Flesh And Blood: House of Comarre: Book Two (House of Comarre 2) (3 page)

‘Good.’ In that much, Lord Ivan’s assessment had been correct. Her metal fingers stroked Zafir’s chest, drawing circles over his unbeating heart. ‘There’s something you should know about me.’

‘What’s that?’ His hands strayed to her rib cage.

She straightened. ‘No one controls me.’ She’d had no control of her life as a mortal and had fought too hard to wrest control of her vampire life to have it taken from her now, no matter how small a thing it might be.

His face stayed buried against her neck, his mouth hungry on her skin. ‘Of course not, my precious.’

‘Remove the controls you built in.’

He laughed. ‘You think I’m a fool? To give you such power freely? No.’

She threaded her fingers into his hair and jerked his head back to look him in the face. ‘Bad decision.’ Her metal fingers stilled, pressing against his chest. She whispered, ‘Sword.’

Zafir’s eyes shot wide as the blade pierced him. He jerked once, then disintegrated into a small heap of ash.

Tatiana turned the sword back into a hand and shook her head at the sooty pile on the laboratory floor. ‘Let’s hope your brother’s not as stupid.’ She liked intelligence in her male companions, but not so much that their ambitions ran roughshod over hers. She needed devotion, not competition.

She tipped over a few Bunsen burners, staying long enough to be certain the blaze would devour all traces of her actions. Vampire law stated that killing another noble was an unforgivable crime. She’d come to believe the only real crime was getting caught.

She slipped out the door and pulled up the hood of her cloak, staying in the shadows of the small overhang. This part of
Corvinestri was deserted as far as she could see down the cobblestone streets. Zafir was not a wealthy, high-ranking member of the St. Germain family, and his neighborhood reflected that, something that suited her purposes rather well.

Ensconced in a dark alley, she waited a little while longer until tongues of flames licked the windows. Lights came on in the house next door. Perhaps the stone wall adjoining the two buildings had already grown hot. From her hiding place, she scattered into a cloud of black wasps and resettled herself with great dramatic flair on Zafir’s doorstep.

She made a show of knocking. ‘Zafir? Zafir, are you home?’

After a moment of restless waiting, she banged on the door. ‘Zafir, you must get out!’

Neighbors began to trickle out of their homes.

Satisfied with the amount of witnesses, Tatiana tipped her head back and yelled, ‘Fire!’

‘I didn’t get anything. You?’ Mal leaned against the rusted railing of the old freighter. His gaze followed the silver ribbon of moonlight on the water, beyond the other abandoned freighters crowding the decaying port, past the expensive electric lights twinkling on the curve of shoreline where the wealthy mortals lived, and out into the great black sea. Four miles away floated artificial islands sewn with crops of wind generators. The low moan of the turbines hummed just beneath the ever-present drone of the voices in his head.

‘N-nothing,’ Doc answered, clearing his throat. His black-as-midnight skin wore the sweaty sheen of a creature struggling against his true nature. And losing. ‘Not a drop. The butcher on Hibiscus won’t sell to me anymore. Says there’s too many freaks running around and he doesn’t want to get a rep.’

‘Bloody hell.’ Mal’s body clenched with hunger. The voices amped up their whining.
Feed, kill, drink.
He glanced at the leopard shifter. Full moons were difficult on the cursed varcolai. Doc shouldn’t have gone for blood, but he’d wanted to run the streets, see if a good sweat could help him shake the powerful urges pulling at his body tonight. By the looks of him, the run had done him as little good as Mal had said it would.

‘Been two weeks,’ Doc said. He shifted restlessly, his hands trembling like a man fighting withdrawal.

‘Seems longer.’ Much longer, Mal thought, since he’d had human blood. Comarré blood.
Should’ve drunk her dry when you had the chance.
And now even pig’s blood was getting scarce.

‘You could drink what’s in the fridge.’

‘No.’ He couldn’t bring himself to drink the blood Chrysabelle had sent, but he couldn’t bring himself to dump it either.

