Blood Rights

by Painter, Kristen

  ‘If you can make spaghetti, you can make tea.’ Velimai wept in great shudders now, her small body more sheer than solid. Chrysabelle pursed her mouth. Tea wasn’t that hard. ‘Kitchen’s behind me. Teapot’s on the stove, tea and sugar in the canisters on the counter, and cups in the cabinet left of the range.’

  Scowling slightly, he disappeared into the kitchen as Fi returned with the damp washcloth.

  ‘Thank you.’ Chrysabelle moved to sit beside Velimai. The sound of cabinets being opened and closed and things being moved around came out of the room behind them. ‘Doc’s in the kitchen, trying to make tea. Can you help him?’

  ‘Sure.’ Fi left, seemingly happy to have a new task.

  ‘Here.’ Chrysabelle nudged the washcloth toward Velimai’s hands. ‘I’m so sorry you’ve been hurt, but I need to know what’s happened to my aunt.’

  The flickering stopped as Velimai solidified and took the cloth, pressing it against her skin then wiping her eyes. She folded it neatly and laid it on her knees, then began to sign. Her hands flew.

  ‘Wait, wait.’ Wysper hand signs were not one of the required comarré language lessons, but maybe they should be. ‘Even when you go slowly I only get every third or fourth word.’ Instinctively, she reached out and gently captured Velimai’s shifting hands with one of hers. The wysper’s skin was like frozen sandpaper. Chrysabelle’s own snagged painfully against it. Immediately, she released Velimai and flipped her hand over. Tiny ruby drops glistened on her palm and fingers.

  A guttural rumble brought her head up. Mal glared from the door, held back by the lack of invitation. ‘I smell blood. Yours.’

  Chrysabelle tucked her hand down at her side and offered him a weak smile. ‘It’s just a scratch. Did you find anything yet?’

  He shook his head, glowered at Velimai, then vanished into the shadows he’d come from.

  Fi came in carrying a steaming cup. Doc trailed her. She set the tea on the brushed steel side table. ‘What happened to your hand?’

  ‘Nothing. Watch the glas—’

  ‘Nothing? There’s blood all over it.’ Fi popped her hands to hips. ‘You okay?’

  ‘Fine.’ Chrysabelle grabbed the washcloth from Velimai’s knees and swabbed the blood away. ‘See? All gone.’ Dawn was coming. Time was running out. ‘Velimai, can you tell me what happened to Maris without signing?’

  Velimai stood and took a few steps toward the middle of the room, shards of glass crackling under her feet. She turned to face Chrysabelle, spreading her arms slightly. Her form wavered, then shifted into a very recognizable female vampire.

  ‘Tatiana.’ The name soured on Chrysabelle’s tongue.

  Doc peered closer. ‘That is freaking amazing.’

  Fi gasped. ‘How’s she do that?’

  ‘It’s a wysper thing.’

  Velimai shifted again. This time into a male.

  ‘Huh,’ Fi said, tipping her head. ‘There’s something familiar about those two.’

  ‘Yeah, they’re vampires.’ Doc tapped Fi lightly on the arm and she smiled, turning toward him.

  ‘I get that. But I feel like I know them. And not in a good way.’

  ‘That feeling makes perfect sense.’ Chrysabelle gestured toward the image flickering over Velimai’s skin. ‘That’s Mikkel.’ Of course. Tatiana’s House of Bathory male was the perfect mate. Equally bloodthirsty and a master of the dark arts. ‘Is his power how they got access?’ she asked Velimai.

  Velimai shook her head and became Tatiana again. It was like watching an old movie, before holodiscs. Then the image of Tatiana became Chrysabelle.

  ‘Wait. That’s me. I don’t understand.’ Chrysabelle peered closer. Doc and Fi were caught up in some other conversation.

  Shifting back to herself, Velimai shook her head, then held her hand up. She lifted one finger, then turned into Chrysabelle. She raised her hands toward her face and wiped them down her body, erasing Chrysabelle’s image and replacing it with Tatiana’s.

  Chrysabelle gasped softly. ‘Do you mean Tatiana was disguised as me?’

  Slowly, Velimai signed out a few simple words. She was you.

  ‘No, she doesn’t have that power. Unless Mikkel cast some sort of spell over her. Was he disguised too? Did Maris invite him in?’

  No.

