Out for Blood (26 page)

“And what?”

“They’ll take it back. By whatever means necessary.”

As soon as Creek left, Chrysabelle loosened her grip on the invitation and let it fall to the side. Despite the news about her brother, her mind had no space for thoughts of going to
achtice and all that entailed. She couldn’t give it room, not with Mal… gone.

She swallowed hard and blinked back tears she’d thought long ago used up. Holy mother, how would she survive this? The hole inside her widened with every breath, the pain rippling out in relentless waves. Mal was
gone
. That was the only word she could manage right now, and even it felt much too close to a truth that weighed a thousand pounds.

Sorrow mingled with guilt, scraping her raw every time she managed a breath. Guilt that she hadn’t told him how she felt when she’d had the chance. Guilt at her own cowardice.

She closed her eyes. Instantly, his image appeared, playing across the insides of her lids like a horror movie. Her hand reaching up to him. That blinding bright sun off the car that had seared the pictures into her brain and melted away her last shred of hope as he turned to smoke.

How could the mayor have done this? How could she, with a few words on a written statement, so casually extinguish the one bright spot in her life? What past crimes? An example of what? Of how insane the mayor had become? How cruel? How stupid? Chrysabelle’s hands clenched and she imagined them around the mayor’s neck. Imagined the mayor’s soft flesh and the crunch of bone as her throat gave way. Not since Tatiana had killed Maris had Chrysabelle wanted to take a life with such ferocity. She would
end
Lola for this.

The sun beat down relentlessly on Chrysabelle as it began its descent below the horizon. With a shudder, she bent under its unyielding heat, her anger turning back to sorrow. It burned her skin until she imagined she felt a fragment of the same pain Mal had in his last moments. She tucked her head against her knees and forced herself to breathe when all she really wanted to do was collapse onto the ground and pray for it to swallow her up. If not for the crowd of people inside, who were all friends, all there for her, and all tiptoeing around her like she’d suddenly turned to glass, she’d climb into her bed and stay there for a month, but going inside meant more of the sideways glances and meaningful looks they thought she didn’t see.

She saw and understood those looks. They were worried about her. They were right to be worried. She was a little worried herself, about the way she felt, the thoughts building in her head, the revenge fantasies that were the only real comfort she’d felt today. Her friends were here to help her in any way they could, but the help she needed, no one could provide. No one could bring him back.

No one could ease this pain.

Her eyes burned from the deluge of tears she’d cried. Maybe his being… gone would be easier to take if she’d found the strength to tell him how she felt. Because she
did
love him. Just thinking it caused a sob to snag in her throat. There was no question about it. She’d just been too afraid to say it. She pounded her fist into the chaise and bit back a scream. What had she been so worried about? That he wouldn’t say it back? He’d already said it to her.

She rolled her forehead back and forth against her knees. Mal had been right about her. She ran from the things she needed to face the most.

How was she going to go to
achtice and rescue Damian without Mal? She’d gotten so used to him fighting at her side. They made a great team, no matter how odd a pairing. Her throat closed up again. She cleared it, trying to find a way to breathe that didn’t make her soul ache. Maybe she wouldn’t live through the visit to
achtice. Maybe that would be the end of it. Of her. Of this pain.

Anger wormed through the inky black grief suffocating her insides. Anger at herself for not telling Mal how she felt. Anger at the mayor for what she’d done. Anger at Tatiana for being such a thorn in her side.
Their
sides.

Her hands itched for the red leather hilts of her sacres. To spill blood and ash. What did she have to live for anyway? If she was going down, she’d go down big. Unafraid. She’d start with Lola and finish with Tatiana. She’d make Mal proud.

A new quake of grief ripped through her and her fingers found their way to her throat. She touched the skin where Mal had bitten her, the bite now healed, the flesh as smooth and perfect as it had ever been. She pressed her fingers harder, hoping to find a nick or a scab or something, but there wasn’t anything to find.

She had nothing left of him. Nothing to prove they’d ever shared that most intimate of moments between a comarré and her patron. She ground her teeth together as the anger surged upward. The sun sank teasingly lower. She shot to her feet, hands fisted at her sides. Maybe she should get Doc or Mortalis to spar with her. If she didn’t burn off some of this rage, she was going to do something she might regret.

She almost laughed at that. What would she regret? Certainly not watching the mayor take her last breaths with a sacre stuck in her gut.

