Blood Rights hoc-1

by Kristen Painter

  Cursing the bitterness of her own heart while praising the coldness of his, she nodded. ‘Yes, Dominic. That is the way of it.’

  He put distance between them again and stared out to sea. ‘What is it you wish me to do?’

  She held out a copy of the address Jonas had given her. ‘She went there, two days ago, and has not returned. Jonas is not returning my calls and I am tired of imagining what has happened. I want to know if … things have not gone well.’

  He walked over, took the paper without looking at it, and tucked it into the inside pocket of his jacket. ‘I will find out tonight.’

  ‘Grazie, Dominic.’

  ‘And in return for this information?’

  She’d known he’d expect payment. Prepared herself for it. After all, this was business now. She unbuttoned a few buttons, spread her shirt collar, and tilted her head back. At the edge of her vision, she spotted Velimai whirling like a hurricane behind the sheers. ‘I trust you will be gentle.’

  His fangs gleamed. Her weak body betrayed her with its eager response, tightening in anticipation. He leaned in. ‘Ah, bella mia, as always.’

  ‘I own you?’ Fi almost bounced on her toes.

  ‘You don’t own me, only my blood rights,’ Chrysabelle explained for the third time. Why the ghost took such happiness in this, Chrysabelle didn’t understand. ‘And actually Mal owns them. Stole them, really.’

  ‘Enough with the stealing. We didn’t know.’ Mal ground his teeth and glared heavenward. ‘I need sleep.’ He shoved a hand through his black hair. ‘I should be getting up at sundown, not going to bed.’ His gaze shifted from Fi to Chrysabelle. ‘Try not to kill each other for the next four or five hours. Or do, I don’t care. Doc, you’re in charge.’ Shaking his head, he left.

  ‘Whatever that’s worth,’ Doc called after him from the kitchen, where he was fixing plates of something he optimistically termed dinner.

  Chrysabelle sank into one of the chairs surrounding the worn table. She rested her head on her hands and stared at the scarred surface. This really wasn’t the new life she’d envisioned for herself. In that life, she wasn’t wearing a black T-shirt and baggy pajama pants that reeked of male vampire. A male who had not only stolen her blood rights, but didn’t seem to care one way or the other what that meant. She glanced at Fi. ‘Why are you so excited about this anyway?’

  Fi cocked an eyebrow. ‘You don’t get it, do you?’ She leaned in. ‘Those voices in Mal’s head? I’m one of them, or at least I was until I got your blood in me. Since he killed me, I’ve had to listen to that chaos just like him.’

  ‘Why do you stay?’

  ‘Like I have a choice?’ Fi’s gaze strayed to Doc. ‘Mal’s not so bad. Not since he stopped killing. And look, being a ghost is better than being dead altogether.’ She glanced at Doc again, a slight smile on her face. What a strange pairing, the varcolai and the ghost. ‘Things aren’t so awful here.’

  Chrysabelle kept her voice low. ‘You love him?’

  ‘Yes, she does, and I can hear you, you know,’ Doc called out from the kitchen.

  Fi laughed as she turned back. ‘I can’t leave anyway, so might as well make the best of it. I tried once. Went corporeal and started walking. Six blocks and I got snapped back, like some big metaphysical rubber band attached us.’ She sat back. ‘So now, with your blood in me, I can’t hear the chaos anymore.’ She grinned. ‘Thanks.’

  ‘You’re welcome. I guess.’ Chrysabelle studied the girl, feeling a sense of sympathy she hadn’t before. What a strange existence.

  Doc put plates of pasta in front of her and Fi. ‘Eat up. You must be jonesin’ for food big-time.’

  ‘I am, but’ – Chrysabelle poked at it with a fork – ‘where’s the meat?’

  ‘Beggars can’t be choosers,’ Fi said.

  ‘I am not a beggar.’ She wanted to add you little thief, but it was Mal’s fault, not Fi’s, that this had happened. ‘I need protein. It’s kind of important for someone like me.’

  He squeezed Fi’s shoulder but spoke to Chrysabelle. ‘Meat’s spendy, especially when there are three of us now.’

  ‘Varcolai need meat, too.’

  He shrugged and took the chair beside Fi. ‘I eat it every few days.’

  Chrysabelle raised her brows. ‘Please tell me this ship is just naturally rat-free.’

