Out for Blood (5 page)

Velimai looked up from her meal, putting her silverware aside to free her hands.
How did you mean for things to go?

“I don’t know.” She slid her plate away. “Why do I do that? Why does everything with him have to be a battle? Why does he always find a way to do exactly what I don’t want him to do?” She lifted her gaze toward the ceiling for a second. “Why do I even care?”

You two are very much alike. You need each other. Both seeking something that can’t be found alone.

Chrysabelle pursed her mouth. “Riddles don’t help.”

Velimai shrugged and went back to eating.

Chrysabelle’s appetite was gone, Velimai’s words ringing soundlessly in her head. “I should get Jerem to take me out to the freighter and apologize. Plus I owe Mal blood.” And she could fill him in on what the KM was up to. She stood, dropping her napkin onto her plate. “Will you tell Jerem I need the car? I’m going to shower first, but then I want to go out to Mal’s.”

Velimai nodded.

Chrysabelle turned away and almost ran across the living room and up the stairs. What did Velimai think she and Mal were seeking? Freedom? That was true. But did they really need each other? The thought of being without him upset her. Did that mean she cared for him? If she did, why did she fight with him this way? Why did he always set her off so easily? She would not travel the same path as her mother. Falling in love with a vampire had gotten her mother nothing but years of misery. And ultimately, death. Not that Dominic was so awful, but something had gone wrong between them. Enough that Maris had ultimately chosen to live alone rather than with him.

Chrysabelle pushed through the doors to her suite and didn’t stop until she was naked under the pulsing jets of her shower. She would visit Mal, apologize, and give him blood. Then she might as well talk to Damian and see what she could find out. Mal had said the comar was at the freighter. Why, she couldn’t imagine, but if Mal had done it to keep the comar out of her hair while she recovered, then she owed him one. The floral scent of her shampoo did nothing to soothe her. If Damian was with Mal, where was Saraphina, the comarré who had run away with him?

She rinsed the soap from her hair and skin. Maybe Mal had her, too. If so, Chrysabelle might be off the hook for giving him blood. In fact, if Saraphina stayed with him, Mal wouldn’t need Chrysabelle’s blood at all.

The bittersweetness of that thought brought an unexpected ache to her soul. She leaned her head against the slick marble wall, closed her eyes, and let the water beat down onto her.

Holy mother. Maybe Velimai was right. Maybe she did need him. She shook herself and shoved those thoughts away. There was too much to deal with right now to worry about something as insignificant as feelings. Like finding her brother.

Nothing pressed on her so much as finding him and fulfilling her mother’s wish. After everything Maris had done for her, getting her brother home was the least Chrysabelle could do. To know that she had family,
real
family—not just the preordained brothers, sisters, aunts, and uncles of the comarré life—made her long to know him with a yearning that sprang from her soul. She
would
find him. No matter what it took.

An hour later, she walked up the gangway to Mal’s abandoned freighter, wearing both sacres, a pair of wrist blades, and a new attitude. She would not let Mal upset her. If he wanted to talk about what had happened at Atticus’s, she would politely steer the conversation in a new direction until such time as she felt comfortable dealing with whatever Mal thought was going on.

The ship, as always, was dark and deserted, lit only by the weak solars that dotted the never-ending labyrinth of passageways. “Mal? It’s Chrysabelle.” As if he wouldn’t know.

She had a general idea of which way to go. Her heightened sense of smell helped a bit, too. Mal’s dark spice pervaded the ship’s space, but it was stronger in some directions than others. She followed the path she remembered in her head, taking a flight of stairs that seemed familiar and taking a turn that looked right, passing corridors and doors that, one after another, seemed to blend together.

Frustration building, she called for him again. “Mal! Hello? Anyone?”

A shimmering image burst through the wall ahead of her and turned into Fi. “Hey. What are you doing here?”

“Fi, I’m so glad someone’s here. I’m trying to find Mal. I think I got a little turned around.”

The ghost girl frowned. “Last I saw him, he was at your house. Did he leave without telling you?”

