One chance to say good-bye.
She twisted the latch, pushed the heavy metal door open, and stepped into the corridor. A faint coppery scent lingered. He’d definitely had blood recently. The solars gleamed, providing enough light to navigate the grungy passage. Now all she had to do was remember the direction Fi had taken her last time. Slowly, she picked her way through the labyrinth of the ship’s interior. Mal’s dark, spicy scent erased the blood smell the farther she went. She followed it until at last her surroundings looked familiar.
Mal’s room was just ahead.
She went very still and tried to listen over the staccato rhythm of her pulse. All quiet as best she could hear. A few deep breaths and she found a measure of calm, enough to move forward.
The door was open. Mal lay on his bed like he’d fallen there and hadn’t moved. Which was probably exactly what had happened. She stood at the threshold of his room, studying the figure of the man she’d once thought she’d have a future with. The solars penetrated the room’s dark only so far, but what light there was outlined the hard angles of his body so that he seemed carved in stone. Or maybe “trapped” was a better word.
Her hands cradled her stomach as her heart clenched. This was a man she’d forever be linked to, no matter what he did or how he ended up.
She stepped into the room and held her breath. But of course, he didn’t move. He was a light daysleeper, but this wasn’t daysleep; this was drugged oblivion. She exhaled. In the soft wash of the solars, he seemed almost… peaceful in repose. Not at all like a man tortured by the voices of his victims. Although maybe it wasn’t such torture now that he was giving into them. The thought made her heart ache anew. She bit the side of her cheek to quell her emotions. Had he given in? Or had Dominic sent the blood in time?
She prayed he hadn’t killed again. If he had, there’d be a new ghost, wouldn’t there? “Hello,” she whispered as she checked the room for the sudden appearance of a spectral being.
But none came. And although the lack of response wasn’t a promise of his innocence, she still took comfort in it. She moved closer, trailing her fingers over the bed. A bed he’d once tucked her into so she could recover from blood sickness and an injured ankle. She looked over her shoulder at the chair where he’d sat and watched her.
Amazing that those memories were now her happy ones. They raked through her, stirring up new pain.
She glanced back at him. He’d almost seem human if not for the unnatural stillness that held him. She sat gingerly on the edge of the bed, one hand firmly gripping the hilt of one of the daggers at her waist. Her heartbeat was almost back to normal now, the steady thump of it gone from her ears. She inched her free hand forward until her knuckles touched his. He was warm, further proof of the blood he’d ingested. Human blood purposefully diluted with animal blood to make him weaker. Purposefully doped to keep him subdued. She knew how necessary both measures were and yet she frowned at how much they bothered her.
Because it spoke to how much she loved him. To how much she knew he’d sacrificed for her. His voices were right about her. She’d caused him a lot of trouble that he didn’t deserve. And now, because of that, he was going to miss out on his second chance at being a father.
She threaded her fingers through his and blamed her off-kilter emotions for the tears burning her eyes. Stupid pregnancy hormones. But those hormones didn’t stop her from leaning down and pressing her lips to his. The lingering warmth almost undid her, crumbling the edges of her resolve.
“Oh Mal,” she whispered. “Why did it have to come to this?”
She couldn’t let him go this easily. Fi was right. She had to find a way to fix him and soon. Or the only thing left would be to kill him. And killing him just might kill her too.
“Why would you say that?” Tatiana stared at the powerful young vampiress before her. “Why would you call me mother?”
Daciana’s mouth gaped open. She’d come to stand beside Tatiana, but was visibly trembling. Tatiana worried for her. Showing weakness was never a wise choice where the Castus was concerned.
The woman’s smile widened into something grotesque. “Don’t you recognize me? I’m your daughter. I’m Lilith.”
Daci gasped.
“No, you’re not.” Tatiana shook her head. Fear gripped her core, wrenching down until tiny frissons of pain spiked through her bones. This thing before her was not Lilith. “My daughter is only a baby. You’re an adult. Even at the rate she was growing, she wouldn’t be your size.” She stared at Samael. “What have you done with my child?” She pointed at the woman. “Who is this?”
