Out for Blood (8 page)

He grunted what she assumed was a yes and moved a few steps back into the church.

With a last look at John, she entered the sanctuary. The white plaster walls and Stations of the Cross seemed in good repair, although the handsome wood floor was in desperate need of polishing. Dust draped most of the pews and much of the ornate interior, but a bank of vigil candles flickered at one side of the altar. The area there looked well used. The floor even had a little shine to it.

The door shut behind her.

She turned at the sound, very aware at being closed in with a creature who might actually kill her. Her heart began racing anew. She exhaled, the breath much less steady than she’d wished for. “I suppose you know I’m nervous, being able to hear my heartbeat as you can.”

He kept a little distance between them, watching her like she was the dangerous one. “I can.” A few steps closer and he stopped. “So you’re the mayor.”

“Yes.” Did that help or hurt? His face revealed nothing.

“Julia told me that.” He studied her hard.

What else had Julia told him?

“I suppose you think you’re brave to come here.
Stupid
might be a better word. How do you know I won’t hurt you?”

She wanted to retreat but forced herself to stand firm. “You gave your word.”

The distant candle flames reflected in his eyes like tiny stars. “And you believe the word of a vampire?”

A bead of sweat trickled down her rib cage. “You’re the father of my grandchild. That makes us blood.”
Ay Dios mios
, why had she used that word?

He snorted. It sounded almost like a laugh. “You might be as crazy as I am, lady.”

“Lola, please.”

“Lola.” He slipped the knife back into its sheath on his belt. “They call me Preacher.”

“So I’ve heard. Is that what you prefer?”

“It suits.” He walked past her, up the main aisle and toward the altar. She followed. At the first pew, he genuflected, then sat. He tipped his head toward the open space beside him.

She bent and crossed herself as well, then took a seat on the same pew with a little distance between them.

“You’re a religious woman?” he asked.

“I don’t get to Mass as often as I used to, but yes.”

He nodded slowly. Approvingly.

Desperate to fill the silence, she blurted out, “You live here.”

“You know that already or you wouldn’t have come looking for me here.”

“Yes,” she answered. He slung his arm over the back of the pew. If he stretched out his fingers, he probably could have touched her shoulder. She forced herself not to slide away. “Did you love my Julia?”

“Yes. I married her.”

Lola’s mouth opened. “You did?”

“Right here in this church.” He lifted his head toward the altar. “Mariela was born here, too.”

“Mar-Mariela?” Lola stuttered around a knot in her throat. “That was my mother’s name. So Julia had a little girl?” Tears burned her eyes. She looked upward and blinked, letting out a long breath and, with it, a silent prayer that her grandchild was safe, wherever she was.

“Beautiful baby.” Preacher’s voice cracked.

She glanced at him, caught him wiping his eyes. “I’m so sorry for what we’ve both been through. I’m sorry Julia didn’t feel like she could come to me when she found out she was pregnant. I tried to be a good mother, I did, but—”

“She wanted to. I stopped her.” He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. “I couldn’t picture a scenario where it ended well.”

Lola folded her hands in her lap and studied the gold and onyx ring on her pinky.

He straightened. “I effed up. I’m sorry.”

She shook her head, barely believing she was having this conversation and who she was having it with. “Actually, you didn’t. I can’t picture a scenario that would have ended well either. Not then. Now, with what I know, maybe.” She shrugged. “The past is passed. I want to focus on the future.”

“Is that why you came?”

“Yes. I know the child, Mariela, was taken from you. I know that the beings who now possess her are far more powerful than any human.”

Anger flared in his eyes. “You know who has her? Tell me and I’ll hunt them down.”

“I don’t think it’s that simple. I’m told the ancient ones have her. The creators of your race.”

The anger spread from his eyes to settle onto his face. “Don’t ever lump me in with any of them, understand? I’m not like them. Vampires disgust me. They’re parasites in need of the kind of cleansing only a stake through the heart can bring.”

Confusion swept her. “But you are one.”

He snarled. “I never meant to be. If I’d known what I was doing, I would have gladly died instead.” He stood and paced toward the altar. “Now I live with this curse every day, trying to do God’s will by cleansing those who kill humans. The only good being a vampire has brought me is the power to protect my mortal brothers.”

It felt like a sign. With renewed courage, she spoke. “Then you’ll understand why I’m here. As a human, I’m vulnerable. Weak. Outmatched by those I must go up against.” With Willamette’s and her
abuela’s
words chiming in her head, Lola rose and said another silent prayer, this time that John’s and Luke’s hearing didn’t extend into the sanctuary. “I want you to help me get Mariela back.”

He nodded. “Just tell me what you want me to do.”

She took a breath. “Turn me into a vampire.”

“So you are the man who killed my husband?” Heaven stood atop the step that led into the sunken living room, dressed in a one-shoulder python-print minidress that revealed more of the grieving widow than it covered. The last time Doc had seen a woman who looked like her, he’d been flipping through one of Fi’s fashion magazines. Lean, dark, dangerous, and beautiful. High maintenance. Totally Sinjin’s type.

“Yeah.” He inhaled, the exotic scent of jaguar filling his nose along with the flowery fragrance of some perfume. Or hair products. Or skin lotion. Hard to tell with a woman like that.

Her eyes flickered from tawny brown to green-gold, showing off her varcolai side. His answer angered her. Her spike heels clicked down the steps until they were on the same level. “Is that all you have to say for yourself?
Yeah
?” She mimicked his American accent with obvious disdain before shifting back to her Brazilian lilt. “You killed my husband and you cannot even apologize? Or perhaps you are not sorry?”

“I
am
sorry. I didn’t mean to kill Sinjin. He attacked me and—”

“He challenged you and you accepted. You knew what was at stake.”

