Blood Rights

by Painter, Kristen

  With a final burst of effort, she snapped the rope and loosed her hands. Red marks circled her wrists. She flexed them, marveling at how the signum still sparkled after all these years. How she’d despised those marks, worked to hide them so she could move in the mortal world undetected and live a normal human life. The life she’d wanted for Chrysabelle. Poor Dominic. He’d never understood her need for that mundane normalcy, but she’d never expected him to. He reveled in being the creature he was, and a normal human life had stopped being an option for him the day he was turned. He’d gone from prince to king. Comarré were born serfs. How could he understand?

  She stood slowly, giving her bad leg a chance to catch up. It took longer for the circulation to return to her old muscles these days. Paying Dominic in blood had given her a welcome boost of virility. Keeping her strength up while living her life as a cripple had been a test of will made bearable by Dominic’s occasional visits, but today would make all those years worthwhile.

  The cobra shifted, coming back to life. Foul creature. Maris limped over and snatched it behind the head and by the tail. ‘You and your mistress are quite a pair, aren’t you? Cold-blooded killers.’

  The cobra spit, and the sharp tang of venom tainted the air.

  ‘Just like your keeper. Reeking of poison and death.’ In one quick motion, she released the snake’s head and spun the creature around by the tail, bringing its skull down against the bench with a hard, final snap.

  She dropped the limp body. The serpent writhed at her feet as the nerves twitched reflexively in the final throes of death. If only Eve could have done as much. Maris wiped her hands on her dirty, bloodied clothes.

  ‘Now for your mistress.’

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  The apprehension building in Mal’s gut had grown the farther into the city they’d driven. The cypher fae, Solomon, had gotten them through Corvinestri’s wards without incident, but that didn’t mean they weren’t being watched. Even the voices’ ever-present droning had taken on a nervous hum. Something wasn’t right. Besides the fact that two anathema were now within the walls of one of the power centers of vampire nobility.

  The grounds around the Primoris Domus house, if you could call such a structure a house, were so well lit that the night didn’t leave a single shadow. He almost expected to see armed guards, but what good would they do against vampires?

  He’d never been to a comarré residence before, let alone imagined one could be as impressive as the houses nobles lived in. Maybe more so. How many acres did the property entail? At least three other buildings dotted the landscape. Training facilities maybe? Dorms? Armies could have been barracked inside buildings that large. He glanced at Chrysabelle. Maybe that’s exactly what the buildings held.

  ‘Nice joint,’ Doc said. ‘Your kind don’t like small spaces, I dig.’

  Chrysabelle’s eyes stayed on the building, focused yet distant. She raised her hand to the window and rested her fingertips on the glass. ‘Within that house, hundreds of comarré live their lives. They’re born here, raised here, trained here. This is our world. Our home.’

  Doc shot a look at Mal as if to say it seemed like a sheltered life. He couldn’t disagree, but Chrysabelle had handled herself well in the human world. Perhaps she’d been trained for that too.

  Their driver, the plane’s pilot, pulled the limo to a stop just beyond the large circular drive in front of the main house, staying in the shadows of the tree-lined entrance. The second vehicle, driven by the copilot and holding Dominic, Mortalis, and Solomon, parked behind them. Fi might as well have been in that car too, for all she’d said. Since the incident with the clothes, she’d been quiet and mopey.

  ‘I’m going in alone,’ Chrysabelle announced, reaching for the door handle.

  Mal grabbed it first. ‘Like hell you are.’

  Finally, she looked at him. ‘Do you honestly think you’re going to be granted an invitation to come any farther than the threshold? At best I can get you into the foyer and the great room, but nothing beyond that. This place is a sanctuary against vampires.’ She shook her head. ‘I go alone.’

  ‘Tatiana has a comar from this house, yes?’

  Her brow furrowed. ‘Yes, but what does that—’

  ‘Would she have been given an invitation to enter at some point or not? How does the process of obtaining a comarré work?’

  An inkling of his direction shimmered in her eyes. ‘She would have come to the house at some point to meet the available comars, negotiate the blood rights price, then again to pay.’ She tapped her finger on her thigh. ‘It’s not unheard of for someone else to act as a go between, but knowing Tatiana, she probably did it herself.’

