Blood Rights

by Painter, Kristen

  Her fingers worried the shirt’s hem. ‘I don’t even know your name.’

  He sat still, staring at her like he was thinking. Too long, she thought. ‘Why don’t you want me to know your name?’

  ‘I’m … anathema.’

  ‘Quelle surprise.’ She stared back, incredulous. ‘You think I haven’t figured that out?’

  ‘I could be fringe.’

  ‘Nice try, but your eyes go silver and you can shift your face.’

  ‘Then how do you know I’m not nobility?’

  ‘Living here?’ She laughed at the absurdity of him thinking she might mistake him for anything else but anathema. At this point, finding anything funny was a gift. ‘Look around you. This isn’t the Grand Palace. You have no staff—’

  ‘I have Doc and Fi.’

  ‘Like I said, no staff. No blood source. You’re about as anathema as a vampire can get, I imagine.’

  He shrugged. ‘So the freighter’s a tip-off. Big deal.’

  ‘Please. I’ve basically known since that night at the club.’

  ‘How?’

  She lifted one shoulder. ‘A vamp who drinks animal blood smells different. Nobility never drink animal blood. Plus, you were very hungry that night, and nobility never get to that point. Also, you were alone. I figured you were either Nothos or anathema.’

  ‘How could you think I was Nothos?’

  ‘I’ve never seen one. Of course, when I dropped you in that alley like a used tissue—’

  ‘Lucky shot.’ A vein popped out on his forehead. ‘Plus I was weak.’

  ‘You still are.’

  He growled softly. She put her hands up. ‘I just mean you don’t drink enough human blood and you don’t drink it from the vein. You’re not half the strength you could be.’

  ‘I do what I have to.’

  ‘Why?’ What was he hiding? No vampire abjured human blood without an exceptionally good reason. And there really were no good reasons when it came to vampires.

  ‘Don’t worry about it.’

  She wouldn’t. Not really. It was his business. She understood the need to keep secrets. Besides, she’d know his soon enough. ‘Ready to tell me your name yet? I’m very willing to call you Fluffy if I have to. Maybe Rufus. Or how about Bunny?’ She tapped her chin. ‘Captain Bunny of the Ship of Fools. That has a nice ring to—’

  ‘Mal.’

  She raised her brows. Mal could be short for only a few names she could think of.

  ‘ – achi. Malachi.’

  Her brain searched every bit of vampire history she knew. The only Malachis she could come up with were nobility. If he really was such a low-level, unregistered anathema, what harm could he be? Maybe she should take a chance and trust him. Maybe she should tell him everything. He had taken care of her so far, in his own way. That was worth something, wasn’t it?

  What did she have to lose, really? She picked at a loose thread on the T-shirt’s hem.

  Besides her life.

  No, she refused to think that way. She would play his game until it no longer suited her. And if she had to, she’d end it her way. With a blade to his neck or a stake through his heart.

  Liar, liar, liar. Better a small lie than a truth that might send her running again. Getting her to talk was the most important thing. That was why he wanted to keep her here. Not because being near her brought him a foreign sense of serenity or because the voices didn’t like her or because she made him strive to be more than he was. No. She needed help.

  And help was his middle name. Right after loner and miscreant. And killer. So kill her.

  She tugged the T-shirt down again, but it refused to cover any farther than the tops of her thighs. Fine with him. He could look at her all day and not get tired. There was something mesmerizing about those bright metallic marks. Drinkable. Something that made her seem both fragile and indestructible. Drainable. An angel spun from gold.

  Hades on a cracker, she made his brain mush. If it wasn’t her scent, it was something else. Her mouth was moving again. If he didn’t pay attention, she was going to think she was affecting him. Which she wasn’t. ‘What?’

  ‘I said I don’t know where to start.’

  ‘Oh.’ He forced himself to look into her eyes. ‘Start from the beginning.’

  ‘I found him the morning after the Century Ball.’ She paused. ‘You know the significance of that event?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘After comarré have been with their patrons for a hundred years, a chance comes for the patron to offer freedom to his comarré. The comarré almost always declines and stays with the patron, so much so that it’s become something of a foregone conclusion.’

