Bad Blood (23 page)

“Of course. I’ll show you.” Octavian gestured toward the comarré and Laurent. “You stay here, keep an eye on the package. I’ll send Kosmina in to bring you some brandy.”

“Wonderful. I could use a stiff drink.” Laurent dumped the comarré onto a sofa, then settled into one of the plush armchairs before the empty fireplace.

Tatiana followed Octavian out of the room, and when they were a safe distance away, she let the guise of Daciana finally fall away. She stumbled, catching hold of Octavian and leaning on him.

“Are you all right?” He held on to her, concern silvering his eyes.

“I’m exhausted.” She allowed him to bear her weight for a moment. It felt wonderful and she realized how much she’d actually missed him. “I’ve used a tremendous amount of power and had little time to recover.”

Without a second of hesitation, Octavian scooped her into his arms and carried her into the nearby library, where he set her onto a chair. “Rest. I can make an excuse for you.”

“No, no.” She waved a hand at him but made no move to get up. “There isn’t time. I must do what needs to be done.”

“What first?”

She tipped her head back against the chaise. “Daciana.”

“I would be happy to kill her for you, if that’s what you want.”

“I’m going to talk to her first. Give her the option of joining us.”

Octavian raised a brow. “You always surprise me.” He bent toward her, bringing his mouth to hers and kissing
her softly. “I’ve missed you. If it makes me weak to say so, then so be it.”

She smiled against his lips, reaching up to clasp the back of his head. “I’ve missed you, too. No one takes care of me like you do.”

He straightened and offered her his arm. “Let’s go see Daciana, shall we? The sooner we get you through this and on the plane to St. Petersburg, the sooner you can have some time to sleep and recover.”

She took his arm, letting him pull her up. How had she ever gotten along without him? “You’re right. Let’s get this done.”

Daciana was being held in a small apartment in the lower level of the estate. It sat adjacent to the dungeon and, like the dungeon, was silver-lined to soundproof the space. Octavian unlocked the door and stepped aside to let Tatiana through.

Daciana leaped up from the chair where she’d sat reading. “I demand you let me out of here. Where’s my husband? I want to see Laurent this instant. What game are you playing?”

Tatiana took the chair across from her while Octavian stood in front of the door. “Sit, Daciana. We have much to discuss.”

Heat and stench. Those were the first things that leaked through the chaos in Aliza’s mind. She’d expected both from hell, but the heat was bearable and the stench smelled of dirty diapers and rotten fish, not sulfur and brimstone.

The noise in her head was horrible. Loud and jumbled,
like she could hear everything. She blinked in the darkness. Shapes and a thin sliver of light formed as her eyes adjusted sharply.

She moved. Plastic crinkled beneath her. She stuck a hand out and hit metal. Hell was a Dumpster. Her fingers went to her neck. The gash that should have been there, left behind by that no-good, scum-sucking vampire, was gone.

She sat up and hit her head on more metal. It jumped from the impact, letting a brilliant flash of sunlight in. She really was in a Dumpster. But at least she wasn’t dead. How had she survived the attack? Didn’t matter. She had. And now she was going to hunt that bastard down, set him on fire, and take his kid. Lousy bloodsucker.

The very thought of blood made her gut clench in hunger. Dread filled her a split second later. There was only one reason the idea of blood would make her hungry. It was the same reason she could have survived the attack.

Her fingers went to her throat to find a pulse. She shoved her fingers harder against her neck, deeper into the flesh, searching, searching… but there was no pulse. Just like there was no breath in her lungs, no rise and fall of her chest. Her hands went to her mouth, her fingers running across her teeth. She moaned as she found the razor-sharp tips of brand-new fangs.

She slumped into the pile of trash supporting her. She hadn’t survived the attack. She’d been turned. Gagging on the knowledge, she pushed to her feet, shoved the Dumpster’s lid open, and hoisted herself over the side. She dropped to the concrete below, fell to her knees, and vomited. The last meal she’d eaten came up and her stomach instantly felt better. Mentally and emotionally, she could have vomited a dozen more times without feeling better.

A vampire. Her. Of all people.

She looked up and blinked hard. The sun bit into her eyes, making them water.
The sun?
How was she not a bonfire right now? Maybe she wasn’t a vampire. She hadn’t drunk his blood. A little from his bleeding broken nose had dripped into her mouth, but that wasn’t enough to turn her, was it? Or maybe being a witch had prevented her from fully turning. Maybe she was something else entirely.

She looked around, trying to place where she was. Still in Little Havana by the looks of it. Smelled like Little Havana. Rice and beans and garbage. The Dumpster was in the back of a restaurant. Made sense he’d used a Dumpster that would get emptied pretty frequently. She brushed herself off and got to her feet. Reopening the Dumpster, she rifled through the trash and found her bag and sunglasses.

Tossing the bag over her shoulder and the sunglasses onto her face, she walked to the end of the alley and looked both ways. A car drove down the street, but the driver paid her no attention.

One good thing about this neighborhood: freaks were either ignored or given a wide berth. With no real sense of direction, she started after the car. A few blocks went by and her body began to ache. Like she was hungry, but the gnawing feeling came from every muscle and every bone.

A stray dog scampered past. She could hear its heartbeat. Could feel it in her body as if it were her own heart beating. And beyond the stink of the street in its fur, she smelled blood.

She followed the animal down a new alley. “Here, doggy, doggy,” she called, reaching out for it and clicking her tongue.

The dog stopped, scratched at its ear, eyeing her as if trying to determine if she had food to offer.

“C’mon, you mangy mutt,” she singsonged, creeping closer. “Come and see what Aliza’s got for you.”