“She is who she says she is.” He stared at the new female vampire. “We fed her our blood. Turned her into the vampire you could not. Turned her into something… more than we expected.” The tone of his voice didn’t match his words. It was weak and shallow and full of… fear.
The Castus were afraid of this creature.
Tatiana’s belly went cold. She looked at the woman, unable to find traces of the sweet baby she’d rocked in her arms. “You’re Lilith? Prove it.”
The woman’s nostrils flared, perhaps at Tatiana’s disbelief, but then she unbuttoned the top of her black leather pants and tugged them down to reveal one stark white hip. “Look. Here’s your proof. Remember the birthmark?”
Tatiana stared at the crescent moon marking the woman’s pale flesh. Her gaze slowly lifted back to the woman’s face, her mind warping with the reality of who stood before her.
Daci’s hand went to her mouth.
“Bloody hell,” Tatiana whispered. “You are Lilith.”
“Yes, and I’ll be back to see you very soon, Mother.” With a cackling laugh that cracked the marble hearth, Lilith spread her arms and disappeared in a burst of shadow and smoke, taking the Castus with her.
Daci turned to Tatiana, eyes round. “They’re afraid of her, aren’t they?”
Tatiana nodded slowly. “I think so.”
“What does that mean for us?”
Tatiana shook her head, every plan she’d orchestrated these last few centuries unraveling before her like tumbling balls of yarn. “Nothing good.”
Chapter Twelve
Mal woke up feeling like he’d slept under the freighter, not in it, and the fog thickening his skull showed no signs of dissipating. He blinked into the blackness, his sight adjusting instantly to the spare glow of the solars. They were almost completely tapped, but their weak light was more than enough for his eyes. In his bones, he could sense that beyond the painted and boarded-up porthole in his room, the sun still owned the sky for another hour. He shouldn’t really be awake yet, but his need for daysleep had decreased since he’d been cursed and lessened even more once he’d started drinking comarré blood.
The voices snarled weakly at the white-and-gold image floating through his memories, too sated to make much of a fuss. He didn’t remember a kill last night, but he wasn’t hungry either. Maybe he’d mistakenly picked a human with alcohol or drugs in their system. That would explain why he felt slightly hungover. With a snort, he pushed up onto his elbows. The movement did nothing to dislodge the fog, but it did cause a familiar, honeyed perfume to waft up around him.
Chrysabelle.
He scrubbed a hand over his face. Her sweet scent intensified. He swung his legs over the side of the bed and grabbed a handful of the covers, lifting them to his nose. Her scent wasn’t just on him; it was on his bed linens, too. Had she been his kill? He scanned the room, but there was no body. Closing his eyes, he tried to remember what had happened last night. Had he gone back to her estate? Tracked her somewhere? Nothing came to him. Except that Chrysabelle couldn’t have been his dinner if he was feeling hungover. Comarré never touched alcohol, so drugs weren’t even a remote possibility. He must have bagged a street person or a club-goer.
Which left only one explanation for why her smell was so present. She’d been here. On the freighter. In his space. Anger burrowed through his veins. What did she think, tha
t she was going to make him fall in love with her again? That moment of weakness was not going to be repeated. He’d rather it disappear from his brain the same way his love for her had. What had he been thinking? What vampire fell in love with their meal? It disgusted him that he’d stooped so low. Made his gut ache with unpleasant feelings.
He stared down at the sheets crumpled in his fist. If she would just stay away from him, maybe he could forgive her for interfering in his life. Weakling. But no, visiting him was too much. Too bold for someone who was nothing more than a food source to him now. A small pain jolted through his chest. He rubbed at it, chalking it up to indigestion from last night’s poor choice of blood supply.
Dropping the sheets, he got to his feet and smiled. Tonight would be different. Tonight he was going to dine on the finest blood he’d ever had and solve his biggest problem at the same time. The solar flickered and went dark. Twilight. Freedom.
