Blood Rights (44 page)

Mikkel frowned. ‘I found her in the kine cemetery.’ His lids lowered and the corner of his mouth perked up as though he was about to reveal some great tidbit of info. ‘In the company of some fringe and a pair of fae, one I didn’t recognize. But one I think was the shadeux fae who took down the Nothos in the hangar.’

Tatiana’s face blanked. ‘You’re sure?’

‘Absolutely.’ Mikkel seemed pleased with himself.

‘Did you kill them?’

‘No. They had the area warded, and she fought my magic hard. I almost didn’t get her out. Plus I thought I should bring her to you immediately.’

‘Hmph.’ Tatiana bent down and stared into Fi’s eyes. She couldn’t help but stare back. It was like looking into an abyss. A vile, familiar abyss. ‘Is the other comarré with you? The girl? What about the vampire helping her?’

Fi lay there, helpless to answer. Not that she would have
anyway. If she was going to die in the jaws of a vampire for a second time, she certainly wasn’t going to give either of them any help hurting her friends.

‘Ignorant chit. You think you can best me?’ Tatiana slapped Fi across the face. Pain radiated through her cheek, causing a shocked tear to spill over the stinging skin. Anger blossomed in Fi’s belly. Warm, comforting anger. And the renewed urge to fight. She definitely wasn’t giving this bloodsucker any help.

‘Answer me,’ Tatiana screamed, spittle flying into Fi’s face. Disgusting. If she’d been able to move, she would have spit back.

Mikkel shook his head. ‘She can’t. I’ve got her bound with one of my spells at the moment.’

Tatiana rolled her eyes as she stood. A muscle ticked in her jaw. ‘Then unbind her before I slit both your throats.’

That got him moving. Good to know who wore the pants in that relationship. He whispered something, and the numbness seeped out of Fi like ice melting. Before she could wiggle her fingers, Tatiana scooped her up by the front of her hoodie and held her so close Fi could count the eyelashes fringing her possessed silver eyes. Those eyes …

‘Where. Is. The. Girl.’

It wasn’t a question, it was a demand for an answer. So Fi gave her the same answer that used to make her parents crazy. Nothing. She added a yawn for good measure.

Tatiana shook her. ‘Answer me.’

‘Don’t … tell her anything … ’ The words drifted from behind Tatiana, slow and labored. The woman had to be Maris.

Tatiana whirled, clutching Fi one-handed like a rag doll. She
backhanded Maris, snapping her head to the side. ‘Shut up, old woman.’ Tatiana inhaled what sounded like a sob. ‘You’re lucky you’re still alive after what you did to my precious Nehebkau.’

Wincing at Maris’s pain, Fi wished she had one of those Golgotha blades like Chrysabelle carried. Or Doc’s switchblade. This close, Fi could have easily buried it in Tatiana’s heart. Her hands twitched with the thought.

Maris’s eyes fluttered closed as her chin sagged to her chest.

Tatiana returned her tarnished gaze to Fi. Her nostrils flared and her lips curled, showing off her fangs. ‘Tell me what I want to know and I’ll spare your life.’

Fi flared her nostrils. ‘You should brush more.’

Tatiana shifted hands to take Fi by the throat. Her icy fingers closed over Fi’s neck like a vise grip. She smiled, and Fi’s bravado took a small step back at the expanse of teeth. ‘I like to play games too. Maybe we should play one together.’ She pulled Fi closer and dragged a nail down her cheek. The burning left behind meant Tatiana must have cut her. A second later, Tatiana licked a drop of red off her finger. ‘You should know I always win.’

‘Then let’s have a tanning competition. You go first.’ Where was Doc? Even if he couldn’t shift into anything more than a house cat, his half-and-half stage was pretty damn scary. And she could use some pretty damn scary on her side right now.

Tatiana opened her mouth and pressed her tongue into the sharp tip of one fang. Blood welled up instantly. ‘Do you have any idea how much a vampire bite hurts? How razor-fine fangs are?’

