Flesh And Blood: House of Comarre: Book Two (House of Comarre 2) (45 page)

The joy at being himself again welled out of him in a loud, guttural yowl.

The look in her eyes changed to something a little less happy. She flickered back to her ghost form.

He shook his head, trying to tell her not to be afraid.

She swallowed. ‘You wouldn’t hurt me, would you?’

Not in a million years. He just had to let her know that no matter what form he was in, he was all about protecting her. Always. He’d nearly gotten killed trying to rescue her from the hell she’d been stuck in, hadn’t he? But that was behind them now. He laughed, which came out like a sneeze, flopped onto the dirty floor, and rolled over, showing her his belly and looking at her upside down.

That got him a laugh. ‘Silly boy.’ She took a baby step forward. ‘I’m going to touch you, okay?’

He kneaded a paw in the air. Her fingers brushed the tip of one ear. He held very still. Her hand traveled to the top of his head, caressing the width of his skull. ‘Wow, you’re so soft.’

Human, ghost, whatever she was, he adored this female.

She kneeled beside him and buried her face in his neck. ‘I love you, Maddoc.’

I love you, too, Fiona.
He started to purr.

‘W
hat the hell?’ Creek rushed forward to stop Chrysabelle, but Mal blocked his way.

He leaned in toward Creek. ‘She said not to touch her.’

Creek’s whole body thrummed with the urge to stop her. ‘She’s doing this for you. Anything happens to her’ – he stabbed his finger into Mal’s chest – ‘
anything
, and I blame you.’

‘Nothing’s going to happen to her. I won’t let it.’ Mal stalked away.

In an almost trancelike state, Chrysabelle seemed not to notice them. With her index finger over the open end of the pipette, she slid it out of her chest and inhaled. Blood bloomed from the wound, but the stain spread no more than a few inches.

She started chanting again, so softly it was hard to hear. Maybe that was on purpose, to keep them from understanding the words she was using. From what Creek could make out, it sounded like the Aramaic the KM recited in their rituals. Using the pipette like a fountain pen and her blood for ink, she drew a perfect circle on the floor in front of her. At the top of the circle, she drew the phoebus, the sun symbol that was every comarré’s first signum.

He glanced at Mal. The vampire was practically salivating. His eyes were silver, his fangs visible as he watched open-mouthed. Who could blame him with that much blood? No wonder she’d been reluctant to do this in front of him. She probably worried his beast would break free and devour her. Creek exhaled hard. He’d die before he let that happen.

Circle completed, she bent forward, supporting herself on one hand. With the other, she continued with the pipette, this time writing inside the circle. Creek and Mal shuffled a few steps closer. She copied the runes from the paper into the circle, whispering the name of each one as she went.

After the last one, she set the pipette aside and stood, arms outstretched, palms up. The runes sketched in blood began to expand. Blood flowed from them and filled in the blank spaces within the circle until an almost solid pool of red shimmered before her. The blood expanded until the last empty spot was covered.

A flash of golden light gleamed across the surface. The blood rippled like water. Creek took that to mean the portal was open. Chrysabelle picked up her skirts and stepped forward.

Creek caught movement out of the corner of his eye. Mal shifted nervously. Like he meant to go with her. Creek wasn’t willing to take that chance.

He lunged to grab Mal and hold him down. Chrysabelle’s foot touched the portal. Mal jumped forward out of Creek’s way, his hand snagging the trailing sleeve of her gown. Creek snatched the back of Mal’s jacket. Blinding light surrounded them, then plunged them into darkness. A stone wall slammed into Creek and new lights danced in front of his eyes. He shook himself.

Correction. Not a wall. A floor. Mal was a few feet away. Slightly ahead of them stood Chrysabelle, head bowed. Books
and scrolls covered the shelves lining the walls. He followed the volumes around until he saw a woman unlike any he’d ever seen before.

Seated at a massive table, its edges overflowing with more scrolls, charts, and star maps, was a tall, slender Persian. The kind of woman who might devour her mate. He wanted to look away, but her coal-black eyes held an age and wisdom that bored into his core and mesmerized him. His body felt screwed to the floor. His joints ached and he knew somehow that she controlled him.

The Aurelian.

Her mouth twisted cruelly as she glowered at him, then at the vampire. She rose, hefted a sword few mortal men would have been able to lift, and pointed it at Chrysabelle. ‘You have violated the rules of my sanctuary.’

‘What? No, my lady.’ Chrysabelle shook her head. ‘I did everything as I was instructed.’

‘You brought a mortal and a vampire into my presence.’ The Aurelian’s voice shook the intricately carved walls and rattled the candelabras lighting the enormous room.

Chrysabelle spun to look behind her. Horror marred her expression. ‘You fools,’ she breathed. ‘What have you done?’

Mal answered. ‘It was an accident. Creek’s fault. He grabbed hold of me at the last minute.’

‘Idiots,’ she hissed. ‘Both of you. Do you think this is a game? This is my life.’ Her hands fisted as she closed her eyes and inhaled. When her eyes opened, they held as much anger as the woman hefting the sword.

The Aurelian strode to the front of the table, sword still pointed at Chrysabelle. ‘None but comarré are allowed here. This trespass must be dealt with.’

