Out for Blood hoc-4 Page 6
“Mar-Mariela?” Lola stuttered around a knot in her throat. “That was my mother’s name. So Julia had a little girl?” Tears burned her eyes. She looked upward and blinked, letting out a long breath and, with it, a silent prayer that her grandchild was safe, wherever she was.
“Beautiful baby.” Preacher’s voice cracked.
She glanced at him, caught him wiping his eyes. “I’m so sorry for what we’ve both been through. I’m sorry Julia didn’t feel like she could come to me when she found out she was pregnant. I tried to be a good mother, I did, but—”
“She wanted to. I stopped her.” He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. “I couldn’t picture a scenario where it ended well.”
Lola folded her hands in her lap and studied the gold and onyx ring on her pinky.
He straightened. “I effed up. I’m sorry.”
She shook her head, barely believing she was having this conversation and who she was having it with. “Actually, you didn’t. I can’t picture a scenario that would have ended well either. Not then. Now, with what I know, maybe.” She shrugged. “The past is passed. I want to focus on the future.”
“Is that why you came?”
“Yes. I know the child, Mariela, was taken from you. I know that the beings who now possess her are far more powerful than any human.”
Anger flared in his eyes. “You know who has her? Tell me and I’ll hunt them down.”
“I don’t think it’s that simple. I’m told the ancient ones have her. The creators of your race.”
The anger spread from his eyes to settle onto his face. “Don’t ever lump me in with any of them, understand? I’m not like them. Vampires disgust me. They’re parasites in need of the kind of cleansing only a stake through the heart can bring.”
Confusion swept her. “But you are one.”
He snarled. “I never meant to be. If I’d known what I was doing, I would have gladly died instead.” He stood and paced toward the altar. “Now I live with this curse every day, trying to do God’s will by cleansing those who kill humans. The only good being a vampire has brought me is the power to protect my mortal brothers.”
It felt like a sign. With renewed courage, she spoke. “Then you’ll understand why I’m here. As a human, I’m vulnerable. Weak. Outmatched by those I must go up against.” With Willamette’s and her abuela’s words chiming in her head, Lola rose and said another silent prayer, this time that John’s and Luke’s hearing didn’t extend into the sanctuary. “I want you to help me get Mariela back.”
He nodded. “Just tell me what you want me to do.”
She took a breath. “Turn me into a vampire.”
“So you are the man who killed my husband?” Heaven stood atop the step that led into the sunken living room, dressed in a one-shoulder python-print minidress that revealed more of the grieving widow than it covered. The last time Doc had seen a woman who looked like her, he’d been flipping through one of Fi’s fashion magazines. Lean, dark, dangerous, and beautiful. High maintenance. Totally Sinjin’s type.
“Yeah.” He inhaled, the exotic scent of jaguar filling his nose along with the flowery fragrance of some perfume. Or hair products. Or skin lotion. Hard to tell with a woman like that.
Her eyes flickered from tawny brown to green-gold, showing off her varcolai side. His answer angered her. Her spike heels clicked down the steps until they were on the same level. “Is that all you have to say for yourself? Yeah?” She mimicked his American accent with obvious disdain before shifting back to her Brazilian lilt. “You killed my husband and you cannot even apologize? Or perhaps you are not sorry?”
“I am sorry. I didn’t mean to kill Sinjin. He attacked me and—”
“He challenged you and you accepted. You knew what was at stake.”
“He came at me.”
“They say you went up in flames. Burned him to death.” She eyed him warily as if looking for fire to burst off his skin. “Varcolai can’t do that.”
“And neither can I,” he lied. Since he’d started popping ketamine, the emotions that caused the flames had been so mellowed out that even at his most angry, nothing happened. “It was just a weird power brought on by Samhain.”
She crossed and uncrossed her arms, obviously unsettled. “You could have let him go. Let the police deal with him. At least if he were still alive…” She ground her teeth in anger and turned away.
