Bad Blood (35 page)

The smile had zero effect. “You need to get off my porch.” He still stared at Mal. “If you think I don’t know what you are, you’re wrong. Coming to my house was not a smart move—”

“The way I see it,” Mal began, “is that I paid to be here, so here I am.” He pulled a small amount of power into his voice, holding the eye contact. “Since you agree with me, you’re going to invite me in.”

Sklar blinked and shook his head. “What are you—”

Mal pulled more power. “Invite us in.”

Only a brief hesitation this time. Sklar backed away from the door, opening it wider as he did. “Please, come in.”

Chrysabelle squeezed Mal’s hand, then went inside. Mal followed quickly. “Shut the door, Sklar.”

The fae did as he was told.

“Is there anyone else home?” Chrysabelle asked.

“No,” Sklar answered. “Who are you again?”

“We’re friends,” Mal told him, keeping his power of persuasion smooth and even. With a fae like this, a slight hitch could mean losing him. From what Mortalis had said about smokesingers, an angry one was not something either of them wanted to contend with. “Let’s sit down and discuss this.”

“Yes, let’s.” Sklar led the way into a sitting room. He pointed to a massive sofa in front of an equally massive fireplace. “Make yourselves comfortable.”

Mal sat as Sklar did, making sure they were across from each other and he was able to make eye contact.

Chrysabelle stayed at the entrance to the room as they’d discussed. In case anything went wrong, she’d be able to get out in time. Hopefully.

“Where would you live if not in New Orleans, Sklar?” Knowing and using the fae’s name made the persuasion more personal and a little easier for Mal to control. Focusing like this also meant the voices took a backseat.

The fae’s lavender eyes went dreamy. “Brazil. The beaches, the music, Carnivale… Mardi Gras is close, but not the same.”

Mal wished he could look at Chrysabelle and see if
she was as surprised as he was. But it made sense. Rio de Janeiro had been a fae haven since the Redeemer statue had been erected, making it virtually impossible for vampires to inhabit the city under its holy watch. “You want to move to Brazil. You want to
retire
from the very stressful life of guardian of New Orleans and spend the rest of your days on the white, sandy beaches of Brazil, soaking in the sun, listening to the samba beats, dancing in the Carnivale. This is your dream and you’ve decided to make it happen.”

Sklar nodded. “Yes, it is my dream.”

“New Orleans is dirty and crime-ridden and has no beach. You don’t like the music here and Mardi Gras is mobbed with tourists. Besides, Brazil has no vampires.”

“Not a single bloodsucking undead.” Sklar was a million miles away in Rio by now.

Mal ignored the comment, unwilling to lose his concentration for something so petty. “Ten minutes after we leave, you’re going to the elektos to resign. You have no memories of us being here. You’ve been alone all day, thinking about this decision. Nothing will dissuade you.”

“I will go and resign. I have no memory of you being here because I’ve been alone all day thinking about this decision. Nothing will dissuade me.” Sklar’s pupils were blown wide, his gaze dreamy and lost.

Without breaking eye contact, Mal lifted his hand and pointed toward the door.

“Going,” Chrysabelle said, getting out of Sklar’s sight line in case the persuasion wore off before they got out. Having a face to remember would be a very bad thing, especially if that face was Chrysabelle’s.

“Brazil.” With that as his final word, Mal got up, still
keeping his gaze fixed on Sklar. The room spun like Mal had been drinking, but he knew it was the drain on his power. Even Chrysabelle’s blood couldn’t fully restore him unless he took it from the vein, something he couldn’t do without killing her. Something he hadn’t done to anyone since he’d killed Fi.

He kept hold of the couch, working his way toward the door. He stumbled out of the room, his body somewhere between drunk and exhausted. With so little control left, the whine of the voices drilled through his brain. Blood hunger welled up in him so quickly he almost retched. He sagged against the wall in the hallway.

Chrysabelle waited there. Heart beating seductively, her scent wrapping him, inviting him…
Bite her. Blood. Now
. She grabbed his arm, swung it over her shoulders, and started hauling him toward the door. Neither of them said a word, understanding that doing so might break the glamour holding Sklar still for the requisite ten minutes.

Mal leaned into her, her perfume like a drug, her glow like a beacon. He wanted her so bad his bones ached. He buried his nose in her hair and inhaled.
Blood blood blood.
The swarming, crying, cajoling mess in his head got louder. The fight to maintain control got harder.

A few steps later, they hit the front door and got out. He staggered, almost falling. Chrysabelle hoisted him up, maneuvering him down the stairs and out the gate. He inhaled her scent again. “You smell like summer. And blood.” He groaned at the way his body tightened with need just at the speaking of the word.

She laughed softly. “You sound a little wasted. Pretty drained after using all that power, huh?”

“Mmm-hmm. Let’s go back to the hotel room and be alone.”

Beneath her signum, a faint pink colored her cheeks. “Save your energy and stop talking.”

“I need to feed,” he muttered into her hair.
Then bite.

“I know. That’s why we tucked a bottle of blood in your inside pocket before we left, remember?”

He patted the outside of his coat, finding the hidden bottle. He reached for it, but she grabbed his hand.

“Not now. In the car. Drinking blood on the street is a great way to out yourself as a vampire. We’re almost there.”

A minute later, she shoved him through the passenger door. He slumped back into the seat, feeling the daysleep coma dragging him down. He wanted to give in to it, but they had so much left to do.
Blood
, the voices screamed. Reminded, he reached into his coat and pulled out the water bottle she’d filled for him. With enormous effort, he unscrewed the cap and drank it down. The blood was only slightly warm and already starting to clot, but it tasted like mother’s milk to him.

