Last Blood hoc-5

by Kristen Painter

  Chrysabelle let go of Mariela as the little girl tucked Gigi under one arm and took hold of both of Preacher’s hands. “You can thank the ancients for her growth spurt. As for the vampire half of her, it’s a bit of a story, but it’s gone for good.”

  He looked up. “How is that possible?”

  “It has to do with the Tree of Life and the—”

  “The Tree of Life? The Tree of Life?” He scooped Mariela into his arms, kissed her face, and stood. “In the Garden of Eden?”

  “That’s the one. She ate fruit from the Tree and it killed off her vampire side, making her completely human again.”

  A single tear tracked down his face. He pressed his mouth to Mariela’s cheek in a long kiss. “Thank you. Thank you for saving her.” He hugged his daughter tightly, causing her to squeal. “Parenting a human child is not going to be easy for me, I know, but I will do the best I can.”

  “Do you wish that you could be human again too?”

  He nodded, obviously too choked with emotion to speak.

  Chrysabelle reached into her pocket and pulled out the gleaming black apple Michael had allowed her to leave with. “It just so happens, I can help you with that.”

  He stared at the fruit. “What is that?”

  “Apple!” Mariela shouted. She reached for it.

  Chrysabelle pulled her hand back. “No, no, little one. You’ve had yours.” She nodded at Preacher. “She’s right. It’s an apple from the Tree of Life.”

  He shook his head. “How did you get that?”

  “It was a gift from my… from the Archangel Michael. For this exact purpose.”

  He glanced at the fruit with new appreciation, holding out his free hand.

  She drew the fruit back slightly. “First, I have to know something. When you turned yourself into a vampire through that accidental blood transfusion, did you die before you were transformed? The way it usually happens?”

  “No. I was conscious the whole time.”

  “Then, from what I understand of how the Tree works, eating this should kill off your vampire side and restore you to your full humanity, just like it did with Lilith. I mean, Mariela. But eating this also means you’ll age, lose your extra strength and speed. All your vampire abilities will be gone.”

  “But I’ll be human?”

  “Yes.”

  He stared at the apple. “You’re sure about this? That it won’t kill me?”

  “Not a hundred percent, no.” She shrugged. “I’m sorry, I can’t promise you better than that. I just thought you’d want the chance. If not…”

  He grabbed the apple. “I do.” A muscle in his jaw tightened. “If this doesn’t go good, what happens to Mariela?”

  “I can… take her to the mayor. Let her grandmother raise her.”

  “The woman who lied to me about Mariela being dead? No. You raise her. Promise me.”

  Chrysabelle hesitated. That had not been part of any scenario she’d run. She was about to have a child of her own. Raising two couldn’t be that much harder, could it? “I promise. But it won’t come to that.”

  He set Mariela down, but hung onto her hand, giving it a squeeze. “Give me a minute, sweetheart.” He took the apple. One last look at Chrysabelle, as if seeking assurance, then he bit into the fruit.

  Juice ran from the corner of his mouth and the scent of spice and honey mingled with the waxy essence given off by the bank of votives near the altar. He took another bite and a shudder racked his body. He dropped to the ground, groaning.

  Shouts erupted beyond the doors—Mal’s voice and a female one she couldn’t quite place at first until she heard the word “granddaughter.” A second later, a loud pop rang out followed by a guttural roar that sounded very much like Mal.

  She had taken one step toward the exit, ready to fly to his side, when the church door flew off its rusted hinges. Wood splintered like confetti. Lola stood at the threshold, trembling, a gun in her hand. Chrysabelle imagined the shaking must be the pain of being so near sacred ground. Or nerves. Then she looked past Lola. Jerem stood behind Mal, who was on the ground. An armed group of fringe guards surrounded them. Jerem’s eyes glowed with varcolai rage and Mal’s eyes were bright silver. Suddenly she realized blood dripped from Mal’s thigh.

  Rage narrowed Chrysabelle’s vision. “You shot him? You stupid—”

  “Next bullet goes through his heart.” Lola pointed at Mariela. “Unless you bring the child to me.”

