Flesh and Blood

He snorted softly. ‘Didn’t your mother teach you it’s not polite to ask an ex-con his crime?’

‘She didn’t really get a chance to teach me much. She was murdered.’

He briefly raised a brow before his face returned to passive stoniness. ‘My father, too.’

She nodded, knowing that pain and wondering what had happened. They were more alike than she would have imagined. ‘Did they catch who did it?’

The muscles in his jaw worked. ‘Yes. What about your mother?’

‘The person who murdered her is still out there.’ She took a breath, feeling a new strength well up inside. ‘But I’m going to take care of it.’

He stopped walking. ‘If you’re going to take justice into your own hands, you need to see your opponents better.’

She faced him, surprised he wasn’t lecturing her about becoming a vigilante. ‘I did fine back there.’

‘You got cut.’ Taking a step closer, he lifted his hand toward her arm, then dropped back. He didn’t come closer. ‘You could do better.’

She didn’t move away. ‘Better how?’

‘You watch too closely. This’ – he made a V with his fingers, pointing them at his eyes then at hers – ‘is fine for one-on-one, but with a crowd, you gotta learn the infinite stare.’

‘And that would be?’

‘Instead of watching your opponent, stare through them. Focus on your peripheral vision, let that do the seeing for you. With practice, it will become second nature. You’ll notice every move.’

‘Hard to practice when I don’t have a sparring partner.’

His mouth twitched. Almost like a smile. ‘Are you asking?’

Was she? Her heart beat a little faster. Asking him seemed risky for reasons that had nothing to do with his past.

He held his hands up. ‘It’s cool, don’t worry about it.’ He pointed across the street. ‘Club’s two blocks that way, so your car must be close.’ He gave her a little nod and took off running, leaving her behind before she had a chance to say anything else.

Chapter Seven

Creek killed the engine on his customized Harley-Davidson V-Rod, walked it through the cargo door of the old machine shop, and notched the kickstand into place. The bike was a sweet machine, but also a constant reminder of the deal he’d struck. Probably just what the Kubai Mata had intended.

He slid the door shut and secured it before grabbing a beer from the fridge and heading up to the loft he’d converted into a bedroom. Not the most luxurious place he’d ever lived, but better than a prison cell.

He climbed the steps in twos, his feet drumming softly on the metal stairs as he thought about the comarré. He couldn’t blame her for refusing his offer to spar. If he’d told her he was KM, would she have accepted it? Would she have even believed him? The Kubai Mata were not supposed to exist. Not according to her education. Not according to the education of many. Had to be that way, though. Couldn’t give the vampire nation any idea what was about to rise up against them.

Her refusal hadn’t stopped him from tailing her to the gates of Mephisto Island. Her driver was careless and made the task easy. Creek had driven past the gates, given Chrysabelle time to get through, then circled around and entered without too much problem. The guard was some kind of remnant and easily susceptible to the bribe Creek had offered. For a few more bills, he’d learned her house number.

Scaling the estate’s walls had posed no real obstacle, and after watching the house for an hour or so, he’d gone home. Her security needed tweaking, although he could sense there were wards of some kind protecting the home. He’d come up with some ideas to tighten things and present them to her soon.

Soon as in right after he found a way to run into her again and explain who he really was. Something he was still figuring out himself. The Kubai Mata were a shadowy group; even the information he’d been given had been very need-to-know. And apparently he didn’t need to know much. They’d commuted his sentence to time served and promised it would stay that way as long as he did their bidding, but that’s not why he played along. They’d provided his sister, Una, with a full ride to the college of her choice and a monthly stipend for her, his mother, and his grandmother. The women in his life were everything to him. For them, he would do whatever the KM wanted and not worry that the KM were part Freemason, part Templar, part Cosa Nostra, only more dangerous and in charge of some crazy power. Still, Chrysabelle had nothing to fear from him. The KM might make the Illuminati look like the Boy Scouts, but othernaturals and the humans who served them were the only ones who had anything to worry about.

He climbed out the only window that wasn’t boarded up to sit on the fire-escape steps overlooking the back alley. Few humans lived in this part of Paradise City by choice anymore. It was a vampire/remnant ghetto now, as full of fringe and fae as it was rats. Nothing like it had been when he’d grown up here. He couldn’t imagine a better neighborhood to set up shop in. His sector chief, Argent, should approve whenever he decided to drop in for a visit.

When he did, he’d find that in the two days Creek had been here, he’d already located a well-established vampire club, sussed out its exits and entrances, started cataloging the regulars, and found the comarré. Not bad for a couple days’ work.

He took a long draw off the bottle and wished for a nice Cuban. Vampires picked up the smoke too easy, though, and he’d had to give them up for the most part.