Out for Blood

She dropped the chair and her hands went to her face, feeling for the strange angles of her new nature. The hard ridges rose over her cheekbones and brow. A mirror. She tried the door on the right side of the room. It opened into a large bath.

She flicked the light switch and blinked as the illumination flooded the space. The grains of sand in the tile’s grout lines were visible. How was that even possible? She turned toward the gold-hued mirror.

The monstrous face she’d expected to see stared back at her with the same silvery gaze the rest of the nobles had. She ran her fingers over her skin, studying each new slope and rise. Peered closer at her luminous eyes. Not monstrous. Powerful. Intimidating. Noble.

Human face. But the thought only caused her human face to flicker over her skin. She concentrated and it came back. She leaned in. The fine lines around her eyes and mouth were gone, her forehead smooth. Not a strand of gray showed through the root line where her color was growing out. In fact, there was no root line anymore, just a head full of silky, bouncy brunette hair. And her eyes… her eyes had never been anything special, but their ordinary brown was gone, replaced by a hundred shades of the same color. Her eyes were spectacular.

The moment she stopped concentrating on her human face, it disappeared and her vampire one returned.

Curling her lips back, she turned her head side to side to see the fangs that now jutted from her upper jaw. Also intimidating. She growled at herself, then laughed at her childishness. Her tongue tested the fangs’ sharpness. The jagged tip of one pricked the surface and caused a small drop of blood to well up.

Saliva pooled in her mouth and her stomach clenched. She swallowed and looked back toward the door. If Luciano didn’t return soon, she’d have to head out on her own. She couldn’t go much longer without—

The suite door opened. “Lola? I’ve brought you a decent meal.”

She stepped out of the bathroom and a new emotion swelled alongside her hunger.

Luciano had brought one of Dominic’s comarré with him. The slim young man smiled at her, his eagerness spilling off him like a delicious perfume, but everything about him—his gold marks, his bleached blond hair, his age—reminded her of the last time she’d seen Julia.

“Bloody hell,” Mal snarled. “This isn’t a game.” He was fully aware that his anger came from fear. The fear that he’d hurt Chrysabelle. Or worse. The voices applauded.

Chrysabelle exhaled slowly. “So you acquiescing to my every desire over the past few days was due to some fugue state born out of your joy at still being alive?”

“Life with me is never going to be easy. I told you that.”

She nodded. “Yes, you did.” She hesitated like she was looking for the right words. “I know this isn’t a game. It’s your life. It’s our life. For what we’re about to go up against, you need to be at your most powerful. Drinking my blood out of a plastic cup isn’t going to get you there.”

“I’ve made it through worse with less.” What you deserved.

“But you don’t have to this time.” She grabbed the hand he’d pulled away from her. “Stop fighting me. We’ve done this once already without Mortalis there to protect me. It’s going to be fine.”

He glared at her. “The last time we did this, I had chains the size of tree trunks holding me back. And they were starting to give.”

“But they didn’t.” Mortalis gave Mal a stare that had frustration written all over. “And she’s right. You need to go in strong. The numbers are not on our side this time.”

Mal leaned back, casting his gaze at the twin strips of overhead lighting. Chrysabelle’s fingers caressed the palm of his hand. He closed his fingers over hers. “You’re asking a lot of me.”

“I know,” she said. “But if I’m willing, you should be, too.”

He tipped his head to look at Mortalis. “You’re sure you can do this? Sure you can manage the beast if I can’t?”

Mortalis nodded. “If I can’t, Amery will step in to help, too.”

“Great,” Mal cracked. “Two shadeux inside me. Sounds like a freaking picnic.”

“Mal.” Chrysabelle’s voice went soft and breathy, and she leaned into him, her warm body pressed against his. The small contact was enough to amp up his hunger and spin the voices into an unbearable whine. She blinked, her blue eyes pleading. “Do this for us.”

He dropped his chin, and after a moment stared up at her from his lowered lids. “You and I are going to talk later.”

She canted her head to one side. “About what?”

“About the inappropriate use of feminine wiles.”

She smiled and, damn it, he liked it. “That’s a yes, then?”

He nodded. Doc was right. Love had made him soft. And stupid.

“Do you want me to sit on your lap?”

“No.” The word came out louder and sharper than he’d intended, but her question had driven home just how intimate an act they were about to partake of in front of Mortalis. Mal had never been an exhibitionist, and he wasn’t about to start now. “Just sit where you are. Give me your wrist.”

Her frown morphed into a more understanding look, and she extended her arm. Without another glance at Mortalis, Mal rested his hands beneath her wrist. The flesh there was unadorned, the signum scrolling away from the spot where the veins showed through her pale skin. He closed his eyes as he took her scent into his body. Son of a priest, she undid him, and despite the fae’s presence, Mal let out a soft sigh of pleasure.