Flesh and Blood

Dominic closed the door. ‘Well? What is so important that after all these years you come to me this way? Or have you finally realized that the blame for your curse rests elsewhere? Have you decided to come back to work? I can always use good help.’

Like that would ever happen. Doc unclenched his jaw and blew out the breath he’d been holding. ‘Someone’s killing off fringe vamps. A few streets away from Seven, there must be eight or nine piles of ash. I thought you should know, given that they’re your club’s bread and butter.’

Dominic’s brows lifted for a moment. ‘I appreciate the information. I will have someone investigate further. But that’s not what you really came to discuss, is it?’

‘No.’ Here went nothing. ‘I’m here for Fi’s sake.’

‘Malkolm’s ghost? I don’t understand.’

Doc explained what had been happening, ending with an abbreviated version of his trip to see Aliza. ‘There’s one thing she needs to bring her daughter back.’

Dominic swallowed a sip of wine. ‘My blood.’

Doc checked his surprise. ‘Yes, but how did you know that?’

‘Aliza’s been trying to get it for years.’ He swirled the wine in the glass. ‘If I haven’t given it to her, what makes you think I’m going to give it to you?’

For a moment, Doc was stunned, but he quickly remembered this was Dominic he was dealing with. The man did nothing unless he stood to gain. ‘We’re talking about restoring the lives of two women.’ Then Doc remembered something Chrysabelle had quoted from her mother’s journals. Some thing Maris had attributed to Dominic. ‘Sometimes love is worth the risk.’

Dominic’s eyes burned silver for a brief second, but that was all the acknowledgment he gave the words. ‘And sometimes it is not. I’m sorry for Fiona, but Aliza’s daughter is another story. Her greed got her where she is, the abuse of that which she purchased from me. Not what I sold her, but how it was used. She has reaped what she sowed.’ He wandered to a bookcase and leisurely perused the spines, his back to Doc. ‘Tell Chrysabelle to come in, would you?’

Just like that, the conversation was over. The flame of hope in Doc’s chest went out, replaced by a darker fire. One that blazed hotter. One that burned away the fine line between right and wrong.

One that didn’t care who it reduced to ashes.

Chapter Thirteen

Mal leaned his forehead against the wall of glass that made up the north side of Dominic’s ultramodern penthouse. Mortalis had already left to follow up with the driver and Chrysabelle had been talking to Dominic in the library since Doc came out looking like murder incarnate. Whatever he and Dominic had discussed, it hadn’t gone well.

From this height, the city beyond the bay seemed like a glittering jewel of tranquility. Precious electricity flowed into this part of town without interruption. Couldn’t have the inhabitants of Venetian Island being reminded what a dump the rest of Paradise City was. The condo buildings on this secluded haven were well maintained, no signs of vandalism or even the acid rain corrosion that marred most other areas. The streets had an abundance of trees. Mostly palms, but still. No wonder this small island employed their own harbor police to patrol the borders.

It reminded him of where Chrysabelle lived, of the luxury her mother had left for her, and, once again, of how great a delta existed between Chrysabelle’s world and his. And how little you deserve her.

He rapped his head softly on the glass, the lights beyond blurring, and stared at his reflection. ‘Why do you torture yourself thinking about a future with her?’ Because you’re a fool. ‘Once she helps you, she’ll be gone.’ Good, good, good. They would go back to their separate lives. Her in her castle. Him in his slowly sinking rust bucket.

He closed his eyes and shut out the scowl on his face. ‘She only sends you blood because that’s what a good comarré does for their patron. It’s an obligation.’ Blood, blood, blood. And since his curse meant he couldn’t drink from her veins anyway, why shouldn’t she keep her distance and send it to him? Why not drain her? Drain her, drain her. He rolled his forehead against the cool glass, trying to flatten the voices. Those miserable plastic containers of blood lacked her warmth and her smell and the sweet symphony of her breath and her heartbeat and— Enough. He would deal with it, just like he’d dealt with every other wretched aspect of his life.

Mal opened his eyes, the glittering scene in front of him coming into focus. Something about the next island over seemed familiar. No, not the island, but something about it. He looked harder. Big boat. Pool that overlooked the water. Nothing about that unusual for these man-made islands. They’d been created to keep the wealthy a healthy distance from reality.

But the design in the bottom of the pool … what was that? It looked like a swirl. Or a starburst. It reminded him of the phoebus signum Chrysabelle had told him all comarré wore on the backs of their necks. It was the same as the logo Maris had used for her cosmetics company. The design Chrysabelle had engraved into Maris’s headstone.

His jaw loosened a bit.

That was Maris’s pool. Chrysabelle’s now. How about that. Had Maris known? Mal straightened and glanced back to where Doc sat staring daggers into the air. Mal tucked the info away for future reference as he walked over and sat beside the shifter.

‘Why do you look like you’re going to kill someone?’