Flesh and Blood

‘I can’t let you die when we’re so close to finding an answer.’ Especially when she might love him. With no other option, she bit her lip until it bled, then leaned down and kissed him.

With only bruises left from his injuries, Creek parked his bike and climbed the gate into Chrysabelle’s estate. He knew he should have waited to be buzzed through, but he wasn’t in the mood to wait. After everything that had gone down, he wanted to be sure she was okay.

He rounded the massive fountain in the center of the circular drive and stopped. The front door stood wide open. He reached for his halm, cursing the loss of his crossbow. Telling Argent it had been stolen by a noble and turned to stone after being used against him was going to be fun. Argent would question why Creek hadn’t ashed every vampire involved. Creek would not let the KM strip him of his assignment. He couldn’t let his family down. Not after everything they’d been through. He’d find a reason for the KM to keep him.

A horrible bellow erupted from the house.

Creek had heard the sound before. It was the sound of a vampire dying. Maybe Tatiana had come after Chrysabelle earlier than expected.

He burst into the house, following the noise to the source. He found it. Mal. Shirtless and pinned to the floor under the comarré. Apples littering the tile like land mines. The wysper vibrated in the corner. What the hell had happened, Creek could only imagine.

Mal opened his mouth for another deafening roar. Blood oozed from his pores. His muscles strained, corded and taut so that every line of sinew strung out like piano wire. The names covering his body writhed and twisted. Sunlight spilled through the kitchen’s plantation shutters, and where Chrysabelle’s body didn’t cover him, wisps of smoke curled off his skin.

‘What the hell is going on? I thought he was safe from sunlight?’

Chrysabelle shook her head. ‘He had blood.’

Her bottom lip was smeared with red. Creek clenched his jaw so hard it popped. If Mal had hurt her, Creek would kill the bastard with his bare hands.

‘Help me get him out of the sun.’ She tried to climb off the vampire, but he gripped her forearms so tightly bruises already formed under his fingers.

‘Invite me,’ Mal ground out. Cracks opened in his flesh, spilling more blood. The names began to merge, covering him in darkness and crawling over his skin. He arched against the floor, almost bucking her off.

To keep Chrysabelle from igniting along with the vampire, Creek grabbed Mal’s booted feet and dragged them both into the room’s shadowed interior.

‘Malkolm, I invite you in,’ Chrysabelle whispered.

At the words, Mal let go of her, slumped flat onto the bloody tile, and canted his head away from her and Creek. His wounds began to close and the names stopped moving. Creek grimaced. Wearing your sins on your skin that way was a heavier burden than he could imagine.

She cupped Mal’s face in her hand, trying to get him to look at her. ‘Are you okay?’

He said nothing, just kept his head turned. Creek could understand the man needed a moment. He extended a hand to Chrysabelle. ‘Let me help you up.’

‘Thank you.’ She got to her feet and let go. She smelled of blood and the Glades, her whites dingy with the latter and gory with the first. The wysper glided toward her, hands and fingers forming shapes he couldn’t read. Chrysabelle nodded. ‘You’re right. I should get ready.’ She glanced back at Mal. ‘Just tell me you’re all right.’

He pushed to his side and sat up with a slowness Creek had never seen a vampire display. He kept his back to her and again didn’t answer.

Chrysabelle reached for him, then stopped and pulled her hand away. ‘I’ll be ready as soon as I can. We’ll get your answer.’

Mal cleared his throat. He expelled a hard breath. ‘I can’t get to the boat without cover.’

She nodded. ‘We’ll come up with something.’ She turned to Creek. ‘Won’t we?’

‘I’ll take care of it.’ He gave her a nod and tucked his halm away. Befriending a vampire had seemed like dubious business at first, but now he wondered if the partnership could pay off after all. The KM might think twice about getting rid of a slayer who had the trust of a vampire like Mal.

‘I’ll get ready as soon as I can.’ With a last look at Mal, Chrysabelle left and went upstairs.

Creek waited until she was out of earshot. ‘You okay to move?’

‘No.’ Mal shivered and he spoke through clenched teeth. ‘I feel like hell.’

He looked like it, too. Getting pulled apart from the inside would do that to a person. ‘Take your time. I’ll figure out a way to get you on that boat.’ Creek took off for the garage, suddenly understanding what it meant to have sympathy for the devil.

Chapter Thirty-six

Now aboard the Heliotrope thanks to Creek’s help and the protection of a large tarp, Mal still hadn’t looked Chrysabelle in the eye since she’d wiped his brief mortality away with a single bloody kiss. Becoming vampire again, in her house, without invitation, had almost killed him. Good. Waves of pain still echoed in his bones. The voices had returned with a vengeance. For nearly three hours, he’d sat on the floor of her kitchen letting his body heal to the point where he could move without feeling like he was going to pass out. Or disintegrate. Maybe dying would have been better, but the ache in her voice when she’d said she’d needed him had made him hope for the future. She’d promised the Aurelian would have an answer. Lies, lies, lies.