Flesh and Blood

‘Why?’ Mal asked.

Her fingers worried the edge of her silk tunic. ‘After the way I disobeyed Madame Rennata in Corvinestri? I led vampires through secret comarré passageways. I used my fighting skills in front of noncomarré. I defied her order to let Maris become a sacrifice for the greater comarré good. I am sure she is not pleased with me. I’d be surprised if she ever granted me entrance into the Primoris Domus again.’

Mal glanced over at Creek, then back at her. ‘So this ritual might be the only way you could access the Aurelian?’

‘Safely? Now, yes.’ Safe was really more of a guess. Blood rituals were never sure things. Although Maris had survived this one. The thought boosted Chrysabelle’s mood.

‘When will this happen?’ Creek asked.

That was the question, wasn’t it? She took a breath. ‘I need a little time, but I can be ready by tomorrow night.’

Mal nodded. ‘Good. What do you need to prepare?’

‘Nothing you have to worry about. Be here within a half hour after sundown. I’m starting whether you’re here or not, got it?’

He frowned. ‘I’ll be here.’

Creek hopped off the chaise. ‘Me too. Might even come early. Bring some takeout.’

She brushed past Mal, stopping in front of Creek. ‘This ritual isn’t a game. It’s deadly serious. You of all people should know that.’

He nodded, repentance in his eyes, and put his hand on her arm. ‘I do know. Just trying to lighten the mood. I’m sorry.’

She sighed and massaged the back of her neck. ‘It’s all right. I’m just anxious about the whole thing.’ She’d never been to the Aurelian. It was a daunting thought, a face-to-face with the woman who knew the entire comarré history, who knew answers to questions comarré had not yet even thought to ask. It was said she was as old as time and that age had made her capricious, prone to whims as variant as the breeze.

Chrysabelle wanted to read Maris’s journal entry again. ‘I’m going in. I need to start my preparations.’

The sliding doors opened and Doc stuck his head out. Behind him, Velimai vibrated like an oncoming hurricane. ‘We got trouble.’

‘What are you doing here?’ Mal asked.

Doc shook his head. ‘Another time.’

‘What’s the matter?’ Chrysabelle rushed toward him, Creek and Mal on her heels.

Doc shifted to his half-form and sniffed the air. ‘Nothos.’

Mal shook his head. ‘I don’t smell anything.’

‘Wait till the wind shifts.’ Doc jerked his thumb toward the front of the house. ‘I went out to check the gate was secure and I smelled brimstone. They’re definitely in the area, if they’re not jumping the gate yet.’

‘Son of a priest.’ Mal’s hand went to the small of Chrysabelle’s back. ‘Get inside. It’s you they want.’

Creek whipped out his crossbow. ‘He’s right. Stay inside.’

‘It’s not me Tatiana really wants.’ Chrysabelle shook her head. ‘It’s the ring. She knows I have it.’

Mal pointed to Doc. ‘You and Creek take the front. Velimai can guard the house. I’m going to get Chrysabelle out of here.’

‘You got it,’ Doc answered. ‘You,’ he said to Creek. ‘This way.’

Chrysabelle looked at Mal. ‘How are you going to get me out of here?’

He glanced back at the Heliotrope, unmoved from its moorings since before Maris’s death. ‘Can you pilot that thing?’

‘No way.’

He cursed again. ‘Then I’m driving.’ He grabbed her hand. ‘Let’s go.’

Chapter Twenty-eight

From his perch atop the estate’s stucco security wall, Doc watched a pack of Nothos lope down the street toward the house. He pointed toward them and whispered, ‘There.’

The man, Creek, had an air about him Doc didn’t like. Or maybe his distrust came from seeing Creek all up in Chrysabelle’s business out in the pool. The man was overstepping. That girl was meant for Mal, whether she or Mal knew it or wanted to acknowledge it. Not that Mal showed it, acting the fool like he had. Dumb bloodsucker.

‘I see them. My eyesight’s as good as yours, varcolai.’ Creek leveled his crossbow and took aim.

Doc’s weapons were limited to a few knives. Once again, his inability to shift handicapped him. A noise from the other side of the street caught his attention. He inhaled. Over the stench of sulfur, the faint scent of vampire came through. He glanced back toward the house. Mal was nowhere in sight.

He chalked the noise up to nerves and refocused on the problem at hand. The Nothos were close enough now that the glow of their yellow eyes shone through the darkness. The smell of brimstone gagged Doc. Damn, those things were ripe.

Creek pulled the trigger. The bolt whistled home, thunking into the shoulder of one of the beasts. It screeched, causing the group to turn. A crapload of yellow eyes gazed up at Doc and Creek. Jaws unhinged, dripping saliva. Doc’s stomach rolled. Nasty. A few of the creatures sniffed the air, whining softly. Their elongated heads bobbed and they shuffled back and forth restlessly. A few of them trembled with what seemed like excitement.

Suddenly, one Nothos lurched forward, scrabbling up the wall toward them.

Doc whipped out a blade and Creek lined up his bow, but before either of them could react, a second Nothos lunged, grabbed hold of its brother, and yanked him off the wall. Words Doc didn’t understand were exchanged, then with a round of snarls and hisses, the Nothos retreated and headed back the way they’d come.