Last Blood hoc-5

by Kristen Painter

  Tatiana nodded reluctantly. “I do. I want to feed again soon. Build my strength a little more until I’m fully confident in my ability to face the ancient ones.” Thoughts of her dear, sweet missing Lilith dampened her mood.

  Daci came to sit beside her. She laid her hand on Tatiana’s leg. “I know you’re thinking of Lilith. We will get her back. I promise you. Whatever you need me to do, I will do it.”

  Tatiana slid her hand over the top of Daci’s. “I know you will. And I appreciate your loyalty.” She gave Daci’s hand a squeeze, then looked deeply into her eyes. “My dealings with the ancient ones have never been easy. If I don’t… survive their demands, I want you to know that I would be happy to see you as Dominus of the House of Tepes.”

  Horror marred Daci’s pretty face. She yanked her hand out from under Tatiana’s. “Don’t say such things!” She stood and shook her head. “You need more blood. It’s clear you’re still not yourself. Where is that letter? I’m going to the Primoris Domus immediately.”

  Tatiana pointed to her desk. “Right on top.”

  Daci grabbed the letter and waved it like a flag. “I’ll be back as soon as I can. Then we’ll get you up to full power and make our next move.”

  “Thank you. You’re too good to me.”

  Daci smiled and gave a little nod as she left. Tatiana reclined on the chaise again, listening as Daci’s footsteps faded. As much as Tatiana agreed that she needed a new comar, she’d wanted Daci out of the house more.

  Daci was too dear a friend to put in harm’s way. With a sigh, Tatiana resigned herself to what needed to be done. She pushed to her feet and went to the office door, opened it, and stuck her head into the anteroom, where one of the house servants awaited her needs. “I’m not to be disturbed until I come out again, understood?”

  The servant nodded without making eye contact. “Yes, my lady.”

  Tatiana went back in, locked the door, and walked to the front of her desk. With a few deep breaths, she forced away her residual anger toward the ancients. She needed to be calm. Confident. Respectful, despite the fact that they had stolen her child from her arms. But more than just respectful, she must appear worthy of the power and position that had been bestowed upon her. The ancients were fickle, as they’d proved. She must not give them reason to strip anything else from her.

  She pulled the chairs aside and stood in the small clearing, girding herself for what was about to happen. Then she tipped her head back and spoke to the one she’d worked so hard to please, the one who owed her so much for her undying loyalty, the one who’d betrayed her just as Octavian had.

  “Samael, my liege. I respectfully request your company.”

  Chapter Four

  The weather had cooled enough that Chrysabelle tugged one of Maris’s long white cardigans over her tunic and pants before heading out to sit by the pool, but the change in temperature wouldn’t keep her from taking in the evening’s quiet. If anything, the calm only seemed to reinforce her determination to move confidently forward with her life while the soft lap of the bay against the new dock and the occasional grunt of a cormorant helped soothe the pressure of everything she might not be able to resolve.

  Like Mal. She loved him, more than was wise, but the hard truth was the Mal she loved was gone, replaced by a creature more monster than man. Her heart ached for herself and the child in her belly who would never know a father. Just as she had never known a father.

  Sad how the circumstances of her life seemed inescapable, even for her unborn child. She pulled her sweater a little closer. Losing Mal like this was worse than when she’d thought he’d died in the city square. It would have been better if that had been his end than knowing he might now actually be her enemy. She shook her head, her vision blurring slightly. How would she fight him if it came to that?

  Her hand slid to her stomach. She knew how. With strength and resolution, because protecting this child meant more than anything. She understood now why her mother had sacrificed so much and been willing to fight so hard. She also understood a part of her would die with him. There was no other way to survive something that horrific.

  “Chrysabelle?”

  The voice yanked her from her thoughts. She turned. “Mortalis. I didn’t know you were coming by.”

  The shadeux fae blinked, his expression unchanged. “Sorry. Is it a bad time?”

  “No, it’s fine.” She pointed to the chaise next to her. “Join me.”

