Bad Blood

by Kristen Painter

  As he shoved the phone back into his pocket, the doorbell rang. Maybe it was whoever had set off the pressure sensors. Or maybe Mal and Chrysabelle were back.

  He walked toward the living room and rounded the corner. John, Luke, and Doc made an impenetrable wall in front of the open door. Fi and the mayor were behind them, and through the legs of the shifters, he could see Damian’s white trousers and Velimai’s silky gray pants.

  “You can’t cross the threshold, so don’t even try,” Damian snarled.

  Creek came up beside Doc. A petite blonde vampire stood in the open door. “Hear me out,” she said.

  “Who are you?” Creek asked. She had the scent of nobility about her.

  “She’s Daciana,” Damian answered. “House of Tepes. Wife to Laurent, the vampire who kidnapped Saraphina, the comarré who was with me.”

  “What do you want?” Creek asked her.

  “To die, I’m guessing,” Fi said. Velimai nodded in agreement.

  “Please,” Daciana said. “I seek asylum.”

  Fi snickered. “More like you should be in one.”

  “Are you working for Tatiana?” Damian asked.

  Fear washed over Daciana’s face. “No, you must believe me. My husband was, but he didn’t do as she asked and she killed him. I barely escaped with my life. I had nowhere else to turn.”

  “There are a thousand places in the world you could have disappeared to.” Damian’s hand inched toward his sacre. “Why here?”

  “To help. I have information.” Daciana swallowed and looked behind her like she thought someone might be there. “Tatiana is… horrible. She needs to be stopped.”

  One of the Havoc boys snorted.

  “Hey,” Creek said to get their attention. The group turned to look at him. “This isn’t my house, so I’m not making the decision, but I can tell you Chrysabelle wouldn’t let her in. Now I have KM business to attend to in the city. Demon on the loose.”

  The mayor paled but said nothing. Creek brushed past Daciana, who stared with big, pleading eyes. Like that was going to change his mind. Behind him, the group called out a few questions. “Gotta go. Duty calls,” he answered back.

  He climbed onto his Harley, cranked the engine, and notched the kickstand back. This was what he’d been trained for, what the KM had gotten his prison sentence commuted for. Part of him was looking forward to the fight. Another part of him hoped he won and won fast, because if this demon was anything like the Castus he’d fought earlier, it wasn’t going to be any kind of fun.

  The gate opened and he roared through, startling a cloud of blackbirds sitting in the trees. He motored off Mephisto Island and went straight toward the coordinates Argent had sent. The streets were deserted, as they should be. He hit the city hall block and pulled over to check the address again. Gargoyles swooped overhead, but they didn’t seem to be causing any trouble.

  The screen showed he was within blocks of the demon. He unholstered his crossbow and rested it between the handlebars, notching it into a fitting he’d machined to mount the weapon should he need it while driving. The wind shifted and sulfur scraped his nostrils with the rotten egg stench of demon. He was close all right.

  Heading the bike back out, he took the next turn. Two blocks away, the demon’s back came into view. Being this near to such a foul monster made the brands on Creek’s body throb like some kind of demon-detection device. The blue-black creature stood nearly four stories, its tail smashing out car and shop windows as it swished back and forth. Something dark flew overhead, but Creek didn’t look up. He had no time for gargoyles. The demon peered into buildings, periodically punching its fist through a wall or window and digging in up to its shoulder. Probably looking for a mortal snack, Creek guessed.

  Fortunately, most of the buildings were vacant. It was almost nine. The workers had been gone for hours. The whole business district was empty, the streetlights casting shadows on nothing. Creek raised his crossbow toward the beast. This angle wasn’t going to work. He needed to be higher up. Heart level. He studied the buildings available to him, trying to determine which one would give him the best access.

  Suddenly the creature reared its head back and unleashed a horrible roar. Creek parked the bike and yanked the crossbow free as he jumped off and ducked into the nearest doorway. The parking garage across the street would make a great bunker and give him the height he needed.