“If he was still alive but in police custody, you’d be pride leader by default.” He plopped down on the couch—his couch now—and kicked his feet up onto the glass coffee table. “I get it. You’re bunched up because you’re not the boss. You should have spilled your plans to Sinjin before he decided to up and kill some innocent women. Or maybe you knew what he was doing.”
She spun back around, gold bangles jangling on her wrist as she lifted her hands in expression. “I had no idea.”
“You had no idea what your husband was up to.” He raised a brow, then snorted softly. “I take it this was a political marriage only, then.”
She lifted her head slightly. “I cared for Sinjin, but you know how it is with pride leaders. Marriage is for making alliances.” She sat at the far end of the big sectional, crossing her feet at the ankles and tucking them to the side. “I knew he was intent on stirring up the city against the vampires.” The way she pronounced vampires gave it an extra syllable. Vam-pi-years.
“Would you have stopped him if you’d known how?”
She nodded, eyes downcast. “I would have tried. Sinjin was not… an easy man to have his mind changed.”
Doc snorted again. “You don’t have to tell me.”
She looked up. “He kicked you out, yes?”
“Yes.”
“And now you are pride leader.” Her fingers twisted the rock that was her engagement ring. “And my husband.”
He shifted forward. This was just the opening he needed. “Look, I know you didn’t sign on for this—and I’m sure you never agreed to get hitched thinking you’d have a stranger for a husband a few months after you said I do. I’m cool to have the whole thing annulled or whatever needs to take place to make the marriage go away.”
Her fingers stopped fussing with the ring and her head jerked up, her spine straightening like a rod had been shoved through it. “You think I am so easy to get rid of? Do you know who my father is? Rodrigo Silva. The São Paulo pride leader. He commands more than ten thousand varcolai. Do you wish to anger him? Because I’m sure he would love to hear how you so casually desire to toss me aside.”
Dammit. “That’s not what I meant. I was trying to do you a favor.”
“A favor. Pah.” She spat air at him, flicking her fingers. “We are married. You must accept that.” She crossed her arms and stared away from him, muttering in Portuguese.
“Look, you don’t understand. I have—”
Her head whipped around. “What is the matter with me? Do you not find me attractive?”
“Of course you’re attractive. You’re beautiful.” Some of the anger left Heaven’s face. Thank Bast Fi wasn’t here. “But it doesn’t matter what you look like, because—”
“Ah, I see now.” She raked her gaze down his body, head waggling back and forth. “You do not like the girls, eh? You prefer men—is that it?”
“No! Hell no.” He growled softly. This was so not going how he’d pictured it. “Listen to me. What I’m trying to tell you is I’m already in love with another woman.”
“Love.” She waved her hand at him. “An emotion that comes and goes.”
“Heaven, she’s my fiancée. I plan to marry her.”
He waited, watching the words sink in. Her expression went blank; then her eyes took on the greenish gold of her true nature.
“So the rumors about the ghost girl are true?” Her mouth twitched into a grimace.
“Yes.”
She shook her head. “You will not marry her. Because if you do, I will kill her.”
Chapter Eight
Chrysabelle squinted, testing her night vision. It was decent but starting to fail. She couldn’t speak for Damian, but he’d been without a patron for long enough now that her guess was they were both suffering from a lack of bite. Their heightened comarré senses were diminishing with each passing day.
Damian. Why had she said his name during her recovery? What had the Aurelian told her that made her unconscious mind focus on him? Could he really be her brother? She’d not seen him during the time he’d been quartered at her home. Did he remember her? Hopefully he’d know something that would help her solve this mystery.
Fi made circles with her flashlight beam. “You’ll have to throw your weight against the door. Hinges are for crap. I just ghost through unless I’m bringing him food.”
“You’ve been taking care of Damian?” She wasn’t sure why that surprised her. Fi was young and sometimes did things that showed her age, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t without feeling. “What’s he like?”
