Blood Rights

She opened the door a slit and peeked into the hall, gripping the dagger close to her side. A servant disappeared down the corridor. She ducked out. Time to move. She couldn’t expect to remain undetected forever. At some point, someone would realize she was no longer tied to that chair and an alarm would be raised.

The hall split north and south. The stench grew stronger to the north so she went that way. Assuming Tatiana killed in her quarters was taking a leap of faith, but Maris had nothing else to go on. Step by arduous step, she closed on Tatiana, praying it wasn’t much farther. The beatings had left her bruised and weary, her hip a knot of pain.

An interior door opened and closed. Frantic to find a hiding place, Maris tried the closest room, but it was locked. Snapping herself against the wall at the side of a large display cabinet, she readied herself to attack. The cutlass blade rested against her cheek, the hilt held snugly by her breast. From here, she could strike out and slice the throat of whoever came by. Maybe even decapitate them.

Footsteps approached. Soft. Sluggish. Weak. Not the stride of a vampire. At least, not Tatiana. Her steps were much more determined, full of arrogance and carelessness.

Maris held her weapons, waiting to see … the air changed, the mustiness tempered with a sweeter scent. More like home.

A comar stumbled past. She couldn’t see his face, but one hand clenched his opposite wrist. Blood stained his gilded fingers. The wound would heal, but his wobbly gait indicated the blood loss had been great. Her heart went out to him for a thousand different reasons, but she had work to do and little time to accomplish it.

Bittersweet emotion filled her. She now knew where Tatiana was, and that Tatiana had just fed. She would be strong. Hard to defeat. But Tatiana’s careless use of her comar stirred Maris. The vampire needed to die. She was a blight on her own kind.

Maris swallowed down her fear. She’d lived long enough anyway. When the comar was safely past, she stepped out into the hall and walked as boldly toward the way he’d come as her bad leg would let her. That boldness didn’t mean she’d willfully throw away the element of surprise however.

She pressed her ear to a flat spot on one of the carved double doors he’d likely exited from. A distant conversation reached her ears, too muted to understand. Sounded like it came from far inside the room. Beyond the room, maybe. She eased the door open and listened again. Definitely another room. Satisfied the first room was empty, she slipped in and closed the door quietly.

A small salon, well furnished but ill smelling. Another set of double doors. She listened at those and heard more clearly the conversation that had eluded her.

‘… after the ring is on your finger’ – a deeply scarred male voice rasped. Maris winced. The voice grated like teeth scraping bone – ‘you will drain your sacrifice to death.’

‘Yes, master,’ a female voice replied. Tatiana. ‘I only hope the elder comarré lives long enough to watch me do it.’

The horrid smell increased and the crack of a slap reverberated in reply. Then the harsh male voice spoke again. ‘Your only hope need be that what I ask of you is done.’

Holy mother. Her hand went to her mouth. The sudden recognition of whom that odor and voice belonged to sucked the strength out of Maris. Cold fear burrowed into her joints. The weapons in her hands became thousand-pound weights, her own body difficult to support. Her bad leg trembled like a sapling in a stiff breeze.

If Tatiana was willing to subjugate herself to those ancient evils, there was no limit to what she could do. And whatever this ring was, it was going to bring about something awful. The ring Tatiana believed Chrysabelle had.

Maris eased her way out of the room, desperate to put distance between herself and the monumental evil in the next room.

She scanned in both directions. All clear. But which way to go? She scoured her mind for the lessons drilled into her so many years ago. The fog of time lifted and the logical answer showed itself. Now to find a way into the bowels of the estate. She moved in the direction the comar had gone. Something made her think Tatiana had not reserved the best rooms for him.

Was he the comar Tatiana planned on using for a sacrifice? Herself? Chrysabelle? Holy mother, not Chrysabelle.

Maris shivered as she hurried down the empty corridor. This revelation changed everything. She had to stay alive long enough to warn Chrysabelle of Tatiana’s dangerous alliance. Maris had done too much and gone too far to allow that wicked blood-sucking autocrat to harm her niece. Tatiana had to be stopped. Permanently.

After that, Maris would find a way to die usefully. Like covered in the ashes of as many vampires as she could take with her.

‘So much for the Trojan horse idea.’ Mal shook his head as he stared into the car. A more loathsome display of innards he could not recall. Even the voices recoiled. It was as though the Nothos had somehow exploded. Fortunately, they were parked on the public road that ran through Corvinestri’s human cemetery. Not much chance of disturbing anyone here.

Dominic peered in beside him. ‘Mamma mia.’

‘I didn’t have a choice,’ Mortalis grumbled. ‘I’ve never tried to possess one for that long. Hell, until yesterday, I’d never possessed one at all.’ He scraped his hands along his arms, depositing big sticky clumps of Nothos remains onto the limo floor.

Doc stuck his head over the car door and wrinkled his nose. ‘That’s just nasty.’ He smirked at Dominic. ‘Glad I’m not paying that cleaning bill.’

Dominic smirked back. ‘As if you could.’