Flesh and Blood

‘Mmm,’ he hummed against her skin. ‘And give him a chance to tell me how I should be doing things? Laa, my darling, I’ve kept you for myself.’

‘Good.’ In that much, Lord Ivan’s assessment had been correct. Her metal fingers stroked Zafir’s chest, drawing circles over his unbeating heart. ‘There’s something you should know about me.’

‘What’s that?’ His hands strayed to her rib cage.

She straightened. ‘No one controls me.’ She’d had no control of her life as a mortal and had fought too hard to wrest control of her vampire life to have it taken from her now, no matter how small a thing it might be.

His face stayed buried against her neck, his mouth hungry on her skin. ‘Of course not, my precious.’

‘Remove the controls you built in.’

He laughed. ‘You think I’m a fool? To give you such power freely? No.’

She threaded her fingers into his hair and jerked his head back to look him in the face. ‘Bad decision.’ Her metal fingers stilled, pressing against his chest. She whispered, ‘Sword.’

Zafir’s eyes shot wide as the blade pierced him. He jerked once, then disintegrated into a small heap of ash.

Tatiana turned the sword back into a hand and shook her head at the sooty pile on the laboratory floor. ‘Let’s hope your brother’s not as stupid.’ She liked intelligence in her male companions, but not so much that their ambitions ran roughshod over hers. She needed devotion, not competition.

She tipped over a few Bunsen burners, staying long enough to be certain the blaze would devour all traces of her actions. Vampire law stated that killing another noble was an unforgivable crime. She’d come to believe the only real crime was getting caught.

She slipped out the door and pulled up the hood of her cloak, staying in the shadows of the small overhang. This part of Corvinestri was deserted as far as she could see down the cobblestone streets. Zafir was not a wealthy, high-ranking member of the St. Germain family, and his neighborhood reflected that, something that suited her purposes rather well.

Ensconced in a dark alley, she waited a little while longer until tongues of flames licked the windows. Lights came on in the house next door. Perhaps the stone wall adjoining the two buildings had already grown hot. From her hiding place, she scattered into a cloud of black wasps and resettled herself with great dramatic flair on Zafir’s doorstep.

She made a show of knocking. ‘Zafir? Zafir, are you home?’

After a moment of restless waiting, she banged on the door. ‘Zafir, you must get out!’

Neighbors began to trickle out of their homes.

Satisfied with the amount of witnesses, Tatiana tipped her head back and yelled, ‘Fire!’

‘I didn’t get anything. You?’ Mal leaned against the rusted railing of the old freighter. His gaze followed the silver ribbon of moonlight on the water, beyond the other abandoned freighters crowding the decaying port, past the expensive electric lights twinkling on the curve of shoreline where the wealthy mortals lived, and out into the great black sea. Four miles away floated artificial islands sewn with crops of wind generators. The low moan of the turbines hummed just beneath the ever-present drone of the voices in his head.

‘N-nothing,’ Doc answered, clearing his throat. His black-as-midnight skin wore the sweaty sheen of a creature struggling against his true nature. And losing. ‘Not a drop. The butcher on Hibiscus won’t sell to me anymore. Says there’s too many freaks running around and he doesn’t want to get a rep.’

‘Bloody hell.’ Mal’s body clenched with hunger. The voices amped up their whining. Feed, kill, drink. He glanced at the leopard shifter. Full moons were difficult on the cursed varcolai. Doc shouldn’t have gone for blood, but he’d wanted to run the streets, see if a good sweat could help him shake the powerful urges pulling at his body tonight. By the looks of him, the run had done him as little good as Mal had said it would.

‘Been two weeks,’ Doc said. He shifted restlessly, his hands trembling like a man fighting withdrawal.

‘Seems longer.’ Much longer, Mal thought, since he’d had human blood. Comarré blood. Should’ve drunk her dry when you had the chance. And now even pig’s blood was getting scarce.

‘You could drink what’s in the fridge.’

‘No.’ He couldn’t bring himself to drink the blood Chrysabelle had sent, but he couldn’t bring himself to dump it either.

‘Maybe time to see Dominic. Get some blood from his fake comarré. It’s gonna be spendy, but … ’ Doc shrugged, his eyes brassy green-gold, pupils wide open even in the bright moonlight.

‘Not yet.’ Mal was used to going without. Weakling. Dominic was a last resort. Very last. Too many strings. Too much money. Right now, Mal just needed to get Doc through the next few nights. Not being able to shift into his true form made Doc’s life hard, except on full-moon nights. Then it was hell.

Mal knew all about that. Hell was his permanent address. Especially since Chrysabelle had failed to fulfill her part of their deal. Lying, cheating blood whore. He ground his back teeth together, wishing he could crush the voices as easily.

He’d promised to help her rescue her kidnapped aunt, and she’d promised to get him to the comarré historian to find out how to remove his curse. Maybe in Chrysabelle’s mind, a dead aunt negated the deal. He couldn’t blame her for being upset, especially since Maris had revealed she was actually Chrysabelle’s mother, but Maris’s death wasn’t his fault. It wasn’t enough reason for Chrysabelle to shut him out.