  Chrysabelle didn’t need to see Mal shaking his head no in order to make her next move. She hoisted Mariela under one arm, hooked her hand through Preacher’s belt, and dragged them deeper into the sanctuary. “This child belongs with her father. And I can pretty much guarantee you’ll be dead before there’ll be a next bullet.”

  Preacher wasn’t moving and Mariela began to cry.

  “That is my granddaughter. She belongs with me.” Lola stepped a foot inside the church. The hand holding the gun shook so badly she almost dropped it, but she somehow put another foot forward. “And I intend to bring her home.”

  Memories flashed in Lola’s brain at the sight of the child in Chrysabelle’s arms, memories of another little girl. Julia. And seeing this child now, there was no question she was Mariela. She was Julia’s twin at that age.

  Her dead heart ached to possess her grandchild. To show everyone she was right, that she was the one best suited to raise her. So much so that the nerve-crunching pain razoring through her body couldn’t keep her out of the church. She pushed forward. The moment she crossed the threshold, her body went up in white-hot waves of agony. She hesitated, knowing she should turn back, knowing death lay in her path, but unable to stop moving. Something inside her had clicked on, pushing her forward. Tiny teeth gnawed on the soles of her feet with every step, but still she went deeper in.

  She clenched the gun in her hand harder, trying to stop the shaking. “Give her to me,” she commanded. “I’m her grandmother.”

  “And Preacher is her father. That bond comes first,” Chrysabelle said. “You want to see Mariela, you work it out with him.”

  She raised the gun at the comarré. “I sacrificed so much for her.”

  Chrysabelle shook her head, her expression full of disgust. “You told Preacher she was dead.”

  “Only because I know what’s best for her.” Unable to hold on any longer, the gun fell out of her hand. And Preacher, who Lola had assumed dead by the way he lay crumpled on the floor, started to stir. His movement spurred her on. Her tortured steps grew ragged and off balance. He would fight her. Blame her. Accuse her of lying. He didn’t understand that she was the only one who could properly raise Mariela. She reached her hands out even as shots of lightning-fast pain danced through her muscles, making her twitch. The ability to care about her own life had vanished. “Give her to me. I have to have her. I did all this for her.” Tears streamed down her face. “For her.”

  “You became a vampire for your own reasons.” Chrysabelle shook her head, fear reflected in her eyes. “Get out of here. Save yourself.”

  But Lola knew that was impossible.

  Preacher pulled himself up using one of the pews. He stared at her with a horrified look. “You foolish woman. You’re killing yourself.”

  “Just like you killed my Julia?” Red edged her vision and the tang of smoke filled her nostrils. She stumbled to her hands and knees. Pain shot through the contact points and she clenched her jaw to keep from crying out, but a jagged sob left her anyway. A cry for her own life. For the life of her granddaughter. For everything she was about to lose and powerless to stop. If only she could get Mariela.

  Preacher picked Mariela up and turned her face away. “You know I didn’t kill Julia.”

  Julia. Where was Julia? Pain fogged her memory. She reached out again. The hand in front of her looked… odd. The cuticles were black, the rest of the hand shriveled and gray. She stared at it, trying to understand whom that hand belonged to. Her? That was her hand? The drive to keep movin
g forward burned in her brain.

  The skin burst into flame. A second later the pain exploded through her body. She tried to get to her feet, but her nerves were a melted mess of stinging nettles. “Mariela,” she whispered as her throat filled with smoke and her vision went dim.

  Then an incredible lightness filled her. And she turned to ash.

  Chapter Forty-nine

  Son of a priest.” Mal shuddered at what he’d just seen. He was a few yards from the front door and the church’s proximity caused his body to ache more than the silver bullet Lola had put through his leg. He couldn’t imagine the pain of dying the way she just had. One of the fringe guards retched and the rest stood staring, their job of guarding him and Jerem forgotten. He pushed to his feet and not a single one of them did a thing.

  Chrysabelle looked up from the ashes that marked where the mayor had been incinerated, tears streaking her cheeks. She swallowed, her body racked as a sob overtook her. Then her eyes met his. She skirted the mayor’s remains as she walked stiffly into Mal’s arms.

