Last Blood (47 page)

“I know we are.”

Doc came up and shook Mal’s hand, slapping him on the back and drawing him away as Fi hugged Chrysabelle.

Mortalis approached, Nyssa at his side. “Congratulations.”

We’re thrilled for you
, Nyssa signed.

Chrysabelle leaned forward as the shadeux kissed her on the cheek, and then Nyssa hugged her too. “Thank you, both.”

Hours later, as everyone left, Chrysabelle stood at the door waving and watching the last car go through the gate. Mal came up behind her and put his hands on her shoulders. She put one of her hands over his. “We have good friends. A little strange, but good.”

He laughed. “Agreed.” His thumbs kneaded her back. “How are you feeling? Tired?”

“A little.” With a contented sigh, she turned in his arms. “But there’s one person left to tell and I can’t rest until that happens.”

He kissed her. “Then let’s take care of that.”

M
al helped Chrysabelle out of the car. The wind had picked up, carrying the tang of the sea and the charge of a coming storm. It whipped her hair past her face, turning her into a warrior goddess once again.
His
warrior goddess, made even more beautiful by the child she carried. He smiled at her, again wondering what he’d done in his life to earn this second chance.

“I won’t be long,” she said. Jerem stood a few yards away, ready to escort her.

“Take all the time you need.” He tucked one windblown lock behind her ear.

She stayed put. “The sun will be up soon.”

“And the car windows are helioglazed.” He leaned in, narrowing his eyes. “Don’t rush on my account. I mean it.”

“Okay,” she said with an appreciative smile. She squeezed his hand, then nodded to Jerem and began to make her way through the rows of headstones.

Mal leaned against the car and watched her go. The prickle of the hallowed ground scratched at his bones and made the little hairs on his skin stand up, but it was a
tiny price to pay to accompany his wife-to-be to see her mother.

What would Maris think if she knew her precious daughter was about to marry a vampire? And not just any vampire, but a vampire who’d gotten a child on her? His gut told him she wouldn’t like it.

Jerem hung back a row as Chrysabelle kneeled at Maris’s grave. The wind carried a few of her soft words to Mal’s ears. “Love… marry… baby.”

He tipped his head back and studied the clouded night sky. Here and there a star shone through, but otherwise the heavens were closed off to him. Centuries ago, he might have taken that as a bad omen. Hell, even now it seemed like some kind of sign.

Maris, if you’re up there, you have to know I love her. And the child she’s carrying. I know I’m not the man you would have chosen for Chrysabelle. I know this isn’t the life you wanted her to have, but I’m not leaving her. Ever. I also know I don’t deserve her any more than I deserve this second chance, but I’m not going to waste it
.

If you could have gotten to know me
… He shook his head. This was stupid, talking to a woman who wasn’t there. Who probably would have done everything in her power to keep him away from her daughter. Including trying to stake him.

He lifted his eyes to the sky again.
I will protect them with everything I have until the end of my days. I promise you that
.

Thunder rumbled, long and hard enough to shake the car. Lightning shattered the Western horizon but the rain held off. The corners of his mouth turned up with a hint of a smile.

Chrysabelle came jogging back. “I think it’s about to pour.”

“Did you say everything you wanted to?”

She nodded, but her eyes were sad. “I wish she was still here.”

“Me, too.”

Surprise replaced the sorrow. “You do? Even though you know she probably wouldn’t have liked you very much.”

“I could have changed her mind.” He reached for the car door.

Thunder rumbled over their heads. She glanced at the sky. “There’s a storm coming.”

He nodded, his gaze traveling to her belly. “There always will be. And just like always, we’ll weather it.” He opened the car door just as the first fat drops of rain pelted them.

She slid into the car, but he hesitated, flicking his gaze skyward once again. No matter what Maris thought, no matter who came after them, no matter what price he had to pay, he would keep Chrysabelle and his child safe.

It wasn’t a question of if. Trouble
would
find them again. And until it did, he’d be waiting. Watching. Prepared to fight. Ready to protect.

From this day forward, last blood would always be his.

Always.

The End

Writing never gets easier. There are good days and there are tough days; both are hard, but on either kind of day, my support system never fails me. All those who’ve helped me in some way deserve thanks. My apologies for those I’ve forgotten to mention, please forgive me.

To begin with, I want to thank my Creator for the blessings He’s given me.

This series wouldn’t have happened without my amazing, supportive agent, Elaine. She’s the reason many of the great things in my writing life happen.

Big ups to my editor, Devi, for pushing me to delve deeper into the madness I put on the page and to her assistant, Susan, for always being there to answer my questions. You both rock, as does the entire publishing team at Orbit, including Alex, Ellen, Laura, and Lauren.

I have to also give a shout-out to Nekro, the amazing talent behind the art for these covers. I could not be more indebted for your work on them.

Massive thanks to the Writer’s Camp chicks, Laura and Leigh, for their support, their friendship, and their ability to yell at me with kindness when I’m shopping online
instead of writing. To Rocki and Louisa, whose friendship gets me through each day and every trial.

To all my readers, you guys are awesome and the reason I do this!