  ‘Are the invitations rescinded once the blood rights are purchased?’

  Defeat clouded Chrysabelle’s gaze. ‘No.’ She looked at the house again. ‘Tatiana could have already come here with her Nothos. We have no way of knowing whether the house has been breached.’

  He hit the button to lower the window and forced himself to inhale. ‘I don’t smell brimstone.’ Yet. His gut told him the night air wouldn’t stay untainted for much longer.

  ‘Me either,’ Doc added.

  Chrysabelle nodded and slid toward the door. ‘Very well then. Mal, you can come. But don’t be … ’ Her mouth pursed in frustration.

  ‘Don’t be too me?’ He understood. And he didn’t blame her for it. ‘I’ll be on my best behavior.’

  ‘Whatever that is,’ Doc said. He sprawled out, propping his feet on the edge of the seat Chrysabelle was about to vacate and slipping his arm around Fi. ‘We’ll hold down the fort here.’

  Mal opened the car door for Chrysabelle, letting her exit ahead of him. When she was out, he turned to Doc. ‘Don’t get comfortable. If we’re too late—’

  Doc raised his fingers to his forehead in a casual salute. ‘I got this, bro.’

  ‘Good enough.’ Mal slipped out of the vehicle and shut the door. He let Chrysabelle go in front with enough paces between them so anyone watching could see she wasn’t being coerced. At the door, he stayed a few steps back and waited while she knocked.

  She shifted uneasily, clenching and unclenching her hands. Was she that worried about what he might do? What scene was going through her mind? Him attacking the whole house?

  ‘I’m not going to do anything to embarrass you,’ he said, shifting into his human face. How easy that was to maintain with her blood in his system.

  ‘Don’t worry, I’ve taken care of that myself.’ She plucked at her long leather coat. ‘These clothes … ’ She shook her head.

  What an idiot he was. Of course she wasn’t just worried about what he might do. There was no way the comarré house was going to let slide the fact that Chrysabelle was wanted for murdering her patron. The muscle in his jaw twitched. If anyone in there tried to hurt her—

  The door opened. A female about Chrysabelle’s age peered out. A tiny gold sparrow flew over one eyebrow. Still, she had less than half the signum Chrysabelle did for as much of her as Mal could see. Her brows lifted, lofting the sparrow higher. ‘Chrysabelle? What are you doing here? Why are you dressed like that?’

  ‘Hello to you too, Saraphina. I need to come in.’

  Saraphina’s gaze strayed to Mal. Her eyes widened. ‘Madame Rennata doesn’t allow visitors after dusk, you know that.’

  Chrysabelle exhaled and visibly straightened. ‘He’s my visitor and last time I checked, this was still my home, so move out of the way.’ She shoved the door open, pushing the other comarré farther into the house. The girl sputtered in protest, muttering in what sounded like Latin.

  A few steps in and Chrysabelle turned back to him. ‘Are you coming?’

  ‘Am I invited?’

  ‘No,’ Saraphina spat.

  ‘Yes,’ Chrysabelle said. ‘What she says doesn’t override what I say, so get a move on.’

  Saraphina gasped. ‘I’m going to get Madame Rennata.’

  ‘Yes, you do that
.’ Chrysabelle rolled her eyes as Saraphina stalked off. ‘This new generation. I’ve forgotten more than that girl knows. Come on.’

  Mal entered.

  And cringed.

  The sweet, honeyed fragrance of comarré blood flooded every pore with hunger. His muscles ached with it. He swayed, drunk on the deluge. The voices screeched and clawed, rabid with need. Kill, drink, drain, devour, blood, blood, blood. Deep inside, where the darkness flourished, the beast lifted its head and inhaled. Mal squeezed his eyes shut, jaw tightening. Not here. Not now.

  Light pressure on his sleeve. He opened his eyes to slits. Chrysabelle.

  Her voice washed over him, a soothing balm. ‘I know this must be hard for you, but try to relax. You are my patron now. That means you’re not an outsider in my world anymore.’

  Her words calmed him, but they were pretty lies and he knew it. An anathema would never be allowed a comarré. He was her patron by accident, not by purpose. He responded through gritted teeth. She must not know how he struggled, how little control he held on to. ‘I will do my best. I told you that.’

