‘Get up, vampire.’ Easy to kill. Ha!
He did, almost quicker than her eye could follow. The smirk was gone. She shot a rapid combination of punches toward him, but he blocked them. Was he taking her seriously yet? She couldn’t tell, so she backflipped to gain some space, then leaned into her rear leg and nailed a side kick to his ribs. The crunch of bone and his wince rewarded her. Adrenaline flooded her system. She smiled.
‘Twice in two days.’ He shook his head, muttering curses under his breath. ‘Fine, I get it. You can fight. But your fancy moves aren’t going to kill a vampire.’
‘If I had my blades, I would have staked you already. I did it once, remember?’ She crouched and swept her leg out, knocking him off his feet a second time. He rolled to his side and back to his feet faster than she’d toppled him. Okay, he still had a vampire’s speed, she’d give him that.
‘Enough,’ he growled. ‘I’m not going to fight you.’
‘I can see that. Too scared?’
He snorted. ‘I don’t want to hurt you.’
‘You’d have to catch me first.’ Speed wasn’t exclusive to vampires.
He reached out to grab her, and she darted away, laughing. Sweat tickled her neck. Sparring this way exhilarated her after such a long period of inactivity. If you didn’t count the night she’d stabbed him in the alley.
With a lightning-quick move, he latched on to her, clipping her arms to her sides. She was completely enveloped. Breath caught in her throat as her lungs struggled to expand. Nothing but his borrowed T-shirt between her skin and his cold, bare chest. She swore she could feel the names writhe against her, wriggling like maggots seeking carrion.
‘Enough, comarré. Be still.’
She lifted onto her tiptoes, arched back and rammed the crown of her head into his nose.
He grunted but held on. A thin line of blood trickled from one nostril. ‘You’re a freaking pain, you know that?’ His arms tightened, decreasing her air further. ‘In a real fight, you’d never get close enough to do that.’ His jaw cocked to one side. ‘You’ve never fought a real vampire, have you?’
‘Yes, I have.’ Not technically a lie if you considered the fringe that the comarré trained with as real vampires. She inhaled as deeply as she could.
‘Besides me.’
‘Let go of me.’ Small spots danced at the corners of her vision as it became harder to breathe. She dropped her chin and slanted her eyes, trying to find the sword she’d tossed. It was about a foot behind her. Her fingers reflexively went for her missing wrist blades. If he’d been anyone else, he would be ash right now.
‘I thought not.’ A soft growl lifted her head. His face was inches from hers. ‘You think asking to be let go works with most vampires?’ He shifted, giving her a little more breathing room while moving impossibly closer. His legs straddled hers. As though he owned her. ‘You think it’s going to work with me?’
‘Yes,’ she whispered, magnetized by his gleaming metal gaze. For all his protests, he certainly took to the role of patron with ease. She forced her eyes down. Fangs jutted behind his top lip. His tongue flicked over them. Would he bite her? Kiss her? Did he even know how a patron should behave? Not that proper behavior or protocol mattered to one like him. He was more beast than brains.
His head moved back and forth a millimeter in each direction. ‘This means you lose.’
‘No.’ If she could distract him, she could get free, and if she could get free, she could grab the sword and turn things to her advantage. ‘The fight’s not over yet.’
‘I think it is.’ Mouth open, his head bent toward her in that way of his, like he was trying to inhale her and taste her at the same time. The hunger must be growing in him. He’d need to feed again soon, and she was the most accessible source of blood.
Of course. Why hadn’t she thought of it sooner? She’d told him that owning her blood rights diminished the power of her scent over him. He was right about her lying in that instance. If a patron didn’t drink from his comarré soon after taking blood rights, the urge to consume only increased. By now, Mal’s head must be swimming.
She needed him to drown.
With her thumb, she released the tiny blade hidden in her ring, flattened her palm, and shoved the pin dagger through the thin pajama pants and into her thigh. A brief flash of pain. Then she yanked it out.
Wet heat trickled down her leg. Blood scent blossomed around them like hothouse gardenias, sweet and rich and unexpected.