‘Actually, you dumb cow, I do. Do you know how much a
varcolai bite hurts? You’re going to, because my boyfriend’s teeth are way bigger than yours.’

With a shriek, Tatiana flung Fi across the room. She fell into a low table, her arm snapping beneath her as she landed. The pain sucked the breath from her lungs but only for an instant. Giddy with the irony that she was about to die a second time at the hand of the undead, Fi opened her mouth and laughed. Living in Mal’s head had exposed her to horrors no creature should have to see. If Tatiana thought a few broken bones were going to—

Fi stopped laughing. It was entirely possible that Mal and the rest of them had made it into the estate. They could be in the building. If she yelled loud enough, maybe he or Doc would hear her. Both of them had pretty amazing hearing. She smiled at Tatiana. ‘You are so dead.’

Tatiana smiled back. ‘It’s amusing when my food talks back.’

Lifting her good arm, Fi flipped Tatiana the bird before screaming as loud and as long as she could. A snap of Mikkel’s hand cut off her air. Bits and pieces of her life flickered in her vision, a mash up of her memories and a few that had to belong to Mal. Her mother’s face morphed into one of Mal’s victims. Her college boyfriend changed into a vampire holding a blindfold. As her world went dark again, she suddenly realized why Mikkel and Tatiana seemed so familiar.

Mal bent his head sharply to the left and right, cracking the bones in his neck. It didn’t help. The voices scraped against Mal’s skull like teeth on steel. Some of them howled. Some of them cursed. Some of them wept. And each step deeper into the house made them louder. Concentrating had become a chore.
He glanced at Chrysabelle. Maybe he should grab her body armor again. The sting of silver cut through the chaos, if only until the wound healed.

Pain to fight pain. If he’d still been human, he would have gone insane long ago.

Maybe he already had.

He closed his eyes for a moment against the gnawing inside his head. The beast was awake. Hungry. It bore up through his gums, made his teeth ache to bite, made his throat tighten at the remembrance of blood. This whole house stank of it. And death. He opened his eyes, newly bitter. For a house this large to carry such a smell meant its mistress was careless with her kills, greedy with her feeding. And yet he was the one considered anathema.

Invisible jaws chewed at his joints.
Feed, kill, drink, blood, blood, blood.
What he wouldn’t give to be free of th— a scream rang out through the estate. Human. Familiar.

Doc’s hand closed over the blade sheathed at his belt. ‘That was Fi,’ he ground out. ‘They hurt her, I’m gonna rip them apart.’ He stretched his jaw, showing off teeth that made Mal’s fangs seem like a starter set. ‘And I’m going to enjoy it.’ His pupils were razor-thin slits, his body spring-loaded. Whatever got in Doc’s way was going to end up dead.

And Mal would be happy to help. He gripped the handle of his long sword. He’d not hefted the blade in anything but practice for too long.

Chrysabelle motioned them forward as she broke into a jog toward the direction of the scream. Mal and Doc went after her, with Dominic bringing up the rear. Silently, they covered two halls and a set of stairs, stopping before a pair of double doors.

Nodding at Mal, Chrysabelle tapped the side of her nose, then pointed toward the doors.

Mal inhaled.
No, no, no, no …
The scents of vampires, comarré blood, and Fi mingled in his nostrils. A piercing whine filled his head, lighting his nerve endings with fresh fire. He nodded and reached for his long sword, holding up his other hand and counting down with his fingers.

On one, they burst through the doors, then through a second set and into the room beyond. The last pair of doors slammed shut behind them. Chaos erupted. Chrysabelle whipped out her sacre but stayed at his side. Doc charged the male vampire standing over Fi, who sprawled unconscious on the carpet, a bruise purpling her cheek, her arm jutting out at an unnatural angle.

‘Maris.’ Dominic rushed to the center of the room where Chrysabelle’s aunt was bound to a chair, also unconscious and badly beaten.