“He’s nice. Angry. Like you were when you first got here.”
“I wasn’t angry.”
Fi laughed. “And honey badgers are cuddly.” She smiled at Chrysabelle. “It’s okay, I get it. Change sucks. Who doesn’t know that better than me? He’s not so much angry at the world as he is angry that Saraphina betrayed him. I think he may have been a little sweet on her.”
“Betrayed him how?”
“Apparently running was his idea. He called her a lifer. Said she hadn’t wanted to leave, but he thought once she saw what life could be like, she’d be okay. She wasn’t. When Daciana and her husband came to the house, Saraphina helped them subdue Damian.”
Chrysabelle shook her head. “I know—knew—a lot of comarré like that. They can’t see past the life they’re living to the life they could have.” Her head whirled with thoughts. Where would she be now if she hadn’t run after Algernon’s murder? Pawned off to another patron? Sent back to the Primoris Domus for the breeding program?
“You still with me?”
She nodded. “Just thinking. Does Damian… look like me?”
“Sure, I guess, if you mean in a blond hair, blue eyes, gold tattoos kind of way. Otherwise”—Fi pursed her lips—“it’s hard to say. Damian’s tall and handsome and has nice—” Fi blushed and shrugged. “All you upscale comarrés look the same to me.”
“Technically, I’m only a comarré in looks now since my last trip to the Aurelian.”
Fi glanced at Chrysabelle’s clothes. “And your looks haven’t changed. You still wear your hair in that braid, still wear white all the time. There are other colors, you know.”
“I know.” She sighed. “What is it you said? Change sucks.” And as much as she was ready for it, she didn’t know where to begin. “Maybe I should cut my hair. Try to wear color. I wouldn’t know where to start.”
Fi slowed and pointed with her flashlight beam. “We’re here.” She stopped and turned to Chrysabelle. “You want some ideas on changing? I’d be happy to help. You know I love clothes and you have the kind of money that makes shopping an orgasmic experience.” She grinned like she was already emptying Chrysabelle’s accounts. “Let’s run this Daciana down, see what she knows, then we’ll map out a plan to revitalize Paradise City’s retail economy.” Her eyes rounded with happiness. “Hey, maybe Damian will let me make him over, too! It would be fun to put him in some leather pants and—”
Chrysabelle laughed. “How about I get to talk to him first?”
“Got it.” Fi jerked her thumb at the door. “You want to shove that thing open? I’ll hold your flashlight.”
“Sure.” She handed the torch over, then planted her feet and popped her shoulder into the door. It flew open easily. The space beyond was pitch-black. “You left him without lights?”
“No way.” Fi stepped over the threshold and flipped both flashlight beams into the darkness. In front of them sat a big metal storage container, its doors blackened and twisted loose from their hinges. A lamp lay on its side near a cooler.
There was no vampire. And no comar.
“Holy mother, they’re gone.” A cold hand squeezed her heart. Why hadn’t she listened to Mal and come to talk to Damian when he’d suggested it?
Fi danced the lights through the space. “How the hell did she get out of there?”
“Did you search her before you locked her up?”
“I didn’t but I think…” Fi shook her head dejectedly. “No. None of us did. We were too much in a hurry to find Creek. If she’s done anything to Damian—”
Chrysabelle grabbed her flashlight back and helped Fi search the space. “If she’s done anything to him, we’ll kill her together. He might be my only chance to find my brother.”
“I don’t see a body. She must have taken him.”
“She’d be smart to keep him alive.” Chrysabelle turned back to Fi. “Where would she go? She’s got to have a place to hole up before dawn.”
Fi scratched her head. “She might not care about that yet. She might want revenge for being locked up.” She bit her bottom lip. “She could have heard Doc and me talking about going to the pride headquarters. Do you think she’d go after him there?”
“If she’s crazy enough to work for Tatiana, she’s crazy enough to do anything. Let’s go. My car and driver are outside.”
“Awesome. We should leave a note for Mal, let him know.”
