Out for Blood hoc-4

by Kristen Painter

  As she positioned herself to strike, black smoke boiled in from the foyer, gagging them with the stench of brimstone. Choking, Chrysabelle tried to reach Lilith, but before she could, the smoke parted.

  The Castus stepped out and roared his displeasure loud enough that the entire estate must have heard it. “Why have you called me? Why is my child crying?”

  “Samael,” Tatiana cried. “Help us!” She pointed at Chrysabelle. “Kill her!”

  Instead, the Castus ignored Tatiana and picked Lilith up. The baby stopped wailing instantly. He turned to look down at Tatiana. “We gave her to you to protect.”

  “I am, I—”

  “You are not.” Samael moved forward, the skirts of shadow covering his lower half undulating like a storm cloud, faces and reaching hands moving through the murky depths.

  Mal took his foot off Tatiana and backed up. He knew when he wasn’t the biggest dog in the fight. At his side, Octavian sat on the floor, holding his bleeding arm and looking like he might pass out. Vamplings didn’t have quite the same healing power as older vampires.

  “This,” the Castus hissed, “is over.” With that, he disappeared the same way he’d come in, a billow of smoke and stench, Lilith seated in his embrace.

  Tatiana threw her head back and howled, a gut-twisting keening that brought the voices to life. Then she launched herself at Mal.

  “You’re going to die.” She slashed at him, her metal hand now a shorter sword.

  He ducked the blow. “Run,” he told Chrysabelle, pushing her toward the door.

  She hesitated.

  “Go.” He grabbed Tatiana’s wrists. “I’ll be right behind you. I know the route.” There was no way he’d leave her alone for long, not surrounded by a host of vampires and bleeding the way she was. Some nobles wouldn’t care that she belonged to someone else.

  Fear shadowed her eyes, but she nodded, glancing at Tatiana. “Hurry,” she mouthed, then took off.

  Tatiana kicked him as fringe security came barreling in a few seconds later. “What’s going on in here?” one asked.

  “Go after her,” Tatiana screamed.

  Another guard leaped onto Mal’s back. He elbowed that one off him, then shoved Tatiana into a second one. They went down in a tangled heap on top of Octavian, who bared his teeth in pain like a wounded animal.

  The moment at hand, Mal took off after Chrysabelle, her blood scent painting an almost visual trail for him to follow. Hopefully he was the only vampire running after her. He at least had to be the first one to reach her.

  Accessing the mayor’s property hadn’t been easy, but it hadn’t been that hard either. Her new security team left holes. Holes Creek had slipped right through. Now he crouched in a thicket of multicolored crotons outside the mayor’s living room windows, his breathing and pulse silent in the way the Kubai Mata had taught him.

  Lola reclined on the sofa, her comar at her feet, looking for all the world like she’d become the queen of something. Fool woman. All she’d done was create new problems. For him, for the city, and for the KM. Whatever the noble who’d turned her had gotten in exchange, it wasn’t enough. Creek would make sure of that.

  A woman he didn’t recognize entered with John Havoc right behind her. Damn. He hadn’t expected to see the varcolai here. Creek shifted slightly to get a better view, careful not to make any noise that might catch the supersensitive abilities of those inside, and listened hard.

  John spoke first. “Valerie told me you plan to drop the curfew. You know I think—” His eyes shifted to the comar for a second, then back to her. The muscles in his jaw tensed but behind his ever-present shades, his eyes were unreadable. “Why is there a comar here?”

  Lola smiled. “Hector, this is my administrative assistant, Valerie, and my former bodyguard, John. John is a varcolai. A wolf.”

  Hector held out his gilded hand. “Nice to meet you.”

  John didn’t shake it. Valerie stayed slightly behind him, like she expected something to happen. Or John had told her to stay behind him because he expected something to happen. Creek pulled farther back into the bushes and held still while two guards strolled past so deep in conversation, Creek probably could have waved at them and they wouldn’t have noticed.

  When he looked up again, Hector had dropped his hand and was now pouting at his end of the couch.

