Who knew the gate code? Dominic? Was he here to get more blood? She grabbed her swords and ran to the door to check the closed-circuit camera. If not Dominic, then who? Had someone broken the ward? Solomon could do it. But why would he? Unless coerced. Her pulse kicked up a beat and her fingers clenched and unclenched the sacres’ red leather hilts. The movement reopened the wound on her hand, and fresh blood seeped through the bandages, but the pain only served to hone her awareness. Her sacre hummed in the dim light, trembling as her blood dampened the hilt, ready to be used.
A sleek black sedan rolled to a stop at the inside curve of the circular drive. That car belonged to Dominic, but the driver who got out wasn’t Leo. He opened the door for the passenger and as that person exited, Chrysabelle exhaled the breath she’d held.
Mortalis. She hadn’t wanted to talk to him earlier, but she was in a slightly better mood now that she’d— The next figure to exit the vehicle behind the fae made her spine stiffen and her jaw tighten. If Mortalis wanted to force this confrontation, fine, but he wasn’t going to like the results.
Velimai flickered, clearly agitated. Chrysabelle waved her back. ‘I’ve got this.’
The wysper scowled at the visitors, but nodded as she moved away.
Sacres still in hand, Chrysabelle threw the door open and stood there, glaring as the two intruders came toward her. She pointed the swords at them, more for emphasis than threat. ‘How did you get the gate code?’
Mortalis looked at her like she should have expected them. ‘Dominic. Look, Chrysabelle, there’s a lot that needs to be discuss—’
She leveled the weapons at him. ‘Mortalis, if you want us to remain on speaking terms, I suggest you stay out of this.’
Hands up, Mortalis lagged behind, but Mal kept walking.
She swung the blades to aim at Mal. ‘You’re trespassing.’
His dark gaze pinned her, the tiniest flicker of silver lighting his near-black irises. ‘So sue me. We need to talk.’
‘I think you mean you need to talk.’ She tossed the swords into the air, reversing her grip on the hilts as they came down so she could cross one arm over the other with the points toward the ground. The engraved blades threw soft sparks as they moved with her breathing. ‘But that assumes I’m going to listen.’
He stopped on the landing, just shy of the threshold. The invisible barrier from her lack of invitation loomed between them, but the look on his face said he might risk it. She’d once seen a vampire enter a house uninvited. Three days of cleaning hadn’t removed all the stains. Mal planted a hand on each side of the door and leaned in until his handsome face was inches from hers. The interior lights cast blue highlights in the black waves of his hair. ‘You’re going to listen. Then you’re going to do some explaining of your own.’
‘You can’t make me.’ Sweet sunlight, what was she? Five? At least she hadn’t flinched. Why did Mal’s nearness affect her at all? Because he must obviously still be her patron. Sounded good. She’d go with that. Better than admitting it had anything to do with her feelings or his broad, muscled body.
He inhaled, didn’t even try to hide it. ‘You smell good.’
‘You’d know.’ She snorted softly, sucking in a nose full of his scent in return. She could almost feel her traitorous body ramping up its blood production. He didn’t even have the decency to look like someone had just beaten the shade out of him. But then he’d heal quickly with a belly full of her blood, wouldn’t he?
‘How’s your hand?’
The simple question coupled with the soft growl of his voice nearly undid her, all but unbalancing the perfect blend of righteous anger and justified indignation she’d concocted. ‘What? It’s fine.’
He glanced at her right fist, his nostrils flaring. ‘It’s bleeding.’
‘Your fault.’ Somehow, despite the obvious blood scent she must be putting off, he was maintaining his human face. Something probably also made easier by the blood of hers he’d recently had.
His eyes narrowed slightly and one corner of his mouth twitched. ‘Would you like me to kiss it and make it better?’
Heat as unwelcome as he was spiraled through her. As a matter of fact, she wanted him to do just that. Kiss her hand. Then her mouth. No, she didn’t. She didn’t want that at all. Shoving that horrid thought aside, she asked, ‘And risk becoming one of your names? I think not.’
The subtle hints of pleasure vanished from his face. ‘Let me in.’
‘No.’ She shrugged, trying to throw off the urge to speak the words that would give him access. ‘House rules.’
Silver edged his pupils. ‘Chrysabelle.’
