Last Blood hoc-5

by Kristen Painter

  “Yes,” Tatiana said quietly. “No matter how much it would have hurt me.”

  “Hurt you? Because… you loved him also?”

  Tatiana nodded. “Yes, but not as much as you. Not nearly as much. There is no greater bond than that of a mother and her child. I would do anything for you.” She reached out and took Lilith’s hand. Her skin had lost none of its baby softness.

  Lilith looked down. “You love Daciana.”

  “Yes, but not as much as you.” Tatiana stroked her thumb over Lilith’s knuckles. “Do you wish to live with me again?”

  Lilith lifted her gaze. Her eyes had gone almost completely black, the way nobles’ eyes went silver. Then she was gone from Tatiana’s side and seated next to Daciana. She’d moved quicker than Tatiana could track.

  Daci reared back with a nervous laugh, her hand at her throat. “You frightened me. My, you move faster than any vampire I’ve ever seen.”

  Lilith’s hand closed over Daci’s arm. “My mother must love only me.”

  “What?” Daci pulled away but Lilith held tight. “I love you too, Lilith. I helped raise you, remember? I—”

  “I remember you laughing with Octavian.” Lilith tipped her head and bared her fangs. “Are you a traitor too?”

  What little color Daci had drained from her face. “No, of course not.” She struggled to get out of Lilith’s grip.

  Tatiana jumped up. “Lilith, she’s not a traitor. Please let her go.”

  “Please?” Lilith sneered. “That does not seem like the word of a feared vampire.”

  “Let her go now,” Tatiana commanded.

  Lilith laughed. “That’s better.” She dropped Daci’s arm.

  Daci slumped against the sofa, trembling. Tatiana relaxed, feeling like she’d just stepped back from the edge of a precipice.

  Lilith’s eyes narrowed as she spoke to Tatiana. “You care for her too much. I do not like it.” With that, she drove her hand forward, plunged it into Daci’s chest, and yanked out her heart.

  Daci’s eyes rounded a second before she went to ash, the heart in Lilith’s hand dissolving at the same time.

  Tatiana’s jaw dropped as a pit opened up in her belly. She teetered toward numbness, unable to believe what had just happened. “What-what have you done?”

  Lilith stood, wriggling her fingers to shed the last bit of ash. “She was unnecessary for your plan.”

  “My plan?” Pain wracked Tatiana’s body and darkness edged her vision. Daci was gone. Her last remaining friend. A sob choked her throat and she fisted her hands to keep from striking Lilith, because she knew without question Lilith would kill her too. The creature before her was exactly what Daci had said she was. A monster. A monster Tatiana should destroy. Anger mixed with grief. Would destroy. But how? There was no one left to help her. No one vicious enough to face this hell-spawned beast. The word triggered a memory. There might be one person who could kill Lilith.

  “Your plan for us to rule together.” Lilith smiled. “Isn’t that what you wanted, Mother?”

  Tatiana forced herself to return the smile, but wasn’t sure if the movement of her lips was a smile or a grimace. She hurt too much to care. “Yes,” she whispered. The effort of speaking under the weight of such pain was almost impossible. “That’s what I wanted.” She looked for a way out and found her savior in the lightening horizon. “The sun is almost up and I need to sleep.” She stumbled toward the door. “You return to the ancients now and I’ll call you when I need you again.”

  The happiness in Lilith’s voice faded. “Why can’t I stay with you?”

  Nerves frayed, Tatiana snapped. Enough was bloody enough. “Because I said so and I’m your mother. Now go.”

  “Fine.” With a huff, Lilith crossed her arms and disappeared in a small whirl of shadow.

  Alone, Tatiana reached for the door handle, but missed, her vision blurry. Frustration and grief engulfed her. “Daci,” she moaned. The sound of her friend’s name sheared away the last of her composure. Unable to bear more, she crumpled to the floor and wept.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Creek was prepared for Chrysabelle to have blocked his entrance to Mephisto Island, but the guard at the gatehouse let him through. He didn’t know what to make of the fact that she hadn’t pulled him from the approved visitors list, but decided not to overthink it. He parked his V-Rod and jogged to the front door, glad for the chance to speak to her. The way they’d left things hadn’t been good. He owed her an apology and an explanation.