  He sat, perching on the edge like he might have to leap into action at any moment. He scanned the perimeter beyond where the security lights around the property faded into blackness. “I came to see how you’re doing. Nyssa’s been asking about you.”

  “You told her about…” She didn’t mind Nyssa knowing about the pregnancy, but the more people who knew, the harder the secret would be to keep.

  His gaze stayed fixed to one distant spot for a few counts. “No, she just wanted to know how you’re adjusting to life with Damian. That’s all she knows.”

  Chrysabelle exhaled. It didn’t surprise her that Mortalis had kept the secret of her pregnancy from his partner. The fae was stalwart in his loyalty to those he considered friends. “You can tell her. I trust her like I trust you.”

  A slight upturning of his mouth and Mortalis finally made eye contact. “Thank you.” He moved back on the chaise a little. “You’re well then?”

  “Well enough. Thanks again for helping me buy that plane and find that pilot. Not that I plan to travel any time soon, but Damian might.” She shrugged. “It’s nice to know it’s there if we need it.”

  “You’re welcome. Although I think Amery wishes he could have taken the pilot’s job.”

  She smiled. “He’s a good kid. I like him. Tell him I said hi next time you see him.”

  Mortalis’s gaze dropped to her stomach before shifting away suddenly like he’d heard something. He slanted his eyes toward her, looking past the horns that curled from the top of his head to his jaw line. “Without any alarm, stand up and walk back to the house.”

  She sat up, her body tensing. She took a breath and relaxed as he’d asked, then stood. “Velimai made a gorgeous chocolate cake for dessert. Why don’t you come inside and I’ll pack up a few slices for you to take home to Nyssa.”

  He nodded, still surreptitiously watching the horizon. “Sounds good.” He gave her elbow a nudge, pushing her forward.

  She tried to keep a casual pace, but the tickle of fear at the base of her spine made casual difficult. Once they were inside, Mortalis punched the panel beside the sliders to close the curtains and give them privacy.

  Her breath stuck in her throat. “What’s going on?”

  Nothing about his expression said his answer would be good news. “Has Mal tried to contact you?”

  “No. Do you expect him to?”

  After a long breath, he nodded. “I think he’s outside right now. Watching you.”

  She reached for the curtains, but he caught her arm. “Don’t. It’s better if he doesn’t know you know.”

  “Why is that better? What does he want with me?” She put her hand over her heart to feel it race beneath her skin. “Do you think he knows about the baby? Velimai, bring me my sacre.”

  Mortalis grabbed her arms and held her still. “Listen to me. There’s no way he could know about the baby. You’re not in any danger right now.”

  She stared at him. “Really? Because you know I’ve invited him in. There’s nothing to keep him from entering the house.” Panic clawed at her throat, making it hard for her to breathe.

  Velimai ran in with Chrysabelle’s sacre, her eyes rounded with concern. What’s happening, she signed.

  “Mal’s outside,” Chrysabelle shot back.

  Mortalis held up one six-fingered hand. “Nothing’s happening. I think Mal’s outside. Could be another vampire.”

  “Like that’s better.” Chrysabelle shuddered. Something was wrong with her to react like this. She pulled out of Mortalis’s grasp an
d sat on the couch. “What is my problem? I don’t normally freak out like this.”

  Hormones, Velimai signed after setting the sword on the sofa table before her. How about a glass of warm milk?

  Chrysabelle nodded, not really wanting the milk but knowing Vel would feel better with something to do.

  Mortalis sat on the ottoman across from her. “You going to be okay?”

  “I’m fine.” She pressed her palm to her forehead. “Or as fine as I can be considering I’m going to be high-strung for the next few months. Holy mother, help us all. I don’t like this one bit.” She closed her eyes for a moment. “What am I going to do about Mal? I can’t live with him stalking me. Or whatever else he might be up to.”

  “Whenever you leave the house, I want you to wear your body armor.”

  “Mortalis, I have the gold from the ring of sorrows sewn into my back. Death isn’t a permanent thing for me anymore, remember?” She picked up her sacre, comforted by the sword’s height in her hand.

