“I will go and resign. I have no memory of you being here because I’ve been alone all day thinking about this decision. Nothing will dissuade me.” Sklar’s pupils were blown wide, his gaze dreamy and lost.

Without breaking eye contact, Mal lifted his hand and pointed toward the door.

“Going,” Chrysabelle said, getting out of Sklar’s sight line in case the persuasion wore off before they got out. Having a face to remember would be a very bad thing, especially if that face was Chrysabelle’s.

“Brazil.” With that as his final word, Mal got up, still keeping his gaze fixed on Sklar. The room spun like Mal had been drinking, but he knew it was the drain on his power. Even Chrysabelle’s blood couldn’t fully restore him unless he took it from the vein, something he couldn’t do without killing her. Something he hadn’t done to anyone since he’d killed Fi.

He kept hold of the couch, working his way toward the door. He stumbled out of the room, his body somewhere between drunk and exhausted. With so little control left, the whine of the voices drilled through his brain. Blood hunger welled up in him so quickly he almost retched. He sagged against the wall in the hallway.

Chrysabelle waited there. Heart beating seductively, her scent wrapping him, inviting him…Bite her. Blood. Now. She grabbed his arm, swung it over her shoulders, and started hauling him toward the door. Neither of them said a word, understanding that doing so might break the glamour holding Sklar still for the requisite ten minutes.

Mal leaned into her, her perfume like a drug, her glow like a beacon. He wanted her so bad his bones ached. He buried his nose in her hair and inhaled. Blood blood blood. The swarming, crying, cajoling mess in his head got louder. The fight to maintain control got harder.

A few steps later, they hit the front door and got out. He staggered, almost falling. Chrysabelle hoisted him up, maneuvering him down the stairs and out the gate. He inhaled her scent again. “You smell like summer. And blood.” He groaned at the way his body tightened with need just at the speaking of the word.

She laughed softly. “You sound a little wasted. Pretty drained after using all that power, huh?”

“Mmm-hmm. Let’s go back to the hotel room and be alone.”

Beneath her signum, a faint pink colored her cheeks. “Save your energy and stop talking.”

“I need to feed,” he muttered into her hair. Then bite.

“I know. That’s why we tucked a bottle of blood in your inside pocket before we left, remember?”

He patted the outside of his coat, finding the hidden bottle. He reached for it, but she grabbed his hand.

“Not now. In the car. Drinking blood on the street is a great way to out yourself as a vampire. We’re almost there.”

A minute later, she shoved him through the passenger door. He slumped back into the seat, feeling the daysleep coma dragging him down. He wanted to give in to it, but they had so much left to do. Blood, the voices screamed. Reminded, he reached into his coat and pulled out the water bottle she’d filled for him. With enormous effort, he unscrewed the cap and drank it down. The blood was only slightly warm and already starting to clot, but it tasted like mother’s milk to him.

Chrysabelle got in and shut the door. “Mission accomplished. Now to find a replacement.”

“Is he dead?” Mortalis asked.

“No, I told you no killing. He’s going to resign.”

“You actually got him to resign. How the hell did you get Sklar to do that? What reassurance do you have that he’ll actually do it?” Mortalis whipped around in his seat, twisting to see Mal behind him. The look in his eyes said he knew but didn’t believe it.

Mal raised his bottle of blood in salute, his energy already returning. “Might be better if we don’t answer those questions.”

The muscles in Mortalis’s cheeks twitched and several long seconds ticked by. “What you did is not supposed to be possible.”

“You’re assuming you know what he did,” Chrysabelle said.

“Don’t patronize me,” Mortalis spat. “I’ve known Sklar for years. He’s not about to up and resign. Not him. He knows the consequences.”

Mal drained the last of the blood. “He’s going to resign now.”

Mortalis cursed in a language Mal didn’t understand and sagged into the driver’s seat. He stayed silent for about half a minute. “Have you ever persuaded me?”

“No,” Mal answered. “I haven’t.”

“But you would, wouldn’t you?”

“If it meant protecting Chrysabelle? Hell yes. Without thinking about it.”

Mortalis shook his head. “You know if this ever comes out, the elektos will put a price on your head.”

Mal tossed the empty bottle into the back. “Then make sure it doesn’t come out.”

“Great, sounds like a deal,” Chrysabelle said. “Now, if you two are done, can we get on to finding a replacement?”

Mortalis glanced at them in the rearview mirror. “Read me the address. The sooner we get out of here, the better our chances are of actually getting out.”

Chapter Thirty

Fists clenched, Aliza screamed again. Her frustration with the shifter made her want to kill him even more. He’d drunk so much, he was a useless lump on the floor, but even if she could get him up, that damn ghost girl had locked him into the wine cellar. Aliza refused to let him out of the spell, though. The minute he came to, the second that door was unlocked, she’d shove every ounce of power she could muster into the spell and force him to come to her. Samhain was on its way. If she had to wait for the boost of power midnight would bring, so be it. Doc would be dead before the sun rose.