Blood Rights (5 page)

They had their tea and chatted about the night’s events. Mostly about the human world and the club patrons’ desire to mimic vampires. Chrysabelle glossed over the vampire she’d stabbed, saying instead that she’d ducked out unnoticed when she’d seen him. She claimed he’d been fringe too, not the possible Nothos she’d encountered masquerading as nobility. Her aunt’s claims of security aside, Chrysabelle saw no reason to put Maris at unnecessary risk, especially if the hellhounds were already on Chrysabelle’s trail.

When they turned in, she resolved to give her aunt’s connection one more try, but after that she would move on, go underground if she could, and truly disappear until it was safe to return. Maris had been through enough in her life. She shouldn’t have to suffer through her niece’s troubles as well.

The next two nights, Chrysabelle barely slept. Every tick of the house, every breeze that sighed over the roof, every imagined footstep woke her. And every time she woke, she saw the face of the vampire she’d stabbed. The surprise in his dark, silvered eyes when her blade connected. The haunting look of disbelief. The pain – more than she’d expected, as if he carried it constantly within him. But worst of all, the hunger. That she’d not only seen, but felt the moment he’d laid his cold hand over her wrist.

He’d been five, maybe six nights without feeding. She hadn’t been comarré this long without learning to read temperatures. He’d probably planned to drink her dry, then take her body back to the council as proof. She should have killed him, but another death attributed to her would not help her cause.

And there was something about him that seemed broken. Not the way she’d imagined a Nothos at all. Nor had she ever imagined one of the Nothos to be so … so … magnetic. In the tales she’d heard, they were savage mutants, not the creature she’d met. She squeezed her eyes shut. Had she really just felt a minute hint of attraction to the monster that would have killed her? Maybe it was one of his powers. Just like the way he had changed his scent to portray himself as nobility. She breathed out. Yes, that was much easier to believe. Pretend he was Nothos. Lay the blame with him, not her fragile mind.

Light filtered in beneath the heavy drapes. Enough feigning sleep. She rose, donned her white cotton gi, and padded out to the balcony to begin her morning exercises. The sun glinted off the blue-green water of the bay. So peaceful, so beautiful. She pushed through each form, holding, tensing, feeling the strength in her muscles and taking comfort in her years of training. Slow and easy, but strong and exact. Now more than ever she needed
the calm and center the movement brought to shut out the reality slicing toward her like an executioner’s blade.

Energized and sweaty, she showered, dressed in her usual white tunic and pants, and went out to start some coffee.

The rich aroma greeted her as she walked into the kitchen. Her aunt had beaten her to it for the first time in three days.

Velimai’s diminutive form flitted about the kitchen preparing breakfast. Maris set her e-reader down. ‘You’re up early. I figured you were still programmed to nights.’

‘I am. Mostly. I didn’t sleep well. Again. Finally decided to stop fighting it and get up. How about you? I haven’t seen you up this early either.’

‘A late night turned to an early morning. I haven’t been to bed yet, but I was able to finally contact Jonas. He knows of someone who can help you.’ Maris pushed a piece of paper across the table. On it were an address and a few instructions. ‘Go to this location at any time during daylight, but not within an hour of sunset. Tell him Jonas sent you.’

‘Any time during daylight sounds good to me. I’ll go this afternoon.’ She took the slip. If this didn’t work, she wouldn’t be coming back here. ‘Maybe we could have lunch together first?’

Maris narrowed her gaze and smiled gently. ‘You’re making plans.’

Chrysabelle turned away to get coffee and hide her face. Maris was too perceptive. Farther down the counter, Velimai sliced cantaloupe as rapidly as a machine. ‘I shouldn’t have stayed here as long as I have. It’s a wonder there hasn’t been some sort of movement already. How do you know your source won’t give me up?’

‘For one thing, he doesn’t know any details, just that you need help. And for another, he’s left the city. I don’t know where he’s
gone, but I wired him enough money to ensure it was far away. You’re safe, my darling, I swear it. And I insist you stay here with me.’ Her aunt sniffed.

A twirl of a spoon and Chrysabelle returned to the table. Her aunt’s eyes glistened with moisture.

‘I need you, Chrysabelle. I’m an old woman. I’m tired of being alone.’

Chrysabelle nodded toward Velimai. ‘You’re not alone. And you’re not that old.’

‘You’re my family. Please, as long as there is no immediate danger, stay.’ She reached across the table and clasped her hand over Chrysabelle’s. The pulse that beat beneath the hidden signum was strong, the skin firm, the joints smooth. Maris might consider herself an old woman, but by human standards she looked barely middle-aged. Granted, she was paralyzed from the waist down, but she’d been willing to pay that price for her freedom. Velimai set a crystal bowl of fruit salad on the table, along with smaller dishes of organic yogurt. Life here was good, luxurious to a fault, thanks to her aunt’s impressive cosmetics fortune.

‘I’ll stay. But if anything happens, anything that makes me think I’ve brought danger to your doorstep, I’m gone.’

Maris patted her hand. ‘Nothing will happen. You’ll see.’

‘I’m sure you’re right.’ Although she wasn’t. Not at all. Nothing had seemed safe since that night.

Velimai signed something Chrysabelle didn’t quite catch. Maris nodded and the wysper left.

Maris turned back and stroked her thumb over Chrysabelle’s wrist. ‘Are you … taking care of yourself? Without a patron, the buildup can make you sick.’

Chrysabelle nodded, her thumb worrying the band on her right middle finger. A twist to the side and a flip of the tiny
mechanism released a hidden blade sharp enough to open a vein. ‘I drained once in Paris. I feel fine, but I’ll probably do it again tonight when I get back.’ Or wherever she ended up.

