Blood Rights (46 page)

The sight before him wasn’t any better. Pandemonium ruled the room. Two fringe guards leaped to their feet and leveled their swords at him. ‘Move and you die,’ one snarled.

He almost laughed until he saw Chrysabelle crumpled on the floor a short distance away. She held her aunt in her arms while trying to staunch the flow of blood from a gash in Maris’s neck. It was a losing cause. The woman’s heartbeat slowed with each passing second as her life ebbed. Behind them, Sha— Tatiana, blood smeared across her mouth, unsheathed a stiletto and took aim.

Anger fueled his speed. He cracked the guards’ heads together and dropped their bodies to the floor. A second later, he pinned Tatiana to the table behind her by her lying throat. ‘Not so fast.’ Her pulse hammered his palm, her smooth skin as warm as the last time he’d bedded her. Life thrummed within her. Life she’d gained from Maris’s blood.

‘You’re not mad about that little dungeon incident, are you, lover?’ She laughed, sweet and coy, tipping her head back. A gold locket slipped into the hollow of her throat. The locket he’d given her with the portrait of Sofia inside.

Could it be the same one? He’d spent a fortune on that trinket, but he’d loved her then. That time was gone. ‘Undo the curse and we’ll talk about that.’

‘I have nothing to say to you. Except that you should have withered up and died down there.’ She swiped at him, slicing the stiletto toward his face and catching his forehead.

Blood trickled into his eye, but already he felt the wound knitting closed, the sting fading. He grabbed both her wrists, immobilizing them against the table. ‘Then I’ll have to kill you and see if that removes the curse.’

‘It won’t,’ Mikkel answered. Across the room, he pushed a blade up under Fi’s chin. A thin line of red oozed down her pale skin. ‘But if you kill her, the kine dies too.’

One of Fi’s eyes was swollen shut, the bruise surrounding it melding into another on her cheek. She smiled bravely. ‘Stake her, Mal. For me.’

‘No,’ Doc yelled. He strained against the shackles and the guards holding him on either side. The muscles in his neck corded with the effort. He hadn’t shifted even slightly. Those restraints must be silver-lined.

Maris’s heartbeat went silent. Chrysabelle shuddered, exhaling a soft sob as she clutched her aunt to her. The guilt and sorrow flooding the comarré’s soul was a palpable thing.

New rage burned in Mal’s gut. He summoned a little of the beast’s darkness into his eyes and stared Mikkel down. ‘Kill her and you both die.’

‘Go ahead and try it.’ Tatiana laughed. ‘But if you fail, I’m
going to drain your little blood whore dry.’ She shimmered and suddenly he was holding Chrysabelle prisoner. Somehow Tatiana had become Chrysabelle. She winked at him. ‘I see how you look at her. How you crave her.’

He jerked back out of shock. Tatiana shed Chrysabelle’s image and scissored her legs up, trying to catch him around the head.

Mal ducked but kept her hands pinned to the table as she flipped over it. Her wrists snapped with a resounding crunch as she twisted to get her feet under her. The stiletto fell from her useless fingers. Mal released her. He had to save Fi.

‘Bloody hell,’ Tatiana yowled in pain. ‘Kill her, Mikkel. Now.’

Doc roared, hissing and spitting and slamming himself into the guards holding him as Mikkel ran his blade across Fi’s fragile mortal skin.

Mal arrived in time to catch her body. Mikkel dropped the bloody dagger and ran for Tatiana, but Mal caught his leg and jerked him back, slamming him into the far wall.

Fi collapsed over Mal’s shoulder. Blood bubbled from the gash in her throat, soaking through the ruined seams of his jacket and warming his skin. Holding her with one arm, he reached for the dagger in his boot, but a bone dagger whipped past him and into the guard on Doc’s left. The fringe burst into ash. A set of keys dropped to the floor next to the blade.

Mikkel staggered to his feet, one arm dangling from a shoulder knocked out of joint.

