Mal paced outside of the signumist’s apartments while Chrysabelle made her final arrangements and said good-bye. The hall disappeared in a haze of anger and screaming voices until all that remained were two jagged white lines. His hands fisted, his body tensed like piano wire.
Those scars on her back were his fault. Yes. His. Not Creek’s. No. She’d gone to the Aurelian to get an answer for him, not the Kubai Mata. You almost got her killed. Monster. Rage boiled up in Mal. For once the voices were right. Barely quelling a howl, he punched the wall. Concrete crumbled, lines cracking out from the impact. He pulled his fist away, mindless to the pain, mindless to the crunch of broken bones as he flexed his fingers. The voices laughed. Mindless to everything except the hard, ridged flesh streaking alongside Chrysabelle’s spine.
Because of his arrogance, she’d paid. His blood may have saved her life, but it had done nothing to preserve the perfection of her body, nothing to save her from all that pain. He punched the wall a second time, leaving blood on the concrete.
She was right to hate him. He hated himself. Who doesn’t hate you?
The exterior door whooshed open and Chrysabelle emerged. It slid shut and became part of the wall again. She pointed her prop cane toward the crumbling hole across from him. “What happened?”
“Nothing.” Liar liar liar.
“Oh good. I was afraid it was something else for me to deal with. Happy to hear everything’s fine. Should probably tell Dominic his walls are leaking blood.” She twisted away and headed down the corridor, her cane lightly tapping the floor.
Son of a priest. He went after her. “Sorry isn’t good enough for what I did to you, but I am sorry. If there is anything I can do to make it up to you—”
She stopped. “There isn’t.” Her gaze dropped to a spot between them. “Except for helping me get through these next few days.” Her head lifted and she met his eyes again. “Without drama, without threats, without making me wish I’d said no.”
“I can do that.” No, you can’t. In theory. He’d been who he was for five centuries. Five hundred years of killing and terrorizing. Changing now wasn’t exactly as easy as putting on a different T-shirt. But if it meant being at her side and being able to protect her, he’d find a way. Even if it killed him. If only.
“Can you?”
“Yes.” Liar liar liar.
“All right, then. I just need to speak to Mortalis and then we can go.” She started walking again.
He matched her stride. “Anything I can help with?”
“No.” She kept silent a few moments. “It doesn’t matter now, so you might as well know. He’s been keeping the ring safe for me.”
Mal just nodded.
“No comment?” she asked.
“No.”
Her brows lifted, but her mouth thinned with obvious disbelief. “How quickly the leopard changes its spots.”
He slanted his eyes at her. “The spots might change, but the teeth are still as sharp.” Show her.
“So noted.”
Little more passed between them until they emerged on the main floor of Seven. They found Mortalis in Greed dealing with a gambling dispute. They waited until he was finished, then she motioned him over. “I need what you’re holding for me.”
He glanced at Mal, then back at her. “I’ll get it as soon as I can. Hopefully by tomorrow night.”
“Fine. Do you want me to meet you back here?”
“No. Too dangerous. I’ll come to your house.”
She nodded. “I’ll be there. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” His gaze went back to Mal. “Sun’s coming up. Need a car?”
“It’s taken care of,” Chrysabelle replied before he could answer. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Taken care of? Mal kept his mouth shut with great effort, despite the voices’ pestering.
“Good night, then.”
As Mortalis went back to work, they made a quick exit. The driver Chrysabelle had hired, a varcolai named Jerem, had the car idling one street over. He jumped out and opened her door before she could reach for the handle.
When the door shut, Mal spoke. “I appreciate the ride home, but I could have let Mortalis take care of it. You should be home, resting.”
She tapped her cane. “This is just for show, remember? And I’m not giving you a ride home. Not to your home anyway.”
“You’re not?” He sat back. “Where am I going, then?”
“My house.” She sank deeper into her seat and stared out the window like she’d said something about the weather or how pretty the sky was or wasn’t it nice to see Mortalis again.
Her house. Maybe she’s going to try to kill you at last. Was this one of those times he should shut up and let things happen, or should he ask? Ask. Damn, this new-leaf business was hard work.