  John took his sunglasses off and a flash of wolfen blue rippled through his eyes. “You’ve been turned.”

  Lola laughed from her spot on the couch. “You make it sound like a disease. Yes, I’ve been turned.”

  Valerie gasped. “That’s awful.”

  “No, it isn’t.” The mayor tilted her head. “It’s what’s best for the city. And it’s the only chance I have of recovering my grandchild.” She kicked her feet out and stood. “Hector, leave us.”

  The comar scurried off with a speed that announced his willingness to go.

  The mayor picked up a short glass off the coffee table and walked it over to the bar. “Drink?”

  “No,” John answered. As soon as the mayor’s back was to them, Valerie reached out and squeezed his hand, then quickly released it. John positioned himself more fully in front of her. “Why do you think this is good for the city?”

  The mayor filled her glass about halfway, then put the decanter back in its spot. She turned and leaned against the bar. “You know, alcohol doesn’t seem to affect me quite as much as it did when I was human.” She lifted the glass, downed the contents, then set the glass aside and walked back to them.

  “It’s good for the city because it means I now understand all of my citizens, the human and the othernatural. Without a strong leader, Paradise City could be torn apart in the coming days. Now I am that strong leader.” She lifted her hands. “How can that not be a good thing?”

  John palmed the back of his neck. “It can be. In many ways.”

  Lola’s mood shifted. “I have a grandchild to raise. One who is half vampire. How am I supposed to manage that without understanding her needs?”

  “You don’t even have custody of that child. Or know where she is. And what about her father? What about his part in this?”

  “Preacher lives in an abandoned church. He’s in no position to raise or care for a child. And what is he doing to get her back? Nothing that I’ve heard. I already have someone going after her.”

  “Who is this someone?”

  “Dominic.”

  John swore too softly for Creek to hear. “He’s the one who turned you, isn’t he? He’s doing this on purpose. Ever since Doc became pride leader, I knew it was just a matter of time. He’s building his forces up.” He pointed at the mayor. “This is exactly why it’s bad for the city. You’ll side with the vampires now, then the varcolai will feel threatened. It will lead to war.”

  Creek nodded as he lifted his phone to get a few pictures. The varcolai understood perfectly.

  Lola tipped her head back as if searching for an answer in the air. She sighed heavily before looking at John again. “For your information, Dominic didn’t turn me. And I don’t think the vampires will be all that happy to have me on their side after I did away with one of their own. Not that I’ll be taking sides anyway. I’m looking to be a better leader. I told you that.”

  John stared at her for a long, uneasy moment. “I thought I knew you once. I thought we were… friends.”

  “We were. We still could be. You were like family to me. You saved my life, John.”

  Disgust angled the corners of his mouth. He put his shades back on. “Whatever that was worth. You gave it away to a vampire.”

  Lola went toward him a step. He didn’t retreat, just put a hand out in front of Valerie. The move didn’t go unnoticed by the mayor. “You think I would hurt her? Valerie has been with me as long as I’ve been mayor. Since I was a councilwoman.” She tapped the space over her heart. “I’m the same person I’ve always been. Becoming a vampire hasn’t changed me.”

  “I bet Preacher would disagree
with you.” John snorted and looked away. “You have a lot to learn. Speaking of Preacher—”

  “John, I’m serious. I want things to be the way they were. I want you to come back to work protecting me. Luke too. The curfew will be dropped and we’ll work on keeping peace in this city. Just having you working for me again would go a long way toward showing that varcolai and vampires don’t have to be enemies.”

  “Do you mean it?” Valerie asked.

  “Yes.” A spasm of emotion caused her vampire features to move across her face. “I swear on my abuela’s grave I do.”

  A spider crawled across Creek’s hand, but he didn’t move. Neither did the trio inside. They just stared at one another.

  Finally, John spoke, nodding reluctantly. “Okay. But do one thing that goes against that promise and you will have the wrath of the varcolai upon you like a plague.”

  She held out her hand to him. This time he shook it. “Welcome back, John.”

