‘Tatiana has a comar from this house, yes?’

Her brow furrowed. ‘Yes, but what does that—’

‘Would she have been given an invitation to enter at some point or not? How does the process of obtaining a comarré work?’

An inkling of his direction shimmered in her eyes. ‘She would have come to the house at some point to meet the available comars, negotiate the blood rights price, then again to pay.’ She tapped her finger on her thigh. ‘It’s not unheard of for someone else to act as a go between, but knowing Tatiana, she probably did it herself.’

‘Are the invitations rescinded once the blood rights are purchased?’

Defeat clouded Chrysabelle’s gaze. ‘No.’ She looked at the house again. ‘Tatiana could have already come here with her Nothos. We have no way of knowing whether the house has been breached.’

He hit the button to lower the window and forced himself to inhale. ‘I don’t smell brimstone.’ Yet. His gut told him the night air wouldn’t stay untainted for much longer.

‘Me either,’ Doc added.

Chrysabelle nodded and slid toward the door. ‘Very well then. Mal, you can come. But don’t be … ’ Her mouth pursed in frustration.

‘Don’t be too me?’ He understood. And he didn’t blame her for it. ‘I’ll be on my best behavior.’

‘Whatever that is,’ Doc said. He sprawled out, propping his feet on the edge of the seat Chrysabelle was about to vacate and slipping his arm around Fi. ‘We’ll hold down the fort here.’

Mal opened the car door for Chrysabelle, letting her exit ahead of him. When she was out, he turned to Doc. ‘Don’t get comfortable. If we’re too late—’

Doc raised his fingers to his forehead in a casual salute. ‘I got this, bro.’

‘Good enough.’ Mal slipped out of the vehicle and shut the door. He let Chrysabelle go in front with enough paces between them so anyone watching could see she wasn’t being coerced. At the door, he stayed a few steps back and waited while she knocked.

She shifted uneasily, clenching and unclenching her hands. Was she that worried about what he might do? What scene was going through her mind? Him attacking the whole house?

‘I’m not going to do anything to embarrass you,’ he said, shifting into his human face. How easy that was to maintain with her blood in his system.

‘Don’t worry, I’ve taken care of that myself.’ She plucked at her long leather coat. ‘These clothes … ’ She shook her head.

What an idiot he was. Of course she wasn’t just worried about what he might do. There was no way the comarré house was going to let slide the fact that Chrysabelle was wanted for murdering her patron. The muscle in his jaw twitched. If anyone in there tried to hurt her—

The door opened. A female about Chrysabelle’s age peered out. A tiny gold sparrow flew over one eyebrow. Still, she had less than half the signum Chrysabelle did for as much of her as Mal could see. Her brows lifted, lofting the sparrow higher. ‘Chrysabelle? What are you doing here? Why are you dressed like that?’

‘Hello to you too, Saraphina. I need to come in.’

Saraphina’s gaze strayed to Mal. Her eyes widened. ‘Madame Rennata doesn’t allow visitors after dusk, you know that.’

Chrysabelle exhaled and visibly straightened. ‘He’s my visitor and last time I checked, this was still my home, so move out of the way.’ She shoved the door open, pushing the other comarré farther into the house. The girl sputtered in protest, muttering in what sounded like Latin.

A few steps in and Chrysabelle turned back to him. ‘Are you coming?’

‘Am I invited?’

‘No,’ Saraphina spat.

‘Yes,’ Chrysabelle said. ‘What she says doesn’t override what I say, so get a move on.’

Saraphina gasped. ‘I’m going to get Madame Rennata.’

‘Yes, you do that.’ Chrysabelle rolled her eyes as Saraphina stalked off. ‘This new generation. I’ve forgotten more than that girl knows. Come on.’

Mal entered.

And cringed.

The sweet, honeyed fragrance of comarré blood flooded every pore with hunger. His muscles ached with it. He swayed, drunk on the deluge. The voices screeched and clawed, rabid with need. Kill, drink, drain, devour, blood, blood, blood. Deep inside, where the darkness flourished, the beast lifted its head and inhaled. Mal squeezed his eyes shut, jaw tightening. Not here. Not now.

Light pressure on his sleeve. He opened his eyes to slits. Chrysabelle.

Her voice washed over him, a soothing balm. ‘I know this must be hard for you, but try to relax. You are my patron now. That means you’re not an outsider in my world anymore.’

Her words calmed him, but they were pretty lies and he knew it. An anathema would never be allowed a comarré. He was her patron by accident, not by purpose. He responded through gritted teeth. She must not know how he struggled, how little control he held on to. ‘I will do my best. I told you that.’

She smiled and patted his arm. Maybe later she’ll give you a cookie. He shut out the voices with new will. After all, he could have her blood whenever he wanted it. All he had to do was ask. And be willing to kiss her.

‘Chrysabelle, what is the meaning of this?’ An older woman approached, bearing heavily on a cane. Her visible skin was more decorated than Saraphina’s, but still not as much as Chrysabelle’s. Her long white robes swayed as she stopped. She glared at Mal while addressing Chrysabelle. ‘Why have you invited this creature into our house?’