“Out,” Rennata commanded, and Arnaud’s servants departed. Once they were alone, Rennata sighed and took the nearest chair. “Are you certain you want to go through with this? You might still be able to apologize and—”
“No.” Marissa planted her hands on her hips to keep them from shaking. “If I die at his hand, at least I go out having tasted freedom and all its earthly pleasures.”
Rennata’s face scrunched in confusion, then flattened into understanding. “I don’t care to hear about your exploits with Lord Falconetti.” She stood. “I say, Marissa, you’ve given the whole lot of us a bad name and jeopardized everything we hold secret.”
Ignoring her, Marissa looked toward the door that would lead her into the ballroom. “Is Dominic out there?”
“He’ll be in there to observe as he was your witness.” Rennata’s mouth thinned. “And thanks to you involving him, so will the Dominus of his house.” She threw her hands up. “This whole thing has become a spectacle!”
“So that’s it, then? No words of encouragement in my last moments, just more condemnation?” Marissa had had her fill of Rennata. “You make me sick. All these years you’ve had it out for me and why? Because I was chosen for the breeding program and you weren’t? You’re a sad, small woman who will never see beyond the bars of her cage.”
A chime sounded.
“It’s time.” Rennata’s eyes narrowed as her lip curled. “May the holy mother have mercy on your soul.”
Chapter Thirteen
With only five bodies in it, the ballroom seemed like a vast cavern. Every step rang hollow as Marissa made her way to the middle where Arnaud stood waiting. Rennata followed her, but stopped an equal distance away from where Dominic and Dominus Zephrim were on the opposite side.
Arnaud’s eyes silvered as Marissa took her place across from him. From his proud stance to his almost haughty disposition, everything about him said he expected to win. He hadn’t even changed out of his suit, the pompous fool. She kept her shoulders rounded and her head down like she was worried. Scared. Out of her depth. She wanted him to think that. To underestimate her. That would be her greatest advantage in the beginning.
Once he understood she knew how to fight…everything would change. Which is why she had to kill him as quickly and decisively as she had the fringe vampires at Dominic’s.
Thinking of Dominic, she slanted her eyes his way. He caught her gaze and nodded slightly, making a fist at his side and squeezing it in support. She held her blank expression, but her spirit soared and in that moment, she knew there would always be a place in her heart for him. He could sustain her in the years to come, no matter what trials they faced.
Just so long as she made it through this one.
“There are no rules to libertas,” Rennata announced. “Only that the victor is decided by death.” Marissa raised her head to watch Rennata as she went on. “Lord Arnaud, are you ready?”
“Quite,” he replied, studying his nails.
“Comarré Marissa, are you ready?”
“Yes.” Marissa kept her voice soft. Almost timid. She slid her left foot back and calculated the distance to Arnaud.
Rennata took an audible breath. “Then let the challenge begin.”
Just as Marissa had expected, Arnaud lunged immediately. She dodged him, but not enough to keep the tops of his knuckles from brushing her temple.
She twisted as he whipped around. Without pause, he went for her again, this time raking his nails across her side, tearing her tunic and breaking her skin.
The soft scent of her blood filled her nose. She ducked as he swung, but he was fast. For the second time, his knuckles made contact, catching the side of her head and spinning her around.
The blow stung, but it was nothing like it could have been. In fact, he’d touched her three times and barely done any damage. Realization dawned. Arnaud was playing with her. She turned and met the jackal’s gaze. The tiniest uplift in the corners of his mouth gave him away. She was right. Not only was he playing with her, he was punishing her. Drawing this out to show how superior he was.
The insight only made her want to kill him more. But the idea of letting him think he was superior for just a few moments longer appealed. He might get careless if he thought he’d been right about her, that he could finish her whenever he wished. He might even make a mistake.
She allowed a little fear into her eyes.
He took the bait instantly. “Regretting your decision already, I see.” His semi-smile stayed fixed in place. “What a hard lesson to learn. Fatal, even.” He struck with a closed fist.
