Bad Blood

by Kristen Painter

  “Hello?” a male voice rang out from the kitchen. “Is Evie here?”

  The question stopped Aliza in her tracks and she dropped her hands, fire forgotten. She peeked into the kitchen. A beautiful human male stood there, glowing as if sunshine leaked out his pores. Gold markings covered him, like the girl who had come with the vampire Malkolm. The vampire whose blood had held so much power. She raised one hand, prepared to strike. “What are you doing here?”

  “Hi.” Blue eyes deep and inviting, he smiled as he spoke. Her knees almost buckled. “Are you Evie?”

  “No, Evie’s my daughter. Was. She died.”

  His face fell and she wanted to say something to make that smile come back. “I’m so sorry for your loss.” He backed toward the door.

  She came toward him a few more steps. “What do you want Evie for?”

  His hand hit the latch on the screen door. “It’s not important.”

  She was fully into the kitchen now, the smell of him making it impossible to hide her fangs. “Tell me.”

  “A woman in the crystal shop on Bayonet said Evie might be able to help me with a spell. I shouldn’t have just walked in, but the screen door was unlocked. I’m sorry for bothering you. I’ll just let myself out.”

  “No, wait.” Aliza took a few steps forward, breathing in his deliciousness. The sour scent was still there. “You’re one of those comarré, aren’t you?”

  He smiled again. “Yes, ma’am. I’m a comar. That’s what they call the males.” His gaze traveled to her mouth. “I didn’t know Evie’s mother was a vampire.”

  She rolled her lips together and pushed her dreads out of her face. “Kinda just happened. Been a witch all my life, though. What kind of spell do you need help with? Maybe I can do something for you.” In exchange for some of his blood, of course. Or all of it. Maybe she’d put a holding spell on him and keep him as a pet.

  “Do you think so? That would be wonderful.” He hooked his thumbs into the neck of the long white shirt he wore and tugged it over his head.

  Aliza’s jaw unhinged a few inches. She might be a vampire, but she was still a woman, and the half-naked man standing in her kitchen not only smelled delicious, but he also had a body to go with it. His sculpted chest and arms were covered with more of the same gold marks. Her fingers itched to touch him. To grab hold and keep him still while she sank her fangs into him.

  “I have these signum all over me.” His smile was gone again. “I’d like some kind of spell that would let me hide them when I want to.”

  “I should look at them closer.” She shot to his side. He didn’t flinch at the sudden movement, surprising her.

  “Now,” he said, the angelic look on his face going hard. He sank to the floor, and another figure rolled into view outside the screen door. The Mohawked human who had been with Malkolm. The half-breed Evie had sent the demon after.

  He held a crossbow pointed at her. “Shouldn’t have spelled the varcolai, witch.”

  “Kill me and he’ll never be free,” she bluffed. She wasn’t sure what would happen if she died with the spell’s connection still open. Maybe nothing. Not that she was going to die. She was a vampire and they lived forever. She whipped her hands up and threw two bolts of blue flame at him and the pretty decoy comar.

  She turned to run as they leaped out of the way. If she could make it to her boat—A sharp whistling sound drowned out the sizzle of flames. Pain punched into her back and shoved her forward onto her hands and knees. She looked down to see the end of a bolt poking out of her chest.

  She opened her mouth to scream.

  And drifted to the floor in pieces of ash.

  “Tatiana? Tatiana.”

  “Hmm? What?” She looked up, slightly dazed. The library doors were cracked open and Octavian leaned through.

  “Are you crying? I thought I heard…” His gaze locked onto the wrapped bundle snuggled against her body. “What is that in your arms?”

  Tatiana had no idea how long she’d sat holding the baby. She’d checked and found it to be a little girl. After that, memories of Sofia and Malkolm had swept her into the past. She reached a hand to her cheek. Her fingers came away wet. She wiped the tears away. “A baby.”

  He came in and shut the doors behind him. “I see that. Where did you get it?”

  “The Castus. He wants me to raise it—her—for him.”

  “Why on earth would the ancient ones want a child?”