  The demon seemed occupied with something. What exactly, Creek couldn’t tell, but he used the distraction for cover and ran to the parking garage. He found the stairs and went three stories up, coming out on the street side. Tucking himself behind a concrete pylon, he leveled his bow. The stench threatened to bring up the mayor’s arroz con pollo. The demon stood at a slight angle, hunched over something. There was no way for Creek to hit it properly. He’d have to wait until the demon moved.

  Through the bow’s site, his field of vision was a small circle of blue-black flesh. Then he heard a woman’s voice. An angry woman’s voice.

  “Eat me and I will haunt you for the rest of your unnatural life.”

  The demon laughed.

  Ducking and running, Creek got a couple pylons ahead of the beast, fixed his position, and took another look. From the new vantage point, he could see more of the creature’s front and the woman he held captive in his car-sized hands. She wore some kind of wig of black feathers. So much for the mayor canceling all Halloween events and setting a curfew.

  “Go ahead and try, demon,” the woman taunted. “I’ll tear you apart from the inside.”

  Not only was she bad at following directions, but she was crazy, too. Great. Creek lifted the bow and took aim. The demon snarled and lifted the woman toward his mouth. Creek released the first bolt.

  It thunked home in the demon’s eye. Yowling, the creature dropped one hand from the woman to claw at its face, lifting its head and giving Creek perfect access to its heart. He planted the second bolt dead on target.

  Hissing like a wet cat, the thing released the woman. She hit the ground hard and didn’t move. The demon went down next, taking off the corner of the First Florida Federal Bank. As it writhed on the ground, Creek ran for the stairs. Any second now, the demon would probably go up in flames. He had to get the woman out of danger, if she weren’t already dead.

  He burst out of the parking garage, his crossbow already tucked away, and ran toward her. Keeping watch on the convulsing demon, he scooped her up and made tracks down the side street and out of the path of demon shrapnel.

  Just past the crosswalk, the demon blew. Chunks of burning flesh and ribbons of acid-hot blood launched into the air. Creek pulled up beneath an awning, shielding the woman with his body, and hunkered down to ride out the downpour.

  When the last piece fell—a toe by the looks of it—Creek unhinged and stood, at last taking a good look at the woman he’d rescued.

  Her head lolled back over his arm. The feather wig stayed put. He walked out from beneath the shadow of the awning and into the light of the streetlamp. She wasn’t wearing a costume. The feathers were her hair. An icy memory swept through him, a snippet of a fairy tale his grandmother used to tell him when he was a little boy about a woman whose sorrow turned her into a raven, gave her the power to gather souls because she had none. That story had always fascinated and terrified him.

  He snorted at his own foolishness. Samhain approached and its magic had started to affect him. He shook it off and chalked up the feather hair to the night’s power. That’s all it was. Anything was possible tonight. He kneeled with the woman in his arms, setting her gently on the sidewalk so he could feel for a pulse. There was none.

  Sitting back on his heels, he sighed. Not the way he’d wanted this to go. “Sorry,” he muttered. What a beauty she’d been. Seminole maybe, with that pretty olive skin. Around her neck, she wore a tiny beaked skull on a silver chain. Her vest of textured black leather exposed a few inches of taut belly above her low slung dark jeans. Maybe she had ID in her pocket. He le
aned forward to check.

  The woman’s body seemed to move.

  He jerked back, then exhaled. She wasn’t dead after all. He reached to check her pulse again and her body exploded into a cloud of cawing, squawking ravens. He fell back on his hands, then shifted to whip out his halm.

  Feathers floated down like black snow, and the birds swarmed into a column in the middle of the street. Then somehow, as he watched, the woman who’d died in his arms walked out of the column and the ravens were gone.

  The little boy who’d trembled at his grandmother’s story urged him to run, but Creek wasn’t eight anymore. He shoved to his feet, his halm at the ready.

  She stepped onto the sidewalk but didn’t come any closer. “Thank you.”

  “For what?”

  Her eyes were as black as her hair. As black as a raven’s wing. She laughed, a dark, cawing sound that wasn’t as unpleasant as he’d expected. “You saved me.”

