Bad Blood (31 page)

Lola’s office door burst open, causing her to lose the thread of the statement she’d been dictating to her secretary.
Something had to be said about the possibility that Paradise City had a serial killer on the loose now that a third body had been found. “John, you’re back sooner than I expected.” He was alone. No Creek, no child. She nodded at her secretary. “That’s all for now, Valerie. We’ll finish up later.”

“No problem, ma’am.” The woman left, shutting the door behind her.

Lola dropped the smile. “What’s going on? Where’s the child?”

John frowned. “The child is gone. Taken by… they’re called the ancient ones. They’re like the fathers of all the vampires. Really bad news. Anyway, one of them got the baby. Look, you’re not going to like this, but you’ve got to cancel all the—”

She stood. “Go after this ancient one. Get the child back.”

His jaw popped to one side, then slid back into place. “You don’t understand, it doesn’t work that way with these beings. Nothing about them is human. They’re demons. Fallen angels. You can’t just go after them.”

She crossed herself as she walked around to the front of her desk, the horror of his words settling over her like a blanket of ice. “A demon has my grandchild.”

“Your grandchild
is
half demon.”

Her mouth opened in disbelief. “How dare you say that.” A hot-cold flash of anger sliced through her heart. She slapped him across the face, then gasped at what she’d done. She clutched her hand to her heart. “
Ay Dios mio
, I am so sorry.” She went back to her desk and leaned against it, trying not to cry or scream or break something. Her world wasn’t just crumbling, it was disintegrating into strange pieces she no longer recognized. She glanced back at John.
He hadn’t moved. His dark sunglasses still sat on his face, the only change the red handprint rising on his cheek.

She dropped her gaze. “You think I’m a fool, don’t you? A sad, human fool who doesn’t have a clue as to what’s really going on in this world.”

“I don’t think that.” But the words came too fast and without conviction.

She laughed. “Am I just supposed to give in? Float along with the tide, accepting whatever comes my way?” She straightened, turning to look at him again. “Or should I fight? Is there even any way to fight this?” Her arms wrapped around her rib cage and she shook her head. “I’m lost.”

“You’re not lost. You have me. And Creek. And we both have networks of support in place. I have an entire pack of varcolai ready to respond, should I need them.”

She stared, seeing him like she’d never seen him before. “So what do I do, then?”

“About the child?”

“About any of it.”

He came toward her, tapping one of the chairs in front of her desk as he took the other one. She sat. He pushed his sunglasses up onto his head. His eyes were an almost silvery blue they were so pale. How she’d never noticed the inhuman gleam in them before, she didn’t know. Or maybe that was part of what the covenant had done. Or undone. It was all so maddening. “First of all, you have to cancel every Halloween-themed celebration going on in the city tonight that you can. The parade, trick-or-treating, everything. Call it a terrorist threat, a homeland security issue, poisoned candy, whatever you have to do, make it happen.”

“Why?”

“Because Samhain, Halloween, is a night of power for
othernaturals. No one really knows what will happen tonight with the covenant broken, but the thinking is, tonight will be the final melding of the two worlds. Magic is going to run wild. Keeping people inside—”

“You mean humans.”

“Humans, yes, but tonight will affect all races. Keeping them inside is the safest thing.”

She cradled her forehead in her hand. “This is not going to make me popular.”

“This isn’t about being popular. It’s about saving lives and protecting the city you swore to serve.”

She slanted her eyes at him from behind her hand and let the sarcasm drip from her words. “Thank you for that reminder.” She dropped her hand to the arm of the chair. “I’ll go with terrorist threat. I’ll set a curfew and get the chief to run patrols. Maybe they’ll catch whoever’s killing these comarré girls, too. You know there’s been a third victim? Three in three days.” Her city was being destroyed from the inside out.

John shook his head. “That’s not good. But you’re right, maybe the patrols will turn something up.”

“What about the child?”

He shrugged. “I really don’t know. The Castus, the ancient ones, they’re nothing I’ve ever dealt with before. Creek and his crew have. Probably best to let them handle it.” He paused, looking into her eyes more deeply. “They don’t want the ancient ones having that baby any more than you do.”

She stood, her head in a thousand different places with all the work ahead of her. “Get someone in here to take your place, then get back with them. I want you to make sure that’s the case.”

T
he second the bathroom door began to open, Mal flashed back to the sofa, feet up on the coffee table, eyes closed.
Liar
. He listened as Chrysabelle’s soft footfalls grew closer on the thick carpet. Her perfume, stronger now that she was freshly out of a hot shower, wafted over him in warm, silky waves. His already thin control narrowed further. Not joining her in that shower had been test enough, but her words about not the time or place, whether knowingly for him or not, had stirred what little sense he had left. Their relationship, such as it was, held together by his willingness not to cause her trouble.
Or drain her. Weakling.
Getting into the shower with her would definitely qualify as trouble and probably earn him a few bruises. Plus, he had his suspicions about her physical well-being.

The cushion beside him sank down. He opened his eyes. She sat inches away. Wearing nothing but a robe. Son of a priest, didn’t she have any idea what she did to him? He might be a vampire, but he was also still a man.
A dead one.
He shifted away from her a little. “You really didn’t have to get out so soon.”

She shrugged. “It’s okay.”

