Unfortunately, so had he. Before he did something he would regret, he turned back to his desk. His insides seethed. She remained behind him. Too close. Far too close. ‘Go,’ he said, more gruffly than he meant to.

There was no movement behind him. ‘I want my blades back.’

‘My room. In your bag.’

The door opened and closed, and he was alone. The way he should be. His fingers wrapped the hilt of the sword he’d been cleaning before her interruption. She was slowly destroying the small, fragile peace he’d salvaged. Tearing down the protective walls he’d constructed to keep the need for companionship at bay. He turned the blade, watching the subtle play of candlelight on its surface. He hated her for it. Hated himself for feeling anything toward her but indifference.

Pain was a great dampener of other emotion. One could only feel so many things at a time. He slipped his palm across the blade then lifted it away. The thin line of blood left behind disappeared almost as quickly as it had been formed.

He needed to be rid of her just as fast.

Chapter Nineteen

Doc whistled low and long from the driver’s seat. ‘Your aunt must have some serious coin to live out here.’

Fi and Mal crouched on either side of Chrysabelle on the ancient sedan’s floor. She was surprised Mal owned a car, but not surprised how substandard it was. The interior smelled like mildew and gasoline. Cracks webbed the leather seats and grime filled every crevice. At least it ran, and hopefully, with the darkly tinted windows and the cover of night, her extra companions would go unnoticed.

‘Doc, you’re supposed to be my driver. None of this should affect you.’ Chrysabelle eyed the gatehouse ahead as they rounded the corner and headed over the bridge that connected Mephisto Island to the outskirts of Paradise City. The light was on inside the building, but from this angle she couldn’t see the guard. ‘And I’m a guest, so I can’t bring anyone in without my aunt putting them on the list.’

‘You have to be on a list? Doc’s right. Serious coin,’ Fi said.

‘Hush.’ Doc and Fi’s comments didn’t bother Chrysabelle half as much as Mal’s silence. Since the kiss, he hadn’t spoken more than a few words to her, as though she’d caused some great rift in his personal well-being.

As if he had any personal well-being.

That kiss was her due. Not that an anathema would understand the exchange between a comarré and her patron. Not to mention that if he’d been vampire enough to take from her vein, that awkward kiss would have never transpired.

Her blood had changed him. She could see it in the fullness of his muscles, the increase in his speed, the surety of his stride. She’d made him as close to whole as he’d been in a long time.

And his kiss had torn her to pieces.

That kiss should have been such a simple way to complete the exchange since he refused to bite her. How wrong. Kisses were not simple. Not that one. Not in any way. But then she’d never had another kiss to judge by. Comarré who valued the purity of their blood remained chaste until such time as they were selected for the honor of breeding. Patrons understood that as well. Very few wanted to depreciate their investment by bedding their comarré. Some didn’t care, but those patrons, and the comarré who acquiesced, were the exceptions.

The car slowed, and Doc lowered the window. Still no sign of the guard.

Mal’s head came up, his eyes glazed with silver. ‘I smell blood.’

‘You always smell blood,’ Chrysabelle answered, clasping her hand over the spot on her wrist where she’d drained earlier even though her wrist blades were back in place and covered the mark.

Doc nodded. ‘I smell it too.’ He groaned softly. ‘Varcolai blood.’

Mal slid into the seat beside her, but his head swiveled toward the building. ‘Recently spilled, by the scent.’ His eyes half-closed before opening fully. ‘There’s nothing alive in that guardhouse.’

Fi unfolded from her crouch and moved to the seat, tucking herself against the door. She reached up and squeezed Doc’s large shoulder.

Chrysabelle inhaled. The wild, coppery tang mixed with the perfume of the night-blooming flowers dotting the landscaping. A chill skittered down her spine. ‘I had no idea the guard was varcolai.’ She’d seen him in passing but hadn’t paid close attention. ‘Had to be vampires, since their powers wouldn’t work on him to get them entrance.’

Doc met her eyes in the rearview mirror. ‘Not to mention, nobles will take any chance they get to cap one of us. Present company excluded.’

Mal said nothing.

She reached across Fi for the door handle. Mal got to it first, twisting to face her and pressing himself into the back of the driver’s seat. ‘What are you doing?’

She pulled her hand away. Her knees were touching his thigh, but her back was already against the seat. ‘One of us has to get into the guardhouse to open the gate.’ She had to get to her aunt’s. If anything happened to Maris because of her …

‘Doc will do it.’

Behind him, the shifter made a low growl but threw the car into park and got out. Mal thankfully moved back to his side of the seat. Using the hem of his T-shirt as a glove, Doc opened the shack’s door and went in. A moment later, the gates swung wide. He returned to the car and shoved it into drive, his face blank, but his eyes haunted.

‘I’m sorry you had to see that.’ Couldn’t be easy for one varcolai to see another dead.