Out for Blood hoc-4 Page 8

  “I do.” Tatiana nodded. “Handsome and powerful.” Recognizing him as her consort would give Octavian the most protection she could offer. If anyone harmed him, she’d be able to come after them with no questions asked.

  Let the Dominus and their Elders come. She was ready.

  Yahla sprawled across Creek’s chest, her rhythmic breathing warming his skin. His right arm curved around her body, his hand splayed on the small of her back, the feathers of her hair soft on his shoulder. His other hand held the charm his grandmother had made. Without it, he’d be dead by now.

  He touched the charm to his lips, kissing it and saying a silent thank-you to Mawmaw. Was it wrong to thank your grandmother for making the best sex of your life possible? He stifled a laugh so as not to wake Yahla.

  She inhaled a sleepy breath and stretched, stiffening for a moment against him, then melting back down until their curves rejoined. “You are awake?”

  “Yes. I slept a little.”

  “Did you dream?”

  He nodded. “Of you.”

  She lifted her head and smiled. “Did you do to me in your dreams what you did to me in your bed?”

  “You’re a wicked woman, you know that?”

  She turned onto her back so that her head rested on his shoulder. “I am whatever you need me to be, Thomas.” Her fingers drew small circles on his thigh. “Wicked. Willing. Wanton.”

  “Yeah, well, maybe I did.” It had been a long damn time since he’d had a night like last night. One that had left him limp and drained of every ounce of built-up need. The only need he had now was Yahla. He wanted her beside him all the time.

  “What else do you desire?”

  “A simple, peaceful life.” It was true. He’d had enough trouble these last years to never want another problem again. But that wasn’t going to be the way of it as a Kubai Mata.

  “You’re thinking of them, aren’t you?”

  “Them?” He knew who she meant, just didn’t want to talk about it.

  “Don’t pretend with me. The Kubai Mata. Your masters.”

  “Don’t call them that.”

  She shifted to look at him. The wildness had returned to her eyes. “Why, when that is what they are?”

  He pushed up to his elbows. “I’m done discussing this. You know I can’t do anything about it.”

  Her smile returned, this time bent and odd. “But I can. And I will.”

  He shook his head. “Enough. There’s nothing to discuss.”

  The scrape of the metal door being rolled back sounded from downstairs. Creek leaped from the bed and put a finger to his lips for Yahla to keep quiet. He’d locked the door. How had someone picked it without him hearing? He tugged on his jeans and grabbed his crossbow.

  No footsteps. Whoever was downstairs was either really quiet or hadn’t come inside. He notched a bolt into the bow and went to the edge of the loft. “Don’t move or you’re dead.”

  Argent’s green eyes stared back at him. “I doubt that very much.”

  Creek dropped the bow. “Sector Chief. I didn’t realize it was you.”

  “Obviously.” The dragon-shifter turned his attention to Creek’s V-Rod, running his fingertips over the gas tank before glancing up again. “If you’re waiting for me to come up there, you’ll be waiting a long time.”

  “Yes, sir. Be right down.” He dropped the crossbow onto the bed so he could yank on a T-shirt. Yahla looked less than pleased to be left alone. He held up a finger to say he’d just be a minute. Argent probably just wanted an update. Which wouldn’t take long since there was nothing to tell. Shirt on, he bent, planted a kiss on her calf, and jogged down the steps. “So, what brings you by?” Unexpectedly. His favorite way to be visited.

  “Have you spoken to the comarré about recovering the child yet?”

  “Yes. She’s not exactly interested in taking that job.”

  Argent didn’t seem fazed by the news. Instead, he crouched to examine the bike more closely. “Speak to her again. If she still refuses, kill the anathema. That will persuade her.”

  Creek ran a hand over his Mohawk. “I don’t think killing him will have the effect you think it will. Might be better if you gave me more info about the baby. Something to help convince her the child is worth saving.”

  Argent blinked the inner eyelids of his half-form. “Need I remind you the comarré still owes us the ring of sorrows? I will not bargain with her. She will do as the KM commands.”

