Bad Blood

by Kristen Painter

  “What do you know?” Mal’s temper shaded the edges of his vision red. The beast rumbled louder.

  “All I will say is”—he paused as if searching for the words—“gold is not the only reason her blood tastes so divine.” With that, he shut Mal out, bending over Chrysabelle and applying the needle with greater concentration.

  Mal thought on the signumist’s words, but shearing part of his attention away from Chrysabelle made little sense. There would be time for thinking later. Maybe she’d know what Atticus had meant.

  The signumist continued down the length of her spine and back up the other side, implanting the signum and announcing each one as it was finished. Blood rose from the welted skin and trailed down her sides like ribbons. How she stood it, Mal had no idea. Halfway through the first side, he’d begun to shake with emotions he couldn’t name. He wanted to take her place. To hurt Rennata for making Chrysabelle go through this again. To kill. To shove Atticus away from her. To maim. To rage against the injustice of life. To cradle her in his arms and make the pain go away.

  If Chrysabelle sensed any of it, she made no indication, but watching her go through this was more intense than he’d imagined. His hands had long since gone numb. Even the voices in his head had quieted. At least it went quickly.

  Finally, Atticus lifted his needle. “Finished.”

  The last signum lit up as the others had. This time the glow spread, brighter and stronger than before. The other new signum began to glow as well. Then the existing signum came to life. She moaned softly.

  “Are you sure she’s supposed to glow like that?”

  Atticus stood, flexing his hands. “You’re a vampire. All comarré glow to you.”

  “Not that brightly. Each one of her signum look like the sun is shining through it.”

  Atticus stopped moving his tray out of the way. “That can’t be.”

  “It is. I’m watching it happen right now.”

  Chrysabelle moaned again, louder this time.

  “Something’s wrong.” Atticus frowned.

  Mal jumped up. “What do you mean something’s wrong? Fix it. Now.”

  “I can’t. What’s done is done.”

  “Not good enough.” If not for Chrysabelle’s hands gripping his, he would have leaped across the table and clamped them around the signumist’s neck. “What’s happening to her?”

  Atticus shook his head, his eyes darting from side to side as if seeking answers. “The power in the ring could have survived the melting, or…”

  “Or what?”

  “Her blood could somehow be tainted.”

  A sharp chill dug into Mal’s gut. “Tainted how?” But he already knew the answer.

  “When her original signum were stripped, was she hospitalized? An infusion of normal human blood could cause problems.”

  “No. No human blood.” Just vampire. Once again, he was the reason she suffered. Of course.

  “Maybe it’s the power in the ring, then.”

  Chrysabelle’s hands spread wide, releasing Mal’s. She lifted her head and opened her mouth like she was struggling to breathe, but her eyes stayed closed. “So… hot…”

  “Hold her down,” Atticus said. “She shouldn’t move so soon after having this done. The flesh needs to seal. I have to clean her off at least.” He hurried to the side counter.

  Hands aching, Mal latched on to her upper arms and kneeled down so he could talk softly to her. “Hang on, Chrysabelle. It’s going to be okay. I know it hurts. Breathe.” You can kill me later, he wanted to say. She probably will. He bent farther so his head touched hers. “I’m right here. I’m not going to leave you.” But she’d leave him. Just as soon as she realized what he’d done. She should.

  Atticus came back with a bowl of steaming water scented with some kind of herb and a cloth. He began to mop the blood from her. She moaned and lifted her head again. Her eyes fluttered open. The summer blue of her irises was shot through with flecks of gold, making her eyes glow almost as much as her body. “Am I dying?”

  A shudder ran through him. The voices rejoiced. He shook his head. “No, you’re not. Don’t say that. Don’t think that.”

  “You’re not dying, comarré.” Atticus squeezed the cloth over the bowl. The water ran scarlet. “You’re having a reaction to the ring’s power. I’m sure this will pass when it settles into your body.”

  She shivered as if cold and reached her hands out. Mal took them in his, but there was no strength in her grip. “I’m glad you’re here.”