Was it? Her pulse had risen and stayed that way since they’d gotten on the plane to come here. It had still been elevated when he’d met up with her again in Jackson Square. She’d been on edge. Maybe it was just the task ahead of them, but maybe it wasn’t. He’d seen her wince, and his gut said she was hurting and trying to hide it. He decided to take a risk. “The heat helps, doesn’t it?”

“Yes, but not—What? I felt grimy from traveling. That’s all.”

In this case, he hated being right. “You’re a bad liar.”

“No, I’m not. You’re just hard to lie to.” She picked up the empty glass she’d set on the coffee table earlier and turned it in her hands. “I’m fine.”

“You’re in pain. I’m sorry.” He was responsible for that pain, something not even the voices needed to remind him about. “Why don’t you have a shot of whiskey? It might help.”

She set the glass back down. “I can’t, you know that. I have to stick to comarré rules, at least a little while longer.” She pushed the sleeve of her robe up, exposing a glinting length of flesh. Her right hand curled, her fingers flicking open the hidden blade of the ring she wore for just this purpose.

“Wait.”
No! Blood. Now.

Her brows lifted. “You don’t want to feed, that’s fine, but I need to drain anyway or I’ll get sick.”

“No, I want the blood. But I can’t stand seeing you in pain.”

“I said I’m fine. Leave it.”

He couldn’t. Not with her. He cracked his knuckles, flexing his fingers. Her gaze went to his hands, and the look in her eyes told him what to do next. “Turn around.”

“Why?” Suspicion replaced interest in her eyes.

“Relax.” He made a circular motion with one finger.
Around you?

“I can’t.” She twisted a little, still trying to watch him.

He put his hands on her waist and turned her the rest of the way around so that her back was to him. “I’m aware of that. Which is why I’m doing this.” He moved her hair over her shoulder, reluctant to let the silky length out of his hands. Someday, he wanted to brush it for her. Like that would ever happen.

He started on her shoulders, pressing his thumbs into the pads of muscle on the slope of her neck. Her ragged inhale stopped him. “Too much?”

“No.” Her head dipped forward, giving him more room to work.

He began again with the same pressure, making small circles into her skin. This time, he stopped on his own.

Her head came up slightly. “What’s wrong?”

“Robe’s too thick.” Without asking, he slipped his fingers into the neck of the fabric and tugged it down gently, exposing her shoulders and upper back.

The scars shone more brightly than her signum, each one like a dagger to his own flesh. She pulled the robe tighter but made no effort to re-cover herself. His hands returned to her body. At first contact, she inhaled again, flinching a little.

She laughed softly. “I should have fed you first.”

He rubbed his hands together to warm them up. “Cold hands, warm heart. Or no heart, in my case.”

“Don’t say that.” The kindness in her voice drove the scar daggers another inch deeper.

“No talking. Just relax.”

“You can’t stop me from thinking it.” But her head dropped back down as his thumbs traveled the sides of her spine, covering the white, pebbled marks where her signum had once been. He wanted to kiss them. Instead, he kneaded and massaged as best he could, trying to coax away the pain clinging to her. Where she wasn’t scarred, her skin was warm satin.

Her soft sighs and gentle moans told him his efforts were working. Her grip on her robe loosened, dropping the folds of fabric until the small of her back was exposed. He ignored the desires of his flesh and focused on the soothing of hers, but if he was honest, this was as much for him as it was for her. Yes, he wanted to take her pain away, but he’d been desperate to touch her since the first night she’d walked into his life and nearly killed him.
She should have.

She was warm with the life he’d never have again, but touching her made it seem like his future could somehow be different. At least if she was in it.
She won’t be.

He shoved the voices away and went back to work. His fingers stroked each muscle until she leaned into his touch. He went a little harder and she rewarded him with a sigh. “That feels amazing.”

“How’s the pain?”

She was quiet for a moment. “It was gone about five minutes ago, but I didn’t want you to stop.”

“I won’t until you tell me to.”

“You can. If you want. You must be tired, too, what with not having daysleep and all.”

“And if I don’t want to stop?”

She didn’t answer, but her body stiffened, undoing what he’d been working so hard at. Damn it, he’d pushed too much.

“I… I need to feed you. But a couple more minutes wouldn’t hurt.”

He splayed his fingers over her back, using lighter strokes this time, tracing the remaining signum as he worked his way up toward her neck again. Maybe he hadn’t pushed too hard after all. Maybe… He bent forward and brushed a kiss across one of the worst scars.

She sucked in a deep breath. And leaned into him a little more.

He added a second kiss, letting his mouth linger on her skin.

“Mal,” she whispered. “We shouldn’t.”

“I know,” he whispered back, placing a third kiss on the sun signum on the back of her neck. He rested his head against the golden mark, content just to be with her in that moment. Her beating heart filled his ears, the rush of her blood throbbing into his skin with a siren’s call. His fangs descended and the beast within him reared its head, erasing the traces of his human face.
Bite her. You’re so close. Do it. Drain her.

Unable to help himself, he pressed his face into the crook of her neck and opened his mouth.
Yessssssss…

Her hand crept up to cradle the back of his head, her fingers threading through his hair, and she turned, somehow exposing more of herself to him. The touch almost undid him. “I want it, too.”

Her words were so soft only his ears could have heard them. They couldn’t be real. Something inside him broke. He pulled away.
Fool
. “Don’t say that.”