Out for Blood hoc-4

by Kristen Painter

  “From this day forward,” Doc said. So long as Remo wasn’t the nosy type.

  Chrysabelle walked through the comarré tunnels beneath Lord Syler’s estate, every step taking her closer to safety and farther away from where she wanted to be. At Mal’s side.

  Blood crusted the front of her gown and her shoulder throbbed with pain, but she was still alive. Was Mal? She knew he’d pushed her through the door to save her, but the plan had been to stay together. They could kill Tatiana another day. Like when she didn’t have a horde of fringe guards at her beck and call and they weren’t in the midst of a huge gathering of nobles and after Chrysabelle had a chance to spend some time with her brother.

  She exhaled. Damian should be airborne by now, or about to be. She smiled. At least that part of the plan had gone well.

  A scuffling sound came from behind her. She turned to see a dark shape walking toward her from the shadows. Fear glided over her like a cool breeze. She ignored it, snagging her last blade and brandishing it. If this was her end, she would go down fighting. “Who goes there?”

  “Your friendly neighborhood vampire.”

  She tucked the blade away and ran into Mal’s arms. “You made it!” A second later, she wriggled out of his embrace and punched him with her good arm. “Why did you push me through? I could have stayed and fought with you.”

  “You have family to think about now. And obviously, I didn’t stay.” With a quick glance behind him, he grabbed her hand and pulled her along. “We should pick it up a little. I went to smoke right before the passage closed. Unfortunately, Tatiana probably knows I’m not dead now.”

  “You didn’t kill her?” She took longer strides to keep up with him.

  “I tried. Hit her shoulder instead of her heart. My choices were try again or come after you.” His mouth bent upward, his fangs gleaming dully in the dim glow of the corridor’s ceiling. “Not even a question which way that was going.”

  She grinned. Words weren’t really necessary to tell him what she was thinking.

  His smile increased for a second. “Hey, I have the other dagger.” He patted the hilt where it peeked from his waistband, then stared at her a little harder. “Your shoulder doesn’t look so hot.”

  She glanced at the blood on her dress as they hurried through the passage. “It hurts, but I’ll be fine. She’ll be searching the city for us, you know.”

  He nodded, smile gone. “Or she’ll go straight for the hangars. Which is why we need to be on that plane as quickly as possible.” In the distance behind them, something clanged. His grip on her hand tightened. “Can you go faster?”

  Chrysabelle glanced back. “Yes.”

  “Then let’s get the hell out of here and back on that plane so you can spend some time with your brother.”

  Without another word, they started to run.

  Chapter Forty-Six

  From Mal’s spot on the narrow metal ladder, he worked the manhole cover free and eased it aside. The dark of night would only buy them so much protection. By now, Tatiana would have guards everywhere, searching homes and businesses and no doubt watching the city’s roads.

  He stuck his head up. The car sat a few meters away, Mortalis behind the wheel. No one else was in sight, but they were a good distance from the estate. He grabbed hold of the sides and pulled himself up, then crouched at the edge to peer at Chrysabelle. “All clear.”

  Behind him, Mortalis got out of the car. Chrysabelle started to climb but her gown’s full skirt slowed her progress.

  “Here, give me your hand.” Leave her. He reached down, grabbed her hand, and pulled her up, a blur of white in the deep shadows of the evening.

  “Thanks,” she said as she landed beside him.

  “You’re hurt.” Mortalis nodded at her shoulder. “You okay?”

  “I’m good. Let’s get out of here.”

  The fae went ahead of them and got the back door open, then jumped behind the wheel. “Dominic and Katsumi should be flying by now.”

  “I hope,” Chrysabelle said as she got in. “We’ll know when we get to the hangar.”

  Mal slid in next to her and shut the door, then leaned toward Mortalis. “Which needs to be quickly. Our exit wasn’t clean.”

  “Got it.” Mortalis threw the car into gear and started forward. “I can’t drive too fast until we leave the city. That would just attract attention.”

  Mal sat back. “Agreed.”