She moved enough so that it grazed her ribs instead of her belly, but she bowed over anyway as though she’d lost her breath. She caught a glimpse of Dominic on the sidelines. His face was an angry storm, his body poised to move, even though they both knew he couldn’t lift a finger to help her.
Arnaud circled. “Pity you’ll have to die, but then I’ll get a new comarré, won’t I? Hopefully one without your…issues.” He lifted his foot to shove her.
Playtime was over. She grabbed his ankle and used his momentum to toss him across the room.
A second later he was on his feet and charging, clearly unhappy with her retaliation. His hand went inside his coat and returned with a three-finger set of steel knuckles in place. A row of sharp spines topped the weapon.
So much for Arnaud’s inspection. He swiped at her but she dropped to a crouch. A few strands of blond hair drifted down, sliced by the razor spines. Holy mother, that was going to hurt if it found her skin.
Kicking out one leg, she tripped him and sprang to her feet. The tactic gave her just enough time to free her Golgotha steel and hide it in her hand.
But Arnaud didn’t get up. He lay on his stomach, moaning softly. “Damn you, comarré,” he ground out.
Had he fallen on his own weapon? She inhaled. The pungent scent of vampire blood tainted the air. So he had. This was her chance.
She approached, dagger ready. An inch away and he leaped to his feet. Dominic yelled a warning. She twisted as Arnaud started to strike. The bite of the three spines across her low back told her she’d moved too late. Pain radiated up her spine. Then her legs went numb and she collapsed. Dominic’s yell turned into a howl.
Still gripping the wooden dagger, she used her upper body strength to turn over and prepared to look death in the eyes.
Arnaud pounced, pinning her with his cold, lanky form. His face was inches from hers, his fangs gleaming in the light of the ballroom’s glittering chandeliers. The scent of her blood thickened as the red puddle beneath her spread. Every nerve above her waist fired in pain. Below, nothing.
He leaned in a little closer until his silver gaze filled her vision. “You’re going to die now, comarré, but before you do, I want you to know that I feel no remorse. In fact, you’re going to get exactly what you deserve.”
“That’s what you think.” She got the words out between her gritted teeth. Her strength was leaving her, seeping out of her body with her life’s blood, but all she could think of was how she’d never hated anyone the way she hated him. Then Dominic’s words came back to her. There is power in emotion. Harness it, and he cannot beat you.
“It’s what I know,” Arnaud hissed. Mouth open, he reared back to strike, no doubt to tear her throat out.
Holy mother, help me. She focused on one small movement, one tiny use of the rage boiling inside her. Her fist came up, and as he descended, they met. Her dagger. His chest.
The look of surprise in his eyes almost made her smile. “Go to hell,” she whispered as her body went cold. A cloud of ash drifted down over her, quieting the sounds around her.
“Dominic?” She called for him, unsure if she was actually vocalizing or just hearing his name in her head. Dominic, help me.
Each fragment of ash blocked more and more of the room’s light as it fell until the light dimmed to nothing. And then, nothing was all that remained.
* * *
&nbs
p; At the sound of his name on Marissa’s lips, Dominic rushed forward, sliding onto his knees at her side. He cradled her head. “I’m here, cara mia.” She still had breath in her body but her heartbeat was weak and thready.
“Get help,” he snarled at the older comarré standing dumbstruck at the ballroom’s edge. “Now,” he yelled.
The woman shook her head. “No.”
“No?” he snarled. “Porca puttana, she’s dying.”
“She’s not dying. She’s comarré. Eventually, she’ll heal. But not here.” Rennata lifted her chin, but something close to envy glazed her eyes. “She wanted her freedom; she has it. With libertas, the Primoris Domus is no longer responsible for her.” She shifted her gaze to Marissa. “Comarré Marissa Lapointe, I hereby declare you free. The Primoris Domus no longer claims you and you may no longer claim it. You have twenty-four hours to vacate the city of Corvinestri. Be well.” With that, she turned on her heel and strode away.
