Blood Rights hoc-1

by Kristen Painter

  For the first few moments, none of them said a word. Mal, like the rest of them, just stared at her. At what she was wearing. Chrysabelle had emerged from the bathroom and now stood in front of them, looking slightly disconcerted and very … un-Chrysabelle.

  He finally found his voice. ‘I … That’s … Huh.’ No, he had nothing. Just the usual noise in his head. Her new look defied immediate description.

  Her jaw tightened. ‘No comments, please. It is what it is.’

  The rest of them nodded. Doc held his hands up in some kind of surrender. Only Fi spoke, her tone overly bright. ‘I think you look awesome.’

  ‘Thank you.’ And with that, Chrysabelle pushed through the group and went back to where she and Mal had been sitting, tossing the coat over her arm onto the seats. Mal followed, but hung back a little. She popped the overhead bin and threw the shopping bags inside, then set her personal bag on the seat, opened it, and started extracting weapons and slipping them into her outfit.

  And what an outfit it was.

  A fine silver mesh, almost like body glitter, encased all visible skin except her hands and head. What the mesh was exactly, he couldn’t tell, but then fashion was Fi’s thing, not his. Black leather enveloped the rest of Chrysabelle.

  Black. Leather. The contrast between that and her signum was startling. She was sun and shadow, day and night. Good. And evil. The voices howled in agreement.

  Over a white tank top, a snug vest cinched her trim waist. The pants that hugged her legs laced up the back like an old-fashioned corset. The image was not an unpleasant one. Looking at her like this, covered and yet somehow totally revealed, he’d never realized how much lean muscle she carried. The time she’d walked into the gym nearly naked, he’d been a little too overwhelmed by the startling amount of signum and bare skin on display to take in that detail.

  Perhaps that was why she favored the loose tunic and wide pants, to hide her athletic build. He started to wonder if the generally accepted idea of the comarré as some kind of vampire geisha wasn’t actually a misconception the comarré themselves perpetuated. As a cover story went, it was a good one, except geisha weren’t trained to kill the men they entertained.

  He walked up beside her as she tucked the Golgotha blade beneath the lacing on the back of her pants. ‘It’s not as bad as you think.’

  ‘You have no idea.’ She strapped on the sword across her body, adjusting the strap to fall between her breasts, now clearly delineated by the vest’s uplifting abilities.

  ‘I promise you, no one’s going to care if—’

  She spun, her eyes holding more angst than he’d expected. ‘You promise me? You do not understand.’ She glanced back at the rest of the group and the steam seemed to leave her a bit. ‘I didn’t mean to snap, but this is more than just an outfit. It’s a blatant disregard for everything I’ve been raised to hold sacred.’

  She was right about him not understanding. How anyone could be so upset about clothes was beyond him. ‘Maybe we can—’

  ‘No. Forget it.’ She shook her head. ‘I will deal with whatever ramifications come. All that matters is freeing my aunt.’

  He wanted to say something to make it better, but his vocabulary hadn’t included those kinds of words since his human life had ended. She reached for the coat lying across the seats, and he went to get it for her at the same time, his hand almost brushing her arm. His fingers prickled with heat.

  She jerked her arm out of the way. ‘Don’t touch me.’

  He scowled. Didn’t she understand he’d been trying to help? ‘Fine.’

  ‘That’s not what I meant.’ Her voice lowered. ‘This … body armor is spun from fine silver and imbued with holy magic. It will burn you.’ She picked up the coat, carefully keeping her distance. ‘I just thought you should know.’

  That explained the sensation in his hand. ‘Silver body armor.’ Perfect protection against vampires. No wonder it covered her throat. How many more toys did she have? ‘Another comarré weapon?’

  ‘Yes. Another guarded secret, actually. When worn, it’s to be kept hidden. One more rule I’m breaking.’ She pulled the coat on and adjusted it over her sword. The red-leather-wrapped handle stuck out next to the base of her braid.

  The combination of black leather and visible weaponry did more than change her look. It erased the veil of innocence that had clouded his judgment concerning her. He’d somehow been unwilling to accept that this pale, gilded creature could be anything more than a source of life and power, thinking that she would certainly perish without his help. Now he saw her more clearly than he ever had. She was a killer, not to the extent or purpose that he was, but she and her kind were certainly just as lethal. Or could be, when the need arose.