  She glanced away as if remembering. ‘I had planned to accept. It was going to be my way out.’ She caught his gaze again. ‘Instead, Algernon made a long, flowery speech about how he knew where I was happiest and therefore saw no reason to extend something that would insult my good graces.’ Her lip curled. ‘He presented me with this enormous, gaudy gold heart on a chain. Just what I needed. More gold on my body.’

  Mal bit back a snicker. She had a point.

  ‘Anyway, that’s what goes on at the Century Ball.’ Her jaw tightened a fraction. ‘After we returned to Algernon’s estate, I immediately went to my suite. I had already packed a few things in anticipation and seeing those bags made me realize what I was giving up if I stayed. I decided to run. I waited until I was sure daysleep had him, then I headed out. I planned to tell the servants I was headed to Primoris Domus. There would be nothing unusual about that. And that’s when I found him in the great hall.’ She shifted uncomfortably. ‘He’d been murdered. Beheaded.’

  ‘The body was still tangible?’ The older a vampire was, the faster they went to ash. Fast, fast, fast for you. ‘How young was your patron?’

  ‘He wasn’t young.’ She shook her head. ‘He was—’

  ‘There’s only one way—’

  ‘—killed with a hot blade.’

  Mal studied her face. Dread etched the corners of her mouth. That revelation had cost her something. Good. About time she started telling a few truths. ‘Vampires can’t use hot blades.’

  ‘No.’ She didn’t meet his eyes.

  ‘You think a mortal killed him? A slayer?’ There hadn’t been a successful human slayer since … ever, really. The covenant prevented it.

  ‘No.’ Still no visual contact. So much for truth.

  He leaned forward, forcing himself not to inhale. ‘Then what do you think?’

  ‘That it looks like it was meant to put the blame on a comarré.’

  ‘Then they did a poor job. That Golgotha dagger is too small for a beheading.’

  One quick glance up, then her gaze went right back to her fingers. ‘That’s not the only hot weapon we have. The sacre, our ceremonial sword, is quenched in holy water.’

  What other fun toys did she have up her sleeve? ‘Where’s your sword?’

  ‘Unless someone moved it, it still hangs in my patron’s house on the wall of my apartment.’

  ‘Was it used?’ A blade made hot with magic or something sacred left a wound that would fester unhealed for a very long time. In a clean cut, it seared the flesh as it passed through. If the flesh belonged to a vampire, that meant leaving a corpse or a stump behind. A great way to send a message, or set someone up.

  ‘I don’t know. I didn’t think to go back and see if there was blood scent on it and there was no way to take it with me, so I just ran. I swear I’m innocent. I had no reason to do this.’

  ‘You had reason. He didn’t offer you freedom.’

  ‘I planned to leave anyway. Why would I kill him and complicate things?’ She glanced up. ‘And just because I own such a sword doesn’t mean—’

  ‘What happened after you saw the body?’

  ‘I was scared, but I went to the Primoris Domus as planned, grabbed a few more things, then went to the airport.’ She brushed the ends of her hair back and forth over her fingers.
>
  Scared, but not so scared she couldn’t formulate a plan. ‘Why go to your house at all?’

  She stared at the backs of her hands, but her eyes had a very faraway look. ‘To get cash for the ticket and to cover my signum with the foundation my friend had sent me. And to buy myself some time. It’s not unusual for one of us to spend several days at our house.’

  ‘Why would your friend send you makeup to cover your marks? How would she know you’d need to cover them?’

  That made her look up. ‘How do you know my friend is a she?’

  ‘Who else would send you makeup?’ He shifted, crossed his legs. ‘Now answer the question. How did this friend know you’d need to cover them?’

  ‘She didn’t know. She works at a big cosmetics company, and every once in a while she’d send me samples like that.’

  He watched her for a moment. She kept eye contact with him. Maybe she was telling the truth about the foundation. Still, it was a pretty interesting coincidence. ‘What did you use for ID at the airport?’

  More fidgeting with the hair.

  ‘Whether or not I help you depends a lot on how much truth you give me.’

  She worried her bottom lip between her teeth. ‘All comarré have false papers.’