Maris patted her hand again. ‘Forgive me for mothering you, I can’t help myself.’

‘It’s okay. It’s kind of nice, actually.’

After a long breakfast, she packed a few things and dropped the bag out the window. Later, she’d skirt around and pick it up. Having a backup plan was never a bad idea.

She tried to read for a while but concentration eluded her. Finally, she excused herself to get ready. Back in her room, she strapped on her carved bone wrist daggers, then tucked a different blade into the sheath on her waistband. If only she had her sacre, but hiding a sword was a little trickier.

Saying good-bye to Maris without tearing up was difficult. Hopefully, the person Chrysabelle was going to meet would help her prove her innocence. Then her new life could truly begin and she could keep the only family she had.

She took a cab into the city, then walked a block over and up to a new street. There she hailed another cab to her final destination, satisfied she’d left no easy trail.

The cab wound through the marine district, past the small portion of the port still in use and into the depths of the shipyard where weeds sprang from the sunbaked concrete and warehouse doors hung off hinges. Finally, the driver stopped in front of a docked freighter that looked as though it hadn’t been to sea since the End War. Rust spotted the sides like a rash. Debris-free solar tiles sparkled on the main deck, the only indication the ship was in use. She checked the slip of paper.

‘Are you sure this is the place?’

‘That’s the address you gave me, sweetheart. You change your
mind? Couldn’t say I blame you, the docks are no place for a woman like you. Nothing but skeletons and bad news down here.’

‘No, I haven’t changed my mind.’ Although she’d begun to have questions. ‘I will pay you to stay here and wait for me though.’

‘I hope you got deep pockets, ’cause I charge extra for ghost towns like this. Plus, I only got about three hours of running time after the solar juice disappears. You ain’t back before then, I’m gone.’ He buzzed the window down, turned the vehicle off, and fished a cigar nub out of his pocket.

‘Understood.’ Not really, but this was no time for a lesson in alternate fuels.

‘Then we got a deal.’ He tapped the com cell behind his left ear and checked in with someone named Dispatch.

Nobility didn’t allow those in their employ to have the com chips embedded, nor did they use them themselves. Supposedly the chips could be used to gather a multitude of information from the user. Maybe she would get one when this was all over. When her life was her own again.

She shouldered her bag and got out. The stench of decay and rancid crude wrinkled her nose before a shift in the breeze replaced it with salt and sea. A seabird circled, then dove and came up with a wriggling silver fish. She headed for the gangplank, squinting against the sun and, despite the haze of smog, a brilliant blue sky.

No wonder the vampire from the club hadn’t come after her again. With this much sun, he’d probably been unable to find a safe place to recover from the wound she’d given him and turned to ash with the sunrise. Comarré one, Nothos zero.

She smiled. Maybe Paradise City wasn’t such a bad place after all.

T
hree days. Three long, pain-filled days since the mystery woman had tried to stake him, and the wound below Mal’s heart still throbbed. It should be long healed. At least the screaming in his head was back to its usual almost tolerable level. If Doc hadn’t known he’d gone to Puncture that night, hadn’t found him in that alley, Mal would have been toast come sunrise. Literally. He’d shake his head if not for the chance it might wake the voices.

Damn that Sweets. Mal had had enough pig’s blood in the last week to fill a swimming pool, but it was like Chinese food. An hour later and you were hungry again. Now, if he’d eaten the cook instead …

That jack-off had better show up with a serious amount of fresh, human red. The thought eased the ache in Mal’s chest. He’d heal up fine after that. Not to mention being able to go out without wanting to drain every human who crossed his path.

Then he’d deal with his female problem. His beautiful, deadly, sweet-scented female problem. He tapped his fingers on the
book he should have been reading and reminded himself she’d nearly turned him to dust.

‘Hey.’ Doc stuck his shaved head through the door. In the ship’s dim interior, his almost blue-black skin rendered him nearly invisible. Only his green-gold eyes gave him away with their hint at his varcolai heritage. At the moment, they held a suggestion of worry. ‘You don’t look so hot. Want me roll to the butcher’s again?’

‘Not unless you’re bringing back the butcher.’

Doc furrowed his brow, his dark skin reflecting the room’s soft light. ‘I thought you weren’t drinking straight from the tap.’

‘I’m not.’
You should.

‘Oh. That was a joke, right?’ He leaned against the door frame, nearly filling it. ‘Kinda sorry, you ask me.’

‘I didn’t.’ Mal spun his chair toward the porthole that overlooked the distant ocean. Those waters would be a brilliant blue-green on a day like today, if he remembered correctly. Even through the nailed up boards, the sun made him itch. He should be deep in daysleep, recovering, but the bloodlust made it impossible. Might as well get lost in the next ancient, answerless book. ‘We’re even now. You don’t need to be here anymore.’

‘What are you talking about, bro?’

‘You saved my skin. That makes us even. Your debt is paid. You can get back to your own life.’ Not that Mal really wanted to lose Doc. Having someone around who was daylight capable made life a little easier. And Fi would kill him if Doc left, but fair was fair.

‘Like hell. You met me? I’m a little handicapped at the moment. I’d rather hang here.’ He paused for a moment. ‘Unless you’re saying you don’t have my back anymore.’

‘I’m not saying that. And you’re not handicapped.’ Mal
scrubbed a hand over his chin. The growth had moved past stubble and was approaching beard. If he cared, it would have been time to shave.

‘Really? What else would you call a were-leopard who can’t shift into anything more than a house cat? If it’s all the same to you, I’ll hang ’til my curse is lifted.’ He paused. ‘Or yours. So long as that’s cool with you.’ He shrugged. ‘Actually, it don’t matter. I’m here ’til Fi tells me otherwise.’