Bad Blood (12 page)

“Nothing.” At the last moment, she remembered to smile pleasantly.

Laurent smiled back, sympathy in his daysleep-weary eyes. “My poor pet. Traveling doesn’t agree with you,
does it? Not to worry.” Struggling with a yawn, he held up the dossier Tatiana had given him. Any spare moment he wasn’t chatting her up, he was reading through it. “I have Tatiana’s instructions and directions to the safe house. As soon as the sun goes down, I’ll commandeer a vehicle and we’ll be on our way. We’ll get settled in, then head out to the comarré’s home. Until then, let’s get back in the plane and bunk down. I’m knackered. Not sure how you’re upright.”

Because I’m not Daciana, you twit.
How she wished she were home with Octavian. Or Octavian was here with her, but someone had to keep an eye on Daciana, make sure she stayed contained in the suite of rooms they’d prepared. “Yes, of course, we should sleep. I was just so excited to see New Florida.”

He put his arm around her. “I’m going to do a bang-up job of this mission. Make Tatiana proud. Make it impossible for her not to appoint me Elder.”

Her skin itched where he touched her. She managed to hold on to the sickly sweet countenance Daciana seemed to favor. Bloody good chance the prissy miss wasn’t smiling now. “I guess we’d better sleep, then, hadn’t we? So we’re fresh for the mission.”
And so you’ll stop touching me.

He kissed her temple. “Back in you go, then.”

She swallowed the urge to gag. “Yes. See you at twilight.” She scooted past him, hoping to make it to the bed before there was any more touching.

He swatted her backside as she left. “Twilight it is, my pet. Then I’ll do what I’ve come to do and we’ll be on our way home to get what we deserve.”

“Indeed.” Tatiana laughed softly. He might get what he
deserved a lot sooner if he touched her like that one more time. If only she could kill him and go back to being herself, but she couldn’t take the chance the council might find out she’d left Corvinestri. If things went according to plan, she’d nab Chrysabelle, get the ring once and for all, and be back before anyone was the wiser.

Then she’d kill him. And his simpering wife.

Doc woke up to a shriek and the sound of flies buzzing. “What? What? I’m up.” Pain radiated from his left hamstring. He pushed up onto his hands, the freighter’s deck gritty beneath him.

“You’re hurt. What are you doing out here anyway? What happened?” Fi hovered over him, literally.

Fortunately he’d collapsed in a shaded part of the deck. Unfortunately, the wound Preacher had given him hadn’t completely healed and was oozing pus and a slight stench. Which was drawing the flies. “Damn, that’s nasty.” He reached for a metal stanchion and pulled himself up. “What time is it?”

“Almost nine. Stop stalling and answer my questions.” Fi punched his arm lightly. “What happened? Who did this to you?”

“Preacher.” Doc twisted to look at his injury. “And apparently he puts some kind of poison on his blades.”

Fi looked at his leg. “Is that why you didn’t heal?”

He nodded. “And why I passed out before I got inside. I don’t even remember getting here. I think it’s mostly out of my system, but I better clean that thing.”

“Why did you go see Preacher? Last I knew you were asleep next to me. When did you leave?”

“After we… you know. You were asleep and I couldn’t. Kept thinking about that nightmare and how real it felt. I couldn’t shake the urge to check things out for myself.”

Fi crossed her arms. “You are telling Mal about this immediately.”

He nodded again. When she was right, she was right. “Yeah, I agree. Things are weird.”

She reached for him. “You can explain weird while we get you inside and start cleaning that leg.”

He put his arm around her shoulders and, limping a little, let her lead him into the freighter. “In my dream last night, I killed the comarré I saw at Preacher’s. When I went there last night, Preacher threatened me, said if I was the one who killed Julia, he’d turn my hide into a rug.”

They followed the main corridor to the galley. Fi pulled a chair out for him and he sat on the edge. “I think Julia must be the comarré he had the baby with, but how can she be dead? I dreamed it, but I didn’t do it.” At least he didn’t think he had.

Fi cranked the tap and filled a bowl with steaming water. Solar made sure they never had a lack of that. “Of course you didn’t kill her. Just because you kill someone in a dream doesn’t mean it really happens. If she’s dead, someone else did it.” She threw a few clean towels over her shoulder, hooked a finger through the ancient med kit, then hoisted the bowl of water with both hands and carried it all to the table. “You need to lose those jeans.”

He raised a brow.

“So I can clean that cut. Save the cute for later.”

“I’m making a mental note of that.” He stood and dropped trou.

“Good. Now bend over the table.”

“I love when you talk dirty to me.” He did as she asked, resting his forearms on the old Formica top.

“Stop changing the subject.” She dipped a towel into the water, then wrung it out. “What else was weird?”

He inhaled as she laid the hot towel against his wound. It was a good distraction from the question. “Holy crap, that’s hot.”

“Needs to be to get the poison out. Now, what was weird?”

Like a dog with a bone. He shook his head, unwilling to mention how he’d felt coerced while he was there. Like an unseen force had wanted him to look at the child. It was just natural varcolai curiosity, that was all. “Seeing Preacher with a baby isn’t weird enough?”

She removed the towel, rinsed it, and started wiping at the cut. “Yeah, but it’s not new weird. You’ve known about that for over a week. What else?”

He gritted his teeth against the pain and twisted to watch her work. “Nothing. Are you almost done?”

She flicked his thigh with her finger. “You’re a bad liar. We’re going to see Mal after I wrap this.” She applied a layer of ointment, then fished out a roll of gauze.

