Bad Blood

The crowd moved forward, at last depositing them at the head of the line. The wolf-shifter at the door eyed them both but unclicked the rope from its stanchion anyway. He held his other hand out. “Fifty each.”

Mal’s lip curled. “What? Like hell—”

“Here.” Chrysabelle slipped the plastic bills into the varcolai’s palm before grabbing Mal’s elbow and pushing him forward.

He glanced over his shoulder. “Dominic’s got a lot of nerve charging that kind of cover.”

“You’re not even supposed to be here. That means you don’t get to complain.” She leaned heavily on the cane and exhaled like she was more winded than she actually was. It refocused him nicely.

“And you should be home in bed.”

The response that filled her mouth brought such heat to her skin she looked away in case the evidence showed on her face. Since being disavowed, she’d become wickedly aware that her precious chastity no longer held much currency. Maybe it was the cursed blood coursing through her system, maybe it was the fever brought on by the healing, but her dreams these last eight days had been filled with heated visions of Mal and Creek in situations she’d never before entertained.

Another reason not to think.

Mal held the red and gold dragon double doors open for her. Music poured over them as they entered the main room of Seven. Seemed the cover charge wasn’t the only thing that had changed. She caught the attention of the first server that went by. “Excuse me, I need—”

“You need something, you talk to Katsumi or Jacqueline.” The young man, a fae-varcolai remnant by the looks of him, was clearly perturbed she’d stopped him. “You comarré don’t run this place, you know. I have paying customers to take care of.”

He took a step toward the bar he’d been headed for. Mal clamped a hand on his arm, stopping him cold. The server lifted his head to stare at the vampire towering over him. “Can I help you, sir?”

“Yes.” The silver glow in Mal’s eyes marked him as noble, something the server had probably never seen before except on Dominic. And now, of course, Katsumi. The appropriate fear registered in the server’s eyes. “You can start by never talking to her in that tone of voice again. She’s not one of Dominic’s fake comarré—she’s the real thing and she deserves your respect, understand?”

He swallowed. “Yes, sir. My deepest apologies.”

The show was touching but unnecessary. “Mal, it’s fine. Really.”

But he didn’t let go of the server. “Tell Dominic Chrysabelle is here to see him.”

“Yes, sir.” The server glanced down at Mal’s hand. Mal moved it and the server dashed off.

Chrysabelle folded her arms. “I love when you’re all sweetness and light.”

“Kid’s a punk.” He spoke without looking at her, his head swiveling to take in the crowd. “I don’t see Katsumi.”

“Good. Which reminds me, has Ronan ever shown up? Or is it pretty much assumed he bought it in the swamp?”

“Not sure, but you shouldn’t assume anything when it comes to Ronan.”

“Or any vampire for that matter,” she muttered.

“I heard that.”

The server returned, practically jogging. “Dominic’s in his office. He says for you to come up.”

“Thank you.” Chrysabelle smiled as pleasantly as she could.

The server stayed put. “Anything else, sir?”

Mal shook his head. “You’re dismissed.”

The server took off as Chrysabelle shot Mal a look. “You’re dismissed?” She rolled her eyes. “C’mon, let’s go see Dominic.”

At his office door, she knocked twice before he called for them to enter. Was that a sign he wasn’t happy to see her? She went in, Mal behind her, and relaxed slightly to see Dominic on the phone. He held up a finger, then motioned for them to sit.

He continued on for a moment in Italian. “Si, si. Buono.” He nodded a few times, shook his hand at the heavens, then finally, “Devo andare. Ciao, Luciano.” And hung up. “Scusi, but I had to take care of that.” He came out from behind the desk to take Chrysabelle’s hand between his. He leaned in and kissed her on both cheeks. “It is good to see you, cara mia. I know of your troubles. My heart aches for you. This woman, Rennata…” He scowled. “If you wish, I can have her dealt with.”

“As much as I appreciate the offer, no thank you.” Apparently she’d worried for nothing.

“You are feeling better now, though, eh?”

“I’m doing well enough.”

His gaze traveled to the cane at her side. “And this? What is this?”

“I still have a little pain.” Not a lie, except for the little part. Sometimes she could feel the knives cutting her skin as fresh as the moment it had happened. The phantom echoes of those blades woke her at night.

“Malkolm, I trust you are well also?”

“I’m fine.” Mal paused, like he was unsure why Dominic was being so cordial. She wondered that herself. “The club is busy. Business must be good.”

Dominic sat on the front edge of his caramel-swirled marble desktop. “It’s very good, actually. So good I’m bringing my nephew Luciano in. Many times removed, of course, but the blood is there. And with Ronan gone…” He shrugged.