She was like something out of a dream. Nothing in his training had adequately prepared him for seeing one of her kind in person. That sunbeam-blond hair, those eyes like the early summer sky, and those strawberry-red lips combined with all that gold ink made for one hard-to-ignore package. He’d known immediately she wasn’t one of Seven’s brand of comarré. Just like he’d known immediately he wanted to spend more time with her. And not just because of the mission. He sipped his beer and refused to let his head wander in that direction. Being locked up had a way of sharpening a man’s desires to a razor-thin edge. He needed to focus on the comarré and forget about his own wants. The comarré and the ring she possessed were his responsibility now. His to persuade. His to protect. His to recover. He tipped the bottle again. A man could do serious harm to himself around a woman like that, tripping over his words and acting a fool. But he wouldn’t. Because he was stronger than that. He was KM.
In a small way, he felt sorry for her. Despite being free now, she’d spent her life in service to the vampires. Sustaining the one who owned her. That was the whole purpose of the comarré – keep the vampires happy and fed and away from humans. All the decisions in her life were already made for her.
Kind of like being in prison.
Yet there was more to the comarré than that, a darker, hidden side. He knew about the physical training they went through, the weapons skills that were drilled into them. That much was evident by the way she worked those swords, one in each hand. He whistled low and long. If that didn’t get a man’s attention, nothing would.
He rolled his head slowly side to side, watching the constellations wink in and out of sight through the cage of metal above him. Those gold tats of hers were something else. Straight-up amazing, if you knew what she’d had to endure for each one, and he did, thanks to the eons of knowledge that had been crammed into his brain in a matter of weeks. Without question, he knew more about the comarré than she did about the KM. Hell, even he knew more about the comarré than he did the KM.
He especially understood the pain she’d endured for those marks, since he’d been through the KM rituals. Women supposedly had a higher tolerance for pain, but he couldn’t imagine that pale, slender female going through that kind of agony. Especially not for the sake of some vampire. Pissed him off, actually. No woman should have to endure pain at a man’s hands.
Una’s dark eyes flashed in his mind, her cries and the sound of their father’s hand cracking her cheek echoing in his ears. He’d come home at just the right time to save her. Just the right time to crucify himself. He clenched and unclenched his empty fist, feeling the snap of bones under his fingers as if he were there again.
Anger pushed him upright. He hunched his back, remembering the day he’d accepted the KM’s offer. He’d walked out of FSP an hour later, proof of the organization’s power. He exhaled hard. Out of one prison and into another. But the deal was worth it.
Worth the pain of the day he’d been sealed into KM service. The memory lingered on his skin, sharp and heavy and just as painful. Being bulletproof didn’t mean the bullet wasn’t going to hurt. Neither did it mean the pain would weaken him. Instead of being something to fear, pain was something to use.
He set his beer on the step beside him and was about to get up and go back inside when he went stone-still. Two vampires strolled into the mouth of the alley, oblivious to his presence. Just to be careful, he used some of his newly acquired skills to stop his heart and breathing. They kept walking. As a safety measure, he’d decided not to make any kills this close to his home, but temptation kissed his fingertips and made them itch for his cross-bow.
If the fringe looked up and saw him, he’d take them out. If not, he’d let them pass. Fringe weren’t specifically his mission, but if they were hunting humans or him, they were fair game. He wasn’t comfortable with them knowing his home base either.
Vamp One said something to Vamp Two that made Vamp Two throw his head back in laughter. As his gaze rose, his beady eyes locked onto Creek. Then the vampire pointed Creek out to his buddy. A second later, two sets of fangs gleamed in Creek’s direction.
So much for letting them skate.
Creek vaulted over the fire-escape railing and landed in front of the dentally challenged pair. ‘Evening.’
The vampires stared back in silence, perhaps stunned by his good manners.
Without waiting for a return greeting, he yanked his halm off his belt and flicked it open to its full six-foot length. Few understood the power of the quarterstaff, and as a result, few feared the weapon. He liked that. Surprise was always an advantage.
Like now.