‘What did you—’ Mal’s body went taut. The muscles in his neck tensed into bands. He shook his head. Whispered, ‘No.’
He released her and backed away. The silver in his gaze tarnished to black as his eyes threatened to roll into his head. This was not quite the effect she’d imagined, but she’d gotten free, so that was—
He crouched onto all fours. ‘Get out.’ The words sounded like they’d been spoken by several voices in unison.
‘Why? What’s wrong?’
‘Go!’ The names that covered him began to shift and grow. The swirling letters expanded into inky puddles, spilling over his skin and turning every visible inch black as night. His back arched, his muscles flexing and contracting like someone else controlled them. He lifted his head. Not a glint of white remained in his eyes. His face had shifted beyond the hard ridges and predatory angles of a vampire in full regalia to something far more frightening. Something born of the devil’s nightmares.
His fangs were longer than any she’d ever seen, his body somehow larger, more muscled. A wall-shaking roar bellowed out of him. The freighter rocked like a cradle. He pushed to his feet, as dark and fearsome as a sudden storm.
She backed up. Nothing in her training had prepared her for this. ‘You know, maybe I will go—’
‘Too late.’ His voice was a chorus of thousands. He strode forward. ‘We’ve had enough of you, comarré whore. The vampire is ours, do you understand?’
‘Yes, of course. All yours.’ The sword twisted under her slippers, tripping her retreating feet. She went down.
He grinned and stalked closer.
Her breath caught in her throat, her pulse racing. If she could just reach the katana …
‘Too late for you,’ the voices singsonged.
Her fingers curved around the hilt as a thundercloud of fangs and muscle lunged.
Chapter Sixteen
Tatiana blinked hard against the artificial light. It stung her eyes, so she closed them again and reached out to test her surroundings.
The sheets beneath her were soft and dry, the bed empty save her. She inhaled a familiar fragrance. Mikkel. She was home.
‘Are you awake, darling?’ Mikkel’s voice played over her like a lullaby.
She opened her eyes to thin slits, and his handsome face came into view. The tension that had tightened her body like a bowstring since the Castus had taken her finally dissipated. ‘I’m home.’
‘Yes.’ The bed dipped as he sat. He curled his fingers under her hand, lifted it to his mouth, and kissed her knuckles.
Contact was the last thing she wanted, but she stopped herself from pulling away when she saw the look of concern on his face. She needed Mikkel. ‘How long?’
‘You’ve only been gone two days.’
Two days in real time, but with the Castus it was hard to tell. Time meant nothing to them. A day, a year, a century … one was just the same as another. ‘When did I return?’
‘Midnight last.’
Three days she’d been kept from the hunt. She sighed in frustration.
‘Darling?’ His eyes filled with concern.
Her lids closed. She didn’t want to see the horrors of her body reflected in his pitying gaze or to be reminded of how they’d used her. Let what had passed stay that way. ‘How long before I’m healed?’
‘Don’t you feel healed?’ He stroked her arm. ‘Do you still hurt?’
The touch made her want to retch. She rolled to her side, using the movement to turn out of his gra
sp. ‘I don’t know … ’
Taking stock of herself, she found only the softest echoes of discomfort. Her fingers crested the hills and valleys of her body. Her eyes and mouth opened on a gasp. No welts, no crusted cuts, no tender spots. It was one thing to heal quickly from an ordinary wound, but a mark made by the Castus took time. And blood.
Which meant they’d fed her. She’d gotten her reward. She didn’t remember it or much of her last hours with them, but no other explanation could justify her current health. In fact, she felt good. Strong. Full of power. The kind of power only original blood could bring. She still didn’t know what she was supposed to sacrifice to engage the ring, but perhaps this new power would bring the answer with it.
She bolted upright, the sheets falling away from her naked body. She glanced down. Flawless, as always. She grabbed Mikkel, kissed him hard, then shoved him out of the way and leaped from the bed.
He laughed, his eyes hungry on her body. ‘I take it you feel well, then?’
