Blood Rights (38 page)

Her finger traced a gold vine from the woman’s temple to her cheek, stopping beneath her eye. ‘The way each swallow stabs at your heart, dragging your pulse down, weakening you until … nothing.’

She pressed her fingernail into the woman’s skin until red spilled forth. Flicking the bead up with her nail, she brought her
finger to her mouth and licked it clean. ‘Already you taste like death to me.’

The kind of death that would infuse her with more power. The comarré might be old, but her blood hadn’t suffered from time spent without a patron. The potent heat of life still throbbed within her. Oh yes, power dwelt in this woman’s veins. Power that would soon be Tatiana’s. A giddy shiver tickled her skin. Power was everything. Power was
life
.

The sanctuary door opened and Mikkel stepped halfway into the room. He tipped his head to one side, requesting her presence outside. She nodded, then turned back to the old woman. ‘I won’t be gone long.’ She smiled and unhooked Nehebkau from around her neck, easing her darling to the floor. ‘But I’ll leave you a little company. I wouldn’t make any sudden movements if I were you.’

A shadow of fear flickered in the comarré’s eyes as the serpent reared back and stared her down with its bright red gaze. How dare that old whore fear Nehebkau but not his master?

Tatiana suppressed her growing rage as she walked away to join Mikkel in the hall. Securing the door behind her, she raised her brows. ‘What is it?’

‘I have good news, my sweet.’ He smiled, hands going to her hips and pulling her close. ‘Mmm … you smell like fresh blood. You know what that does to me.’

She almost dug her nails into his arms to push him away, then stopped. Mikkel often saw pain as an aphrodisiac. Instead, she gathered every last remaining ounce of patience. ‘Later, my love. What’s the good news?’

He nuzzled her neck, undeterred. ‘I’ve got a new team of Nothos scouring the city.’ His fangs scraped her skin. ‘If the girl is here, we will have her very soon.’ He bounced a finger off the
tip of Tatiana’s nose. He was lucky to keep it. ‘And then I will present her to you to do with what you will.’

At last, Tatiana’s smile came willingly to her lips. ‘You do know how to please me.’ Maybe she would take him to bed after all. ‘But I hope it doesn’t take long. Waiting to kill this one grows harder and harder. Especially when the threat of death doesn’t seem to faze her. It’s like she wants to die.’

‘Then why wait? If the old comarré wants to sacrifice herself for her niece, I say let her.’ His hands crawled up beneath her shirt.

Tatiana froze. That was it. And this whelp had inadvertently figured it out. The sacrifice had to be a comarré. Pure untainted blood. And why use the comar she’d paid good money for when she had another one? One that no one would miss.

She threw her head back and laughed, dislodging Mikkel’s palpating hand. ‘Of course!’

‘What?’

‘Nothing.’ She kissed him hard, then grabbed his hand and led him toward her chambers. He deserved a reward for his efforts, and what was better than being allowed to pleasure her?

Maris stilled her hands as Tatiana’s laugh echoed through the door. A minute passed, then another, but the vampiress didn’t return. Maris resumed struggling with her bound wrists. She no longer cared if she spilled her own blood in the effort or not. Nothing mattered now, except warning Chrysabelle.

Whatever this ring was that Tatiana so desperately sought, it couldn’t be used for anything good. Maris had no idea if Chrysabelle had it or not, but she’d searched Chrysabelle’s things after the girl had arrived to be sure there was no kind of tracking device planted among them. There’d been no ring.
Chrysabelle could have had it on her person, but Maris had seen no evidence of it.

Did the vampire helping Chrysabelle know about it? Chances were good that if he did, his ‘help’ would be more for himself than for her niece.

Her heart ached at what had transpired since Algernon’s death.
Chrysabelle, forgive me.
This was not how things were supposed to have gone, but Maris would atone. If it took her dying breath, she would make things right at last.

The rope scoured her wrists, but she dismissed the pain. It was no worse than her swollen eye or what she feared was a cracked cheekbone. Her libertas battle had almost killed her, but she’d survived it. Now she would fight for Chrysabelle’s libertas.

Tatiana’s pet watched, its beady red eyes ever vigilant. That dangerous creature would be the first thing Maris dispatched when she got free. And she
would
get free. If she had to tear flesh and break bone to do it, she would free herself and do as much damage as she physically could to Tatiana and her house.

If only Maris had her sacre. But she’d seen swords decorating the walls of this house. One of them would have to do. The time for pretending was over. The time for protecting had come.
Holy mother, please allow me this one last effort.
She dug a fingernail into the weave of the rope, fraying it piece by piece.

The snake slithered closer, flicking its tongue out.

One of the benefits of being a cripple was being underestimated. Tatiana had not secured Maris’s feet. She snapped her good foot out, catching the cobra and sending it flying into a teak chaise with a satisfying thump.

Of course, there were greater benefits in only pretending to be crippled. After her libertas, she’d been confined to a wheelchair while her body healed. Staying in the chair after she’d learned on
her own to walk again had been a difficult decision and an even harder secret to keep, something she’d only ever entrusted to one other – her sweet, volatile Velimai. Bitter tears burned Maris’s eyes, but her anger forced them away. Tatiana and her paramour would pay for what they’d done to Velimai.

With a final burst of effort, she snapped the rope and loosed her hands. Red marks circled her wrists. She flexed them, marveling at how the signum still sparkled after all these years. How she’d despised those marks, worked to hide them so she could move in the mortal world undetected and live a normal human life. The life she’d wanted for Chrysabelle. Poor Dominic. He’d never understood her need for that mundane normalcy, but she’d never expected him to. He reveled in being the creature he was, and a normal human life had stopped being an option for him the day he was turned. He’d gone from prince to king. Comarré were born serfs. How could he understand?

