Out for Blood hoc-4

by Kristen Painter

  She inhaled deeply. “Your disguise is starting to fade. I can see your face coming through underneath.”

  “Don’t change the subject.”

  The strands of something bright and frightening worked through her belly. “I…” Her ability to breathe had been compromised by the thoughts he’d put into her head. “Is there a reason you want to know?”

  Silver sparkled in his gaze. “I’m not getting any younger.”

  “You’re not really getting any older, either.”

  “Chrysabelle, you know what I mean. I love you. You love me. Why shouldn’t we make things more permanent?”

  “Permanent is a long time.”

  “Something we both understand very well.”

  “Maris and Dominic didn’t work. Why would you and I be any different?”

  “Because we would be. We’re not them. There aren’t any secrets between us.” He laid his hand over hers. “You’re trembling and your heart rate is going at the same speed as this plane. I didn’t mean to scare you, so I’ll just drop it.” He settled back into his seat and closed his eyes, but even she could tell he was disappointed.

  “You really do love me, don’t you?”

  He answered without opening his eyes. “Enough that it frightens me, too.”

  His being scared made it a little easier to take. Like they were both on the same side of things, which they were, but his words just solidified how true that was. She loved him. She did. She wasn’t comarré anymore and shouldn’t be bound by any of those rules or standards. Didn’t want to be, really. What she wanted was a life of her own, where the decisions she made came from her heart and not a head full of rules. Fingers shaking, she unbuckled her seat belt and stood.

  He looked up at her, the last vestiges of his disguise slipping off his skin. “Leaving?”

  “I need to get out of this dress.” She held her quivering hand out to him and tried to keep her heart from exploding and her voice from cracking. “Maybe… maybe you could help me?”

  His mouth opened, but no sound came out. He licked his bottom lip and blinked slowly. “Are you asking me—”

  “Yes.”

  He was out of his seat a split second later and pulling her into his arms. “It’s been a really long time since I… helped a woman out of her dress.”

  “Well, it’s been never for me.” She smiled at the absurdity of her nerves. “We’ll figure it out, though, right?”

  Eyes shining silver, he kissed the corners of her smile and she realized she wasn’t the only one trembling. “Hell, yes.”

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  Behind the closed door of the plane’s bedroom, with Chrysabelle in his arms, the throb of her life in his veins and the full impact of what they’d just done, there was no way Mal wasn’t asking her again. So he did, inciting the voices to levels that would have been unbearable if not for the fresh blood in his system. “Marry me.” Fool fool fool.

  With a sated mew, she stretched lazily on the bed beside him, twisting the sheet as she turned so they lay hip to hip. “Asking now is dirty pool.”

  “That’s my MO. You should know that by now.” He rolled his bottom lip in. The taste of her blood still lingered. Being able to bite her made everything so much better. Worse.

  She went very quiet. He lifted his head to glance at her. Even in just the soft cabin lights, she gleamed. Everywhere. He turned and leaned on one elbow, his head in his hand, his fingers tracing the signum that scrolled across her collarbone. “You will, you know.”

  She blinked at him. “I will what?”

  “Marry me.” He focused on her eyes, making sure she understood how serious he was. “I don’t do this”—he waggled his finger between them—“lightly.”

  Her eyes narrowed to slits and her mouth bunched to one side. “So that’s an order, is it?”

  “Yes.” He kissed her, then sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed. “In fact, I bet Mortalis is licensed.”

  She bolted upright beside him. “Holy mother, Mortalis. And Amery! Do you think they know what we’ve been doing?”

  He wanted to laugh but didn’t. “There’s a good chance.”

  “We should get dressed. How long have we been in here? Are we landing? We’re probably landing soon.” She yanked the sheet off him to wrap around herself. “Get dressed!”

  “Calm down. I can pretty much guarantee neither Amery nor Mortalis is going to be surprised by any of this.”

  She threw his shirt at him. “Get. Dressed.”

  A knock sounded at the door. “We’ll be landing in thirty minutes.”