  “About that.” Creek planted his hands on the counter behind him and prepared for the worst. “She wants you to know she melted the ring down and used the gold to replace some lost signum. As in she had the gold stitched into her skin.”

  Argent jerked like he’d been struck by lightning. Creek had never seen him react that way before. Then the dragon-shifter shot to his feet. “That stupid woman. The KM cannot allow one person to have that much power. Such a deliberate act can only be construed as aggressive and must be—”

  “She only did it because she needed the signum replaced. She’s not trying to take over the world, so just relax.”

  Quicker than Creek could track, Argent backhanded him, cracking his jaw and snapping his head back. “Know your place, tribe.”

  A second later, Yahla dropped down from the loft, landing right behind Argent. Stark naked. Her eyes were the same nonreflective black they’d been earlier. Creek forgot the pain in his face. Call it a hunch, but his gut said things were headed south. She tipped her head at Argent, studying him like a bug on a leaf. “You will not touch him again. Nor will you tell him what to do anymore.”

  Argent bristled, but after a quick glance, he ignored her. “Who is this? A whore? If you have needs, fine, but see to them outside your home.”

  Hatred twisted Yahla’s face. She opened her mouth much wider than should have been possible and screeched her displeasure. Raven-shaped shadows danced around her. “He is not yours to control any longer.”

  Turning, Argent shifted to his half-form, causing bone-spiked wingtips to burst from his shoulders and talons to erupt from his fingers. Creek moved slowly, positioning himself so that he could keep eyes on both of them. Splotches of scales covered Argent’s visible skin, and his slit pupils took on a predatory gleam as bright as Yahla’s were dull. “You’re not human.”

  “You do not scare me.” Her head moved in short, jerky increments. “Nothing scares me.”

  “No?” Argent inhaled as he curved his body upward, then thrust back, expelling a stream of fire.

  “No!” Creek yelled, but he was too late.

  The fire engulfed Yahla, and she disappeared in a hiss of flame, leaving a pile of charred feathers behind. Creek stared, unable to take in what had just happened.

  Argent regained his human form, smoothing his suit jacket like nothing unusual had just happened. He put his back to her remains. “You have wretched taste in women. There will be no more of that, understood? Now clean that up and get back to work. I want the comarré on a plane to Corvinestri tonight.”

  “How can you just kill a woman like that?”

  Argent gave him a strange look. “She wasn’t human.”

  “And that’s an excuse?”

  His brows furrowed. “This conversation is over.”

  Catching a small movement, Creek stayed put, his hip anchored to the countertop. He pointed behind Argent. “You might want to turn around.”

  The burned feathers lifted into a small tornado, exploding into a swirling, cawing mass of ravens. A few seconds later, Yahla walked out of the midst of them, a few feathers drifting to the floor. Her eyes were dull, black pits. No white. No reflection. Just bottomless holes. She walked toward Argent, spreading her arms like she might take flight. Then she opened her mouth in the same unnaturally wide way she had before.

  This time, she inhaled.

  A strange shimmery substance floated off Argent and disappeared down her gullet. He seemed frozen as the color left his scales, his hair, his eyes, until he was as was
hed out as an old photo left in the sun. Yahla closed her mouth and swallowed.

  Argent collapsed to the floor.

  She stepped over him on her way to Creek. “Now you are free of him.”

  Creek pushed away from the counter to crouch beside the sector chief’s lifeless form. He felt the man’s neck. No pulse. “You killed him.”

  “I took his soul. He no longer deserved it.”

  “Undo it.” Cold panic gnawed at Creek’s belly. The same feeling he’d had when his sentence had been read. “Now.”

  “I cannot. Nor would I.”

  Sweat stuck Creek’s shirt to his back. “Holy hell. You can’t just kill people. Especially not a Kubai Mata sector chief.”

  She stood very close, forcing him to look at her. “You are afraid I have done something bad.”

