Bad Blood (47 page)

He cocked his crossbow. “You three stay here, let me suss it out.”

“You sure you don’t want more help than those two cops?” Doc asked.

“They’ve been briefed. One cop is varcolai.”

Doc nodded and took a better look at the cop, recognizing him as a member of the pride. “Shout if you need us.”

Creek ducked into the alley. Doc inhaled, testing the air for scents. Blood. In spades. And the faint hint of vampire. But between the two was the familiar musky scent of feline shifter. Had to be the cop. Suddenly, a deep guttural snarl broke through the other sounds of the city.

“Doc.” Urgency laced Creek’s voice like a poison. “Now.”

With Fi at his side, Doc spun around the corner, unprepared for the scene before him. A large feline varcolai in half-form crouched over the torn body of one of Dominic’s comarré. If she wasn’t dead, she would be in another heartbeat or two. Blood dripped from his clawed fingers and pooled beneath the girl like a morbid blanket, unfurling slowly toward the street. The varcolai stood, stepping back carefully to avoid the puddle.

The cops had their guns raised, but they were out of their league. “Guns aren’t going to do much good,” Doc said.

“Copy that. Besides, we need to take him in alive,” Creek answered. His crossbow stayed up on his shoulder. “You know this cat?”

“Maybe. Definitely leopard, but it’s a little dark to really make out—”

One of the cops flipped on a handheld spotlight, bringing the killer into clear view. The varcolai cop muttered a curse.

Doc swore, too. “What the hell?” He stepped forward, a little past Creek and enough to block the KM’s shot. “Sinjin?”

The man snarled again, showing a small chip in his left fang and confirming Doc’s identification. How could he forget the varcolai who’d cast him out of the pride?

Sinjin shook his head as if telling Doc not to say another word. Doc snorted in derision and took another step forward. “You think I’m going to stand by and let you murder these girls? Like hell.”

With a quick shake, Sinjin shed all signs of his leopard half and took on his full human form. “Siding with the mortals, Maddoc?” He shook his head. “Don’t you see
what’s happening? The vampires grow stronger every day. We have to seize whatever opportunity we can, and tonight we’re seizing a big one.”

“There’s no
we
, Sinjin. You kicked me out of the pride years ago, remember?” Heat coursed through Doc’s bones. “And I don’t consider killing humans an opportunity.”

“I didn’t kill this girl. I found her here. The victim of a vampire.”

“Her blood is on your hands, and I bet when the police search you, they’ll find the container of vampire ashes you’ve been planting beneath their nails.”

Sinjin’s mouth bent in a cruel sneer. “You’re weak. You always have been.” His eyes reflected the cop’s light with a green-gold glow Doc knew must be shining in his eyes, too. The heat in his body got more intense. “That’s why I’m the pride leader.”

“I never wanted that job, no matter how much you thought I did. Time to give yourself up. This game is over.” And time for Doc to calm down.

Hands fisted at his side, Sinjin stretched his neck and growled the low, threatening call that meant one thing. Challenge.

This wasn’t the time or place to answer that call. Not with the fire in his system just begging for a way out. Doc turned and walked back toward Creek. “Cops have any tranquilizer darts? That’s what I’d use—”

Creek’s mouth opened but Fi’s yell hit Doc’s ears first. “Behind you,” she wailed.

Doc twisted in time to catch Sinjin’s charge full in the chest. It took him to the pavement hard enough to knock the breath out of him and dent the asphalt. He was vaguely
aware of Fi telling Creek to shoot and Creek saying he couldn’t get a clean shot.

Sinjin raised his hand, claws out. Doc rolled as the hand came down, throwing Sinjin off. Doc flipped to his feet and caught Sinjin as he did the same, then shoved him back into the alley wall. The sounds of bones and bricks cracking filled the air.

“I’m going to kill you like I should have done instead of kicking you out,” Sinjin snarled.

Doc ducked a punch, then threw one of his own, planting his fist in Sinjin’s gut. “I doubt that.”

Sinjin backhanded him. Doc tasted blood, staggered a step. Sinjin came after him, latching on and taking him to the ground again. “When I’m done with you,” Sinjin whispered, “I’m going to end that freak girlfriend of yours, too.”

Doc’s vision went blue. Flame blue. With a roar like a house on fire, he exploded into burning rage. Flickering blue light washed the alley. Sinjin’s eyes rounded and he tried to let go of Doc, but it was too late. All Doc knew was that keeping Fi safe meant taking Sinjin out. The fire consumed Sinjin, swallowing him in a flood of searing flame. He howled in pain and anger, finally stumbling free to bat at himself. He collapsed a moment later, a charred version of the powerful varcolai he’d been just a few short minutes ago.

Doc’s chest heaved as the fire dancing over him snuffed out. An odd silence took over the alley. He turned slowly as he realized that his secret was not a secret anymore.

Mortalis had stayed at the mouth of the alley, one arm wrapped around Fi’s shoulders. Doc had no idea how the
fae was keeping her from freaking out, but he was grateful. Creek shook his head. “You said you were okay.”

He shrugged, too spent to give energy to excuses. “I lied.”

The varcolai cop stepped forward. Doc couldn’t recall the pride member’s name. Fear and disbelief etched lines around his eyes. Eyes that held the same green-gold glow Doc’s did. He pointed a finger at Doc. “The pride leader challenged you and you killed him.”

Doc shook his head. Hell no, this was
not
the right time for that business. “It means
nothing
. What I did was done in self-defense. Let it go.”

The cop jutted his chin forward. “Can’t. Pride law. Makes you the new pride leader.”