  Chrysabelle brushed at the blood covering her dress while she spoke. “Mortalis, Octavian is working for the Kubai Mata. He’s the one who’s been giving Creek his intel. I’m sure of it.”

  Mortalis glanced at her in the rearview mirror. “Damn. Tatiana know that?”

  Mal nodded. “By now, probably.”

  Mortalis whistled softly. “That’s the end of him, then.”

  Chrysabelle nodded, but she looked lost in thought. They rode in silence until they reached the main road out of achtice. There, Mortalis stopped the car. He cursed in faeish.

  Guards swarmed a line of cars blocking the exit. A few of the fringe had assault rifles, which would have little effect on any vampire, but many nobles had human drivers. Car by car, they knocked on windows and forced passengers and drivers out. Some guards were even getting into the vehicles.

  Mal growled softly. “Son of a priest. I was afraid this was going to happen.”

  “This isn’t going to make Tatiana popular with her peers,” Chrysabelle said. “What are we going to do?”

  Mortalis scratched one horn. “You two could get out, jump the wall, and meet me down the road after I get through.”

  “We’d have to skirt a long way around not to be seen, and Chrysabelle sticks out in that white dress.” Mal would do anything to keep her safe, but putting them out in the open didn’t seem like the best possible solution. Let her go.

  “Can you persuade them?” she asked.

  He glanced at her. “Not all of them.”

  Mortalis looked at them in the rearview mirror again. “We’re wasting time.”

  Mal frowned. “You have a better idea?” Let. Her. Go.

  The fae nodded. “Yes, but you’re not going to like it.”

  “What?” Chrysabelle asked.

  His gaze shifted to her. “They’re probably looking for an injured comarré.”

  “No.” Mal slashed a hand through the air. “She’s not crossing the wall alone.” The voices booed him.

  Chrysabelle held out her hand to him. “Give me your coat.”

  “I don’t want you doing this.”

  She raised one brow. “You don’t know what I’m doing yet.” She stretched her hand a little farther. “Give me your coat.”

  Reluctantly, he took it off and handed it to her.

  “Mortalis, go ahead and get us in line. The less time we have to wait, the better.” She pulled the coat over her like a blanket, completely covering the bloody front of her dress. “Mal, go to smoke.”

  “I don’t like this.” But he did it anyway, hovering near the ceiling as Mortalis found them a spot in line.

  “Mortalis, if anyone asks, I’m deathly ill and you’re taking me back to the plane until my patron is ready to leave.” She slipped down to lay across the seat, pulled the coat up to cover half her face.

  “This isn’t going to work,” Mortalis muttered.

  Mal agreed, but it was too late. A guard approached the vehicle.

  Drained. Empty. Numb. If it weren’t for the sharp pangs of anger and loss gnawing at the edges of the fog collecting around Tatiana’s heart, she wasn’t sure where she’d find the energy to put one foot in front of the other. But she did. Step by step, she made her way back to her quarters. Back to Octavian.

  He would explain what had happened. Tell her what magic the comarré had worked on him to make him hand over Lilith. Clarify what the Castus had said, for surely they had only taken Lilith for safekeeping. Hadn’t they?

  Perhaps he could also explain how Mal was still alive, because althoug
h she’d seen him die on the news, there was no doubt in her mind that Lord Moreau was actually Mal in disguise. Turning to smoke was a rare vampire trait. So rare, she’d heard of only one or two others who could do it, other than Mal, who’d gone to smoke as many times in their years together as she had scattered into wasps. She’d thought he’d lost that power when he gave up drinking from the vein.

  She stopped suddenly and leaned a hand on the wall to steady herself. “That damned comarré. That’s how he did it.”

  “What’s that, my lady?” One of the fringe guards who’d been escorting her stopped as well.

  “He didn’t die,” she mumbled. “He went to smoke. Somehow, he found safety from the sun.” She shook her head, staring at the swirls of brown and gold and cream in the marble beneath her feet. “Because of that blood whore.”

  “We need to get her back to her room.” The guard cupped her elbow. “Almost home now, Lady Tatiana.”

