Bad Blood
His mouth opened and he looked down to where her bone blade pressed against the ivory silk vest covering his belly.
“Try me,” she whispered.
His mouth snapped closed and he shuddered. “You may all enter.”
With a sharp snap of her wrist, the blade retracted. He stepped back, anger flashing in his eyes. Apparently, he wasn’t used to being dealt with in such a manner. She sailed past him into the house. Too bad for him. She was done playing games with beings who felt superior because of the power they wielded. Come tonight at midnight, the balance between those with power and those without was going to shift in a big way.
The butler scurried past her to open a pair of French doors and direct them into the parlor. Mortalis and Mal joined her, with Hugo bringing up the rear. He nodded to the butler, who closed the doors.
From a dim corner of the room, the darkness moved and a petite female shadeux fae emerged. Her charcoal leather pants and half vest, only slightly darker than the rest of her exposed skin, showed off a defined midsection and well-muscled arms that sported a row of barbs. Her black hair was braided down the center of her skull, leaving visible her pointed ears and a slender set of horns that jutted from her forehead, then arched back and around to follow the curve of her jawbone. The needle-fine ends were tipped in silver. She wore a sword strapped to her back, and blades at her wrists and thighs. She could have been Mortalis’s twin. Her presence explained Loudreux’s boldness. Chrysabelle had never known a cypher to be particularly daring without heavy backup.
The bodyguard’s gaze danced over the group, stopping on the other shadeux fae. Still, her face showed zero emotion. “Mortalis.”
His face hardened with displeasure. “What the hell are you doing here?”
“I’m Mr. Loudreux’s personal security detail.” She tipped her head to one side. “Is that any way to greet your sister?”
Lola gasped. A baby? “Are you sure of what you’re saying? My daughter had a child?”
The chief nodded. “Yes. The levels return to normal within three to four weeks of a woman giving birth, so it was recent.” He glanced at Creek and John, then back at her. “I know you have questions, but that’s all the information I have. The PCPD is moving forward with every available asset to locate your daughter’s last known residence. If this child is out there, we’ll find it.”
“If?” she asked. Of course the child was out there. Newborns didn’t just disappear.
The chief sighed. “We can’t be sure the child is… alive.”
Lola rubbed her aching brow. The weight of responsibility pressed hard. She had to keep her sanity. Keep her city from crumbling along with her. “I understand. I want to know everything as soon as you do.”
“You have my word.” He nodded a good-bye and was gone.
She pushed a forkful of eggs across the plate without really seeing them. “A child. Can you imagine? What else could happen?”
Creek made a strangled noise. She looked up. He broke eye contact the second she made it, suddenly fixated on his coffee.
“What do you know?”
“Nothing.” He crammed half of a guava pastelito into his mouth.
She glared at him. “Lie to me again and your next meal will be served on a cold metal tray.”
He chewed, finally looking up. A sip of coffee, a swallow, and he spoke. “You really want to know? Even if it will cause you more pain? Even if it might not be true?”
“Either way, yes.” Any iota of information he could give her that would help her find this child—her grand-child—she would take. No matter how awful or heartbreaking it was.
Creek shot a quick look at John, then came back to her. “We—meaning myself, Mal, and Chrysabelle—were told by another person that he’d seen your daughter with a baby and the man believed to have fathered the child in Little Havana.”
She shrugged. “If you think it bothers me that my daughter lived in such a desperate part of town, it does, but not so much. She is Cuban American, after all.” Despite how Julia had taken her father’s side in the divorce, she was still Lola’s daughter. Nothing Julia did could ever erase that.
Creek nodded. “I live there, too. That’s not the point. The man she was with—”
“The baby’s father.”
“The man we suspect fathered the child. He’s… Look, there’s no easy way to say this. He’s a vampire. And not just an ordinary one. He’s the only one any of us has ever known who can daywalk.”
Her body went hot, then cold, then numb. A vampire. Her grandchild was half monster. “How is it even possible?”
“I’m not really sure. Apparently he wasn’t turned in the usual way—”
She smacked her hand down on the tabletop, making the silverware jump. “I meant, how is it possible that a vampire got my daughter pregnant!”
Creek shrugged one shoulder. “I really don’t know. It shouldn’t be possible, but Preacher’s not your usual vampire.”
“You know where this vampire lives?”
“Yes.”
She shoved her chair back, threw her napkin down on her plate, and stood. “Take John and go there. Get my grandchild and bring it back to me. Maybe there’s some way to cure the child of…”
“Being a vampire?” Creek snorted. “It’s not a disease.”
More like a plague. “Whatever it is, it might be reversible. Bring the child to me at city hall as soon as you can.” She left them at the table as she went out to the waiting car. She was clueless as to what to do with a half-vampire child, but she damn sure didn’t want a vampire to have it. This child, regardless of who had fathered it, carried some of her blood in its veins. She’d failed Julia. She would not make the same mistakes twice.