  He held her while she wept soundlessly, held her until the last sobs left her. Finally she lifted her head. “How could she…”

  “Greed. A false sense of reality. Who knows?”

  “She said she did it all for Mariela—that’s Lilith’s real name—but I don’t know if I believe her. She seemed as power-driven as Tatiana at times. That poor little girl. At least she won’t be used as a pawn anymore.”

  “Mariela’s safe now.” Mal wiped a tear off her cheek. “How’s Preacher?”

  “Human. The apple worked.” Chrysabelle swallowed and smiled weakly. “How are you? She shot you?”

  “It hurts like hell, but it went straight through. I’ll have a scar, because the bullet was silver, but I’m already healing.”

  “Good.” She turned a little and looked back at the church. “Preacher will have to move. He can’t raise a child in an abandoned building.”

  Mal nodded. “The mayor never mentioned any other family, so I’m pretty sure Mariela is her only heir. With the inheritance due her, Preacher will have everything he needs to take care of her just fine.”

  “I hadn’t thought about that.” She took a deep breath and raised her face to his. “We should go home. We have guests coming.”

  He smiled. “I’m not sure I like this plan to domesticate me.”

  She planted her hands on her hips, pulling her sweater tight across her expanding belly. “Too bad, because as you may have noticed, there’s no turning back.”

  He grabbed her hand and turned toward Jerem and the car. “Home. Before she starts making up a chore list.” He helped her into the car.

  “Hey,” she said. “That’s actually not a bad idea…”

  Tatiana lost track of how many times she’d walked the perimeter of the Garden. In fact, she wasn’t sure she had walked the whole thing. The landscape seemed almost to change before her eyes, blooms appearing where there’d been none before, plants increasing in size, streams narrowing or widening. The place was maddening in its beauty. Frustratingly dense and colorful. For someone who’d lived so many of her years in the subtle gray world of night, this unnatural brilliance without the benefit of sunlight wrought havoc in her brain.

  And the idea that there was no way out? Impossible.

  Her building frustration needed venting. She tipped her head back and screamed for Samael, even knowing while she did that there was no way he could come to her. Not here. Not to the place of the original sin. He was banned from this place, just as she was chained to it.

  She grabbed a tree branch and ripped it free, tossing it as far as her rage could manage. Instantly, another grew in its spot. “I hate this place!” She shook her fists to the sky.

  An eternity here would drive her insane. She fell to her knees. Hot, angry tears seared her skin. An eternity here would drive her to her death.

  Maybe that was the point. Maybe this was how she would die. Killed by the inescapable splendor of the most beautiful place on earth.

  A hawk sailed overhead. If only she was that free. Her tears stopped. She pushed to her feet and got her bearings. The gates were behind her. She ran to the right as fast as she could, finally encountering the wall of trees she sought.

  Here, at the edge of the Garden, multiple rows of trunks merged into what seemed to be one giant hedge. She found a low branch and pulled herself up, picking her way through the dense lattice of branches. Higher and higher she climbed, squeezing through narrow slivers of space until she felt satisfied she’d gone high enough. She inched forward on one thick branch. So far, so good. A tiny spring of hope welled up. Could she escape this way?

  Her hand coasted along the branch as she got ready to move farther along, when something sharp and searing bit into her fingers. She yanked her hand back. The ends of her fingers were gone, tiny bits of ash stuck to her skin.

  A new wave of pain struck as the flesh began to grow back. She crumpled against the branches, hugging her hand to her body as a pit of desperation opened in her chest.

  There was no way out.

  Not unless she intended to die.

  Within half an hour of Mal and Chrysabelle returning to Mephisto Island, Doc and Fi arrived. Chrysabelle sent them into the living room with Mal since Dominic and Mortalis were already in there. Hopefully, they were adult enough to keep the peace between themselves, although Dominic seemed to have softened toward Doc since he’d become pride leader and lifted the ban on pride members patronizing or working at Seven.

  As soon as Damian came back from checking on Amylia in the guesthouse, she and Mal could make their announcement official.

