Blood Rights (31 page)

‘Move, fringe.’ He couldn’t come up with a name, but the Pits were always crowded. He couldn’t be expected to know the name of every lowlife who’d ever seen him fight.

The fringe stayed put. ‘Looks like you’ve got yourself a pet.’ He tipped his head, smiled, and ran his tongue over his fangs. ‘What have we got here? A new flavor of comarré? Dominic’s been holding out on us.’

Three rows deep into the crowd all eyes were on them. ‘I said move. I won’t say it again.’ Beneath his fingers, Chrysabelle’s
pulse smoothed out. His gut told him that was a signal. Of what, he didn’t know.

He figured it out when her fingers brushed his knuckles on the way to her sword. He snagged her pinkie with his and brought her face around. ‘I will deal with this.’

For a moment, her lips ground against each other in a thin line. ‘As you wish.’ Her hand slipped back to her side, but her eyes held deadly intent.

The fringe laughed softly and dug a wad of worn plastic bills from his pocket. ‘How much for a taste?’

The sudden urge to reassure Chrysabelle, to tell her everything would be all right, staggered Mal. The voices, barely audible over the din, moaned. This was not the time to contemplate the meaning of such thoughts. Keeping Chrysabelle on his right, he ignored the fringe and pushed past him.

‘I asked you a question, Malkolm.’

Some fringe didn’t know when to give up. Mal kept Chrysabelle headed for the door. The air on his left shifted, telegraphing the fringe’s move. Mal feinted to avoid the fist as it shot past, then grabbed the fringe’s arm and snapped it cleanly.

The fringe howled. The crowd closed in around them. Damn. Maybe the holding cells would have been a better choice. Too late now. He held up his free hand, his other still securely fastened to Chrysabelle’s neck and burning like fire from being so close to her blade. ‘Back up and let us through and no one gets ashed.’

The crowd went still. A second later, familiar laughter broke the silence. Bodies parted and Katsumi, fringe vamp and former wife of a yakuza boss, strode through shaking her head. When she stood apart from the crowd, she stopped and smoothed the high-necked, long-sleeved black gown that hid a full body suit of tattoos. ‘Malkolm.’

‘Ane-san.’
Little sister, once a yakuza term of respect, now he used it to needle her. Back in the day, Katsumi had made mountains of yen off Mal’s fights. So much so that she’d shared a portion of her take with him. Enough to keep his strength up. Enough to keep him fighting.

She clicked nine long crimson nails together, the pinkie on her left hand missing from the last knuckle, a yakuza ritual done to atone. For what, Mal didn’t know. ‘Have you come back to fight?’

‘No.’

Her nails stopped. ‘You’re sure? Not even one?’

‘No.’

‘Pity. What then?’

‘Not your business.’ He took his hand from Chrysabelle’s neck to move in front of her. Katsumi was not known for delaying her gratification.

She smiled, mouth closed. ‘No, I suppose it isn’t.’ Turning back into the crowd, she waved her pinkieless hand in the air as if stirring an already boiling pot. ‘Kill him then.’

The roar deafened, the surge of bodies like a crashing wall of fangs and fists. A high, piercing cry cut through the bedlam. Chrysabelle. She leaped into position next to him, wielding her sword one-handed. Her other hand found his, pressed a bone dagger into his palm.

‘Take it.’

It stung, but he didn’t argue. There would be time later, when the killing was done and Chrysabelle was safe.

The fringe with the broken arm came at them first, sneering at Chrysabelle. A distant look glazed her face. Like she’d detached. That could be very bad. She tossed her sword into the air, reversed her grip on the hilt as it came down, then rammed
the blade into the fringe’s heart. His sneer vanished into ash. Maybe detached was good. Depending on which side you were on.

She flipped her grip on the weapon again, this time waving the blade at the suddenly hesitant crowd. ‘Who’s next?’

Mal eyed her with new appreciation. She hadn’t flinched at killing the fringe. More than that, she’d done it with a steady hand and an unnerving grace. Maybe she deserved a little more credit for her training.

‘No one is next.’ The words echoed in the new silence, reverberating threat and menace.

All eyes shifted upward to a private balcony that overlooked the arena. Dominic’s hands gripped the glass rail, knuckles white. Mal had seen the tumultuous look on his face a few times before. It didn’t bode well.

‘You and you.’ Dominic’s gaze pressed heavy on Mal and Chrysabelle. ‘My office, now.’ With a forced smile, he addressed the rest of the crowd. ‘Please accept my apologies for this incident. Your accounts have all been credited with a thousand dollars in additional funds.’

A new cheer arose, and the double doors opened, ushering in a slew of servers carrying trays laden with pints of blood, shots of alcohol, and tabs of the various alchemical drugs Dominic made his living from. Chrysabelle blew the remaining ash off her sword before returning it to its scabbard.

Mal glanced at Dominic. Dominic stared back. Hard. Chrys -abelle grabbed Mal’s arm, turning her face away from Dominic and keeping her voice low. Her eyes held none of the distance they had when she’d pinned the fringe. ‘Am I in trouble?’

The question disarmed Mal. An instant ago she’d been an avenging angel blithely decimating her attacker, now her brows
bent in uncertainty, yet he sensed no duplicity in her. He shook his head. ‘Dominic can’t hurt you.’

Mal wouldn’t let him. As much as Chrysabelle had disrupted Mal’s life, as much as he wanted to be rid of her, he wouldn’t let Dominic prostitute her like the rest of his homemade comarré. Chrysabelle was too good for that. What else might become of her, Mal couldn’t say. He handed her the bone dagger. ‘Sheath that and follow me.’

