Bad Blood (6 page)

Someone brushed her from behind. Mal growled as she turned to see who it was. A fringe vamp raised his hands in surrender and scurried off. After the news she’d given Mal, his fuse must be very short indeed.

She couldn’t think about that now. Or how just seeing him had made her want to forgive what he’d done. Her body was weak, her emotions weaker. She must be strong. Must focus on what she needed to accomplish.

Like seeing Dominic and getting his blessing to use his signumist’s services. A bolder fringe bumped into her, his hands finding her arm and waist. Mal snarled like a rabid dog, snapping his jaw as all traces of humanity
disappeared from his face. The guilty fringe disappeared into the crowd, and a moat of personal space opened around them, but more heads turned to ogle the genuine comarré and rare noble vampire. Mal shifted back to his human face, but that did nothing to quell the staring.

She sighed. She preferred the private entrance to Seven, but the ground between her and Dominic was unsure after what had happened at the witches’ house. He might not want to see her at all. She’d threatened him with the same thing herself, but he hadn’t carried through his plan of killing Doc and had agreed things were even after Mal had given his blood to the witches in exchange for them returning Dominic’s. Things should be square between them, but with a vampire like Dominic… who knew? It was probably a good thing Mal was with her.

The line surged a few steps forward. Speaking of the hulking, broody, rarely pleasant anathema vampire currently glued to her side, part of her was happy Mal had inserted himself back into her life. The same part that was grateful to still be alive. But the rest of her wasn’t so sure. Yes, she was alive, but at what cost? She had vampire blood in her veins now. Every time she remembered that, a wave of shock washed through her. Vampire blood. In a comarré. Although Mal was technically right about the latter. She wasn’t
truly
comarré anymore.

Thanks to him.

And so went the circle of thinking. Which was why it was time to stop thinking and start acting. Her fingers drummed the handle of the cane at her side. A cane she didn’t exactly
need
but one that served its purpose. She wasn’t ready to let anyone know just how healed she was. The wounds on her back should have kept her bedridden
for weeks. But two days after Mal’s infusion, she’d managed a painful half hour in the gym. Not the hardest training she’d had, but training nonetheless.

All that remained were the vicious scars streaking down her back like lightning strikes from shoulder blades to tailbone. And the pain. But pain she could deal with so long as she didn’t overdo it and ended the day with a good hot soak. The scars worried her. She prayed to the holy mother they wouldn’t prevent the signumist from replacing the signum taken from her. If Dominic’s signumist was for real and not just a glorified tattooist.

The crowd moved forward, at last depositing them at the head of the line. The wolf-shifter at the door eyed them both but unclicked the rope from its stanchion anyway. He held his other hand out. “Fifty each.”

Mal’s lip curled. “What? Like hell—”

“Here.” Chrysabelle slipped the plastic bills into the varcolai’s palm before grabbing Mal’s elbow and pushing him forward.

He glanced over his shoulder. “Dominic’s got a lot of nerve charging that kind of cover.”

“You’re not even supposed to be here. That means you don’t get to complain.” She leaned heavily on the cane and exhaled like she was more winded than she actually was. It refocused him nicely.

“And you should be home in bed.”

The response that filled her mouth brought such heat to her skin she looked away in case the evidence showed on her face. Since being disavowed, she’d become wickedly aware that her precious chastity no longer held much currency. Maybe it was the cursed blood coursing through her system, maybe it was the fever brought on by the
healing, but her dreams these last eight days had been filled with heated visions of Mal and Creek in situations she’d never before entertained.

Another reason not to think.

Mal held the red and gold dragon double doors open for her. Music poured over them as they entered the main room of Seven. Seemed the cover charge wasn’t the only thing that had changed. She caught the attention of the first server that went by. “Excuse me, I need—”

“You need something, you talk to Katsumi or Jacqueline.” The young man, a fae-varcolai remnant by the looks of him, was clearly perturbed she’d stopped him. “You comarré don’t run this place, you know. I have paying customers to take care of.”