  ‘Then his power wouldn’t have extended into the house.’ Chrysabelle tapped her fingers against her leg. ‘That means Tatiana has a new power.’ The phrase she dared not utter trickled through her brain. Castus Sanguis. Only the ancient fallen ones could bestow that kind of power. If Tatiana was working with them, for them, whatever the case might be, that made things drastically more dangerous. She sighed. ‘At least they didn’t kill Maris.’

  No. Velimai spelled out the word ‘kidnap.’

  ‘They hope to draw me out.’

  Yes.

  ‘Then we have to figure out where they took her and get her back.’ She glanced at the housing of the crystal clock that had once sat on the coffee table. The crystal was broken away but the clock still worked. ‘Sun will be up soon. They’ll have to find shelter somewhere.’

  She stood. ‘Doc, bring the car in. I’ll open the gate. Fi, find Mal and tell him what’s going on.’

  The pair nodded and took off.

  Velimai trailed Chrysabelle to the door and waited beside her while she punched the gate code into the keypad. Picking up Maris’s sacre, the wysper tipped her chin toward the door.

  Chrysabelle shook her head. ‘Velimai, you can’t go. I can’t take the risk that you’ll let loose again and kill Mal. I know you want to help but I don’t need another vampire death on my hands.’

  She leaned the sword against the wall and signed furiously.

  ‘Slow down. Please.’

  This time Velimai spelled things out. Why do you care? He’s anathema.

  Chrysabelle cradled her forehead in her hand for a moment. This wasn’t something she wanted to share. ‘In a roundabout way, he’s my new patron.’ There was no point elaborating. It wouldn’t change the situation.

  Velimai’s mouth hung open. Her hands stopped fluttering. Her gaze snapped from Chrysabelle’s face to her neck and wrists.

  She wasn’t going to explain that he refused to take from her vein either. Sharing information that portrayed one’s patron as weak was strictly forbidden. ‘I didn’t intend for it to happen and oddly enough, neither did he. But it did, and now I’m stuck with him. And he with me.’

  Velimai picked the sacre up and held it out, feathery eyebrows raised in suggestion. Chrysabelle knew exactly what that suggestion was.

  She shook her head. ‘You know the price Maris paid for libertas.’

  The wysper shrugged as if to say it had been worth it.

  Careful not to make contact with Velimai’s skin, Chrysabelle took the gleaming sword. She hefted its familiar weight, wrapped her fingers around the hilt with ease. The grip was fitted to Maris, but it wasn’t uncomfortable; the weapon’s blood magic was tuned to her aunt but not unresponsive. Chrysabelle sliced it through the air, testing, remembering. This sacre was no different from her own, save the blood that filled the hilt and the gold that decorated both her aunt’s body and the wafer-thin blade. The red leather-wrapped handle, the signum dancing over the metal … even the sour-sweet tang of the weapon was the same. Except that this sacre had been used to kill. To gain freedom. Again, she shook her head.

  ‘Only as a last resort. Only … only if there is no other option.’ Somehow, she knew there wouldn’t be. Whether because of Mal’s lurking dementia or her own desperate need to separate herself from this mad life, she would end up raising her blade against him. The feeling sank into her bones, spreading a lingering sadness through her.

  Velimai retrieved the sword’s red leather sheath from behind the cracked vase and handed it to Chrysabelle, who took it without protesting further. The weapon was valuable, and Velimai certainly didn’t need it.

  Of all the vampires she’d ever known, Mal was the first
she’d ever felt sorry for. No, not sorry for. That wasn’t it. She empathized with him. His desire to be free. She understood it. Wanted it for herself.

  She sheathed the sword and slung its crimson strap over her shoulder and across her chest. Her body welcomed the subtle weight like the embrace of an old friend.

  Despite everything she knew about him, everything he’d been, everything he’d done, he seemed … the most in need of help. A vampire in need of help. She’d never entertained such a thought before.

  Perhaps he wasn’t the only one going mad.

  Chapter Twenty

  Mal had found nothing useful around the grounds, except a better understanding of how wealthy a woman Chrysabelle’s aunt was. The yacht parked in the deepwater slip had to cost an unbelievable sum. It made his own accommodations look reef-worthy.

  He ended his search in the shadows at the front of the house and settled against a palm to watch Chrysabelle inside. She’d left the door open. Perhaps so he could see her? Interesting, but unlikely. Probably to allow for a quicker exit.

