“Where is it?” Fi whispered, peering into the cell’s dark interior.
“It must be back in the shadows.” The cell seemed empty, except… was that crying? Coming from inside?
“Raptor,” she called quietly. “Come out where I can see you. It’s Chrysabelle. The comarré whose gold you read.”
The crying stopped, replaced by shuffling. The raptor hobbled into view, his enormous form outlined in the soft glowing light of the numbers over his cage. Smooth, murky green skin covered a shape that reminded her of the Nothos. Except for the lack of eyes. All the raptor had was a slanted forehead. He flared his wide, slit nostrils. “Comarré,” it whispered, “is that really you or do I dream again?”
Fi gave Chrysabelle a look and circled her finger beside her head.
“It’s me, raptor.” Despite the creature’s missing eyes she remembered very well that it didn’t prevent him from understanding what was happening around him. With that in mind, she slowly pulled one sacre from its sheath.
The raptor reached through the bars, his long, narrow fingers uncurling toward her. “You’ve come to me. My love.”
This time Chrysabelle returned Fi’s look. My love, she mouthed. What was going on?
Fi shook her head.
Chrysabelle kept her voice to a whisper. “Stay on the path until I need you to let me out.” Then she took a step toward the raptor. The smell of bleach wafted off the creature.
“Yes,” he murmured, flexing his fingers. “Come closer, my dream.”
She did, but only one more step. She was close enough now to see fully into the cell. There wasn’t much room in there to swing her sacre. This was going to have to be a decisive strike. If the raptor had a chance to fight back, she’d have no defensible position. No place to hide.
He opened his mouth, flicked out a three-pronged black tongue from between multiple rows of teeth. An image of the Claustrum’s entrance flashed in her head. He tasted the air in her direction. “Why have you waited so long to come to me?” he whined.
“I didn’t know you wanted me to.”
“Psst,” Fi hissed. “Psst!”
Chrysabelle answered Fi without turning around. “What?”
“It loves you,” Fi whispered loudly.
“Of course I love her,” the raptor raged. He grabbed the bars and shook them, making them creak. “Why do you torment me this way?”
Farther down the corridor, other inmates howled in response.
“Shh, I’m here now. I’m here.” She hadn’t expected to have to mollify the creature she was about to kill. Holy mother, how was she supposed to kill a creature that loved her? Maybe she could persuade him to let Mal’s emotion go? Trade some of her emotions for those of Mal’s? She’d have to get the raptor to agree ahead of time as to what he’d take. “I’m going to come into your cell now. Is that all right?”
With a whimper the raptor sank onto his haunches and nodded his head. “Yes, yes, yes.”
She shot Fi a look, then headed in, keeping a firm grip on her sacre. The cell door clanged softly behind her, a sound she never hoped to hear again. “Raptor, I am here to ask you a favor.”
“Anything, anything.” He was trembling now.
“Do you remember the vampire that was with me?”
He nodded, fingers waving in her direction but not coming any closer. “Darkness that one. All darkness.”
“No, he’s not. Or at least he wasn’t. Not until you stole his emotions.”
The raptor snorted, nostrils flaring again. “My payment.” He pounded his fist against his chest. “My due.”
“Yes, payment was owed to you, but you could have taken something else.” That seemed to calm him, but she wasn’t sure. Without eyes, he was hard to read.
“What else?” he asked.
“If I let you take emotions from me, would you let the vampire’s go?”
The raptor slumped lower and covered his head with his long fingers. Minutes ticked by. Minutes they didn’t have.
“Raptor? Will you do it?”
Lifting his head, he nodded. “Will do. For my love.”
“You may only take my anger.”
He sighed. “Not a fair trade.”
“Please.”
He went very still. “You say please to me?”
“Yes.”
He inhaled, but it sounded like a sob. Then he reached out his hand. “Must touch.”
“You agree to the trade? Anger for love.”
“Yes.” His fingers stretched closer. “My love’s anger for the dark one’s love.”
