Mal stared at the words, trying to avoid seeing the image of his true face reflected behind them.
What if something happens? she added. C could be in trouble.
“And if she isn’t? And my arrival makes that crazy Aurelian even crazier?”
Take the chance, Velimai wrote. She caught his gaze in the mirror and mouthed the words again. Take the chance.
He turned away from the mirror and back at the portal. “Guard this with your life. If Chrysabelle has to go back through the Primoris Domus, Rennata will kill her this time.”
The wysper nodded solemnly, sketching a cross over her heart. She pointed at the shimmering puddle once again.
Mal nodded. “I get it. I’m going.” He stepped into the portal.
And found himself standing in the Aurelian’s chambers.
Chrysabelle lay sprawled like a rag doll in front of the enormous table. Her eyes stared unblinking at the ceiling. Blood drenched the stomach of her robe. Not a heartbeat or an inhale. The chains that held the beast snapped. “What have you done to her?” he roared.
The Aurelian sat behind the table, cleaning blood off her mammoth sword. She flinched and clutched her sword a little tighter. “Get out. Or I’ll kill you, too.”
The blackness of the beast crept over him, the names unfurling to cover his skin and drown the shreds of humanity that otherwise kept him sane. He fought to retain his sanity long enough to deal with the Aurelian. “All she wanted was her brother’s name. Was that such a trespass you killed her?”
The Aurelian stood, hefting her weapon. “Get out, demon spawn.”
“Answer me.” A chorus of voices filled the room as the souls trapped inside him came to life as the beast.
Fear trickled into her eyes. “She attacked me.”
“So you didn’t tell her.” The darkness spread almost faster than he could control it now, winding around his bones and seeping into his muscles like a fever. “Then you will tell me.” He flashed to her, pinning her against the bookshelves behind her and rendering her sword useless. “What is her brother’s name?”
“Go back to hell where you belong.”
He backhanded her. She slumped to the floor. The beast tore at his resolve. Time was running out to get Chrysabelle back before he turned completely. He scooped Chrysabelle’s limp body into his arms and turned. The portal was on the floor behind him. He kissed her forehead and stepped through, his next step landing on the bathroom’s marble tile.
Upon seeing Chrysabelle, Velimai went almost transparent, her mouth opening and a soft keening wail slipping out.
The beast reared back in pain at the sound. “Wysper,” Mal ground out. “Control yourself. I did not do this.”
He strode to the bed and eased Chrysabelle’s body onto it with the last shreds of humanity he had left. He stared down at her, the beast clawing at his insides for escape. Rage poured hot through his veins, building the beast up. He shook his head.
Chrysabelle was dead. There was nothing left for him. No reason to keep the beast leashed. No reason to care whether he was cursed or not.
Sorrow freeing every desperate urge within him, he turned his head toward the French doors that led to her balcony. The curtains drawn over them darkened the room almost completely, but the pervasive light of day leaked under the bottom edge.
With one leap, he could be through the glass and into the sun. It was the wisest choice. For himself and for humanity, because he knew in his long-dead heart that the only other way to assuage the pain of her loss was to return to the darkness and blood that had once shrouded his world.
Death or the beast. Those were his options.
On the other side of the bed, Velimai trembled like a wind-whipped tree, tears streaming down her face, mouth open in silent pain. The one person who’d cared for Mal was gone. No one would mourn his passing.
He dragged himself toward the doors. The beast fought each step. He grasped a handful of fabric. The beast roared, snapping at the last of his resolve. The thrum of the voices reached a high-pitched whine of desperation and persuasion. He yanked the curtain back.
Sunlight seared his skin. At the pain, the beast broke free and hurled him back into the room’s shadows. He lay staring at the ceiling, wishing like never before that he could end it all. “Velimai,” he whispered, sorrow giving him the strength to use his own voice one last time. “Open your mouth and kill me.”
The fae sobbed. Not for him, he was sure, but for Chrysabelle. Still, he took the sound as a yes and braced himself.
A soul-deep gasp shattered the room’s silence, penetrating the chaos in his head. He turned. That wasn’t the sound he’d been expecting.
Chrysabelle arced off the bed, her eyes open, chest heaving. Her signum were lit up like they were on fire, like they had been at the signumist’s.
The beast stumbled in confusion. Mal got to his knees, control returning to him in waves.
She shook like she was freezing. Gold sparks filled her eyes. “I was dead,” she whispered. She glanced down at her stomach, one hand coasting over the bloodstain on her robe. She stopped suddenly and held her hands out in front of her. “My signum. What’s happening to me?”
“You can see that?” he asked. He pushed to his feet and went to her side. He wanted to gather her into his arms and crush her against him, but he held back.
She nodded, still trembling. “I feel… strange.”
“It happened when Atticus finished. Your whole body lit up like that.”
“The ring of sorrows.” She shook her head, pulling her robe aside to look at her legs. “The power is in me. It must have reacted with your blood. And Samhain.”
“You’re alive.” He sat on the bed. Every muscle that had ached with grief now tensed in relief. “That’s all that matters.”
Her mouth turned down and she looked toward the bathroom. “Is the portal still open?”