  He couldn’t answer. Instead, he nodded. Then a hard tremor racked her body. She cried out. Her body tensed, the outline of her muscles stark beneath her glowing skin. A second later, the glow was gone and she lay limp on the table.

  “Is she…” Atticus shook his head.

  “No,” Mal answered, relief flooding him. “I can hear her heart beating.” Too bad.

  “She will need much rest.” Atticus emptied the bowl into the sink. “Days of it.”

  Then, as if nothing had happened, she lifted her head. “Holy mother,” Chrysabelle breathed out. “I’d forgotten how much that hurts.” She leaned up gingerly on her elbows, gathering the fabric around her front and looking over her shoulder. Her eyes were their usual blue, not a fleck of gold to be seen. “Am I sealed? Can I get dressed?”

  Atticus’s mouth came open, but he said nothing.

  Mal stared at her. “You just told me you were dying, now you’re ready to go home?”

  “What? I never said that.” Her eyes were heavy-lidded and on the verge of closing. “I’ve been tranced out since Atticus said he was ready.”

  “No,” Atticus corrected her. “You haven’t been.”

  Afraid she’d realize she’d had a reaction based on the presence of his blood, Mal changed the subject. “I can explain to her on the way home. Is she really ready to get dressed?”

  “This is most unusual,” Atticus muttered. “She may dress. Right now she feels little pain because the sealant in the washing water contains a variety of natural anesthetics, but when that wears off, the pain will return. It will be intense. She’ll probably fall asleep soon, but you should get her to wherever she’s going to convalesce, and quickly.” He picked up a small red pouch off his tray and handed it to Mal. “She’ll want this when she’s ready.”

  He had a feeling he knew what was in that pouch, but he tucked it into a pocket without looking at it then grabbed the robe she’d discarded and held it out to her, closing his eyes. “Get this on and let’s get you home.” And somehow, during the car ride to her house, he’d figure out a way to explain that more than just gold had gotten under her skin.

  “H-how long are you going to leave me here?” Daciana asked.

  Fi hovered a few feet off the ground in her ghost form. Being corporeal made her feel vulnerable around the bloodsucker, especially after her experience with Tatiana. “You’re a vampire, you can’t be afraid of the dark.”

  “Just get in,” Doc said. “You’re lucky we haven’t ashed you yet. Once we find out if what you told us is true, we’ll come get you. If it’s not true, then you’re in serious trouble.” He pointed toward the shipping container’s interior.

  Damian had his sacre out and resting on his shoulder. “I’ll be out here the whole time, too.”

  “To keep me safe?” Daciana asked.

  He shook his head. “To make sure you don’t try to escape.”

  Fi had never seen a vampire cry. Daciana looked like she was about to change that. “Oh, get in already. We have things to do.”

  Slowly, Daciana walked into the container. She stood in the center, her hands folded primly in front of her, eyes round and slightly weepy. “Please don’t take long.”

  Doc and Damian shut the doors, then locked them and linked a thick length of chain through and padlocked that. Damian tucked his sacre back into its sheath. “See you when you get back.”

  Doc tugged on the padlock. “You going to be all right here?”

 
The comar tipped his head toward the cooler of food Velimai had insisted he take. “I’ll be fine. I couldn’t eat all that in a week.”

  “We won’t be gone that long,” Doc said. “As soon as we find Creek and get some confirmation, we’ll be back. After that, Fi and I will be here until Mal and Chrysabelle make the final decision as to what to do with her.”

  “I’m good till whenever.”

  “All right, bro. See you later.”

  Fi waved. “Bye, Damian. Back soon.”

  He returned her wave and sat down on the cooler, his back to the container’s doors, his body silhouetted by the LED lamp at his feet.

  Fi floated alongside Doc as they headed back to the main deck and the car where Mortalis waited. “So spill.”

  “Spill what?”

  She moved in front of him, blocking his path through the corridor. “Don’t act like you don’t know. What’s going on? You told me something was up and that you’d tell me when we were alone. Well, we’re alone now.”

  He sighed and rolled his head around like he needed a massage. Tough. She wasn’t laying a finger on him until he came clean. “Creek killed Aliza to break the hold her spell had on me.”