Behind Maris, a female vampire had her back to them. She was spreading things out over a table, but at the noise, she spun and flipped a slim dagger into Dominic’s belly. With a groan, he crumpled at Maris’s feet, muttering, ‘Laudanum.’ No other nonmagical drug slowed a vampire so much as the ancient tincture of opium. Mal had found that out the hard way more than once during his life.

The female’s eyes locked onto Mal’s a second later.

Her jaw dropped.

As did his. ‘Son of a priest.’

The wailing in his head blocked out all other sounds. The beast within flexed its muscles. His vision darkened around the edges, narrowing to focus on her and her alone. Disbelief closed his throat. All this time, he’d mourned her. Endured the guilt of her death like the weight of a thousand worlds. The beast roared
to be let out. Not yet. But soon. The beast’s anger spilled over, giving Mal a voice again.

‘How in hell’s name are you still alive?’

Tatiana stared back, eyes reflecting the anger he was feeling. ‘I could ask you the same thing,
husband
.’

C
hrysabelle almost dropped her sacre. With some effort, she formed her confusion into words. ‘What did she just call you?’ ‘Husband,’ Mal whispered, his gaze pinned to the vampiress now brandishing a sword in their direction. To one side, Doc snarled, claws deep into Mikkel’s chest, a healthy gash opened across one cheek.

Chrysabelle stared at the woman Mal had once called wife and saw her with new perspective. This dark, exotic beauty had once been Malkolm’s wife. Chrysabelle hated everything that meant. ‘You said your wife was dead.’ Severing a vampire’s neck was about as final as you could get.

‘She is. Was. Is.’ He shook his head, never taking his eyes off Tatiana. ‘They beheaded you. I heard the sword. I smelled the blood, felt the heat of it—’

‘Guards!’ Tatiana yelled as she stepped over Dominic’s drugged body and, sword firmly aimed at Mal’s chest, walked toward them. ‘Mikkel cast a mimicry spell on a fringe to look like me, then he beheaded her. I’d already fed her enough of my blood to mingle our scents. Genius, really.’

‘Mikkel?’ Mal glanced at the vampire struggling against Doc, then back at Tatiana. ‘He was the one with you that night. He and Lord Ivan.’

She scoffed, shaking her head. ‘You were easy to fool. So lost in your madness, you didn’t know the difference.’

The sword point pricked his jacket. ‘But then you never were one to see things clearly, were you? You probably thought I loved you too.’

‘Shaya—’

‘Don’t call me that.’ She jabbed the sword through the leather. ‘My name is Tatiana.’

‘I made you what you are.’

Bitterness sparked in her eyes, her mouth twisting. ‘You brought me into this life, but that past has been erased. The taint of your blood has been wiped away. I have been given navitas. I’ve been resired by another.’ She leaned in. ‘I have been reborn.’

So it was true. Tatiana had actually survived navitas. Chrysabelle had never known a vampire who’d undergone the ritual. Nobles who wanted to change houses could theoretically do so if they found an older vampire from that house willing to sire them. It was supposedly a very painful process, and considered an affront to the original sire. It was also rarely done because it often left the resired vampire insane. As evidenced in Tatiana.

‘I saved your life. They would have hung you.’ Mal’s voice went dead of emotion. Something in him had switched off. Or was about to switch on. ‘Yet this is how you repay me.’

‘I spared you, didn’t I?’ She bore down on the sword. It slashed deeper through the leather and had to have pierced Mal’s skin. He didn’t flinch. ‘I could have had you killed, but I left you in that dungeon instead. Along with another of Mikkel’s special
spells.’ She grinned widely. ‘He supplied the magic, but the blood that made it work was mine. The voices were my idea too. How long did it take you to figure out your new victims turned into spirits?’ She looked past him as though she expected to see a crowd of ghosts hovering around him.

Chrysabelle wanted to cut her. How dare Tatiana pretend that leaving Mal in those ruins to rot was somehow kinder than slitting his throat! And to be proud of that curse. Chrysabelle’s sacre hummed in her hand, the vibration of her anger sung back to her by the sword’s blood magic. How could Mal have ever loved this woman?