Chrysabelle sighed. “I may have thrown him out.”

Fi’s face was blank for a moment, then she laughed. The laughter faded fast. “Men suck.”

Chrysabelle’s brows lifted. “Something going on with you and Doc?”

“I take it Mal hasn’t filled you in on what’s been going on?”

“No.” Not that she’d given him a chance.

“Walk with me to the galley.” Fi’s feet hit the floor a second after she became corporeal. She turned down the closest corridor. “Long story, but the short version is he’s the new Paradise City pride leader, and that job comes with a wife.”

Chrysabelle easily matched the shorter girl’s stride. “And you don’t want to fill the position?” She’d thought the varcolai and Fi were crazy about each other, but maybe she’d been wrong.

Fi shook her head. “The position’s already been filled by the previous leader’s wife. When Doc killed Sinjin—who was the one killing off Dominic’s comarrés, in case you hadn’t heard…”

“I hadn’t. Go on.”

“Anyway, when Doc killed him, he inherited everything that had been Sinjin’s. Including the guy’s wife.”

“What?” Chrysabelle stared in disbelief. “That’s rather archaic.”

“That’s pride law. The same set of rules that kicked Doc out of the pride have now put him in charge of it.”

“Wow.” Chrysabelle took a moment to process. What else had happened in the last few days that she didn’t know about?

“Wow is right. Freaking sucks is more like it.” Emotion thickened Fi’s voice. “Where does that leave me?”

“Well, you still love him, right?”

“Yes.”

“And he still loves you, right?”

“I suppose.”

“Fi, come on.”

She blew out a long, hard breath. “Yes, he still loves me.”

“So why can’t you and Doc just explain things to this woman? I’m sure she’ll understand. She probably doesn’t want to be married to Doc any more than you want her to be.”

“Hmph. I wouldn’t count on that. Pride marriages among the ruling class are pretty old school from what Doc’s explained to me. Sinjin didn’t marry for love. He married for alliance. This woman’s father is the leader of one of the biggest prides in existence. Riling her up would be a very bad thing.”

Chrysabelle looped her arm around Fi’s shoulders. “There has to be a way to work this out.”

Fi shrugged, conveying about as much positive energy as a burned out match. “Whatever.” She glanced up at Chrysabelle. “So what’s going on with you? Doc and I came by to see you, but you were out cold and Mal didn’t want to hear about anything. All he could do was focus on you. He’s into you pretty hard. Like you don’t know that.” Suddenly her face brightened. “Did he tell you how he feels? Is that why you kicked him out?”

“No, that’s not why. I kicked him out because he wanted to talk about something I didn’t. But now I know he was probably right, even if his timing sucked.”

Fi nodded as she stopped and opened a door. “You want a cup of tea?” She stepped over the threshold and flipped on the solars, illuminating the galley.

“Sure. Might as well hang out and wait for Mal.” The last time she’d been in this kitchen, she hadn’t even really known who Mal was. That felt like years ago.

“You can always go relieve Damian for a bit if you want. I’m sure he’d appreciate the break.”

“Mal told me he was here. Relieve him from what?”

Fi filled the teakettle. “He’s guarding that vampiress who defected from Tatiana. Darciana or Dulciana or something.”

A chill settled in Chrysabelle’s gut as she took a seat. “Daciana?”

“Yeah, I think that’s her name. We’ve got her locked up in one of the storage containers in the far hold.” Fi lit a Sterno pot and set the kettle over it. “You know her?”

“Yes, but her husband is the one you have to watch out for. He’s very ambitious. Like a male version of Tatiana.”

Fi leaned against the counter. “According to Daciana, Tatiana killed her husband. That’s one of the reasons she wants asylum.”

Chrysabelle narrowed her eyes. “I don’t buy it.”

“Me neither.” The ghost girl smiled. “You want to go talk to her?”

“I don’t think—”

“You know, she showed up on your doorstep.” Fi waggled her brows. “Wanted us to let her into your
house
.”

