Flesh and Blood

He glanced at Mal. The vampire was practically salivating. His eyes were silver, his fangs visible as he watched open-mouthed. Who could blame him with that much blood? No wonder she’d been reluctant to do this in front of him. She probably worried his beast would break free and devour her. Creek exhaled hard. He’d die before he let that happen.

Circle completed, she bent forward, supporting herself on one hand. With the other, she continued with the pipette, this time writing inside the circle. Creek and Mal shuffled a few steps closer. She copied the runes from the paper into the circle, whispering the name of each one as she went.

After the last one, she set the pipette aside and stood, arms outstretched, palms up. The runes sketched in blood began to expand. Blood flowed from them and filled in the blank spaces within the circle until an almost solid pool of red shimmered before her. The blood expanded until the last empty spot was covered.

A flash of golden light gleamed across the surface. The blood rippled like water. Creek took that to mean the portal was open. Chrysabelle picked up her skirts and stepped forward.

Creek caught movement out of the corner of his eye. Mal shifted nervously. Like he meant to go with her. Creek wasn’t willing to take that chance.

He lunged to grab Mal and hold him down. Chrysabelle’s foot touched the portal. Mal jumped forward out of Creek’s way, his hand snagging the trailing sleeve of her gown. Creek snatched the back of Mal’s jacket. Blinding light surrounded them, then plunged them into darkness. A stone wall slammed into Creek and new lights danced in front of his eyes. He shook himself.

Correction. Not a wall. A floor. Mal was a few feet away. Slightly ahead of them stood Chrysabelle, head bowed. Books and scrolls covered the shelves lining the walls. He followed the volumes around until he saw a woman unlike any he’d ever seen before.

Seated at a massive table, its edges overflowing with more scrolls, charts, and star maps, was a tall, slender Persian. The kind of woman who might devour her mate. He wanted to look away, but her coal-black eyes held an age and wisdom that bored into his core and mesmerized him. His body felt screwed to the floor. His joints ached and he knew somehow that she controlled him.

The Aurelian.

Her mouth twisted cruelly as she glowered at him, then at the vampire. She rose, hefted a sword few mortal men would have been able to lift, and pointed it at Chrysabelle. ‘You have violated the rules of my sanctuary.’

‘What? No, my lady.’ Chrysabelle shook her head. ‘I did everything as I was instructed.’

‘You brought a mortal and a vampire into my presence.’ The Aurelian’s voice shook the intricately carved walls and rattled the candelabras lighting the enormous room.

Chrysabelle spun to look behind her. Horror marred her expression. ‘You fools,’ she breathed. ‘What have you done?’

Mal answered. ‘It was an accident. Creek’s fault. He grabbed hold of me at the last minute.’

‘Idiots,’ she hissed. ‘Both of you. Do you think this is a game? This is my life.’ Her hands fisted as she closed her eyes and inhaled. When her eyes opened, they held as much anger as the woman hefting the sword.

The Aurelian strode to the front of the table, sword still pointed at Chrysabelle. ‘None but comarré are allowed here. This trespass must be dealt with.’

Chrysabelle nodded and turned away from them to face the woman. ‘Yes, my lady, of course. My deepest apologies. I instructed them not to follow me through.’

The woman lowered the sword a fraction. ‘Then you know them?’

‘Yes, I know them, but I told them not—’

‘They were present during the ritual?’ Fresh sparks glinted in the Aurelian’s eyes.

Chrysabelle dropped her chin, her hands tightening until her knuckles went white. ‘Yes.’

The Aurelian walked toward Mal. ‘The penance for this act is death.’

Tatiana motioned for Octavian. He joined her behind a clump of bushes in the side yard of the comarré’s home. ‘Anything?’

‘No. That side of the house is dark top and bottom. What about here?’

She pointed toward the kitchen windows. ‘The wysper. Disgusting creature.’

‘Any sign of the girl?’

‘No. If Malkolm or that kine is harboring her, it’s going to take longer to track her down. Fortunately, with the scrap of fabric I took from the comarré, the Nothos will find her.’

He tipped his head toward the back of the property. ‘What about the yacht? There are lights on there.’

She turned to look. So there were. She’d been so fixated on the wysper she hadn’t noticed. Suddenly the lights within the boat flared brightly. Like a flash going off. ‘Come. Let’s see what that’s about. Unless someone calls that vessel home, we should be able to get in without a problem.’

They kept to the property line until they were at the water’s edge, then they snuck across to the dock. She glanced back toward the house. Nothing had changed. She listened for signs of life on the boat. No heartbeat. That meant no comarré or kine were present on the yacht. She sniffed the air. The scent of comarré blood made her mouth water, but past that she picked up the subtle spice of vampire and the earthy sweet smell of a kine but with a lingering sourness.

The scent of the Mohawked kine who’d hidden his heartbeat at the witch’s. He and Malkolm could be on the boat, but there was no comarré. So what had caused that flash? Had Malkolm done something to the girl? If he’d killed her to get the ring for himself, Tatiana would kill him for it in turn.