  “We’ll be out,” Mal called. “Just getting dressed.”

  Chrysabelle glared at him.

  “What? You don’t think Mortalis knows we’re both in here? We’re on a plane. Where else are we going to be?”

  One hand held the sheet around her body while she rubbed her forehead with the other. “This was a bad idea.”

  “It gets better the more you do it.” Mal laughed and winked. “You’ll see.”

  His pants hit him in the face.

  Doc eased his weight onto the side of the bed, causing the mattress to dip slightly. Fi shifted and stretched toward him. He went still, wanting to wake her but not too abruptly.

  Her lids fluttered open. “Hi,” she whispered.

  “Hi.” He smiled back. “How you feeling?”

  “Like a truck ran me over.” She yawned. “A medium-sized one.” She rubbed her eyes. “My head feels cloudy.” She looked around, hands spreading across the comforter. “How long have I been here?”

  “Day and a half. Barasa drugged you up pretty good so you could sleep and recover.”

  She yawned again and rolled her head around. “I don’t like that. But I get it. How are things with… everything?”

  “You mean Heaven?”

  She moved her head enough for him to understand she was nodding.

  “Heaven’s father showed up.”

  Fi tensed and fear widened her eyes.

  Doc grabbed her hand. “It’s cool. It is, trust me. He’s not a bad guy. Nothing like I thought.”

  She relaxed, blowing out a breath. “He can’t be happy.”

  “He’s not, but he also understands how pride law works. He knows Heaven challenged you and you won.” He just didn’t know exactly how. And Fi didn’t need to either.

  “But she died.” Worry bracketed her eyes. “I didn’t do that. I don’t have the power to do that. Not in my corporeal form.”

  Doc studied her hand. So small and fragile and pale compared to his big dark one. He had two choices. Tell her the truth and let her bear the weight of someone else’s sins or leave her blameless.

  He looked up and forced himself to smile. “Barasa said she had a heart defect that none of us could have known about. The fight was too much for her.”

  “So… I didn’t really kill her? She died of natural causes?”

  He hesitated, smiling a little broader to try to convince himself, too. “You had nothing to do with her death.”

  At least that wasn’t a lie.

  “She means to get rid of me,” Creek explained after showing Annika the pictures on his phone. “Whether or not John goes along with that, I don’t know. He’s varcolai and has no beef with me, so chances are he won’t, but the mayor can be very persuasive when she wants.”

  “The KM do not want this city run by a vampire. They’ll want her removed. Probably permanently, but I’ll tell them we need provocation.” She sat on the steps that led to his sleeping loft. “Plus I know you’re not going to kill a woman, vampire or otherwise, unless you have a stellar reason to.”

  He leaned against one of the garage’s support columns. Annika was so different from Argent. “I appreciate that. Something tells me that reason won’t be long coming.”

  Annika nodded thoughtfully. “She’ll be on the warpath for sure after she finds out she’s not getting the baby.”

  Creek’s forehead furrowed. “H
ow do you know that?”

  “Our operative inside Tatiana’s unit was eliminated.” She smiled. “Well, one of them was.”

  “Good to know.” No point in asking for more details. “Hey, I don’t want to kick you out, but I have somewhere to be.”

  Still smiling, she stood, brushed the dust off her backside, and walked to his V-Rod. “Yes, I know. Dinner at your grandmother’s.”

  “I’d ask how you know, but sector chiefs seem to know just about everything.” He grabbed his helmet and joined her on the other side of the bike.

  She took the helmet out of his hands. “I know because she invited me, too.” She plopped the helmet on over her spiky black hair. “You’re driving.”

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  With Mal at her side, Chrysabelle leaned against the back wall of a small mirrored room in Mortalis’s home. No more than six by eight, the space had probably been a closet before Mortalis moved in. She wasn’t sure what was stranger—the mirrored room or the fact that Mortalis lived one floor below Dominic’s secret penthouse in the same luxury building. Made sense, though. Dominic had good reasons to keep his personal bodyguard close.