  A knock at the door called her out of the kitchen, where she was helping Velimai get drinks. Velimai looked up, questioning.

  “I’ll get it. I don’t know why Damian didn’t just come in.” She wiped her hands on a towel and went to answer the door. But the security camera showed a different face than the one she’d been expecting.

  She opened the door and slipped outside so whatever conversation was about to take place wouldn’t disturb her guests. “What do you want?”

  Creek held up his hands. “Nothing bad, I promise. I just wanted to tell you I’m not Kubai Mata anymore.”

  “You’re not?” He did seem different. Perhaps a little worn around the edges, like he’d had a few hard days and nights. And yet, there was a lightness about him she couldn’t recall seeing before. “How did that happen?”

  He laughed a little, staring at the ground. “My grandmother. And Dominic.” He shook his head. “Doesn’t matter. What matters is I’m free of the KM and I thought you should know.”

  “I’m happy for you.” She smiled. “Happy that we can be friends again. What are you going to do for work?”

  He tipped his head back toward Dominic’s sedan. “My new employer’s already here.” His smile faded. “Look, I didn’t mean to interrupt. You obviously have something going on and I wasn’t invited, so let me get out of your—”

  “Creek. Hey, how are you?” Damian grinned as he walked toward them from the guesthouse. “I didn’t know you were coming.”

  Creek shook his head. “I’m not. Just leaving.”

  “Stay,” Chrysabelle said. “There’s no reason for you not to now.”

  He glanced up. “You sure?”

  “Yes. Come in.” She led the way and when he and Damian were seated, Mal came to join her at the front of the room. She let him speak first.

  Mal slipped his arm around her waist before he began. “As you know, the bond between Chrysabelle and myself has grown significantly over these last few months.”

  “We noticed,” Fi said. “Mainly because you stopped trying to kill each other.”

  Mal laughed along with everyone else. “No promises there, especially since we’re about to enter a new…” He looked at Chrysabelle. “Stage? Phase? I told you I’m no good at this.”

  She took his hand. “What Mal’s trying to say is that we’ve decided to
get married.”

  The reactions ranged from Fi whooping to Doc pumping a fist in the air to Creek’s open-mouthed shock.

  Dominic nodded, clapping enthusiastically. “Molto bene. When do you propose to make this official?”

  “Soon,” Mal said.

  Chrysabelle nodded, her hand going to her belly. “Because I’m pregnant.”

  The room went instantly quiet. Until Fi leaned back and announced, “I already knew.”

  “So did I.” Creek shook his head. “So does the KM, but I swear I had nothing to do with it. They told me.”

  Mal looked at Chrysabelle. “You were right about Kosmina.”

  She looked back at Creek. “Do you think the KM will leave us alone? Leave our child alone?”

  He took a breath. “I don’t know, but your child isn’t going to be a threat to them. And”—he looked around the room—“you have a lot of powerful friends.” Then he tipped his head slightly. “What about protecting this baby from Tatiana? If you have a plan to get rid of her and you need help, I’m in.”

  “Thank you, but Tatiana has been taken care of,” Chrysabelle answered. “She’s been imprisoned in the Garden of Eden by her own hand. Any attempt to leave, any breach of the Garden’s boundaries and she’ll die. She’s no longer a threat to any of us.”

  Creek exhaled. “Good. I’m… happy for you.” He looked at Mal. “For both of you. You deserve it after what you’ve been through.”

  “Thank you.” Mal looked around the room. “To all of you. We wouldn’t be here without you. We’ve shared losses together. Fought battles together. It’s only fitting we should also share this joy.” He laughed. “I’m still not used to that word applying to my life.”

  “Joy is a good word, bro,” Doc said. “And it’s about time you got some.”

  Chrysabelle smiled and hooked two fingers in the front pocket of Mal’s jeans as she continued to talk. “You’ve all become our family.” Her other hand cradled her belly. “We already know this won’t be an ordinary child. We’re going to need your help. We hope you’ll still be there for us.” At the sight of the solemn expressions staring back at her, she laughed. “What I’m really saying is getting babysitters for a half-vampire, half-comarré child isn’t going to be easy.”