Blood Rights (37 page)

‘How are they going to know what you’re wearing?’

‘Because the Primoris Domus is the first stop I must make.’ Chrysabelle leaned against this wall. This was not going well.

Fi grimaced. ‘I had no idea. I don’t want you to get into trouble. Especially after everything your blood has done for me. Let me go see if there’s anything on the plane. Maybe Dominic has something.’

‘Thank you, that would be wonderful.’ Chrysabelle smiled as a small weight lifted off her.

‘Right back.’ Fi headed out, shutting the door behind her. She returned a few minutes later, her expression dour. ‘I’m sorry. All Dominic has is a dark gray suit.’

Chrysabelle nodded. ‘Thanks for checking. I guess these will have to do.’

Fi left and Chrysabelle surveyed the pile of unacceptable clothes, hands on her hips. She had no choice but to wear them. There was no time or place to get anything else. Apprehension worried her shore of confidence.

Resigned, she shoved the clothes to one side, then opened her personal bag and extracted the white zippered pouch that held her body armor. The pouch was slightly larger than the palm of her hand, but twice as thick. She unzipped it and shook the precious contents onto the counter. The whisper-thin silver mesh body suit slipped out, light as a promise and far stronger.

A few minutes and some carefully practiced moves later, the suit covered her from just beneath her jaw to her ankles and wrists. It fit as closely as a layer of paint, except that it breathed and moved like a second skin and had the durability of steel and
holy magic. She’d worn it before, to practice putting it on and taking it off and to accustom herself to fighting in it, but this time its ability to save her life might be tested.

If Madame Rennata didn’t rip it off her for letting it show beneath her clothes. The comarré body armor was a closely guarded secret. Or had been, until now. Chrysabelle sighed. She would do her best to explain, but what did it matter? She’d already revealed secrets to Mal she shouldn’t have. Told him about the training. Maybe Madame Rennata wouldn’t care. Maybe Chrysabelle shouldn’t care. She had to break from those rules sometime, didn’t she? She sighed. To just stop being a comarré was nigh impossible when it was the only life she’d known for a hundred and fifteen years.

Of course, if Tatiana succeeded in breaking the covenant, the time might come for the true purpose of the comarré to be revealed to all. The world would need someone to stand up against the vampire nation, to protect human life. Who better than those warriors already embedded behind enemy walls?

Just because she’d chosen to leave that life behind didn’t mean she couldn’t be counted on when the call came.

Even if she had let him kiss her. Twice.

That second kiss … no, none of that mattered. Not her past, not her future, just her present. Maris needed her to be brave and strong and ignore all else. If Mal could endure losing his child, surely Chrysabelle could suffer the smaller slings and arrows. With that thought on repeat, she reluctantly began to dress.

F
or the first few moments, none of them said a word. Mal, like the rest of them, just stared at her. At what she was wearing. Chrysabelle had emerged from the bathroom and now stood in front of them, looking slightly disconcerted and very … un-Chrysabelle.

He finally found his voice. ‘I … That’s … Huh.’ No, he had nothing. Just the usual noise in his head. Her new look defied immediate description.

Her jaw tightened. ‘No comments, please. It is what it is.’

The rest of them nodded. Doc held his hands up in some kind of surrender. Only Fi spoke, her tone overly bright. ‘I think you look awesome.’

‘Thank you.’ And with that, Chrysabelle pushed through the group and went back to where she and Mal had been sitting, tossing the coat over her arm onto the seats. Mal followed, but hung back a little. She popped the overhead bin and threw the shopping bags inside, then set her personal bag on the seat, opened it, and started extracting weapons and slipping them into her outfit.

And what an outfit it was.

A fine silver mesh, almost like body glitter, encased all visible skin except her hands and head. What the mesh was exactly, he couldn’t tell, but then fashion was Fi’s thing, not his. Black leather enveloped the rest of Chrysabelle.

Black. Leather. The contrast between that and her signum was startling. She was sun and shadow, day and night. Good. And evil. The voices howled in agreement.

Over a white tank top, a snug vest cinched her trim waist. The pants that hugged her legs laced up the back like an old-fashioned corset. The image was not an unpleasant one. Looking at her like this, covered and yet somehow totally revealed, he’d never realized how much lean muscle she carried. The time she’d walked into the gym nearly naked, he’d been a little too overwhelmed by the startling amount of signum and bare skin on display to take in that detail.

Perhaps that was why she favored the loose tunic and wide pants, to hide her athletic build. He started to wonder if the generally accepted idea of the comarré as some kind of vampire geisha wasn’t actually a misconception the comarré themselves perpetuated. As a cover story went, it was a good one, except geisha weren’t trained to kill the men they entertained.

He walked up beside her as she tucked the Golgotha blade beneath the lacing on the back of her pants. ‘It’s not as bad as you think.’

‘You have no idea.’ She strapped on the sword across her body, adjusting the strap to fall between her breasts, now clearly delineated by the vest’s uplifting abilities.

‘I promise you, no one’s going to care if—’

She spun, her eyes holding more angst than he’d expected. ‘You promise me? You do
not
understand.’ She glanced back at
the rest of the group and the steam seemed to leave her a bit. ‘I didn’t mean to snap, but this is more than just an outfit. It’s a blatant disregard for everything I’ve been raised to hold sacred.’

She was right about him not understanding. How anyone could be so upset about clothes was beyond him. ‘Maybe we can—’

‘No. Forget it.’ She shook her head. ‘I will deal with whatever ramifications come. All that matters is freeing my aunt.’