  Tatiana smoothed the blanket away from the little one’s face. “She’s half vampire.” And all mine.

  “A vampire child.” He said the words with awe and wonder as he sank to his knees before her. “How is that possible?”

  She shook her head. “No idea. But here she is.” Tatiana lifted her head. “We’re her family now. You and me and Daci, provided she returns from New Florida. We have to protect this child, train her, take care of her. Do you know how many would like to get their hands on her?” She held the child tighter. “Nothing bad can happen to her. Nothing.”

  He nodded. “Of course. You know I’m here for you, to help with whatever you need. For you and Daci both. And the baby.”

  She stroked a finger down the baby’s peach-skin cheek. “Do you know she has a heartbeat? She’s half-human, half-vampire. There’s no telling what power she might have. What abilities she might wield.”

  “Or what she might eat.” Octavian stared thoughtfully. “Blood? Milk?”

  “I have no idea. Can you get a wet nurse from among the kine?” Speaking of blood… “Where’s the comarré we brought back?”

  “I put her in the cell we held Daciana in. She seems genuinely happy to be back among the nobility, but I’m not taking any chances.”

  “Good. Send Kosmina to get some blood from her for the child and then see about that wet nurse, would you?”

  “With pleasure.” He leaned forward and kissed her. “You look radiant with that child in your arms. Motherhood suits you.”

  She smiled, staring down into the perfect little face staring back at her. “It always did.” But this time, no one would take her child away from her. Not the comarré whore. Not her fool ex-husband. Just like the lioness protected her cubs, so, too, would Tatiana rip to shreds anyone foolish enough to attempt to separate this little one from her. Killing Chrysabelle and Malkolm would be a perfect way to announce that.

  She lifted her locket to her lips, kissed it, then kissed the baby’s head. Fate had given her a second chance.

  “What’s her name?” Octavian asked.

  “There is so much about her I don’t know, but one thing is for certain. She is a very special child. A new race of vampires has been born in her.” Tatiana nodded as the name came to her. “I will call her Lilith.”

  Chapter Thirty-one

  Chrysabelle gave Mortalis the address of the first name on Loudreux’s list.

  He stared at her hard. “Read that again, please.”

  She did, repeating what she’d just said a little slower than the first time. “Don’t you know where it is?”

  Jaw locked, his mouth bent unpleasantly. He broke eye contact before speaking. “I know where it is.” With a soft curse and a mutter of “Unbelievable,” he moved the car back into the street.

  She shrugged it off. Mortalis’s attitude since they’d arrived in New Orleans hadn’t been one that invited questions. Beside her; Mal dayslept, his seat cranked back, his head lolled toward her; but otherwise he was stone-still. Despite the extra blood she’d provided him, the combination of a messed-up sleep schedule and using such a concentrated force of persuasion had wiped him out. Whoever she approached to take over as guardian, she would have to convince them to do so without Mal’s help.

  Hopefully, whoever it was had a price. Most people did, didn’t they? And hopefully she could meet that price. Getting the ring back and finding her brother was worth emptying her mother’s bank accounts if necessary. Not only did Chrysabelle feel certain her mother would understand, but also that it was ex
actly what Maris would want her to do. The words in her journal had been pretty clear on that, so clear that Chrysabelle swore she could hear her mother’s voice urging her on. Not that she needed it. Just knowing she had a brother out there somewhere drove her.

  Chrysabelle reached out to touch Mal’s hand, then stopped, not wanting to disturb him. When this was over, when she’d gotten the ring and gone back to the Aurelian and found out who her brother was, she would be able to stop caring about who she’d been and focus on who she wanted to be. A woman unencumbered by rules and restraints. A woman capable of being in a relationship. She liked Creek, but her feelings for Mal were more than just female curiosity. He was a good man. She smiled. A good vampire? Whatever he was, whatever this thing was between them, it deserved a chance.

  Together, maybe they could work on lessening his curse by getting some of those voices out of his head. The Aurelian had said one good deed would erase one of his names. That meant years of effort, but they had the time. Especially if he kept kissing her like that. A comarré with a powerful patron could live indefinitely. She shivered with wicked pleasure. Already she felt stronger from the last kiss.