“Be well?” Fury suffused the emptiness where Dominic’s soul had once been. He would have gone after Rennata, but that would not serve Marissa. She needed him. Carefully, he lifted her into his arms. “I’ve got you, bella mia,” he whispered as her blood soaked through the sleeves of his coat. “You’re safe now. Stay with me, my love.” He turned toward the door. “Stay with me.”
Lord Zephrim stood in his way. “You choose to side with this comarré?”
“Si. Now move.” There wasn’t time for this.
But he stayed put. “Are you mad?”
The moment for subterfuge was gone. “I love her. I plan to spend the rest of my days with her. Now get the hell out of my way.” Dominic started for the doors again.
“You love a comarré?” He stared, mouth agape, still blocking Dominic’s path.
“Yes,” Dominic hissed. “Enough that I would have killed Arnaud myself if she would have let me.”
Zephrim’s jaw snapped shut in obvious horror. “You leave me no choice. The rest of your days will not be spent here, nor will they be spent as nobility.” He shook slightly, perhaps in anger. “Dominic Falconetti, because of your association with this comarré and the death of one of our own she has caused, I declare you anathema.”
The word chilled Dominic, but he kept moving. It was what he had expected.
Zephrim yelled after him. “All your material possessions are considered forfeit and will be retained by the House of St. Germain for redistribution as I see fit. Do you understand me? As far as the council is concerned, you’re as much to blame for Arnaud’s death as she is. There is no coming back. You have nothing because of this. Nothing because of her.”
“You’re wrong.” Dominic turned so he could push the double doors open with his back and avoid jarring Marissa. “Because of her, I have everything.”
Chapter Fourteen
Paradise City, New Florida, three months later
Here?” the doctor asked.
“No.” Maris stared at the clinic ceiling. Water spots browned several of the tiles.
He moved lower and pricked the skin above her ankle. “Here?”
“No.” She sighed in frustration and tried not to grit her teeth. The feeling had been coming back slowly, but that was her business and hers alone. “Nothing anywhere.”
The doctor shook his head. “No change, then.”
She shoved the cheap cloth gown down over her legs. “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you. A little feeling in my hips, but nothing more.” Admitting that much had been an accident, but with practice, she’d raised her pain threshold. The scratch of his little metal tines barely registered now.
He made a note in his tablet. “I’ll leave you to get dressed, then.”
As soon as he shut the door, she hoisted her legs over the side and stared at her feet. Her toes were painted a soft pink. Dominic had bought the polish to surprise her, but what had surprised her more was her dangerous, anathema vampire had then painted her toes as well. She laughed softly. He was something else.
Her smile faded. So long as that something else didn’t turn dark. She knew how hard things would get once they’d run through the remainder of her funds, something they were already close to thanks to the medical care she’d needed. Poor Dominic. Because of her, he’d been forced to leave everything behind but the clothes on his back. If he hadn’t paid for the chartered plane that had brought them here before he’d been thrown out of Corvinestri, they might still be stuck there.
Like her daughter.
That thought alone was enough to refocus her efforts. She stared at her toes, willing her body to pay attention, praying the holy mother would give her one last chance to—
Her pinkie toe curled a half centimeter toward the floor.
A knock on the door drowned out her excited gasp. She shook herself, blinking hard and trying to act normal. “C-come in.”
“Marissa, it’s me.” Dominic entered, his sad but sweet smile letting her know he’d already spoken to the doctor.
“Maris,” she reminded him. Changing her name had felt right. He’d changed his surname to Scarnato, so he should understand, but he’d yet to call her by anything but Marissa.
“Bella mia, I am so sorry there is nothing new.” He took her hands and kissed each one. “Perhaps I should find a different doctor.”
“No.” She smiled to soothe him and hide her excitement over the first sign of movement. “We can barely afford this one.” Nor did she want to explain her signum to another doctor. As it was, she knew this one didn’t believe her story about an ex-boyfriend being an experimental tattooist. She tugged off the gown and pulled her tunic over her head.