She stood slowly, giving her bad leg a chance to catch up. It took longer for the circulation to return to her old muscles these days. Paying Dominic in blood had given her a welcome boost of virility. Keeping her strength up while living her life as a cripple had been a test of will made bearable by Dominic’s occasional visits, but today would make all those years worthwhile.

The cobra shifted, coming back to life. Foul creature. Maris limped over and snatched it behind the head and by the tail. ‘You and your mistress are quite a pair, aren’t you? Cold-blooded killers.’

The cobra spit, and the sharp tang of venom tainted the air.

‘Just like your keeper. Reeking of poison and death.’ In one quick motion, she released the snake’s head and spun the creature around by the tail, bringing its skull down against the bench with a hard, final snap.

She dropped the limp body. The serpent writhed at her feet as the nerves twitched reflexively in the final throes of death. If only Eve could have done as much. Maris wiped her hands on her dirty, bloodied clothes.

‘Now for your mistress.’

T
he apprehension building in Mal’s gut had grown the farther into the city they’d driven. The cypher fae, Solomon, had gotten them through Corvinestri’s wards without incident, but that didn’t mean they weren’t being watched. Even the voices’ ever-present droning had taken on a nervous hum. Something wasn’t right. Besides the fact that two anathema were now within the walls of one of the power centers of vampire nobility.

The grounds around the Primoris Domus house, if you could call such a structure a house, were so well lit that the night didn’t leave a single shadow. He almost expected to see armed guards, but what good would they do against vampires?

He’d never been to a comarré residence before, let alone imagined one could be as impressive as the houses nobles lived in. Maybe more so. How many acres did the property entail? At least three other buildings dotted the landscape. Training facilities maybe? Dorms? Armies could have been barracked inside buildings that large. He glanced at Chrysabelle. Maybe that’s exactly what the buildings held.

‘Nice joint,’ Doc said. ‘Your kind don’t like small spaces, I dig.’

Chrysabelle’s eyes stayed on the building, focused yet distant. She raised her hand to the window and rested her fingertips on the glass. ‘Within that house, hundreds of comarré live their lives. They’re born here, raised here, trained here. This is our world. Our home.’

Doc shot a look at Mal as if to say it seemed like a sheltered life. He couldn’t disagree, but Chrysabelle had handled herself well in the human world. Perhaps she’d been trained for that too.

Their driver, the plane’s pilot, pulled the limo to a stop just beyond the large circular drive in front of the main house, staying in the shadows of the tree-lined entrance. The second vehicle, driven by the copilot and holding Dominic, Mortalis, and Solomon, parked behind them. Fi might as well have been in that car too, for all she’d said. Since the incident with the clothes, she’d been quiet and mopey.

‘I’m going in alone,’ Chrysabelle announced, reaching for the door handle.

Mal grabbed it first. ‘Like hell you are.’

Finally, she looked at him. ‘Do you honestly think you’re going to be granted an invitation to come any farther than the threshold? At best I can get you into the foyer and the great room, but nothing beyond that. This place is a sanctuary against vampires.’ She shook her head. ‘I go alone.’

‘Tatiana has a comar from this house, yes?’

Her brow furrowed. ‘Yes, but what does that—’

‘Would she have been given an invitation to enter at some point or not? How does the process of obtaining a comarré work?’

An inkling of his direction shimmered in her eyes. ‘She would
have come to the house at some point to meet the available comars, negotiate the blood rights price, then again to pay.’ She tapped her finger on her thigh. ‘It’s not unheard of for someone else to act as a go between, but knowing Tatiana, she probably did it herself.’

‘Are the invitations rescinded once the blood rights are purchased?’

Defeat clouded Chrysabelle’s gaze. ‘No.’ She looked at the house again. ‘Tatiana could have already come here with her Nothos. We have no way of knowing whether the house has been breached.’

He hit the button to lower the window and forced himself to inhale. ‘I don’t smell brimstone.’ Yet. His gut told him the night air wouldn’t stay untainted for much longer.

‘Me either,’ Doc added.

Chrysabelle nodded and slid toward the door. ‘Very well then. Mal, you can come. But don’t be … ’ Her mouth pursed in frustration.

‘Don’t be too me?’ He understood. And he didn’t blame her for it. ‘I’ll be on my best behavior.’

‘Whatever that is,’ Doc said. He sprawled out, propping his feet on the edge of the seat Chrysabelle was about to vacate and slipping his arm around Fi. ‘We’ll hold down the fort here.’

Mal opened the car door for Chrysabelle, letting her exit ahead of him. When she was out, he turned to Doc. ‘Don’t get comfortable. If we’re too late—’

Doc raised his fingers to his forehead in a casual salute. ‘I got this, bro.’

‘Good enough.’ Mal slipped out of the vehicle and shut the door. He let Chrysabelle go in front with enough paces between them so anyone watching could see she wasn’t being coerced. At
the door, he stayed a few steps back and waited while she knocked.

She shifted uneasily, clenching and unclenching her hands. Was she that worried about what he might do? What scene was going through her mind? Him attacking the whole house?

‘I’m not going to do anything to embarrass you,’ he said, shifting into his human face. How easy that was to maintain with her blood in his system.

‘Don’t worry, I’ve taken care of that myself.’ She plucked at her long leather coat. ‘These clothes … ’ She shook her head.

What an idiot he was. Of course she wasn’t just worried about what he might do. There was no way the comarré house was going to let slide the fact that Chrysabelle was wanted for murdering her patron. The muscle in his jaw twitched. If anyone in there tried to hurt her—