  The thought should have unsettled him. It didn’t. Neither did the lack of understanding as to why such a side of her would even be necessary.

  Instead, he felt a kinship with her that he’d never expected. In that moment, he saw her as an equal. A woman who could face the tribulations of the life he lived. Son of a priest. The last woman he’d thought that about, he’d married. If he didn’t watch himself, Chrysabelle was going to be a hell of a lot harder to get rid of when this was over. Assuming she wanted to stay in the first place. Which she wouldn’t.

  He almost laughed. The noble vampire Families really had no idea what kind of creatures they paid to nourish them. Wouldn’t they be surprised to learn their docile comarré were such well-trained, well-equipped warriors, ready to slit the throats they fed at a moment’s notice?

  She popped her collar, hiding the sword handle a little more. ‘I guess I’m as ready as I’m going to be.’

  He rested his forearm on the overhead bins and leaned in, a thousand words dancing on his tongue, but none of them seeming right. ‘We’ll get her out. Even if we have to kill every one of those undead bastards to do it.’

  That brought a smile to her face. ‘You know you’re still one of those, right?’

  He could look at that smile a lot and not get tired of it, even if it was brought on by the idea of killing vampires. Maybe she’ll kill you. ‘I’m undead bastard anathema. Big difference.’

  She laughed softly. ‘Point taken.’

  Dominic called to them from his seat. ‘Per favore, you must sit down and buckle up, we’re about to land.’

  Mal nodded at him, then sat and buckled his lap belt. Not that a crash would kill him anyway. Too bad.

  Chrysabelle took the seat beside him, moving the point of her sword out of his way. She clicked her belt, then glanced at him. ‘Just so I can be prepared, are you going to’ – she waved her hand at him – ‘do that thing where the voices take over?’

  Yessss. ‘No. Not ever again.’ Not if he could help it. Give her to us. Not around her. All over her. Invisible teeth gnawed on the interior of his skull. Whines of hunger drilled into his ears from the inside out. He closed his eyes and leaned back, trying to quench the cravings the voices stirred up. Deep within him, the beast shook off the chains Chrysabelle’s blood had bound it with and reared its head.

  Unfortunately, she was the one thing the beast most craved.

  Tatiana stroked Nehebkau as she strolled circles around the old comarré. The albino cobra lay draped around Tatiana’s shoulders, his head on her chest and his tail wound down around her arm in a serpentine embrace. It was good to be home. She’d missed her precious boy. ‘Your niece should be here soon, and when she arrives, I’m going to kill her. And you’re going to watch. I want you to think about that.’

  ‘Get staked, bloodsucker.’ The blood whore lifted her head defiantly. Against the dusky backdrop of bruises covering her face, her signum sparkled in the sanctuary’s artificial light. The makeup she’d used to cover them had worn off long ago.

  ‘I’m going to kill the vampire that’s helping her too.’ Tatiana continued to walk, her high-heeled boots soundless on the leaves and moss of the simulated jungle floor. ‘And then I’m going to kill you.’ She stopped in fron
t of the chair the comarré was tied to. ‘Unless you want to tell me where the ring is.’

  ‘I told you, I don’t know anything about a ring.’

  ‘Liar.’ Tatiana backhanded her. Nehebkau hissed and flared his hood at the sudden movement. She smoothed her fingers down his creamy throat. ‘It’s all right, my darling. Hush now.’

  The old comarré spit out a mouthful of blood and tipped her head back to stare at the sanctuary’s fiber optic night sky. ‘The stars are beautiful but they can’t compete with the sun. Don’t you miss the sun shining down on you? The bright light of day? That warmth?’ Her voice was irritatingly pleasant. Fool.

  Tatiana leaned close and grabbed the kine’s chin, tipping her face until they were only inches away from each other. Nehebkau’s tongue flicked in and out, tasting the air. Could he sense the blood feast hidden beneath the old woman’s skin? Tatiana dropped her hand from the comarré’s chin and bared her fangs in a hiss of her own. The comarré merely squinted and turned her head. Killing this one could not come soon enough.