Lastly, tremendous thanks to my parents and my brother for their continuous support and to my husband for being my number one fan. I couldn’t do this without you.

K
RISTEN
P
AINTER’S
writing résumé boasts multiple Golden Heart nominations and praise from a handful of best-selling authors, including Gena Showalter and Roxanne St. Claire. A former New Yorker now living in Florida, Kristen has a wealth of fascinating experiences from which to flavor her stories, including time spent working in fashion for Christian Dior and as a maitre’d for Wolfgang Puck. Her website is at
kristenpainter.com
and on twitter as @Kristen_Painter.

If you enjoyed

OUT FOR BLOOD,

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RED-HEADED STEPCHILD

Sabina Kane: Book One

by Jaye Wells

D
igging graves is hell on a manicure, but I was taught good vampires clean up after every meal. So I ignored the chipped onyx polish. I ignored the dirt caked under my nails. I ignored my palms, rubbed raw and blistering. And when a snapping twig announced David’s arrival, I ignored him too.

He said nothing, just stood off behind a thicket of trees waiting for me to acknowledge him. Despite his silence, I could feel hot waves of disapproval flying in my direction.

At last, the final scoop of earth fell onto the grave. Stalling, I leaned on the shovel handle and restored order to my hair. Next I brushed flecks of dirt from my cashmere sweater. Not the first choice of digging attire for some, but I always believed manual labor was no excuse for sloppiness. Besides, the sweater was black, so it went well with the haphazard funerary rites.

The Harvest Moon, a glowing orange sphere, still loomed in the sky. Plenty of time before sunrise. In the distance, traffic hummed like white noise in the City of Angels. I took a moment to appreciate the calm.

Memory of the phone call from my grandmother intruded. When she told me the target of my latest assignment, an icy chill spread through my veins. I’d almost hung up, unable to believe what she was asking me to do. But when she told me David was working with Clovis Trakiya, white-hot anger replaced the chill. I called
up that anger now to spur my resolve. I clenched my teeth and ignored the cold stone sitting in my stomach. My own feelings about David were irrelevant now. The minute he decided to work with one of the Dominae’s

enemies—a glorified cult leader who wanted to overthrow their power—he’d signed his death warrant.

Unable to put it off any longer, I turned to him. “What’s up?”

David stalked out of his hiding place, a frown marring the perfect planes of his face. “Do you want to tell me why you’re burying a body?”

“Who, me?” I asked, tossing the shovel to the ground. My palms were already healing. I wish I could say the same for my guilty conscience. If David thought I should apologize for feeding from a human, I didn’t want to know what he was going to say in about five minutes.

“Cut the shit, Sabina. You’ve been hunting again.” His eyes glowed with accusation. “What happened to the synthetic blood I gave you?”

“That stuff tastes like shit,” I said. “It’s like nonalcoholic beer. What’s the point?”

“Regardless, it’s wrong to feed from humans.”

It’s also wrong to betray your race, I thought. If there was one thing about David that always got my back up, it was his holier-than-thou attitude. Where were his morals when he made the decision to sell out?

Keep it together, Sabina. It will all be over in a few minutes
.

“Oh, come on. It was just a stupid drug dealer,” I said, forcing myself to keep up the banter. “If it makes you feel any better, he was selling to kids.”

David crossed his arms and said nothing.

“Though I have to say nothing beats Type O mixed with a little cannabis.”

A muscle worked in David’s jaw. “You’re stoned?”

“Not really,” I said. “Though I do have a strange craving for pizza. Extra garlic.”

He took a deep breath. “What am I going to do with you?” His lips quirked despite his harsh tone.

“First of all, no more lectures. We’re vampires, David. Mortal codes of good and evil don’t apply to us.”

He arched a brow. “Don’t they?”

“Whatever,” I said. “Can we just skip the philosophical debates for once?”

He shook his head. “Okay then, why don’t you tell me why we’re meeting way out here?”

Heaving a deep sigh, I pulled my weapon. David’s eyes widened as I aimed the custom-made pistol between them.

His eyes pivoted from the gun to me. I hoped he didn’t notice the slight tremor in my hands.

“I should have known when you called me,” he said. “You never do that.”

“Aren’t you going to ask me why?” His calm unsettled me.

“I know why.” He crossed his arms and regarded me closely. “The question is, do you?”

My eye twitched. “I know enough. How could you betray the Dominae?”

He didn’t flinch. “One of these days your blind obedience to the Dominae is going to be your downfall.”

I rolled my eyes. “Don’t waste your final words on another lecture.”

He lunged before the last word left my lips. He plowed
into me, knocking the breath out of my chest and the gun from my hand. We landed in a tangle of limbs on the fresh grave. Dirt and fists flew as we each struggled to gain advantage. He grabbed my hair and whacked my head into the dirt. Soil tunneled up my nose and rage blurred my vision.

My hands curled into claws and dug into his eyes. Distracted by pain, he covered them with his palms. Gaining the advantage fueled my adrenaline as I flipped him onto his back. My knees straddled his hips, and I belted him in the nose with the base of my hand. Blood spurted from his nostrils, streaking his lips and chin.