Blood Rights (27 page)

She glanced toward the still-open door. No sign of Mal. Fi lifted her hands, a silent, ‘What next?’

‘Fi,’ Chrysabelle said softly, in a voice she hoped would make it clear now was not the time for snappy comebacks.

‘Yeah?’

Chrysabelle notched her head to the right. ‘There’s a bathroom down that hall, second door. Would you get a damp washcloth?’

‘No problem.’ With a sympathetic look at Velimai, Fi exited toward the bath.

‘Doc, maybe you could fix some tea?’

Doc raised one brow and made a face that clearly implied she was crazy for asking.

‘If you can make spaghetti, you can make tea.’ Velimai wept in great shudders now, her small body more sheer than solid. Chrysabelle pursed her mouth. Tea wasn’t that hard. ‘Kitchen’s
behind me. Teapot’s on the stove, tea and sugar in the canisters on the counter, and cups in the cabinet left of the range.’

Scowling slightly, he disappeared into the kitchen as Fi returned with the damp washcloth.

‘Thank you.’ Chrysabelle moved to sit beside Velimai. The sound of cabinets being opened and closed and things being moved around came out of the room behind them. ‘Doc’s in the kitchen, trying to make tea. Can you help him?’

‘Sure.’ Fi left, seemingly happy to have a new task.

‘Here.’ Chrysabelle nudged the washcloth toward Velimai’s hands. ‘I’m so sorry you’ve been hurt, but I need to know what’s happened to my aunt.’

The flickering stopped as Velimai solidified and took the cloth, pressing it against her skin then wiping her eyes. She folded it neatly and laid it on her knees, then began to sign. Her hands flew.

‘Wait, wait.’ Wysper hand signs were not one of the required comarré language lessons, but maybe they should be. ‘Even when you go slowly I only get every third or fourth word.’ Instinctively, she reached out and gently captured Velimai’s shifting hands with one of hers. The wysper’s skin was like frozen sandpaper. Chrysabelle’s own snagged painfully against it. Immediately, she released Velimai and flipped her hand over. Tiny ruby drops glistened on her palm and fingers.

A guttural rumble brought her head up. Mal glared from the door, held back by the lack of invitation. ‘I smell blood. Yours.’

Chrysabelle tucked her hand down at her side and offered him a weak smile. ‘It’s just a scratch. Did you find anything yet?’

He shook his head, glowered at Velimai, then vanished into the shadows he’d come from.

Fi came in carrying a steaming cup. Doc trailed her. She set the tea on the brushed steel side table. ‘What happened to your hand?’

‘Nothing. Watch the glas—’

‘Nothing? There’s blood all over it.’ Fi popped her hands to hips. ‘You okay?’

‘Fine.’ Chrysabelle grabbed the washcloth from Velimai’s knees and swabbed the blood away. ‘See? All gone.’ Dawn was coming. Time was running out. ‘Velimai, can you tell me what happened to Maris without signing?’

Velimai stood and took a few steps toward the middle of the room, shards of glass crackling under her feet. She turned to face Chrysabelle, spreading her arms slightly. Her form wavered, then shifted into a very recognizable female vampire.

‘Tatiana.’ The name soured on Chrysabelle’s tongue.

Doc peered closer. ‘That is freaking amazing.’

Fi gasped. ‘How’s she do that?’

‘It’s a wysper thing.’

Velimai shifted again. This time into a male.

‘Huh,’ Fi said, tipping her head. ‘There’s something familiar about those two.’

‘Yeah, they’re vampires.’ Doc tapped Fi lightly on the arm and she smiled, turning toward him.

‘I get that. But I feel like I know them. And not in a good way.’

‘That feeling makes perfect sense.’ Chrysabelle gestured toward the image flickering over Velimai’s skin. ‘That’s Mikkel.’ Of course. Tatiana’s House of Bathory male was the perfect mate. Equally bloodthirsty and a master of the dark arts. ‘Is his power how they got access?’ she asked Velimai.

Velimai shook her head and became Tatiana again. It was like
watching an old movie, before holodiscs. Then the image of Tatiana became Chrysabelle.

‘Wait. That’s me. I don’t understand.’ Chrysabelle peered closer. Doc and Fi were caught up in some other conversation.

Shifting back to herself, Velimai shook her head, then held her hand up. She lifted one finger, then turned into Chrysabelle. She raised her hands toward her face and wiped them down her body, erasing Chrysabelle’s image and replacing it with Tatiana’s.

Chrysabelle gasped softly. ‘Do you mean Tatiana was disguised as me?’

Slowly, Velimai signed out a few simple words.
She was you.

‘No, she doesn’t have that power. Unless Mikkel cast some sort of spell over her. Was he disguised too? Did Maris invite him in?’

No.

‘Then his power wouldn’t have extended into the house.’ Chrysabelle tapped her fingers against her leg. ‘That means Tatiana has a new power.’ The phrase she dared not utter trickled through her brain. Castus Sanguis. Only the ancient fallen ones could bestow that kind of power. If Tatiana was working with them, for them, whatever the case might be, that made things drastically more dangerous. She sighed. ‘At least they didn’t kill Maris.’

No.
Velimai spelled out the word ‘kidnap.’

‘They hope to draw me out.’

Yes.

‘Then we have to figure out where they took her and get her back.’ She glanced at the housing of the crystal clock that had once sat on the coffee table. The crystal was broken away but the clock still worked. ‘Sun will be up soon. They’ll have to find shelter somewhere.’

She stood. ‘Doc, bring the car in. I’ll open the gate. Fi, find Mal and tell him what’s going on.’

The pair nodded and took off.