He tucked the titanium rod beneath his arm and lunged forward, ramming the sharpened tip into Vamp One’s chest, ashing him instantly. Vamp Two took off, but Creek flung the halm like a spear after him. The halm pierced the vampire through the lower back, pinning him to the potholed asphalt.
The creature screeched and clawed at the ground, trying to free itself.
Creek pulled a knife from his boot and strolled toward the thing stuck, buglike, on his halm. With one hand on the quarter-staff, he planted his boot in the middle of the vampire’s back. Kid couldn’t have been more than twenty, twenty-one when he’d been turned. But that kid was long gone, replaced by a parasite.
‘Nothing personal,’ he muttered, and drove the blade down into the creature’s neck. He jerked the blade toward the ground, crunching through bone and cartilage with a few deft cuts. The remains went to ash moments after he’d severed the spine. He wiped the knife on his jeans, then tucked it away, snapped the halm closed, and retrieved a small pouch from the interior pocket of his leather vest. A pinch of hawthorn powder went over the ashes, and they burned away like a lit fuse, leaving no trace of the kill. He did the same to the first one on his way back to the fire escape.
Fringe were good practice, and he’d need it to protect Chrysabelle and the ring in her possession from the noble vampire currently hunting her. At least until he convinced the comarré to turn the ring over to him. From the dossier he’d read, Tatiana was a tough customer and could not be allowed to possess the ring, whatever its powers were. Must be something else. The Kubai Mata wanted it badly enough to free a murderer from prison and put him to work.
Despite what they’d authorized him to do, he wouldn’t take the ring by force. He’d never use force against a woman. He would feel Chrysabelle out, see if she was open to giving the ring up. In theory, the KM were the good guys. Giving them the ring shouldn’t be such a hard thing to do. He leaped, snagged the bottom rung of the ladder, and climbed back to the platform.
From there, he swung his booted feet through the open window and back into the loft. In the meantime, he’d live up to the rest of the KM credo and protect the citizens of Paradise City from the monsters now living among them and the ones that were yet to come.
When he wasn’t getting to know Chrysabelle better, that was.
Doc missed the growl and hum of the old airboats, but there was something to be said for the silent running of the carbon fiber blades and electric engines of the newer environmentally mandated boats. He notched the throttle back as he swung around an island of trees. The boat lost its plane, the air beneath it disappearing as the boat slowed and made contact with the water again. Ever since the run that had gotten him cursed, he hated the Glades. Hadn’t been out here since. There were mostly two kinds of people who lived in the Glades: those with a rightful claim to the land, like the Seminoles, and those looking to hide. His business was with the latter.
The cluster of houses, glass and steel boxes on stilts, broke the horizon line like jagged teeth. Strong morning sun glinted off the buildings. He adjusted his sunglasses. Even with his pupils narrowed to slits, the combination of glare off the water and unfiltered daylight was murder on shifter eyes this early in the a.m.
He approached the houses and grudgingly gave the witches props for living out here. Hard to sneak up on someone who had an unadultera
ted view in every direction. Not to mention the local inhabitants who did a damn fine job of keeping most people out to begin with. One of those inhabitants, a fifteen-foot gator named Chewie, lounged on the dock of the house he was headed toward, soaking up the morning sun like a teenager on spring break.
Doc’s back teeth ground against each other. Hated the Glades. He eased the boat toward the dock and got to his feet. Aliza’s air-boat sat beneath the house, out of the elements. He wouldn’t be getting that close yet. He reached into the bag at his feet, pulled out the chickens he’d brought, and dangled them in Chewie’s direction.
‘Come and get it, you overgrown suitcase.’
Chewie’s lids cracked open. Doc tossed the chickens in the opposite direction of the boat, and the gator slipped off the dock with a splash and disappeared into the black water.
The sound of a pump-action shotgun being cocked froze Doc where he stood. He lifted his hands. ‘I’ve got good reason for being here.’
‘Then start talking,’ Aliza spat. ‘My finger itches. And there better not be anything untoward in those chickens.’
