Out for Blood (9 page)

She nodded. “Just thinking. Does Damian… look like me?”

“Sure, I guess, if you mean in a blond hair, blue eyes, gold tattoos kind of way. Otherwise”—Fi pursed her lips—“it’s hard to say. Damian’s tall and handsome and has nice—” Fi blushed and shrugged. “All you upscale comarrés look the same to me.”

“Technically, I’m only a comarré in looks now since my last trip to the Aurelian.”

Fi glanced at Chrysabelle’s clothes. “And your looks haven’t changed. You still wear your hair in that braid, still wear white all the time. There are other colors, you know.”

“I know.” She sighed. “What is it you said? Change sucks.” And as much as she was ready for it, she didn’t know where to begin. “Maybe I should cut my hair. Try to wear color. I wouldn’t know where to start.”

Fi slowed and pointed with her flashlight beam. “We’re here.” She stopped and turned to Chrysabelle. “You want some ideas on changing? I’d be happy to help. You know I love clothes and you have the kind of money that makes shopping an orgasmic experience.” She grinned like she was already emptying Chrysabelle’s accounts. “Let’s run this Daciana down, see what she knows, then we’ll map out a plan to revitalize Paradise City’s retail economy.” Her eyes rounded with happiness. “Hey, maybe Damian will let me make him over, too! It would be fun to put him in some leather pants and—”

Chrysabelle laughed. “How about I get to talk to him first?”

“Got it.” Fi jerked her thumb at the door. “You want to shove that thing open? I’ll hold your flashlight.”

“Sure.” She handed the torch over, then planted her feet and popped her shoulder into the door. It flew open easily. The space beyond was pitch-black. “You left him without lights?”

“No way.” Fi stepped over the threshold and flipped both flashlight beams into the darkness. In front of them sat a big metal storage container, its doors blackened and twisted loose from their hinges. A lamp lay on its side near a cooler.

There was no vampire. And no comar.

“Holy mother, they’re gone.” A cold hand squeezed her heart. Why hadn’t she listened to Mal and come to talk to Damian when he’d suggested it?

Fi danced the lights through the space. “How the hell did she get out of there?”

“Did you search her before you locked her up?”

“I didn’t but I think…” Fi shook her head dejectedly. “No. None of us did. We were too much in a hurry to find Creek. If she’s done anything to Damian—”

Chrysabelle grabbed her flashlight back and helped Fi search the space. “If she’s done anything to him, we’ll kill her together. He might be my only chance to find my brother.”

“I don’t see a body. She must have taken him.”

“She’d be smart to keep him alive.” Chrysabelle turned back to Fi. “Where would she go? She’s got to have a place to hole up before dawn.”

Fi scratched her head. “She might not care about that yet. She might want revenge for being locked up.” She bit her bottom lip. “She could have heard Doc and me talking about going to the pride headquarters. Do you think she’d go after him there?”

“If she’s crazy enough to work for Tatiana, she’s crazy enough to do anything. Let’s go. My car and driver are outside.”

“Awesome. We should leave a note for Mal, let him know.”

“Good idea.” One apology was enough to owe him.

They hustled back to the galley where Fi dug up a pen and a scrap of paper.

“Here,” Chrysabelle said. “Let me.”

Came to apologize. Found Damian and vampire gone. Think she’s headed to pride HQ, as are Fi and I.—C

With Fi on her heels, she ran down to Mal’s room and stuck the note between the door and the jamb. “All right, let’s head over there and warn Doc.”

Fi’s directions and Jerem’s enthusiastic driving got them there in less than twenty minutes. Not a sign of Daciana or Damian along the way. Not that she’d expected to see them on the sidewalk.

“Here.” Fi leaned through the car’s partition to point to a building at the end of the block.

“This is pride headquarters? Looks like a nightclub.” The sign above the door said BAR NINE.

Fi sat back. “It’s both.”

Jerem parked the car, his eyes on Chrysabelle in the rearview mirror. “After Sinjin lost Seven to Dominic in a poker game, he opened this place. The nine is either supposed to be for a cat’s nine lives or the fact that Sinjin wanted to be two notches above Dominic. Take your pick.”

