Blood Rights (21 page)

Which meant they’d fed her. She’d gotten her reward. She didn’t remember it or much of her last hours with them, but no other explanation could justify her current health. In fact, she felt good. Strong. Full of power. The kind of power only original blood could bring. She still didn’t know what she was supposed to sacrifice to engage the ring, but perhaps this new power would bring the answer with it.

She bolted upright, the sheets falling away from her naked body. She glanced down. Flawless, as always. She grabbed Mikkel, kissed him hard, then shoved him out of the way and leaped from the bed.

He laughed, his eyes hungry on her body. ‘I take it you feel well, then?’

‘I feel better than well. I feel as though I could devour nations.’ She turned before her gold-foiled mirror, checking herself. ‘Not a mark.’ She turned to look at her back. ‘Not a scratch.’ She faced forward again. Her hands smoothed the taut skin of her belly. She almost missed the stretch marks from her human pregnancy. She pushed that memory away and compelled herself to smile. ‘You are a lucky sod, aren’t you, darling?’

Mikkel shook his head and grinned. ‘I am indeed. I take it your time with the Castus wasn’t so bad, then?’

With a snarl, she spun to face him. ‘Hell would have been more enjoyable. Speak of it again and I will rip your throat out.’ She might do it anyway, just to watch him suffer while he healed. See how he liked it.

‘Of course, not again.’ His smile vanished as he straightened. He cleared his throat. ‘When you disappeared from your car, you left behind your locket and a cosmetics box. Octavian brought them to me.’

‘Give me my locket.’

‘It’s in your jewelry drawer.’

She hurried to her dresser and retrieved the locket, fixing the long chain around her neck with a sense of relief. She rubbed the gold oval between her fingers. ‘What of the box?’

‘I took the liberty of doing some research on the cosmetics company since I assumed you’d found it at Algernon’s. Headquarters for the company are in Paradise City, New Florida. The company’s female CEO lives there as well. Does that mean anything to you?’

That got her attention. ‘Oh yes. It means a great deal. It means we’re going to the Southern Union.’ It also meant she hadn’t lost
as much time in the hunt as she’d imagined. She smiled. ‘What a good boy you are.’ Mikkel was worth his weight in blood. Speaking of which …

‘Get my comar. I’m hungry. Then send word to ready my jet. I want to depart as soon as possible.’ After she fed, she would visit Nehebkau. She couldn’t leave for the Americas without seeing her precious pet.

‘Yes, my love.’ Nodding, he hurried from the room.

Her gaze returned to the mirror. ‘Let’s see what this new power can do, shall we?’

Tipping her head back, she opened herself to the delicious darkness that owned her undead soul and waited for the surge of something unfamiliar, a thread of fresh ability, that welcome burst of new power.

Her face shifted, her fangs dropped, and hunger wound through her belly like Nehebkau’s twin. She looked into the mirror. Nothing else had changed that she could see. Maybe the power wouldn’t manifest physically.

She stretched her hand toward the Fabergé egg on her night-stand and willed it to come to her. It didn’t move. She tried to transform it into a dagger. It stayed an egg. She attempted to make it vanish. It remained.

Bloody hell. What good was having a new power and not knowing what it was? She needed every edge to help her track down the ring. Anger coursed in her veins, filling her with a potent urge to destroy. She scowled at her reflection in the mirror. If she’d gone through all of that suffering for nothing … Her fist shot out and shattered the glass, leaving a spiderweb of cuts on her hand.

A door opened behind her. She scented Mikkel. He’d returned with her comar.

‘Leave the boy in the other room and come here.’ The gashes on her skin knit closed, leaving traces of blood behind.

‘Yes?’ Mikkel was at her side instantly. He took her hand and licked the blood away.

‘Don’t.’ She shivered in revulsion and yanked her hand back. Clutching it to her chest, she peered at him. Tried to read his thoughts. To get him to react in some way. Even setting him on fire would be a start.

Nothing. She cupped his face between her hands and stared into his gray eyes.

He smiled and reached for her hips. ‘That’s my girl—’

‘Quiet.’ She slapped his hands away, then replaced hers. She needed to think, to figure out what this new gift was. It would come to her. She just had to try harder. Maybe she could get into his head, see through his eyes. Become him.