  “You have done something bad. Something that’s going to make you an enemy of the KM. Something that could send me back to prison.” His gut rolled over at the thought of being charged with another murder. He would not go back to prison. “How do you think I’m going to explain this? You think the KM isn’t going to check up on him when he doesn’t report back?”

  She leaned over and cupped his face in her hands. The gravity of the situation seemed to fade. She forced him to keep eye contact with her. “I said I would protect you, did I not?”

  Those black, murky depths were impossible to look away from. A sense of calm washed through him. His muscles unclenched and he stood, stepping over Argent to get closer to her. “Yes, that’s what you said.”

  She smiled, cocking her head abruptly to one side. “Now you must trust me.”

  His hands found her hips while his mind forgot the dead shifter on his floor. “I do.” It seemed he always had.

  “Good,” she whispered, leaning into him. “I will tell you what we are going to do next.”

  And with each word she spoke, his fears drifted away, replaced with little pieces of her will, until Creek no longer understood where she began and he ended.

  Chapter Eleven

  Lola looked at her watch. Three hours until sundown. All day she’d waited, frustrated by Preacher’s refusal to turn her into a vampire. She didn’t expect him to understand how becoming a vampire would show the human citizens of Paradise City that there was nothing to fear from their othernatural neighbors. Or how being turned would help her demonstrate to the othernatural citizens that she understood their position. Or how both sides would see she was willing to sacrifice for the sake of the city.

  But of all people, he should understand how difficult it was going to be for her to fight the creatures who’d kidnapped her grandchild if she didn’t have at least some degree of the ancients’ power. Instead he’d insisted she let him handle things. How could he not understand that if he’d turned her, they could handle things together? She was siding with him, after all, and there was strength in numbers.

  A quick knock on the half-open door and Valerie stuck her head into the office. “Madam Mayor?”

  Lola set her paperwork aside. “Yes?”

  Valerie came in and handed her a slim manila envelope. “Here’s the report you’ve been waiting for. If you don’t need anything else, I’m headed home for the day.”

  Lola took the report, eager to read it. “No, that’s all. Have a good night.”

  “Thank you, you too.” Valerie hesitated. John’s large form hovered in the open doorway. “Would you mind if John drove me home? I know he’s supposed to be here with you, but—”

  “No, it’s fine.” Valerie usually rode a scooter. “Everything all right?”

  She shrugged one shoulder. “Guy in the apartment next to mine has been acting a little hinky since Halloween night. He looks at me like he wants to eat me. Just thought if John walked me up, made a little show of being there…”

  Lola nodded. “Sure, no problem.” She looked past Valerie to where John stood behind her. “Stay as long as you think necessary.”

  He nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”

  Lola bent her head slightly until the door shut, smiling to herself. Valerie’s neighbor might be acting odd, but there was something going on between Valerie and John that was more than just friendship. She’d seen the way they’d been sneaking looks at one another, the way Valerie touched her hair when John was near, the way John’s gruffness seemed to melt away in Valerie’s presence. Lola sighed and turned her chair to gaze out the office windows, hugging the envelope to her chest. It was nice that someone could find happiness amid all this chaos.

  She wasn’t sure it was an emotion she’d ever truly feel again. Not with her daughter dead and her grandchild missing. Which brought her back to the report. She slit open the envelope, pulled out the single sheet of paper, and skimmed the information for the address she needed.

  She read it twice before setting it aside. What a strange place to live. But strange probably didn’t matter as much as safe did. How safe it would be for her, she wasn’t sure. She’d find out as soon as the sun went down.

  Her gaze shifted to the windows again. She walked over to them. The setting sun burnished away the ugly bits of the city and gilded the landscape until she could squint and see glimpses of the beauty it had once been. Beyond the buildings, the sea sparkled, throwing back the sun’s light in diamond shards.

  She planted her hands on the glass, attempting to remember every color and nuance of this moment. The heat of the day seeped into her skin. She tried to imbed the experience into her memory.