  “I know that part.”

  “I don’t know if it’s because Preacher turned her into a vampire—and you know he’s not exactly a normal vampire to begin with—or because her power is just that strong, or even if it’s because the spell had to be broken some other way, but I think some of her power attached itself to me.”

  That sounded bad. She tried hard not to let the image of her torn and bloody body show, but it was tricky when she got scared or worried or tired. “What is that supposed to mean? Attached itself how? What kind of power?”

  He held his hand out. Nothing happened. “It’s not working. That’s the problem. I can’t control it.”

  “Control what?”

  With a snarl, he punched his fist into the metal wall, making her jump. His eyes flickered green-gold, the pupils slitting down to razor-thin slices.

  Flames burst off his hands and forearms.

  “That,” he said, splaying his fingers. The blue fire danced over his skin, mesmerizing her. Then she blinked and looked at him. His eyes, no longer leopard, held fear and anger.

  “It’s okay,” she said. “Actually, it’s better than okay. It’s cool! You have a new power. What other varcolai can wield fire?”

  The flames had begun to die but sprang to life again. “It’s not cool,” he growled, shaking his hand to kill the fire. “I can’t control it. When my emotions peak, the fire just shows up.”

  “Does it hurt?”

  “Not me.” He exhaled. “But the fire is very real.” The last wisp of blue disappeared off his fingers. He leaned against the wall he’d just punched and stared up at the ceiling. “I’m afraid to touch you, Fi.”

  She drifted close enough to cup his face in her transparent hands and brush her mouth over his. “When I’m like this, nothing can hurt me.”

  “But when you’re not? When we’re in bed together?” He shook his head and took a few steps away from her down the corridor. “That can’t happen. Until this is fixed.”

  Her heart sank. She loved being curled up in bed with him. It was a safe place for her. Or had been. Worse, she had no real way to comfort him. And she hated that. “Who can fix it? Aliza and Evie are dead. Not that they’d help anyway.”

  “Maybe it’ll play out.” He glanced at his hands. “That’s what I’m hoping.”

  “And if it doesn’t? We have to talk to someone. Find somebody to help.”

  “There might not be anybody to help.” He raised his head and met her gaze. “We just have to accept that.”

  “What are you saying?” She charged forward until only inches separated them. “Are you breaking up with me?”

  “Fi, you can’t look at it like that. This is for your own good. And my sanity. If I ever did anything to hurt you…” He turned away.

  She went corporeal and dropped to the floor with a soft thud. As soon as her feet touched, she kicked him in the shin. “You are not breaking up with me over this. Do you understand me? Hell no.” She shoved past him and headed for the car. “I’ll tell you when we’re broken up, and it’s not now. Men. Unbelievable. Like a little fire is reason to break up. Seriously, I can’t even believe—”

  “Fi.”

  She stopped her march and looked back at him, hands on her hips. “What?”

  He smiled and tiny flames wobbled on the tips of his ears. “I love you.”

  “You better believe you love me. Now let’s grab some weapons and go find Creek so we can start working on the real problem.”

  He caught up to her in a few strides. “The fire?”

  “Yeah, I’m concerned it’s making you stupid.” She shot him a sideways look. “We’re going to figure this thing out, and then you’re going to ask me to marry you because I’m tired of waiting.”

  His mouth opened, but he had sense enough not to say anything.

  “Keep walking, kitty cat.”

  Chapter Thirty-nine

  Tatiana bounced Lilith on her knee while across the room Octavian went over some ledgers at the desk. It was shocking how quickly they’d become the happy little family. She watched him for a moment, his head bent, his concentration fixed on the pages of numbers that represented everything now under her control as Dominus.

  He was a good man. Becoming a vampire had yet to change him. Maybe it wouldn’t. Maybe he would stay the way he was, without the harsh cynical edge that so many of her kind developed. Only the years would tell that.