He looked up. Aliza stood on the second-level porch, glaring down at him from the shadows of the eaves. Her lack of pigment made her look like a ghost, reminding him again why he’d come to see her. ‘The chickens aren’t drugged. I’m here because I want to fix things with Evie.’
‘Hard to talk to stone.’
He sighed. ‘I mean I want to help make things right.’
The shotgun came down half an inch. ‘How?’
‘There’s got to be a way to turn her back, right? I want to help.’ With hands still lifted, he splayed his fingers. ‘Whatever it takes.’
‘Why now? Why after all these years?’
He’d been hoping to explain things in a calmer, more rational manner. Not that that had ever been Aliza’s style. ‘I have a friend who’s in trouble and you’re the only one I know who might be able to help her.’
Aliza snorted. ‘Figures you’d want something in return. Why should I help you?’
‘You shouldn’t.’
She was quiet a moment. Hard to argue with truth, apparently. ‘What did you do this time?’
‘Nothing.’ Something splashed in the water to his left. He almost didn’t stop a wave of revulsion from rippling through him.
‘Then why does she need help?’ She peered at him. ‘What are you cooking?’
‘Nothing. My friend is … dead. Kind of.’
Aliza lowered the shotgun and pursed her mouth to one side. She narrowed her pale gray eyes in thought. Finally she nodded. ‘You can come in. Your behavior determines how you leave.’
Lunatic. He tied up the airboat, stepped onto the dock, and climbed the steps. Chewie was still out of sight. Aliza looked the same as the last time he’d seen her. Maybe her yellowy-white dreads were a little longer, but other than that, she was the same albino crackpot she’d always been.
She motioned with the gun for him to go in. He pushed through the door and walked to the center of the kitchen. The house smelled like swamp and women. In Aliza’s case, that was probably the same smell. How she’d ever turned out a daughter like Evie, he had no idea. That girl was beautiful. Or had been, before Dominic’s drugs had turned her to stone.
And there she was. In front of the wall of sliding glass, facing out toward the Glades, the statue that had once been Aliza’s daughter stared blindly into the vast swamp. Her hands clutched at her throat just like they had that night. He swallowed and rubbed a hand over his scalp as if there weren’t anything unusual about such a thing.
The screen door slammed shut behind Aliza. She pointed toward the kitchen table. ‘Sit.’
He took a chair that let him keep his back to the wall and twisted slightly so Evie’s statue stayed out of his peripheral vision.
Aliza tucked the shotgun under one arm and poured a cup of coffee, then brought it to the table and sat opposite him. ‘Talk.’
He explained everything he could about Fi, how she had come to be a ghost through Mal’s curse, how she’d gotten killed again, how she’d started coming back, reliving the past … everything he could think of, except that he was in love with her. No need to give the old witch any further ammunition.
‘Your friend’s not a ghost anymore.’
‘Yes, she is. I saw her with my own—’
‘No, she’s a shade now. It’s different.’ Aliza sipped her coffee, wrinkling her brow. ‘She’s caught in a time loop and will stay that way, dying again and again every night.’ She shuddered. ‘Shade’s a horrible thing to be.’
‘Then help her.’ He relaxed his jaw and forced out a difficult word. ‘Please. I said I’d do whatever it took and I meant it.’
‘Hmph. And I suppose in exchange for helping make Evie right, you’re also going to want your curse lifted.’
He blew out a long, unsteady breath. ‘I’ve wanted that for a long time. But I’ll settle for just helping Fi.’
She arched her thick white brows. ‘That so?’
He nodded, ignoring the widening hole in his chest. Having Fi back would be enough. She’d help him forget about the curse. She always had.
‘You love her?’
‘That’s none of your damn business.’
‘I’ll take that as a yes.’ Aliza drained the last of her coffee and sat back, judgment clear in her harsh stare. ‘The kind of magic that turns a woman into stone isn’t easy to undo. It’s heavy. Means sacrifice. Can’t just whip that kind of thing out of thin air.’
He sighed, steeling himself. ‘What do you need?’
‘Some of the drug she took that night.’
‘Done.’ Evie had scored an eighth of Medusa, a highly potent love potion that gave the user the ability to keep a man hard for as long as she wanted.