She stuck her hand out.
His fingers wrapped her wrist. Suddenly, he let go of her, jerking back like he’d been shocked. “No,” he howled. “You are ruined by his blood. His child.” The raptor lurched to his feet, baring his teeth and hissing like a cat. “Ruined.”
She backed up. “We had a deal.”
“Chrysabelle!” Panic rang in Fi’s voice.
“No deal, vampire whore.” The raptor swiped at her.
She ducked, but he caught the side of her head. Blood trickled into her eye. She was vaguely aware of the surrounding noise level rising. He came at her again. This time she was ready. She dodged his punch and kicked his side, spinning him against the bars. He crashed into the stone wall and ricocheted off, falling forward. She jumped onto his back, both hands clenching the hilt of her sacre. Thrusting down with all her strength, she buried the blade in his back.
His long head jerked back, his mouth open to scream, but nothing came out but a gasp. Blood spurted up around her sword, and then he went limp. The raptor seemed to deflate, shrinking in size as she jumped to the ground.
The rest of the Claustrum began to wail. That had better mean the emotions he’d stolen were free again. They had to get back to Augustine now. She put her foot on the raptor’s back and yanked her sacre out. “No one calls me a whore.”
A quick tug and the knob of the French door came off in Mal’s hand. He pushed the door open, hoping he’d get lucky and find Chrysabelle in bed. He didn’t. But the scent of comarré blood was strong downstairs. Blood blood blood.
He went in that direction, the bloodlust in his system pushing him harder, making him as reckless as the voices urged him to be. He slipped down the stairs and stood in the foyer.
Doc saw him first. “Mal.”
The shadeux fae jumped off the couch. “Velimai, a warning burst.”
The wysper next to him opened her mouth and screamed. Mal tapped one earplug. “Nice try, but I came prepared, although I realize now I should have killed you when I had the chance.”
A blade snapped through the air and bit into Mal’s shoulder, blazing pain through his body like he was on fire. He cursed and yanked it out, burning his hand in the process. He looked up. There was only one place that Golgotha steel could have come from. A comar stood in the kitchen doorway. Mal scowled at Damian. “Just like your sister. Where is the princess? Turn her over and I might let the rest of you live.”
Doc shifted to his half-form, eyes green-gold and fingers tipped with razor-pointed claws. “I never thought it would come to this, but brother, I will take you down.”
Mal opened his mouth as pain ripped through his body again, but it wasn’t from his shoulder. It came from deep inside him, from where his heart had once beaten. He recognized it instantly. It was the throbbing ache of missing Chrysabelle, the agony of being separated from her, the gaping emptiness she’d once sealed away. The taste of her danced across his tongue, the silk of her skin slipped through his fingers, and her honey-sweet perfume filled his senses as though she’d never left his memory.
Longing followed, hard waves of it that stomped the howling voices down and shoved the beast into place. He went rigid as the balance returned and he realized what had happened. How he’d spoken to her, shunned her, hunted her. He closed his eyes, trying to quell the tide of sensation ripping through him.
Love came last and in such abundance that tears burned
his eyes and he gasped for breath he didn’t require. His need for her swallowed him in a flash of brilliance. The room and its occupants disappeared until all he saw was her.
Every emotion he’d ever felt for Chrysabelle returned. The weight of it drowned him, beating him into the ground like a hammer. He couldn’t speak. Couldn’t move. Unable to bear the onslaught any longer, he dropped to his knees and collapsed.
Chapter Twenty-five
Lola rose as Luciano entered her office and moved out from behind her desk. “What a pleasant surprise. So nice to see you.”
“And you.” He kissed her cheek in greeting. “How are you? How are you adjusting to your new life?”
“I’m getting there. Growing more comfortable every day.”
“And Hector? How is he working out?”
“Very well. His blood is exceptional.” She nodded at Octavian, who was hovering at the door. “Thank you. That will be all.” She sat back down at her desk but Luciano remained standing. “Is it possible that his blood can change over time?”