Minutes ticked by before she said anything. “No questions? My, my, you are giving this your all, aren’t you?” She looked at him, a wicked smile bending her lush mouth. “How are you not hyperventilating?”
“I’ve never hyperventilated. I don’t even breathe, for crying out loud.” Hades on a cracker, he wanted to kiss her in the worst way. Literally. With fang. Bite her. Drain her. Kill her.
“You know what I mean.”
He shrugged and took his own turn looking through the helioglazed windows. The best games had two players. “I’m doing what you asked. Is that a problem?”
“No.”
They rode the rest of the way to her house in silence, Mal dying to know what was going on in her head because he knew what was going on in his. Torturous thoughts about why she might be taking him to her house. Most of which started with them undressing each other and ended with him kissing the scars he’d caused before spending the day memorizing every silky, golden inch of her, making her writhe with pleasure and pant his name. He tried to exhale the heat building in his body.
That couldn’t be the reason she was taking him home.
Could it?
Chrysabelle’s enjoyment of Mal’s discomfort turned to real concern as they pulled through the gates of her estate. He leaned forward with a hard gasp.
She laid a hand on his back before she realized that she’d touched him. She pulled her hand away. “What’s wrong?”
“Dominic moves fast. Your new guests are moved in.” Glints of silver danced in his eyes as he straightened. “The scent of comarré blood is thick as smoke. I wasn’t prepared for it.”
Indeed, the lights in the guesthouse were on. “Fast is right. He must have really wanted rid of them.” She shook her head, sighing. “I truly don’t need the company right now.”
“You should have taken me home.”
“I didn’t mean you.” But when she looked back at him, she understood. His eyes were still silver-tinged, his fangs jutting past his lip. He needed blood. “I know what you want. We’ll take care of it.”
“I’m fine.”
“I’m fine. You’re a bad liar. I’m perfectly capable of providing you with blood.”
“I don’t need—”
“Remember how you were going to leave the arguing and the drama behind?”
Hardening his mouth into a narrow line, he crossed his arms and leaned back.
She slid closer. “I know you’re dying to say something.” Maybe as much as she was dying to be in his arms. No matter what had passed between them, no matter that he made her mad enough to punch a few walls herself, something about him felt like a safe place to her.
He nodded toward the house. “Creek’s here.”
“Nice change of subject. I saw his motorcycle parked by the gate when we drove through.”
Creek’s lean, shadowy form sat on the base of the fountain in the center of the circular drive. Even in silhouette, there was a lethal energy to the Kubai Mata. It was one of the things he shared with Mal. Like the way both men made her body tighten in anticipation. Of what, she refused to acknowledge. She smoothed the edge of her tunic. Anything not to look at either of them for a moment.
Jerem parked the car on the curve closest to the front of the house and came around to open her door. She glanced over her shoulder at Mal before she got out. “Relax. You’re the only one spending the night.” So far, anyway.
She turned away before his shocked expression caused her to laugh. If Mal wanted to be with her, he would do so under her terms.
Creek walked toward her, his face twisted in a mix of concern, upset, and longing. His hands flexed like he wanted to touch her. “You look pretty good for someone who didn’t have the strength to take visitors for the last eight days.”
She leaned on her cane. “I had my reasons for not seeing you.” But the anger she’d worked up toward him was fading fast, just like it had with Mal. It was hard to blame them when they so clearly wanted what was best for her. Not that she’d asked them to take on that concern.
He jerked his chin toward something behind her. “But not Mal?”
“No, me too.” Mal walked up to stand beside her. “She’s mad at both of us.”
Creek nodded, his big, fight-scarred hands clenched so that the words hold and fast tattooed across his knuckles stood out. “I figured that. Would’ve been nice to have the chance to apologize, though.”
“Is that what you’re here for now?” she asked. He wasn’t getting off so easy, no matter how much she was cooling down about the whole thing.
“Yes. But that’s not all.”
