Out for Blood hoc-4 Page 7
She looked for a way up and found an elevator. Unfortunately, it also had a bouncer. The upstairs must be a VIP area. Definitely where Doc would be. Maybe the same approach would work with him. She pushed through the crowd, accidentally bumping someone.
A glass smashed to the floor.
She turned to apologize. “Sorry, I—”
An enormous shifter stood behind her. Sandy blond hair brushed his wide shoulders. “Who let the vampire’s toy in here?”
She pulled up to her full height, but she still didn’t reach his chest. “I’m no one’s toy.”
“Did your master send you or did you come seeking revenge on your own?”
“What? No. The only thing I’m seeking is Doc.”
Two massive, clawed hands grabbed her by the straps of her sacres and lifted her into the air. Gold eyes stared back at her, the pupils reflecting green. He tipped his shaggy head back and roared. Pain erupted in her ears.
She fought her instinct to stick one of her wrist blades into him and shut him up. Instead she put her foot against his thigh and pushed. He didn’t budge. There had to be a way to resolve this without creating an incident. “Please, put me down. I don’t want to hurt you.”
He shook her, rattling her brain. “You don’t want to hurt me?” His short burst of laughter faded into something much more menacing. He pulled her closer, his hot breath wafting over her. “Your kind got our pride leader killed, vampire whore. Now you come here, to the heart of us, bearing weapons? Taunting us?”
A crowd circled around them. Heads nodded at his words. “Make her pay, Brutus,” someone shouted.
Brutus untangled his right hand from her sacre straps and clamped it around her throat.
Being choked had a way of making a person no longer care about creating an incident.
She reached for a blade.
Chapter Nine
Chrysabelle’s scent draped the freighter’s corridors like holiday bunting, causing the voices to whine. Mal called her name, expecting to run into her at any moment. “Chrysabelle? You here?” But he couldn’t sense her, and her lack of answer confirmed she wasn’t on the ship. She had been here recently, though. There was no other way her perfume would be so strong.
“Fi, come out here.” Maybe she knew. He called a second time but still no answer or appearance. Where were they? He walked the corridors, listening, but the ship was a tomb. He couldn’t even pick up the comar’s heartbeat down in the hold. An eerie sense of something gone wrong gnawed his bones. You should know.
Following the traces of Chrysabelle’s scent to where it was the strongest brought him to his quarters. Jammed into the door frame, a piece of paper shone dully in the fading solars. He pulled it free and read the note, the words filling him with dread.
Pride headquarters was not a good place for Chrysabelle. Mal doubted that Sinjin had been alone in his plan to kill comarré and place the blame on the vampire population. There had to have been other pride members who’d thought it was a good idea. Maybe even helped Sinjin plan the attacks.
For her to go strolling in there, even if it was to warn Doc… What if Doc wasn’t there? What if she ran into someone Sinjin had been in collusion with?
Son of a priest.
He dropped the paper and took off running. Pride headquarters wasn’t that far away. With fresh human blood in his system, he could get there faster on foot than by car. The abandoned port disappeared behind him and the miles sped by. Under the cover of night, the few pedestrians he passed barely noticed him as anything more than a sudden breeze.
He slowed a block away from Bar Nine, recognizing Chrysabelle’s car. He tapped the window.
Jerem powered it down and tipped his head in greeting. “Malkolm.”
Fi leaned through the partition from the backseat. “Hey, Mal. I guess you got Chrysabelle’s note.”
“She inside?”
Fi nodded. “About a minute ago. You just missed her.”
He looked at Jerem. “Why didn’t you go in with her?”
Lips pressed firmly together, he frowned. “She wouldn’t let me.”
“Typical,” Mal muttered. “I better check on her.”
“You want me to come?” Jerem asked. “You might have a better shot of getting in if I’m along.”
“No, I can manage.” His powers of persuasion would open the doors. “I know one of the guys who works the front.” Liar liar liar. “Stay here and protect Fi.”
“I don’t need protecting,” she called out, but he was already moving away from the car.
