Blood Rights hoc-1

by Kristen Painter

‘Yes, you do. You have to kiss me, and you just downed a glassful of blood. My blood, but still. That might work for you, but I don’t particularly want to taste it.’ She pushed the bottle closer. ‘Drink.’

  ‘It didn’t bother you the first time.’ He jumped to his feet. Maybe it was the hot rush of blood, the new burst of energy or the beautiful woman in front of him, but suddenly, kissing her didn’t seem like such an awful thing to suffer through. He’d been angry the first time. Unsure of himself and the way her blood had affected him. This time, he wasn’t angry. If kissing her was the price he had to pay for feeling this strong and this powerful, so be it.

  ‘It didn’t occur to me the first time.’

  He took the bottle, wrenched off the cap, and drank. He swallowed with gusto and held out his arms. ‘Happy?’

  ‘Not particularly, no.’ In fact, she looked downright terrified. ‘Just get it over with.’

  ‘Now who’s flirting?’ He tossed the bottle aside and reached for her. The honeyed perfume that surrounded her enveloped him with a fresh wave of intoxication. His hands fit to her waist like they’d been there a thousand times before.

  Tentatively, her hands found his arms, resting on his biceps. Keeping him at bay. Without any real effort, he assumed his human face and retracted his fangs. ‘Better?’

  ‘Just do it, please.’

  He bent his head and brushed his mouth across hers with a gentleness he hoped would forgive the first time he’d done this to her. Her lips parted under his press, and he tasted the same warm sweetness he’d just drunk, but purer. He lifted one hand to her neck, threading his fingers into her hair and grazing his thumb across the pulse that trembled beneath her ear. The skin there was so warm and soft he had to fight to keep his fangs retracted.

  Her grip tightened on his arms. Her head tilted a little farther back.

  And then a sharp realization pierced him. She wasn’t food. She was life. Brilliant and sparkling and powerful. No one had ever made him feel—

  The door swung open. At the noise, she pushed away and scrambled for her weapons. Her cheeks flushed and she bent her head, swinging her hair down to hide her face as she strapped the blades on.

  Ronan stood in the open door, leering at Chrysabelle like the bloody fool he was. He laughed rudely. ‘Looks like you’re not so superior after all, princess. At least Dominic’s whores get paid.’

  Mal took a step toward the whelp as Chrysabelle twisted toward him in a blur of white and gold. Something shot from her hand. Ronan howled, grabbing at his suddenly bloody shoulder. A bone dagger protruded from it, sending up wisps of smoke.

  Mal looked at her in amazement. ‘I barely saw you move.’ She shrugged. ‘It’s the kiss. I’m always fastest after a fresh infusion of power. Not usually that fast, but you’re a lot stronger than Algernon was. He never had the benefit of his drained sire’s powers.’

  Oh good. At least he had that going for him.

  She walked to Ronan, yanked the blade out of his body, and wiped it on his shirt. ‘Was there a reason you barged in without knocking?’

  ‘You little whore.’ He reared back, fist raised.

  She punched him where the dagger had been. Dropping his hand, he groaned and staggered back, smacking into the door. ‘Answer me, or it’s Malkolm’s turn to take a shot.’

  Now that sounded like fun.

  Angry vapors wafted off Ronan, but a quick glance at Mal kept him from reacting further. His lips curled back in an evil sneer. ‘Mortalis is back. Your aunt’s ticket’s been punched.’

  ‘Where is she?’ Chrysabelle shoved through Dominic’s office door. He and Mortalis were bent over a small figure on the couch. The Asian woman from the Pits slouched in Dominic’s desk chair. Chrysabelle’s stomach roiled with panic. ‘What happened? Is she okay?’

  The vampire and the fae moved to face her, giving her a clear look at the blood-covered figure. She stopped dead and released the breath she’d been holding. ‘That’s not my aunt.’

  ‘That’s Nyssa,’ Mal said behind her.

  ‘Is she going to be okay? I know that name. Who is she?’

  ‘She’s a runner for Jonas Sweets. And she should be fine.’

  Jonas was the guy Maris had contacted. A numbing chill settled into her belly. Had they already broken Maris? ‘He’s the guy who sent me to you.’

  ‘Yes,’ Mal answered.

