Blood Rights hoc-1

by Kristen Painter

  Chrysabelle head butted Fi and knocked her backward.

  ‘Ow.’ Fi tumbled into a bookcase. She shook herself and felt her forehead. ‘I’m bleeding! I’m not supposed to bleed.’

  ‘We better get a look at that wound.’ The varcolai kneeled beside the vampire.

  ‘I’m right here, kitty cat,’ Fi said.

  ‘Not you, babe. Him. And I told you about calling me that when we’re not alone.’ He turned his attention back to the vampire. ‘Hang on, boss, this is gonna sting.’ He pulled the pale dagger out of the vampire’s shoulder and turned it over in his hands. ‘What kind of bone is this?’

  Chrysabelle reached for it, but he tossed it over his shoulder before she could grab it. He growled and his eyes glimmered gold.

  ‘Move and I’ll tear your throat out, got it?’

  She nodded, pretending to be scared as she slowly reached for the blade in her back waistband.

  He went back to work on the vampire, ripping his T-shirt down the front.

  Chrysabelle froze, blade forgotten, and stared at the vampire’s bare chest. Except it wasn’t bare. A lacework of script decorated his flesh. Names, in a multitude of languages, covered almost every inch of skin and muscle. Her mouth opened, and for a moment, no sound came out. She pointed. ‘Vampires can’t be tattooed. The skin heals them away.’

  ‘They’re not exactly your typical ink.’ The varcolai glanced toward Fi. ‘We’ve got to try to clean this or something. It’s not getting any better.’

  Chrysabelle backed up. The weapon-laden walls started to close in. ‘It won’t.’

  The man and woman simultaneously turned to look at her. The vampire groaned and struggled to sit. The varcolai helped him to a chair, but Fi kept glaring.

  ‘What do you mean, it won’t? How do you know?’

  Chrysabelle backed up a little farther and hit the desk. She had to get out of here. ‘It won’t heal, unless he feeds. Or—’

  ‘Or what?’ The vampire stood, one hand on the varcolai’s shoulder. This close, he seemed taller. And bigger. And not nearly as weak.

  This wasn’t going to be well received. Call it a hunch. ‘Or you wash it out with holy water.’

  The vampire snarled. ‘What the—’

  ‘And us, fresh out.’ The varcolai reached for her, but she bobbed to the side and spun past him.

  ‘He’s a vampire. Why do you care what happens to him?’ They must be his minions, enthralled by his power.

  ‘Because he’s straight up.’ Anger flashed in the varcolai’s eyes.

  ‘He’s straight up what?’

  The varcolai rolled his eyes. ‘One of the good guys.’

  One of the good guys? Since when did that apply to vampires trying to kill her?

  The vampire, face back to human, grabbed a short sword off the wall and positioned the point at the hollow of her throat. His hand trembled slightly, clearly weaker than he let on. ‘You’re not exactly supposed to be trying to kill me either. Comarré.’

  He spoke the word like an accusation. Had he read her mind? Maybe he was from the Rasputin bloodline. Must be careful. Relax. So he knew what she was. What vampire didn’t? ‘I came here for help, not to find the monster who tried to kill me in that alley. You can tell your friend Jonas he did a great job of setting me up. Twice.’

  ‘Jonas isn’t his friend—’ The varcolai’s brows rose. ‘Wait, this the chick who stabbed you?’ He whistled out a breath. ‘You really do need to feed.’

  Fatigue bracketed the vampire’s mouth. ‘Me try to kill you? Other way around. I was trying to protect you. An unescorted comarré has the same chance for survival in this city as a duckling in a snake pit.’ The sword glimmered in the overheads. ‘Swear you’ll behave and I’ll put this down. I really don’t want to have to kill you.’

  She grabbed the wrist holding the sword and did a fast calculation. No wonder he was on the verge of shutting down. ‘Big words from someone who hasn’t fed in eight or nine days.’

  ‘How do you know that?’ His voice held a small tremor. Not just weakness. By now, bloodlust would be crazing him. She knew what her scent did to his kind. Her touch could multiply that. He fought it well for one so hungry.

  She released him. ‘Comarré know a lot of things.’ Shouldn’t he know that too? Most nobles did.