  Velimai answered his knock, giving him the same surly look she’d once reserved for Mal. Maybe the wysper still blamed him for Mal’s death. Or Chrysabelle’s unhappiness. Or the lack of world peace. “Chrysabelle here? I came to apologize, not cause her more trouble. Those days are over.”

  Velimai raised a brow.

  Creek held his hands up. “I promise.”

  With a sigh, she moved out of the way. He followed her inside. A silver hard-shell roller bag sat by the door. She pointed to the living room, so he went and sat. She gave him a look that said stay, then she headed upstairs. He assumed to get Chrysabelle.

  A few minutes later, Damian came down. Creek stood, wondering how the man would respond to him based on his sister’s feelings toward Creek at the moment. “Good to see you back.” He nodded toward the roller bag. “You finally moving in?”

  “Good to see you too. That’s Chrysabelle’s bag.” Damian stopped at the entrance to the living room. “She’s upstairs and she told me to tell you she’s not coming down if this is Kubai Mata business.” He lifted one shoulder like he was sorry to be the bearer of bad news.

  So much for convincing Velimai of his intentions. “It’s not. I’m just here as me. I owe her some explanations and an apology.”

  If that surprised Damian, he hid it well. “Okay.” He jogged back up the steps, returning a few minutes later with Chrysabelle in tow.

  She eyed Creek warily, tugging at her tunic and smoothing a few loose hairs back into her braid. She was flushed and shiny with sweat.

  “Didn’t mean to interrupt your workout.”

  She shrugged and wiped her face with the towel around her neck before sitting across from him. “Damian said you’re not here on KM business. That’s the only reason I’m talking to you.”

  Creek sat. “I know. Thanks.”

  Damian walked toward the door. “I’ll see you for dinner, Chrys.”

  She sat forward. “Don’t go yet. Join us.”

  He glanced at Creek before answering her. “You got it.” He took one of the club chairs at the end of the two big sofas, settling in like he was preparing to referee.

  She turned her attention to Creek. “So what’s going on?”

  “A lot.” He blew out a breath. “Not sure where to start, so I’ll just dive in. I’m sorry for my part in Mal’s death. I found out too late that I was possessed by a dark spirit, one who’s since been… exorcised. She was also behind my persuading the mayor to set the curfew in place and the reason I sided against you and Mal in the mayor’s office. For all of that, I’m sorry.”

  Chrysabelle’s hard expression softened. “A spirit?”

  “Yahla, the soulless woman. Damian and I set her free when we burned Aliza’s house down. Apparently, Aliza had trapped her in the house and was using her as a source of power. Yahla attacked my grandmother too. Would have killed her if I hadn’t gotten there in time.” He dropped his head. He wasn’t great at expressing emotion, but for Chrysabelle’s sake he’d do his best. “I’m sorry I didn’t figure this all out in time to save Mal. I know his death is my fault and I feel like hell about that.”

  A few seconds of silence passed before Chrysabelle spoke. “Mal’s not dead.”

  Creek lifted his head, not sure he’d really heard what she’d said. “What? How?”

  “When he drank from me, his full strength returned and he was able to scatter again. Except when he scatters, he turns to smoke. He escaped into one of the storm drains with a few
burns.”

  Creek sat back, a little angry but mostly relieved. “Thanks for letting me think he was dead.”

  “What was I supposed to do? You weren’t exactly on our side.”

  He nodded. “You’re right. I probably wouldn’t have told me either.”

  “Is your grandmother all right?”

  “Yes. Thank you.” He rubbed a hand over his Mohawk. “Speaking of not being dead, Octavian’s in town. He’s come to work for the KM here since he can’t be of use in Corvinestri anymore.”

  Damian tensed. “What the hell? That bastard works for you guys? Does the KM know he used to beat me whenever Tatiana told him to?”

  Chrysabelle shot her brother a pained look. “You never told me that.”

