House of Comarré Omnibus, page 131
part #0.50 of House of Comarré Series
John stuck his hand toward the door. “All you.” Then he walked away.
She swallowed down the fear that had taken hold of her throat again. She could do this. His business was obviously suffering. He needed the curfew lifted much more than she did. Straightening herself, she opened the door and walked into Dominic’s office.
Except Dominic wasn’t there.
“Ciao, bella. What can I do for you?” If not for the fangs he proudly displayed, she wouldn’t have been sure the man who’d greeted her was actually a vampire. Something about him just didn’t read that way. He was lean and ropey like a long-distance runner, his dark complexion reminding her of Dominic, but with an edge. Despite their one encounter, Dominic had struck her as a smooth character, a man used to getting his way. “I’m looking for Dominic.”
“Ah, I am so sorry, but Dominic is not available. I am his nephew, Luciano. And you are?”
“I am the mayor of Paradise City, but you can call me Lola.”
“Lola, cara mia, it is my great pleasure to meet you.” He took her hand and lifted it to his mouth, brushing his cool lips across her knuckles. She shivered. “You are a very important mortal, no? Perhaps I can help you with something?”
Being referred to as mortal, important or otherwise, reminded her of her mission. She eased her hand from his grasp as wheels in her head began to turn. She smiled at the plan forming in her thoughts. He smiled back and she had a good feeling this evening was going to go exactly the way she wanted it to. “You can help me. May I sit?”
“Mi scusi! Si, come in, sit down.” He moved out of her way and held his hand toward a pair of beautiful antique chairs.
“Thank you.” A wealth of antiques filled the office, but the centerpiece was an impressive marble-topped desk. Dominic had expensive taste. He had to be hurting. She took one of the chairs.
Luciano sat across from her, not behind the desk as she’d expected. He pinched the knife-edge crease of his trousers to straighten it. When he looked at her, his eyes held one of the most calculating stares she’d ever seen. It was as though he were sizing her up, measuring how fast she could run, how quickly she’d react. How loud she’d scream. “My uncle tells me you are the one responsible for the curfew.”
“Yes, I am. That’s why I’m here, actually.” How much had Dominic told him? Not too much, hopefully. “Your uncle and I had discussed the possibility of ending the curfew. Did he mention that to you?”
“No, I am afraid not. You would be so kind as to fill me in?”
Luciano blinked far too little for her liking. She swallowed and prayed that he was telling the truth and that her lies came off sincerely. She crossed her legs. His gaze drifted from her face to watch. The little black dress had been the right choice. “The matter is simple. I am willing to drop the curfew so that your uncle’s business may resume and the lives of all othernaturals will return to their normal routines. However—”
“You want something in exchange.”
She laughed, her nerves showing through more than she liked. “Isn’t that the way of the world?” She rested her elbow on the arm of the chair and stroked the underside of her jaw. Again, his gaze followed. “I would ask that men of power like your uncle and yourself urge the othernatural community to be patient with the mortal citizens of the city.”
“That is not such a difficult thing.” He sucked his bottom lip between his tongue and teeth, his fangs scraping the skin almost audibly. Then he smiled and this time, it reached his eyes, lighting his entire face with a wickedness that sparked something deep in her belly. Did all vampires cause weakness in mortal women? He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “But that is not all you desire, is it, Lola?”
Again, she swallowed, but this time it was to rid her mouth of the saliva pooling there, not to control her fear. If he was using some sort of power over her, it was working. Very well. “No,” she breathed. Her fingers traced the wide neckline of her dress. If he rejected her… “I want to be turned.”
He sat back and squinted as if he didn’t understand. “Turned?”
Her hands dropped to her lap and she twisted the gold and onyx ring on her pinkie. “I want to be made vampire.” She waited for him to laugh or yell or throw her out. When he did none of those things, she glanced up.
His intense stare met her. “Why?”
There was no derision in his question, just honest curiosity. It emboldened her to tell him the truth. “My daughter was one of Dominic’s comarré, but she was murdered—maybe you heard about that?”