‘I feel better than well. I feel as though I could devour nations.’ She turned before her gold-foiled mirror, checking herself. ‘Not a mark.’ She turned to look at her back. ‘Not a scratch.’ She faced forward again. Her hands smoothed the taut skin of her belly. She almost missed the stretch marks from her human pregnancy. She pushed that memory away and compelled herself to smile. ‘You are a lucky sod, aren’t you, darling?’
Mikkel shook his head and grinned. ‘I am indeed. I take it your time with the Castus wasn’t so bad, then?’
With a snarl, she spun to face him. ‘Hell would have been more enjoyable. Speak of it again and I will rip your throat out.’ She might do it anyway, just to watch him suffer while he healed. See how he liked it.
‘Of course, not again.’ His smile vanished as he straightened. He cleared his throat. ‘When you disappeared from your car, you left behind your locket and a cosmetics box. Octavian brought them to me.’
‘Give me my locket.’
‘It’s in your jewelry drawer.’
She hurried to her dresser and retrieved the locket, fixing the long chain around her neck with a sense of relief. She rubbed the gold oval between her fingers. ‘What of the box?’
‘I took the liberty of doing some research on the cosmetics company since I assumed you’d found it at Algernon’s. Headquarters for the company are in Paradise City, New Florida. The company’s female CEO lives there as well. Does that mean anything to you?’
That got her attention. ‘Oh yes. It means a great deal. It means we’re going to the Southern Union.’ It also meant she hadn’t lost as much time in the hunt as she’d imagined. She smiled. ‘What a good boy you are.’ Mikkel was worth his weight in blood. Speaking of which …
‘Get my comar. I’m hungry. Then send word to ready my jet. I want to depart as soon as possible.’ After she fed, she would visit Nehebkau. She couldn’t leave for the Americas without seeing her precious pet.
‘Yes, my love.’ Nodding, he hurried from the room.
Her gaze returned to the mirror. ‘Let’s see what this new power can do, shall we?’
Tipping her head back, she opened herself to the delicious darkness that owned her undead soul and waited for the surge of something unfamiliar, a thread of fresh ability, that welcome burst of new power.
Her face shifted, her fangs dropped, and hunger wound through her belly like Nehebkau’s twin. She looked into the mirror. Nothing else had changed that she could see. Maybe the power wouldn’t manifest physically.
She stretched her hand toward the Fabergé egg on her night-stand and willed it to come to her. It didn’t move. She tried to transform it into a dagger. It stayed an egg. She attempted to make it vanish. It remained.
Bloody hell. What good was having a new power and not knowing what it was? She needed every edge to help her track down the ring. Anger coursed in her veins, filling her with a potent urge to destroy. She scowled at her reflection in the mirror. If she’d gone through all of that suffering for nothing … Her fist shot out and shattered the glass, leaving a spiderweb of cuts on her hand.
A door opened behind her. She scented Mikkel. He’d returned with her comar.
‘Leave the boy in the other room and come here.’ The gashes on her skin knit closed, leaving traces of blood behind.
‘Yes?’ Mikkel was at her side instantly. He took her hand and licked the blood away.
‘Don’t.’ She shivered in revulsion and yanked her hand back. Clutching it to her chest, she peered at him. Tried to read his thoughts. To get him to react in some way. Even setting him on fire would be a start.
Nothing. She cupped his face between her hands and stared into his gray eyes.
He smiled and reached for her hips. ‘That’s my girl—’
‘Quiet.’ She slapped his hands away, then replaced hers. She needed to think, to figure out what this new gift was. It would come to her. She just had to try harder. Maybe she could get into his head, see through his eyes. Become him.
Her spine tingled with energy. He jerked out of her grasp, his eyes wide. ‘How … what … you’re me.’
‘What?’ Her eyes refocused on her hands. Dark hair sprinkled wide knuckles and thick fingers. These were not her hands.
‘You’re me. Look.’ He pointed into the cracked mirror.
She turned. In a thousand different shards, two Mikkels stared back at her, one clothed, one not. She stared down at her transformed body. Mikkel’s body. Immediately, she imagined herself back in her own skin and just like that, she was. Without touching Mikkel, she tried to become him again. And did. She shifted back and forth a few times, then tried a few of the Dominus. Timotheius, Grigor, Syler … none were beyond her power. Her head spun and she tilted, catching hold of Mikkel as the dizziness took her. No power came without price.