She tapped the left blade lightly against her leg. Suddenly, the game shifted and she was winning. Maybe she shouldn’t be enjoying this, but she was. ‘Is that the closest you can come to please?’
He pushed off the door frame and bent his head to stare at her from under his lashes. Oh, he was good at working the dark-and-dangerous thing, but she was over that. For the most part. He cocked one brow. ‘I’ll be around back.’ He ran his tongue over his teeth behind closed lips. ‘Don’t make me wait.’
And then he was gone in that lightning flash of speed only a vampire his age could manage.
Every brain cell screamed at her to let him rot out there. Every fiber of her comarré being itched to join him. Somewhere in between, the lonely, hungry female in her wanted to crawl into his arms and forget all the reasons she shouldn’t.
Beyond the walkway, Mortalis leaned against the car. He tipped his head to one side, indicating she should follow Mal.
She slammed the door shut.
Velimai waited on the other side, arms crossed.
‘I already know what you’re thinking, so just don’t. Don’t say it.’ Chrysabelle slipped her sacres back into their sheaths, girded herself mentally, and headed out.
Doc stayed in the cargo hold until Fi had come and gone again. He’d been able to talk to her once more, but her cognition of who he was and what was going on had only improved slightly. Watching her being torn apart didn’t get any easier either, no matter how many times he saw it. The gut-wrenching sight strengthened his determination to get Aliza the blood she needed to make all this go away.
He had no real plan to get Dominic’s blood, other than to explain to him face-to-face what the situation was. He figured Dominic owed it to him. After all, Fi had died in the attempt to rescue Maris. Not to mention Doc never would have been cursed if not for Dominic’s supernatural crank.
The scene outside of Seven was unreal. Around the roped-off entrance, the crowd accosted anyone going in or coming out with the kind of enthusiasm once reserved for rock stars and Hollywood players. Across the street, a small handful carried signs reading FANGS BUT NO FANGS and VAMPIRES SUCK. He stopped at the edge of the swarm, trying to catch the eye of Tec, one of the wolf-shifters who worked the door.
At last, Tec nodded to him and Doc pushed through the crowd. A woman, human by scent, grabbed his arm. ‘Are you a vampire? Do you want to bite me?’
Unbelievable. He pulled away, stilling the snarl in his throat but unable to stop his eyes from going leopard.
‘Oh,’ she cooed. ‘Whatever you are, I’m game.’
‘Actually, you’re prey.’ He pushed forward and left her behind, blank-faced and openmouthed.
Tec grabbed Doc’s wrist above his outstretched hand as he approached and Doc returned the greeting. ‘Long time, man.’
‘Yeah, well, you know Dominic and I fell out.’
Tec made a small woofing sound deep in his throat. ‘Yeah, Mia told me when you two, you know … ’ He pulled a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket. ‘That’s some bad juju, man.’
‘That’s for damn sure.’ His curse and Mia were two things he didn’t need reminding of, although Fi had erased Mia’s place in his heart. Doc glanced around at the crowd and changed the subject. ‘I hope you’re getting paid extra.’
‘Actually, we are. In fact’ – Tec jerked his head
toward the door – ‘if you see Mia, tell her your first one’s on me.’
‘Thanks, bro.’ Doc slapped Tec on the shoulder and went inside. He hadn’t counted on Mia being here, but then, why wouldn’t she? A good job was a good job, and in Paradise City, good jobs – straight jobs – were as hard to come by as feathers on a fruit fly. Didn’t change the fact that he didn’t plan on seeing Tec’s sister unless absolutely necessary.
Several yards down, the hall ended in a set of steel double doors painted bloodred and decorated with a pair of crouching gold dragons. That was new. What was wrong with dirty and rusted? Guess that didn’t go with the new velvet ropes cordoning off the entrance.
A second later, the door swung open and a fringe vamp he didn’t know let him through. They nodded at each other, the only greeting needed.
Doc made his way through a set of heavy velvet drapes and entered the throng of fringe, varcolai, fae, and remnants. It had been years since he’d been in this club, since the night of his curse, actually. Besides the doors, nothing had changed. Same gaudy crystal chandeliers, same dark wood, same odor of blood, drugs, sex, and booze. He stopped, his gaze hooked by the petite blonde crossing his path. Scratch that. Something had changed. Dominic suddenly had a whole lot of comarré working for him. The comarré and comar sidled past. On closer inspection, they had none of Chrysabelle’s fineness. Dominic was producing fakes, but the fringe didn’t seem to care. Or maybe they didn’t know better?