The blade vanished up her sleeve. ‘I told you I could protect myself.’

He nodded, feeling the weight of truth upon him like a blanket of fresh snow, cold and clean. ‘So you did.’ Now was not the time to explain that stabbing a wounded fringe in no way compared to taking on a full-powered noble vampire with a few hundred years of age on him.

She’d find that out for herself when they walked into Dominic’s office.

O
n the inside, Chrysabelle’s nerves buzzed against her skin like a swarm of bees trying to escape a burning hive. She’d killed fringe before, but always in practice sessions, never in a situation where her life was clearly in danger. The feelings unsettled her – she was at once proud of her ability to protect herself so well and yet stunned by how easily she’d ended a life. She’d never felt that way in training, but maybe the steps she’d been taking away from her comarré life were changing her in more ways than she was aware.

She shook off the strangeness as best she could. Time to focus on getting Dominic’s help, something that might be a little harder now that she’d offed one of his customers.

Beside her, Mal walked with purpose. He knew where he was going because he’d been here before. Been in those Pits before. She cringed inwardly. The idea of him there made an unused part of her ache. She glanced at Mal. His eyes stayed straight ahead. ‘I’m guessing it doesn’t always end in death.’

‘What doesn’t?’ He turned, obviously caught off guard.

‘What happens in the Pits.’

‘No. Death, a draw, or one combatant admits defeat.’

Or, she was guessing, one combatant kept the other alive so he could be defeated and humiliated repeatedly. ‘Did you ever beat Ronan?’

A brief silence. ‘No.’

‘You could now.’

He stopped, narrowing his eyes, then turned, and for a moment she thought he was going to argue. Instead, he pushed his hand against the wall behind him. A door opened under the pressure of his touch.

‘After you.’

She went through, bracing herself. Dominic had not reacted well to what she’d done to one of his paying customers. No telling what he would do in the privacy of his office. The door only led to another passage and, farther down, another door. Just as she was about to question Mal, the door swung open.

Dominic glared at them, moving aside enough to allow them entrance. He wore his true face like a king wore a crown. How he must despise Mal for being another displaced noble, a possible usurper to his throne. To the fringe, they were equally grand.

Another thought occurred. Had Dominic had a hand in Mal’s subjugation? Certainly Dominic and his harem of fake comarré could have supplied Mal with an endless supply of human blood. Why hadn’t he?

Head full of new suspicions, she stared back as she made her way forward, glad for Mal’s presence at her back. Dominic said nothing as she brushed past. Leather and silk upholstery decorated the expanse beyond him, mixing with marble floors and honey wood-paneled walls. Near the right-hand wall and diagonal to a set of gilded French doors – presumably the ones that
led to the balcony over the Pits – an antique Renaissance-style desk held court, its slick marble surface like vanilla ice cream swirled with caramel. Behind it, a chair of thronelike proportions. She took a seat in one of the burgundy silk armchairs opposite the desk, adjusting her sacre so its point canted to the side.

Mal was not yet seated when Dominic slammed the door and twisted to face them. The menace in his eyes lifted the small hairs on the back of her neck.

‘
Porca vacca!
How
dare
you come into my home and execute—’

Mal snarled, body tensing. ‘We were attacked in your home—’

‘None of that matters.’ Chrysabelle leaped to her feet. ‘They’ve taken—’

‘Of course it matters,’ Dominic raged, approaching them. ‘My word is law, and you’ve broken that law. Brought weapons into my club—’

‘They’ve taken Maris.’ Chrysabelle waited a moment for that news to sink in. ‘Do you still think a dead fringe matters?’

Dominic’s mouth hung open midsentence, and he paled, an incredible feat for a vampire who’d not seen the sun in his many years. ‘When?’

‘A few hours ago. Velimai showed us. It was a vampire named Tatiana and one other noble, Mikkel.’

He stumbled toward the desk, groping for the tall chair behind it like he’d suddenly lost his sight. Collapsing onto the stocky gilt frame, he stared vacantly at the space behind Chrysabelle, finally blinking and returning his gaze to her. ‘Why didn’t you come sooner?’

His accusatory tone set her nerves on edge. ‘We came as soon as we could.’

Beside her, Mal sprawled in the seat like he hadn’t a care in the world. ‘Your staff did their best to keep us from getting here at all.’

Dominic, face now wiped of all trace of shock, lifted one brow. ‘As well they should, considering what I pay them.’

Chrysabelle wanted to smack the pompousness out of his voice. How dare he act so cavalier when her aunt’s life was at stake?

Mal tugged her hand, motioning for her to sit. ‘We found the remains of two fringe and a Nothos on the perimeter.’

‘The fringe were mine. I sent them to protect her.’

‘They did a wretched job of it,’ Chrysabelle said, settling into the chair and adjusting her sacre again.

Dominic steepled his fingers. ‘They took down a Nothos. Not an easy task.’

She blew out through her nostrils. ‘My aunt is still gone.’

He peered over his hands. ‘What else do you know that might be of use?’

‘Tatiana is House of Tepes. The vampire with her was Bathory. He tried to use black magic on Velimai, but without an invitation his power couldn’t penetrate the house.’

‘How did Tatiana get in?’

Chrysabelle shook her head. ‘Apparently, she can mimic appearances.’

Dominic’s brow wrinkled. ‘No vampire has that power.’

‘Think harder.’ Chrysabelle stroked the silk covering the chair’s padded arm. The burgundy fabric was shot through with green and gold. ‘Higher up.’ She lifted her face then so she could watch his.

His eyes widened for the briefest of moments. ‘You think she’s aligned herself with … she wouldn’t.’

‘To get the power she wants? Of course she would. You don’t know her like I do.’