Chrysabelle’s fingers stroked the leather crisscross of her sacre straps. “Did she now.” Annoyance pushed her to her feet. “Couldn’t hurt to ask a few questions, could it?”

“That’s what I’m saying.” Fi capped the Sterno. “What if she refuses to answer you straight up?”

Chrysabelle flicked one wrist blade out. “I can be pretty persuasive when I want to be.”

Chapter Five

T
he rabble split with appropriate respect as Mal shoved his way through the crowd outside Seven.
Fools
. Wearing his noble face no doubt helped, but the crowd’s respect meant nothing. He was on a mission. Finding a new blood source was the first step in distancing himself from Chrysabelle.
Blood blood blood.
Loosening her hold on his hunger would make it easier to need her less. Might even help him forget what being next to her in bed had felt like. He hoped.

The fringe working the velvet ropes outside the door held a hand up. “Cover’s a buck fifty.”

“A hundred and fifty dollars? Dominic’s lost his mind.”

The fringe shrugged. “It’s Friday, my brother. All the freaks wanna play, and for that, you gotta pay.”

“I am not your brother.” One of the two hulking varcolai bouncers behind the fringe snickered. Mal glanced up, wishing for the old days when Seven’s entrance was a dimly lit doorway with easy-to-glamour guards. Easy for him anyway. No other Tepes vampire he knew could use their persuasion power on varcolai or fae.

“Not technically, but we
are
both vampires—”

“Whatever.” Mal pushed past. “Dominic owes me. You want my cover charge, get it from him.” Dominic
did
owe him, although Dominic might not see it that way. Mal’s blood had taken the place of Dominic’s with the witches. That had to be worth something.
Or nothing. Just like you.

Wisely, the varcolai bouncers let him pass. Maybe they knew who he was or maybe they knew Mal’s relationship to Doc. Either way, he entered without further obstruction. Once inside, he quickly found Katsumi. He would have rather found Mortalis, but the shadeux fae didn’t seem to be around.

She arched a brow at him. “Please tell me you’ve come to take on a few new opponents in the Pits.”

“Like hell. Where’s Dominic? I need to talk to him.”

“In his office.” She sidled closer, her jasmine scent creeping over him. “But maybe I can help you.” One black polished fingernail glided down his arm. “What do you need?”

Blood
. “For you to back off.” He walked away, shaking his head. Maybe the side effects of navitas had begun to set in. Being resired was known to cause insanity. Tatiana was proof of that. Katsumi seemed to be sliding in that direction.

Someone grabbed his sleeve. He spun, instantly defensive. “I told you—”

A petite blonde, one of Dominic’s comarré, dropped her hand from his arm and bent her head. “I’m sorry to upset you, master. I saw you talking with Ms. Tanaka. I thought you wanted company.”

“Don’t call me master,” he snapped.

The girl cringed and backed away. Her signum, such as they were, gleamed dully in the club’s low lights. “My apologies for—”

“Stop.” Mal sighed. Bloody hell, he was a monster.
Yes, you are
. “I didn’t mean to… When you first grabbed my arm, I thought you were Katsumi.”

The girl lifted her head. She wasn’t unattractive, but she was no Chrysabelle. “You’re a friend of Ms. Tanaka’s? I see that you’re noble like her.”

He exhaled derisively. “I was noble before her grandparents were born.”

“Of course, sir.” She nodded, her long blonde curls swaying. “Are you in need of blood?”

Yessss… drink drink drink.
“Yes, but I need to speak to Dominic first.”

Her eyes widened slightly. They weren’t as blue as Chrysabelle’s. “I can take you to Mr. Scarnato, if you’d like.”

“I can find my own way there.”

Her head dropped again. “As you wish. Have a pleasant evening.” She curtseyed and began to leave.

The voices whined at the loss of the blood, cursing him in every language they spoke. “What’s your name?”

She looked up, hope brightening her face. “Alice.”

He bent slightly, peered into her eyes, and added a touch of persuasion to his voice. “Go home, Alice. Forget this place exists. Go back to school and do something meaningful with your life.”