Flesh And Blood: House of Comarre: Book Two (House of Comarre 2) (23 page)

D
oc stared down the fae before him. ‘Mortalis, let me in.’ Minutes were ticking by. His patience was gone. Not that he’d had much to begin with.

Arms crossed before the interior doors to Seven, the shadeux didn’t budge. ‘No.’

‘Did Dominic tell you not to? Is that why you scampered out here when Tec let me in?’

‘Dominic didn’t need to tell me anything. I know what the history is. Look how overjoyed he was I brought you to his penthouse.’ Mortalis shook his head. ‘And I do not scamper.’

Doc wanted to smash something or someone against the fancy new gold dragon doors that barred his way into Seven. ‘You know the history? The whole history?’

Mortalis’s face held its stony expression. ‘I know enough.’

‘Do you know Dominic’s stubbornness is costing two women their lives?’

The stone cracked slightly. ‘What do you mean?’

Doc explained what Aliza had said and how she’d agreed to
help Fi. ‘All I’m asking is one more opportunity to talk to him. Talk. That’s all.’

‘I’m going to end up working for the comarré,’ Mortalis muttered as he stepped aside. ‘Dominic asks, you haven’t seen me, I haven’t seen you, and I have no idea you’re here. Understand?’

Doc popped his fist against the shadeux’s shoulder. ‘You’re all right for an uptight son of a—’

‘Don’t make me change my mind.’

Hands up, Doc backed through the double doors and toward the club’s main lounge. ‘I’m gone!’

This time, he went straight to Dominic’s office via the route he’d traveled when he’d been running goods. In minutes he was at the back entrance to the office. He knocked, shoving down his nerves. This would work. It had to. All that mattered was helping Fi, consequences be damned.

Dominic called,
‘Si.’

Doc eased into the room, hoping to get several steps inside before the vampire saw him.

‘Mortalis is getting soft, I see.’ Dominic’s back was to him. ‘I thought we were done talking, varcolai.’

So much for stealth. ‘We were. But something new came up when I got back to the freighter and saw Fi again.’

Dominic closed the file drawer he’d been looking through, went to his desk, and sat, turning his chair to face Doc. ‘I fail to realize how this interests me. Dawn comes. I must sleep occasionally, despite the rumors.’

Doc forced himself to radiate truth. ‘I think you’ll find it very interesting. Fi has found she can communicate with—’

Pasha and Satima burst through the door on the other side of the office. A mask of anger distorted Pasha’s dark face. ‘You let this creature take up your time while we must wait?’ His nostrils
flared with indignation. ‘We have urgent business, not a rehash of the past.’ With a haughty look at Doc, Pasha crossed his arms. ‘Ignore us at your own peril.’

‘Yes,’ Satima mimicked. ‘At your own peril.’ She leaned against her brother, one hand splayed on his stomach.

Dominic steepled his fingers against his forehead as if a killer migraine had just struck. Doc completely understood. He felt a little that way himself. ‘Fine. What is this urgent business?’

Eyes glittering, Pasha stared at Doc while he spoke. ‘The little varcolai bartender—’

‘The wolf-shifter,’ Satima interjected.

‘Mia?’ Doc asked.

Nodding, Pasha turned his attention to his boss. ‘She brushed past me on her way in this evening – very rudely, I might add—’

Dominic’s hand cracked sharply against his marble desktop. Satima jumped. ‘I do not have time to worry about perceived slights against your person. I am done for the night.’ He loosened his tie. ‘Get back to work, both of you. And you … ’ He pointed at Doc. ‘Out.’

Doc stayed where he was. Pasha uncrossed his arms, planted his fingers on the marble, and leaned in as if the vampire hadn’t said a word. ‘There was skin contact.’

Dominic’s agitation faded a little. He worked the cuff links out of his starched white cuffs. ‘And?’

Straightening, Pasha lifted his chin and made eye contact with Doc before answering. ‘I saw her death.’

Doc snorted. ‘You say that every time you touch someone. Get a new line, gemini.’

‘Because it’s true, little cat. My talent is without question.’

Unclipping his black pearl cuff links, Dominic shook his head. ‘How is this important?’