  Mortalis turned back to Nyssa, but Dominic approached Chrysabelle. She started in before he could speak. ‘Ronan said Maris’s ticket had been punched. What did he mean? Where is she? What’s going on?’

  Dominic held his hands up. ‘Ronan is a heartless fool.’

  ‘There’s a lot of that going around,’ the Asian woman said. She twirled a jeweled letter opener in her fingers.

  ‘Katsumi.’ The warning in Dominic’s voice matched the flicker of silver in his eyes. ‘Mortalis trailed a Nothos back to an abandoned hangar in one of the old private airports. There was a plane parked inside, evidence of two human kills, and the heavy scent of comarré blood. Before he killed the Nothos, he saw two noble vampires, one male, one female. The male used black magic.’

  Mortalis lifted his head from Nyssa’s side. ‘The female is the one who hurt Nyssa.’

  ‘Mikkel and Tatiana.’ Red edged her vision. If they’d harmed her aunt in any way, she was going to kill them both. Maybe stake them to a field of sacred ground and wait for the sun to come up. ‘What are we waiting for? You must have a sun-proof vehicle. How long will it take to get to the hangar?’

  ‘We’re not going to the hangar.’

  ‘What? Why?’

  ‘The plane took off. They’re headed back to Corvinestri.’

  She stepped back, shaking her head. ‘They’re going to kill her.’

  Mal’s hand settled on her shoulder. ‘Not if we kill them first.’

  Dominic nodded. ‘We need a plan. We can’t just stampede in and hope for the best.’

  Chrysabelle sank into the nearest chair. She leaned back and blinked hard to clear the tears threatening to spill. The sacre pressed into her spine. Maris’s blade. Chrysabelle swallowed. What defense did her crippled aunt have against those two monsters? Especially back on their own soil. This was all her fault. ‘I should go alone. Get the ring. Tatiana will give up Maris if I offer her the ring and myself.’

  ‘You will not offer yourself. Or go alone.’ Mal’s voice shook her with its vehemence.

  ‘I still have to retrieve the ring from my suite at the Primoris Domus. I can’t leave it where it is – look how much trouble it’s already brought.’ Her house could not become the focus for Tatiana’s anger.

  Mal shoved a hand through his hair. ‘I’m starting to think no good can come of giving Tatiana the ring.’

  Chrysabelle had begun to think that too. ‘At the very least, I will get it and destroy it. Then Tatiana can twist in the wind over her precious ring.’

  ‘But not alone.’ Mal’s stance broadened into something battle-ready. ‘I’m going with you.’

  ‘Agreed.’ After all, she had promised to talk to the Aurelian about his curse. He might as well be there to hear what she had to say. She rubbed her forehead. What was she thinking? The Aurelian wouldn’t tolerate Mal’s presence any more than Madame Rennata would allow a vampire beyond the great room of the Primoris Domus. And Chrysabelle would be lucky to get an audience with the Aurelian if Madame Rennata found out about the danger Chrysabelle had put the house in with that stupid ring.

  Dominic said something. Chrysabelle glanced up. ‘What?’

  ‘I said I’m going too.’ Dominic’s gaze shifted to a mother of pearl-handled falchion on the wall. The sword looked like it had never been used. ‘I’m not without skills myself. And I will not allow them to hurt Marissa.’

  The letter opener fell out of Katsumi’s hand and clattered to the desk. The woman leaned back in the chair, and crossed her arms, looking very much like a woman scorned.

  Chrysabelle tucked her hair behind her ears. How
long had Dominic and Katsumi been sleeping together? ‘That’s all well and good, but you’re both anathema. The wards will keep you out of the city. I’m basically going alone anyway.’

  Dominic’s rich laugh brought her head up. His finger wagged at her like he was talking to a child. ‘But you see, I have a secret weapon.’ He turned and gestured into the dark recesses of his office.

  A broomstick of a man emerged from the shadows, the pale skin of his face and hands marred by oddly shaped freckles. Bottle-glass green eyes took her in. For a moment, she stared. Then her brain caught up with what she was seeing.

  Dominic swept one hand wide toward the room’s newest occupant. ‘Chrysabelle, meet Solomon, one of the few pure-blooded cypher fae.’

  Cypher fae. Those weren’t freckles. Those were numbers. She held out her hand to the rare creature. ‘Pleasure to meet you.’

  He splayed his six-fingered hands in front of him. ‘I am not gloved.’

