The front gate started to swing open. He put the soda down. “Who is that?”

She planted her hands on her hips. “If you hadn’t distracted me with your lies, I would have told you. It’s Mortalis.”

“That means Mal and Chrysabelle are back, too.”

“Suppose so.” She arched a brow. Damn, she was getting worked up.

He cupped her elbow and led her away from the house, keeping his voice low. “Look, there is something going on, but I don’t want to talk about it here. Too many ears, you dig? When we’re alone, okay?”

She softened instantly. “But you’re okay?”

“Right as rain, baby. Straight as steel.” He crossed a finger over his heart.

“Okay. But we will talk about it later, then.”

Of that, he had no doubt.

Mortalis parked and got out, but there was no one else in the car with him. He gave Doc and Fi a short nod in greeting.

Doc nodded back. “How was New Orleans?”

“Hellish, as expected. How are things here?”

Doc jerked his thumb toward the building behind him. “We have a vampire in the guesthouse.”

Mortalis’s eyes widened as he walked over. “You need me to kill it?”

“No, we’re holding her as a prisoner of war, seeing what info she can provide us with. She claims to want asylum from Tatiana.”

The fae shook his head. “Chrysabelle’s not going to like it, no matter what the reason.”

“How come she and Mal aren’t with you?”

“Went straight to Seven. Where’s Creek?”

“Still out.” Doc glanced at the main house. “How long before Chrysabelle gets home?”

“Maybe two hours. Why?”

“Her house is full of people. I know that’s not her favorite thing.”

Mortalis shook his head. “And she’s not going to be in any kind of shape to have people around. Who’s in there?”

“Luke and John Havoc, the mayor, Fi, Velimai, and Damian. The mayor’s driver is in her car.”

Mortalis rubbed at one of his horns, his gaze on the ground for a moment. At last he looked up again. “Obviously, Velimai will stay. It might not be the safest thing to send the mayor home at this time, but with both the Havoc boys, she should be all right.” He paced a few steps to one side, his head down like he was thinking. “We can’t put the comar back in the guesthouse with a vampire in there, but I don’t like the idea of leaving that vampire in there to begin with.” He lifted his head. “You have secure places on the freighter, right?”

Doc knew he meant the kind of places where they’d once locked Mal up, back when he’d strictly been on animal blood and the beast within him would occasionally rise up and try to get some of the human variety. “What are you suggesting?”

“Take the vampire there. Lock her up. Then she’s out of Chrysabelle’s hair and the comar can move back to the guesthouse. I’ll help you. No vampire is dumb enough to try something with a shadeux watching her.”

Doc looked at Fi. “What do you think?”

The corner of her mouth lifted as she shrugged. “Mal will hate that, but for Chrysabelle’s sake, I think he’ll be okay with it. Who’s going to guard the vampire? Make sure she doesn’t get out? Because if she does and she really is working for Tatiana, having her loose in Mal’s home is a really bad idea.”

“True,” Doc said. “So how about we take Damian with us? Let him stand guard? Then Chrysabelle won’t even have to deal with him being in her guesthouse.”

Mortalis nodded. “Good plan. After that, the three of us will go track down Creek, let him know what’s going on and that the mayor’s on her own. No need for him to come back here and disturb Chrysabelle either.”

“Just one thing,” Fi said. “What car are we going to fit all of us into?”

“Easy,” Doc said. “We’ll take the vampire with us in Mal’s sedan back to the freighter, and Mortalis can follow behind in Dominic’s car.” He looked at the fae. “That is whose wheels those are, right?”

“Yes,” Mortalis answered. “If he didn’t have more vehicles than he needed, I’d worry about getting it back.”

“Hold on.” Fi threw her hands up. “I am not riding in the car with that vampire chick.”

Doc gave her a wink. “Don’t worry. She’ll be in the trunk.”

Chapter Thirty-eight

Mal was sure at least one bone in his right hand was broken. Did it matter? No, not in the slightest. Chrysabelle could break every single one if she needed to. She should. He still wasn’t letting go.

If he’d had breath to hold, he would have as Atticus lowered the needle toward her back. Her grip tightened, as if she could sense it. Maybe she could. The needle’s tip glowed red hot. The heat had to register, even with the breath work she was doing.

The needle pierced her skin with a sizzle. Mal tensed, expecting her to cry out or flinch, but she did neither. Not even a sudden inhale. Her strength amazed him.

Blood welled from where Atticus worked, his blind eyes seemingly focused on her back as his hand moved over her skin. The scent of blood mixed with the gold’s metallic tang and the occasional wisp of smoke. The beast, confused by the muddle, rumbled softly in Mal’s head but remained controllable.

Another bone in Mal’s hand fractured, but his pain was nothing compared to hers. It couldn’t be.