‘She also smelled like a vampire.’ Satima rested her head in the crook of Pasha’s neck. ‘Tell them about her death, brother.’

Pasha inhaled as he started. ‘I saw her in a dungeon, surrounded by—’

‘Have you told Mia this?’ Dominic interrupted. ‘It is rather inappropriate to reveal someone’s future without them present, is it not?’

Pasha frowned. ‘That is our habit, yes.’

Dominic picked up a slim silver device, squeezed a button on the side, and spoke. ‘Send Mia up, please.’

A voice Doc didn’t recognize answered back. ‘Yes, sir.’

Dominic replaced the intercom and gestured toward the chairs behind the twins. ‘Sit. We will wait.’ He waved over his shoulder. ‘You, too, Maddoc, as you are now somehow part of this great important interruption.’ He looked at his watch. ‘You are all infringing on my personal time. What you’ve come to tell me had better be astonishingly valuable.’

Fortunately, they didn’t have to wait long. Mortalis came in, Katsumi trailing him. ‘Mia isn’t here.’

Katsumi looked around the room as if she were seeing new faces. ‘I sent her home. She wasn’t feeling well.’ Her gaze hung on Doc for a moment, then moved to Dominic. She studied him with an odd intensity. ‘Don’t let me interrupt whatever is going on.’

‘No, that settles it.’ Dominic stood. ‘This can all wait until tonight. I’m turning in.’ He slipped a key into the desk lock and turned it. ‘Katsumi, go home. You’ve been here long enough, too.’

She twisted her hands together, then forcibly stilled them. ‘I … I can’t. The sun is up.’

‘You know you have the use of my car.’ Dominic tucked the key into his pocket. ‘Mortalis will drive you.’

‘Of course.’ She smiled strangely. ‘Long night. Busy. So much on my mind.’ She waved her hands around her head like she was stirring up the crazy. Talk about a fringe struggling with daysleep. She sounded like she was tripping.

Doc stood, stretching to his full height. ‘I still need to talk to you, Dominic.’

‘No. I’m done for the night. Whatever it is can wait.’

‘No, it can’t.’ This was Fi’s life. ‘Just a few minutes, man—’

‘No,’ Dominic barked, silver lighting his eyes. ‘Enough. Malkolm is in the Donatello suite. You can stay there or go home, but either way, I will not talk to you until I have had some rest.’

Mal was here? Interesting, but his presence didn’t stop the rage worming through Doc’s spine. He swaggered forward, throwing his hands up. ‘You’re a cold piece of work, Dominic Scarnato. What if Maris’s life were at stake? What then?’

‘You leave Maris out of this.’

Mortalis’s hand went to the dagger tucked in his belt.

Think of Fi, think of Fi, think of Fi.
Doc backed off. ‘Can’t. Fi’s been in touch with her.’ Dominic’s mouth hung open as Doc twisted to leave. ‘See you when I see you.’

‘Wait,’ Dominic called. ‘Stay. Explain. Everyone else out. Mortalis, take Katsumi home, then come back here immediately.’

Doc smiled, then blanked his face and turned back to the group. A very sulky pair of haerbinger fae skulked out of the office first.

‘If it’s all right with you, Dominic, I will just stay here. I am exhausted.’ Katsumi sighed as if to illustrate her weariness.

‘Fine.’ Dominic waved a hand. ‘You may take your usual suite.’

‘The … which one was that again?’ She smiled sweetly and made the swirling motions by her head again. ‘So tired.’

‘Mortalis, escort Katsumi to the Dante suite, please?’

‘On it, boss.’ Mortalis took Katsumi’s elbow and steered her toward the door.

Katsumi went very slowly. ‘I would love to hear how this Fi contacted the comarré? Perhaps I could wait until—’

Dominic pointed to the exit. ‘Mortalis, now.’

The fae removed the sour-faced Katsumi with impressive efficiency. When the door closed behind them, Dominic took his chair again and motioned for Doc to sit, too. He did, and with the same fervency he’d once used to talk his customers into trying some of the most dangerous drugs on the face of the earth, he began to spin the yarn that was Fi’s greatest hope for survival.

