Blood Rights (24 page)

‘It’s no wonder I want to devour you,’ he growled softly. He twisted the hair around his finger. ‘Aren’t you afraid of me?’

‘Yes,’ she whispered. Afraid she might have to kill him. Afraid she might not be able to.

‘Wise,’ he whispered back, dropping the strand to coast his cool fingers down the curve of her neck. ‘I’m not a champion. I don’t know any other way to be but this thing I’ve become.’ His hand stopped, his thumb pressing lightly over her jugular, perhaps to absorb her quivering pulse. ‘And yet, you scare me too.’

His admission calmed her. ‘I scare you?’

He nodded, barely moving his head. ‘I don’t want to hurt you, but I’m afraid I will.’ The words seemed spoken to himself more than to her.

‘You won’t.’ But no faith backed the words she desperately wanted to believe.

A breeze blew the loose strand across her face. His hand moved from her throat to tuck it behind her ear, then he stroked his palm down the length of her hair to her hip. His hand stayed there, fingers firm against the flimsy pajama pants she still wore. She shivered.

Eyes as silver as the reflected moonlight took her in. ‘I’m scaring you now.’

It wasn’t a question, but she answered anyway. ‘Yes.’

‘I can tell. Your scent changes.’ He stepped back, his nostrils flaring, hands flexing. Everything about him said he was losing the battle with his self-control. ‘That first night, in the alley, you truly believe you could have killed me?’

‘Yes.’ At least she had then.

‘Would you, had you felt it necessary?’

She tensed but replied, hoping the affirmation would convince her too. ‘Yes.’

He scrubbed a hand across his face. ‘Good. You may have to yet.’

Her jaw opened slightly. That wasn’t the direction she’d thought he’d been headed in. There seemed to be no correct response, so she just watched him, waiting for whatever interesting thing he might say next. She was not disappointed.

‘There are enough hours of night left to visit your aunt. You need something more appropriate to wear though. Maybe Doc has something.’

This time, she had words and a little bit of fear. ‘Why do you want to see my aunt?’

‘She was comarré, wasn’t she? She may know something that might help you.’ He paused, and his mouth bent. ‘That might help
us
.’

Those two small letters, that one tiny pronoun, changed everything. It redefined her relationship with the vampire. It made them a unit. A team. A couple. Sweet heaven, she did not like the sound of that, but she imagined she’d get used to it. She’d gotten used to much harder things in her life.

‘And then … we … do what?’ Despite her misgivings, she
was thrilled to have his help. To be an us. A we. However she looked at it, it meant she was no longer alone in this fight.

‘Then we go to Corvinestri.’

‘Corvinestri?’

‘That’s where you’re from isn’t it? The seat of the House of Tepes?’

‘Yes.’

The bend of his mouth increased. Obviously, that was one city he didn’t relish visiting. ‘We go to return this ring and see about proving your innocence.’

‘You’re anathema. You won’t be able to get past the city wards.’

‘I can take you as far as the wards then.’ He pointed a finger at her. ‘And when this is over, blood rights or not, we go our separate ways, understood?’

‘Yes,’ she agreed, but he was already gone.

I
nsistent knocking woke Maris. Where was Velimai? Maris glanced at the bedside clock. Not quite 3 a.m. Not that she was really sleeping anyway. Not with Rennata’s vague warning note and Dominic’s disappointing report swirling around in her brain. How Chrysabelle could place her trust in that vampire was beyond her. The creature was anathema. More knocking. She chided herself as she sat up and swung her legs around. So was Dominic, and look how long she’d stayed with him.

She picked up the journal she’d been writing in before bed and tucked it into her nightstand drawer. There was much Chrysabelle needed to know about Maris’s past, but now was not the time. Not yet.

Velimai floated in and solidified. She held the handles of the iBot to keep it steady, a completely unnecessary gesture for several reasons, one being the iBot was as stable as a rock.

‘Who’s at the door?’ Maris lifted herself onto the seat.

Velimai moved back into Maris’s field of vision and shimmered into a ghostly replica of Chrysabelle. It was like
Chrysabelle was an old-fashioned movie and Velimai was the screen, still visible behind the image.

‘Why haven’t you let her in? Why hasn’t she let herself in?’

Velimai tapped two V’ed fingers against her chest, the sign for vampire, then her image changed again into the visage of a male vampire.

Maris wanted to spit. ‘She’s brought him here? No wonder she hasn’t come inside. She knows better than to bring a vampire into my home.’ No vampire, friend or foe, had ever been given an invitation to cross her threshold. If she hadn’t made an exception for the one vampire she’d been sleeping with, she wasn’t about to make an exception for the one Chrysabelle had deemed her new protector.

Maris wheeled out of the room and down the hall. ‘If she thinks I’m letting him in, she’s mistaken. I don’t care if he is helping her.’

Velimai, gliding ahead and back in her own skin, shook her head furiously. She opened her mouth, her lips peeling back in a wide snarl.

‘No, you can’t kill him. As much as I dislike the idea of Chrysabelle aligning herself with this creature, it’s her decision.’

Velimai crossed her arms as the iBot maneuvered down the stairs.

‘Go back to bed, Velimai. I can handle this.’ She prayed silently that her niece had not done something so foolish as turn over her blood rights. Maris would know soon enough. If this vampire had drunk from Chrysabelle, Maris would smell it on him. A cold thought shuddered through her. What a stupid old woman she’d become. No doubt Chrysabelle had recognized the blood scent surrounding Dominic as her aunt’s. And now she was here for an explanation. Who could blame her?

Velimai bowed slightly and left with a not so subtle roll of her eyes. Stubborn wysper. Still, the girl was worth her keep for her ability to decimate vampires and keep secrets. In her own way, Velimai was the perfect companion. Quiet, deadly to vampires, and a worthy gin opponent.