  Still holding out her hand, she shrugged.

  Solomon’s brows rose and his eyes widened. ‘You would voluntarily touch me?’

  ‘I have no codes to hide.’

  ‘Codes?’ Mortalis snorted. ‘He’ll strip out every bit of personal info in that pretty little head of yours, including passwords, relevant numbers, and the personal configurations necessary to deceive wards that recognize you. And some that don’t.’

  Chrysabelle’s hand dropped to her side.

  Solomon sighed. ‘My unfortunate kin tells the truth. But your trust is endearing.’

  Mal stepped up next to Chrysabelle. ‘And you’re going to help us why?’

  She shot him a look that hopefully he understood as shut up and be nice. ‘He can get all of you into the city.’

  ‘I understand that,’ Mal said. ‘But why should he? What’s in it for him? No one does anything for free.’

  ‘Indeed,’ Katsumi interjected.

  The smile returned to Solomon’s face. He lifted one shoulder. ‘There is much I can glean in Corvinestri.’

  ‘Yeah, that, and Dominic has his number.’ Mortalis kneeled beside Nyssa, taking her hand in his.

  Impressive. Getting a cypher’s number was no easy feat, but if you could find the sum of their freckles, you owned them. What alchemy had Dominic used to achieve that?

  Mortalis scooped Nyssa into his arms. ‘I’m going to take her to the physician, then I’ll be ready to leave.’

  ‘Is she going to be okay?’ Chrysabelle couldn’t help but hope so, even if she didn’t know the girl.

  Mortalis nodded. ‘She’s half shadeux. Very resilient. If the Nothos hadn’t put iron cuffs on her, she probably could have taken it out on her own.’

  As Mortalis left, Mal questioned Dominic. ‘How soon can we leave? I assume you have a plane?’

  ‘I do,’ Dominic answered. ‘It will take half an hour to get to the airfield, but the plane and pilots won’t be ready for another hour and a half. I don’t know if Tatiana had time to refuel or not before they left, so that may mean another stop for them before they hit Corvinestri. Either way, we won’t be far behind.’

  ‘Time to get back to the ship and get Doc,’ Mal said.

  ‘I need my bag too.’ Not to mention the body armor in it. ‘And my Golgotha blade.’

  ‘I have a few alchemical weapons to prepare as well.’ Dominic nodded. ‘Then I’ll call for a car. We’ll head for the plane as soon as you return.’

  ‘Good.’ Mal grabbed Chrysabelle’s arm. ‘Let’s go.’

  ‘Us? The sun’s up.’ Chrysabelle stared at Mal. Tried not to focus on his mouth. ‘How exactly are you going to get from the car to the ship without turning into vampire flambé?’

  Mal stayed silent for a moment, then cursed and shook his head. ‘Doc will know what weapons I want.’ He cursed again. ‘Hurry back.’

  Chapter Twenty-six

  One varcolai, one comarré, one former ghost, two fae, two fringe, a second anathema, and the ever-present host of disembodied voices. All of them, save the comarré at his side, the fringe pilot and copilot, and the voices in his head, huddled around a large table in the conference area of the plane, debating the best way to extract Chrysabelle’s aunt without getting any of them killed. Fortunately, Dominic had left Katsumi in charge of running Seven so Mal didn’t have to deal with her too. He sank lower into his seat. How had his life gotten this freaking crowded? At least his recent feeding meant the voices weren’t thrashing his brain.

  Beside him, Chrysabelle sketched what she remembered of the floor plan of Tatiana’s home. Her pencil lifted off the paper, and she paused. ‘Could I ask why you’re growling?’

  ‘I didn’t growl.’

  She erased a line and added a window, nodding the whole time. ‘Yes, you did.’

  Maybe he had. Considering the circumstances, growling was the least he should be doing. He stared at one particular member of the group around the conference table. ‘You shouldn’t have let her come.’

  Chrysabelle glanced at him, rolling her eyes, darkened by the helioglazing on the plane windows. ‘For the last time, I didn’t let Fi come. She bullied her way here. You of all people should know how Fi is when she wants something. Besides, she actually went shopping for me. She was so thrilled to find out she’s not attached to you anymore, I can’t believe she’d choose to be near you again. I guess she couldn’t bear to be away from Doc.’