Double hell to the no. “I decline. Find someone else.”

Fi finally broke away from Mortalis and ran to Doc’s side, her hands all over him, checking him for injuries. “Are you okay? Are you hurt?”

The cop brought his gun up and aimed it at Fi. “Miss, you need to keep your hands to yourself and step away from the pride leader.”

She slanted her eyes at him. “Look, five-oh, I don’t know who you think you are or who you think my fiancé is, but I’ll put my hands on him anytime I want to.”

“Yeah,” Doc said. “It’s cool. She’s with me.”

The cop shook his head and kept the gun raised. “Your wife’s going to have something to say about that.”

Fi and Doc turned at the same time. “Wife?” they said in unison. Doc held his hands up. “Look, I know pride law says the new pride leader takes all spoils, but Sinjin wasn’t married.”

“Yes, he was,” the cop answered. “As of two months ago. And as of five minutes ago, so are you.”

C
hrysabelle opened her eyes and blinked, already wincing in anticipation of the pain in her back. But it was oddly absent. Maybe because she was so still. She lifted her head slowly, waiting with every inch for the sharp sear that would cause her to cry out or fold back against the bed.

It never came. Not even when she grabbed the side of the mattress and pulled herself to the edge of the bed. Her back was achy and tight and just this side of hot, but somehow not awash in the pain she’d experienced after every visit to the signumist.

She lay flat again and reached behind her to feel what she could of her back. The skin was very warm and almost hard. That was nothing unusual. The signum took days to soften beneath the skin. But what was strange was the lack of scabbing. The raised welts caused by the signum weren’t there. Her skin was as flat and smooth as though nothing had been done.

A panicked shock ran through her. The trip to the signumist hadn’t been a dream, had it? Turning her face to the other side, she glimpsed the small red pouch on her night
stand. No, not a dream. That had to have come from Atticus.

Dawn’s pale light glowed beneath the edges of the drapes, giving her enough light to realize that she was alone. Mal must have succumbed to daysleep by now, which was good. He needed it. Maybe Velimai was sleeping, too. Knowing the wysper, she was probably making coffee or polishing Chrysabelle’s sacres. Either way, there might not be a better opportunity to do what she had to.

Chrysabelle eased from beneath the covers, giving her head time to adjust to being upright again. Even as she straightened carefully, she felt no pain. There should be. The lack of it caused a prickly feeling in the back of her brain, but she ignored it. She had work ahead of her. Hard work.

Nude except for a pair of white boy shorts, she slipped into the satin robe laid out for her on a nearby chair, tucked the red pouch into the pocket, then quietly locked the door. She could not be disturbed.

Once inside the bathroom, she locked that door, too, then cranked on the shower and let it run. Neither Mal nor Velimai would believe she was taking a shower this early in her recovery, but it would buy her a little time, and a little time was all she needed.

The robe wasn’t the proper ceremonial dress, but that didn’t matter. This would be her last trip to the Aurelian. Her final act as a comarré.

She twisted her hair up with a pair of gold and diamond sticks that had been Maris’s, then kneeled on the white marble floor. The robe spilled over her knees, the fabric not nearly as fine as the gown she should be wearing. She pushed the satin off her shoulders to bare her new signum.

She took the red leather pouch from her pocket and opened it, peering inside. She smiled. Atticus had been as thoughtful as she’d suspected he would be. She withdrew the scrap of paper that held the portal signum. He’d known she’d need them for what she was about to do. Resting the pouch across her lap, she closed her eyes, bowed her head, and chanted softly the calming mantra known to all comarré. There wasn’t enough time to prepare the way she would have liked, but it would be enough. She hoped.

At last she raised her chin and opened her eyes. From the pouch, she removed the gold pipette, its small end tapered to a needle-thin point.

With a deep breath and a final thought to the holy mother, she lifted the pipette, the pointed end facing her. She inhaled, already dreading this new pain. It would all be over soon. Everything she had endured would finally be worthwhile. She wrapped her left hand over her right and plunged the pipette into her chest.

Hot, stabbing pain sucked the air from her lungs, but she held still, allowing only the slightest tremor to shake her. Index finger over the pipette’s open end, she slid it from her chest. Blood trickled from the wound and trailed over the curve of her breast.

She picked up the chanting again, using its persuasive rhythm to stay focused on the task and not the pain.
Lux sancta matris intus me fulget. Lux sancta matris intus me fulget
… Using the pipette like a fountain pen and her blood for ink, she traced a perfect circle on the marble. At the top of the circle, she drew the phoebus, the sun symbol that was every comarré’s first signum. It made her smile to think that the brother she would soon find also had that mark.

Circle completed, she leaned forward and continued with the pipette, this time copying the signum from the paper into the circle’s interior. She whispered the name of each one as she finished.

With the last one done, she set the pipette aside and stood, pulling her robe back over her body. She lifted her arms, holding her palms up over the circle. Within it, the signum she’d traced began to expand. Atticus’s signum were working. Blood filled in the blank spaces within the circle, expanding until a solid pool of red shimmered before her.

The blood rippled like water and a flash of golden light gleamed across the surface. The gateway to the Aurelian was open. There was no turning back now. Not that she wanted to.

With a final calming breath, Chrysabelle stepped into the portal.

Blood
, the voices whispered. It took Mal a second to realize that the scent of blood wasn’t in his dream. It was real. And strong enough to wake him from daysleep. The next second, his mind went to Chrysabelle. Something was wrong. She hadn’t been bleeding at all by the time he’d gotten her into bed, a task Velimai couldn’t do because her sandpaper-like skin would have only injured Chrysabelle further.