Velimai trailed Chrysabelle to the door and waited beside her while she punched the gate code into the keypad. Picking up Maris’s sacre, the wysper tipped her chin toward the door.

Chrysabelle shook her head. ‘Velimai, you can’t go. I can’t take the risk that you’ll let loose again and kill Mal. I know you want to help but I don’t need another vampire death on my hands.’

She leaned the sword against the wall and signed furiously.

‘Slow down. Please.’

This time Velimai spelled things out.
Why do you care? He’s anathema.

Chrysabelle cradled her forehead in her hand for a moment. This wasn’t something she wanted to share. ‘In a roundabout way, he’s my new patron.’ There was no point elaborating. It wouldn’t change the situation.

Velimai’s mouth hung open. Her hands stopped fluttering. Her gaze snapped from Chrysabelle’s face to her neck and wrists.

She wasn’t going to explain that he refused to take from her vein either. Sharing information that portrayed one’s patron as weak was strictly forbidden. ‘I didn’t intend for it to happen and oddly enough, neither did he. But it did, and now I’m stuck with him. And he with me.’

Velimai picked the sacre up and held it out, feathery eyebrows raised in suggestion. Chrysabelle knew exactly what that suggestion was.

She shook her head. ‘You know the price Maris paid for libertas.’

The wysper shrugged as if to say it had been worth it.

Careful not to make contact with Velimai’s skin, Chrysabelle took the gleaming sword. She hefted its familiar weight, wrapped her fingers around the hilt with ease. The grip was fitted to Maris, but it wasn’t uncomfortable; the weapon’s blood magic was tuned to her aunt but not unresponsive. Chrysabelle sliced it through the air, testing, remembering. This sacre was no different from her own, save the blood that filled the hilt and the gold that decorated both her aunt’s body and the wafer-thin blade. The red leather-wrapped handle, the signum dancing over the metal … even the sour-sweet tang of the weapon was the same. Except that this sacre had been used to kill.
To gain freedom.
Again, she shook her head.

‘Only as a last resort. Only … only if there is no other option.’ Somehow, she knew there wouldn’t be. Whether because of Mal’s lurking dementia or her own desperate need to separate herself from this mad life, she would end up raising her blade against him. The feeling sank into her bones, spreading a lingering sadness through her.

Velimai retrieved the sword’s red leather sheath from behind the cracked vase and handed it to Chrysabelle, who took it without protesting further. The weapon was valuable, and Velimai certainly didn’t need it.

Of all the vampires she’d ever known, Mal was the first she’d ever felt sorry for. No, not sorry for. That wasn’t it. She empathized with him. His desire to be free. She understood it. Wanted it for herself.

She sheathed the sword and slung its crimson strap over her shoulder and across her chest. Her body welcomed the subtle weight like the embrace of an old friend.

Despite everything she knew about him, everything he’d been,
everything he’d done, he seemed … the most in need of help. A vampire in need of help. She’d never entertained such a thought before.

Perhaps he wasn’t the only one going mad.

M
al had found nothing useful around the grounds, except a better understanding of how wealthy a woman Chrysabelle’s aunt was. The yacht parked in the deepwater slip had to cost an unbelievable sum. It made his own accommodations look reef-worthy.

He ended his search in the shadows at the front of the house and settled against a palm to watch Chrysabelle inside. She’d left the door open. Perhaps so he could see her? Interesting, but unlikely. Probably to allow for a quicker exit.

Her perfume wafted past, borne on the breeze, and he indulged his basest needs by inhaling until he was full. Now that he’d had Chrysabelle’s blood, her scent didn’t raise the same wildness in him. Instead, the effect was something new and not altogether welcome. The feeling of strange satisfaction, of knowing he’d tasted her, that didn’t bother him. It was the possessive pang of need to have her again that set him on edge. Whether that uninvited urge came from tasting her blood or her mouth, he didn’t know. What he did know was that their kiss should not have happened. His lip curled in
disgust, but the sweetness of her mouth still played across his tongue.

Chrysabelle stood in the foyer, the wysper at her side. The wysper had given Chrysabelle her aunt’s sword, and she now balanced the sword with a grace that testified to her years of training. Flashes of reflected silver danced over her face. The glimmer mixed with her signum and made her look like some otherworldly goddess cast in precious metals.

Only her conversation with the wysper ruined the effect. The emotion he felt from her confused him, so he ignored it. Too many female-free years had gone by for him to bother trying to understand a woman now.

He narrowed his eyes. If she thought to challenge him for her treasured freedom, she wouldn’t find him a very available opponent. Not that he wouldn’t fight her if need be, he just didn’t expect to live through this trip to Romania. Corvinestri was the seat of the House of Tepes. The vampire who’d sired Mal was from there. The vampire he’d
killed
. There was little chance he could show up in that hidden city without a reckoning. After all, the nobility had tried to eradicate him once before and had thought they’d succeeded. Proving them wrong would be a terrible blow to someone’s ego. And that someone would want to put things right. If that meant the chance to take Shaya’s murderer down with him, so be it.

He was done living anyway. He’d had enough of this hell on earth. How much worse could the real one be?

Chrysabelle sheathed the sword, threw the strap across her body, and made motions to leave. He peeled off the palm and headed toward the house. Fi came around from the side yard.

‘There you are,’ she called.

‘Here I am.’

Doc pulled the car alongside the house and jumped out, leaving the door open. ‘We gotta roll, man. Sun’s coming.’

‘I know. I can feel it.’

‘I know
you
can, but Goldilocks in there might not be aware.’

Chrysabelle stepped out of the house, thankfully leaving the wysper behind, who quickly shut the door. ‘I know what time it is. The vampires who took my aunt certainly do too. I need to find where they could have gone to spend the day.’