He changed his clothes, then loped toward the exit, already anticipating the night that lay ahead of him. Throwing open the door, he stepped out onto the deck and stopped as the intoxicating aroma of human blood met him.
A shiny rectangular container sat a few feet beyond the door. The scent was so strong around the black box, it almost glowed red. He inhaled, scanning the area, but couldn’t pick up anything that indicated another presence nearby.
Cautiously, he crouched and put his hands on the container. Warm. Almost hot. How long had it sat out here in the sun? There was no lock, so he flipped the latch and opened it.
The voices went crazy. Bags of blood filled it to the top. He grabbed one. It was warm enough to be body temperature. His fangs shot down and he grinned. This was just what he needed. Now he could feed before he went after Chrysabelle, which meant her blood wouldn’t sway him and he’d be able to take his time with her.
He squeezed one of the bags to tighten it, then sank his fangs in. Definitely human. Not the best blood he’d ever had, but it was still rich and thick and perfectly heated. He drank deeply, emptying the first bag quickly. He tossed it and grabbed another. Near the end of that one, the ship seemed to lurch, throwing him off balance. He caught himself as he rocked to the side. What little light was left of dusk faded fast. So fast his eyes couldn’t keep up. Unable to hold the bag to his mouth any longer, his arm went limp and the bag fell to the deck.
His eyes closed and a second later, he dropped to the deck beside it.
Fi pushed a piece of bacon around on her plate with her fork. She hadn’t slept well since the incident with Remo, but she hadn’t mentioned it to Doc either. She knew he wouldn’t be happy that she’d spent time with Remo. Or would he? It was an effort on her part to get to know Remo better. She sighed and made a mound of her scrambled eggs.
Doc looked up from reading the morning news on his tablet. “You all right?” His gaze went to her plate. “Don’t like Isaiah’s cooking?”
She shoveled a forkful of eggs into her mouth, chewed, and swallowed. “No, it’s great.” She took a sip of coffee. “I think I’m going to go shopping today.”
“You know you can have anything you want sent in.”
She frowned at him. “How long have you known me? What’s my favorite thing to do?”
He broke into a wicked smile. “Me?”
She laughed. “Besides you.”
“Shop,” he answered. “Probably not as much fun when someone does it for you.”
“No fun at all. Plus, I told Chrysabelle I’d help her pick out some new stuff so she can start to ditch her all-white look.”
“About time. How’s she doing with… everything?”
“Okay.” Fi bit her lip to keep from blurting out that Chrysabelle was pregnant. She tucked her napkin under the edge of her plate and stood. “I’m going to get ready. You busy all day?”
He nodded as she came around to his side. “All day every day, but dinner is just us.”
She leaned down to kiss him. “Sounds good.”
He grabbed her hand as she started away. “You know if there’s something bothering you—or someone bothering you—you can tell me.”
She smiled, making light of his words. “Isaiah still hasn’t baked that chocolate cake I asked for.”
He laughed and pinched her side. “I’ll speak to him about it.”
Thirty minutes later, Doc was off to his office and she was in the elevator, headed down to see Remo. There was only one thing she could think of to make things right after last night. She would not be the cause of more tension in the pride, or worse, be responsible for creating some kind of rift between this pride and the Brazilian one.
The door opened and she stepped out onto his floor. Only two apartments here, both reserved for council members, just like the floor above it, except in this pride there hadn’t been a fourth council member in years. Instead, the second apartment was kept for DVs. Distinguished visitors. Remo’s father had stayed here when he’d come. Now his son was living in the apartment next door. She took a deep breath as she approached his door. Coming here was a risk, but not a big enough one to keep her away.
She knocked. After a long minute, the door opened a crack.
Remo peered at her, not far into his first cup of coffee, judging by his bed head and scruff. “What do you want?”
“To apologize.”
His eyes and the door opened a little wider. He wore soccer shorts and a T-shirt emblazoned with a Brazilian team logo. “For?”