  She smiled and patted his arm. Maybe later she’ll give you a cookie. He shut out the voices with new will. After all, he could have her blood whenever he wanted it. All he had to do was ask. And be willing to kiss her.

  ‘Chrysabelle, what is the meaning of this?’ An older woman approached, bearing heavily on a cane. Her visible skin was more decorated than Saraphina’s, but still not as much as Chrysabelle’s. Her long white robes swayed as she stopped. She glared at Mal while addressing Chrysabelle. ‘Why have you invited this creature into our house?’

  Then her gaze shifted back to Chrysabelle. ‘Holy mother. Why in heaven’s name are you dressed like some cheap kine whore? Your appearance is appalling. I should have you removed for that alone, but I imagine you’ve got a reasonable explanation given your recent circumstances.’

  Mal bristled at the woman’s comments. Chrysabelle looked nothing like a whore, but for her sake, he kept silent.

  Chrysabelle bent slightly from the waist. ‘My apologies, Madame Rennata. No explanation except that I had little choice in my clothes, I’m afraid. Considering the money my blood rights brought to the Primoris Domus, I’m sure you can overlook this indiscretion for the moment. I’ve only come to access my suite, where I assure you I will change, and then I will be gone. Tatiana has kidnapped Maris. I intend to rescue her.’

  ‘Tatia—rescue her? No. I forbid it.’

  Chrysabelle stiffened. ‘What do you mean, you forbid it? My aunt’s life is in danger. You know what Tatiana is like.’

  ‘Exactly why I forbid you to attempt such a thing.’ Rennata glanced at Mal quickly. ‘Everyone knows comarré are not equipped for such … endeavors.’

  Mal stifled a retort. Not equipped. Like hell. Chrysabelle walked around with a freaking arsenal strapped to her. Obviously, Rennata didn’t think he knew that, and she didn’t want to risk exposing comarré secrets by letting Chrysabelle talk about it either. He wondered … did Rennata know about the ring? Was she stalling to keep Chrysabelle from discovering it had already been removed? Would the woman have given it to Tatiana? No, that wasn’t likely. Tatiana wouldn’t still be pursuing them if that were the case.

  ‘You cannot forbid me from this.’ Chrysabelle planted her hands on her hips.

  Rennata lifted her chin. ‘There are risks one accepts when one lives the life of a comarré. Your aunt accepted them and so have you. Now is not the time—’

  ‘Hmph.’ Mal lowered his head to hide his anger until he could better control it. ‘Did either of them have a choice to live any other way?’

  Rennata’s mouth opened slightly. ‘I beg your pardon, vampire. This is comarré business.’ She spoke to Chrysabelle. ‘And I am still unclear what he’s doing here.’

  ‘We didn’t know if Tatiana had come here yet or not. He’s with me in case I need help.’ Chrysabelle slid closer to Mal.

  ‘Tatiana’s already visited. I fail to see how a strange vampire could help you with that.’

  Chrysabelle tilted her head. ‘She’s been here? When? What did she want?’

  ‘Right after Algernon’s body was discovered. She came to see if you were still alive.’

  ‘But how … ’ The fingers on Chrysabelle’s right hand curled into a fist. ‘She wanted to enter my rooms, didn’t she?’

  Rennata laughed. ‘Don’t worry, child. We took care of things.’

  What did that mean? There was a tone in the woman’s voice that clearly indicated she meant something only Chrysabelle would understand.

  ‘You didn’t take care of things that well apparently. She found Maris and would have kidnapped me too, if I hadn’t been with … ’

  Rennata’s brows rose. ‘With whom, dear?’

  ‘With me.’ Mal sensed Chrysabelle didn’t want to use his name. He didn’t particularly want his cover blown yet either. The longer he had before the nobles who had cursed him knew he was in Corvinestri, the better.

  Rennata focused her piercing blue gaze on him. ‘And who are you again?’

  He turned to Chrysabelle. This was getting old fast. ‘Get what you came for and let’s be on our way.’

  Chrysabelle raised her palm, as if she needed more time. ‘Did you take Tatiana to my suites or did you mock up one of the cells?’

