Blood Rights

Mal jerked his thumb down the hall behind him. ‘Fi, get to your room and lock the door. Stay there until Doc or I come for you.’

‘But I—’

‘But nothing. You’re mortal.’ Mal’s gaze went to Doc next. ‘Kill the lights, then come around the other way. Chrysabelle’s with me.’

‘Will do.’ He grabbed Fi’s arm and pulled her down the hall with him.

‘Good luck.’ Fi pouted on her way out.

Mal turned back to Chrysabelle. ‘You can handle a sword, I take it?’

She nodded. If this new vampire was here for her, this was no time to hide her abilities. Mal handed her a rusty dagger. Instead of taking it, she pointed to the long, curved sword in his hand. ‘You’re kidding, right? Give me the katana.’

‘You sure you – fine, here.’ In a flash, he turned the slender blade over to her. ‘I attack first. You stay back, understood?’

‘I want my dagger.’ She tossed her bag into his room for safekeeping.

‘No time. Follow me.’

A second later the lights went out. ‘Can you see?’ he whispered, creeping forward.

She followed close behind. ‘Perfectly.’ In truth, her night vision was starting to dim. Nearly a week without a true patron and without the bite – that life-prolonging, sense-enhancing input of vampire saliva into her system – her exceptional senses would diminish until she was as human as Fi. When would she begin to age again? Maris looked remarkable for someone who’d been without a patron for nearly fifty years.

She ran into Mal’s outstretched arm. He put a finger to his lips, then gestured for her to stay while he went ahead. She nodded. He slipped around the bend. Fresh air filled the passage. They must be close to an outside door. She flattened against the wall, sword at the ready, wishing she was fully armed. Not having a backup weapon meant no second chances. Hand to hand with a Nothos wasn’t going to be fun.

A singing hiss broke the silence, followed by the clang of two swords biting into each other. She took a deep breath and eased forward as a blade sliced toward Mal’s neck. Suddenly, the new vampire’s familiar scent registered.

Not brimstone. Comarré blood.

Chapter Fifteen

Mal ducked and the intruder’s sword whistled by his ear. Chrysabelle shoved past, slicing her blade between them and pinning the other vampire to the door he’d just come through. His blade clattered to the ground while hers gleamed against his throat, just above the collar of a very expensive suit.

Mal lifted a brow. The comarré was fast, he’d give her that. Then his focus shifted to the vampire she’d pinned, and he scowled. Some vampires never changed. Dominic was one of those.

The other anathema held his hands up. ‘Watch the threads, cara mia. This just arrived from my tailor in Bangkok.’

Chrysabelle pressed the blade into his skin. ‘Like I care.’

The lights flickered on. To Chrysabelle’s credit, she didn’t falter when Doc strolled out from the opposite hall and cast a shadow on her and Dominic. Doc shouldered the crossbow and stared hard at the creature under Chrysabelle’s sword. The rancor in his eyes was unmistakable, but then Dominic was the reason Doc had been cursed. Bad drugs had a way of making people angry. And vengeful. Doc had just been the unfortunate delivery boy.

Doc’s finger caressed the crossbow’s trigger. ‘Looks like you got this under control. I’ll check the perimeter. Unless you need something staked. Then gimme a yell.’

Dominic wisely kept his mouth shut while he watched Doc disappear down the passage.

Mal kept his sword up. ‘What are you doing here, Dominic?’ As though he didn’t know what had brought the biggest crime boss in Paradise City sniffing around. Mal’s freighter stank of comarré. Speaking of which—

‘Dominic Falconetti?’ Chrysabelle glanced over her shoulder, then back at the vampire under her blade.

‘You know him?’ Mal asked. Comarré knowledge was scary. Another reason for her not to know his real name.

‘Scarnato, now,’ Dominic answered. He smiled at Chrysabelle like an indulgent parent.

She eased her sword back. ‘You’re supposed to be dead.’

‘I am.’ His smile widened. ‘And have been for nearly two hundred years now.’ His gaze slid to Mal, but he spoke to her. ‘Drop the blade, bella. I’ve come to help you.’

‘Keep the blade where it is,’ Mal said. ‘He’s no help to anyone.’ Dominic Scarnato was the largest black market alchemist in New Florida. Probably in the whole Southern Union. His drugs altered the minds of humans and othernaturals alike. As far as Mal had uncovered, he’d come out of nowhere but made a real name for himself in a short period of time. In fact, Dominic’s presence was one reason Mal had moved to Paradise City, figuring the man’s black cloud would offer some cover.

Dominic shrugged. The subtle movement against the weapon’s edge opened a thin slice in his throat. Blood pearled on the blade, its aroma filling the air.

Chrysabelle reeled backward, gagging and taking her weapon with her. The cut vanished a second after her sword pulled away. ‘You’ve had—’

‘Comarré blood,’ Mal finished. Son of a priest. He lunged, sword in hand, and grabbed Dominic by the collar with both hands. The move notched Mal’s blade against Dominic’s face, opening a fresh cut on his cheek. Another wave of scent rolled over them, a heady mix of comarré-sweet, vampire-spicy. ‘Explain. Now.’