  The car slowed. She looked up from studying Mal’s chiseled face. “We’re here?”

  “Yes.” Mortalis parked the SUV.

  She started to unfold the paper Loudreux had given her, although she’d read it a dozen times already.

  “You’re here to see a fae named Augustine,” Mortalis said.

  She nodded, reading the name even as he spoke it. “You know him? Any suggestions for approaching him?”

  “Besides don’t?” Mortalis shook his head. “He won’t take the job.”

  “How can you be so certain?”

  “I tried to get him to do it years ago. He’s a stubborn, lazy bala’stro.”

  Fae was one language she’d never studied, but the meaning was clear. “I still have to try.” She paused, watching Mortalis stare down the house she was about to go to. “How do you know this Augustine?”

  Mortalis ripped the keys out of the ignition. “We share a father.”

  Before Chrysabelle could ask any more questions, he got out and shut the door behind him. A half brother, then. How much more family did Mortalis have here? Had Loudreux known? He must have. And he must be using Mortalis to some end. Otherwise, why put him through this? Chrysabelle envied Mortalis having brothers and sisters, but Mortalis didn’t seem that interested in his siblings, not in any way that made sense to her. He walked around to the passenger’s side and leaned against the car, waiting.

  She hated to wake Mal, but with Mortalis’s reaction to being here, having some backup might be a good thing. Besides, if things went badly and she didn’t wake him, she’d never hear the end of it. She nudged him, wondering if his few minutes of daysleep had done him any good. He came awake instantly, eyes silver, face all hard angles and sharp bones. He shook himself, blinking his human face into place.

  “We stopped.” He twisted to look out his window. “This the next guardian’s house?”

  “Yes. A fae named Augustine. Who is also Mortalis’s half brother. Mortalis says he won’t take the job, but I still want to talk to him. Can’t hurt.” Unless Augustine and Mortalis got into a fight.

  “He related to everyone in this town?”

  “Seems that way, doesn’t it?”

  “What else did he say about him?”

  “That Augustine is lazy and stubborn. And he called him a bala’stro.”

  Mal snorted and raised his eyebrows. “Such a dirty word out of such a pretty mouth.”

  The hint of silver in his gaze made her warm. “What does it mean? No, don’t tell me. Let’s just get this over with.”

  A few minutes later, she stood before an impressive set of double doors, their curved insets of leaded glass gleaming even in the gray light of the fading, rainy day. “Judging by the size of this house, my money isn’t going to be much of an incentive.”

  Behind her, Mortalis huffed out a breath. “It’s not his house.”

  “Good,” Mal said. “Maybe money will work.”

  “Not likely,” Mortalis shot back.

  “Enough,” she hissed as she knocked. “Let me do this, okay?”

  They both went silent. A figure came down the entrance hall toward them, at last opening the door.

  “Hello there, darling.” The old woman smiled, leaning on a crystal-topped cane. She wore a peacock-colored silk caftan covered in a blinding array of crystals that threw sparks of light onto her sleek silver-white bob. Something about her seemed familiar, but there was no way Chrysabelle had met her before. Those amber eyes would have been hard to forget. “How can I help you young people? Collecting for something?”

  “No, ma’am.” Chrysabelle smiled at being called young. However old the woman in front of her, Chrysabelle was still older, no matter what she looked like. “I was hoping to have a word with Augustine?”

  “May I tell him who’s calling?”

  “Certainly. I’m Chrysabelle Lapointe. He doesn’t know me, but I have something I need to discuss with him.”

  She leaned forward a bit and lowered her voice. “You’re not with child, are you, love?”

  “Typical,” Mortalis muttered.

  Chrysabelle reared back. “What? No.” What kind of character was Augustine?

  The woman held out her hand, the gnarls of age slightly disguised by a gumdrop-sized amethyst surrounded by diamonds. “Nice to meet you, cheri. I’m Olivia Goodwin, but if you behave, y’all can call me Livie.”