  “What was the point? I thought he was dead. But now…” Damian turned back to Creek, jabbing a finger in the air. “You tell him to stay out of my path. I’m not under Tatiana’s thumb anymore, and KM or not, he’s going to pay for what he did to me.”

  Creek nodded. “I hear you. Right now, he’s working with the mayor, helping us keep tabs on her, so he’s got no reason to contact you.” He shifted uncomfortably. “I’ll be perfectly honest; I have my doubts about him but I’m still KM and those doubts are strictly off the record.” Damian’s info only added to those reservations. “On the record, I’m sure he only did what he had to in order to keep Tatiana from being suspicious.”

  “I saw the pictures,” Chrysabelle said. “What he did to Damian was above and beyond necessary.”

  Damian snorted, but otherwise kept quiet.

  “I’m keeping as close a watch on him as I can,” Creek said.

  Chrysabelle inched toward the edge of the sofa. “Anything else?”

  Before answering her, Creek glanced at Damian. He seemed lost in thought. “Just that… I’d like us to be friends again. If that’s possible. I don’t plan on being KM longer than I have to, but right now, quitting’s not an option. I promise that if there’s anything I can do to help you, I will. I feel like I owe you that much.”

  She nodded. “I appreciate that. That probably wasn’t easy for you to say.”

  He shrugged. “Doing the right thing isn’t always easy, but it’s still the right thing.”

  She stared at him then, a strange, almost sad expression on her face. She smiled, but it too seemed sad. He felt like he should understand more about the way she was looking at him than he did. “Thank you.” Her quiet answer did nothing to ease the sense he was missing something important.

  “Something you want to tell me about?”

  A quick shake of her head and whatever had been bothering her was gone. “No. Everything’s fine.”

  She was a bad liar, but he understood whatever was on her mind wasn’t something she was ready to talk about. “Okay, well, you know how to reach me if you need me.” He got up to leave.

  “Creek?”

  He stopped and waited.

  She looked away for a moment, her brow furrowing in thought. “There is something you could do for me.” When she glanced up, her eyes held the same sense of loss he’d seen in his mother’s when the judge had announced his sentence.

  He sat back down. “What is it? I’ll do whatever I can to help.” She deserved that much.

  Her fingers twisted together. “It’s about Mal. I can’t go into detail but he’s not himself. He’s… sick right now and the sickness is letting his darkness get the best of him. I’ve got the situation under control for the moment so there’s no reason anything bad should happen, but if you see him out on the streets…” She swallowed. “He’s not the Mal you know. He’s dangerous.” Her eyes met his again. “Please, keep him from doing something stupid. And don’t hurt him any more than you have to. I need a little more time to get him better.”

  Creek nodded. Maybe it was better he didn’t know the details. “I’ll do what I can.”

  She smiled halfheartedly. “I know it’s your job to protect the citizens of Paradise City. Try to think of Mal as one of those citizens who needs protecting from himself.”

  He stood. “You’ve got my word. I’ll let you know if I see him, okay?”

  She bent her head. Was she crying? “Thanks,” she whispered. “And if I can’t get him better…” Her voice broke.

  “You want me to—”

  “No.” Her head came up, eyes sharp and liquid. “If it comes to that, I’ll take care of him myself.” She looked away again. “I owe him that much.”

  The plane’s landing barely registered. Tatiana knew she’d arrived but the numbness of the last few days had erased the small sensations from her notice. She moved through the fog with as much purpose as she could manage, but the task before her was daunting. Bigger than anything she’d tackled alone before.

  Which was why she had come to Paradise City to make a deal with the man who’d saved her from the gallows when she was human. The man who’d turned her into the creature she was today and who she’d cut a swath of destruction through Europe with centuries ago. The man who’d been her husband and had since become her immortal enemy.

  Malkolm Bourreau.

  “We’ve landed, my lady.” The fringe pilot stood beside her seat.

  She nodded.

  He stayed there, tipping his head slightly, trying to make eye contact. “What would you like us to do?”

  She got up, but couldn’t find the energy to focus on him. “Stay in the hangar with the plane.”

  “Yes, my lady.” He went back to the cockpit.