‘Maybe time to see Dominic. Get some blood from his fake comarré. It’s gonna be spendy, but … ’ Doc shrugged, his eyes brassy green-gold, pupils wide open even in the bright moonlight.

‘Not yet.’ Mal was used to going without.
Weakling.
Dominic was a last resort. Very last. Too many strings. Too much money. Right now, Mal just needed to get Doc through the next few nights. Not being able to shift into his true form made Doc’s life hard, except on full-moon nights. Then it was hell.

Mal knew all about that. Hell was his permanent address. Especially since Chrysabelle had failed to fulfill her part of their deal.
Lying, cheating blood whore.
He ground his back teeth together, wishing he could crush the voices as easily.

He’d promised to help her rescue her kidnapped aunt, and she’d promised to get him to the comarré historian to find out how to remove his curse. Maybe in Chrysabelle’s mind, a dead
aunt negated the deal. He couldn’t blame her for being upset, especially since Maris had revealed she was actually Chrysabelle’s mother, but Maris’s death wasn’t his fault. It wasn’t enough reason for Chrysabelle to shut him out.

Part of him wished he’d never tasted Chrysabelle’s blood. His fangs punched through his gums. A very small part. He nodded at Doc. ‘You going to be okay?’

Doc shivered despite the near eighty-degree temp. ‘Yeah, bro, I’m tight. I just wish—’ A tremor rocked his body.

‘I know.’

Doc raised a brow. ‘You miss her?’

‘Yes.’ Mal shifted his gaze back to the ocean. Heat lightning shattered the horizon’s edges. Doc’s mention of Fiona didn’t surprise him. The pair were nuts for each other, despite her being a ghost. She was the last human Mal had killed and, of all the voices in his head, the only one to manifest as a ghost. After the many years she’d been stuck to him, Mal had come to tolerate Fi. More than that really. He’d come to appreciate her company. She alone could temper the beast that rose within him and rein in the voices when they took control.

Unfortunately, she’d been another casualty of their trip to rescue Maris, and Doc had taken her death extremely hard. He still believed she would return, but the space on Mal’s left arm where her name had once been written remained bare.

‘You should go see her,’ Doc said. ‘Work things out. You might as well drink the blood she sent. You need it—’

Mal’s head whipped back around. ‘I meant Fi.’

Doc snorted, scrubbing at his goatee. ‘Sure you did.’ A halo of sweat crowned his shaved head, and his canines jutted past his lip like two toothy daggers.

‘You look like hell.’

‘I feel like hell.’ Doc closed his eyes, visibly steeling himself. The fangs disappeared and the claws retracted, only to reappear a few seconds later. His half-form wasn’t going to cut it tonight. The need to change was too strong due to the full moon’s power.

‘Stop fighting it. Get below and shift. I’ll make sure you don’t run.’

Doc’s curse meant the only full form he could shift into was a common house cat, and in that state he was highly susceptible to larger predators. Like dogs. And Mal didn’t want to nurse him through another incident like the last one.

Doc nodded and headed for the hatch.

Mal turned back to the railing and wiped a hand over his face. The sharp angles and hard contours of his true image only served as a reminder of the monster that lived inside him. The monster that needed to be fed. Soon.
Kill, drink, eat, blood.

The scent of jasmine and spice rose up behind him. He spun around. ‘What are you doing here?’

Katsumi bowed slightly from the hips, palms together before her. ‘Lovely to see you, too, Malkolm.’

‘If you’re here, you want something. What is it?’ He was too hungry to deal with anyone, especially this fringe. The former wife of a Yakuza crime boss, Katsumi had the missing pinkie and full-body tattoos to prove it. She’d been turned in the 1980s, and her cutthroat style had earned her a serious reputation. If Katsumi had been nobility, she could have given Tatiana some healthy competition for vilest vampiress of the century. Now she worked at Dominic’s nightclub, Seven. In what capacity, Mal had yet to fully determine.

Katsumi gave a little half smile. ‘So cranky when you’re underfed. Which seems to be all the time. Right to it, then. I’ve come to offer you blood.’