Her spine tingled with energy. He jerked out of her grasp, his eyes wide. ‘How … what … you’re me.’

‘What?’ Her eyes refocused on her hands. Dark hair sprinkled wide knuckles and thick fingers. These were not her hands.

‘You’re me. Look.’ He pointed into the cracked mirror.

She turned. In a thousand different shards, two Mikkels stared back at her, one clothed, one not. She stared down at her transformed body. Mikkel’s body. Immediately, she imagined herself back in her own skin and just like that, she was. Without touching Mikkel, she tried to become him again. And did. She shifted back and forth a few times, then tried a few of the Dominus. Timotheius, Grigor, Syler … none were beyond her power. Her head spun and she tilted, catching hold of Mikkel as the dizziness took her. No power came without price.

‘Amazing,’ she whispered. ‘My new gift is mimicry.’

Laughter bubbled out of her throat as she changed back to her
own form with a small amount of effort. ‘Get my robe. After I feed, we leave for the Americas.’

Mikkel nodded and held out the heavy crimson satin for her, helping her into it. She tied the robe’s sash and glanced once more into the shattered glass.

‘You will be unstoppable,’ he said.

‘Unstoppable? I will be the greatest ruler the vampire nation has ever seen.’ She smoothed her hair. ‘Lucky sod, indeed.’

‘Get off her,’ Fi yelled as she and Doc ran into the gym. She skidded to a stop at the scene before her.

‘Don’t think he’s listening.’ Doc pointed with the crossbow he still carried from patrolling.

Mal’s beast, as they’d named this curse-born rage state, crouched overtop Chrysabelle, looking at her like she was an allyou-can-eat buffet. He must have scratched her, because blood stained the fabric of her pajama pants. Not a good sign. Neither was the way Chrysabelle’s fingers were tightening around the handle of a nearby sword.

‘Doc, get the weapon.’

‘I think it’s fine where it is.’

‘You’re such a help.’ Fi realized Doc had probably never seen this side of Mal. She turned her attention to the beast. ‘I said, get off. Now.’ Mal had enough voices in his warped brain without adding another one. Plus there was the whole question of what might happen to her corporeal status if Chrysabelle lost hers. Or if Chrysabelle put that sword through his neck. As much as Fi hated being dead, being
really
dead would be worse.

Mal’s beast growled, his jaws inches from Chrysabelle’s face, but his words were aimed at Fi. ‘You’re not one of us anymore, mortal.’

‘Crap.’ That was exactly what Fi had been afraid of. In the past, she’d been able to talk to him from the inside, calm him down before the rage engulfed him and the beast took over. Being corporeal via Chrysabelle’s blood seemed to have rectified that. At least Fi didn’t have to hear those other voices anymore. They were enough to drive a person crazy. Obviously.

‘Everything’s fine,’ Chrysabelle whispered as she worked her fingers around the sword’s hilt.

‘Girl, you do
not
want to do that,’ Doc whispered back.

The beast dragged a clawed finger down her cheek and bared his fangs in a wicked snarl. ‘Everything
is
fine, isn’t it? You won’t like our version of fine, though.’

Fi edged closer. ‘Mal, I know you’re in there. Fight the voices. You can do it, you’ve done it before.’

His head whipped toward her. An eerie grin spread across his mutated face. ‘Malkolm is dead.’

‘No kidding, he’s a vampire. It’s a big part of the job description.’ Fi motioned behind her back for Doc to move in. She had to distract Mal enough to get him away from Chrysabelle before she took a swipe at him with that sword. ‘What are you after? Blood? I’ve got tons of that now.’

Mal shook his head. ‘This one needs to die.’

Fi caught Chrysabelle’s gaze, held up three fingers, and hoped to high heaven the comarré could take a hint. ‘What makes you so afraid of her, huh? She’s just a measly mortal, like me. Do you really want her in your head too?’

Doc was at her side now. She pressed against him and reached for the switchblade he kept hooked on his belt. She tapped his back three times. He nodded slightly as she took the blade, then moved away.

She flicked it open and streaked the edge across her palm.
Pain and a line of red welled up. Mal’s black gaze narrowed on the new blood.