He stiffened. “What do you mean?”
“The taste of it seems to be changing.”
Luciano stuck a finger into the collar of his shirt, loosening it. “Yes, of course, this is natural. You wouldn’t know this as you are such a vampling, but it is typical. Think nothing of it.” He waved his hand as if her concerns should be dismissed the same way.
She let it drop. “And how are you doing?”
“Così-così.” He tipped his hand back and forth like a balance and sighed. “I wish I was here on better circumstances.”
Octavian suddenly came in. “Did you call me?”
She scowled at his intrusion. “No. You must be hearing things.” Hopefully after he closed the door he would go back to his desk and stay there. Since their night at Seven, she’d kept him at arm’s length in punishment for his disrespect. He may be a more experienced vampire but he was still her assistant and she was still the mayor, and while she desperately wanted whatever information he could give her on the ancients, she would have to go about getting it from him another way. She turned her attention back to Luciano. “Why better circumstances? What’s wrong?”
He pointed to the sitting area across the room. “Perhaps we can sit where it is more comfortable?”
“Of course, yes.” She walked over to the loveseat while he took the club chair. “Can I get you a drink?”
“No, I’m fine, grazie.” He planted his elbows on his knees and leaned in. “There has been a murder.”
She nodded. “I know. Two of them now. The police are working on it, but unfortunately everything is pointing to a vampire killer.”
He frowned. “No, not a human murder. A vampire murder.”
“What? Where?”
“At Seven.” He sat back a bit. “I know you and Dominic aren’t on… the best of terms, but this is something that affects us all.”
She waved her hand. “I agree. I’m sure we can move past what’s happened in light of this news. Who was it?”
“A close friend of Dominic’s who also worked at the club. Katsumi Tanaka. Did you ever meet her?”
Lola went still, her head going in a hundred directions as she searched for an answer. They’d just been there. Just met with her. What had happened after she and Luke had left? Could Octavian have done something? But no, he didn’t seem the type. “Yes, but I can’t say that I knew her. What happened?”
He shrugged. “When one of our kind dies there is so little evidence left. All we know is that her ashes were found in her office this evening.”
“How awful.” Truth would serve her best. It would take only a little questioning for him to find out she and Octavian had met with Katsumi, but Octavian was her link to the ancients. She had to protect him, at least a little while longer. “I just saw her last night. I was at Seven with my assistant. He even talked to her about the possibility of purchasing his own comarré, but he wasn’t feeling well and we left before anything happened.”
Luciano stared at her, dragging time out until the urge to speak again became nearly unbearable. It was a technique she knew well and often used at meetings. That knowledge saved her. She smiled back, despite his calculating gaze, and folded her hands comfortably in her lap.
Finally he stood. “Very well. I will inform my uncle that I’ve made you aware of the situation.”
She walked with him to the door. “If there is anything I can do to help, please let me know.”
He stopped before opening the door. “We will. It’s good to know the mayor is on our side. With a killer on the loose, one can never be too careful or have too many resources.” He let himself out.
She shut the door behind him, her nerves on edge. He didn’t believe her. She felt it in her bones. What if Octavian had done it? Would he kill her too? What did she really know about him, other than he had information she desperately wanted.
She couldn’t take things slowly anymore, trying to piecemeal the information out of him. Steeling herself, she opened the door. “Octavian, will you come in here please? We need to talk.”
The Claustrum erupted in a deafening roar. Fi ripped the cell door open, then went back to ghost form as soon as Chrysabelle got out of the raptor’s cell.
“Out. Now,” Chrysabelle mouthed, motioning for her to follow. Fi nodded and Chrysabelle took off running. She kept her feet to the path and her eyes straight ahead, only looking back to make sure Fi was still there.
As soon as they hit the ramp, she slowed to yell behind her, “Stay with me.”
“I am,” Fi yelled back. “Twelve floors. Let’s go.”