He took a step toward the bar he’d been headed for. Mal clamped a hand on his arm, stopping him cold. The server lifted his head to stare at the vampire towering over him. “Can I help you, sir?”

“Yes.” The silver glow in Mal’s eyes marked him as noble, something the server had probably never seen before except on Dominic. And now, of course, Katsumi. The appropriate fear registered in the server’s eyes. “You can start by never talking to her in that tone of voice again. She’s not one of Dominic’s fake comarré—she’s the real thing and she deserves your respect, understand?”

He swallowed. “Yes, sir. My deepest apologies.”

The show was touching but unnecessary. “Mal, it’s fine. Really.”

But he didn’t let go of the server. “Tell Dominic Chrysabelle is here to see him.”

“Yes, sir.” The server glanced down at Mal’s hand. Mal moved it and the server dashed off.

Chrysabelle folded her arms. “I love when you’re all sweetness and light.”

“Kid’s a punk.” He spoke without looking at her, his head swiveling to take in the crowd. “I don’t see Katsumi.”

“Good. Which reminds me, has Ronan ever shown up? Or is it pretty much assumed he bought it in the swamp?”

“Not sure, but you shouldn’t assume anything when it comes to Ronan.”

“Or any vampire for that matter,” she muttered.

“I heard that.”

The server returned, practically jogging. “Dominic’s in his office. He says for you to come up.”

“Thank you.” Chrysabelle smiled as pleasantly as she could.

The server stayed put. “Anything else, sir?”

Mal shook his head. “You’re dismissed.”

The server took off as Chrysabelle shot Mal a look. “You’re dismissed?” She rolled her eyes. “C’mon, let’s go see Dominic.”

At his office door, she knocked twice before he called for them to enter. Was that a sign he wasn’t happy to see her? She went in, Mal behind her, and relaxed slightly to see Dominic on the phone. He held up a finger, then motioned for them to sit.

He continued on for a moment in Italian. “
Si, si
.
Buono
.” He nodded a few times, shook his hand at the heavens, then finally, “
Devo andare
.
Ciao, Luciano
.” And hung up. “
Scusi
, but I had to take care of that.” He came out from behind the desk to take Chrysabelle’s hand between his. He leaned in and kissed her on both cheeks. “It is good to see you,
cara mia
. I know of your troubles. My heart aches for you.
This woman, Rennata…” He scowled. “If you wish, I can have her dealt with.”

“As much as I appreciate the offer, no thank you.” Apparently she’d worried for nothing.

“You are feeling better now, though, eh?”

“I’m doing well enough.”

His gaze traveled to the cane at her side. “And this? What is this?”

“I still have a little pain.” Not a lie, except for the little part. Sometimes she could feel the knives cutting her skin as fresh as the moment it had happened. The phantom echoes of those blades woke her at night.

“Malkolm, I trust you are well also?”

“I’m fine.” Mal paused, like he was unsure why Dominic was being so cordial. She wondered that herself. “The club is busy. Business must be good.”

Dominic sat on the front edge of his caramel-swirled marble desktop. “It’s very good, actually. So good I’m bringing my nephew Luciano in. Many times removed, of course, but the blood is there. And with Ronan gone…” He shrugged.

Chrysabelle leaned forward. “Is Katsumi no longer here?”

“She’s here. There’s just so much to take care of. The comarré business alone takes most of her time.”

“That’s partly why I’m here.” Chrysabelle took a breath. “I would like to speak to your signumist.”

Dominic tilted his head. “May I ask why?”

Her thumb rubbed the cane’s pearl handle. “I need some new signum.”

He smiled gently. “New signum?
Cara mia
, you have no room.”

“I do. On my back.” The signumist would tell him anyway. “I need to replace the signum that was stripped from me.”

The smile vanished as he stood up. “What? Why? I know what it is to undergo such a thing. Your mother took the last of her signum the first year of our affair. The pain was more than I thought a human could bear.”

