Flesh And Blood: House of Comarre: Book Two (House of Comarre 2) (6 page)

‘No human form?’ She frowned. ‘Do you know where Mal is?’

Again he shook his head.

‘Great.’ She sighed. ‘Just when I think I can help him, too.’ She reached down to scratch his neck again. ‘Are you supposed to stay inside until you can shift back?’

This time he nodded, even though the thought of running through the docks suddenly seemed like a very good one. There were rats out there the size of small cars. Why was he supposed to stay in?

‘When Mal gets back, can you remember to tell him I was here? If he comes home soon, tell him I went to Seven to see Dominic. Maybe he can catch me there.’

Doc hissed.

She held up her hands. ‘Sorry, I know you and Dominic have a bad history. Just remember to tell Mal I was here and that … that … Oh rats, just tell him we need to talk.’ She gave him a little wave and shut the door.

Doc stared at the closed hatch and meowed. What had the human said about rats? His stomach reminded him that food was a good idea.

He took off toward the galley. Rats liked the galley. And really, what else mattered besides the hunt?

‘I
am deeply sorry about your brother, Nasir.’ Tatiana dug the tip of her tongue into one fang until tears came to her eyes. ‘So very sorry. I didn’t know him that well, but as any valued, upstanding member of the House of St. Germain, he will be missed by all of us.’

Nasir snorted and muttered something in Arabic. ‘Really? Missed by all of you? The line of St. Germain is hardly given much respect by the other houses.’

‘I have a great deal of respect for the abilities of your house.’ She pulled the glove off her metal hand and flexed her fingers. ‘What your brother did for me … ’ She swallowed as though overcome with emotion and hoped that revealing her imperfection would gain her some sympathy. Otherwise Nasir would be reunited with his brother sooner than expected. ‘I will be forever in his debt. Your brother was exceptionally talented.’

‘He was.’ Nasir nodded, all traces of umbrage gone from his face. ‘Your sympathies are greatly appreciated.’

‘As the Elder of the House of Tepes, it is the very least I can do.’ Tatiana smiled softly and took Nasir’s hand in hers. ‘The
very least.’ Amazingly, she could actually feel the sensation of his fingers against her metal ones.

She studied the vampire across from her. Nasir was quite possibly more beautiful than his late brother. But could he match Zafir’s talents?

Nasir squeezed her hand tighter. ‘I still can’t believe he’s gone. Almost two hundred years we’ve been together.’ He swallowed and stared past her like he was remembering. ‘I keep imagining him in that fire, what it must have been like … ’

‘Now, now, you mustn’t torture yourself like that.’ Tatiana moved closer, letting her hand slide up his arm, discovering the delicious surprise that Nasir’s bulk came not from his clothing but from an abundance of muscle – at least twice what Zafir had carried on his much-leaner frame. A tickle of pleasure tightened the skin across her belly. ‘There was nothing anyone could have done. When I arrived, the fire had already engulfed the basement and first floor.’

Fortunately, Nasir had his own house. Unfortunately, it was in the same wretched neighborhood. ‘The fire wiped out everything. Did you share a laboratory with your brother?’

He shook his head. ‘No, I have my own. Zafir and I were very competitive in our work.’

Well, that was good news. ‘You must go on with yours. He would want that.’

Nasir pulled away slightly. ‘I don’t know that I can.’

She leaned in, allowing the neckline of her gown to fall open. ‘I have endured great loss in my life as well, but I have never let it stop me from achieving everything I put my mind to.’

‘How?’ Dark lashes fringed his eyelids. ‘How did you get past it?’

She hadn’t. Her hand reached his hard bicep and trailed across
his chest to smooth the lapel of his mourning coat. Bloody hell, he was a rock of a man. ‘By surrounding myself with things that brought me pleasure. Losing myself in them. Reminding myself how good it felt to be happy.’ She tried to remember what innocence looked like, then fixed the memory on her face. ‘Perhaps you would let me help you?’

‘My lady—’

‘Please, call me Tatiana.’ Her breasts brushed his forearm. This was almost too easy. She tamped down the urge to giggle.

A flicker of understanding registered in his eyes. ‘When you say
help
, are you suggesting … I mean, I wouldn’t want to take advantage—’

‘I could use someone with your talents in my employ. Besides, you cannot take advantage of something freely offered.’ She flattened her hands on his chest, feeling his body stiffen under her touch. ‘Why should two creatures as beautiful as us be alone?’ She stuck her bottom lip out a fraction. ‘Or do you not find me beautiful?’

‘I find you very beautiful. My brother and I often remarked that not another noblewoman in Corvinestri could compare to you.’

‘Then kiss me,’ she whispered, giddy with the sound of puzzle pieces sliding into place.

He bent his head and did as she asked, filling her with great satisfaction that her charms were very much intact and that men’s defenses against women had evolved so little in so many years.

Each minute that ticked by filled Mal’s head with another reason why he shouldn’t be here, in a place he’d vowed never to re-enter, about to fight for a woman who was only out for herself.
Then he reminded himself that if Katsumi really could get Dominic to help him remove the curse he was under, life could be … bearable again. The voices howled at that thought. He pushed them down. No matter what happened, he would not let the beast out.
Yes, you will.
He already had a reputation. He didn’t need every fringe vamp out to make a name for himself knocking at his door looking to take on the big, bad anathema.

Son of a priest. What was he doing here?

Fighting. He could do that. Had been doing it all his life.

He paced from one side of the small anteroom to the other, every muscle in his body aching to coil and strike, every bone remembering the damage he’d earned in this place. The pain. The humiliation.
Loser.