Dominic’s business was Dominic’s business. Doc moved on, searching for the man, but a quarter hour later and he’d yet to find Dominic on the floor. Doc tapped the arm of a passing server, a female remnant with traces of shifter – or drugs – in her eyes. ‘Your boss in?’
She tucked the edge of her tray against her side. ‘Dominic’s always in.’
‘What room is he in?’ Better to look for him on the floor than go straight to the man’s office. The days of belonging to this world were long over, and assuming any of those privileges still existed could have bad consequences.
She shrugged. ‘You’ll have to ask Katsumi. She’s acting manager.’
That explained the new paint job on the doors. ‘And I would find her where?’
‘Not sure.’ The girl looked around. ‘I don’t see her.’
‘Yeah, me neither, which is why I asked.’ This was going as well as everything else in his life. ‘What about Ronan or Mortalis?’
She laughed. ‘Ronan hasn’t been here since he got his fangs handed to him in the pit. And Mortalis was here, but … ’ She lifted one shoulder as she glanced around the club again. ‘I dunno.’
He exhaled slowly and reminded himself that yelling wasn’t going to make the girl any smarter. ‘How about Mia?’
The girl smiled. ‘She’s in Vanity.’
Finally. ‘Thanks.’
She slipped back into the crowd and he headed for Vanity. Glistening gold-mirrored hangings draped the entrance, reflecting a thousand images of himself and the golden glow of his eyes. Like he needed the reminder of what he was – and wasn’t anymore. Pushing through, he walked into the lounge. Nothing had changed here either. Textured plum silk covered the walls. The seating areas were all gold-mirror backed and done with more purples, this time suede and leather. Peacock feathers decorated everything else, matching the enormous peacock-shaped bar heavily paved in crystals and glass tiles so it sparkled like a disco ball.
The perfect spot for Mia to hold court. Even among all that bling, she stood out. True beauty had a way of outshining glitz. And true beauty was the best way to describe her slim dancer’s body, long dark hair, and big brown eyes. Tonight she seemed taller than her usual five foot three, and he wondered if she was wearing platforms. That girl rocked some serious heels. At least she had when they’d been going out. He took the last spot beside the service bar and waited for her to glance up. Didn’t take long.
‘Well, now, they’ll let anyone in here, won’t they?’ She neatly folded the spotless bar rag she’d been wiping down the bar with and tucked it away before she made her way over. The reflected prisms from the blinged-out bar covered her in speckles of light as bright as her smile. ‘I can’t believe it.’
‘Believe it. It’s me.’ He smiled back. Hard to imagine a chick that petite could be a threat to anyone, but he’d seen a fae-varcolai remnant purposefully sneeze on her once. Bad idea. Mia’s fear of germs bordered on the manic. She’d hit the offender with a blow to the windpipe so fast and hard the creature had required two weeks of ventilation to recover.
She leaned against the counter. ‘What are you doing here? I haven’t heard from you since your pride … you know.’ Her smile faded, memories flickering in her eyes. ‘Well, it’s really good to see you.’
‘You too.’ He dropped his smile as well. ‘How have you been?’
‘Good. Busy. You know, same old same old.’ Her face twisted in the wistful look of pity he’d gotten all too accustomed to. ‘How are you doing?’
He paused. Mia wasn’t just anyone. They had history. He’d once thought they also had a future, but those days were gone, and the only woman he wanted a future with now was Fi. Still, Mia was a friend. Seemed to still be. ‘Things are okay.’ He shrugged and sat back, tried to smile away the truth. ‘Nothing you need to worry about.’
She tilted her head, her eyes shimmering to their icy wolf blue for a brief second. ‘Whatever you say, Maddoc. You want a white Russian?’
She remembered his usual, but he hesitated. Varcolai social laws made turning down food or beverage from another varcolai highly disrespectful, but Mia was a bartender. Offering drinks was her job. ‘Just a club soda.’
‘You on the wagon?’ She made a funny face but snagged a tumbler and started filling it from the gun.
‘No. I’m here to talk to Dominic.’
