Out for Blood hoc-4

by Kristen Painter

  Mal raised his brows. “You weren’t in mourning for me, were you?”

  “Mamma Mia, you are alive!” Dominic raised his hands, palms together like he was praying. “Now I am only in mourning for my city, my business, and my way of life. This pazzo mayor, she is destroying us all!” He went to Chrysabelle first, kissing her on each cheek. “I came to see you in your time of sorrow, but I am happy to know that time is past, bella. I was worried for you.”

  Next, he grasped Mal’s hand. “I do not know how you survived, but I am very glad you did.” He smiled. “Perhaps you have secrets you have not yet shared?”

  “Not a secret. Just smoke,” Mal explained. “When I scatter, I turn to smoke. I hadn’t done it in so long, I didn’t think I still could, but drinking from the vein restored my full powers and here I am.”

  “Very impressive.” Dominic nodded. “And rare. There was a member of the House of St. Germain who had this power. I never saw him do it, but that was the rumor.” He gestured to the living room. “May I sit? I have much to discuss with you.”

  Velimai stood at the edge of the room, eyeing Dominic like her head was full of murderous thoughts. Mal remembered when she used to look at him that way. She will again. Whatever the history was there, it wasn’t good.

  “Yes, please,” Chrysabelle said. “We have much to discuss with you, too. Velimai, would you fix me something to eat? I just realized I haven’t eaten all day. I’m starving.”

  The wysper nodded and headed to the kitchen with one last glare at Dominic.

  Mortalis stayed by the door. “I’ll stand guard outside. Call if you need me.”

  “Thank you.” Chrysabelle came back to Mal’s side and together they followed Dominic and sat down. She stayed close enough to Mal that when they took their places on the couch, the heat of her thigh permeated the fabric of his jeans. The voices whined, but he shut them out. He wasn’t about to push her away.

  Dominic gestured to her. “It is your house. You should go first.”

  Chrysabelle explained everything that had happened, the information that Creek had given her about Damian, the proof he was her brother, the danger he was in, and the KM’s insistence she bring the vampire child back.

  Dominic nodded throughout, speaking only when she was finished. “In truth, I’d hoped I might distract you from your grief by convincing you to accompany me on the very same trip.” He lifted his hands. “The mayor refuses to remove the curfew that is ruining my business unless I bring her grandchild to her.” He stood and walked to the rear wall of windows. “How am I supposed to take on the vampire nobility alone? Or worse, the ancients? But she doesn’t understand what she asks.” He turned suddenly. “Do you know she asked me to sire her? Can you imagine?”

  Mal snorted. “She asked me, too.”

  “What?” Chrysabelle started. “That night she came to the freighter?” She shook her head. “That woman is mad.”

  Dominic laughed, a hard, bitter sound. “Mad is right. You should have seen her when I refused. I confess I let my temper get the best of me. I fear bringing the child back may be my only salvation.”

  “So how do we do this? According to what Creek’s told me, both Damian and the child will be at the ball, but even with an invitation, they won’t let any of us in.”

  Dominic tapped a finger against his chin. “There might be a way.” He made fast eye contact with Chrysabelle before his gaze dropped to a picture of Maris on a side table. “When your mother and I… left the noble life, I created a formula that temporarily changed our appearances. I was still vampire and she was still comarré—I cannot change the core of who someone is—but to the eyes of the nobility, we became someone else, no longer detectable as Dominic and Marissa. I will disguise all of us this way, including my second.”

  Mal nodded. “Excellent.”

  “This must be done in achtice. I will need nobles to model the images after, blood from them and both of you.” His mouth thinned with uncertainty. “You trust me? Blood is not to be freely given, as you well know.”

  Chrysabelle put her hand on Mal’s knee. Did she think he’d balk? He placed his hand on top of hers. “We’re fine with whatever you need.”

  “Bene. I will have everything with me and begin work on it as soon as we arrive.” He hesitated. “You should know, I will be taking Katsumi as my second.”

