Flesh and Blood

‘And as long as you need me, time is all I have.’

She wasn’t sure what he meant by that, but she liked the sound of it. ‘Give me a couple of days to recover, then come back and we’ll talk about what it’s going to take to get to the Aurelian.’ She’d tell him everything, including the fact that she had a brother.

He nodded, a smile lighting his eyes. ‘Two days. I’ll be back.’

‘Good night, Mal.’

‘Good night, Chrysabelle.’ And he was gone, disappearing over the railing in a soundless blur.

She closed the door, confident of only one thing. She wanted Mal and Creek in her life. How she would accomplish that without destroying them both remained to be seen.

Chapter Twenty-three

Daysleep. Laudanum. Colloidal silver.

Each blanketed Dominic in a thick, numbing fog. His struggle against them had been short-lived. Giving in was so easy. Too easy. The only choice.

And so he had let go of consciousness and fallen into a bottomless abyss of anesthetic blackness. It was peaceful here, like daysleep, but darker and thicker and adrift with strange dreams.

Now something tugged at him from the other side. It pulled at him. Lifted his limbs. Shook him. Slapped his face.

‘Dominic.’ The voice came and went in the miasma. It flitted in and out, like a tiny white farfalle among the lemon blossoms of his mamma’s orchard. Again the voice called him. ‘Dominic.’

‘Mamma,’ he answered, unsure if the word left his throat.

‘Dominic, wake up.’ That voice didn’t belong to his dear sainted mother, may she rest in peace. It belonged to … someone else. His mother’s apron was muslin, bleached by the sun when she hung it to dry. He watched it flap in the breeze. Felt the sun on his face.

‘Dominic, please.’

The farfalle buzzed at him like a bee. It was a bee. He tried to lift a hand to swat the pest away. He couldn’t tell if he moved or not. He didn’t care. The voice left him alone, and he drifted back toward the childhood memories so distant he could scarce remember them until the laudanum had sharpened their edges.

Fingers pried his mouth open, and soft, cold flesh pressed his lips. Scented like flowers. Blood trickled onto his tongue, spilled down his throat. By instinct, he drank.

The memories began to fade as the laudanum and silver slowly lost their grip. The wrist vanished from his mouth. The voice came back.

‘Dominic, please wake up.’ Not a butterfly or a bee. A woman. Small hands, feminine but incomplete, held his face.

He knew that voice. The woman’s image drifted like smoke through his brain. Katsumi. He tried to open his eyes, but they rolled back in his head. He managed to lift a hand to her forearm. ‘Drugged,’ he whispered.

‘I know,’ she answered. ‘You reek of laudanum and silver.’ Alarm framed her words. ‘Who did this to you? The varcolai?’

Dominic stayed still. He would deal with Maddoc on his own terms. ‘Help.’

‘Of course, my lord.’ She scooped her arms around him and brought him to a sitting position.

His head lolled against her shoulder. With his face against her neck, he inhaled her jasmine-scented skin. The sweet aroma of blood danced below the perfume. ‘Feed me.’

‘Take whatever you need. I fed just before I saw you leave.’ She turned in toward him, more willing than he had memory of. ‘Forgive me for following you. I know I’m supposed to be confined, but I was concerned.’

If she’d followed him, she’d seen the varcolai. ‘Leave the cat to me.’ He mumbled the words against her flesh.

‘Of course.’

All he cared about was fresh blood to wash the poison from his system. He opened his mouth and bit down. Weakness made his bite unsure.

Katsumi cried out softly but held still. ‘Again, my lord,’ she told him. ‘Take the vein.’

So he did, managing to pierce her properly this time. Blood poured into his mouth. He suckled, feeling his strength return with every swallow.

Katsumi’s hands found his cheeks. ‘Enough, please. You weaken me.’

He released her, barely able to keep himself upright. Rubber muscles clung to lead bones. Movement was almost impossible. His head cleared quickly, but his body would take time. Days perhaps. He needed to be home. ‘Get me out of here.’

She pulled his arm around her neck and slid her own around his waist. With only slight effort, she got him to his feet. He shuffled forward, his weight on her. ‘Car?’

‘Yes, I have a car. No driver, though. I … I didn’t want to alert anyone to what I was doing.’

He nodded. No driver was good. He didn’t want anyone knowing what had happened. Weakness could mean death. With each faltering step, his anger increased toward the varcolai. ‘Why did you follow?’

‘You left with the varcolai. I know that history. I was worried. I see now I was right to think you were in some kind of trouble.’

‘Si,’ he muttered, wanting to waste no more effort on speaking.

They made it to the car without interruption, although Dominic had partially expected to see Malkolm. Katsumi helped Dominic into the backseat. He lay down on the leather and, while imagining how he was going to kill Maddoc, passed out.

He woke up in his bed in his suite at the club. The clock showed nearly seven – a.m. or p.m., he didn’t know. He remembered Katsumi waking him to drink blood, and by the taste of it, it had been from his comarrés. She slept on the chaise near the fire. Judging by the effort it took to move his body, he was right to think it would take days for him to fully recover. He watched Katsumi for a moment. She seemed different somehow. Softer. A little worn around the edges. When he was well, he would reward her for saving his life.