Fi put her face against the window to look at the top of the building. “Pride leader gets the penthouse.”

“Doc up there?” Chrysabelle asked.

She shrugged and slipped farther into her seat. “Lights are on.”

Jerem unlocked the doors. “You’re sure you want to do this?”

“We have to,” Chrysabelle answered.

“You want me to go with you? I’m not feline, but I
am
varcolai.”

“I thought so,” Fi said. “What kind?”

“Ursine.”

“You’re a pig-shifter?”

He growled softly. “Ursine means bear.” His gaze went back to Chrysabelle, waiting for her answer.

“The pride has no problem with me. We’ll be perfectly safe.”

His gaze flickered over Fi. “There might be an issue if Doc’s new wife is there. Maybe Fi should stay with me.”

Fi grunted. “I kinda hate that that might be a good idea.”

“You might also want to leave your weapons behind. At least the visible ones.”

“No.” Chrysabelle hooked her hand through the strap of one sacre. “I’m not willing to acquiesce that much.” She put her other hand on the door handle. “I’ll only be gone long enough to make Doc aware of this new situation.”

She got out. The soft, muted sounds of music emanated from the club and a small crowd milled around the entrance, but it was nothing like Seven’s madness. She took a breath to steel herself. Get in, see Doc, get out. That’s all she had to do.

With a purposeful stride, she made her way to the velvet ropes and the pair of bouncers guarding the front.

The smaller of the two stepped into her path, blocking her from going beyond the ropes. “No mortals.” His gaze went briefly to the handles of the twin sacres peeking over her shoulders. “And certainly not mortals packing steel. Sorry, sweetheart.”

She wished she had Mal’s powers of persuasion. As it was, her comarré charm wasn’t going to be enough. A good lie and a little bravado might be, though. “Mortal? Do I look like a mortal to you? Check your night vision.”

“So you’re comarré, so what. We don’t need your kind here.”

“Oh no? Tell that to your new pride leader, then. Maddoc’s hired me as personal security.”

“That right?”

She leaned down, putting them eye to eye. “Turn me away. See how long your job lasts after I explain to Doc how helpful you’ve been.” She held his gaze without blinking. “He’s looking to clear some deadwood anyway.”

A muscle in his jaw spasmed. “Yeah, fine, whatever.” He unsnapped the rope and held it open.

She slipped through. She hadn’t expected that to work, but with Doc being new on the job, maybe they didn’t know him well enough to know what he would and wouldn’t actually do.

Samba music pulsed through her as she made her way inside. Large plush seating areas and potted palms dominated the perimeter, but the two-story dance floor in the center held a riotous crowd moving in a way that only creatures with superior flexibility and extra vertebrae could. From the second-story wraparound balcony, more patrons watched, drank, and conversed. Maybe Doc was up there, keeping an eye on things.

She looked for a way up and found an elevator. Unfortunately, it also had a bouncer. The upstairs must be a VIP area. Definitely where Doc would be. Maybe the same approach would work with him. She pushed through the crowd, accidentally bumping someone.

A glass smashed to the floor.

She turned to apologize. “Sorry, I—”

An enormous shifter stood behind her. Sandy blond hair brushed his wide shoulders. “Who let the vampire’s toy in here?”

She pulled up to her full height, but she still didn’t reach his chest. “I’m no one’s toy.”

“Did your master send you or did you come seeking revenge on your own?”

“What? No. The only thing I’m seeking is Doc.”

Two massive, clawed hands grabbed her by the straps of her sacres and lifted her into the air. Gold eyes stared back at her, the pupils reflecting green. He tipped his shaggy head back and roared. Pain erupted in her ears.

She fought her instinct to stick one of her wrist blades into him and shut him up. Instead she put her foot against his thigh and pushed. He didn’t budge. There had to be a way to resolve this without creating an incident. “Please, put me down. I don’t want to hurt you.”