“Good idea.” One apology was enough to owe him.
They hustled back to the galley where Fi dug up a pen and a scrap of paper.
“Here,” Chrysabelle said. “Let me.”
Came to apologize. Found Damian and vampire gone. Think she’s headed to pride HQ, as are Fi and I.—C
With Fi on her heels, she ran down to Mal’s room and stuck the note between the door and the jamb. “All right, let’s head over there and warn Doc.”
Fi’s directions and Jerem’s enthusiastic driving got them there in less than twenty minutes. Not a sign of Daciana or Damian along the way. Not that she’d expected to see them on the sidewalk.
“Here.” Fi leaned through the car’s partition to point to a building at the end of the block.
“This is pride headquarters? Looks like a nightclub.” The sign above the door said BAR NINE.
Fi sat back. “It’s both.”
Jerem parked the car, his eyes on Chrysabelle in the rearview mirror. “After Sinjin lost Seven to Dominic in a poker game, he opened this place. The nine is either supposed to be for a cat’s nine lives or the fact that Sinjin wanted to be two notches above Dominic. Take your pick.”
Fi put her face against the window to look at the top of the building. “Pride leader gets the penthouse.”
“Doc up there?” Chrysabelle asked.
She shrugged and slipped farther into her seat. “Lights are on.”
Jerem unlocked the doors. “You’re sure you want to do this?”
“We have to,” Chrysabelle answered.
“You want me to go with you? I’m not feline, but I am varcolai.”
“I thought so,” Fi said. “What kind?”
“Ursine.”
“You’re a pig-shifter?”
He growled softly. “Ursine means bear.” His gaze went back to Chrysabelle, waiting for her answer.
“The pride has no problem with me. We’ll be perfectly safe.”
His gaze flickered over Fi. “There might be an issue if Doc’s new wife is there. Maybe Fi should stay with me.”
Fi grunted. “I kinda hate that that might be a good idea.”
“You might also want to leave your weapons behind.
At least the visible ones.”
“No.” Chrysabelle hooked her hand through the strap of one sacre. “I’m not willing to acquiesce that much.” She put her other hand on the door handle. “I’ll only be gone long enough to make Doc aware of this new situation.”
She got out. The soft, muted sounds of music emanated from the club and a small crowd milled around the entrance, but it was nothing like Seven’s madness. She took a breath to steel herself. Get in, see Doc, get out. That’s all she had to do.
With a purposeful stride, she made her way to the velvet ropes and the pair of bouncers guarding the front.
The smaller of the two stepped into her path, blocking her from going beyond the ropes. “No mortals.” His gaze went briefly to the handles of the twin sacres peeking over her shoulders. “And certainly not mortals packing steel. Sorry, sweetheart.”
She wished she had Mal’s powers of persuasion. As it was, her comarré charm wasn’t going to be enough. A good lie and a little bravado might be, though. “Mortal? Do I look like a mortal to you? Check your night vision.”
“So you’re comarré, so what. We don’t need your kind here.”
“Oh no? Tell that to your new pride leader, then. Maddoc’s hired me as personal security.”
“That right?”
She leaned down, putting them eye to eye. “Turn me away. See how long your job lasts after I explain to Doc how helpful you’ve been.” She held his gaze without blinking. “He’s looking to clear some deadwood anyway.”
A muscle in his jaw spasmed. “Yeah, fine, whatever.” He unsnapped the rope and held it open.
She slipped through. She hadn’t expected that to work, but with Doc being new on the job, maybe they didn’t know him well enough to know what he would and wouldn’t actually do.
Samba music pulsed through her as she made her way inside. Large plush seating areas and potted palms dominated the perimeter, but the two-story dance floor in the center held a riotous crowd moving in a way that only creatures with superior flexibility and extra vertebrae could. From the second-story wraparound balcony, more patrons watched, drank, and conversed. Maybe Doc was up there, keeping an eye on things.