He wanted to say something to make it better, but his vocabulary hadn’t included those kinds of words since his human life had ended. She reached for the coat lying across the seats, and he went to get it for her at the same time, his hand almost brushing her arm. His fingers prickled with heat.

She jerked her arm out of the way. ‘Don’t touch me.’

He scowled. Didn’t she understand he’d been trying to help? ‘Fine.’

‘That’s not what I meant.’ Her voice lowered. ‘This … body armor is spun from fine silver and imbued with holy magic. It will burn you.’ She picked up the coat, carefully keeping her distance. ‘I just thought you should know.’

That explained the sensation in his hand. ‘Silver body armor.’ Perfect protection against vampires. No wonder it covered her throat. How many more toys did she have? ‘Another comarré weapon?’

‘Yes. Another guarded secret, actually. When worn, it’s to be kept hidden. One more rule I’m breaking.’ She pulled the coat on and adjusted it over her sword. The red-leather-wrapped handle stuck out next to the base of her braid.

The combination of black leather and visible weaponry did more than change her look. It erased the veil of innocence that
had clouded his judgment concerning her. He’d somehow been unwilling to accept that this pale, gilded creature could be anything more than a source of life and power, thinking that she would certainly perish without his help. Now he saw her more clearly than he ever had. She was a killer, not to the extent or purpose that he was, but she and her kind were certainly just as lethal. Or could be, when the need arose.

The thought should have unsettled him. It didn’t. Neither did the lack of understanding as to why such a side of her would even be necessary.

Instead, he felt a kinship with her that he’d never expected. In that moment, he saw her as an equal. A woman who could face the tribulations of the life he lived. Son of a priest. The last woman he’d thought that about, he’d married. If he didn’t watch himself, Chrysabelle was going to be a hell of a lot harder to get rid of when this was over. Assuming she wanted to stay in the first place. Which she wouldn’t.

He almost laughed. The noble vampire Families really had no idea what kind of creatures they paid to nourish them. Wouldn’t they be surprised to learn their docile comarré were such well-trained, well-equipped warriors, ready to slit the throats they fed at a moment’s notice?

She popped her collar, hiding the sword handle a little more. ‘I guess I’m as ready as I’m going to be.’

He rested his forearm on the overhead bins and leaned in, a thousand words dancing on his tongue, but none of them seeming right. ‘We’ll get her out. Even if we have to kill every one of those undead bastards to do it.’

That brought a smile to her face. ‘You know you’re still one of those, right?’

He could look at that smile a lot and not get tired of it, even
if it was brought on by the idea of killing vampires.
Maybe she’ll kill you.
‘I’m undead bastard anathema. Big difference.’

She laughed softly. ‘Point taken.’

Dominic called to them from his seat. ‘
Per favore
, you must sit down and buckle up, we’re about to land.’

Mal nodded at him, then sat and buckled his lap belt. Not that a crash would kill him anyway.
Too bad.

Chrysabelle took the seat beside him, moving the point of her sword out of his way. She clicked her belt, then glanced at him. ‘Just so I can be prepared, are you going to’ – she waved her hand at him – ‘do that thing where the voices take over?’

Yessss.
‘No. Not ever again.’ Not if he could help it.
Give her to us.
Not around her.
All over her.
Invisible teeth gnawed on the interior of his skull. Whines of hunger drilled into his ears from the inside out. He closed his eyes and leaned back, trying to quench the cravings the voices stirred up. Deep within him, the beast shook off the chains Chrysabelle’s blood had bound it with and reared its head.

Unfortunately, she was the one thing the beast most craved.

Tatiana stroked Nehebkau as she strolled circles around the old comarré. The albino cobra lay draped around Tatiana’s shoulders, his head on her chest and his tail wound down around her arm in a serpentine embrace. It was good to be home. She’d missed her precious boy. ‘Your niece should be here soon, and when she arrives, I’m going to kill her. And you’re going to watch. I want you to think about that.’

‘Get staked, bloodsucker.’ The blood whore lifted her head defiantly. Against the dusky backdrop of bruises covering her face, her signum sparkled in the sanctuary’s artificial light. The makeup she’d used to cover them had worn off long ago.

‘I’m going to kill the vampire that’s helping her too.’ Tatiana continued to walk, her high-heeled boots soundless on the leaves and moss of the simulated jungle floor. ‘And then I’m going to kill you.’ She stopped in front of the chair the comarré was tied to. ‘Unless you want to tell me where the ring is.’

‘I told you, I don’t know anything about a ring.’

‘Liar.’ Tatiana backhanded her. Nehebkau hissed and flared his hood at the sudden movement. She smoothed her fingers down his creamy throat. ‘It’s all right, my darling. Hush now.’

The old comarré spit out a mouthful of blood and tipped her head back to stare at the sanctuary’s fiber optic night sky. ‘The stars are beautiful but they can’t compete with the sun. Don’t you miss the sun shining down on you? The bright light of day? That warmth?’ Her voice was irritatingly pleasant. Fool.

Tatiana leaned close and grabbed the kine’s chin, tipping her face until they were only inches away from each other. Nehebkau’s tongue flicked in and out, tasting the air. Could he sense the blood feast hidden beneath the old woman’s skin? Tatiana dropped her hand from the comarré’s chin and bared her fangs in a hiss of her own. The comarré merely squinted and turned her head. Killing this one could not come soon enough.

Anger at the kine’s cavalier attitude ate into Tatiana’s good mood. ‘I am going to drink you slowly, old woman. So slowly you can feel the life seeping out of you, slipping away down my throat.’