  He raised his brows. “You carry another life inside you now. Do you trust that gold to protect your unborn child’s life as well?”

  She closed her eyes for a moment, knowing he was right. “No. And this child is everything to me.” Including her only connection to the Mal she loved. She looked toward the sliders. “Wearing that armor isn’t going to keep Mal from coming back, though.”

  Mortalis followed her gaze. “He’s drawn by the memory of your blood, I’m sure.” He sighed. “We need to take the threat level down.”

  Her hand tightened around the hilt of her sacre. “I’ll do it.” She’d known this moment might come, just hadn’t expected it so soon.

  Mortalis frowned. “Do what?”

  She tipped the blade toward the sliders. “Reduce the threat level.”

  “I didn’t mean kill him.” Mortalis looked a little shocked, which for him meant slightly elevated brows. “I meant find a way to reduce his cravings for your blood.”

  She grimaced, but let the weapon drop to her side. “You want me to leave a glass of blood on the porch for him? Because I don’t feel like that’s a step in the right direction.” Although, if it meant helping Mal, she was all in.

  A light turned on in his eyes. “In a way, that’s exactly what you need to do.” He nodded, clearly thinking through what he was about to tell her. “Let me explain…”

  As soon as Chrysabelle went inside, Mal dropped over the security wall and onto the unoccupied neighboring property. No matter how much he wanted to sink his teeth into the comarré he owned, he wasn’t about to take on a wysper or shadeux fae to do it. The voices chimed in agreement.

  For all the grief Chrysabelle had put him through, for the hell she’d made his life, she would give him blood. She owed him that much. Yesss…

  He pushed through the overgrowth that had once been manicured landscaping. Whoever owned the property had let it fall into disrepair. He glanced toward the house. No lights, no sense of life inside. Was it completely abandoned? If they were winter people, they’d be here now. He peered through the branches of a bottle brush tree. Certainly more comfortable than the rusted freighter he called home. And so conveniently located. Chrysabelle had asked him to move into the new yacht she intended to buy. How would she feel about him living next door? Like he cared. With a twisted smile, he started forward to investigate, but an odd rustling caught his attention. He looked up. A flicker of white glimmered in the sprawl of palmettos a few yards ahead. He inhaled.

  Warm fresh blood. Just under that, the tang of wet animal.

  Launching toward the source, he caught the buck around the throat. It was wet and slippery from its swim to the island. He squeezed harder. It thrashed in his grip, punching the tip of one slender antler through his shoulder. He flipped the deer over and threw his weight onto it to hold it down. Its dark eyes went wide and it let out a loud, whistling snort.

  Mal’s fangs punched through his gums and he struck, biting into the animal’s neck with one swift contraction. The struggling beneath him weakened as he drank, the taste of blood and salt water mixing. Finally the creature went limp. Mal sat back, fed if not satisfied.

  He pulled his jacket away from his shoulder. The wound had begun to knit closed, but he recognized the signs of weakness. Animal blood was a poor substitute for human.

  He twisted to look toward Chrysabelle’s house as he pushed to his feet. And human blood was a poor substitute for comarré. The taste in his mouth wasn’t even close to the taste he craved. He scrubbed his hand across his face, wiping away the last drops of blood.

  He would get what he wanted. Even if he had to wait.

  Chapter Five

  Creek whipped out his halm, snapping his wrist to open the titanium weapon to its full length. “What the hell are you doing here?”

  Annika stepped in front of Octavian. “He’s one of us. He’s the operative.”

  “A vampire.” Creek knew the mistrust in his voice bordered on disrespect, but he didn’t care.

  “Yes,” she answered. “You know we employ them.” She glanced back at her guest. “Octavian has given much to the cause. He was human when we first recruited him.”

  Weapon still raised, Creek studied the vampire’s face, memories coming with Annika’s words. “I know who he is. I’ve seen him with Tatiana. How can you be sure he’s not working for her?”

  Annika pushed the halm down. “He’s loyal to us. You have my word and that’s all you need. Put your weapon away. Now.”