He nodded ever so slightly.
“Before she died, she had a baby with a vampire named Preacher.”
“I have also heard of him. He is not like the rest of us.”
“No, he isn’t.” Except that he wouldn’t turn her either. “The baby is half vampire. And while I have plenty of experience being human, I don’t think I can raise a child like that without personally understanding what it means to be a vampire.”
He nodded. “That seems… reasonable.”
“That’s not my only reason. I believe being vampire would enable me to be the best mayor possible for Paradise City. I could serve both the mortals and othernaturals equally well. Understand each side and their needs. And ultimately, by becoming a vampire, I would be siding with your kind should any difficulties with the varcolai or fae arise.” She smiled, hoping he saw the logic in her argument.
He tapped his long fingers on his knee. “You would have no choice but to lift the curfew if you were vampire.”
Light filled her vision. “That’s right.”
“Being sired is painful. Frightening.” His voice became quieter, more serious. “Some do not survive.”
“I know and I am prepared. Pain does not frighten me. I have lost a child. What greater pain can there be? And I know I will survive because I want it so badly.”
He stood and held his hand out to her. “Come. This is not the place. And I have… requirements of you before we undertake this thing, yes?”
She hesitated in taking his hand. “Are you saying you’ll turn me?”
“I am, cara mia.” He laughed softly. “But not until I am satisfied.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
The chartered jet was in the hangar just as planned when Mal and Chrysabelle arrived that evening. The plane wasn’t as large as Dominic’s but it would do. Mal had to hand it to Mortalis. When the fae said he’d do something, he did it. Jerem pulled Chrysabelle’s car inside and popped the trunk to unload their things while she and Mal got out.
“You’re late,” Mortalis called out as he jogged down the jet’s steps.
“Dominic’s tailor had to make a few adjustments to my suit,” Mal answered. “Plus we stopped at the freighter on the way.”
Mortalis nodded. “That’s fine. We’re fueled and ready to go. I’ll help with the bags.”
“Thanks.” Chrysabelle went around to the trunk, pulled her sacres out, and slung them over her shoulder. Even though she couldn’t bring the swords into the ball, she’d brought them anyway. Mal couldn’t say as he blamed her. There was comfort in being well armed. She took one small bag from the trunk while Jerem got the rest. “Where’s the pilot? I’d like to meet him.”
“I’m right here.” A familiar gray-skinned figure waved from the jet door.
“Amery!” Chrysabelle waved back as she walked toward the jet. “I didn’t know you flew.”
“One of my many talents.” He came down a few steps. “Malkolm, nice to see you.”
Mal grabbed the handle of his worn leather satchel. “You too, kid.” Having another fae on board wasn’t a bad thing. Amery had been helpful enough when they’d been in New Orleans. If the need came to defend the plane against vampires, the shadeux and their ability to possess soulless creatures would come in very handy.
A few minutes later, they were on board. Mortalis secured the door. “I’ll be in the cockpit with Amery if you need me.”
“Thank you.” Chrysabelle took the seat next to Mal and fastened her safety belt. Her arm pushed against his as she got comfortable. The movement stirred a fresh waft of her enticing perfume around him.
He growled softly, opening his mouth to let that velvet scent tease across his tongue.
She smiled shyly. “You need to feed. We’ll take care of that as soon as we’re up, okay?”
“I’m…” He was about to say fine, but that wasn’t the truth. He did need to feed. Drink her, drain her, all of her. “When we’re up.” He tipped his head back against the seat as the jet taxied out of the hangar. How was he going to go back to drinking her blood out of a glass after tasting it from her vein?
He closed his eyes, lost in the thought of being able to pull her into his arms and hold her as he sank his teeth into the pale expanse of her gilded throat, the way she’d clutch him and inhale, the way their bodies—He abruptly opened his eyes and shifted in his seat. That line of thought was going to make for a very long plane ride.