  He looked up, caught her watching him, and smiled. She smiled back. Did she love him? She might. It was hard to tell if the emotion was true or born out of the buoyant joy Lilith brought her. Either way, she liked having him as part of this new stage of her life, even if it scared her a little to have people close to her that she cared about. But being Dominus meant she needed that sacred inner circle more than ever. And now with Lilith to protect…

  She kissed the sweet child in her arms, burying her face in the baby’s sweet-smelling skin. It wouldn’t take long for the other houses to find out about Lilith, to speculate where the child had come from, what her powers were, what she meant for them and their future.

  So many would want to hurt her. To possess her for their own. Use her in a way that would benefit them. The Castus had chosen wisely by bringing Lilith to Tatiana. They knew her past, understood that she would not allow another child to be taken from her.

  A knock sounded at the door. “Come,” Tatiana called.

  One of the servants entered, bowing. “My lady, Lord Edwin, Elder of the House of Bathory, is here to see you. Would you like to receive him here?”

  Tatiana glanced at Octavian. His gaze came to rest on Lilith. “There’s no point in hiding her.” He closed the ledger and stood. “They will all know soon enough. And Lord Syler is an ally.”

  “He’s as close to one as we have.” The Dominus of the House of Bathory and the Dominus of the House of Tepes had traditionally sided together, but she was not Ivan and had no clear idea of how Syler felt about her in the position of Dominus. Perhaps that was what she was about to learn. She nodded to the servant as Octavian moved to sit at her side. “Show Lord Edwin in.”

  “Very good, my lady.” The servant exited, returning some minutes later with Lord Edwin.

  He dipped his head in greeting and Tatiana responded in kind. His gaze skimmed the bundle in her arms but didn’t falter. “I bring greetings from the House of Bathory, Dominus Tatiana.”

  The sound of her new title gave her no small thrill. “Thank you. Please, sit.” She gestured to the chair across from her. “Would you care for wine or brandy or blood?”

  He sat where she indicated. “No, thank you, I’m fine.” His gaze drifted again to Lilith, but he covered by brushing an invisible piece of lint off his trousers. “If you are amenable to it, Lord Syler would like to host a ball in your hon
or. There has not been a new Dominus in the House of Tepes for almost four hundred years, as you well know.”

  “I do know.” She smiled. The alliance was alive and well, then. “That is very kind of you, and I am happy to accept your gracious offer.” It was the responsibility of one of the houses to host the ball and a relief that Syler had reached out and made the offer. She’d doubted any of the other houses would.

  Alliance firm in her mind, she decided to take the next step. “It will be a wonderful opportunity to introduce all the families to my daughter, Lilith.” She turned slightly so Edwin could see Lilith’s face.

  The expression on his was almost unnamable. Curiosity seemed the strongest. “Forgive me, I didn’t know you had a daughter. Congratulations.”

  Whatever she said now, whatever information she gave him, would color what was said about Lilith and the opinions that were formed. She chose her words carefully. “The Castus have chosen me to be Lilith’s mother. They believe I am the best suited to raise her and teach her our ways. She is the first vampire child.”

  Edwin nodded, his mouth opening slightly as if he’d almost spoken, then thought better of what he wanted to say. “So… Lilith is not your blood child?”

  “Of course not. How could she be?” Idiot. “But she is now a child of my heart.”

  A shimmer of understanding sparked in Edwin’s eyes. “Well, whoever turned her did it quite young. Astonishing, really.”

  “No,” Octavian corrected him. “Lilith wasn’t turned. She was born vampire.”

  Shaking his head, Edwin leaned back. “I confess, I don’t understand. How is that possible?”

  Octavian looked to Tatiana, giving her the reins of the conversation. Lilith cooed and grabbed hold of Tatiana’s finger, causing Tatiana to smile. She kept her eyes on her daughter’s. “Lilith is a mystery of sorts, but all anyone needs to know is that she is a daughter of the House of Tepes, and with her, a new age of vampires has begun.” She raised her head to peer into Edwin’s eyes and make sure nothing she said was mistaken. “Anyone who tries to harm her will bring upon themselves the full rage of the ancient ones.”

  Edwin nodded. “I understand. I will be sure to let Lord Syler know.”