  Pulling herself up a little taller, she took a tiny scrap of fabric from her pocket. One of the guards had found it at Syler’s estate. It matched the coat Mal had been wearing the night he and his whore had tried to steal Lilith from her. The fabric was little more than a few threads, but it was all she had to go on. She walked to the back of the plane and opened the bedroom door.

  The Nothos she’d secured there raised its stinking head.

  She held the fabric out. “Find this vampire.”

  The creature inhaled, nearly dragging the shredded bits into its nostrils. “Yes, my lady.” And with that it took off, its loping gait carrying it through the plane and down the steps in a few strides. Tatiana scattered into a swarm of black wasps and followed it out of the hangar and into the night.

  They went for miles, the Nothos running without tiring, stopping only to affirm the trail, then taking off again. An hour passed. Maybe two. If the creature didn’t find Mal soon, she might have to seek shelter from the sunrise.

  Then it stopped. Tatiana came back together beside it. “Here?”

  It lifted one unnaturally jointed arm and pointed. “There, my lady.”

  She gestured behind her. “Take cover in that warehouse. Stay there until I need you.”

  “Yes, my lady.” It loped away.

  She inhaled. The stink of petrol and oil and rotting sea life almost hid the dark spice of vampire, but it was there. Hands on her hips, she stared at the abandoned freighter and a little of the numbness faded from her body. This encounter could very well end up with her death. She pulled the locket around her neck free from her clothing so that it could be seen. Mal would know what it was and that reminder might buy her a few minutes. Then she started up the gangplank.

  Thoughts of her fine home filled her head as she boarded the ship. She’d come to offer him the life of his comarré in exchange for his help, but perhaps money would do more good. Judging by his living situation, he could certainly use it. Didn’t the comarré have any money? Why wasn’t she taking care of him? Or perhaps things were not that way between them. She ran her hand over one of the railings. Flakes of paint and rust rained into the water below. Maybe this wouldn’t be such a hard bargain to strike after all.

  Making her way cautiously inside, she kept her senses open for any sounds of movement. If Mal found her and killed her before she had a chance to explain…

  Dim solars offered a little light here and there. Enough for her to pick her way, but the ship’s interior
was a maze of stairs and turns, four-way crosses, and dead ends. She inhaled again, finding his scent a little stronger and, this time, mixed with blood. She went after that. Blood was easy to follow, even though she’d fed from Aaron before she’d left.

  Down a long hall she spotted an open door. Soundlessly, she made her way toward it and peeked inside. Mal lay on the bedroom floor, looking very much like he’d been dumped there. She nudged his leg with the toe of her boot.

  Nothing.

  She nudged harder. Still no response. She grabbed his arm, picked it up, and let it drop. It hit the floor with a dull thud. She’d never known him to be such a sound sleeper. She kicked his thigh. “Wake up! How can you daysleep when it’s night?”

  He still didn’t move. Frustrated, she bent down and sniffed his open mouth. Sweet but a tiny bit bitter at the same time. “Bloody hell.” Laudanum. Who had drugged him? Well, there was only one way to bring him out of it besides waiting for it to wear off on its own.

  She tossed her jacket aside, pulled her sleeve up, and bit into her wrist, then held it over his mouth, letting the blood trickle in. When the wound closed, she did it again and was about to do it a third time when he came to. She jerked back into the shadows of the room.

  He sat up and reached for his head, growling softly. He rolled his shoulders as if testing his body. “Damn it, not again.”

  “Exactly how often does this happen to you?”

  A microsecond later, he was on his feet, his hand around her throat. Her feet dangled off the ground. “What the hell are you doing here? Did you do this to me?”

  “I woke you up. I didn’t knock you out.” Her instinct was to shift her metal hand into a stake and turn him to ash, but she needed him. Instead, she held her hands up where he could see them and forced herself to remain calm. “Some thanks for saving you from your drug-induced coma.”

  He snarled, eyes reflecting silver. “Sounds like something you would do.”

  “It does, but I didn’t.” She tried to make a sincere face. “I’m here to offer you a deal.”