Last Blood

Only then might he find some solace.

Mal settled atop the security wall and inhaled. Comarré blood perfumed the air so heavily it almost intoxicated him. Drink drink drink. He would. Soon. He inserted the iron-mesh earplugs Tatiana had given him. Now the wysper could scream her head off and it wouldn’t stop him from draining every last drop of blood out of Chrysabelle.

He walked the wall, looking for the best view into the house, but all the curtains had been drawn. Plenty of lights were on, though, and he could sense a number of heartbeats. She had company. He smiled. He’d feed well tonight. Good. This meal had to last him until he reached Corvinestri and was finally able to buy a comarré of his own. An obedient one, who did as she was told and nothing more. No meddling, no arguing, nothing but a warm vein when the need arose.

The guesthouse was dark. He followed the wall in that direction, jumping over the property’s metal entrance gate to the adjoining wall and continuing until he could leap from the wall to the guesthouse roof. He landed with a thud and immediately flattened himself against the tiles. A few seconds later, the security lights clicked on and the front door opened.

He got lower, out of the sight line, and listened.

“See anything?” A male voice he didn’t recognize.

“No.” That low growl was unmistakable. Doc. “But I smell something.”

Damn it. He hadn’t counted on Doc being here. Maybe Doc could live. After all he’d done to keep Fi off Mal’s back, he deserved that much.

Finally the door shut. The lights, however, stayed on. He crept to the peak of the guesthouse and looked over. No one had stayed outside to guard the house so he started moving again, this time toward the opposite edge of the roof. From there, he’d drop to the ground, being careful to stay on the path so he wouldn’t trip the sensors hidden under the sod. Then he’d climb the building to the second-story balcony, wrench open the French doors into Chrysabelle’s bedroom, and drink until there was nothing left to swallow.

Chrysabelle looked at the fae numbers written over the bars and nodded to Fi. “The numbers match what’s on the paper. That’s the raptor’s cell.”

“Where is it?” Fi whispered, peering into the cell’s dark interior.

“It must be back in the shadows.” The cell seemed empty, except… was that crying? Coming from inside?

“Raptor,” she called quietly. “Come out where I can see you. It’s Chrysabelle. The comarré whose gold you read.”

The crying stopped, replaced by shuffling. The raptor hobbled into view, his enormous form outlined in the soft glowing light of the numbers over his cage. Smooth, murky green skin covered a shape that reminded her of the Nothos. Except for the lack of eyes. All the raptor had was a slanted forehead. He flared his wide, slit nostrils. “Comarré,” it whispered, “is that really you or do I dream again?”

Fi gave Chrysabelle a look and circled her finger beside her head.

“It’s me, raptor.” Despite the creature’s missing eyes she remembered very well that it didn’t prevent him from understanding what was happening around him. With that in mind, she slowly pulled one sacre from its sheath.

The raptor reached through the bars, his long, narrow fingers uncurling toward her. “You’ve come to me. My love.”

This time Chrysabelle returned Fi’s look. My love, she mouthed. What was going on?

Fi shook her head.

Chrysabelle kept her voice to a whisper. “Stay on the path until I need you to let me out.” Then she took a step toward the raptor. The smell of bleach wafted off the creature.

“Yes,” he murmured, flexing his fingers. “Come closer, my dream.”

She did, but only one more step. She was close enough now to see fully into the cell. There wasn’t much room in there to swing her sacre. This was going to have to be a decisive strike. If the raptor had a chance to fight back, she’d have no defensible position. No place to hide.

He opened his mouth, flicked out a three-pronged black tongue from between multiple rows of teeth. An image of the Claustrum’s entrance flashed in her head. He tasted the air in her direction. “Why have you waited so long to come to me?” he whined.

“I didn’t know you wanted me to.”

“Psst,” Fi hissed. “Psst!”

Chrysabelle answered Fi without turning around. “What?”

“It loves you,” Fi whispered loudly.

“Of course I love her,” the raptor raged. He grabbed the bars and shook them, making them creak. “Why do you torment me this way?”

Farther down the corridor, other inmates howled in response.

“Shh, I’m here now. I’m here.” She hadn’t expected to have to mollify the creature she was about to kill. Holy mother, how was she supposed to kill a creature that loved her? Maybe she could persuade him to let Mal’s emotion go? Trade some of her emotions for those of Mal’s? She’d have to get the raptor to agree ahead of time as to what he’d take. “I’m going to come into your cell now. Is that all right?”

With a whimper the raptor sank onto his haunches and nodded his head. “Yes, yes, yes.”

She shot Fi a look, then headed in, keeping a firm grip on her sacre. The cell door clanged softly behind her, a sound she never hoped to hear again. “Raptor, I am here to ask you a favor.”

“Anything, anything.” He was trembling now.