  She yanked her arm away from him. “Don’t touch me.” Instead, she wrapped her arms around her body. Empty arms. Arms that should be holding her child. With a stifled sob, she marched forward.

  One of the guards ran ahead and opened the door for her. She walked through and stopped, her arms falling away from her sides. “What… what happened?”

  Just beyond the sitting room, Kosmina and Oana stood over an irregular pile of ashes. Kosmina had a dagger in her hand. She turned swiftly. “I tried to stop him, my lady. He was going on about betraying you and—”

  “Who was? Who did you try to stop?”

  Kosmina’s gaze shifted to the ashes. “Lord Octavian.”

  Tatiana shook her head. “Who did he kill?”

  Oana inhaled sharply. Kosmina swallowed and backed up a step. “My lady, I—”

  “Who?” Tatiana demanded. “If someone was betraying me, I want a name. Now.”

  Kosmina’s fingers tightened around the dagger’s hilt. “Lord Octavian, my lady.”

  Darkness crept in at the edges of Tatiana’s field of vision. “I don’t understand. Who did he kill? Tell me.”

  “My lady, I am trying to.” Kosmina stared her squarely in the eyes. “These ashes are Lord Octavian’s. He killed himself.”

  Tatiana’s knees buckled and she collapsed to the floor. “No,” she whispered. “No, that can’t be.” Then the darkness swept in and mercifully took her with it.

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  Chrysabelle kept her head down and her eyes closed and let Mortalis handle the situation. Despite the seriousness of their circumstances, she almost laughed thinking about how Mal really had become a dark cloud above her. She tugged the coat up a little higher to cover more of her face.

  The knock on the window came a few seconds later. Then the whirr of the motor bringing the glass down.

  “What’s the issue?” Mortalis asked.

  “We need to inspect the vehicle.”

  “What for?”

  “Looking for someone. You and everyone inside, out. Now.”

  “It’s just me and my master’s comarré. You can look behind me if you like, she’s the only one in the car. She’s passed out sick. Some kind of blood poisoning, they think. Anyway, I need to get her to the plane before she vomits again.”

  “Put the back window down.”

  More whirring and a little cool air kissed her ankles. She tensed, feeling eyes on her. Mal wouldn’t get sucked out the window, would he? She imagined not. He seemed to be able to control his smoke form well enough.

  The guard yelled to someone, “She’s alone. What do you want to do?”

  Chrysabelle moaned softly for effect. If the guards pulled her out of the car, they’d have no option but to fight and even with Mal and Mortalis, the odds weren’t good.

  Mal’s coat muffled the guards’ distant conversation, so she couldn’t quite make out the words. “What’s happening?” she whispered.

  Mortalis stayed quiet. It must not be safe for him to speak. She heard a soft tapping and opened her eyes a slit. He’d dropped one hand behind the seat and was rapping a finger on the leather upholstery.

  “What?” she whispered.

  He started signing. Guards trying to decide what to do. Not sure the outcome yet. He stopped signing but left his hand where it was. They’re coming back. He pulled his hand away and she closed her eyes again.

  “Are we done?” he asked.

  “We’re sending a guard with you. You won’t be able to return for your master without him. Unlock the back door.”

  At the snick of the lock, Chrysabelle held back a groan, but the guard’s fate was sealed. Whoever got in the car with them was about to die.

  The door was opened and she felt the movement across from her as the guard settled in. Fringe by the smell of him. The door slammed shut and a gruff voice said, “Move it, fae.”

  The car rolled forward. Chrysabelle kept her eyes closed. Something—a finger, the muzzle of a gun—poked her in the leg. She didn’t move.

  “So what’s this comarré got?”

  “Blood poisoning. Had to get her out of the crowd before she infected any of the others.”

  “Others? Other vampires? Is she contagious?” The gruffness turned to fear.

  “Maybe. Don’t know.” Mortalis was clearly enjoying this.

  “She better not be.”

  “I’d stay as far to that other side of the car as you can,” Mortalis responded. “In case she throws up again.”

  For effect, Chrysabelle made a little gagging sound.

  The guard swore. “Hurry up and get to the hangars.”

