Peering at him intently, she nodded. ‘You want to be out there, don’t you? In the night. Part of it.’
‘What? No.’ He shook his head while taking one step toward the door.
She blocked his path. ‘Not until you kiss me.’ She licked her bottom lip. ‘You owe me.’
His eyes stayed on that lip, studied the deep crimson that evidenced the richness of her blood. Would she taste the way she smelled? Would her lips be as soft as they looked? He’d not kissed a woman in many years.
She notched her head back, lightly rapping it against the door behind her and shaking him from his thoughts. Without realizing it, he’d backed her into the door, pinning her with his arms. Her pulse jumped beneath her skin. He growled softly, making her jerk.
‘Just get it over with.’ She lifted her chin and closed her eyes.
‘Not until you tell me why I owe you.’ He moved his hand to trace a finger across that succulent bottom lip. She shivered under his touch. He was scaring her again, and this time, he didn’t give a damn. She should be afraid. She asked too much.
Opening her eyes, she bent her face away. ‘It’s the rule of the exchange. I give you blood, you give me saliva. If you’d taken from my vein … ’ She paused, and he knew she wanted to say the way you were supposed to, but didn’t. ‘If you had, that part would already be over.’
‘What does it matter?’ His fingers followed the swoop and curl of her signum across her cheek and up to her temple. The beat of her pulse stroked his fingertips, beckoning in a steady, erotic thumping that meshed with the one still filling his body.
‘My blood gives you life. Your bite does the same for me. Keeps me from aging. Makes me strong.’ She dropped her chin, forcing his fingers into the silk of her hair. ‘I am only human, you know.’
‘A kiss will replace a bite?’
‘Yes.’ Her head stayed down. He would have thought the idea repulsed her, but her scent carried the heavy sweetness of lust and the sharp, tinny edge of shame. She desired him and hated herself for it.
The realization made him want to punish her. Prove her right.
‘Fine.’ He grabbed her shoulders and pushed her against the door as his mouth ground down on hers. She made a small, startled sound and tensed. It didn’t slow him. He was careful for nothing, save to keep his fangs sheathed so he wouldn’t nick her. He couldn’t risk that.
She tasted the way she smelled, whiskey strong and honey sweet. She was soft and pliant and dangerous. The tension left her body, and she moved into him with a willingness his body instantly recognized.
He pushed away, ending the kiss as quickly as it had begun. ‘Get Doc and Fi. We’re going to your aunt’s.’ He raised his brows. ‘Unless you require more of me?’ His tone was cruel even to his own ears.
‘No,’ she whispered. ‘That will do.’ She seemed dazed. Her heart raced in his ears, faster than his own. Without question, she’d found the kiss pleasurable.
Unfortunately, so had he. Before he did something he would regret, he turned back to his desk. His insides seethed. She remained behind him. Too close. Far too close. ‘Go,’ he said, more gruffly than he meant to.
There was no movement behind him. ‘I want my blades back.’
‘My room. In your bag.’
The door opened and closed, and he was alone. The way he should be. His fingers wrapped the hilt of the sword he’d been cleaning before her interruption. She was slowly destroying the small, fragile peace he’d salvaged. Tearing down the protective walls he’d constructed to keep the need for companionship at bay. He turned the blade, watching the subtle play of candlelight on its surface. He hated her for it. Hated himself for feeling anything toward her but indifference.
Pain was a great dampener of other emotion. One could only feel so many things at a time. He slipped his palm across the blade then lifted it away. The thin line of blood left behind disappeared almost as quickly as it had been formed.
He needed to be rid of her just as fast.
Chapter Nineteen
Doc whistled low and long from the driver’s seat. ‘Your aunt must have some serious coin to live out here.’
Fi and Mal crouched on either side of Chrysabelle on the ancient sedan’s floor. She was surprised Mal owned a car, but not surprised how substandard it was. The interior smelled like mildew and gasoline. Cracks webbed the leather seats and grime filled every crevice. At least it ran, and hopefully, with the darkly tinted windows and the cover of night, her extra companions would go unnoticed.