  ‘Have you looked at the clothes yet?’ Chrysabelle still hadn’t changed out of Doc’s borrowed shirt and her original trousers. Both pieces were covered in dirt and blood spatter. He wondered if the items beneath those were still as pristine white as the day she’d sauntered through the gym, taunting him to bite her. The memory caused him to shift uncomfortably.

  ‘No, but I’ll worry about that after I finish this plan for Mortalis.’

  ‘You might not be so benevolent after you see what she picked out. Fi’s taste can be a little … extreme. And you still shouldn’t have let her come.’

  Her pencil lead broke. She clicked out a new length. ‘You know Doc didn’t do anything to stop her, I might add, but I don’t see you giving him grief.’

  ‘I will.’

  She stabbed her pencil toward the aisle. ‘Want me to let you out so you can start that now?’

  ‘No.’ He crossed his arms and tried again to get comfortable. Dominic’s private jet was plush, but nothing about this trip made it easy to relax.

  ‘Don’t you need to sleep, what with the sun being out and all?’

  ‘I slept earlier.’ Before I kissed you, he wanted to say, just to see if she’d blush again. Other than the coloring of her cheeks, she hadn’t seemed as affected by the second kiss as she had been by the first. Or maybe he’d imagined her initial reactions. Or maybe she was too worried about her aunt to think about anything else. That was probably it. What did he know about anything anymore? The world around him now matched the chaos of his head.

  ‘Only two hours.’ Her face softened and she laid her hand on his arm. ‘Don’t be a hero, seriously. I have great faith in your ability to smite the bad guys, but you need more sleep than that.’

  At her touch a soft whine whispered through his cranium. ‘No, I don’t.’ He’d never needed much sleep. He’d always chalked it up to the residual power he’d siphoned off his sire. Since taking her blood, the hours required had dropped even more.

  Her brows cocked along with the side of her mouth in a blatantly incredulous expression. ‘Just because you don’t want to sleep where Dominic’s slept … ’

  He shifted in his seat to lean closer and lowered his voice. ‘It’s one of those things. Like what I did at the door of Seven when we first got there.’

  ‘Oh.’ She nodded slowly. ‘An inherited trait from your sire.’ She grinned, nearly knocking him back with the way her eyes lit up. ‘Or should I say an ingested trait?’

  ‘What?’ Her smile was amazing. Or more bloody likely it was just such a rare thing to see a smile aimed in his direction. A smile wasn’t
anything special. Which was why he was going to stop staring at hers very soon.

  ‘Never mind.’ She went back to the paper, tracing rooms and doorways. A few strands of hair escaped her braid to fall around her face, the pale silk crisscrossing the whorls of gold on her cheeks and neck. The tip of her tongue peeked out between her lips as she concentrated.

  Unable to bear the ache in his soul, he looked away and stared directly into his reflection in the window. It was the first time in a long time he’d seen himself. He kept no mirrors on the ship in the compartments he frequented. Why should he? He couldn’t afford gold-backed ones, and seeing his true reflection – the only reflection silver-backed mirrors showed – was unnecessary torture.

  Seeing his face reminded him of everything he’d lost. His true face, the one he wore without effort, was the face of a monster, not a man. His human face was just a mask. One he’d worn countless times in hundreds of years to lure the unsuspecting to their deaths. Neither face was worth looking at.

  He closed his eyes, but the image of the savage he’d seen in the window was burned in his mind. Killer. Murderer. Beast. Butcher. Bourreau.

  His thoughts had stirred the voices and for once, he let them rail. He couldn’t deny their words. Death had been his human trade. If only he could hide behind the hood now. He glanced at Chrysabelle. She had handed off the schematic to Mortalis and now covered herself with a blanket. She claimed to know his history but hadn’t said much about it. Did she think he’d gotten what he deserved?

  In his human years, how many murderers had he dispatched? How many thieves? Rapists? Many from his time had believed the weight of the condemned’s vile deed passed over to the headsman upon death. No wonder the women of his village refused him. Despite the hood, they knew who he was. What he did. Even in the tavern, he’d sat alone, relegated to a tankard reserved solely for him so that no one else might have to drink from the same cup.

  ‘Are you not talking to me?’

  Her question brought him out of his thoughts. ‘What? No. I didn’t hear the question.’

  ‘I asked you to tell me about the night you were turned.’ Her shoulders lifted slightly. ‘If you want to.’