He would use those memories. Let them fester until the rage exploded out of him with an unstoppable force.
Kill, kill, kill.
No, he wouldn’t kill. No matter how hard the voices pushed. He wouldn’t give Katsumi the satisfaction. A kill paid more, but he didn’t care about that. All he needed was for his opponent to concede. A fair win. That was enough.
Never.

Who would Katsumi put up against him? He had a good idea it would be Ronan, the fringe vamp who was Seven’s head of security and the one combatant Mal had never beaten, thanks to the weakness produced by inadequate blood supply. Ronan would jump at the chance to fight Mal again, that was certain.

Ronan would be cocky, ready to trounce Mal like he had so many times in the past. Ronan would want to punish Mal for the blade Chrysabelle had sunk into Ronan’s shoulder. Nothing worse than being humiliated by a comarré. Not in Ronan’s world anyway. But then, all he knew of comarré were the weak imitations Dominic managed to produce.

What would Chrysabelle think if she knew Mal was about to
step into the Pits? Not that he cared what she thought. Not that she cared what he did. She still hadn’t tried to contact him. Probably wouldn’t either. Now that she was free, why should she? She’d gotten what she wanted. He was anathema. Beneath her.

Wouldn’t she have a fit if she knew he’d finally drunk the blood she’d sent over? Not all of it, just two containers’ worth. He hadn’t seen a way around it. If he fought while weak and lost, what would be the point of fighting? And if he won after drinking her blood and Dominic was able to get the voices out of his head, he’d let Chrysabelle off the hook for helping him, since technically she would have helped already by giving him the strength to win.

Except, if she found out, she would want him to kiss her again. The voices howled. But they had nothing to worry about, because that was not happening. Just like he was not thinking about the softness of her mouth or the sweetness of her—

A sharp rapping on the door interrupted his thoughts.

He leaned against the wall and tucked his hands into the pockets of his leather pants and did his best I’m-so-confident-I-almost-forgot-I-was-here look. ‘Come.’

The soft beeps of buttons being pushed on a keypad echoed through the steel door, then the lock snicked open. Katsumi entered and shut the door behind her. Her hair was wound in an elaborate knot and secured with tasseled picks that coordinated with the red and black silks she wore. She looked like she’d already won. ‘Are you ready, Malkolm-san?’

‘Don’t I look ready?’
Ready to lose.

Her nostrils flared. Could she smell Chrysabelle’s blood on him? He doubted fringe could pick up on things like that. ‘You look like a man about to change his past.’

‘I’m not here to change my past. I’m here to change my future.’ He peeled off the wall. ‘Let’s go.’

‘Not so fast.’ She reached into her long embroidered coat and extracted a bag of blood. ‘A little something to help you.’ She tossed it onto the small table beside him. ‘From Dominic’s best comarré.’

The voices spun into a frenzy.
Drink, drink, drink.
He didn’t need the blood after drinking Chrysabelle’s, but refusing would make Katsumi suspicious. He grunted in derision. ‘Dominic’s comarrés are as real as you are noble.’

The reminder of her fringe status earned him a brief flicker of anger. ‘Their blood is still better than the average human’s.’

‘I wouldn’t know.’

‘Which is exactly why you need to drink it. Or have you reconciled with the daughter of Dominic’s former whore?’

He stopped suppressing his anger. His face shifted into the hard angles and sharp lines only nobility could achieve. His fangs extended. ‘Use that term for either of those women again and I’ll kill you faster than the sun rises on South Beach.’

Katsumi smiled. ‘So, you do still care.’

‘Leave. I’ll be out when I’m done.’

Her brows rose. ‘Drink the blood now.’

‘You like to watch. Is that it?’ He stepped toward her and went for a more menacing tone. ‘I’m not here for your entertainment,
ane-san
.’ He laced sarcasm into the Yakuza term of respect for
little sister
to remind her how far she’d fallen. ‘Get out.’

She crossed her arms. ‘No. I won’t have you go in there weak. I have a lot of money on this fight. Drink it or you can forget I ever offered to help you.’

He snatched up the bag, sank his fangs into the plastic, and drank.
More, more, more.
The blood was almost sour, like the
barely remembered taste of citrus, so different from the complex, drugging sweetness of what ran in Chrysabelle’s veins. Or maybe it had just been so long since he’d had human blood that he’d forgotten the taste. Either way, he couldn’t understand how Dominic made any money off his fake comarré if this was the best of what they produced.

Finished, he tossed the bag down and waited. There was no rush of power, no sudden jolt of his heart beating with temporary life, no flush of heat. Had there ever been before Chrysabelle’s blood? No, not with human blood. No wonder nobility paid any price to own comarré. The blood in their gilded veins was more addictive than any human street drug.

Which made him a junkie.
More.
He exhaled, trying to drive out the rising need, but failed.
More.
The craving to taste her again surged hard within him, as bitter as the aftertaste left by the inferior product coating his tongue.
More.
His skin craved hers, that warm flesh that spun his head and recalled his days in the sun.

‘There now,’ Katsumi cooed. ‘Isn’t that better?’

Yes, more blood, more blood now.
Hell, no, it wasn’t better. All it had done was rouse the voices and remind him of one more woman who’d betrayed him. Mal cracked his knuckles. ‘Let’s go before I change my mind.’

‘Take your shirt off. The cover charge was double tonight and they expect a show.’

Hate
was too weak a word for what he felt. He yanked the shirt over his head. ‘Happy?’

She eyed him with a hunger that made his inked skin crawl. ‘Very.’ She pushed the door open and gestured down the hall. The noise of the crowd awaiting the next fight rushed in, filling his head with flashbacks of worse times. ‘You know the way.’