‘Doc, you’re supposed to be my driver. None of this should affect you.’ Chrysabelle eyed the gatehouse ahead as they rounded the corner and headed over the bridge that connected Mephisto Island to the outskirts of Paradise City. The light was on inside the building, but from this angle she couldn’t see the guard. ‘And I’m a guest, so I can’t bring anyone in without my aunt putting them on the list.’
‘You have to be on a list? Doc’s right. Serious coin,’ Fi said.
‘Hush.’ Doc and Fi’s comments didn’t bother Chrysabelle half as much as Mal’s silence. Since the kiss, he hadn’t spoken more than a few words to her, as though she’d caused some great rift in his personal well-being.
As if he had any personal well-being.
That kiss was her due. Not that an anathema would understand the exchange between a comarré and her patron. Not to mention that if he’d been vampire enough to take from her vein, that awkward kiss would have never transpired.
Her blood had changed him. She could see it in the fullness of his muscles, the increase in his speed, the surety of his stride. She’d made him as close to whole as he’d been in a long time.
And his kiss had torn her to pieces.
That kiss should have been such a simple way to complete the exchange since he refused to bite her. How wrong. Kisses were not simple. Not that one. Not in any way. But then she’d never had another kiss to judge by. Comarré who valued the purity of their blood remained chaste until such time as they were selected for the honor of breeding. Patrons understood that as well. Very few wanted to depreciate their investment by bedding their comarré. Some didn’t care, but those patrons, and the comarré who acquiesced, were the exceptions.
The car slowed, and Doc lowered the window. Still no sign of the guard.
Mal’s head came up, his eyes glazed with silver. ‘I smell blood.’
‘You always smell blood,’ Chrysabelle answered, clasping her hand over the spot on her wrist where she’d drained earlier even though her wrist blades were back in place and covered the mark.
Doc nodded. ‘I smell it too.’ He groaned softly. ‘Varcolai blood.’
Mal slid into the seat beside her, but his head swiveled toward the building. ‘Recently spilled, by the scent.’ His eyes half-closed before opening fully. ‘There’s nothing alive in that guardhouse.’
Fi unfolded from her crouch and moved to the seat, tucking herself against the door. She reached up and squeezed Doc’s large shoulder.
Chrysabelle inhaled. The wild, coppery tang mixed with the perfume of the night-blooming flowers dotting the landscaping. A chill skittered down her spine. ‘I had no idea the guard was varcolai.’ She’d seen him in passing but hadn’t paid close attention. ‘Had to be vampires, since their powers wouldn’t work on him to get them entrance.’
Doc met her eyes in the rearview mirror. ‘Not to mention, nobles will take any chance they get to cap one of us. Present company excluded.’
Mal said nothing.
She reached across Fi for the door handle. Mal got to it first, twisting to face her and pressing himself into the back of the driver’s seat. ‘What are you doing?’
She pulled her hand away. Her knees were touching his thigh, but her back was already against the seat. ‘One of us has to get into the guardhouse to open the gate.’ She had to get to her aunt’s. If anything happened to Maris because of her …
‘Doc will do it.’
Behind him, the shifter made a low g
rowl but threw the car into park and got out. Mal thankfully moved back to his side of the seat. Using the hem of his T-shirt as a glove, Doc opened the shack’s door and went in. A moment later, the gates swung wide. He returned to the car and shoved it into drive, his face blank, but his eyes haunted.
‘I’m sorry you had to see that.’ Couldn’t be easy for one varcolai to see another dead.
‘Me too.’
She leaned forward and pointed down the side of the forked road that led to her aunt’s estate. ‘That way. Hurry.’
Doc punched the gas, snapping her back. Fi squealed at the sudden start. At the turn, Chrysabelle slid across the seat and into Mal. His hands closed on her upper arms as he caught her. They were warm. From her blood.
Chrysabelle flinched. ‘Let me go.’
His hands opened, and she moved away, slightly mortified she’d had any reaction. He couldn’t have meant anything. Grabbing her was just an involuntary response. She scooted forward again to give Doc directions and to try to ignore that Mal was even more in tune with her emotions now that he’d ingested her blood.
At the second gate, she motioned toward the sidewalk that ran around the island. Her skin itched with dread. ‘Park here. If we drive up, we’ll tip our hand.’