  More fun toys. He leaned back. ‘In case you behead someone and need to flee the country?’

  ‘In case our patrons need us to travel,’ she snapped back. ‘I am not guilty.’

  ‘You realize trying to kill me in that alley doesn’t help your case.’ He could still see her in that dim light, the speed at which she’d come at him, the sleekness of her movements. That was no lucky shot. That was practice. Most likely years of it.

  Fire lit her eyes. She bowed toward him, fists planted on the mattress. ‘I didn’t intend to kill you. If I had, I would’ve moved the blade up two inches. I know more ways to kill a vampire than you’ll ever … ’ Her jaw went slack, her eyes unblinking. Closing her mouth, she sat back.

  And there was the proof. Nodding slowly, he watched the anger fade into the sinking realization of what she’d just said. He lifted his palms nonchalantly. ‘But you’re innocent.’

  ‘Yes,’ she whispered, slumping against the headboard. She covered her face with her hands.

  Time to change the subject before she shut down. ‘A hundred years with your patron. That’s a long time to be with one person.’

  ‘I’m not sure what you’re implying.’ She uncovered her face to look at him.

  Mal shrugged. ‘Just saying you look good for an old broad.’

  Steel glinted in her eyes. ‘Comarré age very slowly.’

  Hmm. Anger brought the truth out of her. Might be worth another shot. ‘How old were you when he first sucked your brains out?’

  A spark of that rage returned. Her chin lifted. ‘You needn’t be vulgar. He purchased my blood rights when I was fifteen.’

  Ouch. ‘So … was he your first?’ He hated the images those words brought, but took pleasure that her patron’s head was no longer intimate with his spine.

  ‘And my last.’

  Only one. That was something then. Easier to take. Not that it mattered if she’d serviced the whole bloody council. Because it didn’t. He decided to test her, to see how much truth she was telling. ‘What Family was he?’

  She pursed her mouth. Like she was about to be kissed. Or stalling.

  Mal put his hands on the chair’s arms and pushed up. ‘If you’re done, I’m leav—’

  A sigh ended the silence. ‘Tepes.’

  Great, she hadn’t been lying in the gym when she’d said his power wouldn’t work on her. Why, of the five Families, did it have to be that one? ‘And his name?’

  More sighing. ‘Algernon.’

  ‘As in the Elder of the Tepes Family?’ Hell and damnation. This couldn’t get worse.

  She shrugged. ‘Yes, but, well, not anymore. Obviously.’

  He stood and paced to the far end of the room, then back again. How convenient that the prize comarré of the Elder of the Tepes Family should somehow end up in New Florida. On his doorstep. She probably didn’t even know she was being played for a pawn. How bloody perfect. It stank like a setup, because it probably was. Somehow, despite everything he’d done to stay off the radar, someone had found out he’d escaped the imprisonment. Someone who still wanted him dead. Someone who obviously thought he was stupid enough to fall for a game like this. Damsel in distress worked better if the damsel wasn’t trying to kill you.

  ‘No.’ He waved his hand at her. ‘I’ve made my decision. I’m not getting involved in this. Nice try, though.’

  Her mouth opened, most likely to protest, then she crossed her arms. The movement inched the T-shirt higher. ‘Would you say that Fi belongs to you?’

  ‘No. Of course not.’

  ‘Then she’s free to leave whenever she wants?’

  ‘No.’ He scowled. ‘She’s bound to me.’

  Chrysabelle rolled her eyes. ‘So she belongs to you. Have you noticed that the urges you feel around me, the way the scent of my blood affects you, those things, have you noticed they’re a little less aggressive today?’

  Actually, they were. ‘Yeah, so?’

  ‘Then you have no choice but to help me.’ She couldn’t have looked more smug if she’d tried.

  ‘How the hell do you figure that?’

  ‘The first to blood a free comarré takes that comarré’s blood rights. Technically, that would be you, via Fi. Even though, technically, you stole them.’ She scowled and started muttering to herself. ‘A ghost. How does that even happen? I hate this city.’

  ‘You mean I’m your new patron because of Fi getting your blood?’

  Chrysabelle glared daggers at him. ‘Great. Anathema and slow. This just gets better and better.’

