Flesh And Blood: House of Comarre: Book Two (House of Comarre 2) (17 page)

‘Really,
Mia
? Somehow I think otherwise.’ Tatiana laughed and turned to Octavian. Time to remove him from the room. She
preferred her servants didn’t have a full grasp of her powers. Besides, a little havoc in the city would make things more interesting. ‘Set the Nothos free to hunt the comarré. Remind them to return her alive.’

‘Yes, my lady.’ Octavian bowed and trotted off to do her bidding.

She refocused on the girl and opened herself to the power the Castus had bestowed upon her. Sensation tingled through her. The girl’s eyes rounded and her mouth dropped open. Tatiana knew her change was complete and exact.

The shifter scuttled backward until she hit the wall. ‘How did you … You look just like me.’ Regaining her composure, she shook her head, her jaw working. ‘You’ll never pass for me.’

Tatiana pictured the girl’s wolf form in her head, and a second later, she was down on all fours looking out through animal eyes. Another second and she was back in the girl’s human form. The sudden back-and-forth left her light-headed and queasy, but she hid the ill effects by snapping her fingers for Nasir. He was at her side in a flash, and she grasped his arm as if preparing to leave.

Steadied, she retook her own image before addressing the shifter one last time, holding tight to Nasir as a new bout of dizziness spun her head. ‘As you can see, I will pass for you quite easily, and if you don’t give me the information I need, no one will even realize you’re missing until your carcass turns up as roadkill. Do we have an understanding, or do I need to make myself clearer?’

Mia tucked her knees to her chest and shook her head slowly. ‘No. I understand perfectly.’

Right foot, left foot, right foot, left foot.
Chrysabelle concentrated on taking steady, even steps back to the house, but the air had
become thicker, the earth slightly tilted, and her body traitorously warm since Mal had tried to make up for drinking her blood by kissing her.

Right foot, left foot.
She could do this. She could make it into the house without wobbling or sighing or anything else that might give him a clue that what he’d done had affected her exceptionally more than she was ever going to admit.

After his reaction to her sending blood to Dominic, she knew he wasn’t going to like her needing to see Dominic about this new way of getting to the Aurelian, but he’d helped Maris through the ritual. Besides, who else was she going to ask?

She wished she could gather enough real anger to match the acting she’d done when she’d pulled away from Mal, but there was nothing to draw from. Painful as it might be to admit, he was right and she was wrong. If he did still own her blood rights – which he most likely did – sending blood to another vampire was the human equivalent of cheating on a spouse.

In noble society, he could demand his blood money back. Or worse. She glanced over her shoulder to see where he was and jumped, a small yelp escaping her before she could stop it.

‘Scare you?’ he asked from where he walked beside her.

‘No.’ Yes. Like he didn’t know. ‘I hate that silent speed thing. Worst vampire ability ever.’

He made a sound like strangled laughter. ‘I’ll try to make more noise in the future.’

So he assumed they’d be spending more time together? ‘No, you won’t.’

He tucked his hands into his pockets. ‘Have a little faith.’

His tone said he wasn’t just talking about making less noise. Had he kissed her for a reason beyond thinking he owed it to her? Had he been marking his territory? The anger she couldn’t
find before was slowly making its way to the top of her head. ‘If you think—’

Loud, repetitive honking broke the night’s silence. Someone was at the gate.

‘Stay here,’ Mal said.

Without bothering to answer, she left him behind and raced into the house to see what was going on, grabbing her sacre as she hit the foyer. The security camera showed Mal’s ancient sedan outside her gate, Doc at the wheel. He leaned on the horn again as Mal came speeding into view on the monitor. She hit the button to open the gate and went outside, where Velimai and Mortalis stood by Dominic’s car.

What’s happening? Who’s here?
Velimai signed.

‘Doc,’ Chrysabelle answered.

With Mal jogging behind, the old gasoline-powered vehicle screeched to a stop in the circular drive and Doc jumped out. He twisted to face Mal. ‘What were you doing in the Pits?’

‘Taking care of business.’

Doc shook his head, clearly incredulous. ‘Ronan could have killed you.’

Mal snorted. ‘And you care because … ?’

Doc’s hands were clenched, his body a fuse waiting to be lit. ‘Because without you, Fi’s gone.’

Mal shot Chrysabelle a look. ‘Fi
is
gone, Doc. You know that.’

Doc’s fist slammed the car’s side panel, denting it slightly. ‘No, she’s not. I’ve seen her. She’s stuck in some kind of nightmare loop. She shows up every night in the cargo hold and then … ’ He glanced down, shaking his head in obvious anger.

‘And then what?’ Chrysabelle asked as she walked forward.

Doc turned his leopard-yellow eyes to her. ‘And then Mal kills her. She’s stuck repeating the night she died over and over.’ His
voice cracked. ‘Every night, she stumbles through those ruins and every night’ – he leveled his gaze at Mal – ‘he rips her throat out.’

‘Is she … aware of what’s happening to her?’

‘Yes,’ he hissed.

‘Holy mother,’ Chrysabelle whispered. Mortalis cursed softly in faeish. How awful for Fi. And for Doc, who so clearly loved her.

Mal’s jaw went slack and he seemed somehow to pale. She knew those memories weren’t easy ones for him. Being reminded of them couldn’t be pleasant. How much worse would it be to have them played out for everyone to see? And poor Fi. To die every night, suffering through the pain and fear …

‘Well,’ she announced loudly, as if volume superseded emotion, ‘there’s got to be something we can do.’

‘There is. But I need to see Dominic first and I can’t find him.’

‘You’re in luck.’ Her voice sounded a lot more chipper than she felt. ‘We’re just about to go see him.’

‘We are?’ Mortalis asked.

‘Velimai will stay here, but yes, the rest of us are,’ Chrysabelle answered.