  “Thanks.” But caution masked his face. “You really do need to talk to Preacher as soon as you can. He hears what’s going on, that he’s being left out of decisions concerning his daughter, and you’ll have a whole new set of problems to deal with.”

  “Understood. I will take care of that, I promise you.”

  “Good.” John looked unconvinced.

  Lola smiled at Valerie. “Let’s get that announcement drafted. The sooner this curfew is dropped, the sooner we can move forward.”

  John stepped out of Valerie’s way as she came out from behind him. “Why such a change of heart? After everything you did, this doesn’t make sense.”

  Lola sat on the couch, Valerie beside her. “I was led astray by a dark influence. A man whose only agenda is destruction. A man who is this city’s enemy.”

  Creek lifted his hand and watched the spider pick its way across his knuckles. He tipped his hand so the creature could find a leaf.

  “And that man is?” John asked.

  Lola’s hands fisted. “Thomas Creek.”

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Unfathomable sorrow scored Tatiana’s bones, immobilizing her with the sucking loss of her child. What had just happened? She staggered to her feet, blind to the disarray swirling around her. She stumbled toward the door after Moreau and his comarré. Blood scent mingled with the fading brimstone, bringing her anger up like acid.

  She would prove the Castus wrong. She would get Lilith back from them.

  Leaving the chaos behind, she caught sight of Moreau’s long black coat disappearing around a corner. She took off after him. A couple of drops of blood here and there confirmed that he was following his comarré.

  Good. She would kill them both.

  “Guards,” she yelled. “With me!”

  The sound of fringe obeying her was all she needed to push harder after Moreau. Her silk slippers had no traction. She kicked them off. Barefoot, she picked up speed, closing in.

  Downward into the belly of the estate they descended. He was always a hallway or stairwell ahead. She’d catch a door swinging shut, just missing him. Still, she ran, Lilith’s face melding with Sophia’s. She would not lose another child. She would kill Moreau and his blood whore and prove to the Castus that she was capable of protecting Lilith. They would give her back. They had to give her back.

  The slap of her bare soles against the hall’s marble floor echoed in her ears. The fringe guards had fallen behind, unable to keep up with her. So be it. She’d take on Moreau alone. He had no idea who he was up against.

  “Moreau,” she yelled ahead. “I’m going to flay you stem to stern.”

  Laughter bounced back, infuriating her. Charging her onward. How dare he spin his tale about going after the comarré when he’d been in league with his own blood whore to work harm against her. The House of Tepes would be better served by his ashes than his lies.

  The marble changed to concrete. They were in the servants’ section now. Lower yet and the lighting dimmed to the minimum used for storage areas.

  Voices ahead. A woman. The comarré by the blood scent that mingled with the damp and dirt.

  Tatiana slowed until her steps were soundless. The fringe came running up behind her. She put a hand out to quiet them and eased forward to get a look around the corner.

  Moreau and his comarré stood in front of a blank section of wall. Her sleeves were pulled back and her forearms were together like a shield before her face. Maybe she was praying, knowing they’d come to a dead end. Little good that would do her.

  Suddenly the wall split. A bloody secret passage.

  “Like hell you do,” Tatiana screamed as she leaped toward them. She swung her metal hand up and into a broadsword.

  “Blade,” Moreau shouted. The comarré handed him one; then he shoved her through the ever-widening opening. “Close the opening.”

  “Ma-Moreau,” the comarré stuttered, eyes flashing with fear. “Not without you.”

  But he turned away from her. “You.” He pointed the dagger at Tatiana. “We have business to finish.”

  “Yes, we do.” She swung, catching the edge of a stack of crates and slicing through the bottom of one. Wood splinters sprayed over her, distracting her for a second.

  He leaned back and kicked, connecting with her hip and slamming her to the ground.

  “Come with me,” the comarré begged, even as she lifted her arms.

  “Go,” Moreau commanded the comarré.

  Tatiana jumped up, but Moreau leaped onto her. He plunged the dagger toward her chest. She twisted as it came down, catching the blade in her shoulder. Pain erupted from the pierced flesh.