  Amery shifted nervously across from them while Mortalis closed the door, completing the illusion that they were in the midst of a vast, strange crowd. The fae turned, his reflection as tense as the rest of him.

  “Once we bring him in, there is no turning back. He will demand payment, whether or not he answers a question for you. If he isn’t paid, he’ll let it be known we brought him here without approval. And for his kind, there is no approval.”

  “Where exactly are you getting him from?” Chrysabelle asked. She couldn’t help but wonder where such a dangerous fae lived.

  “The Claustrum,” Amery answered.

  Mortalis shot him a glare that shut him up.

  “What’s that?” She really needed to study fae culture a little more.

  “Fae prison,” Amery told her, with a look to Mortalis that said he was done speaking.

  “Oh.” Her brows shot up. That was interesting, but Creek had spent time in prison, too, and he wasn’t exactly a bad guy. “What did he do?”

  “You don’t want or need to know.” Mortalis scowled at Amery once more. “He can’t escape this room, unless you open the door, so don’t—”

  “Don’t open it,” Chrysabelle finished. “We won’t.”

  “You might want to,” Amery said. “This room is going to feel even smaller with a raptor in it.”

  “I don’t like this,” Mal muttered.

  His comment didn’t surprise her. She was starting not to like it either, but her desire to understand what the ring had done to her was greater. “How exactly is this creature going to be able to help me?”

  Mortalis’s hands roved over his body, doing a weapons check. They slid from the hilts of the crossed thinblades at his back to a set of daggers at his wrists. “Like I told you, he can read metal. It’s more than that really, but that’s the best way to describe what he does.”

  Mal snorted softly. “What kind of payment is he going to want?”

  Amery opened his mouth, looked at Mortalis, then shut it. Mortalis shook his head. “We don’t know exactly, but raptors thrive on emotion.” He slanted his eyes at Mal. “He’ll want you, we’re almost sure of it.”

  “I’m not giving him a choice,” Mal said. “Chrysabelle’s been through enough.”

  Amery laughed. “With all the crazy in your head, the raptor probably won’t even notice her.”

  “Amery.” Chrysabelle gave the young fae a disapproving glare. Mal might be a little borderline, but talking about it like that wasn’t polite.

  “Sorry.” Amery dropped his gaze to the floor.

  “Anyway,” Mortalis said, “what the raptor wants is different every time, but he’s a thief by nature, so”—he tipped his head at Amery—“give him the stuff.”

  Amery pulled out two large chocolate bars from his jacket, then held them out to Mal.

  “Chocolate? Really?”

  Amery’s cheeks went a deeper shade of gray. “Beignets didn’t invent themselves. Sugar is a big fae weakness. Could be, he’ll take these and leave you alone. At the very least, these will put him in a good mood.”

  “And if he doesn’t take those and leave Mal alone?” Doubts crept into Chrysabelle’s head. Worries about what might happen to Mal.

  “I can handle it. That thing gets one whiff of the beast that lives inside me and he’ll figure out pretty quick the chocolate is the best deal.” He took the candy bars and stuck them into his back pocket, then winked at her. “Or maybe he’ll take a few of the voices with him. Seems like a win-win to me. You get your info and my head gets lighter.”

  She nodded, unconvinced. “I guess.”

  Mortalis pulled a thin rod from a holster on his hip and snapped it outward. It doubled in length and the end glowed with an easy blue light. He nodded to Amery. “Let’s go.”

  They turned in unison and just like that, walked through the mirrored wall behind them.

  “Wow,” Chrysabelle whispered. “I knew fae could travel that way, but I’ve never seen it.”

  “Me neither.” He managed a half-smile. “This is all going to work out. You’ll see.”

  She squeezed his forearm, his skin warm from the blood he’d had on the plane. “I’m sure you’re right.” She wasn’t, but for both of their sakes, she prayed it was true.

  When Mortalis and Amery stepped back through the wall, Mal sensed Chrysabelle tensing before he heard her deep intake of breath and the whispered, “Holy mother,” that slipped out of her. Even the voices cringed.

