Bad Blood

Indeed, the lights in the guesthouse were on. “Fast is right. He must have really wanted rid of them.” She shook her head, sighing. “I truly don’t need the company right now.”

“You should have taken me home.”

“I didn’t mean you.” But when she looked back at him, she understood. His eyes were still silver-tinged, his fangs jutting past his lip. He needed blood. “I know what you want. We’ll take care of it.”

“I’m fine.”

“I’m fine. You’re a bad liar. I’m perfectly capable of providing you with blood.”

“I don’t need—”

“Remember how you were going to leave the arguing and the drama behind?”

Hardening his mouth into a narrow line, he crossed his arms and leaned back.

She slid closer. “I know you’re dying to say something.” Maybe as much as she was dying to be in his arms. No matter what had passed between them, no matter that he made her mad enough to punch a few walls herself, something about him felt like a safe place to her.

He nodded toward the house. “Creek’s here.”

“Nice change of subject. I saw his motorcycle parked by the gate when we drove through.”

Creek’s lean, shadowy form sat on the base of the fountain in the center of the circular drive. Even in silhouette, there was a lethal energy to the Kubai Mata. It was one of the things he shared with Mal. Like the way both men made her body tighten in anticipation. Of what, she refused to acknowledge. She smoothed the edge of her tunic. Anything not to look at either of them for a moment.

Jerem parked the car on the curve closest to the front of the house and came around to open her door. She glanced over her shoulder at Mal before she got out. “Relax. You’re the only one spending the night.” So far, anyway.

She turned away before his shocked expression caused her to laugh. If Mal wanted to be with her, he would do so under her terms.

Creek walked toward her, his face twisted in a mix of concern, upset, and longing. His hands flexed like he wanted to touch her. “You look pretty good for someone who didn’t have the strength to take visitors for the last eight days.”

She leaned on her cane. “I had my reasons for not seeing you.” But the anger she’d worked up toward him was fading fast, just like it had with Mal. It was hard to blame them when they so clearly wanted what was best for her. Not that she’d asked them to take on that concern.

He jerked his chin toward something behind her. “But not Mal?”

“No, me too.” Mal walked up to stand beside her. “She’s mad at both of us.”

Creek nodded, his big, fight-scarred hands clenched so that the words hold and fast tattooed across his knuckles stood out. “I figured that. Would’ve been nice to have the chance to apologize, though.”

“Is that what you’re here for now?” she asked. He wasn’t getting off so easy, no matter how much she was cooling down about the whole thing.

“Yes. But that’s not all.”

“Come in, then,” she said. “We’ll discuss it inside.” Creek might as well find out now what was going on. It would save Mal the trouble of filling him in later. Velimai opened the door before Chrysabelle got two feet on the landing.

Are they both coming in? she signed.

“Yes.” Trying to keep them out at this point was a waste of energy, something Chrysabelle was losing quickly. Twinges of pain danced along her spine, small torments of what would come later. Maybe the excursion to Seven had been more than she was ready for. It was her first trip out of the house since the incident.

Velimai’s fingers kept going. You look tired. I can send them home.

No, Chrysabelle signed back, keeping the conversation private. I’m well enough to do what needs to be done. I need some sugar, something to get my energy up.

Velimai nodded and glided off to the kitchen. Chrysabelle made her way into the living room and eased onto one of the leather chairs so neither Creek nor Mal would try to sit by her. A little distance would help hide her weakness. The last thing she wanted was Mal and Creek freaking out and adopting some ridiculous protective stance. They did that well enough without her giving them an excuse. She gestured with the cane at the couches as the two men entered the room. “Sit.”

Mal narrowed his eyes, giving Creek a look. “Be warned. She’s gotten bossy. Bossier.”

Creek snorted, his icy-blue eyes sparkling. “I like bossy women.” Was he that happy she’d let him in? Or just happy to see her again?

“Not enough to listen to them,” Chrysabelle shot back, earning a half smile from Mal.

Creek settled onto one of the sofas. “Point taken.”

She waited until Mal took the other sofa. The juicer whirred to life in the kitchen. “What’s on your mind, Creek?”

“Besides how good it is to see you healed up?” He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “Where to start?” He stared past her, his mouth tight. “One of Dominic’s comarré was murdered tonight.”

Mal shifted forward. “How do you know?”

“I found the body.” Creek shook his head as if the image were stuck in his brain. “Real mess. Whoever did it stripped the gold out of her skin. Or tried to. Blood everywhere. Place was crawling with fringe.”

Chrysabelle forgot her aching back. “Holy mother.”

Velimai came in carrying a glass of pineapple juice. Her eyes held a thousand questions as she handed the juice to Chrysabelle.