  He kept the sword raised, the tendons in his wrist cording with the effort, but put a little distance between them as he went to sit behind the desk. He tipped his chin at the chair across from him. ‘Sit.’

  She did, reluctantly.

  ‘What’s all this comarré business?’ the varcolai asked. ‘And what exactly did you stab him with?’

  She reached into the back waistband of her trousers. The varcolai grabbed her elbow. ‘Easy now.’

  ‘I was only going to show you the weapon.’

  He released her. ‘Fine, but nice and slow.’

  Carefully, she pulled out the dagger she’d used in the alley and held it flat on her palm. ‘Golgotha steel.’

  Fi, now hovering near the ceiling again, shook her head. ‘Looks like wood to me.’

  ‘Golgotha steel is wood.’ The varcolai’s eyes rounded as he took the blade and tossed it onto the desk. ‘Carved from the True Cross or the Tree of Life. I thought those blades were just stories.’ His gaze went back to Chrysabelle. ‘Someone’s well connected.’

  The vampire swiped his free hand across his stubbled chin. His eyes fixed on the weapon. No doubt at close range he could sense its power. ‘And has deep pockets. A weapon like that could buy some serious muscle.’ He stood and leaned forward, keeping a firm grip on the sword and a reasonable distance from the Golgotha blade.

  ‘It’s time we started from the beginning. And by we’ – he narrowed his eyes on Chrysabelle and raised the sword to throat level again – ‘I mean you.’

  Chapter Six

  ‘I’m not telling you anything,’ the comarré said.

  ‘Fine.’ Mal nodded to Doc seated in the chair next to her. ‘Lock her in one of the storage containers until she decides to get chatty.’ Then he could stop imagining his teeth sinking into her pretty neck and drinking until his brain floated. Drain her. He could give up the pretense of being fine too and go collapse somewhere. Golgotha steel. Bad, bad, bad … It was a wonder he’d lasted this long. Not that he hadn’t survived worse. He dropped back into his desk chair.

  ‘You got it, bro.’ Doc rubbed his hands together in overacted glee.

  The comarré didn’t budge. ‘If you’re trying to scare me, it won’t work. I don’t frighten easily.’

  The tough act was hot, he’d give her that. ‘What’s your name?’

  ‘Anna.’

  She lies. He closed his eyes for a moment. He didn’t need the voices telling him what he already knew. ‘You scared pretty easily in that alley, Anna. I could taste the fear coming off you.’ Should’ve tasted more.

  She crossed her arms. ‘I thought you were trying to kill me.’

  He gestured with the sword. ‘And you don’t feel that way now because … ?’

  She smirked. ‘How’s your shoulder?’

  Doc failed to stop a laugh. It came out a snort. Fi elbowed him in the ribs, but since she’d returned to ghost form, her arm went right through him. Unfortunately.

  ‘Did Jonas really send you?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Damn Sweets. What was he thinking? ‘What for? And how did you come by that blade? Just knowing what you are raises a multitude of questions.’

  Doc raised his hand. ‘We back to that comarré thing again?’

  Anna, or whatever her real name was, ignored Doc.

  ‘Jonas said you could help. And I could say the same thing for you, vampire. Besides those impossible markings you wear, your being here’ – she glanced around, clearly unimpressed – ‘raises a few questions as well. Where’s your luxury? Your display of wealth? Your servants? If this ghost and this varcolai are the best you could do, then I pity you.’

  ‘I c
ould be fringe,’ Mal said. If only his life were that simple.

  Anna didn’t look convinced. ‘Fringe can’t shift their faces.’

  Fi shot forward. ‘I’m no one’s servant.’ She jerked a thumb at Mal. ‘Especially not his.’

  ‘Don’t get too close,’ Doc mumbled, waving the ghost back and staring hard at Anna. ‘How’d you know I’m varcolai?’

  Anna slanted her eyes at him. ‘You smell like a shifter.’

  Doc growled softly.

  ‘Enough.’ Mal shot him a visual dagger before looking at Anna again. Her glow was impossible to ignore. Worse still, the pulse at her neck beckoned. Drain her. Quiet her. He shifted his gaze. ‘I have my reasons for being here. What are yours?’

  She kept her blood red lips firmly shut.

  ‘Storage container.’ He kicked his feet up onto the desk, leaned back, and picked up the book he’d been about to read earlier. The movement sent fireworks through his field of vision.