The knocking sounded again as Maris reached the door. She opened it, wondering if she shouldn’t have come brandishing her sacre. That would give the anathema something to think about.

‘Chrysabelle, I know you must have questions after … after.’ Something about her niece looked off. The breeze shifted, bringing the faint bitterness of ash with it. ‘Are you feeling all right, my dear?’

‘Yes, Aunt. I feel very well, thank you.’ Chrysabelle’s stony face suddenly burst into a smile that didn’t reach her eyes, unlike the vampire behind her who’d been grinning like a madman since Maris had opened the door. So this was the anathema her niece had aligned herself with. Maris immediately disliked him and hoped her face reflected that.

‘Good. I was worried something was wrong since the hour is so late.’ Maris studied Chrysabelle, but she stood just out of the light. Odd. Chrysabelle had never seemed so short before. Or so thin. Something was going on. Perhaps Chrysabelle didn’t want to say in front of the vampire. Perhaps she couldn’t get away from the vampire. Again, Maris yearned for her sacre. ‘This one with you, he’s the one helping you?’

Chrysabelle glanced back at the vampire and smiled. ‘Yes, he is the one helping me.’

The vampire bowed slightly. Maris snorted air through her nostrils. As though putting on manners would impress her. ‘Why don’t you come in, dear?’

A genuine smile blossomed on Chrysabelle’s face. ‘I thought
you’d never ask.’ She started forward, the vampire behind her following.

Maris raised a finger in warning. ‘That invitation is for Chrysabelle only. No vampire will ever cross this threshold.’

Chrysabelle walked into the house and laughed. ‘Oh, I think that’s about to change, comarré.’

‘What?’ Maris rocked back, moving her iBot a few paces away. And then, without warning, Chrysabelle wasn’t Chrysabelle anymore.

The figure of her niece morphed into an unfamiliar female vampire. Maris’s breath came in hard, fast gasps. ‘Velimai,’ she screamed. ‘Velimai!’

The female laughed, fangs glistening. ‘Don’t worry, comarré. I’m not going to drink you dry. Yet.’ She grabbed Maris by the arm.

Velimai shot into the room behind the female, took one look, and charged forward in solid form, the only form in which she could scream.

‘Tatiana!’ The male vampire stuck outside leaned against the invisible threshold barrier as though it was a pane of glass. ‘Behind you. A wysper.’

Tatiana pulled Maris out of the iBot and into a rough embrace, then spun to face Velimai. Her fist caught Velimai across the jaw, sending her to the floor with a split lip. Tatiana’s knuckles were scraped raw by the wysper’s sandpaper skin, but the marks vanished a second later. Velimai stayed down, face contorted in pain and anger, but held her solid form and opened her mouth as she shuffled backward. Maris tensed, prepared to have her eardrums blown out.

Velimai’s shattering cry ripped through the room. Maris winced. The sculpted glass coffee table shattered, spraying safety glass through the room like confetti.

Tatiana’s fingers dug painfully into Maris’s flesh. ‘Mikkel, do something,’ she shouted to the male.

Instantly, he lifted his arm toward Velimai and spoke a few words. The air shimmered darkly around his hand, but nothing happened. The male must be House of Bathory to wield the black arts he’d attempted, but without an invitation neither he nor his power could enter the house. Fortunately, Velimai’s scream had no such boundaries. The veins in his neck and hands began to throb.

Blood oozed from Tatiana’s ears. She howled in pain and dropped Maris, stumbling over the glass-covered floor to get to Velimai. Tatiana’s hands went around the wysper’s throat, choking off the sound, then Tatiana slammed Velimai against the wall. She dropped to the wood floor, crumpling like a rag, her throat ringed in bloody handprints.

Tatiana wiped her abraded palms on her trousers. ‘Disgusting creature.’

Maris had little time to mourn before Tatiana leaped back to her side and grabbed her viciously by her upper arms. Maris twisted, trying to get away. Tatiana spun her around, biting back a sob of anger.

‘So much for your house pet, comarré.’ Tatiana leaned into Maris and inhaled. ‘You may not last that long either.’

Maris jerked away as best she could, managing to get an arm’s length away from her captor. ‘What do you want?’

Tatiana’s face went cold. ‘Your niece. Where is she?’

‘I have no idea.’ Maris had heard of Tatiana but never crossed paths with her until now. Rennata’s warning rang in Maris’s ears. This vampiress was more than trouble. Maris would not be cowed by this bloodthirsty female, not in her own home. ‘And even if I did, I wouldn’t tell you.’

Tatiana scowled. ‘Do you know who I am?’

That much Maris recalled. ‘You’re Lord Ivan’s pet.’

‘You dare speak to me that way?’ Tatiana laughed and looked at her partner outside. ‘How soon they forget their manners.’

‘You don’t deserve my respect, leech.’

Tatiana cracked Maris hard across the face. Blood spilled into her mouth from the inside of her cheek. She swallowed it down. These vampires didn’t need the added incentive the scent would give them.

‘Then neither does your niece deserve mine, comarré.’

‘I haven’t been comarré in years.’

Tatiana peered at her with ravenous eyes. ‘Then that makes you kine.’ She danced her tongue across her fangs. ‘And I have only one use for kine.’

‘Get out of my house.’ Maris struggled not to tremble.

‘Don’t worry, I’m leaving. And you’re coming with me.’

Mal stroked the oilcloth down the length of the blade as tenderly as he’d once stroked his daughter’s cheek. He moved like a machine, no thought for the action, falling into the past and a wash of memories normally kept tightly checked. Except for rare moments like this. Cleaning this sword, so like the one he’d earned his living with when he’d still walked in the sun, always had that effect. The pain of those memories wasn’t without benefit. Pain like that held the voices to a dull hum.