Mal staked the second guard to ash, then scooped up the keys and unlocked Doc’s restraints. The minute he was free, he pulled Fi into his arms. The grief on his face almost undid Mal. ‘Get her out of here. I’ll take care of Mikkel.’

‘Stay with me, baby,’ Doc whispered. Eyes like glowing
embers, he cradled Fi against him and closed his hand over the wound. She was dying and they both knew it. He caught Mal’s gaze for a second. ‘Make it hurt.’

Mal nodded and Doc took off with Fi. On the other side of the room, Chrysabelle held Tatiana at the end of her sacre, but she wasn’t much of a challenge at the moment. Broken bones took time to mend even for a vampire like Tatiana. Mal unsheathed his long sword as he turned and beckoned to Mikkel. ‘Time to die, vampire.’

Chrysabelle moved on instinct built up from years of repetitive training. She clung to it, because she had nothing else left besides the pain that tightened her skin across her muscles and made her ache to inflict that same pain on the one responsible for her mother’s death. Her sacre buzzed with the need to taste cold flesh. It struck out like a deadly extension of Chrysabelle’s rage, biting at Tatiana, leaving bloody cuts that sizzled into scars.

Tatiana clutched her arms to her chest, her hands hanging limp like rags, the bitter flash of the gold ring taunting Chrysabelle every time Tatiana avoided the blade. ‘Whore,’ she spat. ‘You’ll never get out of here alive.’

‘That’s not one of my concerns.’

Tatiana tried to retrieve a dagger off the table, her face gnarling in pain as she failed, but already one wrist had begun to straighten as the bones mended.

Chrysabelle took advantage of the opening, thrusting fast and notching the sacre’s point against Tatiana’s chest. ‘Tell Mikkel to reverse Mal’s curse. It’s his magic. Make him remove it and I’ll let you live,’ she lied.

‘Never.’ A wisp of smoke coiled off Tatiana’s skin. A few
more rose up behind her, coalescing into a larger shape. The stench of brimstone and decaying flesh filled the room.

The Castus was returning.

Tatiana’s nostrils flared and an insidious smile curved her mouth. She laughed like a child. ‘When the master is through with you, I’m going to present your body to the council as proof of your guilt.’

Dominic stirred with a soft moan. He eased the dagger from his belly, rolled to his side, and vomited. The smell of bile and heady, sweet laudanum drifted through the room.

The Castus solidified behind Tatiana. Chrysabelle backed up. Tatiana moved to the side and the fiery-eyed Castus stepped forward, its cloven hooves cutting through the rug and digging into the wood floor. The room darkened as his shadowy presence filled it.

The blood in the handle of her sacre boiled. A switch inside her clicked and a new boldness overtook the numbing fear coursing through her. She raised her sword, fully aware it was likely for the last time. ‘Stay where you are, hell spawn.’

The Castus stilled. Then threw its horned head back and howled with laughter. Tatiana joined in until tears rolled down her face.

The sound of metal singing through the air shut her up. Chrysabelle followed Tatiana’s horrified gaze.

Mikkel fell to his knees, eyes wide, mouth open, his body riddled with cuts that seemed in no hurry to heal. Then his head slid off his shoulders and rolled toward Dominic. A second later, all of him went to ash. Blood dripped from Mal’s sword.

‘Molto bene,’
Dominic murmured. ‘You still have the touch.’

Tatiana shoved one useless hand toward Chrysabelle. ‘Kill her,’ she commanded the Castus.

The Castus turned. ‘How dare you order me—’

‘No,’ Tatiana backpedaled, ‘I didn’t mean—’

Chrysabelle whipped her Golgotha dagger into the demon’s temple. The blade sank deep, bursting into flames.

Screeching, the Castus stumbled backward. It latched on to Tatiana’s outstretched arm, yanking her forward, its body wavering like it might vanish again. ‘The ring is mine. I will find another to wear it.’