“
He
came at
me
.”

“They say you went up in flames. Burned him to death.” She eyed him warily as if looking for fire to burst off his skin. “Varcolai can’t do that.”

“And neither can I,” he lied. Since he’d started popping ketamine, the emotions that caused the flames had been so mellowed out that even at his most angry, nothing happened. “It was just a weird power brought on by Samhain.”

She crossed and uncrossed her arms, obviously unsettled. “You could have let him go. Let the police deal with him. At least if he were still alive…” She ground her teeth in anger and turned away.

“If he was still alive but in police custody, you’d be pride leader by default.” He plopped down on the couch—his couch now—and kicked his feet up onto the glass coffee table. “I get it. You’re bunched up because you’re not the boss. You should have spilled your plans to Sinjin before he decided to up and kill some innocent women. Or maybe you knew what he was doing.”

She spun back around, gold bangles jangling on her wrist as she lifted her hands in expression. “I had no idea.”

“You had
no idea
what your husband was up to.” He raised a brow, then snorted softly. “I take it this was a political marriage only, then.”

She lifted her head slightly. “I cared for Sinjin, but you know how it is with pride leaders. Marriage is for making alliances.” She sat at the far end of the big sectional, crossing her feet at the ankles and tucking them to the side. “I knew he was intent on stirring up the city against the vampires.” The way she pronounced
vampires
gave it an extra syllable.
Vam-pi-years.

“Would you have stopped him if you’d known how?”

She nodded, eyes downcast. “I would have tried. Sinjin was not… an easy man to have his mind changed.”

Doc snorted again. “You don’t have to tell me.”

She looked up. “He kicked you out, yes?”

“Yes.”

“And now you are pride leader.” Her fingers twisted the rock that was her engagement ring. “And my husband.”

He shifted forward. This was just the opening he needed. “Look, I know you didn’t sign on for this—and I’m sure you never agreed to get hitched thinking you’d have a stranger for a husband a few months after you said
I do
. I’m cool to have the whole thing annulled or whatever needs to take place to make the marriage go away.”

Her fingers stopped fussing with the ring and her head jerked up, her spine straightening like a rod had been shoved through it. “You think I am so easy to get rid of? Do you know who my father is? Rodrigo Silva. The São Paulo pride leader. He commands more than ten thousand varcolai. Do you wish to anger him? Because I’m sure he would love to hear how you so casually desire to toss me aside.”

Dammit. “That’s not what I meant. I was trying to do you a favor.”

“A favor. Pah.” She spat air at him, flicking her fingers. “We are married. You must accept that.” She crossed her arms and stared away from him, muttering in Portuguese.

“Look, you don’t understand. I have—”

Her head whipped around. “What is the matter with me? Do you not find me attractive?”

“Of course you’re attractive. You’re beautiful.” Some of the anger left Heaven’s face. Thank Bast Fi wasn’t here. “But it doesn’t matter what you look like, because—”

“Ah, I see now.” She raked her gaze down his body, head waggling back and forth. “You do not like the girls, eh? You prefer men—is that it?”

“No! Hell no.” He growled softly. This was so not going how he’d pictured it. “Listen to me. What I’m trying to tell you is I’m already in love with another woman.”

“Love.” She waved her hand at him. “An emotion that comes and goes.”

“Heaven, she’s my fiancée. I plan to marry her.”

He waited, watching the words sink in. Her expression went blank; then her eyes took on the greenish gold of her true nature.

“So the rumors about the ghost girl are true?” Her mouth twitched into a grimace.

“Yes.”

She shook her head. “You will not marry her. Because if you do, I will kill her.”

Chapter Eight

C
hrysabelle followed Fi down into the freighter’s hold, each of them carrying a rechargeable flashlight taken from the galley. The solars were still lit but growing weaker as the night wore on. The last thing either of them wanted was to have the light fail while they were confronting an aged, noble vampire. Fi could turn ghost and escape, but Chrysabelle and Damian, no matter what their training, were still human.

Chrysabelle squinted, testing her night vision. It was decent but starting to fail. She couldn’t speak for Damian, but he’d been without a patron for long enough now that her guess was they were both suffering from a lack of bite. Their heightened comarré senses were diminishing with each passing day.

Damian. Why had she said his name during her recovery? What had the Aurelian told her that made her unconscious mind focus on him? Could he really be her brother? She’d not seen him during the time he’d been quartered at her home. Did he remember her? Hopefully he’d know something that would help her solve this mystery.

Fi made circles with her flashlight beam. “You’ll have to throw your weight against the door. Hinges are for crap. I just ghost through unless I’m bringing him food.”

“You’ve been taking care of Damian?” She wasn’t sure why that surprised her. Fi was young and sometimes did things that showed her age, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t without feeling. “What’s he like?”

“He’s nice. Angry. Like you were when you first got here.”

“I wasn’t angry.”

Fi laughed. “And honey badgers are cuddly.” She smiled at Chrysabelle. “It’s okay, I get it. Change sucks. Who doesn’t know that better than me? He’s not so much angry at the world as he is angry that Saraphina betrayed him. I think he may have been a little sweet on her.”

“Betrayed him how?”

“Apparently running was his idea. He called her a lifer. Said she hadn’t wanted to leave, but he thought once she saw what life could be like, she’d be okay. She wasn’t. When Daciana and her husband came to the house, Saraphina helped them subdue Damian.”

Chrysabelle shook her head. “I know—knew—a lot of comarré like that. They can’t see past the life they’re living to the life they could have.” Her head whirled with thoughts. Where would she be now if she hadn’t run after Algernon’s murder? Pawned off to another patron? Sent back to the Primoris Domus for the breeding program?

“You still with me?”