His muscles tightened painfully and the beast inside tugged at the bonds keeping it prisoner.
Take, drink, kill.
‘Go on.’

Her almond eyes twinkled with devious intent. ‘I’ll provide you with all the blood you need. And by the looks of you, that’s not a small amount. On one condition.’

‘Just one? You’re getting soft in your old age.’

She laughed and adjusted the cuffs of her high-necked dress. Katsumi’s ink bodysuit was widely known but rarely seen. ‘Is that what’s happened to you, my dear noble friend?’

‘We’ve never been friends. What’s the condition?’

She slunk closer. Her perfume had none of the sweetness of Chrysabelle’s. ‘I want you to fight for me again—’

‘No.’ Under no circumstances would he enter the Pits again.
Yes. Fight, kill.

‘No one has to know.’ She lifted her hand toward his face, then obviously thought better of it. ‘You can wear a mask, if you like.’

‘A mask isn’t going to hide what I become.’
Monster, killer, murderer.

The light in her eyes brightened. ‘Then own it. Use it. You’ve had more human blood in the last few weeks than you’ve had in the past fifty years. You’re stronger than ever. You could win now, win your way back to a place where you can afford to buy whatever blood you need.’

‘You mean back to a place where you can profit off me again.’ Back in the day, Katsumi had made mountains of yen from Mal’s fights. So much that she’d shared some of her take with him. Just enough to buy blood from the butcher. Just enough to keep him in fighting shape. But with Fi inside him, keeping the beast from rising, he’d lost most fights. Which was fine. No one needed to see that part of him. Losing had done nothing to diminish the crowd’s desire to gawk at the marked anathema.
‘Not again. Not ever. Besides, I don’t need your money.’ There was plenty of that left over from the sale of the diamond Chrysabelle had given to Doc. Not that Mal had touched that money for anything yet. Or wanted to.

Greed soured her smile. ‘But there is something you need. What the comarré promised but didn’t deliver.’

‘How do you know about that?’

‘Dominic doesn’t keep many secrets from me.’ She cocked her head to one side like a hawk staring down a fat, dumb rabbit. ‘So would you fight for the chance to speak to the comarré historian? To finally find a way to end your curse?’

Ice burrowed into his spine and froze him in place. ‘You can’t offer that.’

‘Oh, Malkolm-san, but I can. Dominic knows how to access the one you seek. Fight for me and I will persuade him to show you the way.’

‘You can’t promise that.’
She lies, lies, lies …

‘I can and I do.’

‘You give your word?’ Katsumi’s word wasn’t worth squat, but a chance was a chance.

‘Yes.’

Fool.
He hated himself. So what was new? ‘When?’

‘Tomorrow night at Seven.’

‘I’m not waiting in the holding cells.’ Never again.

‘And spoil the surprise of your presence? I wouldn’t dream of it.’ She blinked like she was shocked he’d even suggest it. ‘You’ll have a room of your own.’

He still didn’t trust her. ‘How do I know you won’t go back on your word?’

‘I’ve broken only one promise in my life.’ She held up the hand with the missing pinkie. ‘Once was enough.’

‘Y
ou will not fail again.’ Lord Ivan paced across the hand-knotted Turkish carpet in Tatiana’s sitting room. ‘You cannot. I know how difficult the task before us may be, but the ancient ones care little for our troubles.’

‘I understand that, Lord Ivan.’ Tatiana rose from the velvet upholstered chair as she watched him. Ivan was her sire, the Dominus of her family and the last obstacle between her and the power she craved. The House of Tepes had done well under Ivan’s rule, but her plans would raise it to levels not known since Vlad Tepes himself had held the title. Before she could do that, she needed to be back in the graces of the ancient ones. That meant possessing the ring of sorrows at the very least. Pleasing the Castus Sanguis was a slippery, dangerous, painful slope, but she’d traversed it before and would do so again if need be. ‘I would also point out that I did succeed in breaking the covenant. Surely some credit must be given for that.’