  He couldn’t take his eyes off her. Probably the wisest decision anyway, considering what she’d just done. “I don’t think so. I’m pretty sure you were dead.”

  She tipped her head, peering at him. “I didn’t mean from the demon. I meant from the swamp witch.”

  “I don’t follow.”

  She tipped her head to the other side. “You set me free when you burned down her house.” She blinked slowly. “What is your name?”

  “Creek.”

  “I am Yahla.”

  But he’d known that since he was eight.

  Tucking her hands beneath her thighs, Chrysabelle forced herself to be still in the small sitting room on the second floor of Loudreux’s house. She leaned back against the sofa, tried to relax. It had taken the other members of the elektos half an hour to arrive after being summoned; now Khell’s swearing in dragged on in the office below. It had to come to an end soon. She checked a small crystal clock on the coffee table. Only nine minutes had passed since Khell and the elektos had entered the office and locked the door behind them, but each tick of the second hand stretched like an hour, and since she was unfamiliar with the ceremony, she had no way of judging how soon it would end.

  Mortalis stood beside Mal with his back to the sitting room door. She glanced at him, then sighed. Mal raised a brow at her, his lanky form braced against the wall. The threat of a smile played at the corners of his mouth. She exhaled a short, quick breath out her nose and returned her attention to the clock.

  So glad her impatience amused Mal. He had to understand how desperately she wanted that ring in her hands and to return home. It would be midnight in a little under three hours. She wasn’t sure what that meant for Paradise City, but if the magic had been leaking through before sunset, things could only be getting worse.

  Mal closed his eyes and tipped his head back. “Watching that clock isn’t going to make it go faster.”

  “I know,” she said, tapping her fingers on the sofa’s arm. “Can’t you hear anything?”

  “In a fae house?” Mortalis asked. “They have spells in place for that.”

  Mal looked at her. “Are you impatient to be home? Or are you anxious about getting the ring back?”

  Her fingers stilled. “Why? You think Loudreux is going to try something else?” If he didn’t give the ring back after all this…

  “No,” Mal said. “He wouldn’t dare. I’ll make sure of that.”

  “I’ll make sure of it,” Mortalis corrected. “Being fae doesn’t mean I’m on his side.”

  “You’ve proven that,” she told him. After all, he knew that Mal’s persuasion worked on fae and hadn’t said anything.

  Voices filled the foyer below. “They’re done,” she whispered. “At last.”

  Mal stayed where he was. “I’m sure Loudreux will be up to get us soon.”

  Mortalis snorted. “You mean Fellows will be. Loudreux doesn’t do any of his own work if he can help it.” He cracked the door and peered out, then shut it again. “Almost gone. Shouldn’t be long now.”

  She stood, too antsy to sit any longer, and paced to one of the side windows. She moved the lace curtain out of the way. The lights were on in the first floor of the house next door. A mortal family sat around their dining room table, laughing and talking and eating their dessert. Her stomach growled, but her hunger wasn’t for food. She turned away, the desire to know such a life almost too painful to bear, the need to find her brother redoubled. “How much longer will it take him to retrieve the ring?”

  “Not long.” Mortalis gave her a curious look. “We’re going home immediately?”

  “Of course.”

  “I’ll call Amery, tell him to check out.”

  She shook her head. “He can stay if he wants. Tonight is paid for.”

  Mortalis cracked a thin smile. “He’d probably eat that up.”

  “He’s a good kid. Eager.”

  “Yes, he is. You need him, he’d probably come work for you.”

  She scrunched her brow. “I thought he worked for Loudreux.”

  Mortalis shook his head. “He’s my cousin. I hired him for this trip.”

  “Good to know you have at least one family member who’s still on speaking terms with you.” He scowled, but she ignored it. “I don’t know what I’d need him for, but I’ll file the info.”

  “Security,” Mal said.

  “I can protect myself.” How many times in her life was she destined to repeat that sentence to him? Would he ever get it?

  “I know, but you shouldn’t be your own first line of defense. You said you hated always being on guard, always waiting for the next attack. You need bodies on the ground, not just cameras and sensors.”