Chrysabelle nodded and turned away from them to face the woman. ‘Yes, my lady, of course. My deepest apologies. I instructed them not to follow me through.’

The woman lowered the sword a fraction. ‘Then you know them?’

‘Yes, I know them, but I told them not—’

‘They were present during the ritual?’ Fresh sparks glinted in the Aurelian’s eyes.

Chrysabelle dropped her chin, her hands tightening until her knuckles went white. ‘Yes.’

The Aurelian walked toward Mal. ‘The penance for this act is death.’

Tatiana motioned for Octavian. He joined her behind a clump of bushes in the side yard of the comarré’s home. ‘Anything?’

‘No. That side of the house is dark top and bottom. What about here?’

She pointed toward the kitchen windows. ‘The wysper. Disgusting creature.’

‘Any sign of the girl?’

‘No. If Malkolm or that kine is harboring her, it’s going to take longer to track her down. Fortunately, with the scrap of fabric I took from the comarré, the Nothos
will
find her.’

He tipped his head toward the back of the property. ‘What about the yacht? There are lights on there.’

She turned to look. So there were. She’d been so fixated on the wysper she hadn’t noticed. Suddenly the lights within the boat flared brightly. Like a flash going off. ‘Come. Let’s see what that’s about. Unless someone calls that vessel home, we should be able to get in without a problem.’

They kept to the property line until they were at the water’s
edge, then they snuck across to the dock. She glanced back toward the house. Nothing had changed. She listened for signs of life on the boat. No heartbeat. That meant no comarré or kine were present on the yacht. She sniffed the air. The scent of comarré blood made her mouth water, but past that she picked up the subtle spice of vampire and the earthy sweet smell of a kine but with a lingering sourness.

The scent of the Mohawked kine who’d hidden his heartbeat at the witch’s. He and Malkolm could be on the boat, but there was no comarré. So what had caused that flash? Had Malkolm done something to the girl? If he’d killed her to get the ring for himself, Tatiana would kill him for it in turn.

She motioned for Octavian to follow. Together they boarded the craft, weapons drawn. Octavian held the short blade that had once been Nasir’s. She fashioned her hand into a smaller version of the headsman’s sword she’d come to favor. She opened the first door she came to and slipped in.

In the center of the empty salon, a perfect circle of blood shimmered with an unnatural gleam. The blood scent rushed her, almost knocking her back. Behind her, Octavian growled low. She glanced at him. His fangs were out, his nostrils flared, and his face a warrior’s mask of hard angles and sharp bone. For a vampling like him, this much blood scent would be overwhelming. ‘Focus. You’ll feed soon.’

He nodded, sniffing hard. His eyes rolled back into his head slightly.

She punched his shoulder. ‘Control it.’

‘I’m trying,’ he grated, shaking himself.

‘Try harder.’ She slunk toward the blood, weapon ready even though they were alone. Some kind of ritual had been performed here. Near the circle lay a sharpened gold straw. The pointed end
leaked blood. At the top of the circle was the sun sign she’d come to recognize as the mark of the comarré. That symbol had first led her to the old comarré, and now it would lead Tatiana to the young one and more importantly, the ring.

She leaned in and held her natural hand over the circle, lowering it closer and closer until the buzz of power bit into her skin. She stood and nodded. ‘A portal. See that symbol? It can only mean the comarré’s run home.’ Tatiana laughed sharply. ‘If she thinks the Primoris Domus can protect her, she’s wrong.’

Morphing the gleaming sword at her side back into a hand, she turned to Octavian. ‘Time to return to Corvinestri and end this game.’

‘But how do you know she won’t just slip back through the portal?’

‘Because she can’t come through a portal that isn’t here.’ She glanced around the vessel. ‘Set the boat on fire.’

C
hrysabelle fell to her knees in front of Mal, arms outstretched. ‘No, please, I beg you, my lady. Spare their lives. They came only to protect me. I’m sure of it.’

The Aurelian raised her brows. ‘You think a vampire wishes to protect you? Are you ill, child?’

‘He’s saved my life more than once. He isn’t like the rest of his kind, I assure you.’ Although he and Creek were surely the biggest meddling idiots she’d ever known. How dare they violate her trust and follow her here? Hadn’t she specifically told them not to touch her or interrupt her during the ritual? She’d never wish them death, but they’d earned some kind of punishment.

‘Hmph.’ The Aurelian pointed her blade at Creek. ‘And this one?’

‘He’s Kubai Mata.’

The Aurelian took a harder look at him. ‘Is he?’

‘Yes, I swear it.’ Chrysabelle prayed for mercy, despite what the two fools behind her had done. ‘Please. They don’t deserve death.’

‘Neither do they deserve leniency.’ The Aurelian rested the flat
of her blade on her shoulder. ‘But for your sake, I will allow them to live. They will not, however, be a party to our discussion.’ She strode back to her table, laid her weapon down, and took up an ornate octagonal box. She removed the lid and the perfume of myrrh spilled into the room. ‘Until I release them, they will be bound in complete silence, unable to hear or see us.’

‘As you wish.’
Thank you, holy mother, for sparing them.