  “Olivia Goodwin? The movie actress?” No wonder she looked so familiar. Comarré were limited in what they were allowed to watch, but her late patron, Algernon, had glommed on to anything even remotely vampire related. Olivia had played a vampire queen in a series of movies that Algernon had watched repeatedly, enough so that Chrysabelle could quote a few of Olivia’s more famous lines.

  Olivia smiled and gave her a little wink. “That’s right, but that’s the past, darling. I like to live in the present.”

  “Liar.” The teasing voice came from farther down the hall behind Olivia. “You love being recognized and you know it.” The body that belonged to that voice strode into view, long and leanly muscled, and except for his skin being a lighter shade of gray, a close copy of Mortalis. The genes in that family must be ironclad.

  “Augie.” Olivia tsked. “You’re a wicked boy.”

  He bent and kissed her snowy-white head. “That must be why you keep me.” Then his gray-green eyes turned to Chrysabelle and the men with her. The mirth in his gaze vanished when he saw Mortalis. “I’m not interested in whatever you’re selling.”

  Olivia swatted his leg with her cane. “That’s not polite at all.” Then she pointed the cane at Chrysabelle. “You children come into the parlor and have your discussion. Augie, act proper or I’ll boot you out on your blessed pointy ears.”

  He put his arm around her. “Livie, I adore you, but that’s Mortalis out there. You remember what happened last time he and I talked.” She nodded. “And see beside him? That’s a vampire.”

  She squinted past Chrysabelle. “Hmm. So I see.” She ducked under his arm and started back down the hall. “Better get the bourbon.”

  Creek wasn’t halfway out of Chrysabelle’s borrowed car when Doc and Fi ran out the front door to greet him. Well, Fi ran. Doc sauntered, showing no signs of what he’d been through. In fact, the lopsided grin on his face looked like it belonged on someone who’d had a few shots too many.

  Creek shut the car door and a second later, Fi collided into him with a hug. “Thank you, thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.” He glanced at Damian as he came around the side of the car. “Thank the comar—he played bait.”

  “Yes,” Damian said. “And got scorched for it.” He pulled at the burned sleeve of his shirt, revealing a patch of blistering skin.

  “Oh no!” Fi went to him and took his hand. “Let’s get you inside and fix that up.” She
pulled him toward the house, leaving Doc and Creek on the driveway.

  Doc stuck his hand out. “Thanks, man. You did me a solid. I don’t forget that kinda stuff.”

  Creek shook his hand, then started walking with the shifter back to the house. “You been celebrating? You smell like a still.”

  “Hey,” Doc laughed, “that’s Chrysabelle’s best bubbly you’re talking about. I drank myself into a coma to keep Aliza’s urges from taking over.” He shrugged. “Probably going to have a headache tomorrow, but it worked, so I’m cool.” He stopped before Creek’s hand reached the knob. “Speaking of the old witch, what happened?”

  “She was a vampire.”

  Doc’s mouth dropped open. “You kidding me? Guess Preacher didn’t do such a hot job of killing her after all. Wow, wonder how that went down.”

  “Don’t know, but she’s ash now. I set fire to the house, too, just to be sure.”

  “That explains why you smell like smoke.”

  Creek eyed Doc, looking him up and down. “You feel all right? Other than the alcohol?”

  “Yeah, I feel fine. Why you looking at me like you’re expecting to see a third eye?”

  “Aliza said if we killed her, you’d never be free. I figured she was lying, but also figured I’d better ask.”

  Doc rapped his knuckles against his head. “Just me up there.”

  “Good to hear. What’s happening inside?”

  “Dinner, in case you can’t smell that.” Doc grabbed the door handle and went in.

  Creek followed, inhaling the best thing he’d smelled in a long time. “What’s cooking?” he asked, heading into the kitchen.

  The mayor turned around from a steaming pot at the stove, a spoon in one hand. “Arroz con pollo.”

  “I didn’t expect to see you here.” He leaned against the fridge, giving a nod to Velimai, who glided through the space with fae efficiency.

  “I was attacked by a goblin—previously a costumed child—as we were leaving the press briefing where I canceled all Halloween activities.” Lola turned back to the pot. “Coming here seemed like the right thing to do.”