Dominic’s eyes shifted to Chrysabelle. ‘You have somewhere we could talk?’

Mal jerked Dominic against the metal door, cutting a new line into the man’s face. ‘Here works for me.’

‘Then stop wrinkling my suit. The fabric alone cost more than this dinghy.’ He grimaced at the dim passageway. ‘How you can live like this … pazzo.’ He rolled his eyes.

Being called crazy had little effect when that was a known quantity. Mal stepped back but aimed the sword at Dominic’s throat. ‘Talk.’

The cut on Dominic’s cheek zipped closed. ‘I’m here on behalf of Chrysabelle’s aunt. She got worried. Hasn’t heard from her niece. She needs some reassurance the girl is in good hands.’ He laughed humorlessly. ‘She’ll be so disappointed.’

Chrysabelle inched forward. ‘How did you get her blood?’ Her voice trembled with what sounded like fear and anger. Mal understood both.

Dominic smoothed an eyebrow with his ring finger. ‘You think I work for free?’

With a noise that was part sob, part gasp, Chrysabelle charged. Mal caught her around the waist with his free arm. She vibrated with anger.

How long had he lived in the same city with another comarré and not known? ‘Your aunt is comarré? And she lives here?’ He really needed to get out more.

‘Yes,’ she hissed, nearly breaking his hold. So, fast and strong. Noted.

‘Enough,’ he whispered in her ear. ‘This is not the time.’

She glared at him, but he released her anyway. ‘You can flay him when I’m done.’

Her glare shifted to Dominic. ‘I will, too.’

Dominic had the stones to laugh. ‘Yes, I’m sure you will, cara mia.’

Pointing with her blade, she narrowed her eyes. ‘Don’t patronize me, leech.’ Her signum glinted dangerous sparks.

Mal forced himself not to laugh. Angry Chrysabelle was something to behold – especially when it wasn’t directed at him. ‘You can tell her aunt everything is fine.’

Dominic’s brows lifted. ‘Is that so, Chrysabelle? I am perfectly capable of freeing you from this black-hearted beast.’ He leaned past Mal’s sword as though about to impart some great, secret wisdom. ‘You do realize Malkolm will kill you sooner or later, don’t you? Comarré or not, it won’t stop him. Death and madness, those are Mr. Bourreau’s only mistresses.’ Dominic grinned at Mal. ‘Or don’t you know the anathema you’re keeping company with?’

Over the screeching voices in his head, Mal could hear Chrysabelle thinking, checking every jot of information stored in her head for an anathema named Malkolm Bourreau. It shouldn’t take long to determine who he was, although certainly most nobility assumed him dead or, at the least, permanently indisposed. Would she raise her sword against him? His fingers loosened on his own weapon. There was no desire in him to fight her or be responsible for her death. He prepared for the killing blow, sure she would slice his head from his neck as she probably had her patron’s.

Then the strangest sound reached his ears.

Her laughter.

‘Of course, I know who he is. Why do you think I hired him to protect me? I’m not stupid, Dominic.’ She dropped her sword to her side. ‘Neither is he foolish enough to accept something so fleeting as blood in payment.’

Dominic couldn’t hide his amazement. ‘Have you given him the ring?’

Chrysabelle’s eyes widened a fraction. ‘How do you know about that?’

A ring? Mal would get that information out of her later, when he’d recovered from the fact that he had somehow become the lesser of two evils.

‘A very disgruntled Nothos came to me a few days ago looking for something to enhance its tracking abilities. I gave it what it wanted. With a little truth amplifier mixed in. Then I asked some questions. Seems it’d failed to bring back a missing comarré who’d not only killed her patron but stolen a very valuable ring.’

‘Where is this Nothos?’ Panic sheared Chrysabelle’s voice.

‘By now, I’d guess in the belly of a gator. I don’t need Nothos in this city any more than you do. I dumped it unconscious in the glades.’ Dominic checked his watch. ‘Well, it’s been a distinct lack of pleasure talking to the two of you, but I have other business to attend to.’ He nodded to Chrysabelle. ‘I’ll give your best to your aunt.’

Her sword came up again. ‘Keep your filthy hands off her.’

Gripping the door handle, he smirked. ‘I don’t use my hands. Unless she asks.’

Chrysabelle threw her sword like a javelin, but Dominic was already gone. The blade screeched halfway through the closed metal door before it stopped.

Mal yanked it out, then faced her. ‘You and I need to talk.’

She grabbed the scarred blade from his hand and angled the point at his heart. ‘You first, Malkolm.’

Pain filled Tatiana like mortal breath once had. No longer could she reach the safe haven of the distant haze. Agony owned her. Each stabbing thrust branded her skin. Clawed hands opened new wounds and freshened old bruises. The screaming left her throat raw until she ceased any effort for sound. By now her body was little more than a purpling rag, torn and wasted. Still, the Castus Sanguis persisted. With each movement, the bed seeped dampness onto her skin. Blood, tears, or worse, she didn’t know. Didn’t care.

The reward would be hers. She clung to that certainty, let it blunt the jagged edge of her reality. She would survive, stronger than before. She would break those who opposed her. Destroy them. Suck the marrow from their bones and grind them into dust.