Mal raised his brows a fraction as they all piled out of the vehicle, but said nothing. Did he expect her to go in guns blazing? What if someone was in the house? Years of training, she wanted to remind him. Training she’d paid close attention to and excelled in. What else had there been to do?
A minute after they arrived, Chrysabelle was up and on top of the stucco security wall that surrounded her aunt’s estate. Mal leaped up behind her. Still on the ground, Doc cleared his throat.
She looked back. ‘What?’ she whispered. ‘You can clear this, no problem.’
He flicked his eyes at Fi. ‘Some of us need a hand.’
‘Maybe Fi should stay with the car.’ It would be safer for her there if the security had been breached and someone was still in the house.
‘And leave me defenseless?’ Fi asked.
‘Fine, but don’t do anything rash.’ Mal reached down and gestured for her hand.
Doc lifted her up then the vampire pulled her to the top. Chrysabelle leaped to the estate grounds, leaving Mal and Doc to get Fi down. Mal and Doc landed as silently as Chrysabelle had, but Fi made a small whoof when she hit. Chrysabelle put her finger to her lips.
Fi rolled her eyes, but Mal nodded and spoke at almost inaudible levels. ‘She’s right. No more noise or talking unless necessary.’
Chrysabelle refrained from fainting. Maybe that kiss hadn’t been the train wreck she thought it was. Heat fought with the chill of her nerves. She forced down any thoughts that weren’t immediately important. Her aunt’s safety was all that mattered.
Mal bent and dragged his fingers over the ground, stirring up swirls of dust. She bent beside him. Not dust, ash. It clung to the grass where it had drifted from a larger pile. He sniffed at the residue he’d picked up, then nodded. ‘Brimstone.’ He rubbed his fingers together, sending the ash into the wind.
‘Nothos,’ she whispered with a shudder. Something bad had happened here.
Mal stood and surveyed both sides of the grass path that separated the outer wall from the interior landscaping. His gaze stayed locked on the left side as he moved forward. Again he bent and scooped ash from the ground.
She pushed to her feet. ‘Another Nothos?’
He shook his head. ‘Vampire.’ He inhaled again. ‘Fringe.’ He pointed farther down. ‘Another pile there.’
‘Three down,’ she murmured. Who’d killed them? Velimai? And where had the fringe vamp come from? Nobility used fringe as guards, but with a Nothos? Seemed like overkill.
The group followed her through the extensive landscaping, skirting the lighted areas, until she stopped them before the palms opened up to make way for the lawn. The fronds overhead shooshed against each other with a sound like gentle rain. Insects added a few clicks and buzzes, and lizards skittered through the foliage around them. The breeze was starting to pick up like a storm might be coming, but no clouds muted the stars.
She scanned the house and the surrounding grounds. The first time she’d seen the estate with its stately columns and Mediterranean styling, she’d been amazed. Now, it seemed merely an extension of the grandeur her aunt had once known. Nothing looked out of the ordinary. No cars were parked on any portion of the long circling drive that kept the house hidden from the gated street entrance.
She half-glanced at Mal, enough to get his attention without making eye contact. ‘How many heartbeats in the house?’
He stared intently for a moment. ‘Only one. Your aunt is safe.’
She exhaled the breath she’d been holding. ‘Or dead. My aunt has a live-in assistant.’
‘Then perhaps the assistant is dead.’ He shrugged.
Why would he care? Death must seem ordinary to him. Putting that thought aside, she nodded gently, not ready to accept either possibility. She turned to include Doc and Fi in her plans. ‘All of you stay here until I motion for you, otherwise the security cameras will pick you up.’
Mal rested a hand on her bare ankle. ‘You shouldn’t go alone.’
She dug a fingernail into her thigh to keep from reacting to his touch. ‘You have a better plan?’
He frowned.
‘I thought so.’ She pushed through a stand of jewel-toned cro-tons and jogged to the front door. She punched in her code, then eased the front door open.
Velimai leaped out from behind one of the large Oriental floor vases flanking the entrance, Maris’s sacre in hand. Chrysabelle jumped back, snapping her wrist blades into place. Only her superior eyesight saved her from being cut in two.