Chrysabelle nodded and took off again. Her heart pounded in her chest and by the seventh floor, her lungs burned with the effort of breathing the thick, hot air. Still she ran, counting the floors as they ascended. Finally, at twelve, she stopped and bent over, trying to catch her breath. This time, it wasn’t just the wretched air. Something else about this place was wearing her out. Fi said something but she held her hand to her ear to show she hadn’t heard over the wailing and crying and shouting.
“I said, what are you doing?” Fi pointed to the floor marker. “That’s eleven.”
“No.” Chrysabelle shook her head, trying to enunciate. “This is twelve. I counted.”
“So did I and this is eleven.”
Chrysabelle checked the time. They’d been on the fae plane for fifty-three minutes. “Are you sure?” The margin for mistakes was zero.
Fi nodded, already floating farther up the path. “Yes, come on.”
Chrysabelle went after her. When they hit the next floor, she knew Fi was right. The exit tunnel lay before them. Chrysabelle tried to keep up her speed, but it was like her feet were mired in quicksand. At least the noise had faded a little.
“How do you feel?” she asked Fi.
“Happy we’re leaving. You?”
“Like I’m running out of juice.”
“I noticed.” Fi went ahead of her. “Do you want me to go get Augustine to help you? I could stay outside and open the gate when you get there.”
“No… I’ll… make it.” But her breath came in gulps now.
Worry creased Fi’s face. “I don’t like this.”
“We’re… almost… there.” Gray light filtered through the tunnel’s darkness.
“Come on, Chrysabelle, you can do it. Think of Mal. He’ll be waiting for you. And he doesn’t even know about the baby yet. Think about how excited he’ll be.” Fi kept talking, encouraging her.
The gate lay ahead. On the other side, Augustine watched them. “Sixty-two minutes,” he announced, shaking his head. “Hurry up.”
“I’m trying,” Chrysabelle answered. She stumbled and fell to her hands and knees. Every command she sent to her brain to get up was ignored. It wasn’t happening, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t going to keep moving. Motivated by the thought of her unborn child and reuniting with Mal, she crawled toward the gate.
“Sixty-eight,” Augu
stine counted off.
“That’s… not… helping.” Lifting her head took too much effort, so she let it hang. She had to be close. The gate creaked open. That was a good sign, wasn’t it? Maybe she should lie down for a second…
Strong hands closed around her arms and pulled her through. Augustine cradled her like a baby and carried her back to the field. “I told you no more than an hour.”
She nodded, wondering how he could carry her when she knew she must weigh a thousand pounds. He set her on her feet, but she collapsed backward. The sky was so gray here. Like a storm was always on the horizon. Fi moaned.
“It’s okay,” he assured her. He reached into his jacket and pulled out a small round mirror, then tossed it on the ground.
“We’re never going to fit through that,” she whispered as he picked her up again.
“Fi, get corporeal and hold onto me.”
Fi must have, because Chrysabelle blinked and they were back in the hotel suite.
“What happened?” Jerem asked. “Why are you carrying her? Is she hurt?”
“She’s fine.” Augustine deposited her onto the sofa. “We were there too long.”
Jerem kneeled beside her. “She doesn’t look fine.”
“It’ll wear off.” He headed for the door. “There’s no way the elektos doesn’t know what happened so I need to get scarce. None of you hang here any longer than you need to, either.” He glanced at Chrysabelle. “Nice to see you again. Next time you need access to the Claustrum? It’s on Mortalis.”
With that, he was gone.
Mal opened his eyes. And realized he was lying on the foyer floor in Chrysabelle’s house. He sat up. A mostly familiar group surrounded him, except that there were an unusual number of weapons pointed at him.
He held his hands up. “I surrender.”
Mortalis narrowed his eyes. “How do you feel?”
His hands went to his head. “Like hell.”
“How do you feel about Chrysabelle?” the fae asked.
Last Blood hoc-5 Page 17