Chrysabelle got in and shut the door. “Mission accomplished. Now to find a replacement.”

“Is he dead?” Mortalis asked.

“No, I told you no killing. He’s going to resign.”

“You actually got him to resign. How the hell did you get Sklar to do that? What reassurance do you have that he’ll actually do it?” Mortalis whipped around in his seat, twisting to see Mal behind him. The look in his eyes said he knew but didn’t believe it.

Mal raised his bottle of blood in salute, his energy already returning. “Might be better if we don’t answer those questions.”

The muscles in Mortalis’s cheeks twitched and several long seconds ticked by. “What you did is not supposed to be possible.”

“You’re assuming you know what he did,” Chrysabelle said.

“Don’t patronize me,” Mortalis spat. “I’ve known Sklar for years. He’s not about to up and resign. Not him. He knows the consequences.”

Mal drained the last of the blood. “He’s going to resign now.”

Mortalis cursed in a language Mal didn’t understand and sagged into the driver’s seat. He stayed silent for about half a minute. “Have you ever persuaded me?”

“No,” Mal answered. “I haven’t.”

“But you would, wouldn’t you?”

“If it meant protecting Chrysabelle? Hell yes. Without thinking about it.”

Mortalis shook his head. “You know if this ever comes out, the elektos will put a price on your head.”

Mal tossed the empty bottle into the back. “Then make sure it doesn’t come out.”

“Great, sounds like a deal,” Chrysabelle said. “Now, if you two are done, can we get on to finding a replacement?”

Mortalis glanced at them in the rearview mirror. “Read me the address. The sooner we get out of here, the better our chances are of actually getting out.”

F
ists clenched, Aliza screamed again. Her frustration with the shifter made her want to kill him even more. He’d drunk so much, he was a useless lump on the floor, but even if she could get him up, that damn ghost girl had locked him into the wine cellar. Aliza refused to let him out of the spell, though. The minute he came to, the second that door was unlocked, she’d shove every ounce of power she could muster into the spell and force him to come to her. Samhain was on its way. If she had to wait for the boost of power midnight would bring, so be it. Doc would be dead before the sun rose.

The creak of the wood steps leading up from her dock roused her attention. The spell’s smoke clung to her, but she shook it off without breaking the link and got up. If one of her coven members was dropping by to see how she was holding up in her time of loss, she would thank them by drinking their blood. The hunger in her hadn’t gone away yet, but maybe that was part of being a vampire. Who knew? Wasn’t like there was a manual.

She stepped out of her altar room, locked the door, and went to see what was going on. Cautiously, she hung by
the door of her room and used her new hearing to investigate. Over the sounds of the house and the outdoors, two heartbeats filled her ears, their rhythms overlapping like music. She’d never realized what a nice sound a beating heart made. A quick inhale brought her sour and sweet scents. The sour almost burned her nose, but the sweet was like warm honeyed sunshine, so good she inhaled again, putting up with the sour just to smell it a second time. Without knowing how, she got that both smells came from blood. One very drinkable. One very deadly.

Her screen door opened slowly, the sound almost disappearing into the breezes sighing around the house. The sweet, perfumey scent got stronger. Subtle footsteps followed, crossing the linoleum of her kitchen. A coven member wouldn’t enter unannounced. Whoever was out there was no friend. She glanced around for something to use as a weapon, then almost laughed. What was she thinking? Her magic was unequaled now. She raised her hands, calling fire to the ready, and slipped out to surprise whoever had just broken into her house.

“Hello?” a male voice rang out from the kitchen. “Is Evie here?”

The question stopped Aliza in her tracks and she dropped her hands, fire forgotten. She peeked into the kitchen. A beautiful human male stood there, glowing as if sunshine leaked out his pores. Gold markings covered him, like the girl who had come with the vampire Malkolm. The vampire whose blood had held so much power. She raised one hand, prepared to strike. “What are you doing here?”

“Hi.” Blue eyes deep and inviting, he smiled as he spoke. Her knees almost buckled. “Are you Evie?”

“No, Evie’s my daughter. Was. She died.”

His face fell and she wanted to say something to make that smile come back. “I’m so sorry for your loss.” He backed toward the door.

She came toward him a few more steps. “What do you want Evie for?”

His hand hit the latch on the screen door. “It’s not important.”

She was fully into the kitchen now, the smell of him making it impossible to hide her fangs. “Tell me.”

“A woman in the crystal shop on Bayonet said Evie might be able to help me with a spell. I shouldn’t have just walked in, but the screen door was unlocked. I’m sorry for bothering you. I’ll just let myself out.”

“No, wait.” Aliza took a few steps forward, breathing in his deliciousness. The sour scent was still there. “You’re one of those comarré, aren’t you?”

He smiled again. “Yes, ma’am. I’m a comar. That’s what they call the males.” His gaze traveled to her mouth. “I didn’t know Evie’s mother was a vampire.”

She rolled her lips together and pushed her dreads out of her face. “Kinda just happened. Been a witch all my life, though. What kind of spell do you need help with? Maybe I can do something for you.” In exchange for some of his blood, of course. Or all of it. Maybe she’d put a holding spell on him and keep him as a pet.

“Do you think so? That would be wonderful.” He hooked his thumbs into the neck of the long white shirt he wore and tugged it over his head.

Aliza’s jaw unhinged a few inches. She might be a vampire, but she was still a woman, and the half-naked
man standing in her kitchen not only smelled delicious, but he also had a body to go with it. His sculpted chest and arms were covered with more of the same gold marks. Her fingers itched to touch him. To grab hold and keep him still while she sank her fangs into him.