Behind her, she heard Mal snarl. She raised her hands, dropping the bone daggers back into their sheaths. ‘Velimai! It’s me, Chrysabelle!’
The nearly transparent wysper stopped, chest heaving, face bruised and bloodied. She dropped the sword to her side, and her eyes filled with tears.
‘What happened? Where’s Maris?’
Velimai’s free hand began moving in the complex rhythm of signing, when suddenly she went solid, pulled Chrysabelle into the house by her shirt, and brandished the weapon again.
Mal stood just beyond the threshold. His eyes flared slightly when he realized what Velimai was.
Weapon pointed in defense, the wysper opened her mouth. An eerie howl screeched out of her, a sound like nails on gypsum. A crack snaked through one of the massive Oriental vases. Mal staggered back, clamping his hands to his ears.
‘No!’ Chrysabelle spun, her heart racing. ‘No, Velimai.’
The wysper’s cry ceased, but her mouth stayed open.
‘He’s a … ’ Chrysabelle couldn’t bring herself to say ‘friend.’ ‘He’s helping me. He’s not here to hurt you. Or me. I promise. He’s protecting me.’
Velimai snorted, but thankfully shut her mouth.
Chrysabelle glared at the wysper, who glared right back at her before returning her sooty gaze to the vampire scowling beyond the door. She didn’t look one bit convinced Mal wasn’t the enemy, but Chrysabelle didn’t have time to smooth wysper– vampire relations.
‘Mal.’ She tried to get Mal’s attention, but he was staring at Velimai as hard as she was staring at him. ‘Mal.’ He looked at her quickly, then back at the creature who’d almost destroyed him with her voice.
‘I heard you the first time.’
Doc and Fi walked up behind him, trying to see into the house. She ignored them for the moment. ‘Try to cross the threshold.’
Without taking his eyes off Velimai, he stepped forward and met a sheer wall of resistance. ‘Your aunt is alive.’
Relief flooded Chrysabelle.
Fi’s brow scrunched. ‘How do you know that?’
Mal stepped back. ‘A vampire may not enter a human’s home without permission. Only if Chrysabelle’s aunt were dead could I enter unhinde
red.’
Chrysabelle nodded. ‘And since you can’t come in, will you check the grounds?’ She knew she didn’t have to explain what to look for. Mal was probably as capable as she was in a situation like this. ‘Doc, Fi, come help me in here.’
She turned back to Velimai and guided her into the living room. Doc and Fi filed in behind her.
‘Man, this place is tight,’ Doc said. ‘Or was.’
Judging by the pieces of the glass coffee table covering nearly every surface, Velimai had done her best to stop whatever had happened. Magazines spilled across the rug, their electronic covers flickering. A little farther back, Maris’s iBot stood empty. Without Maris at the helm it seemed more like a useless sculpture. ‘What happened?’
Velimai pointed at Doc and Fi, lifting her bruised chin in question. Both of them looked as curious about the wysper. The chance they’d come in contact with one before was slim.
‘They’re friends of the vampire.’ She pointed at Doc. ‘He’s varcolai.’ As though Velimai couldn’t tell. Then she wiggled her finger at Fi. ‘She’s … sort of attached to the vampire. Or was. It’s a long story. Anyway, she’s human.’
Velimai nodded and dismissed them with a blink of her eyes. She brushed glass from the leather sofa before sinking down on it and cradling her head in her hands. Her shoulders began to rock gently, her body flickering like a candle flame. Chrysabelle half-expected her to go to mist. For all her strangeness, Velimai’s obvious distress over whatever had happened to Maris touched Chrysabelle. Perhaps the wysper wasn’t such a fearsome creature after all. Unless you were a vampire.
She glanced toward the still-open door. No sign of Mal. Fi lifted her hands, a silent, ‘What next?’
‘Fi,’ Chrysabelle said softly, in a voice she hoped would make it clear now was not the time for snappy comebacks.
‘Yeah?’
Chrysabelle notched her head to the right. ‘There’s a bathroom down that hall, second door. Would you get a damp washcloth?’
‘No problem.’ With a sympathetic look at Velimai, Fi exited toward the bath.
Blood Rights (House of Comarre 1) Page 18