The bouncers walked toward him as he approached but stayed inside the velvet ropes. He held his hands up as a show of peace. “Not looking for trouble, just a friend.”
The short one snorted. “No friends here, vampire. Turn around and go back the way you came. This is varcolai territory.”
Now close enough to make good eye contact, Mal let power come into his voice, doing his best to direct it toward both shifters. The blood in his system helped. “I’m a feline varcolai, just like you.”
“No, you’re…” The bouncers stared, round-eyed and wavering.
He pushed harder, causing a small ripple of dizziness in the back of his brain. “I smell like earth and musk, the scents of a shifter. My eyes reflect the same gold that yours do. Welcome me to the club, then forget me.” We wish we could.
Fogged with persuasion, the pair nodded slowly. The big one unhooked the rope from the stanchion and moved aside. “Welcome,” he mumbled.
“Welcome,” the shorter one added.
Mal darted inside, hoping the persuasion held. He paused to lean against a wall in a small alcove until the residual vertigo passed. Chrysabelle’s blood would have prevented him from taking such a hit from so small a power drain. Human blood just didn’t pack the same punch as what flowed through her veins. He inhaled. She was definitely here. A few seconds later, loud voices emanated from the club’s interior. Someone was unhappy. He straightened and listened closer.
And heard Chrysabelle’s voice. Damn it.
He spun out of the alcove and charged through the crowd. Finding her wasn’t difficult. An enormous varcolai held her aloft by her throat and the crisscrossed straps of her sacres. The next few moments seemed trapped in time like insects in amber.
The varcolai roared in fury, the crowd around him calling out encouragements. Chrysabelle snapped a blade from her wrist sheath. He yanked back the hand from her throat, letting her dangle by her straps. Claws sprang out from his fingertips.
Her arm shot forward, her blade burrowing between his ribs. His clawed hand flew toward her, slicing across her throat. He dropped her and reached for the blade in his side. Blood spewed everywhere as she fell. Mal’s beast lifted its head at the familiar scent. Blood. The crowd erupted in a wave of deafening sound.
Mal leaped, kicking time back to its normal speed. Her heartbeat pounded in his ears as her breaths grew shallow and her blood scent overwhelmed his control.
A woman screamed, “Brutus, behind you!”
But Brutus turned too late. Mal landed on top of the varcolai, crumpling him to the ground. He drove his fist into the shifter’s face, breaking his nose. Beside them, Chrysabelle clutched at her throat, her mouth open and gasping. Blood bubbled up from the slices across her neck. “Mal,” she whispered. Her eyes rolled back, the whites showing between her barely open lids.
“Hang on,” he whispered back, struggling to keep the beast controlled. So much blood.
Brutus shifted to his half-form and snarled, showing off prehistoric fangs. He swiped a hand at Mal.
Ducking the claws, Mal blocked the hand with his forearm, then jammed his elbow into Brutus’s stomach.
The shifter exhaled a whoof of air at the same time Chrysabelle’s pulse went silent. Mal froze. He flicked his gaze toward her, afraid of what he’d see. What he already knew.
Blood trickled from the corner of her mouth. She stared unblinking. Her brilliant comarré glow was gone.
&nbs
p; With a roar that shattered glass, Mal set his inner beast free. The inked names spread over him like a rush of water, drowning his humanity until he clung to the last shred with his fingertips. Through his red-tinged vision, he watched fear fill Brutus’s eyes, watched as the beast subdued the varcolai with a fist to the temple, then punched a hole in the shifter’s chest and ripped out his heart. The varcolai reverted to his lion form as he died.
“What the hell is going on here? Mal?”
At the familiar voice, Mal forced the beast back into its chains and found a modicum of control while doing his best to ignore the suffocating pressure of Chrysabelle’s death. He turned to see Doc standing behind him, his face a mask of horrified disbelief. Mal got to his feet as the beast retreated further. He unclenched his hand to point at the dead lion, dropping the heart. It landed with a wet thunk at his feet. Varcolai blood dripped from his fingers. “He killed Chrysabelle.”