Velimai, tears long gone, stepped into Chrysabelle’s line of sight and shook her head.
“It’s not open, or you don’t want me to return?” She swung her legs off the side of the bed opposite Mal and got up, wobbling slightly. She grabbed the headboard. “Doesn’t matter, I’m going back. Get me my sacre. She knows my brother’s name, and this time she’s going to say it so I can hear it or—”
“No.” Mal stood. “She killed you. Do you understand? You’re not going back. Ever. It’s over. We’ll find another way.”
Velimai nodded. Chrysabelle, her tremors worse now, looked like she wanted to argue, but her eyes rolled back in her head and she slumped to her knees. Mal was beside her a half second later and had her in his arms. He put her back in bed. Stubborn, stubborn woman. But alive and he planned to keep her that way.
She stayed unconscious, but her heartbeat never faded, her breathing never faltered. He pulled up a chair next to the bed and settled in. Doc and Fi stopped by, tried to tell him something about a vampire being kept on the freighter with the comar then something else about Doc being the new pride leader. Creek came with news of Samhain night. Then Mortalis to get an update for Dominic. He waved them all away, refusing to listen or talk. Nothing mattered until Chrysabelle was awake again. And no way was he leaving her side again until she was truly recovered from everything that had happened.
Hours slipped by. Velimai checked in on them from time to time, even bringing him a glass of blood once.
The edge of light beneath the curtains brightened, then warmed to gold, finally darkening to purple before vanishing completely. Still she slept, sometimes moaning softly, sometimes thrashing like someone was attacking her. There was little he could do but sit and watch. And hope.
When she quieted, he leaned over and brushed a strand of hair from her face. Eyes tightly closed, she turned her face into the pillow and uttered a single word.
“Damian.”
Acknowledgments
It’s hard to keep this section short because I am so fortunate to have so much support. I’m always afraid I’m going
to forget someone. If I have, please know that at some point too late to make the appropriate changes to this acknowledgment, I woke up in a cold sweat with your name at the forefront of my memory.
To begin with, I want to thank my Creator for the gifts He’s given me.
Without question, I must thank my agent, Elaine. She’s everything I ever wanted in an agent and more. I feel blessed to call her friend. Big thanks to the whole TKA family.
Thanks to the entire publishing team at Orbit: my tremendous editor, Devi; her able assistant, Jennifer; Lauren, the high priestess of awesome covers; the amazing publicity guys, Alex and Jack, who go above and beyond; Siri, the production editor; the copy editors; and Mike, the best sales guy in the business.
Thanks to Rocki and Louisa, whose support really surpasses that word. They’re more than friends. They’re The Best. They make the hard days bearable and the good days great.
More thanks go to the rest of my “crew,” who give me feedback, support me, encourage me, and remind me I’m not in this alone: my parents, Matt, Jax, Laura, Leigh, Carrie, Carolyn, Briana, Denise, the Critwits, the Fictionistas, STAR, and the gang at Romance Divas.
Lastly, big thanks to my husband. In the book of my life, you’re the spine. Without you, I’d fall apart.
extras
meet the author
Kristen Painter’s writing résumé boasts multiple Golden Heart nominations and advance praise from a handful of bestselling authors, including Gena Showalter and Roxanne St. Claire. A former New Yorker now living in Florida, Kristen has a wealth of fascinating experiences from which to flavor her stories, including time spent working in fashion for Christian Dior and as a maitre’d for Wolfgang Puck. Her website is at kristenpainter.com and she’s on Twitter at @Kristen_Painter. The series website is at www.houseofcomarre.com.
introducing
If you enjoyed BAD BLOOD,
look out for
OUT FOR BLOOD
House of Comarré: Book 4
by KRISTEN PAINTER
Chrysabelle wasn’t fine, that much Mal knew. He also knew that what she didn’t want to talk about—the power from the ring of sorrows being somehow responsible for her surviving the Aurelian’s blow—wasn’t just going to magically wear off. He never should have put his blood into her, never should have let her get the signum replaced, never should have let her go to the Aurelian alone. Never never never. Weakling.
He snorted in anger as he plodded down the steps from her suite, half agreeing with the voices. As if he had any control over any of those things. He’d no more have let her die than she’d have let him stop her from doing what she wanted. And now, there was a price to pay.
How high a price? Who knew. But having the ring’s power coursing through her had to mean more than just keeping her alive when her life was threatened. That was too simple. Power had a way of exacting a price for its use. Tatiana was proof of that. So are you.
With a loud exhale to announce himself, he walked into the kitchen. Velimai, the wysper fae, sat at the table with a cup of tea, poring over her e-reader. She looked up when he came in.
She signed something he didn’t understand. She pointed toward the upstairs.
“Yes,” he answered, guessing at what she’d asked. “She’s awake. And hungry. And a little cranky.” Who wouldn’t be around you?
The wysper offered him a wry smile, set her reader down, and headed for the refrigerator. She pulled out a few things, then gave him a questioning look and a nod toward Chrysabelle’s rooms.
He pulled out a chair and sat, his back to the wall. “She’s in the shower now. Should be down shortly.”