  Inhaling, Creek twisted the center of the halm and retracted it. Annika’s word would have to stand. And as much as he trusted her, he couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to Octavian than she thought. The Florida State Prison had honed his ability to assess people. Getting released hadn’t changed that.

  Octavian held his hands up. “I’ve been through enough to get here. I don’t need to have my loyalty questioned.”

  Annika shot him a look. “No one’s questioning your loyalty anymore. Now enough of this. You two have to work together. I suggest you get past your doubts. Both of you.”

  Creek tucked the halm back into his belt. He nodded for Annika’s sake. “If Annika vouches for you, that’s all I need.”

  “Is it?” Octavian lifted a brow. “I wouldn’t want to find myself unexpectedly staked.”

  “Not going to happen,” Creek reassured him. Not as long as Octavian kept his fangs to himself. Creek nodded to the pair of secondhand chairs he’d added since Mawmaw had taken to visiting. Duct tape patched the tears in the fabric, but they suited him just fine. “Make yourself comfortable. Anyone want a beer?”

  “No.” Octavian snorted.

  “Yeah,” Creek said. “I guess you wouldn’t. Don’t have any blood to offer you either.” He looked at Annika as he opened the fridge door. “Beer?”

  She shrugged. “Why not.”

  He grabbed two long necks and twisted the top off hers before handing it over. She took it and joined Octavian in the chairs, so Creek moved around to the steps and crouched there. He took a long pull from his bottle, wiped his mouth with the heel of his hand, then leaned his elbows on the step behind him. “What was it like working for Tatiana?”

  Octavian took a moment before answering. Like he was choosing his words. “Hard. She’s demanding. And crueler than you can imagine.”

  “I doubt it.” Creek took another sip. “I can imagine some pretty cruel things.” Another thing his time in prison had helped with. He turned his attention to Annika. “What’s our mission?”

  Annika set her beer on the empty cable spool currently serving as his coffee table. “Octavian is going to become invaluable to the mayor. We know what she needs and he’s about to provide it. Once that happens, we’ll be able to use him to find out who turned her. As soon as we have that information, we’ll know whom to exterminate. A vampire that’s siring humans cannot be allowed to live. That way lays the makings of an army, and armies are needed for only one thing. War.”

 
; Creek raised a brow. “What’s my part in that plan?”

  “Very little, since we know she’s gunning for you. I need you to find Preacher, the father of the vampire baby, and make sure he’s not planning a rescue mission of his own. Tell him whatever he needs to hear, but keep him under control. We know the ancient ones have the baby and the grand masters are working on a way of luring them out. Until that happens, your task is business as usual. Protect the citizens of Paradise City.”

  Octavian raised his brows. “Hasn’t it been pretty quiet since the mayor lifted the curfew?”

  So he’d been filled in on what had been happening. Annika was good about keeping her people in the loop. She tilted her head toward the double agent. “We don’t anticipate that quiet lasting much longer.” Then she looked at Creek again. “It never does in this town.”

  Fi shifted from one foot to the other, her new heels too high to be comfortable. Not that she cared. Shoes this pretty didn’t need to be comfortable. Besides, most of the evening would be spent sitting down after the cocktail hour was over.

  “Nervous?” Doc asked, glancing down at her with a smile.

  “Does it show?” He looked amazing in his tux. She could think of a lot of other ways to spend the evening with a man that fine. None of them included making party talk with the brother of a woman whose death she’d played a part in.

  “A little.” He squeezed her hand. “Is it because of Remo?”

  She nodded.

  Doc’s face went serious. “Don’t let him intimidate you. You rank higher than he does.”

  She looked away. “Too bad that rank doesn’t come with fangs and claws.”

  He yanked her hand to bring her attention back to him. “Hey. If anything happens—anything—you go ghost, you understand?”

  “I know.” Once Chrysabelle taught her to fight, she’d feel better.

  Isaiah, their butler, approached. “Omur just called up. Everyone’s arrived, Maddoc. They’re ready for you and Mrs. Mays downstairs.”