Doc’s eyes flickered gold. “Pick her up and bring her to my office now.” Then he gave a few instructions to a man in a shirt marked SECURITY. “Close down this side of the club and get this taken care of.” Finally, he addressed the crowd. “Get the hell over to the other side of the club or go home, but you can’t stay here.”
Reluctantly, the crowd began to move. Mal scooped Chrysabelle’s body into his arms. Dead dead dead. She was warm and redolent with the honey-sweet perfume of blood. He wanted to hold her against him, kiss her forehead and wait for her to return to him, but instead he followed Doc to a nearby elevator. Once the doors closed, Doc spoke.
“Dammit, Mal, I did not need this. Not with everything else going on.” He looked at Chrysabelle and cursed softly. “I can’t believe she’s dead.”
“She’s not dead.” Warm blood seeped from her throat through the fabric of his sleeve.
“Bro, she’s dead. Look at her. Listen to her, for Bast’s sake. She’s got no pulse.”
“She’s not permanently dead.” Too bad too bad too bad.
Doc shook his head as if Mal were crazy. “What the hell made you two think coming here was a good idea?”
“Chrysabelle came to warn you that the vamp in the hold escaped. She thought the vampiress might come after you in retaliation. I came after Chrysabelle as soon as I found out. I never would have let her come alone. You think I’m stupid?”
Doc kept shaking his head. “I don’t know what I think anymore.” He glanced down at Chrysabelle and swore again. “For real, man, I don’t hear any breathing.”
“Because there isn’t any. She’s dead.”
Doc lifted an eyebrow. “You just said she wasn’t.”
“I said I didn’t think it was permanent.”
“Maybe you are stupid.”
“Look, the Aurelian killed her and—”
The elevator doors opened into a wide vestibule. Two men guarded a set of double doors.
“Get that office open,” Doc commanded.
The man on the right sprang into action, pulling the door wide. “Should I get Barasa?”
“Don’t get anyone,” Mal answered. “She’s fine.” Finally dead. The men were varcolai; they could sense the lack of life in her as well as he could. He hustled past them into the office.
Doc paused before entering. “We’re not to be bothered.”
“Yes, sir.”
Doc locked the door behind him. “Put her on the couch, then tell me again how her being dead is okay with you?”
“It has to do with the gold from the ring of sorrows.” Mal eased her onto the black leather sofa, then kneeled beside her. Where his right sleeve hadn’t been torn by his transformation into the beast, his skin was soaked with her blood, causing the names there to writhe. “When the signumist melted it down, she thought that would erase the ring’s power. It didn’t. Instead the power transferred to her.”
“What kind of power?” Doc stared down at her.
“She didn’t know, but whatever it is, it brought her back to life after the Aurelian ran a sword through her.”
“I hate to tell you this, but I don’t think it’s working.”
“It will.” It had to. Mal brushed hair off her forehead. Her signum sparkled in the overhead lights. “Give it time.”
“Sun’s gonna be up soon. Just how much time are you talking exactly—”
Chrysabelle gasped, her body bowing off the couch as though yanked upward on a thread. She collapsed back down, breathing hard. Her eyes opened, and after a few seconds, she pushed herself up. “What happened?”
Mal sank back onto his heels in relief, but the emotion passed quickly. No way was she getting out of talking about what had happened this time. As sternly as he could manage through the joy of her returning to him, he answered, “You died. Again.”
Chapter Ten
Grigor will come with her.” Tatiana studied the invitation under the desk lamp’s glow. Octavian’s penmanship was beautiful. Too bad it had been wasted on Svetla’s name.
Seated beside her at his desk, Octavian finished the last invitation with a flourish, then looked up. “Let him. He is invited.”
She sighed. “I hate that he is.”
“It would seem odd to invite the Elders without their Dominus as well, don’t you think? And if he comes, we’ll find a way to distract him. Besides, the idea is that we’re bringing the Dominus here for the courtesy of meeting Lilith before the ball. The Elders are just a bonus.”