  Mal growled deep in his throat. Dominic held a hand up. “I know you don’t like her, but she’s an excellent fighter and since the navitas, exceptionally loyal.”

  “And your nephew isn’t?” Mal asked.

  Dominic splayed his hands, lifting his palms up. “I need Luciano at the club.”

  Mal snorted. “So Katsumi is exceptionally loyal, but not so much that you trust her to run the club alone. Luciano is caedo. He’s a trained killer. He’s exactly who we need on this mission.”

  Silver edged Dominic’s irises. “Luciano is here because he couldn’t complete his last job. He froze. Almost got killed himself. I trust him with my business, but I do not know if I trust him with my life.”

  Mal lifted his brows. “If that’s the case, I don’t want him at my back or Chrysabelle’s either.”

  Dominic calmed as Velimai came in with a tray of small sandwiches and set it on the coffee table in front of Chrysabelle, then took a nearby chair.

  “Grazie. You’ll also need clothes for the ball. My formula will change only your facial appearance, not your clothing.” He extended his hand toward Mal. “If you need, I’m sure my tailor can construct something appropriate for you, but, Chrysabelle, a dress… I do not know. A dress fit for a Dominus ball is not something that can be made in a day.”

  Velimai tapped her fingernails on the table to get everyone’s attention. As soon as Chrysabelle looked her way, she began to sign. For a few minutes, she and Chrysabelle went back and forth, hands moving like pale birds.

  At last, Chrysabelle smiled and spoke. “Velimai says my mother’s collection of gowns is extensive and that Nyssa is a wonderful seamstress. She can alter whatever I need.” She looked more confident than when the conversation began.

  Dominic knit his fingers together. “Katsumi and I will leave immediately for achtice. It will allow me time to procure everything I need for the disguises and an opportunity to assess the situation. Whatever hangar we are assigned will become our headquarters. You’ll just have to look for us when you arrive.”

  “Then it’s settled,” Mal said. “We leave tomorrow night.” Once again, he would come face-to-face with the woman who’d been his human wife. The woman who had betrayed him.

  Except this time would be the last.

  Lola frowned. Chief Vernadetto hadn’t touched the good Cuban coffee Hilda had brought in. His visit was a little unusual at this late hour, but nothing she couldn’t handle considering everything else going on in the city.

  “Are you sure you won’t reconsider, Madam Mayor?”

  “No.” She tapped her spoon before setting it on the saucer. “Crime is down, isn’t it? There have been no other incidents of mischief since the varcolai broke curfew the first night.” She sipped her coffee, the thick black liquid renewing her spirits. “The curfew is working. In fact, other cities have started curfews of their own. It stays in place.”

  Vernadetto sighed. “The citizens are not happy.”

  “You mean the othernaturals? This curfew wasn’t set up to punish the othernaturals; it was set up to protect the humans. I know neither side is completely happy, but right now it’s the best solution to a difficult—”

  “Ma’am, I don’t think you understand. The police force alone has lost at least fifty good officers over this.”

  She hesitated. “What do you mean lost?”

  “They’ve quit. The local varcolai groups are urging their members who work for government agencies to resign. The hospital can barely maintain its night staff. One entire ambulance shift has been cut.” A muscle in his jaw twitched. “Our emergency services are dwindling fast. The c
ity needs these people.”

  That explained why Luke and John had left. She smiled anyway. “If crime is down, we won’t need as many emergency services, correct?”

  He stood, smoldering like a day old ember. At last, he spoke. “I’m sorry about your daughter. I’m sorry about your grandchild. But you know what?” He stuck his finger into the air. “You keep this up and you’ll never get reelected.” He stabbed his finger against her desktop. “Never.”

  “Good night, Chief Vernadetto.” She lifted her cup in his direction. “Thank you for coming by.”

  With a huff, he left, muttering under his breath. Let him go. Let him be mad. He is the one who is wrong. He is the one who doesn’t understand how difficult my job is. She waited a few minutes to make sure he was gone; then she got up, walked through the house and out the front door.

  The new nighttime security officer greeted her. “Anything I can do for you, ma’am?”