Chrysabelle laid her hand on his arm as the plane shot forward and the g-force of liftoff pushed them into their seats. “You okay?”
He nodded. “Just thinking.”
“About how you’d rather bite me again than drink from a glass?” She laughed. “No, I can’t read minds, but your eyes are about as silver as a new coin and if your face shifts any further, you might break a bone.”
He forced his human features back into place. “Sorry.”
“Don’t apologize.” Her lids lowered and one side of her mouth tipped up. “I was thinking about it, too.”
Her words sent a bolt of heat into his belly. He squelched it. “No point in thinking about it. Can’t happen. I won’t risk killing you.”
“Are you sure?” Her hands gripped the armrests. “We did it once and I’m still alive.” The plane started to level out. “Besides, even if you do accidentally drink too much, you can’t kill me. You might knock me out for a day or two, but then I’ll be as good as new.”
He twisted to face her. “I was chained up. That’s not the same as being in a confined space with me. And we don’t know that you’ll survive dying again. You’re assuming that.” He glared at her. “If you’re going into this confrontation with Tatiana thinking it’s okay to die, you’d better get your head on straight. You take one foolish chance and I will pull you out of there so fast—”
She clamped her hand over his mouth until he stopped talking. “There’s the Mal I’m used to. Bossing me around, telling me what to do. You must have been chomping at the bit, huh? Feel better now that you’ve gotten that out?”
“I’m serious.”
Her eyelids fluttered as she inhaled. “Yes, I know you are. I don’t plan on taking any unnecessary chances, but this isn’t just Tatiana we’re about to face. It’s the upper crust of vampire nobility. Something goes wrong and neither of us is getting out of there alive, which is why you need to keep your strength up. You need to be able to scatter in case that’s the only option you have left.”
“I won’t leave you behind.” Too bad.
“You won’t have to.” She reached up and cupped her hand against his cheek. “I kind of missed bossy Mal.”
“I’m not biting you.” Do. Drain her.
She patted his cheek. “Yes, you are. If things go poorly, Mortalis can slip inside you and pull you off me. It’ll be fine, you’ll see.” She unlocked her safety belt and got up. “I’ll be right back.”
“Chrysabelle.” But she kept walking until she reached the cockpit. Fresh fear rose up like bile in his throat. He agreed that being at full power for what they were about to face was important, but not at her expense. What if the beast took over? Could Mortalis wrest control of that much darkness? He looked out the window into the pitch-black night. The face reflected back was the ugly reminder of just how much of a monster he was. He turned away. Laughter rang in his head.
Doing this was a very bad idea. Do it do it do it. The voices were proof of that.
Chrysabelle came out of the cockpit, Mortalis behind her. Mal shook his head slowly and stared at the tan carpeting covering the walkway, his jaw popping to one side.
She sat beside him, reaching for his hand. “Ready?”
He pulled away. “No.”
Mortalis took the seat opposite them. “It would be better to try this now before you need the blood so badly your control is undermined.”
“It would be better not to do this at all.”
“I won’t let you hurt her.”
Mal got out of his seat. “You think you can control what’s inside me?”
Mortalis scratched one of his horns. “There’s only one way to find out, isn’t there?”
Something nudged Creek’s side. He opened his eyes, wondering if his lids were the only part of him that didn’t hurt.
“What the hell happened to you?” A black shadow stood over him. Annika.
Slowly, he pushed to his knees. Shards of glass pinged to the concrete. He blew out a slow breath, his insides aching like they were sunburned. Yahla had done a number on him when she’d been in there. “Damn it. What time is it?”
“Couple hours after sunset. Why?”
He’d been out too long. Hopefully Yahla was still recovering from her last attempt to possess him. That would buy him some time. Whether or not it would be enough time remained to be seen. He got to his feet and brushed his hand over his head, loosening one last splinter of glass from his Mohawk. “I gotta go.”
“Not until you answer some questions.”