Velimai looked over at him from where she stood at the counter seasoning a steak. She slowly mouthed the words You look tired.
“I am.” Tired of always being at odds with Chrysabelle’s stubbornness. “And frustrated. She doesn’t want to talk about what happened.” He tilted his head back until it touched the wall, and closed his eyes. “Or what’s still happening. Or going to happen, depending on how you look at it.”
Two soft clinks on the tabletop brought his head back down and he opened his eyes. Velimai tapped the top of the whiskey bottle she’d put there with a squat glass, then glided back to the range where the grill was heating.
“Thanks.” What he really needed was blood, but that could wait. He’d had enough practice in delaying his own gratification. Another hour or so meant nothing. He poured a couple centimeters of whiskey into the tumbler and tossed them back. The burn felt good. Substantial. Something he could quantify. Unlike Chrysabelle, who continued to bewilder him. “We’re going to have to discuss it sooner or later.”
Velimai nodded. The steak sizzled as she laid it over the grill, the scents of searing, bloody flesh reminding Mal of his human days. A muted whir filled the room as the vent kicked on to suck up the smoke. She put down the tongs she’d been using, came back to the table, and scrawled something on an e-tablet, then held it out to him.
She’ll talk when she’s ready. You & I know it’s the ring in her system. Maybe your blood too. But what can you do until she’s ready? Fight with her? No use.
Mal set the e-tablet down and leaned back. “No use is right. I just can’t help but wonder what the final cost of all this is going to be.”
Velimai sighed and went back to the steak.
“The final cost of what?” Chrysabelle cinched her robe a little tighter as she entered. Her hair was dry. Maybe she’d changed her mind about showering. The look in her eyes said she understood perfectly well what they were talking about.
He didn’t want to fight with her. But neither did he want to ignore something so important. Velimai glanced at him, her expression plainly asking him to drop it. But he couldn’t. This was too important. This was Chrysabelle’s life. Her future. “The final cost of what’s going on with you. With the ring’s power in your system.”
“The ring’s power was destroyed when Atticus melted it down. I told you I’m fine. If you can’t accept that, maybe you should go.”
He canted his head to one side, trying to quell his building frustration. “Chrysabelle, don’t be—”
“It’s my house,” she said quietly. “I’ll be whatever I want to be, understood?”
He stood, thankful there was no sun in the sky to keep him captive here. “Let me know when you’re ready to be someone who wants to face reality, because if you think the ring’s power and my blood in your system aren’t somehow responsible for you still being alive, you’re wrong. And we need to figure out what else it means before something new happens. Tatiana’s still out there. The first sign of weakness in you and she’ll exploit it. You think she won’t?”
Her face went slightly ashen. “You don’t want me to have a moment’s peace, do you?”
He rolled his eyes skyward. “I just want to figure this out. To help you.” Help yourself. Bite her. Drain her.
She crossed her arms like a shield against him. “Yes, I know how you help. Like the time you followed me to the Aurelian. And the time you put your blood into me to save my life. Your help is never really that helpful, is it?”
He came closer, staring down at her maddening glow. “You’re still breathing, aren’t you?”
“Yes. And I’m tired of the air smelling like vampire.” She turned away. “Go home, Mal. If I need you, I know where to find you.”
Every cell in his body ached to fire back. Raw anger kept his mouth shut. He didn’t need to be told twice. He stalked out of the house and slammed the door behind him. The voices raged like drunken carnival revelers.
Maybe the voices were right. Maybe it was time to let Chrysabelle go. Let her deal with her life on her own.
If only he could get his heart to agree.
PRAISE FOR
HOUSE OF COMARRÉ
“Gripping, gritty, and imaginative. If you love dangerous males, kick-ass females, and unexpected twists, this is the series for you! Kristen Painter’s engaging voice, smart writing,
and bold, explosive plot blew me away. Prepare to lose some sleep!”
—LARISSA IONE,
New York Times bestselling author
“Kristen Painter brings a sultry new voice to the vampire genre, one that beckons with quiet passion and intrigue.”
—L.A. BANKS,
New York Times bestselling author
“Painter scores with this one. Passion and murder, vampires and courtesans—original and un-put-downable. Do yourself a favor and read this one.”
—PATRICIA BRIGGS,
New York Times bestselling author
“Kristen Painter’s Blood Rights is dark and rich with layer after delicious layer. This spellbinding series will have you begging for more!”
—GENA SHOWALTER,
New York Times bestselling author
BOOKS BY KRISTEN PAINTER
House of Comarré:
Blood Rights
Flesh and Blood
Bad Blood
Glossary
Anathema: a noble vampire who has been cast out of noble society for some reason.
Aurelian: the comarré historian.
Castus Sanguis: the fallen angels from which the othernatural races descended.
Comarré/comar: a human hybrid species especially bred to serve the blood needs of the noble vampire race.
Dominus: the ruling head of a noble vampire family.
Elder: the second in command to a Dominus.
Fae: a race of othernatural beings descended from fallen angels and nature.
Fringe vampires: a race of lesser vampires descended from the cursed Judas Iscariot
Bad Blood Page 34