Mortalis crossed his arms. ‘No. I’ll get Dominic, bring him to the club. We can meet there.’

Chrysabelle pointed her blade at the fae. ‘I realize you’re protecting him, but if you don’t get in that car and drive us to his penthouse immediately, so help me, holy mother, I will slice those horns off your head and insert them into a body cavity.’

Mal snorted. Mortalis frowned. ‘You’ve lost your mind.’

She lifted the sacre a little higher, the sword buzzing with her emotion. ‘Get in the car.’

He did, muttering more incomprehensible things in faeish.

‘Nicely done, comarré.’ Doc started for Dominic’s car. ‘Dominic won’t be happy about this, but he should probably know someone is killing off his customer base, too.’

‘What?’ She stopped, hand in mid-reach for the car door.

Doc paused on his side of the vehicle. ‘Yeah, I stumbled onto a fringe graveyard. Must have been eight, nine piles of ash.’

‘I can’t imagine who would do that.’ Other than Creek. Maybe. He’d had no problems knocking off the fringe attacking her. Chrysabelle swallowed down the suspicion. He’d come to her rescue. That made him one of the good guys, which meant they were technically on the same side.

Weren’t they?

C
reek kept to the shadows while on the streets. Not that he needed the protection, but it helped him blend in with every other mortal brave enough to show their face after dark. Those who went out after sundown in this part of town were either looking for trouble in the form of a score, a woman willing to do the most for the money, or a chance to mingle with the other-natural crowd, or they were plain stupid. Regardless, that made for dangerous company.

His kind of night.

An old nylon windbreaker, pulled over his hair and tugged low so it almost covered his eyes, and baggy jeans, which supplied ample room for extra bolts, painted him as just one more punk out for an evening of mayhem and mischief. The jacket also covered the chest holster carrying his crossbow and halm, the lengths of titanium comfortably reassuring against his ribs. He cruised the section of town surrounding Seven, looking for a chance to run into Chrysabelle again. Meanwhile, he might find an opportunity for a little more practice.

Three working girls of the fringe variety hung on the busiest
corner, waving at the cars that slowed as they drove past. Creek shook his head and slipped into a doorway across the street to hunker down and wait. The idiot who picked up one of those hookers probably wouldn’t be coming back. Creek’s fingers dug into his empty back pocket for a smoke before he realized what he was doing. Old habits died hard.

The tallest of the trio postured as a silver sports car coasted down the street. She flicked her long blue hair over one shoulder and sashayed toward the curb in high-heeled boots. The red glow of brake lights lit up the car’s back end. Human curiosity of vampires was hitting a new peak. More and more were coming to believe the fanged monstrosities were real, and those who believed fell into two camps: those who feared the vampires and those who wanted to
be
vampires. The latter tended to be pale-skinned, fake-fang-wearing sycophants who dressed like they were going to a graveside orgy. What did they hope for? To find a vampire who would grant them eternal life? At the thought, the marks on his back itched.

The car pulled up and idled, the passenger side window rolling down. The tall fringe, so narrow-hipped and muscular Creek wondered if she might actually be a he, approached the vehicle and leaned on the door.

After a few minutes of conversation, the fringe got in and the driver eased away. Creek peeled off from his perch and headed after them, a slow lope at first so he wouldn’t arouse suspicion. Once they were a few blocks away, he poured on the speed and caught up, then slowed again as the car turned down an alley. He followed, as silent as the vehicle’s electric engine.

The car parked and the headlights flicked off, leaving only ambient light to see by, but it was more than enough for him. Anyone who survived the KM rituals got rewarded with a whole
heap of amped-up abilities. Speed was one of those. Great night vision, another.

The pair in the car seemed to be chatting. Creek moved closer, keeping low and watching his steps so as not to disturb any debris that might make noise. The john was paying her. How ironic, considering he was about to pay again with his life.

The female stuffed a few bills into her top and laughed, her fangs shining in the moonlight. Time to roll or the man in that car would be a bloodless sack of bones in three … two …

Creek sped to her door. His hood fell back. In a single fluid motion, he whipped out a bolt and yanked the car door open. This close, the crossbow was overkill. She was mid-lunge, fangs bared. She snapped around in his direction, spitting like a wet cat.

‘Hey!’ the human male yelled. He reached for the female. Light glinted off his wedding ring. ‘Get your own—’

Creek sank the bolt into her chest. She screeched, her eyes rounded in shock, then she crumbled into ash. He shook the bolt off. A few plastic fifties clung to the end, pierced through. He pulled them off and pocketed them. The john didn’t deserve them back. He pointed the bolt at the man. ‘You married?’

‘What the—’ The man scowled. ‘Yes.’

‘Kids?’

‘Yeah, why?’

Creek reached through the car and yanked the man halfway out. ‘Because you’re a piss-poor excuse for a husband and father, out here trying to score a little vampire tail. Go home and apologize to your family. Do something nice for them.’

The man nodded, his eyes wide.

Creek tossed him back into his seat. ‘Don’t let me see you here again. I won’t be as merciful.’

The man kept nodding. Creek watched until the car pulled away, hard memories clamping down on him. Too bad no one had ever given his father the same warning. But then, some people only understood brute force.

Doc slouched against the cold white marble wall of the foyer while Mortalis went through the retinal scan that would get them into the elevator and up to Dominic’s penthouse. His jaw ached from clenching it, but Venetian Island oozed luxury like a head wound oozed blood. It worked his last good nerve. Especially since he’d been one of the mules carrying the heavy load that had paid for this palace. Knowing that made every inch of this upscale ivory tower a personal insult, where a visit to Chrysabelle’s didn’t bother him one bit. Maris had paid for her crib via Lapointe Cosmetics, not drugs and fake comarrés and pit matches.