Flesh And Blood: House of Comarre: Book Two (House of Comarre 2) (22 page)

When the carnage was over and Mal had forced the beast back into its chains, he surveyed the ground around him, counting the piles of ash even as his body trembled from the beast’s exertion. Eight, nine, ten … where were eleven and twelve?

Hands dripping with the foul blood of the Nothos, Mal spun toward the alley Chrysabelle had escaped down. The cuts and gouges he’d endured in the fight stung now that he’d become himself again. His body craved the rest necessary to heal, and the pull of daysleep already weighed on him. Even the voices were
exhausted. Dawn was minutes away. Going after Chrysabelle and the escaped Nothos was not an option unless he intended it to be his
last
option. There was no way he could find her and shelter before the sun came up.

Wounded, bleeding, and almost comatose with the need for sleep, he took off in the direction of Seven, the closest refuge he could think of, even though every fiber in his body and mind ached to go after Chrysabelle.

But that way lay death. And there was no way he was checking out and leaving Chrysabelle alone in the clutches of a man like Creek.

T
he scent of brimstone faded as Chrysabelle ran alongside Creek and away from Mal. She hated leaving him behind almost as much as she hated that he was right about what would happen to her if the Nothos captured her. The disappointment of not fighting side by side with Mal made her wish things were different, but it wasn’t safe for her to be near him when his beast took over. The voices hated her and the beast had already come close to killing her once before.

‘Explain.’

‘What?’ She looked over at Creek keeping pace beside her.

‘What the hell was happening to him?’

‘His beast was coming out. It’s part of his curse.’ She returned her gaze to the street ahead of them. Her sacre shifted slightly with the rhythm of her stride,
tap-tap-tapping
her back. ‘If you’re really KM, shouldn’t they have taught you about him in Kubai Mata school? I thought it was your job to kill vampires. I’d think he’d be pretty high on the list.’

‘You want me to kill him? ’Cause you’re making a pretty convincing case.’ Creek glanced back the way they’d come. ‘And,
no, they didn’t teach me about every vampire. There’s only so much they could cram into my head in two weeks.’

‘He’s anathema. You know what that means?’

‘Yeah. Means dark is the only side he’s got.’

‘No, it isn’t.’ Mal was so much more than even she’d guessed. ‘He saved my life.’

‘Of course he did. He wants your blood.’

She slowed her run to a walk. Let the Nothos come. Killing one might improve her mood. ‘You don’t have a clue.’

A few paces away, he slowed as well and turned to face her. ‘You sweet on him or something?’

She stopped so suddenly she almost fell over. ‘You’re barking mad.’

Creek took a few steps back in her direction. ‘You at least care for him. And he certainly digs you.’

Her jaw went south. ‘You
are
insane.’

He held up his hands. ‘Fine. You tell me that’s not the case and I’ll believe you until proven otherwise.’

‘Good, because we don’t have that kind of relationship.’ Maybe that was a lie, but she wasn’t about to take some sort of personal inventory to sort out whatever it was she did feel for Mal. Not for Creek’s sake anyway. She stalked past him, then realized she didn’t know where they were headed. ‘Where’s this bike of yours?’

‘Around the block.’

‘Great. How about we make the rest of the trip in silence?’ She looked back at him and went deadly still. ‘Two Nothos, coming up the street behind you.’ Holy mother, what did that mean for Mal? Had they escaped him? Or …

Creek had his crossbow out a moment after she drew her sacres. The handle warmed in her grasp. Her personal sacre had
been tuned to her during its crafting when the hilt had been filled with her blood, marrying the blade to her as though it were an extension of her arm. Now it vibrated in her hand, ready to taste Nothos flesh once again.

The wind shifted, bringing the sour stench of brimstone and the more subtle spice of blood. She refused to think about whom that blood might belong to.

Instead of waiting for the Nothos to come to her, she attacked first, blades blurring in a figure eight before her body. The Nothos retreated out of reach, leaping onto a nearby building while the second Nothos took three of Creek’s bolts to his torso in rapid succession. They barely slowed the creature down.

‘You need a blade!’ she yelled back to Creek. Those bolts might down a vampire, but they were on the slim side for the demon spawn.

Creek was beside her a few seconds later, a long titanium quarterstaff in his hands. Her hands were too full to tell him that wasn’t going to work either. Her Nothos snapped its jaw, spraying burning saliva across her cheek.

She swiped the spittle away with the back of one hand. The Nothos grabbed for her. She ducked. It lunged, catching the edge of her tunic and shredding it. She shoved the creature as it went past, using its momentum to throw it to the ground. The scent of blood increased.

With a guttural growl, she drove her blades into the Nothos’s back before it could rise and anchored it to the pavement. The monstrosity planted its hands on the asphalt and pushed up. Its flesh slid along the blades, but the sacres remained fixed in the ground. Caught at the hilts, it stayed hunched over, unable to straighten further.

The Nothos screeched, swinging its double-jointed arms at
her, reaching with its awful hands for the merest inch of skin. Threads of white silk hung from the claws that had almost sliced her belly open.

Behind her, Creek still fought. More than that, she couldn’t say. She moved around the Nothos so it couldn’t see her and jumped, landing with a foot on either side of its spine. The move slammed it into the ground again. She flicked out her wrist blades and drove one into the spot where the creature’s heart should be. A gush of yellow blood and renewed yowling told her she’d aimed correctly. With both hands on the second dagger, she punched the blade downward and severed the Nothos’s spine. She worked the weapon back and forth until the head was nearly severed. Finally, the creature went to ash beneath her feet.