  Her perfume wafted past, borne on the breeze, and he indulged his basest needs by inhaling until he was full. Now that he’d had Chrysabelle’s blood, her scent didn’t raise the same wildness in him. Instead, the effect was something new and not altogether welcome. The feeling of strange satisfaction, of knowing he’d tasted her, that didn’t bother him. It was the possessive pang of need to have her again that set him on edge. Whether that uninvited urge came from tasting her blood or her mouth, he didn’t know. What he did know was that their kiss should not have happened. His lip curled in disgust, but the sweetness of her mouth still played across his tongue.

  Chrysabelle stood in the foyer, the wysper at her side. The wysper had given Chrysabelle her aunt’s sword, and she now balanced the sword with a grace that testified to her years of training. Flashes of reflected silver danced over her face. The glimmer mixed with her signum and made her look like some otherworldly goddess cast in precious metals.

  Only her conversation with the wysper ruined the effect. The emotion he felt from her confused him, so he ignored it. Too many female-free years had gone by for him to bother trying to understand a woman now.

  He narrowed his eyes. If she thought to challenge him for her treasured freedom, she wouldn’t find him a very available opponent. Not that he wouldn’t fight her if need be, he just didn’t expect to live through this trip to Romania. Corvinestri was the seat of the House of Tepes. The vampire who’d sired Mal was from there. The vampire he’d killed. There was little chance he could show up in that hidden city without a reckoning. After all, the nobility had tried to eradicate him once before and had thought they’d succeeded. Proving them wrong would be a terrible blow to someone’s ego. And that someone would want to put things right. If that meant the chance to take Shaya’s murderer down with him, so be it.

  He was done living anyway. He’d had enough of this hell on earth. How much worse could the real one be?

  Chrysabelle sheathed the sword, threw the strap across her body, and made motions to leave. He peeled off the palm and headed toward the house. Fi came around from the side yard.

  ‘There you are,’ she called.

  ‘Here I am.’

  Doc pulled the car alongside the house and jumped out, leaving the door open. ‘We gotta roll, man. Sun’s coming.’

  ‘I know. I can feel it.’

  ‘I know you can, but Goldilocks in there might not be aware.’

  Chrysabelle stepped out of the house, thankfully leaving the wysper behind, who quickly shut the door. ‘I know what time it is. The vampires who took my aunt certainly do too. I need to find where they could have gone to spend the day.’

  She glanced at Mal. Something ugly flashed through her gaze and rolled over him. Pity? Sympathy? Whatever it was, he wanted none of it. She broke eye contact to adjust the buckle on the sword’s strap, now nestled between her breasts. ‘Who would know the locations of those kinds of safe houses?’

  Mal looked at Doc. Doc shook his head. ‘No way. I’m not asking that man for any favors. I’m not getting in his debt again. Ever.’

  ‘Whose debt?’ Chrysabelle’s head came up, interest replacing all other emotion in her eyes.

  ‘No one,’ Doc answered.

  ‘Dominic’s,’ Mal said.

  ‘Don’t.’ Doc’s hands flexed against the car roof. Fi moved in closer, putting a hand on his side.

  Mal ignored Doc. Overhearing Chrysabelle’s willingness to kill him had put him in a foul mood. Fouler than usual anyway.

  Chrysabelle rolled her cherry lips in, then out on an exhale. ‘The way I see it, Dominic owes my aunt. I’ll ask him. I don’t know why you think Doc should do it anyway.’

  ‘Because Doc used to work for him.’

  Chrysabelle’s brows shot up.

  Doc cursed softly and smacked the roof. ‘That’s history. Let it be, vampire.’

  ‘Yeah.’ Fi nodded, coming down on Doc’s side. What a shock. Apparently, it no longer mattered that if not for being part of Mal’s curse, she’d be six feet down instead of cuddling up to the shifter. Females. He shrugged. ‘History or not, doesn’t change what happened.’

  ‘Does it matter?’ Chrysabelle tapped her watchless wrist. ‘Time’s wasting. Unless you’ve decided to give tanning another chance.’

  Mal hooked a thumb in his belt. He hadn’t packed enough weaponry if they were headed to Dominic’s. ‘We might need Doc’s help to get to him.’

  Doc growled. ‘I’ll take you to the club, but then you’re on your own.’