‘Amazing,’ she whispered. ‘My new gift is mimicry.’
Laughter bubbled out of her throat as she changed back to her own form with a small amount of effort. ‘Get my robe. After I feed, we leave for the Americas.’
Mikkel nodded and held out the heavy crimson satin for her, helping her into it. She tied the robe’s sash and glanced once more into the shattered glass.
‘You will be unstoppable,’ he said.
‘Unstoppable? I will be the greatest ruler the vampire nation has ever seen.’ She smoothed her hair. ‘Lucky sod, indeed.’
‘Get off her,’ Fi yelled as she and Doc ran into the gym. She skidded to a stop at the scene before her.
‘Don’t think he’s listening.’ Doc pointed with the crossbow he still carried from patrolling.
Mal’s beast, as they’d named this curse-born rage state, crouched overtop Chrysabelle, looking at her like she was an allyou-can-eat buffet. He must have scratched her, because blood stained the fabric of her pajama pants. Not a good sign. Neither was the way Chrysabelle’s fingers were tightening around the handle of a nearby sword.
‘Doc, get the weapon.’
‘I think it’s fine where it is.’
‘You’re such a help.’ Fi realized Doc had probably never seen this side of Mal. She turned her attention to the beast. ‘I said, get off. Now.’ Mal had enough voices in his warped brain without adding another one. Plus there was the whole question of what might happen to her corporeal status if Chrysabelle lost hers. Or if Chrysabelle put that sword through his neck. As much as Fi hated being dead, being really dead would be worse.
Mal’s beast growled, his jaws inches from Chrysabelle’s face, but his words were aimed at Fi. ‘You’re not one of us anymore, mortal.’
‘Crap.’ That was exactly what Fi had been afraid of. In the past, she’d been able to talk to him from the inside, calm him down before the rage engulfed him and the beast took over. Being corporeal via Chrysabelle’s blood seemed to have rectified that. At least Fi didn’t have to hear those other voices anymore. They were enough to drive a person crazy. Obviously.
‘Everything’s fine,’ Chrysabelle whispered as she worked her fing
ers around the sword’s hilt.
‘Girl, you do not want to do that,’ Doc whispered back.
The beast dragged a clawed finger down her cheek and bared his fangs in a wicked snarl. ‘Everything is fine, isn’t it? You won’t like our version of fine, though.’
Fi edged closer. ‘Mal, I know you’re in there. Fight the voices. You can do it, you’ve done it before.’
His head whipped toward her. An eerie grin spread across his mutated face. ‘Malkolm is dead.’
‘No kidding, he’s a vampire. It’s a big part of the job description.’ Fi motioned behind her back for Doc to move in. She had to distract Mal enough to get him away from Chrysabelle before she took a swipe at him with that sword. ‘What are you after? Blood? I’ve got tons of that now.’
Mal shook his head. ‘This one needs to die.’
Fi caught Chrysabelle’s gaze, held up three fingers, and hoped to high heaven the comarré could take a hint. ‘What makes you so afraid of her, huh? She’s just a measly mortal, like me. Do you really want her in your head too?’
Doc was at her side now. She pressed against him and reached for the switchblade he kept hooked on his belt. She tapped his back three times. He nodded slightly as she took the blade, then moved away.
She flicked it open and streaked the edge across her palm. Pain and a line of red welled up. Mal’s black gaze narrowed on the new blood.
Memories painted a haze around Fi’s vision. Memories of when Mal had attacked her. The way his fangs had torn through her skin. She swallowed and, for a moment, thought she saw a flicker of silver in those eyes. ‘C’mon, Mal. You know you want it. You can smell it, can’t you? Pure mortal blood, untainted by all that gold. You know what it tastes like, don’t you? This blood saved your life one time before. It can do it again.’
Fear rounded Doc’s eyes, probably because he knew as well as she did that if Mal reached her in his current state, he’d tear her arm from her body to get what he wanted. Or worse. If everything went according to the quickly sketched plan in her head, that wouldn’t happen. Probably.
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