Breathing openmouthed and ready to take on the second abomination, she turned in time to watch Creek spear his Nothos through with the quarterstaff. He lifted the staff until the creature dangled off the end like a bit of refuse, then smashed it into the ground with such force the asphalt compressed beneath it.

The Nothos didn’t move when Creek yanked his quarterstaff free, but Chrysabelle had doubts it was truly dead. Creek apparently understood that. He slid a long knife from his boot, kneeled, and bisected the spine with greater ease than she’d done. Like he’d had practice.

Nothing remained in the pothole but ash.

On odd lightness filled her head, as if the slowly brightening sky was invading her brain. Creek leaned over, resting his hands on his knees, his chest rising and falling with the exertion. ‘Those things are hard to kill.’

‘Yes, I know.’ She fought the urge to sit. Or sleep. What was wrong with her? ‘That wasn’t my first.’

‘Kill or encounter?’ He straightened. His jeans were torn where the side of his leg had been slashed open from thigh to knee. Fresh blood from his movement ran out of the gash. Suddenly she felt queasy. Like she might pass out. What had he asked?

‘Uh, both. We … we ran into them when we tried to’ – she swallowed – ‘to rescue my aunt. I mean, my mother.’ She pointed to his thigh. Her hand shook. ‘You’re bleeding pretty badly.’

He glanced up. His brow furrowed with abrupt concern. ‘So are you.’

‘No, it didn’t touch me, just ripped my tunic.’ Swaying slightly, she looked down at the frayed edge of her shirt. The fabric was deep red. And wet. Three broad gashes scored her stomach. Beneath the open flesh, muscle peeked out. Blood saturated the right side of her trousers all the way down her leg. She wiggled her toes, listening to the squishing sound of her fluid-filled slipper.

‘I think I’ve lost a lot of … ’ Her vision narrowed and a faint buzzing rang in her ears. ‘Creek?’ Her mouth was so dry. The sun would be up soon. Had Mal found cover?

‘Right here.’ She felt warm hands supporting her. Then nothing.

Tatiana, still in the guise of Mia, had tried and failed three times to explore the club and find someone who might be able to connect her with the rogue comarré. Each time she had slipped away from her post behind the bar, someone in charge had sent her back.

At the moment, she was standing in a cramped storage room amid cleaning products and bundles of cocktail napkins while
some hoity-toity Asian fringe who used too much perfume and obviously enjoyed referring to herself as ‘the manager’ reprimanded Mia. Katsumi, some other flunky had called her.

‘Mia, are you listening to me?’

Tatiana couldn’t keep from rolling her eyes. ‘Yes, I’m listening.’ This whole scheme had gone bollocks up in a flash. Dawn had to be close, although she couldn’t feel it like she should. The club probably pumped drugs into the air system to keep the crowds partying. If she didn’t accomplish what she’d set out to do, and quickly, she’d be stuck here until nightfall. The very thought of being trapped in this place made her want to retch.

Katsumi narrowed her eyes and scowled. ‘Do you think running a club of this size and scope is such an easy thing?’ She planted her hands on her hips. One pinky was missing from the knuckle down. Interesting, but not
that
interesting. ‘I’m sure you think you could do better, but I assure you, you could not.’

Tatiana smiled. ‘That’s a marvelous idea. Best I’ve heard all night.’

‘What is?’ Katsumi squinted. ‘Why are you looking at me that way?’

Tatiana punched Katsumi in the temple with as much power as she could. Katsumi staggered back and caught herself on one of the metal racks. Using the shelving as leverage, she hoisted herself up and drove both feet into Tatiana’s torso.

Pain shot through Tatiana’s torso as one of her ribs fractured, and the force of Katsumi’s kick threw her into a stack of boxes. She leaped to her feet and charged forward, metal hand outstretched. She formed her hand into a collar, clamped it around the fringe’s neck, then lifted the woman until her feet dangled off the floor. ‘Think you can best me, weakling fringe? Think again.’

Terror-filled eyes wide, Katsumi pried uselessly at the platinum encircling her throat. ‘Who are you?’ she wheezed.

‘That’s the least of your concerns.’ Tatiana scanned the room for something to secure Katsumi with. Several rolls of duct tape sat on a low shelf. Not a challenge for a noble, but for a fringe it should suffice, at least temporarily. She snatched up a roll, loosened the tape with her teeth, and started a strip.

Katsumi eyed her actions with horror. ‘No.’ She let out half a scream before Tatiana jerked her upward, slamming her head into the ceiling so hard the plasterboard crumbled. Katsumi’s head lolled over the platinum collar. For a moment, Tatiana worried she’d killed her.

Tatiana quickly re-formed her hand, dropping Katsumi to the ground, and then imagined herself as Katsumi. She flattened her metal hand into a mirror and checked her image. Perfect. With renewed confidence, she began to cocoon her captive in numerous layers of silver-gray tape. Once finished, she hoisted the woman’s body and dumped her behind a row of stacked chairs.

Then Tatiana brushed herself off, adjusted her new outfit – at least the fringe had the good taste to wear silk – and headed out into the club to finally accomplish what she’d come for.