  Doc jumped to his feet. ‘Let’s bounce, princess.’ He grabbed Anna’s arm and yanked her up.

  ‘I knew Jonas was no good. Mortal.’ She filled the word with the same disgust Mal felt toward the being responsible for his curse.

  ‘But you are one.’ Couldn’t hurt to remind her. Couldn’t hurt to drain her.

  ‘What?’ Doc looked at Anna a little harder. ‘Princess is mortal?’

  ‘Sure,’ she said, staring Mal down. ‘As much as the vampire used to be.’

  Doc jerked her once. ‘Chill with “the vampire.” He has a name—’

  ‘Doc, storage container, now.’ The last thing she needed to know was who he was. Comarré knew their history, or were supposed to. He wasn’t sure of anything about them based on this one. Unless she was some sort of renegade.

  ‘Wait.’ His feet went back to the floor. If she was renegade, there might be someone after her. He stood, digging the point of the sword into the desk for support.

  ‘Tie her to the chair. If she fights, knock her out. Then run the perimeter. Make sure Anna came alone.’

  ‘Shouldn’t one of us check her for weapons?’ Fi asked. ‘She seems to have a serious stash of them.’

  ‘I’ll take care of that when I get back, just get her tied up.’ He made it to the downstairs fridge without passing out. Seemed like a good sign. He drained the last quart of pig’s blood, hating every drop and wishing with each swallow it was the blood of the woman upstairs. Take her. Drain her. He’d never tasted comarré blood, but he’d heard stories. It wasn’t just nourishment; it was power, prestige, protection. If you could afford it.

  He headed back up feeling marginally better. Doc and Fi waited at the door.

  ‘She’s trussed like a Sunday goose,’ Fi said.

  Perfect for the eating.

  Doc winked at Fi. ‘Yeah, Fi’s pretty good with the knots.’

  ‘Doc, you sweep the ship. Fi, haunt the incoming streets. Look for any strange vehicles, scents, beings – anything out of the ordinary. Report only if you find something. Otherwise, I’ll let you know when I’m done with her.’

  They nodded and took off. He gave up on hiding his true face – after all, she’d seen it already. Not masking it would help him conserve some energy. With that, he pushed through the door and locked it behind him. Anna’s arms and legs were tied to those of the chair.

  She sneered at him, all blonde rage, pale anger, and shimmering glow. Her pulse boiled through him. ‘Does this make you feel strong and powerful, vampire? Binding a gentle comarré like some great enemy?’

  ‘Considering you’ve sunk two blades into me, gentle left the picture a long time ago.’ He kneeled in front of her, putting them at eye level. Time to see what else she might be hiding, starting from the ankles.

  She sniffed at him. ‘You just fed and yet you still smell hungry. Animal blood will not sustain you. Why don’t you take what you really need?’ The question brought his head up. Her eyes were the pale blue of the last dawn he remembered.

  ‘Is that an invitation?’ Take it. He eased his hands over her right ankle, then worked up her calf over her trousers. So warm. So ripe.

  She stiffened at his touch. ‘I meant why have you not fed properly for so long?’

  ‘I don’t drink from the vein, and my source hasn’t come through.’ A little honesty given might a little honesty get. He stopped midthigh and switched to her left ankle.

  ‘You’d be much stronger if you took from the vein. You’re barely surviving.’

  ‘I’ve survived just fine for the past fifty years or so, thanks.’ He glanced up. She was staring. Hard.

  She leaned in, studying his contorted facial bones. ‘When the bloodlust is this strong, it keeps you from hiding your true face.’

  With great effort, he shifted to his human face, then let it go, just to prove he could. ‘I can hide it if I need to.’ The exertion cost him a chunk of his control, just what he hadn’t wanted to do. His hands stopped above her right knee. So full of blood. Her body heat sank into his skin through her thin silk trousers like tiny, licking flames. Her heart’s rhythm pulsed into his gut, tightening it, making him want. This close, she seemed bathed in sunlight. He suffocated a groan. Drain her. Drink her. Hot, sweet, yours.

  Her mouth moved, but the voices in his head drowned out the words.

  ‘What?’ Concentrate.

  ‘I said why do you wear those marks?’ Her eyes studied the strip of skin visible where his ripped shirt hung open. He should have changed.