  “No, just wanted to make sure the police chief left without incident.” Actually, she wanted another look at him, one of the four new guards she’d hired. He was fringe vampire, but he seemed… normal enough. Satisfied, she said good night and went back in, but the sense of security she’d had with Luke and John just wasn’t there. It would just take some time to get to know the new people, that was all.

  She double-checked the locks on the French doors in her bedroom before getting into bed. She lay there, trying to sleep, wondering what was happening with her grandchild, wondering if some other creature would try to get into her room that night, hoping she’d live to see another day and crossing herself against the possibility that she’d never find a vampire willing to give her the power she needed.

  Vernadetto was a fool if he thought the curfew wasn’t necessary. She sat up in bed. Once again, Vernadetto had stuck his nose into the othernatural problem. She grabbed her cell phone and tapped the last number she’d entered into her speed dial.

  It rang twice before the familiar male voice answered. “Hello?”

  “Thomas Creek?”

  “Yes, Madam Mayor, that’s the number you dialed.”

  “I need you to investigate someone for me.”

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  What the hell? Are you sure?” When Doc had arrived at pride headquarters, he’d come straight to his office and called a council meeting to see if there was any way he’d missed a loophole in his mandated marriage.

  Omur, the cheetah-shifter, nodded. “Positive. Your girlfriend was in the club and at least twenty people witnessed the incident. Heaven issued the challenge. There’s no getting out of it unless your girlfriend decides not to show.”

  Doc slammed his fist onto his desk. “She can’t do this. She’ll get killed.”

  “As the pride leader’s mate, Heaven can do whatever she likes,” Barasa said, his eyes flickering with tiger amber. “And I doubt your girlfriend will even put a scratch on her. Human-versus-varcolai battles rarely go in favor of the human.”

  He stared Barasa down, trying to remember this man was on his side. “First of all, my girl’s name is Fiona. Use it. Second, I was talking about Fi to begin with. And third, I’m well aware of the odds.” He smacked the desk one more time before walking around the side of it. “Dammit.” What the hell was Fi thinking? Unfortunately, he knew. Once again, she thought she could fix things on her own.

  “I’m sorry, Maddoc. I meant no disrespect,” Barasa said.

  Doc went back to his desk and collapsed into his seat. “Fine. Give me the details. I want to know the entire conversation.”

  “Neither of us was there, but we have good secondhand knowledge of what went down,” Omur began. “Basically, Fiona appeared out of nowhere, starting yelling Heaven’s name until she appeared, then antagonized Heaven into challenging her. The one upside is that Heaven declared the match would be to death or surrender, so Fiona doesn’t necessarily have to die.”

  Doc closed his eyes. Things had gone from bad to worse to catastrophic. “Fiona can’t die. Do you understand? I forbid it.”

  “Did you have a chance to explain about the divorce allowance to her?” Omur asked.

  Doc flicked his gaze to Omur. “Why do you think this whole thing happened? She’s not exactly thrilled about me impregnating Heaven in order to divorce her.”

  Omur nodded. “I can imagine. What do you think Fiona’s chances are?”

  “I don’t know. Not good. She might be a ghost but before she died, she was a grad student. Not exactly a match for a jaguar-shifter who’s probably been trained for this kind of combat since birth.” Doc dropped his head back and stared at the ceiling. What a freaking mess this had turned into. There had to be a way to get Fi out of this.

  Barasa broke the silence in the office. “There is a way to give her a better chance.”

  Doc picked his head up. “What’s that?”

  Barasa glanced at Omur before answering. “We could train her.”

  Creek didn’t like being the mayor’s personal investigation service, but he liked even less that Yahla had been out to see Mawmaw. He checked the time again. Mawmaw should be well home by now and have had a chance to ward her home against Yahla’s return. Warding the whole house meant destroying the feather charm in the process and leaving Mawmaw unprotected, but as long as she stayed inside, she should be fine.

  So should he, if everything went according to the plan he and Mawmaw had laid out. He grabbed the feather charm and yanked it off his neck, letting it dangle from his fingers.