“Things are about to change for us. You’ll see.” He helped her dress the rest of the way, gently lifting her legs and easing them into the loose linen pants she’d adopted as her new uniform. Beige wasn’t white, but it wasn’t much color either. Old habits died hard.
“Why?” She looped her arm around his neck as he picked her up. She leaned in to inhale his spicy scent. Instantly, it calmed her. He placed her carefully into her wheelchair, but she held on to his hand. “What are you working on?”
“Just a few new serums. Nothing special, but enough that I should be able to employ someone to help you soon.”
She grabbed his hand, the softest clanging of an alarm sounding in her head. “What kind of serums?”
“Just a few things that will make us some money.” He gave her a wink as he went to open the door. When he came back, he kissed the top of her head, then stepped behind the chair to push her out of the room.
His refusal to explain made her stomach twist. She wished she could see his face and read his eyes. Keeping her voice low as he wheeled her through the small clinic, she whispered, “Please, Dominic, don’t do anything dangerous.”
A nurse glanced their way. He laughed unconvincingly and gently squeezed her shoulder. “Tesora, what is danger after what you and I have been through?”
It was everything that appealed to him and everything she was trying to avoid. At least until she had a plan and was healed enough to fight again, because there was no chance she’d get her daughter away from the comarré life without spilling blood. It was a reality Maris had already accepted.
Even if the blood required was hers.
Meet the Author
Kristen Painter’s writing résumé boasts multiple Golden Heart nominations and advance praise from a handful of bestselling authors, including Gena Showalter and Roxanne St. Claire. A former New Yorker now living in Florida, Kristen has a wealth of fascinating experiences from which to flavor her stories, including time spent working in fashion for Christian Dior and as a maitre d’ for Wolfgang Puck. Find out more about Kristen Painter at www.kristenpainter.com and on Twitter @Kristen_Painter.
Kristen Painter. Photo © Kevin Roberts, Intimate Images.
Also by Kristen Painter
HOUSE OF COMARRÉ
Blood Rights
Flesh and Blood
Bad Blood
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br /> Out for Blood
If you enjoyed FORBIDDEN BLOOD,
look out for
BLOOD RIGHTS
HOUSE OF COMARRÉ, BOOK 1
by Kristen Painter
Chapter One
Paradise City, New Florida, 2067
The cheap lace and single-sewn seams pressed into Chrysabelle’s flesh, weighed down by the uncomfortable tapestry jacket that finished her disguise. Her training kept her from fidgeting with the shirt’s tag even as it bit into her skin. She studied those around her. How curious that the kine perceived her world this way. No, this was her world, not the one she’d left behind. And she had to stop thinking of humans as kine. She was one of them now. Free. Independent. Owned by no one.
She forced a weak smile as the club’s heavy electronic beat ricocheted through her bones. Lights flickered and strobed, casting shadows and angles that paid no compliments to the faces around her. She cringed as a few bodies collided with her in the surrounding crush. Nothing in her years of training had prepared her for immersion in a crowd of mortals. She recognized the warm, earthy smell of them from the human servants her patron and the other nobles had kept, but acclimating to their noise and their boisterous behavior was going to take time. Perhaps humans lived so hard because they had so little of that very thing.
Something she was coming to understand.
The names on the slip of paper in her pocket were memorized, but she pulled it out and read them again. Jonas Sweets, and beneath it, Nyssa, both written in her aunt’s flowery script. Just the sight of the handwriting calmed her a little. She folded the note and tucked it away. If Aunt Maris said Jonas could connect her with help, Chrysabelle would trust that he could, even though the idea of trusting a kine—no, a human—seemed untenable.
She pushed through to the bar, failing in her attempt to avoid more contact but happy at how little attention she attracted. The foundation Maris had applied to her hands, face and neck, the only skin left visible by her clothing, covered her signum perfectly. No longer did the multitude of gold markings she bore identify her as an object to be possessed. She was her own person now, passing easily as human.
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