‘If I had my blades, I would have staked you already. I did it once, remember?’ She crouched and swept her leg out, knocking him off his feet a second time. He rolled to his side and back to his feet faster than she’d toppled him. Okay, he still had a vampire’s speed, she’d give him that.

‘Enough,’ he growled. ‘I’m not going to fight you.’

‘I can see that. Too scared?’

He snorted. ‘I don’t want to hurt you.’

‘You’d have to catch me first.’ Speed wasn’t exclusive to vampires.

He reached out to grab her, and she darted away, laughing. Sweat tickled her neck. Sparring this way exhilarated her after such a long period of inactivity. If you didn’t count the night she’d stabbed him in the alley.

With a lightning-quick move, he latched on to her, clipping her arms to her sides. She was completely enveloped. Breath caught in her throat as her lungs struggled to expand. Nothing but his borrowed T-shirt between her skin and his cold, bare chest. She swore she could feel the names writhe against her, wriggling like maggots seeking carrion.

‘Enough, comarré. Be still.’

She lifted onto her tiptoes, arched back and rammed the crown of her head into his nose.

He grunted but held on. A thin line of blood trickled from one nostril. ‘You’re a freaking pain, you know that?’ His arms tightened, decreasing her air further. ‘In a real fight, you’d never get close enough to do that.’ His jaw cocked to one side. ‘You’ve never fought a real vampire, have you?’

‘Yes, I have.’ Not technically a lie if you considered the fringe that the comarré trained with as real vampires. She inhaled as deeply as she could.

‘Besides me.’

‘Let go of me.’ Small spots danced at the corners of her vision as it became harder to breathe. She dropped her chin and slanted her eyes, trying to find the sword she’d tossed. It was about a foot behind her. Her fingers reflexively went for her missing wrist blades. If he’d been anyone else, he would be ash right now.

‘I thought not.’ A soft growl lifted her head. His face was inches from hers. ‘You think asking to be let go works with most vampires?’ He shifted, giving her a little more breathing room while moving impossibly closer. His legs straddled hers. As though he owned her. ‘You think it’s going to work with me?’

‘Yes,’ she whispered, magnetized by his gleaming metal gaze. For all his protests, he certainly took to the role of patron with ease. She forced her eyes down. Fangs jutted behind his top lip. His tongue flicked over them. Would he bite her? Kiss her? Did he even know how a patron should behave? Not that proper behavior or protocol mattered to one like him. He was more beast than brains.

His head moved back and forth a millimeter in each direction. ‘This means you lose.’

‘No.’ If she could distract him, she could get free, and if she could get free, she could grab the sword and turn things to her advantage. ‘The fight’s not over yet.’

‘I think it is.’ Mouth open, his head bent toward her in that way of his, like he was trying to inhale her and taste her at the same time. The hunger must be growing in him. He’d need to feed again soon, and she was the most accessible source of blood.

Of course. Why hadn’t she thought of it sooner? She’d told him that owning her blood rights diminished the power of her scent over him. He was right about her lying in that instance. If a patron didn’t drink from his comarré soon after taking blood rights, the urge to consume only increased. By now, Mal’s head must be swimming.

She needed him to drown.

With her thumb, she released the tiny blade hidden in her ring, flattened her palm, and shoved the pin dagger through the thin pajama pants and into her thigh. A brief flash of pain. Then she yanked it out.

Wet heat trickled down her leg. Blood scent blossomed around them like hothouse gardenias, sweet and rich and unexpected.

‘What did you—’ Mal’s body went taut. The muscles in his neck tensed into bands. He shook his head. Whispered, ‘No.’

He released her and backed away. The silver in his gaze tarnished to black as his eyes threatened to roll into his head. This was not quite the effect she’d imagined, but she’d gotten free, so that was—

He crouched onto all fours. ‘Get out.’ The words sounded like they’d been spoken by several voices in unison.

‘Why? What’s wrong?’

‘Go!’ The names that covered him began to shift and grow. The swirling letters expanded into inky puddles, spilling over his skin and turning every visible inch black as night. His back arched, his muscles flexing and contracting like someone else controlled them. He lifted his head. Not a glint of white remained in his eyes. His face had shifted beyond the hard ridges and predatory angles of a vampire in full regalia to something far more frightening. Something born of the devil’s nightmares.

His fangs were longer than any she’d ever seen, his body somehow larger, more muscled. A wall-shaking roar bellowed out of him. The freighter rocked like a cradle. He pushed to his feet, as dark and fearsome as a sudden storm.

She backed up. Nothing in her training had prepared her for this. ‘You know, maybe I will go—’

‘Too late.’ His voice was a chorus of thousands. He strode forward. ‘We’ve had enough of you, comarré whore. The vampire is ours, do you understand?’