  The wall began to close. Tatiana shortened her broadsword into a weapon better suited for close combat.

  “Damn it,” he snarled. “That was meant for your heart.” He yanked the dagger free and jumped back as she swung. “Next time, you’ll be ash.”

  Blood gushed from the wound even as the edges knit together. She pushed upright to go after him. “I don’t think so.”

  He shook his head and a second later, a wisp of black smoke danced in the air where he’d been, then vanished through the wall just before the opening disappeared.

  Tatiana rammed her sword hand into it. The impact jarred her shoulder and reopened the wound. She turned the sword back into a fist. In all her years, she’d only seen one vampire turn to smoke. One lying, deceitful, comarré-loving vampire. Anger forced her fist into the wall again, dislodging chunks of plaster and stone.

  How was it possible? She’d seen his death with her own eyes. Howling in frustration, she fell to her knees. Rage seethed through her at the betrayal that had just been measured against her and at the way she’d been played for a fool. “Next time, husband, you will die for real. And your blood whore with you.”

  “Dead.” Rodrigo said the word like he didn’t understand it. He swallowed and dropped back into his chair. His jaw hitched forward, then back into place. “I see.”

  Doc sat down as well. Heat radiated through him enough that he wondered if he should sneak a pill. “That’s why I’ve been calling you. I didn’t want you to find out through other sources.”

  Still Rodrigo didn’t meet his eyes, instead staring blankly ahead. “It was a fair fight?”

  Dammit. That was not an easy question to answer. Then Barasa did it for him.

  “I’m the pride physician. I’d be happy to do a necropsy if you’d like.”

  “No.” Rodrigo shook his head. “Her mother wouldn’t want her cut open. I’m sorry I asked. I have no doubt it was fair.” He exhaled long and slow, looking suddenly tired and deflated.

  “You’ve come a long way,” Doc said. “I’ll have a room prepared for you.”

  “That’s not necessary. There are plenty of places to stay—”

  “I insist.” Sympathy for the man softened the edges of Doc’s frustration with everything that had happened. And maybe a little guilt. “It’s the least I can offer you. If there is anything I or my pride can do for you, we’ll d
o it. Your reputation as a fair leader precedes you. I would very much like to keep things good between us.”

  Rodrigo nodded but sat quietly, his gaze focused low. “Perhaps there is something else you can do for me.”

  “Name it.”

  Rodrigo glanced at Omur and Barasa. “You are looking for a third council member?”

  “Yes. The last one couldn’t accept me in place of Sinjin.”

  “I have a son, the third born. If you would take him as your council member, I would be indebted to you. Things have not gone well for him in our pride. A fresh start would be good for him.”

  “You don’t think he’d have an issue with me, considering his sister’s death?”

  Rodrigo shook his head and at last made eye contact. “Each of us knows the way of the pride. No one enters a challenge without knowing the consequences. He will understand.” His hands loosened their grip on the chair. “Remo is a good boy. A little troubled, but good.”

  Doc wanted to know what troubled meant, but asking delicate questions had never been his thing. “How… that is… what exactly—”

  “His trouble?” Rodrigo laughed, a good sound to hear. “His trouble is women. Too many of them. They fight over him, create problems I have to solve.” He leaned forward in his chair. “If you knew how many angry fathers I have had to appease.” He threw his hands up. “They all think Remo should marry their daughter. Then they expect favors from me when he doesn’t.”

  Doc smiled. “So Remo’s a player, huh? There are worse things to be.”

  “Keep him busy with work and his troubles should be behind him. But give him no special treatment because he is my son. Treat him like you would any other member of your council.” Rodrigo raised his brows. “Do we have a deal?”

  With a nod, Doc stood and held out his hand. “We do.” As Rodrigo rose to shake it, Doc continued. “I am very sorry about Heaven.”

  Pain filled Rodrigo’s eyes again, but still he pumped Doc’s hand. “As am I. But some good has come out of this, after all, no? From this day forward, the alliance between our prides is renewed.”