Tatiana tucked the invite into its envelope and laid it on the desk beside the others. “A brilliant bonus. If this plan works—”
“It will.” He smiled. “I thought of it.”
She swatted him. “Don’t be cocky, my pet. If this works, the rest of the plan must still be perfectly aligned.”
He tugged her onto his lap. “Everything will go off beautifully—you’ll see. Once we have Svetla here, you’ll use your powers of persuasion to plant the seed of kidnapping Lilith in her head. The moment she acts on it, you’ll alert Sam—”
She pressed a finger to his lips. “Don’t speak his name. We mustn’t call him before we need him.”
He nodded, pressing a kiss to her finger before she removed it. “Forgive me. My excitement got the best of me. You’ll alert him, who will catch Svetla in the act and strike her dead.” He nipped Tatiana’s neck, his pleasure at thinking up such a cunning plan obvious. “There’s no vampire alive who would come against you after hearing about that.”
She rolled the hem of her blouse between her fingers. “I agree, but fitting the pieces of this puzzle together is going to be difficult.”
“You worry too much.” He frowned. “Or are you still concerned about Daciana?”
Unsettled by the reminder, she rested her head against his. “I will be until I hear from her.”
“It’s good that you have this new project to distract you, then.” He held out the four envelopes, each addressed to the other noble houses. “You have messengers waiting?”
“Yes. The House of Rasputin’s will go out today, the others tomorrow. I just hope Svetla’s as eager to see Lilith as I think she’ll be. I’d much rather accomplish this before the others arrive.”
He shifted beneath her, moving so that they faced each other more. “But if the other Dominus and Elders are here to witness the ancient one’s actions, it can only benefit you.”
“True.” She stroked his cheek. “Protecting you from Grigor’s and Svetla’s mind reading isn’t going to be easy. They get one jot of a thought about what’s going on and they’ll kill you without hesitation.”
He patted the breast pocket of his jacket. “I have the potion from Kosmina. She assures me it’s what the kine in St. Petersburg use to keep their masters from knowing their thoughts.”
Tatiana clucked her tongue. “I can’t believe you’re willing to trust your life to a kine.”
“My darling,” he cooed. “If something happened to me because the potion didn’t work, whose wrath would Kosmina face?”
She smiled. “Mine.”
“No.” When he put it that way, it did seem rather convincing. “How is it you always know what to say to me?”
“Because,” he said, drawing her closer and nuzzling his mouth against her collarbone, “I only want your happiness.”
She unbuttoned her blouse, inviting him in. “You are my happiness. You and Lilith. I cannot imagine my life without either one of you. The words sound odd even to my own ears, but having a child again has changed me. I want you both around me always.”
He pulled back, an unexpected look in his eyes. “Are you implying… No, never mind.” He laughed like he’d made a mistake. “My emotions make me foolish.”
She cupped his face in her hands, keeping his gaze on her. “Am I what? Say it.”
He tried to turn away.
“Say it,” she commanded again.
“Do you… love me?”
She held his gaze for a long moment. She cared for him deeply, but love? She loved Lilith. Did she also love Octavian? Yes, she did. He was her lover, but also her child, sired by her own hand. How could she not love him? “I do.”
He went utterly, completely still.
For a moment, she faltered. Had she misread his affections? Maybe he didn’t feel the same way she did after all. She took her hands from his face and pulled back, instantly assessing how she might retreat with her dignity intact. The first spiny tendrils of anger sprang to life in her belly. “I—”
“I am honored. And unworthy,” he breathed. He laughed, a great boisterous sound of joy. He hugged her tightly, picking her up and twirling her around the room.
“Put me down this instant!” But relief swept through her. She had not made a foolish decision after all.
At their noise, Lilith began to cry from her crib.
Tatiana slapped his chest. “Now look what you’ve done.”
Octavian kissed her firmly, then let her go. “She’s only crying because it took you so long to answer me.” He went to Lilith’s crib and cradled her in his arms before returning to Tatiana. “We make a handsome family, don’t you think?”