He shook her, rattling her brain. “
You
don’t want to hurt
me
?” His short burst of laughter faded into something much more menacing. He pulled her closer, his hot breath wafting over her. “Your kind got our pride leader killed, vampire whore. Now you come here, to the heart of us, bearing weapons? Taunting us?”

A crowd circled around them. Heads nodded at his words. “Make her pay, Brutus,” someone shouted.

Brutus untangled his right hand from her sacre straps and clamped it around her throat.

Being choked had a way of making a person no longer care about creating an incident.

She reached for a blade.

Chapter Nine

C
hrysabelle’s scent draped the freighter’s corridors like holiday bunting, causing the voices to whine. Mal called her name, expecting to run into her at any moment. “Chrysabelle? You here?” But he couldn’t sense her, and her lack of answer confirmed she wasn’t on the ship. She had been here recently, though. There was no other way her perfume would be so strong.

“Fi, come out here.” Maybe she knew. He called a second time but still no answer or appearance. Where were they? He walked the corridors, listening, but the ship was a tomb. He couldn’t even pick up the comar’s heartbeat down in the hold. An eerie sense of something gone wrong gnawed his bones.
You should know.

Following the traces of Chrysabelle’s scent to where it was the strongest brought him to his quarters. Jammed into the door frame, a piece of paper shone dully in the fading solars. He pulled it free and read the note, the words filling him with dread.

Pride headquarters was not a good place for Chrysabelle. Mal doubted that Sinjin had been alone in his plan to kill comarré and place the blame on the vampire population. There had to have been other pride members who’d thought it was a good idea. Maybe even helped Sinjin plan the attacks.

For her to go strolling in there, even if it was to warn Doc… What if Doc wasn’t there? What if she ran into someone Sinjin had been in collusion with?

Son of a priest.

He dropped the paper and took off running. Pride headquarters wasn’t that far away. With fresh human blood in his system, he could get there faster on foot than by car. The abandoned port disappeared behind him and the miles sped by. Under the cover of night, the few pedestrians he passed barely noticed him as anything more than a sudden breeze.

He slowed a block away from Bar Nine, recognizing Chrysabelle’s car. He tapped the window.

Jerem powered it down and tipped his head in greeting. “Malkolm.”

Fi leaned through the partition from the backseat. “Hey, Mal. I guess you got Chrysabelle’s note.”

“She inside?”

Fi nodded. “About a minute ago. You just missed her.”

He looked at Jerem. “Why didn’t you go in with her?”

Lips pressed firmly together, he frowned. “She wouldn’t let me.”

“Typical,” Mal muttered. “I better check on her.”

“You want me to come?” Jerem asked. “You might have a better shot of getting in if I’m along.”

“No, I can manage.” His powers of persuasion would open the doors. “I know one of the guys who works the front.”
Liar liar liar.
“Stay here and protect Fi.”

“I don’t need protecting,” she called out, but he was already moving away from the car.

The bouncers walked toward him as he approached but stayed inside the velvet ropes. He held his hands up as a show of peace. “Not looking for trouble, just a friend.”

The short one snorted. “No friends here, vampire. Turn around and go back the way you came. This is varcolai territory.”

Now close enough to make good eye contact, Mal let power come into his voice, doing his best to direct it toward both shifters. The blood in his system helped. “I’m a feline varcolai, just like you.”

“No, you’re…” The bouncers stared, round-eyed and wavering.

He pushed harder, causing a small ripple of dizziness in the back of his brain. “I smell like earth and musk, the scents of a shifter. My eyes reflect the same gold that yours do. Welcome me to the club, then forget me.”
We wish we could.

Fogged with persuasion, the pair nodded slowly. The big one unhooked the rope from the stanchion and moved aside. “Welcome,” he mumbled.

“Welcome,” the shorter one added.

Mal darted inside, hoping the persuasion held. He paused to lean against a wall in a small alcove until the residual vertigo passed. Chrysabelle’s blood would have prevented him from taking such a hit from so small a power drain. Human blood just didn’t pack the same punch as what flowed through her veins. He inhaled. She was definitely here. A few seconds later, loud voices emanated from the club’s interior. Someone was unhappy. He straightened and listened closer.