Blood Rights

‘Stay with me.’

‘I ain’t never gonna leave you.’ He folded his six-foot five-inch frame cross-legged on the floor. She’d saved his life in a way. If Mal hadn’t brought the torn up alley cat he’d found back to Fi, thinking a pet would mellow her out, Doc would’ve been kibble by now.

‘Here,’ she said, longing in her liquid eyes. ‘With me.’ She rested her hand on the curve of space near her stomach. ‘Please.’

He knew what she wanted. Inwardly, he clenched his teeth and buried his pride. The things a man did for a woman. But only this woman.

With the power of a thought, he shifted into the only feline form he could. A tiny smile lit her face, erasing a small part of his humiliation. He jumped onto the bed beside her and curled into a ball, his spine to her stomach, his tail hooked over his paws. She was soft and warm and smelled of fading roses.

She wrapped her arm around him, kissed the top of his head and scratched behind his ear. ‘Pretty boy,’ she whispered, sniffling. ‘My pretty, pretty boy.’

Unable to help himself, he started to purr.

Tatiana stood calf-deep in French sewage. She’d insisted on seeing the evidence site and the Nothos had dutifully escorted her into the belly of the Parisian waste system. Mikkel was probably trolling the nearest nightclub for his breakfast. Bloodthirsty devil. How she adored him.

The decaying carcass of something floated by. She rolled her eyes. This was not where she wanted to be. Her expensive coat would have to be thrown out. There was no way this smell could be removed from the unborn varcolai hides. Unless Mikkel had some black magic that might do the trick. She should have worn that stupid burqa.

‘There, my lady.’ The Nothos pointed a claw at an incoming pipe. Sweat dripped off its massive forearm.

She inhaled. Over the foul stench of the sewer and the heavy brimstone of the Nothos, she smelled the faintest hint of rich, sweet comarré blood. The trail grew warm. She smiled and nodded. ‘Well done.’

‘Thank you, my lady.’ It bowed with the litheness born of an excess of bones and double-hinged joints.

She scowled at the Nothos. ‘I was talking to myself. If I hadn’t sent you out, you wouldn’t have found this, would you?’

‘No, my lady.’ A growl rumbled out of it. The creature clenched and unclenched massive clawed hands. Steam snorted from its nostrils.

Filthy beast. They were almost as horrible as the Castus that had spawned them, but far less intelligent.

‘Where does this pipe lead?’

‘A hotel.’

She turned to stare up at the abomination she’d hired. ‘What hotel? Did you find out if she stayed there?’

It blinked yellow eyes at her. ‘Not yet.’

Anger drove her body forward. She slammed her fist into its face, knocking it into the muddy sludge. Some of it splashed onto the hem of her coat, marring the skins. ‘You stupid ogre. What am I paying you for? So I can do the work myself?’

Its eyes glittered beneath a layer of muck. ‘No, my lady.’

‘Get it done. Now.’ She flexed the hand she’d punched with, then spread her fingers and checked herself for damage. Hitting a Nothos was like ramming your fist into a block of granite. She frowned at her fingers. ‘Bloody hell. You made me break a nail. Do you see this?’ She waved her hand in front of its face. It grunted. Not the response she’d hoped for. Dis -appointed, she kicked it in the groin. Something popped, and it howled.

‘On second thought, you’re fired. Unless you bring me the ring.’ She stood over the Nothos, shaking her head and muttering under her breath. She should have brought Octavian with her. He was always willing to do the dirtiest of deeds for her. ‘If you want something done right, you have to do it yourself.’

With that, she scattered into a cloud of black wasps and flew back to the hotel.

Heat stroked the soles of Chrysabelle’s feet. Swirled around her ankles and up her calves, kissed the smooth hollows at the backs of her knees. Delicious and taunting. Wrapping her in pleasure.

‘Mmmm.’ She shifted under his hands. The heat moved to her thighs. Touch as soft as a whispered promise.

‘More,’ she told him. He was a shadow of silver. A fevered caress. A flicker of sensation. The breath tumbled ragged from her throat.

She tucked her hand beneath her cheek. His raw, dark scent coiled around her, turning her body liquid with craving. Her wrist throbbed, steeped in the smell of him. His mouth had been there, soft lips barely masking the hard fangs she desperately needed.

‘Pierce me,’ she whispered, drawing the words out like a prayer.

He didn’t answer.

Her skin erupted in flames.

She opened her eyes and squinted at the pink-tinged sun streaming through the porthole where the paint had been scratched away. The light abraded her legs, even through the long trousers she wore. So hot. She bent her knees, pulling her legs toward her. Better out of the sun. She breathed openmouthed as she pushed up and swung her feet over the side of the bunk. Still hard to think. Where was she?

She blinked a few times and stared at the small, sparse room. A trail of dead bolts decorated one side of the door.

She nodded, remembering pieces. The room spun. She tried a deep breath in and out. The air carried a sweet, dark spice. Him. Her belly tightened. That’s what she needed. Him. His mouth. His hunger.

Getting off the bed made her dizzy. She held on to the empty shelves until her body balanced itself. So hot.