Creek gently maneuvered his Harley through the streets, keeping to the smoothest part of the road as best he could. The comarré, still passed out, sat behind him, strapped to him with a couple of bungees. It had taken some maneuvering, but he’d buttoned her into his jacket with her limbs at her sides, then anchored her to him at the waist and upper back with the cords. She rested against his back, her head on his shoulder.

He checked his mirrors for fanged company, then reminded himself it was morning. At this hour, vampires were as good as dead. Even the blood-covered comarré couldn’t compete with dawn’s pale, deadly light.

Good for Chrysabelle, because her wound required immediate attention. The hellhound’s claws had sliced through her skin and the top surface of silvery-white tissue, exposing the bright
red muscle beneath. She would need some serious stitches, but if she could handle getting all those signum, she could handle stitches without anesthesia. Didn’t mean he wasn’t already regretting the pain he would have to inflict on her. He’d deal with the throbbing gash on his leg after she was taken care of.

Killing the engine, he parked the bike and unhooked the bungees, leaning forward to keep her weight on him. He eased upright, holding her arm as he got off the bike, then scooped her into his arms, and opened the door. He took her upstairs to his bed. She moaned softly when he set her down.

‘Shhh,’ he whispered, fixing the pillow beneath her head. ‘You’re safe. I’ll be right back.’ He hurried to walk the bike in and secure the door. The old metal looked rusted, but he’d reinforced it on the inside. Nothing was getting in here without him knowing about it. He grabbed his med kit and returned to her side.

Working quickly, he cut away her blood-soaked clothes, then carried them to the loft railing and tossed them onto the concrete floor of the old machine shop. They’d need to be burned before sundown or he might as well hang a neon arrow by his front door.

He turned around and paused at the sight of the woman on his bed. He was a man and he was weak, that much was starkly clear. He should not be feeling desire for an injured ally, but seeing all that blonde hair spilling across his pillow, her sculpted body in those small white underthings, her skin shining with gold …

And
blood
. He mentally begged her forgiveness as he shook off the troublesome thoughts. The Kubai Mata had made him into something more than human, but they hadn’t erased the mortal nature he’d been born with. Refocused, he fetched clean
water and towels, laid out the necessary things for what he was about to do, and sat on the bed beside her.

She murmured something.

‘It’s all right. You’re safe.’

Again, her lips parted in a half moan, half whisper. ‘Mal.’

Of course she would ask for the vampire she professed not to love. ‘No, you’re with Creek.’ The words came out harsher than he intended.

Her eyes fluttered open. This was not a good time for her to wake. Not when he had seventy-plus stitches to sew into her flesh. ‘Creek?’

‘Yes.’ Beneath all that gold, she was pale except for the dark smudges shadowing her eyes. He put a hand to her forehead, but even before he made contact, the heat rising off her skin seared his palm. Fever had set in, brought on by the hellhound’s poison. Poison he’d been sealed against. Delirium could not be far behind for her. Meanwhile, his leg had already begun to heal.

‘Creek.’ The word wasn’t a question this time. ‘The … Kubai Mata.’

He dipped a towel into the water and gently wiped away the crusting blood from her wound. ‘That’s right. KM.’ Maybe keeping her talking would help get her through the pain.

But she said nothing else, nor did she flinch at his touch, even as he neared the ragged skin. Her eyes stayed closed and her breathing took on a rhythmic cadence. She hummed softly, a tune he’d never heard.

Cleaning finished, he threaded a sterilized needle. ‘I’m going to stitch now.’

She nodded in slow motion. He said a quick prayer and made the first stitch. Not a flinch. Eased by her stoic ability to take the pain, he proceeded without looking up until the first gash was
closed. Twenty-four of the neatest stitches he’d ever made. His head came up, proud of his work.

Tears streamed from the corners of her closed eyes.

His gut tightened and a small tremor ran through him. He set the needle aside and grabbed a bottle of whiskey. Cap unscrewed, he held it out as he sat back down. ‘Here, drink some of this.’

Her eyes opened, her pupils barely focusing on the bottle. ‘No alcohol for comarré. Must keep the blood … pure.’

‘You need it for the pain.’

She closed her eyes again. ‘Comarré don’t feel pain.’ Her voice was thready and weak.