  ‘No, this isn’t happening. There’s got to be a way around this. I’ll give them back. Go. You’re free. I release you.’ He waved his hands at her like shooing a fly.

  ‘I’m not a sparrow. You can’t just release me into the wild and hope for the best.’ She shook her head, looking at him like he was a world-class idiot. ‘There are two ways to give me my rights back.’

  He waited. ‘And those would be?’

  ‘You can die on your own. Or I can kill you.’

  Chapter Fourteen

  The red-black haze numbed Tatiana like a paralyzing poison. She welcomed the respite from the pain and the punishing use of her body and allowed herself to float. As long as she fought her way back to consciousness when the time came to drink in the power she’d earned. The kind of power only the blood of the Castus Sanguis could supply. Such power was priceless. Painless.

  A hand slapped her face, tugging her back to reality. No, she whispered to the fading numbness, but already it dissolved around the edges. She reached for the remains of her self-imposed oblivion, but it was too late. The pain sifted the haze out of reach. Blood trickled from the corner of her mouth. Hungry tongues lapped it up. She gasped, desperate for the darkness. Clawed fingers dug into her flesh. Every slice registered with unnatural clarity. Must … return … to the nothing.

  Greedy mouths worked the cuts for more blood. A whimper built in her throat, but she refused to give it voice. They might bend her, but they would not break her. She would prove herself worthy of the power they had to bestow.

  A body leaned into her, heavy, unrelenting, weighing on every sore spot. She pushed the pain away, sought the haze, opened herself up to it, and forced her way into the fog’s sweet relief.

  The reward was all that mattered.

  The door chimes sang out at dusk. Maris wheeled to the door ahead of Velimai and opened it, hoping for Chrysabelle, but knowing it wouldn’t be.

  It wasn’t. She fought to keep her face steady.

  ‘Hello, Dominic. Punctual, as always.’

  ‘Ciao, Marissa. For you, would I be anything less?’ He stood outlined by the darkening sky and the landscape lighting, his hair just as black, his eyes just as mossy
green. Her gut clenched from the scent of him. She fought against the tide of past memories sucking at her emotions, just as she did every time he came to visit. She would not give in, even if he was as beautiful as she’d remembered. Maybe more. And hopefully as willing to help her.

  ‘It’s Maris now, you know that.’ How many times must she correct him?

  ‘You will always be Marissa to me.’ His slight smile opened another chink in her armor. She missed him and hated herself for it. ‘May I come in?’

  She leaned back and the iBot retreated a few paces accordingly. He knew better. But that didn’t stop him from asking. ‘You know the rules haven’t changed. Meet me on the patio.’

  He clutched his dead heart, always the dramatic. ‘Tesora, you wound me.’

  ‘You’ll live.’ She shut the door and spun toward the rear of the house. The distance allowed her to breathe again. Velimai hung near the patio sliders, a disapproving look on her face.

  Maris nodded. ‘I know how you feel. So noted.’ Dominic would never harm her. Not any more than he already had.

  Velimai’s storm-colored eyes narrowed, and she signed that Maris wasn’t the only one living in the house.

  ‘He’s never so much as raised a finger in your direction. Now shoo.’

  When Maris opened the sliders and rolled through, he was there, stretched out on one of the chaises and looking like a Roman god. She angled her iBot toward him.

  He tucked his arms behind his head, careless with the suit that must have cost a mortal’s fortune. ‘You’ve cut your hair.’ He shrugged. ‘Still bella. Like the day you broke my heart.’

  ‘Your heart was broken long before me.’ She smiled indulgently, as she might with a child. ‘Dominic, I haven’t called you here for the usual reason.’ Although undoubtedly, it would lead to that. ‘I need a favor, and I know you owe me nothing, so … ’ This was far more difficult than she’d thought it would be, especially with him so close and so unchanged.

  ‘Well, that explains why you called me so soon after our last visit.’ One black, winged brow lifted. ‘Although I didn’t think your pretty mouth could form the words for help.’

  ‘I’m serious.’ What had she thought? That he’d age in the short time since she’d last seen him? That time would temper his addictive beauty into something easier to deny? That her body would forget everything that had happened between them?