Out for Blood (48 page)

Blood gushed from the wound even as the edges knit together. She pushed upright to go after him. “I don’t think so.”

He shook his head and a second later, a wisp of black smoke danced in the air where he’d been, then vanished through the wall just before the opening disappeared.

Tatiana rammed her sword hand into it. The impact jarred her shoulder and reopened the wound. She turned the sword back into a fist. In all her years, she’d only seen one vampire turn to smoke. One lying, deceitful, comarré-loving vampire. Anger forced her fist into the wall again, dislodging chunks of plaster and stone.

How was it possible? She’d seen his death with her own eyes. Howling in frustration, she fell to her knees. Rage seethed through her at the betrayal that had just been measured against her and at the way she’d been played for a fool. “Next time, husband, you will die for real. And your blood whore with you.”

“Dead.” Rodrigo said the word like he didn’t understand it. He swallowed and dropped back into his chair. His jaw hitched forward, then back into place. “I see.”

Doc sat down as well. Heat radiated through him enough that he wondered if he should sneak a pill. “That’s why I’ve been calling you. I didn’t want you to find out through other sources.”

Still Rodrigo didn’t meet his eyes, instead staring blankly ahead. “It was a fair fight?”

Dammit. That was not an easy question to answer. Then Barasa did it for him.

“I’m the pride physician. I’d be happy to do a necropsy if you’d like.”

“No.” Rodrigo shook his head. “Her mother wouldn’t want her cut open. I’m sorry I asked. I have no doubt it was fair.” He exhaled long and slow, looking suddenly tired and deflated.

“You’ve come a long way,” Doc said. “I’ll have a room prepared for you.”

“That’s not necessary. There are plenty of places to stay—”

“I insist.” Sympathy for the man softened the edges of Doc’s frustration with everything that had happened. And maybe a little guilt. “It’s the least I can offer you. If there is anything I or my pride can do for you, we’ll do it. Your reputation as a fair leader precedes you. I would very much like to keep things good between us.”

Rodrigo nodded but sat quietly, his gaze focused low. “Perhaps there is something else you can do for me.”

“Name it.”

Rodrigo glanced at Omur and Barasa. “You are looking for a third council member?”

“Yes. The last one couldn’t accept me in place of Sinjin.”

“I have a son, the third born. If you would take him as your council member, I would be indebted to you. Things have not gone well for him in our pride. A fresh start would be good for him.”

“You don’t think he’d have an issue with me, considering his sister’s death?”

Rodrigo shook his head and at last made eye contact. “Each of us knows the way of the pride. No one enters a challenge without knowing the consequences. He will understand.” His hands loosened their grip on the chair. “Remo is a good boy. A little troubled, but good.”

Doc wanted to know what
troubled
meant, but asking delicate questions had never been his thing. “How… that is… what exactly—”

“His trouble?” Rodrigo laughed, a good sound to hear. “His trouble is women. Too many of them. They fight over him, create problems I have to solve.” He leaned forward in his chair. “If you knew how many angry fathers I have had to appease.” He threw his hands up. “They all think Remo should marry their daughter. Then they expect favors from me when he doesn’t.”

Doc smiled. “So Remo’s a player, huh? There are worse things to be.”

“Keep him busy with work and his troubles should be behind him. But give him no special treatment because he is my son. Treat him like you would any other member of your council.” Rodrigo raised his brows. “Do we have a deal?”

With a nod, Doc stood and held out his hand. “We do.” As Rodrigo rose to shake it, Doc continued. “I am very sorry about Heaven.”

Pain filled Rodrigo’s eyes again, but still he pumped Doc’s hand. “As am I. But some good has come out of this, after all, no? From this day forward, the alliance between our prides is renewed.”

“From this day forward,” Doc said. So long as Remo wasn’t the nosy type.

Chrysabelle walked through the comarré tunnels beneath Lord Syler’s estate, every step taking her closer to safety and farther away from where she wanted to be. At Mal’s side.

Blood crusted the front of her gown and her shoulder throbbed with pain, but she was still alive. Was Mal? She knew he’d pushed her through the door to save her, but the plan had been to stay together. They could kill Tatiana another day. Like when she didn’t have a horde of fringe guards at her beck and call and they weren’t in the midst of a huge gathering of nobles and after Chrysabelle had a chance to spend some time with her brother.

She exhaled. Damian should be airborne by now, or about to be. She smiled. At least that part of the plan had gone well.

A scuffling sound came from behind her. She turned to see a dark shape walking toward her from the shadows. Fear glided over her like a cool breeze. She ignored it, snagging her last blade and brandishing it. If this was her end, she would go down fighting. “Who goes there?”

“Your friendly neighborhood vampire.”

She tucked the blade away and ran into Mal’s arms. “You made it!” A second later, she wriggled out of his embrace and punched him with her good arm. “Why did you push me through? I could have stayed and fought with you.”

“You have family to think about now. And obviously, I didn’t stay.” With a quick glance behind him, he grabbed her hand and pulled her along. “We should pick it up a little. I went to smoke right before the passage closed. Unfortunately, Tatiana probably knows I’m not dead now.”

“You didn’t kill her?” She took longer strides to keep up with him.

“I tried. Hit her shoulder instead of her heart. My choices were try again or come after you.” His mouth bent upward, his fangs gleaming dully in the dim glow of the corridor’s ceiling. “Not even a question which way that was going.”

She grinned. Words weren’t really necessary to tell him what she was thinking.