  Anger at the kine’s cavalier attitude ate into Tatiana’s good mood. ‘I am going to drink you slowly, old woman. So slowly you can feel the life seeping out of you, slipping away down my throat.’

  Her finger traced a gold vine from the woman’s temple to her cheek, stopping beneath her eye. ‘The way each swallow stabs at your heart, dragging your pulse down, weakening you until … nothing.’

  She pressed her fingernail into the woman’s skin until red spilled forth. Flicking the bead up with her nail, she brought her finger to her mouth and licked it clean. ‘Already you taste like death to me.’

  The kind of death that would infuse her with more power. The comarré might be old, but her blood hadn’t suffered from time spent without a patron. The potent heat of life still throbbed within her. Oh yes, power dwelt in this woman’s veins. Power that would soon be Tatiana’s. A giddy shiver tickled her skin. Power was everything. Power was life.

  The sanctuary door opened and Mikkel stepped halfway into the room. He tipped his head to one side, requesting her presence outside. She nodded, then turned back to the old woman. ‘I won’t be gone long.’ She smiled and unhooked Nehebkau from around her neck, easing her darling to the floor. ‘But I’ll leave you a little company. I wouldn’t make any sudden movements if I were you.’

  A shadow of fear flickered in the comarré’s eyes as the serpent reared back and stared her down with its bright red gaze. How dare that old whore fear Nehebkau but not his master?

  Tatiana suppressed her growing rage as she walked away to join Mikkel in the hall. Securing the door behind her, she raised her brows. ‘What is it?’

  ‘I have good news, my sweet.’ He smiled, hands going to her hips and pulling her close. ‘Mmm … you smell like fresh blood. You know what that does to me.’

  She almost dug her nails into his arms to push him away, then stopped. Mikkel often saw pain as an aphrodisiac. Instead, she gathered every last remaining ounce of patience. ‘Later, my love. What’s the good news?’

  He nuzzled her neck, undeterred. ‘I’ve got a new team of Nothos scouring the city.’ His fangs scraped her skin. ‘If the girl is here, we will have her very soon.’ He bounced a finger off the tip of Tatiana’s nose. He was lucky to keep it. ‘And then I will present her to you to do with what you will.’

  At last, Tatiana’s smile came willingly to her lips. ‘You do know how to please me.’ Maybe she would take him to bed after all. ‘But I hope it doesn’t take long. Waiting to kill this one grows harder and harder. Especially when the threat of death doesn’t seem to faze her. It’s like she wants to die.’

  ‘Then why wait? If the old comarré wants to sacrifice herself for her niece, I say let her.’ His hands crawled up beneath her shirt.

  Tatiana froze. That was it. And this whelp had inadvertently figured it out. The sacrifice had to be a comarré. Pure untainted blood. And why use the comar she’d paid good money for when she had another one? One that no one would miss.

  She threw her head back and laughed, dislodging Mikkel’s palpating hand. ‘Of course!’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Nothing.’ She kissed him hard, then grabbed his hand and led him toward her chambers. He deserved a reward for his efforts, and what was better than being allowed to pleasure her?

  Maris stilled her hands as Tatiana’s laugh echoed through the door. A minute passed, then another, but the vampiress didn’t return. Maris resumed struggling with her bound wrists. She no longer cared if she spilled her own blood in the effort or not. Nothing mattered now, except warning Chrysabelle.

  Whatever this ring was that Tatiana so desperately sought, it couldn’t be used for anything good. Maris had no idea if Chrysabelle had it or not, but she’d searched Chrysabelle’s things after the girl had arrived to be sure there was no kind of tracking device planted among them. There’d been no ring. Chrysabelle could have had it on her person, but Maris had seen no evidence of it.

  Did the vampire helping Chrysabelle know about it? Chances were good that if he did, his ‘help’ would be more for himself than for her niece.

  Her heart ached at what had transpired since Algernon’s death. Chrysabelle, forgive me. This was not how things were supposed to have gone, but Maris would atone. If it took her dying breath, she would make things right at last.

