown her that she needed a few good people around her. Trusting Daci was a risk, but not such a great one. Tatiana had been removing obstacles from her path since her formative human years. She lifted her metal hand, flipping her wrist out and transforming her fingers into blades, then back to fingers as she flicked them in toward her body. Removing obstacles now required less effort, but greater cunning.

  Perhaps being Dominus would change her further. Mellow her. She laughed at the thought. If five centuries hadn’t mellowed her, nothing would.

  The vile stench of brimstone and rotting flesh suffused the room, and the lamps grew dim as though something swallowed the light. She tucked her hands into her lap to keep from further digging her fingers into the chair’s arms. The Castus had arrived.

  With great reverence for the creature who had just made her Dominus, she eased from her seat and kneeled without making eye contact. “My lord.” From her position near the floor, she could just see the crusted edges of his hooves.

  His gnarled, raw-skinned hand appeared before her face.

  She kissed his ring, careful not to touch his flesh.

  “Arise, my child.”

  She got to her feet, at last making eye contact briefly before looking down again. His penetrating gaze unsettled her. “Thank you, my lord, for your trust in me and for making me Dominus. I am humbled.”

  “My child.” One curled nail tucked beneath her chin and lifted her head, forcing her to meet his eyes. “I saw promise in you the day you were turned.” He dropped his hand and began to pace, the shadows covering him from the waist down shifting with his movement like a funeral shroud. “The ring…” He shook his head. “The ring is gone. Destroyed perhaps. I cannot sense its presence on this plane any longer.” He reached the fireplace and turned. “For that, we will punish the comarré whore who stole it, but for now, I have a greater mission for you.”

  A greater mission? Trying to obtain the ring had almost cost her her life and had left her with a metal hand. “Yes, my lord.”

  He smiled, a hideous stretching of skin that displayed an inhuman number of teeth. “Always willing. This is why I chose you.”

  Had there been another who hadn’t been willing? They must not have lasted long. She tried to smile back, but in the face of his frightening glory, it was difficult to pretend even for her.

  “Do you have someone around you whom you trust?”

  Did he mean Daci or Octavian or both? If she said yes and either of them betrayed her, it could mean her death. No, it would mean her death. The Castus would not tolerate the betrayal. “Yes, my lord.”

  “Good, because for this mission, you may need the help.” The shadows around him shifted. He raised a hand toward the door. The locks clicked shut. Then the shadows rose to cover him, completely blocking him from her view with a blackness that became an abyss in the middle of the room. Things moved within the abyss, dark, horrible things that stared back at her with red glinting eyes and open mouths.

  The abyss closed. The shadows returned then drifted away. The Castus stood before her, a shadow-wrapped bundle in his arms. He held the bundle out to her. The shadows melted away.

  His arms cradled a baby.

  “Is… that a gift?” Newborn blood was supposedly delicious, but she’d been a mother once. That was a line even she wouldn’t cross.

  “No, not a gift. This child is your mission. I want you to raise it for me.” He held the child out to her.

  She took it reluctantly, and as she did, the child blinked and opened its mouth to cry.

  Tiny pearl drop fangs gleamed between its lips.

  Her own mouth opened in utter shock. “A vampire child? How is this possible?”

  “It’s only half vampire. The other half is human. Until now, it wasn’t possible.”

  She cradled the little vampling. How long had it been since the precious weight of a baby had filled her arms? A barrage of Sofia images clouded her brain and turned her eyes liquid. A baby. Of all things for the Castus to present her with, this was not one she would have ever guessed. “I’m again humbled by your faith in me.”

  “You had a child, did you not?”

  “Yes…” There was so much more to say and yet none of it did she wish to share with the Castus.

  “Then raising this one should not be so difficult.”

  “What’s its name?”

  “Name?” He blinked. “Pick one. I do not care.”

  No point in asking the sex of the child, then. “I will take the very best care of this charge.”

  “I know. Because if you do not, I will kill you.” Smoke billowed up around him, increasing the stench of sulfur to almost unbearable levels. The Castus was gone.

  The baby began to cry.

  Lola stood behind the podium in the main foyer of city hall, the hastily gathered press waiting expectantly before her. She knew they thought they were here because of the three murdered women. They were going to be disappointed.

  John Havoc’s brother, Luke, stood a few feet to her side. John had assured her he was a capable addition to her security team. Across from him was Chief Vernadetto, who’d been briefed on the way over but was only just grasping the reality of what was happening.

  She took a breath and greeted the audience. “Thank you for coming today. My statement will be brief and only a few questions will be taken.” She glanced down at her notes, happy for the short respite from the glaring television camera lights. This announcement wouldn’t make her popular, but it might keep her city from dissolving into an irreparable nightmare. She hoped eventually the people would understand. She’d done her best to arrive at a compromise between what Creek wanted and what she thought would keep the citizens from rising up against her.

  Maybe it wouldn’t be as bad as she thought. She brought her head up and forced herself to look confident and mayoral. “A recent and credible threat against our city has made it necessary for all of tonight’s Halloween activities to be canceled and a curfew put in place.”

  Murmurs of dissent rose from the press core. One person shouted out, “Miserable kids equal miserable parents, and parents vote.” Another: “What kind of threat? Is this because of the serial killer?” That comment brought more noise from the crowd.

  She held her hands up, asking for peace to continue. She hated that they’d leaped right to the serial killer conclusion. That would only raise more panic. “Trick-or-treating will be allowed from five p.m. to six-thirty p.m. Curfew begins at seven p.m. sharp. Any unauthorized persons out after that time will be considered dangerous and treated accordingly. Arrests will be made. Please understand that the Paradise City Police Department is handling this situation with all seriousness, and the safety of our citizens is their first priority. Help them do their job by staying inside. Thank you.”

  A reporter from the PC Pace stuck his mike towar
d her. “Mayor White, is this threat because there’s a serial killer loose in Paradise City?”

  She paused before leaning toward the microphone. “I cannot reveal anything that might damage the ongoing investigation, but I will say that this threat is of a homeland security nature.”

  “Terrorism?” another reporter asked.

  “We’re not labeling the threat in any way at this time.” She glanced at the chief. He nodded, having already agreed to back her decisions. She closed her remarks. “Thank you for your time.” With a cacophony of questions still raining down, she clicked off her lapel mike and stepped away from the podium.

  Luke immediately moved between her and the crowd. “Your car’s waiting.”

  “Thank you.” Luke and John could have been twins. Maybe they were. He went ahead of her, checking the exit before he let her out. The car idled at the sidewalk.

  A group of kids, all in Halloween costumes, came charging around the corner. Luke put his hand out, holding her back.

  “They’re just kids,” she scolded him.

  A straggler in an odd little costume trailed behind the rest. He veered toward them with a horrible laugh and a mouthful of teeth that looked surprisingly real. His tongue wagged out, eyes shimmering yellow.

  Yellow? Before she could say anything, Luke pushed her toward the car. “Get inside.”

  She stumbled, her hand making contact with the handle as the little beastie leaped toward Luke. He caught it by the throat. Its tail whipped out and opened a bloody line across his cheek. The next second, faster than she could follow, he had a dagger rammed up the creature’s sternum and was dropping it to the sidewalk.

  It melted into a gooey, yellow-green puddle.

  She took a step toward Luke. “That wasn’t a kid.”

  “It might have been to start with, but by the time it got to us, it wasn’t anymore.” He stared at her, shaking his head slightly. “You should have canceled trick-or-treating, too.”

  Creek had said cancel everything, but he didn’t understand what it took to run a city, to keep your constituents happy. “I didn’t think anything would happen until after dark.”