‘Ah.’ She squeezed in a lime before setting the glass in front of him. ‘Sure a drink wouldn’t be a better idea?’
‘Gotta stay clearheaded.’ He sipped, watching her wash her hands. The water beaded on her skin like it was coated in oil. He turned the glass in a small circle, shifting the ice. ‘You wearing latex?’
‘Spray-on latex is my best friend.’ She wiggled her fingers at him. ‘But then you knew that.’
He ignored the subtle jab at their past. ‘Speaking of Dominic—’
‘Which we weren’t.’
‘But we are now. Where is he tonight?’
‘In his apartments, I guess.’
She leaned in and he caught a whiff of vanilla. Flashes of the past, of bare skin and hot nights, flitted through his brain. ‘Between us, he’s been scarce on the floor lately. Real scarce.’
‘What about Mortalis?’ He sucked in a chunk of ice, cooling himself down. Mia might still get a little physical reaction out of him, but she’d get that from most men. Fi was where his heart was.
Mia straightened as a server came to the service bar and put in a drink order. Mia nodded and lined up glasses. ‘He’s usually here, but I haven’t seen him tonight. I think he was taking somebody home.’
Since when had Mortalis become the designated driver for anyone but Dominic? He turned, watching the crowd in the lounge while Mia filled the order. Some were barely keeping their clothes on, but that was status quo in Vanity. You didn’t come here to fade into the background. One vamp, Middle Eastern and possibly noble-blooded, had a horde of fake comarré around him, but his gaze seemed stuck on Mia. Doc reminded himself it wasn’t his place to care anymore, but that didn’t stop the protective feelings from surfacing. The server took her drinks and left. He turned back to Mia. ‘Who’s Sheik Fang over there? He looks noble. And he’s staring you down pretty hard.’
She snorted. ‘He might be noble, but if he’s in Paradise City, he’s probably anathema. He intro’d himself as Nazir or something. He tried to kiss my hand. Can you imagine? Dead lips on my skin? Like that’s going to happen.’ A pair of remnants sat at the end of the bar. She greeted them with a smile, before glancin
g at Doc. ‘Let me get their order and I’ll be right back.’
He nursed the soda until she returned. ‘I heard Ronan got beat down in the Pits.’
Mia laughed. ‘Man, that was beautiful. Well, from what I heard. I wasn’t there.’ She sighed as she wiped down the bar. ‘You’re never going to believe who he fought.’
He swallowed the ice he was chewing. ‘Who?’
‘Remember that anathema who used to fight here all the time, hardly ever won, had those names all over him like tattoos – Hey, you know, I think that’s who Mortalis was taking home.’
Mal. Doc dropped the glass. ‘I gotta go.’
Within moments, he was back outside and running toward the freighter. If Mal had returned to the Pits, there was a damn good reason why. Not that Mal wouldn’t welcome a chance to turn that Irish neck biter into ash. Doc ran with a speed no human could match, but it wasn’t nearly as fast as he could have gone in his leopard form. His lungs barely straining, he plowed through street after street. The neighborhood surrounding Seven was about as ghetto as you could get, but the chances of someone giving him trouble were slim. This was fringe country, and the uneasy peace between fringe and varcolai had so far survived the covenant’s breaking.
He turned a corner, putting the worst of it behind him. An acrid odor rose up around him, clinging to his skin like spider-web. He slowed down, scanning the street for the source. He knew that smell from somewhere. It reminded him of … of … He came to a complete stop.
Piles of ash dotted the asphalt and sidewalk. The bitter scent reminded him of the way the vampires they’d killed at Tatiana’s had smelled when they died, because that’s what he was looking at.
Pile after pile of vampire remains.
Chapter Ten
Even with his back to her, Mal felt Chrysabelle with his whole being as she walked toward where he stood by the pool. Her heartbeat, which had ratcheted up the moment he’d stepped out of the car and then again when he’d told her she smelled good, echoed in his veins. Her scent, thicker and more hypnotic with the fresh blood on her palm, draped him in a magnetic haze. Only a few weeks had passed since he’d seen her, but the memory of her preternatural glow and glittering signum paled in comparison to her in the flesh. With her sunny blondeness and eyes that matched the summer sky, she remained the essence of everything he craved.
Flesh And Blood: House of Comarre: Book Two (House of Comarre 2) Page 10