His smile increased for a second. “Hey, I have the other dagger.” He patted the hilt where it peeked from his waistband, then stared at her a little harder. “Your shoulder doesn’t look so hot.”

She glanced at the blood on her dress as they hurried through the passage. “It hurts, but I’ll be fine. She’ll be searching the city for us, you know.”

He nodded, smile gone. “Or she’ll go straight for the hangars. Which is why we need to be on that plane as quickly as possible.” In the distance behind them, something clanged. His grip on her hand tightened. “Can you go faster?”

Chrysabelle glanced back. “Yes.”

“Then let’s get the hell out of here and back on that plane so you can spend some time with your brother.”

Without another word, they started to run.

Chapter Forty-Six

F
rom Mal’s spot on the narrow metal ladder, he worked the manhole cover free and eased it aside. The dark of night would only buy them so much protection. By now, Tatiana would have guards everywhere, searching homes and businesses and no doubt watching the city’s roads.

He stuck his head up. The car sat a few meters away, Mortalis behind the wheel. No one else was in sight, but they were a good distance from the estate. He grabbed hold of the sides and pulled himself up, then crouched at the edge to peer at Chrysabelle. “All clear.”

Behind him, Mortalis got out of the car. Chrysabelle started to climb but her gown’s full skirt slowed her progress.

“Here, give me your hand.”
Leave her.
He reached down, grabbed her hand, and pulled her up, a blur of white in the deep shadows of the evening.

“Thanks,” she said as she landed beside him.

“You’re hurt.” Mortalis nodded at her shoulder. “You okay?”

“I’m good. Let’s get out of here.”

The fae went ahead of them and got the back door open, then jumped behind the wheel. “Dominic and Katsumi should be flying by now.”

“I hope,” Chrysabelle said as she got in. “We’ll know when we get to the hangar.”

Mal slid in next to her and shut the door, then leaned toward Mortalis. “Which needs to be quickly. Our exit wasn’t clean.”

“Got it.” Mortalis threw the car into gear and started forward. “I can’t drive too fast until we leave the city. That would just attract attention.”

Mal sat back. “Agreed.”

Chrysabelle brushed at the blood covering her dress while she spoke. “Mortalis, Octavian is working for the Kubai Mata. He’s the one who’s been giving Creek his intel. I’m sure of it.”

Mortalis glanced at her in the rearview mirror. “Damn. Tatiana know that?”

Mal nodded. “By now, probably.”

Mortalis whistled softly. “That’s the end of him, then.”

Chrysabelle nodded, but she looked lost in thought. They rode in silence until they reached the main road out of
achtice. There, Mortalis stopped the car. He cursed in faeish.

Guards swarmed a line of cars blocking the exit. A few of the fringe had assault rifles, which would have little effect on any vampire, but many nobles had human drivers. Car by car, they knocked on windows and forced passengers and drivers out. Some guards were even getting into the vehicles.

Mal growled softly. “Son of a priest. I was afraid this was going to happen.”

“This isn’t going to make Tatiana popular with her peers,” Chrysabelle said. “What are we going to do?”

Mortalis scratched one horn. “You two could get out, jump the wall, and meet me down the road after I get through.”

“We’d have to skirt a long way around not to be seen, and Chrysabelle sticks out in that white dress.” Mal would do anything to keep her safe, but putting them out in the open didn’t seem like the best possible solution.
Let her go.

“Can you persuade them?” she asked.

He glanced at her. “Not all of them.”

Mortalis looked at them in the rearview mirror again. “We’re wasting time.”

Mal frowned. “You have a better idea?”
Let. Her. Go.

The fae nodded. “Yes, but you’re not going to like it.”

“What?” Chrysabelle asked.

His gaze shifted to her. “They’re probably looking for an injured comarré.”

“No.” Mal slashed a hand through the air. “She’s not crossing the wall alone.” The voices booed him.

Chrysabelle held out her hand to him. “Give me your coat.”

“I don’t want you doing this.”

She raised one brow. “You don’t know what I’m doing yet.” She stretched her hand a little farther. “Give me your coat.”

Reluctantly, he took it off and handed it to her.

“Mortalis, go ahead and get us in line. The less time we have to wait, the better.” She pulled the coat over her like a blanket, completely covering the bloody front of her dress. “Mal, go to smoke.”

“I don’t like this.” But he did it anyway, hovering near the ceiling as Mortalis found them a spot in line.

“Mortalis, if anyone asks, I’m deathly ill and you’re taking me back to the plane until my patron is ready to leave.” She slipped down to lay across the seat, pulled the coat up to cover half her face.

“This isn’t going to work,” Mortalis muttered.

Mal agreed, but it was too late. A guard approached the vehicle.

Drained. Empty. Numb. If it weren’t for the sharp pangs of anger and loss gnawing at the edges of the fog collecting around Tatiana’s heart, she wasn’t sure where she’d find the energy to put one foot in front of the other. But she did. Step by step, she made her way back to her quarters. Back to Octavian.

He would explain what had happened. Tell her what magic the comarré had worked on him to make him hand over Lilith. Clarify what the Castus had said, for surely they had only taken Lilith for safekeeping. Hadn’t they?

Perhaps he could also explain how Mal was still alive, because although she’d seen him die on the news, there was no doubt in her mind that Lord Moreau was actually Mal in disguise. Turning to smoke was a rare vampire trait. So rare, she’d heard of only one or two others who could do it, other than Mal, who’d gone to smoke as many times in their years together as she had scattered into wasps. She’d thought he’d lost that power when he gave up drinking from the vein.