A little ambient light spilled through the broken skylight, turning the floor of the old mechanics shop into diamonds. “My grandmother’s in trouble. I have to go help her.”
“Spent the grocery money on bingo again?” Annika smiled.
He narrowed his eyes at her. Up until that point, he’d almost started to like Annika. “I’m going to pretend you didn’t just insult my grandmother, because I have a thing about not hitting women.”
Her smile disappeared. “Sorry. I didn’t—I like your grandmother. What kind of trouble could she be in?”
There was no point in hiding what had happened. “Yahla.”
“What’s that?”
“The woman you smelled on me the first time you visited.” He snagged his motorcycle helmet off the worktable. “I’m pretty sure she’s going after my grandmother to get revenge on me.”
“Why?”
“Long story I don’t have time for.” He grabbed his crossbow and his halm.
“A fight? I like a good fight.” Annika’s smile returned. “When do we leave?”
“Sure, you can come, thanks for asking.” He rolled his eyes as he went to open the door. Pushy women plagued his life. Hopefully after tonight, there’d be one less.
“This Yahla, is she really that dangerous?”
He stopped, hand poised above the door’s locks, and turned to look at her. “Argent killed her once. It didn’t take.”
Annika’s brows lifted above her permanent shades. “Argent was here? We were starting to think he was dead.”
“Oh, he’s dead all right.” Creek shoved the metal door back. “Yahla made sure of that.”
Annika followed after him. “Explain.”
He went back for the second helmet, glad for the wireless comms that would let them chat. “Ride with me. I’ll tell you on the way.”
By the time they got to his grandmother’s road, Annika knew everything that had happened with Yahla from the first time Creek had met her. He slowed the bike as they approached the little house. Annika’s arms loosened from his waist. Up ahead, his grandmother’s metal roof came into view above the mangroves and pepper trees lining the dirt road. The metal gleamed in the starlight and a soft curl of smoke drifted from the chimney pipe. Everything appeared normal, but he knew with Yahla, normal meant nothing.
He parked the V-Rod at the end of the long driveway and slipped his helmet off, then leaned back to Annika. “Stay quiet.”
She nodded, removed her helmet, and got off the bike. He did the same, then motioned for her to follow him. Mawmaw’s porch light brightened the night enough that he could see perfectly. He hugged the line of sawgrass and pines that bordered the property line. After that, it dropped off into impassable swampland. He kept an eye out for gators, pythons, and anything else he didn’t want to step on.
Together they crept toward the back of the house. It was too quiet. The glades at night should be loud with buzzing insects, croaking frogs, and gator calls, but all he could hear was Annika’s breathing. Even Pip hadn’t barked to announce their arrival.
A yell pierced the quiet. Mawmaw’s voice. He ran for the back porch, Annika behind him. No longer caring about being quiet, he sprinted up the steps and skidded to a stop.
The sliding door was open and half off its track. Just in front of it, like she’d almost gotten inside, Mawmaw sprawled on her stomach, one arm stretched toward the sawed-off pool cue his grandfather used to carry around in his pickup truck.
“Mawmaw, what happened?” He started forward, but the air above her smudged with smoke and feathers.
Yahla stepped out of the house, cocked her head at him, and frowned. “You are late.”
Chapter Thirty-Three
From what Tatiana could see, achtice’s Primoris Domus occupied a slightly smaller estate than Corvinestri’s but was no less grandly appointed. The center hall of the main building, the only one she and Daci would be allowed entrance to, dripped with crystal, artwork, and gilding just as the comarré estate in Corvinestri did. Obscene, really.
The woman in charge here, Madame Vilma or Velma or something, was just as uptight, just as militant about them not stepping a foot beyond the center hall. Apparently, Syler’s insistence that Daci be allowed to purchase a comar despite there being no prior appointment had flustered her. As if Tatiana and Daci would even want to see more of the place. Tatiana had been down the halls of the Corvinestri house. Those dull little cells held no attraction.
She snorted softly.
“What is it?” Daci asked.