Memories painted a haze around Fi’s vision. Memories of when Mal had attacked her. The way his fangs had torn through her skin. She swallowed and, for a moment, thought she saw a flicker of silver in those eyes. ‘C’mon, Mal. You know you want it. You can smell it, can’t you? Pure mortal blood, untainted by all that gold. You know what it tastes like, don’t you? This blood saved your life
one
time before. It can do it again.’

Fear rounded Doc’s eyes, probably because he knew as well as she did that if Mal reached her in his current state, he’d tear her arm from her body to get what he wanted. Or worse. If everything went according to the quickly sketched plan in her head, that wouldn’t happen. Probably.

Her heart thudded hard in her chest. The room seemed darker. More like the ruins.

Mal swallowed and flicked his tongue over his lips. With a shuddering breath, Fi squeezed her hand into a fist and let the blood drip onto the mats. The shroud of names on his skin began to waver and separate. Doc slowly shifted around behind Mal, hefting the crossbow into position. ‘That’s it,’ she cajoled, sending the next signal. ‘The
two
of us can do this together.’

Mal inched forward and Fi yelled, ‘Three!’

Chrysabelle bucked Mal into the air. Doc squeezed the trigger. The bolt caught Mal in the shoulder and thrust him away. A multitude of voices cried out in rage as he fell to the ground at Fi’s feet. She got out of the way as Chrysabelle flipped to a crouched position, her chest heaving, sword in hand and pointed at Mal. Frozen with tenuous relief, the three stared at him, waiting to see what would happen next.

Thankfully, the blackness bled away into the familiar pattern
of names. Mal lay prone for a moment, then reached back and yanked out the bolt with a grunt. He tossed it without lifting his face off the mat. Blood oozed from the wound. ‘Leave me. Now.’

Doc looked at Fi, then Mal. He shifted to his other foot. ‘Sorry, bro, I didn’t know what else—’

‘Get out.’ Shame made Mal’s words quiet and still. Fi understood, and new emotion filled her. Elation that she’d survived. Sorrow that she hadn’t been as successful the first time. But not the hatred that usually welled up. Pity had taken its place. Pity that Mal would never want to know about. The curse was a mammoth burden to bear. She knew what a horror show went on in that head of his. A lesser creature would have killed himself long before now. Not just thought about it or tried it but done it.

Doc thrust his lower jaw forward. ‘You would have torn Fi’s arm off.’

‘Get. Out.’

‘Doc … ’ Fi tried to catch Doc’s eyes but he was intently staring daggers at Mal’s prostrate form. Doc might be cursed too, but his was nothing like Mal’s. Chrysabelle quietly set the sword down and pushed to her feet.

‘Not you, comarré.’ Mal eased to his knees. The oozing blood turned into a thin trickle as he stood. His fists clenched tight to his sides. The voices must be tearing his head to pieces. Chrysabelle glanced at Fi.

Fi shuddered, then caught Doc’s gaze. His pupils were down to slits. He’d been ready to attack on her behalf. ‘C’mon, let’s get out of here.’ If Mal wanted to talk to Chrysabelle, Fi wasn’t about to stand in his way. Whatever he needed to discuss with the comarré, he was in decent shape to do it now. And hopefully, a more sane frame of mind. Fi knew that her survival depended
on his. No matter how much strange blood ran through her system, how long could she last without Mal?

Doc walked out with her, his hand comfortably on the small of her back. Ever since she’d gotten fully corporeal, the varcolai’s attitude toward her had changed a little. He’d gotten sweeter, more demonstrative, and not just when they were alone either. She tucked his switchblade back into his belt and, giving his side a little pinch, whispered, ‘Thanks.’

They went single file up the narrow stairs to the next deck, coming side by side again when the passage widened. Doc’s hand returned to rest on the waistband of her jeans. ‘We need to bandage that hand of yours, but leaving them alone is a bad idea.’

‘They’ll be fine. My hand too.’ She was sure about her hand, not so much about Mal and Chrysabelle, but this was Mal’s problem and he had to deal with it or it was likely to happen again. Her uninjured hand slid up Doc’s back to rest at the nape of his neck, about as far as she could reach without going onto her toes. The man was sleek, hard muscle from stem to stern. Too bad about his curse. Just once she’d like to see him in his true form. She’d love to snuggle up next to a big black leopard. Not that she’d ever admit that to him while his curse prevented it. Curse or not, she was never leaving him.