“I’m not waking him out of daysleep.”

“I will. I don’t care if he gets mad at me. He needs to know what’s going on.” She secured the gauze with tape and looked up at him. “Done. Pants. Let’s go.”

He hitched his jeans up and zipped them, giving her a wink. “You woke up on the pushy side of the bed this morning.”

“Pushy?” She stood and gave him an appraising look. “You left after we made love last night. You’re lucky I
didn’t wake up stabby.” She pointed at the bowl of water and first-aid kit. “You can clean this up after we talk to Mal.”

He surrendered, hands up. “Will do. Let’s go see the old man. But first…” He grabbed her and kissed her hard, letting her go a long minute later. “Thanks for fixing me up.”

“Bothersome creature,” she whispered, her cheeks flushing. Squirming out of his arms, she grabbed his hand and tugged him down the hall toward Mal’s room. The solars were bright this time of day, but the passage dimmed as they approached Mal’s. Here a section of solars had been removed to keep the light to a minimum when he slept.

Doc stopped a few feet from his door. He tipped his head and kept his voice down. “Go head. You wake him.”

“Coward,” she teased, reaching her fisted hand toward the door. She knocked softly. “Mal? Can we talk—”

The door swung open. The room was empty.

T
ing, ting, ting.

The soft chiming opened Chrysabelle’s eyes, erasing the remnants of the dream lingering in her subconscious. Velimai stood near the bed, ringing a small crystal bell. Chrysabelle yawned and sat up, pushing the hair off her neck. “What is it?”

Velimai set the bell down on the nightstand and signed,
Mortalis is here. He won’t come in.

Suddenly more awake, Chrysabelle’s heart rate kicked up a notch. Mortalis was early. And about to hand her the ring that had started all this trouble.

The ring that was going to change her life once again.

She nodded. “Let me get dressed and I’ll be right down. Mal and Creek still sleeping?” Because of the late hour last night, she’d let both men stay.
Not
because she needed the protection with a Castus in town and not because Mal’s presence would assure the guest comarré stayed in their own quarters. Those were just perks.

Velimai shook her head.
Doorbell woke them both. Breakfast?

“That would be great. I’m sure Creek’s hungry after
his fight last night. And I can always eat. Mal…” Mal’s need for blood hung in the air like a bad smell. “I guess I can’t send Mal to the guesthouse for his breakfast, can I? Wouldn’t be very hospitable of me.”

They should contribute something
, Velimai signed, a wicked glint in her soft gray eyes.

“Vel, you’re a bad influence. Is there any blood in the fridge?”

Yes, but it’s old.

“It’ll have to do. I could use the strength the exchange would give me, but I am not kissing Mal right now.” Although she’d planned to last night. Just like she’d planned to let him stay anyway before Creek had shown up.

You tell him that. He doesn’t like me.
Velimai, whose tolerance of Mal had only grown marginally in the last few weeks, frowned, took the bell, and left.

“Really? Sure it’s not the other way around?” Chrysabelle called after her. Kissing Mal while his heart beat with the power of her blood would give her a share of his power, the same exchange that normally happened through a bite. But her emotions, both good and bad, were too close to the surface this morning for such intimate contact.

Shaking her head, she slipped out of bed and stretched slowly. The ache in her back had become a permanent thing. Leaning forward, she took a few deep breaths to push it away. At last she rose and shed her silk nightgown for a white tunic and pants and white leather slippers. A quick brush of her teeth and hair and she was ready. Heading downstairs, she twisted her hair back with a band and inhaled the happy scents of coffee and breakfast wafting up from Velimai’s kitchen. In the living room, Creek sat
on the edge of one leather sofa while Mal hung in the most shadowed corner near the foyer. Both men looked as rested as she felt, which wasn’t very. “Morning.”

“Morning,” Creek said.

Mal lifted his chin toward the door. “You expecting company?”

“It’s Mortalis.”

“Then I’m going back to sleep.” Mal disappeared down the hall to the windowless interior room he’d racked out in. Built as a hurricane shelter, it did great double duty protecting the UV-intolerant, although Maris was probably rolling in her grave that there was a vampire in her house. Chrysabelle couldn’t help but hope her mother would have thought differently if she’d had a chance to know Mal.

Creek stood, shifting uncomfortably. “I’ll help Velimai. Give you some privacy.”

It wasn’t necessary, but she appreciated it. “Thanks. I’ll just be a sec.”

She opened the door and stared out at the empty front porch. “Mortalis?”

“Here,” he answered, the sound of his voice closer than she’d expected.

She stared harder, finally picking out the faint outline of the fae. Shadeux fae couldn’t be seen in the sun. “Will you be visible if you get out of daylight?”

“A little more.”

“Then come in, please.” She moved out of the way.

“Don’t you have company?”

“Yes, but they know what’s going on.”

“Fine.” He crossed the threshold into the foyer and took on a slightly more tangible form. “Look, I don’t have
good news.” The barbs on his forearms flexed in and out, like they were breathing. He was clearly agitated.

“About the ring?”

He looked off to one side for a moment. “Yes. I don’t have it.”

“What? Why? I need that ring. I gave it to you for safekeeping.” Warning bells clanged in her head.

“I know. And it’s still safe, but…” He sighed and grabbed hold of one horn, rubbing the hard surface as if he were trying to remove a spot of dirt. He dropped his hand and made eye contact. “I gave the ring to one of the elektos, a fae council member. They have the ability to cross into the fae plane much more easily than the rest of us. Keeping the ring there means no one can detect it—Castus, vampire, or otherwise.”