Out for Blood

“I know why you’re here.” She spoke without bothering to look up from the nonessential paperwork she was examining intently. Let them think it was about them. Let them think what they wanted.

Mal shifted. “Good. Then we can dispense with the small talk. We want Doc—”

“So you think I’m an idiot, do you?”

Mal shook his head. “I never said that.”

“I did,” Chrysabelle answered quietly. “It was said in the heat of the moment and for that, I apologize. I still believe the curfew is a very bad idea.”

Creek snorted softly from his chair in the far corner.

Lola set the paperwork down. “Unfortunately, city hall is unequipped with a suggestion box, but I’ll make a note of your disapproval.” She stood. “Unless, of course, you’re a registered voter. Then you can express yourself next November.”

“I’m not a—”

“Citizen of this country. I know.” The information Creek had given her made this so much easier. “Unlike your mother, you’ve yet to take care of that. Or even make yourself useful to this city in any way.”

“Look here.” Chrysabelle started forward. “When you needed information on what was happening in this city and what had happened to your daughter, you had no problems talking to me and taking my advice then.” She glanced at Creek. “You of all people should have explained to her what a mess this curfew is going to make of things.”

He jerked one shoulder. “You’ve only been helpful when it suited you, comarré. Why should we help you now?”

“Creek, what is going on with you?” Her face fell. “I thought we had an understanding.”

He unfolded himself from his chair. “I understand that you have no interest in helping the mayor retrieve her grandchild.”

Angry shadows filled her eyes. She took a few steps forward. “You told me that was the KM’s mission. Not the mayor’s.”

Lola looked askance at her. “Did you think I’d leave my grandchild to rot with those creatures?”

“No, I just”—Chrysabelle glanced back at Malkolm—“I have some things of my own to deal with before I can take on someone else’s troubles.”

“Just like when my daughter’s killer was on the loose.” Lola came around to lean against the front of her desk. “Sometimes the greater good must come before our own wants and desires, but then you’d know that if you’d spent any time in the real world.”

Chrysabelle’s cheek twitched. “Finding my brother is not a want or a desire. It’s a need. He’s my family. And figuring out what’s happening to me physically? Also a need. Don’t tell me about the greater good. My entire life has been about the greater good.”

Malkolm stepped up beside her and put his hand on the small of her back. She seemed to calm at his touch. A spark of jealousy lit within Lola’s bosom. No wonder the vampire had turned down her offer. He didn’t need a free-spirited mortal woman when he had his obedient little blood pet. How had Julia lowered herself to that? Deep down, Lola knew. Because the vampire’s darkness called to the darkness in her, just as it must have for her daughter. “As to the reason why you’re here, there is no denying Maddoc is guilty of violating the curfew.”

Malkolm nodded. “You’re right. He’s guilty. We’re not arguing that. We want to work something out. Doc isn’t just any varcolai; he’s the leader of the Paradise City pride. Humiliating him like this could buy you more trouble than it’s worth.”

She laughed. “I love that you’re so concerned with how I come out in all this. Very touching.”

Creek sat back down in the chair, perching oddly on the edge. “This conversation is pointless.”

But Malkolm went on. “What happens in this city affects us all. Putting Doc on display will cause more unrest.”

Lola crossed one ankle over the other. “And your solution to this? Because I assume if you’ve come this far, you have a better idea.”

“I do,” Malkolm said. The comarré looked at him as though this was the first she’d heard of his alternative. “Let Doc go. Take me in his place.”

Chapter Eighteen

Fi sat waiting on the balcony of Chrysabelle’s guesthouse, watching the circular drive for the lights of Doc’s shiny new sports car. She sighed and kicked her feet onto the railing. By now, Doc and Chrysabelle should have been back. How long would they stay out looking for her?

She thought they would have searched the guesthouse, but not yet. She was tired of hiding. Bored of sneaking around the house, not daring to turn on the lights or holovision in case she got found out. But she was ready to be found now.

It wasn’t that she was over being mad at him. She was still mad and probably would be for a good long time. Unless his explanation and apology were world-class, which they’d better be, but she couldn’t judge that until she’d heard them.

Which is why she’d decided to show herself when they got back. Not that hiding out in Chrysabelle’s guesthouse was such a hardship, other than not being able to turn on the lights or TV. The place was nice. Maybe not as fancy as Doc’s new penthouse, but considering the guesthouse didn’t have a snooty Brazilian varcolai in it who deserved to be thrown out on her fancy, designer-clad butt, Chrysabelle’s digs were plenty nice.

Screw Heaven and her twelve-hundred-dollar shoes. Fi sniffed. Those should be her twelve-hundred-dollar shoes. That should be her in that penthouse with Doc. Not some dead man’s wife. She huffed out a breath. Pride law was stupid.