  The rope scoured her wrists, but she dismissed the pain. It was no worse than her swollen eye or what she feared was a cracked cheekbone. Her libertas battle had almost killed her, but she’d survived it. Now she would fight for Chrysabelle’s libertas.

  Tatiana’s pet watched, its beady red eyes ever vigilant. That dangerous creature would be the first thing Maris dispatched when she got free. And she would get free. If she had to tear flesh and break bone to do it, she would free herself and do as much damage as she physically could to Tatiana and her house.

  If only Maris had her sacre. But she’d seen swords decorating the walls of this house. One of them would have to do. The time for pretending was over. The time for protecting had come. Holy mother, please allow me this one last effort. She dug a fingernail into the weave of the rope, fraying it piece by piece.

  The snake slithered closer, flicking its tongue out.

  One of the benefits of being a cripple was being underestimated. Tatiana had not secured Maris’s feet. She snapped her good foot out, catching the cobra and sending it flying into a teak chaise with a satisfying thump.

  Of course, there were greater benefits in only pretending to be crippled. After her libertas, she’d been confined to a wheelchair while her body healed. Staying in the chair after she’d learned on her own to walk again had been a difficult decision and an even harder secret to keep, something she’d only ever entrusted to one other – her sweet, volatile Velimai. Bitter tears burned Maris’s eyes, but her anger forced them away. Tatiana and her paramour would pay for what they’d done to Velimai.

  With a final burst of effort, she snapped the rope and loosed her hands. Red marks circled her wrists. She flexed them, marveling at how the signum still sparkled after all these years. How she’d despised those marks, worked to hide them so she could move in the mortal world undetected and live a normal human life. The life she’d wanted for Chrysabelle. Poor Dominic. He’d never understood her need for that mundane normalcy, but she’d never expected him to. He reveled in being the creature he was, and a normal human life had stopped being an option for him the day he was turned. He’d gone from prince to king. Comarré were born serfs. How could he understand?

  She stood slowly, giving her bad leg a chance to catch up. It took longer for the circulation to return to her old muscles these days. Paying Dominic in blood had given her a welcome boost of virility. Keeping her strength up while living her life as a cripple had been a test of will made bearable by Dominic’s occasional visits, but today would make all those years worthwhile.

  The cobra shifted, coming back to life. Foul creature. Maris limped over and snatch
ed it behind the head and by the tail. ‘You and your mistress are quite a pair, aren’t you? Cold-blooded killers.’

  The cobra spit, and the sharp tang of venom tainted the air.

  ‘Just like your keeper. Reeking of poison and death.’ In one quick motion, she released the snake’s head and spun the creature around by the tail, bringing its skull down against the bench with a hard, final snap.

  She dropped the limp body. The serpent writhed at her feet as the nerves twitched reflexively in the final throes of death. If only Eve could have done as much. Maris wiped her hands on her dirty, bloodied clothes.

  ‘Now for your mistress.’

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  The apprehension building in Mal’s gut had grown the farther into the city they’d driven. The cypher fae, Solomon, had gotten them through Corvinestri’s wards without incident, but that didn’t mean they weren’t being watched. Even the voices’ ever-present droning had taken on a nervous hum. Something wasn’t right. Besides the fact that two anathema were now within the walls of one of the power centers of vampire nobility.

  The grounds around the Primoris Domus house, if you could call such a structure a house, were so well lit that the night didn’t leave a single shadow. He almost expected to see armed guards, but what good would they do against vampires?

  He’d never been to a comarré residence before, let alone imagined one could be as impressive as the houses nobles lived in. Maybe more so. How many acres did the property entail? At least three other buildings dotted the landscape. Training facilities maybe? Dorms? Armies could have been barracked inside buildings that large. He glanced at Chrysabelle. Maybe that’s exactly what the buildings held.

  ‘Nice joint,’ Doc said. ‘Your kind don’t like small spaces, I dig.’

  Chrysabelle’s eyes stayed on the building, focused yet distant. She raised her hand to the window and rested her fingertips on the glass. ‘Within that house, hundreds of comarré live their lives. They’re born here, raised here, trained here. This is our world. Our home.’