Bad Blood

“Yikes.”

“Indeed. One more thing—as soon as you get that sent out, go home. And stay inside.”

A moment of heavy silence passed over the phone line. “This isn’t just a terrorist threat, is it? There’s a reason all these strange things have been happening, isn’t there?”

“Yes. But, please, just go home and be safe, okay?”

“Will do. You too.”

She hung up. Lola leaned back and stared out into the city that was slipping away from her. What would happen if the other side took over? If the othernaturals won? Would they kill off the humans? Turn them into slaves? What kind of life would they have?

The door opened, startling her. Luke slid into the seat and rapped the glass partition, letting the driver know he could go. She pressed the intercom as the car moved slowly into traffic. “Mephisto Island, number six.”

Luke took his sunglasses off. “You okay?”

She stared at him. He had the same blue eyes as John. She was suddenly struck by the gut-wrenching thought that she was trapped in a car with a man who could become a wolf at will and who had just been attacked by a goblin. Whatever that was. She took a few breaths and tried to remain calm.

Luke eyed her strangely. “I’m here to protect you, you know.”

Apparently, she wasn’t doing so well on the remaining-calm part. “You read minds, too?”

“No, but I can hear heartbeats and yours just went into overdrive.”

“I’m fine.” She pointed to his cheek, ready to talk about anything else. “You should clean that.”

He reached up and touched the cut, then looked at the blood on his fingers like he’d forgotten about being sliced. “You have a tissue?”

She reached into a compartment on the car’s side panel that also housed the television and bar and pulled out the med kit. “Here.”

He rummaged through it, found an antibiotic wipe, and dabbed at his skin. With the blood gone, she could see the cut was, too. “Wow, you guys really heal fast.”

He balled up the wipe and stuck it into his pocket. “The trick-or-treating needs to be stopped.”

“Already called my secretary and issued a statement to that effect.”

He nodded and turned to look out the window.

She moved a little farther to her side, wishing she were somewhere else. Wishing she’d never heard of the covenant or comarrés or vampires or any other kind of strange creature. Paradise City. Now there was a brutal stab of irony if she’d ever heard it. Maybe they’d have to change the name again. Not back to Miami, but something different. Something more descriptive.

Like Hell Town.

Chapter Twenty-eight

Chrysabelle walked through the suite with no real direction or purpose other than putting some distance between Mal and herself so she could think. Breathe. Make sense of what had just happened.

He could have bitten her. She’d almost begged him to. What was wrong with her? Did she have a death wish? It’s not like he could have stopped himself. No, not a death wish. Something darker. She wanted his mark on her. With a shudder, she slumped down onto the bench of the piano occupying the suite’s grand foyer. Her fingers trailed over the keys. The way Mal’s fingers had trailed over her.

No, not like that at all. His hands had moved with purpose and the most delicious pressure and she was falling into a hole there was no getting out of.

She rested her head on the piano’s top then her arms on the keys, the discordant sound echoing in the marble-lined room.

“I don’t recognize that tune.”

She jumped at Mal’s voice, not from surprise, but from the way it shot heat through her already sweltering body.

“That’s the second time I’ve startled you.” He dipped his head. “I apologize. I know how you dislike that.” He walked toward her.

She stood, pushing the bench back. “Amery should be here soon.”

The announcement didn’t stop him from moving in her direction. “He won’t be able to get in. I had the front desk change the key code.” His eyes went silver. “I didn’t want us to be disturbed. I know you like your privacy when it comes to matters of blood.” His gaze seemed fixed on her mouth.

Only the bench was between them now. “Yes, I do.” She retreated, hitting the keys again. The softly discordant notes mirrored her chaotic thoughts. “You’re going to kiss me now, aren’t you?”

He reached down and shoved the bench out of the way. It screeched across the floor. “Yes.”

And then she was in his arms, his body warm with the power of her blood and hard with years of muscle. His mouth descended toward hers, but their last exchange had unleashed something in her that would not be tempered. She met him halfway, taking what he offered, then coaxing him to give more.

He responded as she’d suspected he would. With enthusiasm. His arms went around her, one hand cupping her backside, lifting her and setting her down on the piano. A new dissonance erupted from the keys, but it sounded like a ballad to her ears.

He breathed with her, his body as close to mortal as it could be in those few minutes when her blood restored him. She could hear his heart thudding, feel it against her chest. Her hands found their way to his shoulders, the column of his neck, into his hair. She wanted to touch him the way her comarré life had never allowed her to touch a man.

But more than that, she wanted this. Whatever this thing was between them, she wanted to at least have a chance to figure it out. The time for denying it was over. Almost. One last trip to the Aurelian and her ties to all things comarré would be severed.