The sun disappeared, leaving her in the cooling, sympathetic twilight. Chrysabelle’s hands flexed, almost feeling the hum of the sword hilts against her palms. She closed her eyes and tried to inhale with some kind of evenness, the way she’d been taught as a comarré, but the rhythm wouldn’t come. Chaos ruled her mind. She needed to focus, to make a plan, not just to run headfirst into an unknown situation. Maris had planned for years, taught herself to walk again, built a business, and created a new existence beyond the nobility, all with the hopes that Chrysabelle would one day join her and find a life outside the comarré world. Her mother would not want her to throw that all away. Not after everything she’d sacrificed.

What would Mal do in this situation? What would he say to her?

“Chrysabelle.”

A hard sob racked her body. Holy mother, now she was hearing his voice. She covered her face, unable to bear the madness seeping into her brain.

“Chrysabelle?”

She turned, already knowing it was a trick of her weary, grieving mind.

But it wasn’t.

Her lungs heaved against her rib cage, needing more air to process the rush of emotion threatening to spin her into unconsciousness. “How?” But it didn’t matter how. All that mattered was that Mal was there, standing a few yards from her. Or was he?

“You’re real?”

“Don’t I look real?” He held his arms out.

With no further hesitation, she threw herself into his embrace, wrapping her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist. “You’re alive.” She was crying again but didn’t care. Mal was alive.
Alive
.

He laughed as his arms came around her. “Of course I’m alive. Why would you think otherwise?”

She pulled away so she could see his face. “You turned to smoke. The sun hit you and you burned up. I saw it with my own eyes.”

Concern grooved his forehead. “I got a few burns, but nothing a good daysleep couldn’t heal. Don’t cry.” He brushed a tear off her cheek with his thumb. “Your blood saved me.”

“I don’t understand. You told me you couldn’t scatter.”

He shrugged softly. “I can’t. Never have been able to. Not in the traditional sense anyway. But what I can do is exactly what you saw. Turn to smoke.” He took her by the waist and set her feet back on the pool deck. “Watch.”

Then he did exactly what he’d done in the square. Vanished into a swirl of black smoke. A second later, the smoke took shape and he was himself again.

She took a step away from him. “But the sun was out.”

He nodded and stuck a finger through one of several burned holes in his shirt. “Which is how I got these. I slipped into the storm drain as quickly as I could.”

She shook her head, still staring at him, every horrible feeling she’d had over the past few hours disappearing. “The sun reflected off the car and nearly blinded me. I must not have seen you go down the storm drain.” She sat on the chaise as a sudden weakness swept over her. “All this time, I thought you were…”

“Dead?”

She nodded.

He kneeled in front of her and took her hands. “I’m sorry you thought that, but I’m perfectly well.” He glanced at his clothes. “Except for a few burns and these scorched clothes.”

She tugged her hands out of his to grab his shirt and pull him closer. She kissed him hard until she ran out of air. “There are two things I have to tell you.”

“I’m listening.”

“One is that I have bad news. I love you, too. I’m sorry I didn’t say it to you sooner.”

He nodded a little, like it was something he’d already known. Any other time, that would have earned him a right hook.

“Two is that you smell like a sewer.”

He cocked one brow. “Considering I spent all day hiding out there—”

“You need a shower.” She grabbed his hand and pulled him up. “I happen to have one in my bedroom.”

His eyes went silver. “Are you inviting me up to your room, Ms. Lapointe?”

She was about to respond when a light went on in the kitchen, catching her eye. “Would you mind if we kept this to ourselves for a little bit? I’m not ready to share you.”

He squeezed her hand. “I had no intention of inviting anyone to join us.”

“I mean about you not being dead.” She scooped the invitation off the chaise and wiggled it between her fingers. “There’s a lot to be said for the element of surprise.”

Chapter Twenty-Four

L
ola stood in her master bath, staring at the ugly red marks on her neck. The reminder of her inability to control what was happening in her city. How was she going to manage it if she couldn’t find a vampire willing to turn her? And worse, how would she ever get a chance to get Mariela back from her vampire captors without that kind of power?

Her fingers probed the punctures, testing the soreness. Dominic thought he’d scared her away from her desire to become a vampire. Did he understand now how wrong he’d been? Did he also know he’d caused her to issue the statement that had put Malkolm to death? She knew how harsh an action it was, but the remaining councilmen had supported her. They were as afraid of what was happening in the city as she was. And now both the humans and the othernatural citizens would know she was serious about keeping order.