“Come in, then,” she said. “We’ll discuss it inside.” Creek might as well find out now what was going on. It would save Mal the trouble of filling him in later. Velimai opened the door before Chrysabelle got two feet on the landing.
Are they both coming in? she signed.
“Yes.” Trying to keep them out at this point was a waste of energy, something Chrysabelle was losing quickly. Twinges of pain danced along her spine, small torments of what would come later. Maybe the excursion to Seven had been more than she was ready for. It was her first trip out of the house since the incident.
Velimai’s fingers kept going. You look tired. I can send them home.
No, Chrysabelle signed back, keeping the conversation private. I’m well enough to do what needs to be done. I need some sugar, something to get my energy up.
Velimai nodded and glided off to the kitchen. Chrysabelle made her way into the living room and eased onto one of the leather chairs so neither Creek nor Mal would try to sit by her. A little distance would help hide her weakness. The last thing she wanted was Mal and Creek freaking out and adopting some ridiculous protective stance. They did that well enough without her giving them an excuse. She gestured with the cane at the couches as the two men entered the room. “Sit.”
Mal narrowed his eyes, giving Creek a look. “Be warned. She’s gotten bossy. Bossier.”
Creek snorted, his icy-blue eyes sparkling. “I like bossy women.” Was he that happy she’d let him in? Or just happy to see her again?
“Not enough to listen to them,” Chrysabelle shot back, earning a half smile from Mal.
Creek settled onto one of the sofas. “Point taken.”
She waited until Mal took the other sofa. The juicer whirred to life in the kitchen. “What’s on your mind, Creek?”
“Besides how good it is to see you healed up?” He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “Where to start?” He stared past her, his mouth tight. “One of Dominic’s comarré was murdered tonight.”
Mal shifted forward. “How do you know?”
“I found the body.” Creek shook his head as if the image were stuck in his brain. “Real mess. Whoever did it stripped the gold out of her skin. Or tried to. Blood everywhere. Place was crawling with fringe.”
Chrysabelle forgot her aching back. “Holy mother.”
Velimai came in carrying a glass of pineapple juice. Her eyes held a thousand questions as she handed the juice to Chrysabelle.
“One of Dominic’s comarré was killed,” Chrysabelle filled her in. “Stay if you want.” She tipped her head to the empty end of the sofa Creek occupied. Velimai sat, tucking her feet underneath her slim form. Chrysabelle took a long swallow of the juice.
Creek continued. “Not just any comarré either. The girl was the mayor’s daughter.”
Mal cursed softly. “If Dominic knew who that girl was and let her work for him anyway, he’s a fool. Does he know about the murder yet?”
“If he doesn’t, he will soon,” Creek answered. “There were more fringe and othernaturals around the crime scene than humans.”
Mal turned and shot Creek a look, but Chrysabelle caught it. She knew what he was thinking, so she said it out loud. “You think it was Tatiana? You think she’s sending me a message? Letting me know she’s here?”
Both men looked at her. Creek spoke first. “This wasn’t just a case of a vampire who drank too much. She was shredded. Someone meant to make an example of her.” He leaned back. “We can’t rule out Tatiana at this point.”
She drained the last of the juice, then stood and walked toward the back wall of glass doors. The lit pool glowed, but beyond that only the narrowest hint of dawn broke the blackness. When Tatiana had burned the Heliotrope, the dock had gone up in flames, too, taking out the dock’s security lights. “Creek, a while back you told me Algernon was some sort of KM double agent. Does the KM have anyone in Corvinestri now who can tell us if Tatiana’s there or if she’s already come back here?”
She watched his reflection in the glass. “I can find out. No promises. They don’t always give me that kind of information, and when they do, I’m definitely not supposed to be sharing it.”
“Understood.”
He hesitated, like he had more to say.
She faced them again. “What?”
He glanced at her, then at Mal, then back to her. “The mayor has threatened to charge me with her daughter’s death.”
“What?” Chrysabelle’s brow furrowed. “That’s ridiculous. Doesn’t she see what’s going on in the city? You’re the last person who should be on her suspect list.”
