Flesh and Blood

Part of him wished he’d never tasted Chrysabelle’s blood. His fangs punched through his gums. A very small part. He nodded at Doc. ‘You going to be okay?’

Doc shivered despite the near eighty-degree temp. ‘Yeah, bro, I’m tight. I just wish—’ A tremor rocked his body.

‘I know.’

Doc raised a brow. ‘You miss her?’

‘Yes.’ Mal shifted his gaze back to the ocean. Heat lightning shattered the horizon’s edges. Doc’s mention of Fiona didn’t surprise him. The pair were nuts for each other, despite her being a ghost. She was the last human Mal had killed and, of all the voices in his head, the only one to manifest as a ghost. After the many years she’d been stuck to him, Mal had come to tolerate Fi. More than that really. He’d come to appreciate her company. She alone could temper the beast that rose within him and rein in the voices when they took control.

Unfortunately, she’d been another casualty of their trip to rescue Maris, and Doc had taken her death extremely hard. He still believed she would return, but the space on Mal’s left arm where her name had once been written remained bare.

‘You should go see her,’ Doc said. ‘Work things out. You might as well drink the blood she sent. You need it—’

Mal’s head whipped back around. ‘I meant Fi.’

Doc snorted, scrubbing at his goatee. ‘Sure you did.’ A halo of sweat crowned his shaved head, and his canines jutted past his lip like two toothy daggers.

‘You look like hell.’

‘I feel like hell.’ Doc closed his eyes, visibly steeling himself. The fangs disappeared and the claws retracted, only to reappear a few seconds later. His half-form wasn’t going to cut it tonight. The need to change was too strong due to the full moon’s power.

‘Stop fighting it. Get below and shift. I’ll make sure you don’t run.’

Doc’s curse meant the only full form he could shift into was a common house cat, and in that state he was highly susceptible to larger predators. Like dogs. And Mal didn’t want to nurse him through another incident like the last one.

Doc nodded and headed for the hatch.

Mal turned back to the railing and wiped a hand over his face. The sharp angles and hard contours of his true image only served as a reminder of the monster that lived inside him. The monster that needed to be fed. Soon. Kill, drink, eat, blood.

The scent of jasmine and spice rose up behind him. He spun around. ‘What are you doing here?’

Katsumi bowed slightly from the hips, palms together before her. ‘Lovely to see you, too, Malkolm.’

‘If you’re here, you want something. What is it?’ He was too hungry to deal with anyone, especially this fringe. The former wife of a Yakuza crime boss, Katsumi had the missing pinkie and full-body tattoos to prove it. She’d been turned in the 1980s, and her cutthroat style had earned her a serious reputation. If Katsumi had been nobility, she could have given Tatiana some healthy competition for vilest vampiress of the century. Now she worked at Dominic’s nightclub, Seven. In what capacity, Mal had yet to fully determine.

Katsumi gave a little half smile. ‘So cranky when you’re underfed. Which seems to be all the time. Right to it, then. I’ve come to offer you blood.’

His muscles tightened painfully and the beast inside tugged at the bonds keeping it prisoner. Take, drink, kill. ‘Go on.’

Her almond eyes twinkled with devious intent. ‘I’ll provide you with all the blood you need. And by the looks of you, that’s not a small amount. On one condition.’

‘Just one? You’re getting soft in your old age.’

She laughed and adjusted the cuffs of her high-necked dress. Katsumi’s ink bodysuit was widely known but rarely seen. ‘Is that what’s happened to you, my dear noble friend?’

‘We’ve never been friends. What’s the condition?’

She slunk closer. Her perfume had none of the sweetness of Chrysabelle’s. ‘I want you to fight for me again—’

‘No.’ Under no circumstances would he enter the Pits again. Yes. Fight, kill.

‘No one has to know.’ She lifted her hand toward his face, then obviously thought better of it. ‘You can wear a mask, if you like.’

‘A mask isn’t going to hide what I become.’ Monster, killer, murderer.

The light in her eyes brightened. ‘Then own it. Use it. You’ve had more human blood in the last few weeks than you’ve had in the past fifty years. You’re stronger than ever. You could win now, win your way back to a place where you can afford to buy whatever blood you need.’

‘You mean back to a place where you can profit off me again.’ Back in the day, Katsumi had made mountains of yen from Mal’s fights. So much that she’d shared some of her take with him. Just enough to buy blood from the butcher. Just enough to keep him in fighting shape. But with Fi inside him, keeping the beast from rising, he’d lost most fights. Which was fine. No one needed to see that part of him. Losing had done nothing to diminish the crowd’s desire to gawk at the marked anathema. ‘Not again. Not ever. Besides, I don’t need your money.’ There was plenty of that left over from the sale of the diamond Chrysabelle had given to Doc. Not that Mal had touched that money for anything yet. Or wanted to.

Greed soured her smile. ‘But there is something you need. What the comarré promised but didn’t deliver.’