  ‘I buy the meat,’ Doc said, stabbing his pasta. Clearly, she’d hit a nerve.

  ‘Every few days isn’t really enough, is it? Just because Malachi chooses to starve himself doesn’t mean you have to.’

  Fi’s expression wrinkled. ‘Malachi?’

  Doc shot the ghost a look. ‘We call him Mal. That’s what he likes.’

  Fi shot the look back but stayed silent. Something wasn’t right.

  ‘Regardless,’ Chrysabelle continued. ‘I … we don’t need to suffer too. If money is a concern, I’m willing to help out.’

  Fi laughed. ‘With what?’

  ‘Where’s the bag I brought with me?’ Chrysabelle asked Doc.

  ‘Should still be in Mal’s office,’ Doc answered.

  ‘All right, I’ll just be a moment.’ She pushed her chair back.

  ‘Where do you think you’re going? We’re supposed to watch you.’ Fi’s indignant look made Chrysabelle stifle a laugh. She had to give Fi points for trying.

  ‘What are you? Twenty-three? Twenty-four?’ She slanted her eyes at Doc. ‘You’re not much older, are you? I don’t need children minding me.’ She strolled toward the door, hiding her slight limp as much as possible. Her broken foot already felt better than it had when she’d woken up.

  ‘Children?’ Fi scoffed. ‘Pot meet kettle.’

  Chrysabelle paused. ‘I am one hundred fifteen years old.’ She flicked a glanced at Doc and tried not to smile. ‘That’s in human years.’

  Doc jumped up and grabbed her arm. ‘I’ll get your bag. Wouldn’t want you wearing out those old bones.’

  She tugged her arm out of his grasp and forced down the surge of fighting instinct that had arisen at his touch. She had to stop reacting like that. Humans touched each other. She had to get used to it. ‘That would be nice of you.’

  Thankfully, Fi kept quiet. Maybe she sensed Chrysabelle’s struggle.

  Chrysabelle went back to her place and sat down. The food barely registered on the scale of what she was used to. Comarré ate well. The best foods made for the best-tasting blood. But that was her old life, this was her new.

  She spun the noodles around her fork and took a bite. Jarred sauce. No meat except what had been used to flavor it. Fi wolfed hers down like it was foie gras. ‘You really like spaghetti, huh?’

  Fi swallowed her current mouthful. ‘I like everything. Ghosts don’t really get to eat, you know? Since I became alive again, I just want to eat everything. We had the best tuna melts yesterday. Doc loves tuna. Guess it’s a cat thing.’ She stuffed another forkful in.

  ‘What do you mean, alive again?’

  ‘Since I got your blood. I don’t even have to think about staying corporeal, I just am. Used to be I had to work at it, think about it, you know?’ She shrugged. ‘I haven’t been in my spirit form since.’

  Warning bells clanged in Chrysabelle’s brain. ‘Have you tried?’

  Fi didn’t bother swallowing this time. ‘Nope.’

  ‘Could you try now?’

  ‘You’re a fat pain in the ectoplasm, you know that?’ Fi smirked, took a long drink of water, then closed her eyes. A moment later, she opened them. ‘Did I go fuzzy?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ Fi’s eyes sparkled. ‘Wait, let me try again.’ Another interlude of eyes opening and closing. ‘Well?’

  ‘Not even a flicker.’

  ‘Wow! This is awesome. I really am alive again. I can’t wait to tell my parents!’ Her fingers strayed to the back of her right ear. ‘I wonder if my com cell still works.’

  Chrysabelle leaned back slightly. ‘I don’t think telling your parents is such
a hot idea and I wouldn’t let Mal know if your com cell does work. He might make you take it out.’

  ‘Why shouldn’t I tell them?’ Fi’s nose wrinkled. ‘And why would Mal make me—’

  ‘Tell who what? What about Mal?’ Doc walked in carrying Chrysabelle’s bag. He set it beside her chair, then retook his. ‘What did I miss?’

  Chrysabelle pulled her bag onto her lap. ‘I was saying Fi shouldn’t tell her parents she’s alive again because it might not be permanent, and if her com cell works, she probably shouldn’t mention it. You know how othernaturals are about that stuff.’ None of them, vampire, fae, or varcolai, used the devices. The tracking potential was too great.

  Fi’s hand came away from her ear. ‘Doesn’t work anyway.’ She turned to Doc. ‘I’m not a ghost anymore.’