“Dominic, I know very well what the pain is like.” She opened her arms, twisting her hands to flash a few of the numerous signum she still bore. “I need to get back to the Aurelian.”

“What for?”

“I have unfinished business with her.”

He snorted, throwing a hand in the air. “You are just like your mother.
Ostinato
.”

“Sometimes stubborn is good. Will you let me talk to him?”

His mouth leveled into a thin, hard line. “No. It is not for the best.”

“Tell him,” Mal urged her.

She responded with a look she hoped said no.

“Tell me what?” Dominic asked.

She exhaled. “Maris had a son. My brother. I need to see the Aurelian to find out everything I can about him. So I can locate him.”

Dominic’s mouth slowly parted. “Another child?” He shook his head. “I still don’t like it, but I will think on it.” He checked his watch. “There is something I need of you as well.”

Which might explain why he’d been so nice. “What might that be?”

After a quick glance at Mal, he continued. “I have two
comarré here. A comarré and a comar, actually. They cannot stay here.”

“Why not? You’ve got plenty of space. Where do the rest of your comarré stay?”

“Except for a few special cases, they live in their own homes. But these are not
my
comarré. They are Primoris Domus comarré.”

She sat back, surprise flooding her. “How on earth did you get ahold of them?”

“They came to me. Escaped from Tatiana.” He lifted his shoulders. “They saw one of mine in the street and followed her here. Begged asylum. What was I to do? Throw them out to the Nothos? Let the fringe devour them?” He walked around to his chair and sat. “I am not an unkind man, Chrysabelle. Despite what you may think of me.”

“I don’t think that.” She did, however, think he was prone to unreasonable decisions, hasty judgments, and bouts of temper. “Still, I don’t understand why they can’t stay here. I’m sure they’d be willing to exchange blood for room and board, that sort of thing.”

“Perhaps, but I have yet to broach that subject with them. They are… a bit timid around me. And I cannot keep them here because I cannot protect them the way you can. Your house is warded, and no vampire can enter without an invite.”

Mal shook his head. “Tatiana doesn’t need any more reason to come after Chrysabelle. It’s a bad idea.”

The tiniest bit of silver sparked in Dominic’s eyes. “I would never put Chrysabelle in harm’s way. I will assign guards to the house.”

She stared at the carved, gilded legs of his desk. She had no desire to add to her household, especially not two
comarré who would remind her every day of her past and what had been stripped from her, but neither did she wish to get on Dominic’s bad side. She sighed slowly. “I’m still recovering, you know.”

He clutched at his long-dead heart. “
Bella
, I would do nothing I thought might hinder you returning to full health. They will be quiet as mice.”

“They can move in on three conditions. One, I want to meet with the signumist tonight. Two, I want you or Mortalis to move them in—no one else comes onto the property. And three, I don’t want to see them. Not right now. Make sure they know that. My hospitality is not to be mistaken for an invitation to be friends.”

“Perhaps you are more stubborn than your mother.” He nodded, fingers steepled against his chin. “Agreed. It will be done.” He pressed a button on a small silver device resting on his desktop. “I’ll have Mortalis take you to the signumist. That doesn’t mean I support what you’re doing.”

“Understood. Thank you.”

A few moments later, Mortalis entered. “Chrysabelle, good to see you up and about. Mal.” He nodded in greeting before addressing Dominic. “You need me?”

“Take Chrysabelle to Atticus.”

His brows lifted a centimeter or two, but it was his only reaction. He turned to her, gesturing toward the door. “Follow me.”

The throbbing woke Creek. It radiated from his shoulder into the rest of his body like a raging infection, cutting through the fog of medication in his blood.

“You’re awake. Good.”

He opened his eyes but knew who’d spoken just by the scent of wolf filling his nose. He blinked as the green-walled room and the man standing over him came into focus. “Shouldn’t you be guarding the mayor?”