Bad Blood

Doc’s vision went blue. Flame blue. With a roar like a house on fire, he exploded into burning rage. Flickering blue light washed the alley. Sinjin’s eyes rounded and he tried to let go of Doc, but it was too late. All Doc knew was that keeping Fi safe meant taking Sinjin out. The fire consumed Sinjin, swallowing him in a flood of searing flame. He howled in pain and anger, finally stumbling free to bat at himself. He collapsed a moment later, a charred version of the powerful varcolai he’d been just a few short minutes ago.

Doc’s chest heaved as the fire dancing over him snuffed out. An odd silence took over the alley. He turned slowly as he realized that his secret was not a secret anymore.

Mortalis had stayed at the mouth of the alley, one arm wrapped around Fi’s shoulders. Doc had no idea how the fae was keeping her from freaking out, but he was grateful. Creek shook his head. “You said you were okay.”

He shrugged, too spent to give energy to excuses. “I lied.”

The varcolai cop stepped forward. Doc couldn’t recall the pride member’s name. Fear and disbelief etched lines around his eyes. Eyes that held the same green-gold glow Doc’s did. He pointed a finger at Doc. “The pride leader challenged you and you killed him.”

Doc shook his head. Hell no, this was not the right time for that business. “It means nothing. What I did was done in self-defense. Let it go.”

The cop jutted his chin forward. “Can’t. Pride law. Makes you the new pride leader.”

Double hell to the no. “I decline. Find someone else.”

Fi finally broke away from Mortalis and ran to Doc’s side, her hands all over him, checking him for injuries. “Are you okay? Are you hurt?”

The cop brought his gun up and aimed it at Fi. “Miss, you need to keep your hands to yourself and step away from the pride leader.”

She slanted her eyes at him. “Look, five-oh, I don’t know who you think you are or who you think my fiancé is, but I’ll put my hands on him anytime I want to.”

“Yeah,” Doc said. “It’s cool. She’s with me.”

The cop shook his head and kept the gun raised. “Your wife’s going to have something to say about that.”

Fi and Doc turned at the same time. “Wife?” they said in unison. Doc held his hands up. “Look, I know pride law says the new pride leader takes all spoils, but Sinjin wasn’t married.”

“Yes, he was,” the cop answered. “As of two months ago. And as of five minutes ago, so are you.”

Chapter Forty-one

Chrysabelle opened her eyes and blinked, already wincing in anticipation of the pain in her back. But it was oddly absent. Maybe because she was so still. She lifted her head slowly, waiting with every inch for the sharp sear that would cause her to cry out or fold back against the bed.

It never came. Not even when she grabbed the side of the mattress and pulled herself to the edge of the bed. Her back was achy and tight and just this side of hot, but somehow not awash in the pain she’d experienced after every visit to the signumist.

She lay flat again and reached behind her to feel what she could of her back. The skin was very warm and almost hard. That was nothing unusual. The signum took days to soften beneath the skin. But what was strange was the lack of scabbing. The raised welts caused by the signum weren’t there. Her skin was as flat and smooth as though nothing had been done.

A panicked shock ran through her. The trip to the signumist hadn’t been a dream, had it? Turning her face to the other side, she glimpsed the small red pouch on her nightstand. No, not a dream. That had to have come from Atticus.

Dawn’s pale light glowed beneath the edges of the drapes, giving her enough light to realize that she was alone. Mal must have succumbed to daysleep by now, which was good. He needed it. Maybe Velimai was sleeping, too. Knowing the wysper, she was probably making coffee or polishing Chrysabelle’s sacres. Either way, there might not be a better opportunity to do what she had to.

Chrysabelle eased from beneath the covers, giving her head time to adjust to being upright again. Even as she straightened carefully, she felt no pain. There should be. The lack of it caused a prickly feeling in the back of her brain, but she ignored it. She had work ahead of her. Hard work.

Nude except for a pair of white boy shorts, she slipped into the satin robe laid out for her on a nearby chair, tucked the red pouch into the pocket, then quietly locked the door. She could not be disturbed.

Once inside the bathroom, she locked that door, too, then cranked on the shower and let it run. Neither Mal nor Velimai would believe she was taking a shower this early in her recovery, but it would buy her a little time, and a little time was all she needed.

The robe wasn’t the proper ceremonial dress, but that didn’t matter. This would be her last trip to the Aurelian. Her final act as a comarré.

She twisted her hair up with a pair of gold and diamond sticks that had been Maris’s, then kneeled on the white marble floor. The robe spilled over her knees, the fabric not nearly as fine as the gown she should be wearing. She pushed the satin off her shoulders to bare her new signum.

She took the red leather pouch from her pocket and opened it, peering inside. She smiled. Atticus had been as thoughtful as she’d suspected he would be. She withdrew the scrap of paper that held the portal signum. He’d known she’d need them for what she was about to do. Resting the pouch across her lap, she closed her eyes, bowed her head, and chanted softly the calming mantra known to all comarré. There wasn’t enough time to prepare the way she would have liked, but it would be enough. She hoped.