  He skimmed one finger down the back of her naked hand. ‘Why do you hide yours?’

  She dropped her chin, breaking eye contact. ‘I do what I must to pass.’

  At last, a little piece of her puzzle revealed. ‘Why do you need to pass as human?’

  For the span of three breaths, she stayed silent. ‘How do I know I can trust you?’ Her voice was softer. Almost touching. If this was a ruse, it was a very artful one. Practiced. But of course it would be. She was comarré.

  His hands slid up her arms, gently squeezing, feeling the mechanisms that had held the hidden wrist blades, then going higher. ‘You can’t. Just like I don’t know if I can trust you. You can take the chance though. See if it pays off.’

  ‘And if it doesn’t, I end up dead.’

  ‘Who would want to kill you, Anna? You’re comarré, not exactly the scourge of the vampire world.’ That was his job.

  She tipped her head back, exposing the length of her pale, beckoning neck. If he’d had breath, it would have caught in his throat. Most likely the exact response she’d been going for. The voices begged.

  ‘My patron is dead.’

  Blood coursed beneath her delicate skin. Think. Drink. Respond. With fangs. Find words. He stared at the ceiling along with her. ‘So … dead. Then … you’re free, right? Isn’t that how it works?’

  ‘He was murdered.’

  Mal took his hands off her and rocked back on his heels. Another piece of her puzzle clicked into place. ‘And they think you did it.’

  Chapter Seven

  The cobra nudged Tatiana’s fingers, traveling over her palm to rest his heavy mother of pearl head against her wrist and forearm. She learned long ago her pet’s affection came easier if she fed before visiting him. Nehebkau preferred her warm.

  His tongue flicked her skin, and she smiled. ‘My darling,’ she whispered. ‘Can you tell I’ve missed you?’

  She stroked his smooth back as he slithered his meter-long body around her arm. In the two years since his hatching, the albino serpent had become her favorite companion, and the room she’d turned into his home, her sanctuary. The space had been transformed into the perfect habitat with all the appropriate jungle flora and fauna and elaborate systems designed to recreate the proper humidity and ultraviolet light. When Tatiana came to visit, the replicator automatically shifted to night. Overhead, a false sky twinkled with fiber-optic stars.

  ‘Those suckwits think I killed him. Can you imagine? I am nothing if not patient. The ruins pro
ve that, don’t they?’ She shook her head. ‘Makes me want to drain the life out of something.’

  Blood red eyes met hers expectantly as he raised his head. She smiled. Her anger cooled.

  ‘My sweet boy. At least you listen.’ Not that he had a choice. ‘We cold-blooded creatures have to stick together, don’t we?’ He hadn’t struck her since the first few months of his life, and those times were inconsequential. The venom had no effect on the already dead.

  ‘Come, let’s sit and you can tell me all about your day.’ She patted a lump in his midsection. ‘I see you got the rat I sent you.’ She’d begun feeding him rats injected with her own blood in an effort to make her pet as immortal as she was. Nehebkau was her fourth cobra and she hoped her last. Losing the first three had hurt, not as bad as losing a child, but close. As mementos, she’d had a belt and slippers made from the skins. A little macabre, perhaps, but such things did wonders for one’s intimidation factor. Everything for a purpose.

  She carried her precious boy to the teak chaise and lay down beneath the special circulating heat lamps. Nehebkau stretched, uncoiling from her arm to wind across her belly and chest until his head nestled at the hollow of her throat.

  She pulled her locket out from under him and unsnapped it, studying the painted portrait inside. A wistful smile crossed her mouth as a twist of pain knotted her belly. She snapped the locket shut and tucked it into her blouse.

  Closing her eyes, she slid into her favorite fantasy, imagining herself as some great Egyptian pharaoh-queen. Not Hatshepsut or Nefertiti or even Cleopatra, but one greater still. A true goddess come to rule on earth. She caressed Nehebkau’s drowsy form. In her mind, sparkling jewels and beads of gold adorned her, showering her in reflected sunlight.

  Her lids lifted. That was always where her fantasy ran aground. Those wretched Egyptians and their stupid sun god. For all their dreams of immortality, they’d been headed in the wrong direction. She twirled the end of Nehebkau’s tail through her fingers.