  She’d always loved the moments before twilight, the way the setting sun brought a last brilliant burst of color to the world before night shrouded everything in shades of gray. She crossed herself and said a quick prayer that God would forgive her for reaching so far beyond her place in life and to protect her in the path she was about to travel.

  The sun slipped out of sight. Part of her wanted to weep for what she was about to lose. “Balance,” she whispered. “Balance and sacrifice.” What did it matter if she never saw another sunset again? She’d have her city, but more important, she’d have her granddaughter. Mariela would be enough.

  “I can’t believe it.” Chrysabelle leaned her head onto her hand, her elbow propped on the kitchen table.

  It’s true, Velimai signed. I saw the blood on you myself when Mal brought you in. He told me everything. He watched a shifter at Bar Nine slice your neck open after you stabbed him, then he carried you up to Doc’s office where you came back to life and then passed out right after.

  “Why can’t I remember any of this? I remember going to the club, but that’s it.” She jerked her head up and pounded her fist on the table. “It’s the Aurelian all over again.”

  Velimai got up to start the dinner dishes.

  “You shouldn’t have let me sleep all day. I need to be out there, looking for Damian and this runaway vampire.”

  Velimai shot her a look that said the decision to let Chrysabelle sleep had been in her best interests.

  “Well, you shouldn’t have.” Chrysabelle ran a finger through the condensation on her water glass. “Does Doc even know that vampiress might be after him?”

  Velimai shrugged.

  “You’re a lot of help.” She stood and threw her napkin onto the table.

  The wysper turned from the sink, soap bubbles dripping off her fingers. Tension creasing her face, she flung the suds off and signed, Don’t take your anger out on me. Deal with what’s going on instead of ignoring it, and you might get some answers.

  “Deal with it? How? Acknowledging I’ve got some kind of power that resurrects me isn’t going to help me understand it.”

  Find someone to talk to. Someone who can explain what power the ring had.

  “You have any suggestions as to who this magical person might be?”

  Velimai was wavering between solid and vapor form now, a sign of her upset. Chrysabelle didn’t care. She was afraid of what was happening to her, and that fear made her want to lash out, no matter who she hurt.

 
Talk to Mortalis. With that, the fae stalked out of the room, leaving the dishes, and Chrysabelle, behind.

  “What’s he going to tell me that I don’t already know?” Chrysabelle plopped back down into her chair. She huffed out a few breaths, a little of her anger going with them. She shook her head, disappointed in herself. Velimai didn’t deserve her harsh words or crankiness.

  She marched up to Velimai’s quarters and knocked lightly. “Vel, I’m sorry. Open the door so I can apologize.”

  The wysper opened the door and crossed her arms, waiting expectantly with one brow lifted.

  “I’m sorry I snapped.” Chrysabelle sighed. “Truth is, I’m scared. Scared of what’s going on with me, scared I’m not going to find my brother, scared of trying to become something more than comarré even though it feels like learning to walk on legs that don’t belong to me. I’m… well, in Fi’s words, freaking out a little. But you don’t deserve to take the brunt of that. Forgive me?”

  Velimai smiled gently and nodded. Apology accepted. And I’m serious about talking to Mortalis. He’s very well connected. I’m sure he can find someone to explain the ring’s powers to you and how having that gold in your skin is affecting you.

  “Okay, I will. I’m going to visit Mal, but first I’ll swing by Seven and see if I can get a few words with Mortalis.” She hesitated. “I know I’ve never come right out and said this, but I really appreciate that you stayed on after my mother died. You’re like family to me and I don’t know what I’d do without you. I guess what I’m trying to say is that I love you.”

  Velimai’s smile got bigger and she swiped at her eyes. That gold in your skin really is changing you. She winked. Now get. I have dishes to do.

  Chrysabelle started toward her rooms to gather a few things before heading out, then stopped. “Why didn’t Mal and Fi just stay here last night? It had to have been close to sunup.”

  Velimai pursed her lips. I told them to stay, but he refused. Said the last time he’d been here when you’d woken up, things hadn’t gone well and if you still wanted to apologize to him, you knew where to find him.