  ‘Thank you. I’m sure Dominic will be willing to see me,’ Chrysabelle said, smiling at Doc before glaring at Mal. Like he cared what she thought.

  Doc guided Fi around him and into the sedan’s front seat. She slid over, then he got in and slammed the door.

  Chrysabelle took a few steps, reaching for the handle to the back door.

  ‘Not so fast.’ Mal lifted his chin toward her newly acquired weapon. ‘That goes in the trunk.’

  Her fingers toyed with the strap, an insolent smile curving her mouth. ‘Big bad vampire scared of a little old ceremonial sword?’

  The next instant he was in front of her, his hand latched to the back of her neck to keep her eyes on his. Heat from the blade pricked his skin. ‘I am afraid of nothing. Not you. Not your hot blade. Not even leaving you with no option.’

  Her breath shuddered in her throat, and her pulse jumped a tick. ‘I’m not afraid of you anymore either.’

  ‘No?’ Thunder rumbled in the distance, followed by a flash of heat lightning that lit her eyes like two icy-blue flames.

  ‘No.’

  His thumb shifted until the tip nestled over the tender flesh below her ear. He stroked the spot, enjoying the erratic vibration beneath her skin. ‘Then that must be lust causing your heart to beat so fast.’

  Her eyes narrowed. ‘Yes, that’s it.’ Sarcasm dripped off her voice. ‘My desire for you is so strong I can barely contain myself. Every comarré dreams of the day she’ll have an anathema of her very own. One who can’t stand her. One whose demons want her dead.’ She fluttered her lids and shook herself with a fake shiver. ‘I’m such a lucky, lucky girl.’

  He tightened his grip. ‘You lie.’

  ‘Not this time, vampire.’ She grabbed his wrist and tried to move his hand but failed. ‘You should be able to feel that much.’

  ‘What I feel is your temperature rising.’ And desire mixed with revulsion. The same mix of emotion he’d felt from her before. Did she love to hate him or hate to love him? Maybe he should push the issue and find out.

  ‘Because you’re making me mad,’ she spat.

  ‘You felt nothing when we kissed?’

  ‘Nothing. Does that disappoint you?’

  He released her and forced a laugh. ‘On the contrary. It relieves me.’

  ‘The sword stays with me.’ She grabbed the car door and yanked it open. ‘Now if you don’t mind, I’d like to go sa
ve my aunt.’ She slid into the dark interior, leaving him alone as the first drops of rain pummeled down.

  Tatiana stood in the hangar door. Storm clouds rolled over the horizon, diluting the coming dawn. Behind her, Mikkel exited the plane.

  ‘She’s secured?’ She flexed her hand against the slight remaining soreness. Interrogation was hard work. Washing the blood from her hands instead of licking them clean had been easy enough, but the blood splattered on the plane’s interior had tested her control. The perfume of comarré blood would linger for days, tainting her dreams as she slept in the plane’s light-secured bedroom.

  ‘Very. I tied her up and locked her in the bathroom.’ He winked, a puerile gesture she could have done without. ‘Not even Houdini could escape those knots.’

  ‘Good. Did you get anything more from her?’ she asked, already knowing the answer. If she couldn’t get the old bat to spill more than the name of some remnant errand girl, what chance did he have?

  He shook his head and looked acceptably displeased. ‘Nothing. She’s going to be a hard one to crack.’

  ‘I’ll make her talk eventually. I’m just too hungry to concentrate with all that blood. I’d hate to slip and drain her before she gets a chance to tell me everything she knows.’ She laughed and Mikkel joined in, nodding.

  His smile faded. ‘Do you think her blood is still good after this much time?’

  Tatiana’s belly growled, and she narrowed her eyes at him. Pretty did not always mean brains. ‘Of course it’s still good. And all this talk of blood isn’t helping. Especially knowing the girl is out there, somewhere, with a vampire helping her.’ The old comarré had given that much up when she’d thought Tatiana was her niece. ‘It just makes me want to hunt that much more.’ The vampire helping the rogue comarré would be ash as soon as she found him.

  Mikkel glanced at the sky. ‘The Nothos should be back soon.’

  ‘Good. Then it can track down the female remnant and bring her in.’ She sighed. ‘I can’t believe those two vampire guards took down my other Nothos. Whoever sent them clearly trained them, although the element of surprise was on their side.’