  Rennata’s face blanched. ‘I will not discuss such things in front of this unknown. You have changed since Algernon’s death, Chrysabelle. I do not care for it.’

  Mal laughed bitterly. ‘Changed? You’re bloody right she’s changed. Being accused of murder, hunted by Nothos, and having a family member kidnapped will do that to a person.’

  ‘Chrysabelle has not been accused of murder. Not officially.’ Rennata’s nostrils flared. ‘You carry the scent of a noble, but I don’t recognize you.’

  ‘Do you know every vampire in this city?’ ‘Every one that lives here, yes,’ Rennata replied with a haughtiness better suited to his fanged brethren. ‘Except you.’

  He took a few steps closer, impressed that the older comarré didn’t step back or flinch. ‘I am Chrysabelle’s protector.’ He refrained from using the word ‘patron.’ That was more information Chrysabelle would probably rather he not share. He couldn’t blame her. ‘And if she hasn’t been officially accused of murder, why does the House of Tepes seek her? Or does Tatiana work alone?’

  ‘Tatiana never works alone.’ Rennata sniffed and placed both hands on the head of her cane. ‘You don’t know anything about Tatiana, do you?’ She peered at him. ‘Who are you, vampire?’

  ‘He is my patron. That is all you need to know.’

  Mal turned before his face could register his surprise. Chrysabelle’s mouth bent down for a brief moment, then she swallowed and stared defiantly at Rennata.

  ‘That cannot be.’ Rennata rapped her cane on the floor, narrowly missing Mal’s foot. ‘This … this … unknown is your patron?’ She glanced at him and revelation flared in her eyes. ‘Holy mother, preserve us. You’re anathema, aren’t you? That’s why I don’t know you.’

  Mal gave up the pretense of his human face and growled, showing his fangs. The elder comarré retreated a few steps to one side, but the look of judgment on her face remained.

  Chrysabelle came up behind him, touching him lightly on the elbow as she moved to stand beside him. ‘Madame Rennata, I’m going to my suite. If you’d like to accompany me, we can talk on the way. Otherwise, this conversation is over for the time being. My aunt needs me and my time is running out.’

  ‘And leave this creature here? I think not—’

  ‘Stop calling him a creature. He’s a bloody vampire,’ Chrysabelle snapped.

  Rennata gasped. ‘You will not take that tone with me, nor use such language. Not in this house or anywhere else. And leaving him here is unacceptable.’

  ‘My apologies.’ Chrysabelle sighed. ‘He cannot go beyond the common areas. The wards prevent that.’

  Interesting. Mal gave Ren
nata the once-over for good measure before speaking to Chrysabelle. ‘How long will it take you to do what you need to?’

  ‘No more than ten minutes.’

  ‘Fine.’ He glanced at the mantel clock. ‘I’ll wait outside for that long. You don’t show by minute eleven and hell breaks loose.’ He shot Rennata the toothy grin he’d once used on victims right before going in for the kill. ‘And you’re not going to want that.’

  This time she had the good sense to flinch.

  He swiveled for the door as the two women headed farther into the house. At least this would give him a chance to get away from the torturous perfume rattling his control. He paused in the foyer for a moment to study a portrait of one of the earliest comarrés. Their history paralleled the noble vampire Families, as though some higher power had created them to keep the vampire hungers in check. For the most part, it had worked. Until someone like him had come along.

  He stood thinking as the minutes ticked by. He shook his head. He really had no right to be in this place. Chrysabelle hadn’t wanted him to come in, but he’d insisted on it. And hadn’t kept his mouth shut. Better get to the car before Rennata had him thrown out.

  Mal had the door open two inches when the stench hit him.

  Brimstone.

  He wheeled around and chased after Chrysabelle but came to an abrupt halt in the great room. Several doors fed off the room and he had no idea which way led to the suites. He listened for her, hoping to home in on which direction she’d gone.

  Eerie silence greeted him.

  Not her heartbeat, not Rennata’s, not the girl who’d opened the door, no one’s. How could that be? Certainly there were plenty of comarré here. Chrysabelle had said as many as several hundred.

  Frustration bore down on him. This was not the time for guessing games and comarré secrets.

  He leaned back, opened his mouth, and yelled Chrysabelle’s name.

  Chapter Twenty-nine