  The raptor shuffled between the fae, his ankles and wrists shackled. Slick skin the same murky gray-green as sewer sludge covered his monstrous frame. The shape and carriage of the thing reminded Mal of the Nothos, but instead of piercing yellow eyes, this creature had no eyes at all, just a sloping forehead that curved back from his wide, slit nostrils. And there was no stench of brimstone. Instead he smelled like… Mal inhaled again. Bleach.

  “Mmm… gold. Sacred, dirty gold.” The raptor opened his mouth, and a three-pronged tongue flicked out from between multiple rows of teeth that curved back toward his throat. He tasted the air. “And chocolate.”

  Mortalis lifted the stick with the lighted end. “You’ll get the chocolate after you read the comarré’s gold.”

  The big head moved and Mal realized the raptor was nodding.

  He raised his shackled arms and curled his long slender fingers inward. “Bring her to me.”

  Mortalis nodded to Chrysabelle. She pulled up the back of her loose tunic, bringing it over her head and tucking it under her chin so only her back was exposed; then she stood before the raptor and turned.

  The raptor leaned in and sniffed her. “Must touch.”

  Chrysabelle stood so still Mal could barely see the rise and fall of her breathing. Her hands were clenched in the fabric of her tunic, her eyes closed in what might have been prayer.

  The raptor did nothing.

  “He’s waiting for your permission,” Mortalis said quietly.

  “Oh.” She swallowed. “Yes, you may touch me. No,” she added hastily, remembering what Mortalis had told her about being specific. “You may touch the metal on either side of my spine. Only.”

  Amery let out a soft sigh that sounded like relief.

  The raptor opened his mouth and the black tongue came out again. This time it flicked against her skin. She inhaled at the touch but after a brief flinch, held still.

  Again and again, the raptor’s tongue made contact with her flesh, each time raising Mal’s ire. After what had transpired between them on the plane, seeing another creature, especially this abomination, touch her so intimately pushed him toward a level of jealousy and protection he’d never known with any woman.

  He growled in the depths of his throat and the raptor stopped, tipped his head toward Mal, then snapped his tongue back into his mouth.

  T
he raptor straightened to his full height, which put him half a meter from the ceiling. “I need blood to read deeper. A drop.”

  “Ridiculous.” Now the creature traveled a bridge too far.

  Mortalis put a hand up. “It’s not uncommon.”

  Chrysabelle nodded, flipped out the tiny blade on her ring, and pricked her finger. She held it up, the tiny ruby bead on the tip like a beacon Mal couldn’t look away from.

  The raptor inhaled as he bent toward her, his tongue reappearing. She lifted her hand, grimacing slightly. The tongue’s three segments delicately wrapped her finger, found the blood, and retreated.

  The creature was quiet for a moment. “You are comarré?”

  “Yes,” Chrysabelle answered.

  He shook his head. “Your blood is dirty. This confuses me.”

  “What the hell do you mean, her blood is dirty?” Mal took a step toward the fae. “Her blood is as pure as it gets.”

  The raptor tipped his head toward Mal. “Vampire?”

  “Yes.”

  The raptor mumbled something under his breath that sounded like, “Darkness, all darkness”; then he inhaled in Mal’s direction. “Your blood is in her?”

  “Yes.” Mal looked at Chrysabelle. He had no idea how the creature had picked that up.

  With a small nod, the raptor continued. “I must taste your blood as well.”

  Chrysabelle’s hand latched on to Mal’s wrist before he could protest, the pleading look on her face making it impossible for him to object. He held out his hand and she used her ring to prick his finger as well.

  “Here.” Mal shoved his hand toward the raptor and the creature licked up the offered drop.

  After a few long seconds, the creature went down onto his haunches and began to speak. “The gold is ancient. Sacred. Imbued with holy magic tainted by another for dark purposes. This gold was a ring, its circular shape a symbol of how unending, how indestructible its power. But this power is what concerns you. This power is what now flows within you. This power has become part of you, greater than you.”

  Mal clenched his hands into fists. “What the hell is the power?”