“Last night.” She fished the vial of sand out of her pocket and held it out. “You asked for this. You should have this.”
He stared at it for a second before taking it from her.
She spoke before he could say anything. “I want you to know I wasn’t wearing that as a symbol of your sister’s death or some kind of trophy or anything like that. It was a symbol of strength to me. A reminder of everything I’ve been through and survived so that when things were tough or I doubted myself, I could remember what I’ve endured to be here. That I’d earned my place as the pride leader’s wife no matter what some of the pride thinks of me. It was about my own journey, not your sister’s end. I promise.”
He opened his hand so the vial lay on his palm, gleaming under the morning light filtering in from behind him. “Thank you. That… means a lot.”
“And I want us to be… maybe not friends yet, but at least not enemies.”
He closed his fist around the vial and his expression softened. “We’re not enemies. You’re the only one who’s shown me any genuine kindness.” He glanced at his hand, the same odd gleam she thought she’d seen before dancing through his gaze. Just like the last time, it disappeared quickly. “This is the start of a new future for me. For us both.”
“Fitting in takes time. I’m not entirely there yet myself.”
Tucking the vial into the pocket of his shorts, he opened the door farther. “You want to come in for coffee? It’s excellent. I brought it with me from São Paulo.”
“Thanks, but I’ve got to be somewhere.” Not entirely true, but she wasn’t about to be alone with him in his apartment. “Maybe you could come to dinner at our place tomorrow night.” Why had she said that? Doc was going to freak. Maybe.
Remo’s face brightened at the invite. “That would be very good. Thank you.”
“All right, seven o’clock then. The penthouse.” Like he didn’t know where they lived.
He nodded. “See you then.”
She waved and headed back to the elevator as his door shut. She’d have to run back upstairs and tell Isaiah so he could plan the dinner. She should probably give Doc the heads-up too. The elevator chimed. She stepped in and leaned against the wall.
Shopping really didn’t seem like it was going to be that much fun after all.
Chapter Thirteen
Chrysabelle was about to get in her car when Fi’s vehicle approached the gates of the estate. The setting sun glinted off the windshield, causing her to squint, but she could just make out Fi’s driver. “I must have a trai
ning session with Fi this evening. Give me a moment, Jerem.”
He nodded. “Take all the time you need, boss.”
The gates swung open and Chrysabelle approached the car.
Fi opened her door and hopped out before her driver reached it. “Hey, how are you? Are you going somewhere? I’ve got a bunch of clothes for you to try on. The trunk is full.” She smiled. “I’ve been shopping all day.”
Chrysabelle shook her head. “And yet you have all this energy left. How do you do that?”
Inside the car, Fi’s bodyguard grunted like he agreed. Fi laughed. “Some people can hang, some can’t.” She jerked her chin at Chrysabelle’s car. “You’re leaving?”
“Yes. I’m headed out to an appointment with Dominic. I must have completely forgotten about our meeting.”
“Oh.” Fi shrugged. “We didn’t have anything set up. I just thought you’d be home.” A new intensity filled her eyes. “What are you going to see Dominic about?”
Chrysabelle hesitated, but then Fi had been the one to push her in this direction in the first place. “I’m actually going to see Mortalis. To ask him if there’s anything—”
“You can do about Mal?” Fi finished hopefully.
“Yes.” She steeled her gaze as the emotions of the previous night threatened to overwhelm her. “I went to see him last night.”
“Did you talk?”
“It wasn’t that kind of visit.” She blew out a breath. “I have to try to fix this.”
Fi’s smile was almost as blinding as the sun off the car. “Can I come with you to see Mortalis? Please? Mal’s kind of my area, you know. I’m sort of an expert on him.”
“True. No one knows him better than you.” Chrysabelle was actually happy for the company. “But you’re going to have to ditch your bodyguard. I don’t want to make a big scene going into Seven. You won’t need him anyway. I can protect you if something happens.”
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