  Mortalis nodded. “He’s got a point.”

  “I’ll think about it. Right now I’ve got two comarré living in my guesthouse, a driver in the quarters above the detached garage, and Velimai in the main house. I’m not a hotel. That house is big, but it still has its limits.” She crossed her arms. “Not to mention I’d rather live alone. But that’s not going to happen any time soon thanks to Tatiana.”

  Someone knocked on the door. Mortalis moved enough to open it. As predicted, Fellows stood there, nose in the air. “Master Loudreux will see you downstairs now.”

  When they entered the parlor, Loudreux stood waiting, Blu at his side. He held his hand out. On his palm sat the ring of sorrows. Chrysabelle hesitated, expecting one last trick, but he only lifted his palm a little higher. Maybe Loudreux had no idea what the ring was capable of. Or maybe he didn’t care now that he’d gotten what he wanted. Either way, she wasn’t risking him changing his mind. She marched over and snatched it, then turned away without saying a word to him. She caught Mal’s gaze. “Let’s go.”

  “No ‘thank you,’ Miss Lapointe?” Loudreux drawled.

  She spun to face him, taking a few steps back to get up close and personal. Blu bristled but made no move. Chrysabelle leaned in. “You should be thanking me, Loudreux.”

  He arched a thready brow. “You’re right. You did an excellent job resolving my problem.”

  It would have been really nice to have fangs to bare at him. “No, you half-wit. For letting you live.”

  Loudreux choked on his next breath. Blu whipped out a blade, but Chrysabelle pulled back, one hand raised, the other fisted around the ring. “Still your blade, fae. I have too much to do to start something now.”

  With that, she sailed out of the house.

  Chapter Thirty-five

  My vote is totally no.” Fi didn’t need to think it over. No way a vampire was getting into the house. No. Way. She kinda hoped the vamp tried something while John was outside watching her. He seemed like the sort of guy who wouldn’t hesitate to take off a vampire’s head if the need arose.

  Doc nodded, his hands clenching and unclenching like he was agitated about something. Or about to reach for the switchblade in his belt. “I say we stake her. Over and done.”

  “Except,” Damian said. “She might have information we could use.”

/>   Everyone looked at him. He held up his hands. “I’m not saying let her into the house, but maybe we could put her in the guesthouse.”

  “How do you know you can trust her?” the mayor asked.

  “You can’t.” Damian worked his jaw to one side. “She’s a vampire. None of them can be trusted.”

  “I wouldn’t say none, bro.” Doc glanced at Fi, but even without reading the look in his eyes, she knew what he was thinking. “I’d trust Mal with my life. I have. Doesn’t mean I like everything he does, but he’s as tight as you get.”

  “Yeah,” Fi added. “I know him better than anyone and I’d vouch for him, too.”

  “Does that mean you’re for keeping the woman?” Luke asked her.

  “No… I don’t know.” Fi hadn’t even entertained the thought that the vampiress might be telling the truth. “You think she’s for real?”

  Velimai slapped the table in the center of the living room. No, she signed. No, no, no. Her hands flew again. Luke translated. “She says anyone who worked for Tatiana is up to no good.”

  Damian stood and tapped a finger against his chest. “I worked for Tatiana. I didn’t have a choice. Maybe Daciana didn’t either.”

  Velimai shrugged one shoulder and signed, Sorry.

  Doc leaned back. “But you’re a comar and she’s a vampire. There’s a big difference.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “You sound a little too much on her side.”

  Damian tipped his head back, anger lining his face. “I am not on her side.”

  “Actually, I think he’s got a point,” Luke said, sliding to the edge of his seat and leaning his arms on his knees. “We don’t know the real circumstances. And she could have info. We should treat her like a prisoner of war until she proves otherwise. She wants asylum? Let her earn it.”

  “What does that mean?” the mayor asked before Fi had a chance to.

  “Let Damian, Doc, John, and myself have a chat with her outside. See if she gives us anything, then we’ll go from there.”