  His grandmother didn’t know much about the Kubai Mata, except what he’d recently told her, but she knew more about the soulless woman than anyone else, except maybe the dead witch Aliza, who had managed to imprison Yahla in her home’s structure and tap into Yahla’s power to strengthen her own.

  He cupped the charm, the feathers cool and silky. He stroked them. Maybe Yahla wasn’t so bad. Maybe he was overreacting. Maybe… He dropped the feathers onto the kitchen worktable and those thoughts drifted away.

  Hell. The soulless woman had bewitched him. His blackouts had all come after contact with her. She’d more than bewitched him. She’d used him. He got enough of that from the KM, but at least with them, he got to keep his wits about him.

  The talisman taunted him with the blue-black shine of the feathers. The urge to touch the feathers again, to tie it back around his neck, crept over his skin like ants. From here on out, he’d have to rely on the power of the KM to keep him safe. It had kept him alive when attacked by one of the Castus; it should do fine faced with a woman who was more myth and legend than substance and skin.

  “Yahla.” He spoke her name without emotion, calling her without tipping her to his anger. She didn’t immediately show, so he called again, more sweetly this time. “Yahla?”

  “Hello.”

  She was above him, perched on the loft railing. She pushed off and dropped gracefully beside him, the feathers of her hair sailing out around her. “You’ve missed me.”

  “I have.” He took a step back as she approached. Couldn’t let her touch him. Not yet. “Where have you been?”

  She cocked her head abruptly to one side, eyes gleaming and bright. “You are not the only one who needs me.”

  “Should I be jealous?” He came toward her suddenly, testing her.

  She startled, flitting backward with a soft cry. “Jealous? Why?”

  “I know how you are with me. What you want from me.” He narrowed his eyes. “Have you been giving your feathers to other men?”

  “No.” Some of the light in her eyes died. “I have not been with other men.”

  He eased up, walking away from her and into the kitchen. He grabbed a water from the fridge to give his hands something to do besides strangle her. “Then who have you been with?”

  She shivered, her feathers rippling around her body. “Why do you ask so many questions? We should go upstairs.”

  “I don’t want to go upstairs.” He twisted the cap off the bottle and tossed it onto the worktabl
e. It rolled to a stop beside the discarded charm.

  Her eyes followed. “Why are you not wearing the feathers I gave you? That your grandmother made?” Her gaze flicked from his bare neck to the charm and back. “Put it on.”

  “I don’t think so. Not until you give me some answers.” He took a long drink of water and leaned against the sink. “Where have you been?”

  She jerked her head from side to side. “I must go.”

  Mawmaw had said she’d try to run. And just like she’d told him, he was prepared. He reached next to the sink where he’d set a small dish of salt, scooped up a handful, and tossed it at her. “Not until I’m done with you.”

  She shrieked as the salt touched her, throwing her arms up to shield her face. It bounced off her and scattered, settling into a perfect circle around her. Mawmaw knew her stuff. Yahla quivered with tension. “Release me.”

  “Answer me first. Where have you been?”

  “I went to see your grandmother.”

  At last, the truth. He slammed the water onto the counter and strode toward her. “Go near her again and I’ll kill you.”

  Yahla’s eyes went solid, seamless black. “You cannot kill me. I always come back. There is no death for the woman with no soul.”

  “How many times have you possessed me?”

  “Twice.” Her gaze flickered to the charm.

  That matched the number of blackouts. “What did you make me do?”

  Her mouth took on an ugly shape. “Made you persuade the mayor to set the curfew. Made you side against the vampire and his whore. All necessary. All to set you free—”

  “Shut up.” He grabbed the leather cord off the table and dangled the charm in front of her. “Why do you want me to wear this so badly?”

  “P-protects you,” she stuttered.

  He reached back and scooped up another handful of salt. “I’ll ask you one more time. What does this do?”

  She cowered as far back as she could within the confines of the circle. “Opens you up to me and keeps you safe. Otherwise you would die when I left you.”