‘Chrysabelle,’ Mal yelled.

Double-handing her sacre, she swept the blade in a wide downward arc, severing Tatiana’s broken wrist. The hot blade passed through the shadowy Castus but seared Tatiana’s flesh. The hand – and the ring – dropped to the floor intact.

The Castus vanished.

With a head-splitting wail, Tatiana scattered into a swarm of black wasps, obviously attempting one last attack before escaping. Mal, blood covering the side of his face and neck, stabbed the hand with his sword, plucking it up like a piece of refuse. The wasps dove after him, stinging relentlessly.

Dominic reached into his suit jacket and retrieved a vial. He threw it into the empty fireplace, smashing it. Smoke billowed up toward the ceiling, sending the wasps flying from the room.

Mal held the sword out toward Chrysabelle. She freed the ring from Tatiana’s dead finger, then stuffed it into her vest pocket. Mal flicked the hand off his blade.

Suddenly, he jerked, his gaze going to his arm. He pushed his jacket sleeve back and exposed a strange bare spot among the names. ‘She’s gone.’

‘Who’s gone?’ Chrysabelle asked.

‘Fi,’ he answered. ‘Her name isn’t on me anymore.’ He let the sleeve slide back into place. ‘I can’t sense her.’

Shouts rang from down the hall. Dominic got to his feet, his face twisting at the sight of Maris. He tugged her lifeless body into his arms, cradling her and whispering low in Italian.

Mal pointed his sword toward the doors. ‘You know the way to the front door?’

‘Mostly.’

He turned to Dominic. ‘You with us?’

‘Si,’
Dominic answered softly. ‘I will carry her home.’

‘Then let’s get the hell out of Dodge.’

P
aradise City had a few evenings every autumn when the cooler temperatures brought a chill to the skin, the winds cleared the lingering smog, and the stars twinkled more brightly. In the first of her journals, Maris had written about those nights and called them ‘a gift of nature.’

Nothing about this night felt like a gift.

Chrysabelle stared at the lies carved into her mother’s granite headstone. The real dates of her birth and death would remain the private knowledge of those who’d known her and loved her. The human world would not understand a life lived over such a span of time, not yet anyway. Maybe they would once the snarling, creeping darkness of the covenant’s dissolution saturated their lives and their nightmares walked among them. Maybe then the human world could grasp something more.

The human world.
She shook her head. The world belonged to the othernaturals now. It might be slow at first, but wars would erupt. Vendettas would be played out. Power seized. Unless humans rose to the challenge, they would become collateral damage. Pawns. Prey.

Already the news broadcast stories of strange sightings. How much longer before mortal kind fully understood their new reality? Another week? A month?

A blanket of white roses covered the grave. Dominic’s doing. Any doubts she’d had about the vampire’s feelings for Maris had vanished watching him grieve. He seemed lost. Like part of him had died along with her.

In her own way, Chrysabelle knew how that felt. Maris had been her beacon of hope for a normal life in a normal world. Now all of that had been ripped away by Tatiana’s greed.

A jacket settled over her shoulders. ‘You looked cold,’ Doc said.

‘Thank you,’ she said, nodding at the still-grieving varcolai. Fiona had died in his arms, sighing out her last breath, then vanishing into nothing. Doc held out hope she would return in her ghostly form and Chrysabelle prayed he was right. Not just to ease his pain, but because Chrysabelle felt responsible for what had happened. Fi didn’t deserve the lot she’d been handed, and Doc didn’t deserve the sorrow etched into his body like a million tiny scars.

The sun had set hours ago, but Doc kept his black wraparound sunglasses on. ‘I can pick you up later, if you want more time.’

As far as she knew, this was only the second occasion he’d left the ship in the week since they’d returned. Maybe he thought Fi might show up here. The other time he’d left the freighter, he’d come by the house to see how Chrysabelle was doing. And to tell her Mal had yet to drink the blood she’d sent.