The dog came toward her, cautiously, tail wagging. Only a few feet separated them.

“That’s a boy,” she encouraged.

The dog took one more step and its nose wrinkled. It sneezed and growled, bearing its teeth, and started backing away.

She lunged, grabbing it by the scruff of the neck as she threw herself on top of the struggling animal. It kicked and snapped at her, but subduing the creature took almost no work. Her strength had tripled. Maybe quadrupled.

With a guttural cry, Aliza reared her head back, opened her mouth, and tore into the dog’s neck. It thrashed and whimpered, but after half a minute, it lay limp. Blood poured into her mouth. She swallowed and drank, the hot, earthy liquid filling her body with an almost orgasmic surge of energy.

Suddenly the taste of the blood changed into something ashy and bitter. She pulled away and spat out the last mouthful. The dog stayed limp on the oil-slicked pavement. She sat on her knees staring, oddly at peace with what she’d done. The world around her seemed a very different place. Brighter. Louder. Hers for the taking. And she was hungry for more. The dog had barely touched the hunger in her gut.

She pushed to her feet, using her sleeve to wipe the blood from her mouth. So she was a vampire, or some sort of creature that required blood, but what of her witch side? Fire had always been her best element.

Cracking her knuckles and shaking out her hands, she took a deep breath out of habit and centered herself. She extended her fingers toward the animal and called fire.

Flames burst from her hand and devoured the dog as if it were dried leaves. In seconds, nothing remained but smoking bits of bone. She studied what she’d just done, then looked at her fingers. She’d never had that much control or power before. If this was being a vampire, maybe it wasn’t so bad.

She laughed at the absurdity of it all. What would Evie say when she heard her mother had joined the dark side? There’d be no stopping them now.

Aliza took off down the street. There was plenty of time to get home. First she had to fix this craving in her belly for more blood. The dog had taken the edge off, but there was still a gaping, hungry hole there and something told her nothing was going to make it go away until she drank something human.

C
reek sipped what had to be the best coffee he’d ever tasted. How many other convicted murderers had sat at the mayor’s dining room table and eaten breakfast? Probably the same number as those who’d been paroled by the Kubai Mata and consigned into a life of secret service. One.

He’d rather have been in his own bed last night, but he couldn’t blame Lola for not wanting him or Havoc to leave after what she’d seen last night. And speak of the devil…

Havoc staggered in, for once not wearing the black sunglasses he was never without. He nodded at Creek on his way to the side table where an expanse of food had been laid out by the mayor’s staff. He filled a mug from the coffee urn, then took a seat at the end of the table.

“You don’t look like you slept.”

“I didn’t.” Havoc stared at the table like he was somewhere else. “Spent the night setting up some new security measures. The mayor wants at least two more people added to the team.”

“You have names already?” Creek immediately thought
of Doc. The guy had the right look and could obviously throw down when needed.

Havoc sipped his steaming coffee, then shook his head. “Just one. My brother, Luke.”

Creek got up for more coffee. “I know a guy. Leopard varcolai. Good man. Goes about six foot six, two forty. Lotta street smarts. Knows his way around the othernatural side of the street better than most.”

“Sounds like a candidate.” Havoc rubbed at his eyes. “Gimme his info and I’ll take it from there.”

“Good morning.” Lola strode in, her makeup doing a fair job of hiding what had surely been a night low on sleep. She was dressed in a tan pantsuit and fitted white button-down. All business, as usual. “Creek, I’d like you to come to the office with me today so you can continue educating me on what to expect.” She fixed a plate of fruit and scrambled eggs and a large coffee heavy on sugar and cream. “John, you should take the day off. I can have the police send a few officers to city hall. I need you rested and on your game.”

Creek leaned against the table, expecting Havoc to protest. He didn’t. “I should have the two new security people you asked for in a day or so.”

She sat, bowed her head, crossed herself, then began eating. “Good.” She glanced up at Creek. “If you’re going to eat, I suggest you do it soon. I want to be at my office in half an hour. The car is waiting to take us.”

Creek leaned his hands on the dining table and bent to her eye level. “I realize you’re used to people asking how high when you say jump, but I’ve spent two days in borrowed clothes. Haven’t set foot in my place in that long. I’m going home to shower and change, and then I’ll come to your office when I’m ready.”

She raised her brows but said nothing while she chewed. Finally she swallowed. “The mayor’s office has a bathroom. You can shower there. I’ll have appropriate clothes brought in. If you’re going to be taking on the role of advisor, I can’t have you looking like a convict.” Her gaze went to his Mohawk.

“No,” he said, anticipating the next action item on her list. “The hair stays. And I never agreed to any kind of advisory role.” No way Argent was going to let him work for anyone but the KM.

She opened her mouth to respond, but a maid came in and said something in a mix of Spanish and English. Creek picked out the name Vernadetto. Lola nodded and answered, “
Si
. Send him in.”

The maid nodded and left, only to return a minute later with the police chief. Vernadetto’s cap was tucked beneath his arm. “Ma’am.” His face was drawn from lack of sleep, and he wore a look that said the man would rather be anywhere than here.

“Chief.” Lola lifted her mug. “Coffee?”

“No, thank you.” He flipped open his e-tablet. “Forensics confirmed that the material beneath the second victim’s nails matches what was found under your daughter’s. We also identified the second girl as Amy Montrose. She worked at the nightclub Seven. The owner of that club, Dominic Scarnato, has been less than forthcoming, but we’re working on him.” He shifted nervously. “Also, the ME found something new in the last round of tests from your daughter’s autopsy.”