  ‘I know. I hung with your unghosty self all day yesterday.’ He gave her a wink and picked up his fork.

  Chrysabelle pressed her thumb to the bag’s scanlock. It recognized her and clicked open. She checked through it. Everything was there.

  Fi kept talking. ‘No, I mean like not at all. I’m completely alive again. I can’t become a ghost even if I try. Which I just did. Twice.’

  Chrysabelle pulled out a fat velvet pouch and removed one of the jewels.

  Doc put his fork down. ‘How? You sure?’

  ‘Totally sure.’ Fi tipped her head at Chrysabelle. ‘Her blood.’

  His brows rose. ‘Wow. Cool.’

  ‘That’s what I said.’

  ‘Here you are.’ Chrysabelle slid the gem across the table to Doc. ‘Sell that for whatever you can get and then fill the larders. I’d love steak for dinner tomorrow. Get everything you like. Lots of produce, fresh vegetables, and meat. Lots of meat. Organic when you can. Game hens, steaks, lots of steaks – Kobe if you can get it, wild salmon – none of that cloned stuff either.’

  Doc grimaced. ‘I agree, I hate that crap.’ He picked up the stone. ‘This what I think it is?’

  Chrysabelle tied the pouch and tucked it away in her bag. ‘What do you think it is?’

  ‘Some fat pink ice.’ He turned the gem in his fingers, holding it up to the light. Fi was blissfully silent, mesmerized by the sparkle.

  ‘You’re right. Fancy Intense Pink. Not quite two and a half carats. It was a gift from my patron. Cost him nearly two million almost seventy years ago. Get as much as you can.’

  Fi’s mouth dropped open. ‘Two mil? He must have been filthy rich.’

  Chrysabelle laughed joylessly. ‘That’s nothing compared to what he paid for my blood rights.’

  Both Fi and Doc looked at her expectantly. She shook her head. ‘Please, I don’t wish to discuss him anymore.’

  Doc rolled the diamond around on his palm. It glittered against his dark skin. ‘Why you trust me with this?’

  ‘Trust is earned, right? We have to start somewhere.’ She lifted her hands in a gesture of surrender. ‘I’m not used to this life enough yet, I know that. I like to live well, but I guess that makes me soft. I just need time to adjust.’ She half-smiled and lifted a shoulder. ‘Buy whatever else you need with what’s left over, all right?’ She plucked at her borrowed T-shirt. ‘Although I could use some new clothes too.’

  Fi stuck her hand up like schoolgirl. ‘I can buy those. I’m good at clothes.’

  ‘I thought you couldn’t get more than six blocks away from Mal?’

  ‘I have a feeling this permanent corporeal state will change that. If not, I’ll send Doc.’

  Chrysabelle nodded. ‘Okay, that would be wonderful. I’ll have to measure myself, all I know are comarré sizes. I’ll make a list for you.’ White clothing shouldn’t be too hard to come by in this warm locale. ‘I think I’ll go for a walk around the deck, if that’s okay with both of you.’

  ‘No can do.’ Doc shook his head as he pocketed the gem. ‘Sorry, but you outside is a bad idea. Especially with Mal counting sheep.’

  She sighed. ‘I really can take care of myself.’

  ‘Really?’ Doc raised a brow. ‘Then why’d you come to him in the first place?’

  ‘I meant physically.’ Chrysabelle pushed her plate away. ‘I’m done, thank you.’ She stood, testing her weight on her broken foot. Barely a twinge. She bent and picked up her bag. And realized she had nowhere to go. ‘It’s occurred to me I don’t actually have a room on the Titanic.’

  Doc tried not to smile. ‘Shouldn’t have kicked that door down, GI Jane.’

  ‘Thanks for the reminder. I need to add shoes to the list. Something sturdy.’ She slung the bag over her shoulder and stared at him expectantly.

  ‘What?’ Doc asked.

  ‘Is there a room I can use or should I just pick one out? I’d like one without all the locks. On the outside. Inside locks I’m okay with.’

  Doc dipped his napkin in his water and wiped his mouth with it, then stood. Chrysabelle chalked up the extra cleanliness to his feline bloodlines. ‘Follow me. There’s a bunch of empty cabins you can pick from.’

  Fi jumped up. ‘I’m coming too. I don’t want her too close to ours in case she snores.’