Aliza leaned her head forward. ‘I’ll also need blood.’
With a calm that surprised him, he laid his arm on the table. ‘I’m prepared for that.’
She laughed. ‘Not yours, fool boy.’
The small, sharp teeth of his sixth sense nipped the back of his neck in warning. ‘Whose, then?’
‘Dominic Scarnato’s.’
If she’d asked for the blood of an unborn child, he’d have been less stunned. ‘Do you know what you’re asking? I can’t just walk up to him and say, “Hey, I need some of your blood.” The man is a powerful crime boss. He pretty much runs the supernatural business that goes on in Paradise City.’
‘Told you.’ She shrugged. ‘I need the blood of the one whose magic made those drugs.’
‘I can’t get it. Pick something else.’
‘There is nothing else.’ She stood and walked her empty cup back to the sink. ‘Come back when you have it.’ She leaned against the counter. ‘Or don’t come back at all.’
Anger made him bold. He jumped up, almost knocking his chair over. ‘Anything else? Pot of leprechaun gold? A unicorn horn?’
‘Nothing quite that tough.’ She crossed her arms and smiled, crinkling the corners of her gray eyes. ‘I need the blood by Samhain.’
Samhain was Halloween. Son of a— ‘That’s less than two weeks away.’
She inspected her fingernails. ‘Well, then, you’d better get cracking.’
Chapter Eight
‘Do you know what I hate about this place?’ Tatiana asked Nasir as she stared out the window of her private jet, watching the horrifically bright landscape blur past the landing aircraft.
‘What’s that, my love?’ He curled a lock of her hair around his finger, leaning into her space.
She hooked her finger around the lock he’d claimed and tugged it from his grasp. ‘Besides the fact that this place is full of fringe, fae, remnants, and all sorts of undesirables, besides the fact that the Americas are a mess of human politics and infighting, besides the fact that several people who’ve tried to kill me reside here, it’s too damn sunny. All the time. Why would any vampire in his right mind want to live in such an awful place?’ She collapsed
back into her seat with the appalling weight of returning to this forsaken land, her eyes fixed on the world beyond the helioglazed glass.
‘Well … ’ Nasir started.
She glared at him, willing him to continue and give her a reason to strike him.
‘I was just going to say that it’s warm. You know how good that feels to those of our kind. My homeland is very much the same.’ He tipped his head. ‘It will be dark in a few hours. The day is almost past.’
She returned her gaze to the window. ‘If I don’t kill something soon, I’m going to be in a very foul mood.’
He leaned in and stroked the side of her neck. ‘There are other ways to improve one’s mood, my sweet.’
She squinted at him, but it did nothing to improve her ability to suffer foolishness. Perhaps she should have bought him some picture books instead of the comarré. ‘You realize there are twelve Nothos on board this plane, as well as a fringe pilot and copilot, and my private bedroom is currently occupied by two comarré? Where exactly did you imagine this mood enhancement would take place? Out here, in front of these aberrations?’ She waved her hand over her shoulder toward the monstrosities taking up most of the plane’s forward space. The stench of brimstone was enough to ruin anyone’s mood, forget that it might never come out of the beautiful leather covering her seats.
‘Surely the comarré can spend a few minutes out here with—’
‘I realize you’ve never owned a comarré before, but you must understand that putting them out here with the Nothos would be like asking a feral dog to watch your steak.’ Bloody hell, he was an idiot about certain things. She tried to focus on his talents in bed and with alchemy and patted his hand like she’d once done to the child Malkolm had allowed to die.
‘Yes, I suppose it would.’ He gave her a conciliatory smile. ‘Later, then.’
‘Later you’re going to be out searching for my cover.’ She couldn’t go around looking like herself and risk being noticed by that wretched comarré or her shoddy group of friends. Someone local, someone connected just enough to get her in the door … that’s what she needed. Unfortunately, she had to rely on Nasir to bring that someone to her.
Flesh And Blood: House of Comarre: Book Two (House of Comarre 2) Page 8