  “We’re through the gates. I guess there’s no reason I can’t go a little faster.” Mortalis stomped on the gas. The guard lurched into her legs and scrambled to get off her, pulling the coat off her in the process.

  “What the hell? You’re the comarré they’re looking for!”

  She opened her eyes to the barrel of a gun.

  The guard kept it leveled at her but spoke to Mortalis. “Turn this car around right now.”

  A curtain of smoke formed between her and the guard. Moments later, Mal reappeared. He shook his head. “This car isn’t going anywhere. And neither are you.” He grabbed the gun out of the shocked guard’s hands and tossed it into the front seat with Mortalis.

  The guard tried to crawl after it, but Mal held on to him. “Chrysabelle, blade.”

  She pulled a dagger from her skirts and shoved it through the guard’s chest.

  His shocked expression disappeared in a cloud of ash. She sneezed. Mortalis buzzed the back windows down and the ash flew out into the night.

  He glanced in the rearview, his mouth a firm line but an odd spark in his eyes. “That wasn’t as bad as I thought it was going to be.”

  Mal slid back in the seat beside Chrysabelle, knocking the last of the ash from his hands. “We’re not home yet.”

  Chrysabelle relaxed as they pulled through the hangar doors without further incident. Just as she’d hoped, the second plane was gone. Only Amery and the hostages remained in the building. He approached as they got out of the car.

  “The laudanum’s still got the vamps knocked out. Dominic took the comarré with them. She wanted to go. Damian was pretty insistent about it.”

  Chrysabelle shook a little ash off her skirt. “That’s fine. I was going to speak to her about returning with us before we left anyway.” What was one more comarré in Paradise City? Maybe this one would prove a decent ally. Chrysabelle tipped her head toward the vampires slumped against the far wall. “How long before they wake up?”

  “A few more hours at least. They’ll probably be stuck in here until the sun goes down again.”

  “All the better,” Mal said. “We’re ready to go if you are.”

  Amery scanned them. “Aren’t you supposed to have a baby with you?”

  “Didn’t work out,” Chrysabelle said. And at this point, she didn’t really care. She just wanted to be done with Tatiana and the whole sordid mess. She’d deal with the KM whe
n the time came.

  Mortalis went to the hangar door, chucked the car keys into the night, and walked back. “Let’s go.”

  Chrysabelle got on the plane first. The sooner she could ditch this bloody dress, the better. She headed straight for her bag and the clothes she’d worn in.

  Mortalis stopped her from opening the closet, his six fingers splayed out on the sleek ivory exterior. “I know you want to change, but wait until we’re airborne. We need to get out of here as soon as we can, and Amery won’t take off until you’re in your seat. He’s a stickler like that.”

  “Okay.” She sat down and buckled in as Mortalis joined Amery in the cockpit.

  Mal sat beside her and took her hand. “I know things didn’t go as planned, but we got your brother out and didn’t lose anyone. Could have been much worse.”

  She nodded. The plane started rolling forward. “Octavian claimed to be the one who took the pictures of Damian after Tatiana had him beaten. I would have never guessed he was KM.”

  “That explains how you got the child from him and his reluctance to attack you.” Mal was quiet for a moment. “She’ll kill him if she suspects.”

  She sighed and stared at their interwoven fingers. “I suppose he knew the risks going in. He let her turn him.” She looked at Mal, into those dark, comforting eyes that hadn’t changed despite Dominic’s disguise. “He might have been drifting toward the other side.” She shrugged. “The noble life has its perks.”

  The forces of takeoff shoved them back. Mal brought her hand to his mouth and kissed it. “Tatiana claimed him as consort. That’s as close to being married as most vampires get.”

  She broke eye contact, shifting her gaze to her lap. And what was left of her mother’s wedding dress.

  He let her hand go. “Dress is kind of ruined.”

  She nodded. “I don’t think Maris would mind. It was a good cause.”

  “Do you ever think about… marriage?”

  She laughed before she realized he was serious. “That’s not part of the comarré plan. Ever.”

  “You’re not comarré anymore. Haven’t been for a while, really.”