Creek tipped his head to one side and lifted his brows. “I agree, but as I was covered in the girl’s blood from holding her while she died, they see it differently.”
Mal stood and paced a few steps. “The mayor better wake up and realize the things going on in this city aren’t just going to magically resolve themselves.”
“I explained to her about the covenant and, well… I tried to explain. Even outed her bodyguard as a varcolai.”
Mal snorted. “Bet he didn’t take too kindly to that.”
“No, he didn’t.” Creek sighed. “I don’t know if she’s ignorant by choice or if she’s just having a hard time facing reality or what.”
“Come Samhain, she won’t have a choice,” Chrysabelle said.
“Yeah, I know,” Creek answered. “Anyway, I offered to introduce her to some genuine othernaturals.”
Chrysabelle went back to her seat beside Velimai. The sky was almost purple now. “You want me to talk to Mortalis? Maybe we could get his girlfriend, Nyssa—”
“No.” Creek shook his head slowly. “I told her I’d bring you and Mal. She wants to meet a real comarré. Try to understand what her daughter was doing. I figured Mal would be the icing on the cake.”
Velimai laughed, a wheezy sound like wind through a screen.
Mal froze. “You want me to teach the mayor Vampire 101? Why not just paint a target on my back?” He cut his hands through the air. “No bloody way.”
“When?” Chrysabelle asked.
“Tomorrow night.”
“I can’t. I already have plans.” Mortalis would be bringing her the ring. The mayor could wait.
Mal made an unhappy noise. “She’s going to see Dominic’s signumist.”
Creek frowned. “What for?”
She gave Mal a look. Why couldn’t he keep his mouth shut? “So much for not causing any more drama.”
He shrugged. “I’m not causing drama. You’re the one who’s going to get your signum put back in.”
Velimai squealed, one of the few verbalizations she had that didn’t cause death in vampires. Her fingers began moving rapid-fire.
“What the hell?” Creek’s whole body jerked back. “Why the hell would you do that?”
Mal answered, looking smug. “She plans on going back to the Aurelian.”
“I can speak for myself, thank you.” She rolled her eyes before walking back toward her chair. “Velimai, it’s all right. Calm down. I can’t read when you sign that fast anyway.” She stopped and sat between Velimai and Creek. “I need more information about my brother so I can find him. All she told me was that I would know him by his signum. Like that’s any help. All comarré have the same two basic sets of signum, just in different patterns and variations according to the signumist’s style. The last five sets are different for women and men.”
Creek still looked dumbfounded. “I understand wanting to find your brother, but there’s got to be another way. After what they did to you, how could you want to go back there?”
Velimai nodded.
Chrysabelle patted the wysper’s leg, careful not to make skin contact. “If I can open another portal and you two can protect it from being closed, I can come back that way without ever stepping foot in the Primoris Domus. I’ll be perfectly safe.”
“Yeah,” Creek said. “Because the Aurelian is such a warm, fluffy bunny of a woman.”
Mal threw up his hands. “My point exactly. Not to mention the pain of enduring those signum when she’s not even properly healed.”
Fed up with being talked about instead of talked to, Chrysabelle stood. “What I’m going to do is not open for discussion. I don’t care if you agree or not. I’m doing it. You’re either with me or you’re not, and if you’re not, you’d better stay out of my way or as the holy mother is my witness, I will remove you myself with whatever means necessary.”
Creek and Mal went mercifully silent. Neither of them made eye contact with her for a few moments. Finally Mal looked up.
“I’m with you. You know that. I don’t agree, but I’m not going to stand in your way. I’ll do whatever needs doing.”
Creek nodded, his gaze meeting hers again. “What he said. Although there’s one little thing that might need taking care of first.”
She put her hands on her hips. “And that is?”
“After I found the comarré’s body this evening, but before I went to speak to the mayor, I got into a little fight.” He rubbed at his shoulder. “I’ve never seen one before in real life, but I’m pretty sure it was one of the ancient ones.”
“Castus?” she whispered, not daring to say the whole name out loud.
“Yes.”
She slumped back down onto the couch. “I guess we’d better go see the mayor after all.”