Flesh and Blood

‘Chrysabelle, stay where you are.’ Mal half stepped in front of her and bared his fangs at Creek. ‘She’s safe right where she is, and she’ll stay that way.’ The faint moonlight revealed he now gripped a jagged-edged black blade in his right hand. She hadn’t even seen him whip it out. ‘I wouldn’t go so far as to say that about you.’

This was going to get ugly. And then uglier. With a gentle shove, she pushed past Mal to stand between the two men, turning her body sideways and raising a hand to each of them. ‘I’m fine. Both of you put your weapons down. No one is killing anyone.’

Neither of them moved except to raise their weapons higher. And Mal thought she was stubborn? ‘Creek, I am with Mal of my own free will. He’s my patron and as such—’

‘What did you say his name was?’ The tip of Creek’s cross-bow dropped a centimeter.

‘Malachi,’ Mal spat as he made determined eye contact with Chrysabelle. Obviously, he didn’t want his real name revealed. She understood, remembering when he’d used that false name with her, but really, Creek wouldn’t know vampire history any more than would a rock on the ground.

‘As I was saying, Malachi is my patron, and as such, you have no right to come between us, but he has every right to fight you should you choose to do so anyway.’ Which she really hoped he didn’t. ‘Leave us be, Creek.’

Mal twirled the knife through his fingers until it was a blur of black. ‘How do you know his name, Chrysabelle?’

Creek answered first. ‘Because we’ve met before, vampire.’

Great. Unsolicited help from the ex-con. She sighed. ‘He’s right. We did.’

‘When?’ Mal moved slightly closer to Creek.

‘The night I saw you at Seven,’ she answered, keeping her gaze on him.

An angry growl came out of Creek. ‘Was he the one who cut your hand?’

She whipped around toward Creek. ‘No.’

Mal responded a second behind her. ‘I would never hurt her.’

Creek came forward a step. ‘And yet I had to save her from getting punctured by a gang of fringe.’

She exhaled and rolled her eyes skyward before shooting Creek a hard glare. ‘Could you let me tell this story?’

‘Is that true?’ Mal asked.

‘Yes,’ Creek answered. ‘Her bleeding hand was drawing them like flies.’

Chrysabelle sighed. ‘I was holding my own.’

Mal reversed his grip on the blade and dropped his arm to his side. ‘Apparently not.’ He looked at Creek. ‘How many did you take out?’

Creek tipped his crossbow up to rest against his shoulder. ‘Five.’

‘Five?’ Mal stared at her. ‘How many were there to begin with?’

‘Okay, enough. I’m glad you two have bonded over my perceived inability to fend for myself, but this’ – she waggled her finger between Mal and Creek – ‘is not why we’re out here.’

Mal took a moment to study Creek. His nostrils flared. ‘Who are you anyway? Your scent’s too sour to be fully human.’

‘Don’t worry about who I am, vampire. Worry about protecting your comarré. If I have to do it again, you’re done with her.’

And just like that, the weapons were back in play.

Mal shook his head, his irises edged in silver. ‘She doesn’t need anyone’s protection. She could take you out with one hand tied behind her back. Whoever you are.’

Internally, she grinned at Mal’s assessment. ‘He’s just a guy who came to my rescue.’

‘Actually,’ Creek spoke up, ‘I’m more than that, Chrysabelle. I didn’t plan on telling you this way, but I think you need to know. I’m Kubai Mata. Sent to help protect you.’

Mal threw back his head and laughed. ‘Kubai Mata? The secret fairy-tale vampire-slayer organization? Oh, that’s rich.’

Kubai Mata? A wash of unease ran through her. Was that possible? She’d been educated to believe that they may have once existed but now were exactly as Mal described. A fairy tale of sorts. How would a human even know about them to make such a claim? Her stomach knotted with the feeling that her world was shifting too fast for her to keep up.

Mal tucked his blade away and looked at Chrysabelle. ‘You didn’t mention he was mental. Nice company you’ve been keeping.’ His gaze returned to Creek. ‘Slayers of any variety have a very short life span, so I guess I won’t be seeing much more of you. Kubai Mata.’ He shook his head. ‘Amazing. Come, Chrysabelle. We have work to do.’ He hooked his hand around her upper arm and began to turn them both around.

Creek stuck the butt of his crossbow against his shoulder and aimed. ‘Get your hands off her, vampire. I don’t care if you believe me or not, but you won’t hurt her while I’m here.’ His finger found the trigger. ‘Last chance.’

Mal rolled his eyes.

Creek pulled the trigger.

Before Chrysabelle could inhale to react, Mal shoved her out of the way, spun to the side, and snatched the bolt out of the air as it blasted past.

Creek fired again, but the second bolt whistled past Mal’s charging form, tearing the leather of his jacket under his arm.

Mal leaped at Creek, caught him around the waist, and slammed him to the ground. Together they rolled across the debris-strewn pavement.

‘No!’ Chrysabelle shouted. She yanked her sacre out of its sheath and ran toward them. Mal’s hands squeezed Creek’s windpipe while Creek reared back to land a punch. She slipped her sword between them before Creek’s fist came down. If Creek really was KM, she needed to talk to him. ‘Enough.’