  ‘I don’t snore but I’m happy to have a little space.’ Except maybe from Mal. Despite his contribution to her losing her blood rights, she couldn’t help but feel some comfort in the fact that he’d done what he thought best and taken care of her afterward.

  The three of them walked down the hall, Doc in front, Fi behind. Chrysabelle decided to subtly test the waters.

  ‘So … what’s Mal’s story?’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Doc asked.

  ‘Where’s he from, what Family is he, that sort of thing.’

  Fi snorted. ‘You mean how’d he get those names all over him?’

  So much for subtle. ‘Yes, that too.’

  Doc shook his head. ‘He’ll spill his info when he wants, if he wants.’

  Which is exactly what Chrysabelle had assumed.

  ‘He’s anathema, you know,’ Fi added, like that was news. Chrysabelle looked over her shoulder and laughed. ‘You don’t say? Living here with you two? I thought perhaps he was preparing to ascend to Dominus any day now.’

  Fi’s brow wrinkled. ‘Dominus?’

  ‘Big-time head vampire,’ Doc explained. Chrysabelle let it go. She was in no mood to give a primer in vampire politics. Instead, she changed the subject.

  ‘Why do you stay, shifter? Did your pride kick you out?’

  ‘As a matter of fact, they did. Plus Mal and Fi saved my life. You got a problem with varcolai?’

  Obviously, he knew what nobles thought of his kind and must think she felt that way too. Which she didn’t. ‘Not at all, I was just wonder—’

  Mal burst through a door ahead of them. One hand held a crossbow, the other a pair of mismatched swords. A leather strap of throwing stars crossed his chest. He tossed the crossbow to Doc. ‘We’ve got company.’

  Doc tipped his head and listened for a second, then nodded. ‘Not sure how I missed that.’

  Chrysabelle inhaled. The new vampire’s scent was faint but present. And somehow familiar. Nothos maybe, if it was covering its scent with something else. ‘We missed it by talking.’

  Mal jerked his thumb down the hall behind him. ‘Fi, get to your room and lock the door. Stay there until Doc or I come for you.’

  ‘But I—’

  ‘But nothing. You’re mortal.’ Mal’s gaze went to Doc next. ‘Kill the lights, then come around the other way. Chrysabelle’s with me.’

  ‘Will do.’ He grabbed Fi’s arm and pulled her down the hall with him.

  ‘Good luck.’ Fi pouted on her way out.

  Mal turned back to Chrysabelle. ‘You can handle a sword, I take it?’

  She nodded. If this new vampire was here for her, this was no time to hide her abilities. Mal handed her a rusty dagger. Instead of taking it, she pointed to the long, curved sword in his hand. ‘You’re kidding, right? Give me the katana.’

  ‘You sure you – fine, here.’ In a flash, he turn
ed the slender blade over to her. ‘I attack first. You stay back, understood?’

  ‘I want my dagger.’ She tossed her bag into his room for safekeeping.

  ‘No time. Follow me.’

  A second later the lights went out. ‘Can you see?’ he whispered, creeping forward.

  She followed close behind. ‘Perfectly.’ In truth, her night vision was starting to dim. Nearly a week without a true patron and without the bite – that life-prolonging, sense-enhancing input of vampire saliva into her system – her exceptional senses would diminish until she was as human as Fi. When would she begin to age again? Maris looked remarkable for someone who’d been without a patron for nearly fifty years.

  She ran into Mal’s outstretched arm. He put a finger to his lips, then gestured for her to stay while he went ahead. She nodded. He slipped around the bend. Fresh air filled the passage. They must be close to an outside door. She flattened against the wall, sword at the ready, wishing she was fully armed. Not having a backup weapon meant no second chances. Hand to hand with a Nothos wasn’t going to be fun.

  A singing hiss broke the silence, followed by the clang of two swords biting into each other. She took a deep breath and eased forward as a blade sliced toward Mal’s neck. Suddenly, the new vampire’s familiar scent registered.

  Not brimstone. Comarré blood.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Mal ducked and the intruder’s sword whistled by his ear. Chrysabelle shoved past, slicing her blade between them and pinning the other vampire to the door he’d just come through. His blade clattered to the ground while hers gleamed against his throat, just above the collar of a very expensive suit.

  Mal lifted a brow. The comarré was fast, he’d give her that. Then his focus shifted to the vampire she’d pinned, and he scowled. Some vampires never changed. Dominic was one of those.