“Now, now,” Fi said. “First to shift loses.”

  Heaven’s eyes went back to human. She bucked Fi off with enough power to throw her several feet away. Fi landed hard but rolled to her feet immediately and faced her challenger once again.

  Drawing first blood felt good. Fi grinned. Now she wanted second blood as well. And if she’d learned anything from Mal, it was to never back down. She threw herself at Heaven again, grabbing Heaven’s wrists as she raised her fists. Together they went into the sand.

  Fi’s jumpsuit was full of it by now, so Heaven’s must be, too. Sand might make the blood easier to clean up, but it also aggravated the crap out of the fighters. Maybe that was part of the point.

  Heaven slapped Fi across the face and Fi tasted blood. She smashed her head into Heaven’s chin and was rewarded with a loud cry.

  “Vaca.” Heaven dropped her and spat out a mouthful of blood, sand, and possibly a small piece of tongue. “You’re going to pay for that, human.”

  “Blah, blah, blah,” Fi mouthed back. “Empty words, fleabag.”

  They began circling each other, arms out, ready to strike. Heaven stumbled once as her ankle twisted, but she quickly righted herself. She shook herself and blinked a couple of times.

  With a frustrated yell, Heaven attacked, her petite figure charging with all the power of her varcolai heritage. She took Fi to the sand hard enough that she lost her breath for a few frightening seconds. In that brief span, her eyes connected with Doc’s in the audience. She’d never seen him so afraid. Did he think she was going to lose? What little confidence she had drained into the sand beneath her.

  Heaven jumped on top of Fi and punched her in the side of the head. Stars shot through Fi’s vision and the world wobbled. If she hadn’t already been down, she would have fallen over.

  Shot after shot to Fi’s head and body pushed her deeper into the sand. She twisted away, earning herself a couple whacks to the ribs. Something cracked and pain radiated through her body with every breath. She clawed at the sand, trying to find purchase, trying to pull herself out of Heaven’s reach. Desperate to stop the punishment, she flung handfuls of sand at Heaven.

  The shifter caught the first one square in the mouth. She coughed out the sand she’d inhaled, gagging and spitting. Fi dug her elbows in and dragged her aching body a few inches away.

  The sand clung to Heaven’s sweaty face. She wiped a forearm across her eyes but only made it worse. Blinking hard, she crawled after Fi. Barely an inch remained on either of them that wasn’t caked with sand or sweat. Under the intense lighting, their crusted skin glittered.

  Fi kicked, catching Heaven in the collarbone. Something snapped and Heaven howled, the sound eerily unhuman. Her eyes yellowed and she flung herself on top of Fi.

  Panting and growling, she landed multiple shots. Fi curled into a ball. The stars swimming across her field of vision became black spots. Swelling shut her left eye almost entirely and her body burned with pain.

  She shoved both feet out with what little strength she had left, but Heaven dodged the effort. The shifter grabbed Fi by the hair and yanked back, then shoved Fi’s face into the sand.

  Fi jabbed an elbow back, catching Heaven hard, but the varcolai didn’t let up. Grit clogged Fi’s nose and throat with each hopeless breath. Heaven was going to kill her. The only way out was…

  “Mercy,” Fi whispered.

  Heaven tugged Fi’s head out of the sand and leaned in close enough that their cheeks touched. “What did you say, human?”

  “Mercy.” The word tasted worse than the metallic tang coating her tongue.

  “Hah!” Heaven flung Fi’s head back down.

  Fi twisted enough to breathe clean air. Somewhat unsteady, Heaven pushed to her feet and slogged toward the edge of the arena. She brushed herself off, then raised her hands. The crowd went nuts, whether or not they understood what had just happened.

  A sob tore through Fi’s chest. She couldn’t look at Doc. Couldn’t stand to see the disappointment in his eyes. Tears spilled down her face and she let them. At least they washed the sand from her eyes.

  Heaven fell onto one knee, then tumbled onto her side. She rose slowly, leaning on her hands. She shook her head like she was clearing cobwebs and struggled to get up. Again, she fell.

  This time she shifted to her jaguar form.

  The crowd went still. Omur and Barasa ran into the arena and kneeled beside Heaven. Omur put a hand to her throat as he bent over her, his ear to her muzzle. He righted himself and gave Barasa a serious look. With a nod, Barasa jumped up and ran to Fi.

  He brought her to a sitting position, then pulled her arm around his neck and lifted her to her feet. “Raise your hand.”

  She bit down to keep from crying out in pain. Through gritted teeth, she asked, “Why? What happened?”

  He reached around, grabbed her elbow, and forced her arm into the air, all the while walking her toward the exit. The crowd stayed silent, their stares amplifying her discomfort. Then he answered. “You won. Heaven’s dead.”

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Lola hesitated. Her body wanted to lunge forward, to grab the comar before her and sink her teeth into his flesh without a second thought, but what was left of her heart and humanity kept her feet planted. She’d sworn she wouldn’t become a monster. “I don’t know if I can do this.”

  Luciano frowned. “You can and you will or you will die. Permanently this time.”

  The comar stepped forward. “It’s okay, my lady. My purpose is to provide you blood.”

  Luciano nodded. “Listen to the pulse of his heart. It beats with excitement, not fear. He is here to serve. He wants to do this.”

  A refocusing of her senses and she actually could hear the comar’s heart. The sound was vaguely reassuring. Her mouth watered and the muscles in her thighs twitched, trying to move her forward. “Maybe… I should do this alone.” She glanced at Luciano.

  He settled into the club chair. “No, cara mia. You are a vampling. The chance that you would drink too much and harm the comar is too great. I stay.”

  “Oh.” That possibility had never occurred to her. “That’s a good idea, then.” She sat on the bench at the end of the bed and patted the spot next to her. “Please,” she said to the comar. “Come sit.”

  With a smile, the comar joined her. His scent was intoxicating. She closed her eyes slightly as she inhaled. The fragrance was rich and heady, like the finest rum. “You smell delicious.”

  The word slipped out before she realized how it sounded. “I didn’t mean—”

  The comar laughed. “Please, my lady. I’m supposed to smell delicious.” He held his arm out to her.

  She stared at it, unsure.

  “To bite,” Luciano said. “The wrist is less intimate.”

  She nodded and took the comar’s arm, then stopped. “What’s your name? I feel like I should at least know your name.”

  “I am Hector.” His slight accent recalled her childhood.

  “Are you Cuban?” No wonder he’d reminded her so much of Julia.

  “Si.” He laughed. “And I know who you are.” He tipped his head. “I am honored to be your first blood.”

  The realization that what she’d become would soon be public knowledge struck her. Despite her growing hunger, she let her hands drop to her lap. Hector’s arm rested lightly in her grip, his warm flesh teasing her fingertips.

  “Something wrong, Lola?” Luciano raised a brow, the displeasure on his face evident.

  There was no turning back. She must embrace this new life that would allow her to govern Paradise City with the necessary power and rescue her grandchild. “No. Nothing is wrong.” She forced herself to smile at Hector. “I am pleased you are my first as well.”

  She lifted his wrist, breathing in his luscious scent again, then closed her eyes, opened her mouth, and sank her fangs into him.

  Hector’s only sound was one of pleasure. As blood surged into her mouth, she opened her eyes. Luciano had moved to the edge of the chair. He nodded at her. She closed her eyes and returned to drinking the life spilling out of Hector. Her body seemed to expand with every swallow, the sense of power increasing as her hunger waned.

  Not wanting to disappoint Luciano or harm Hector, she stopped when the urgency to drink narrowed from the raging river it had first been to a small trickle of desire. She pulled her mouth away from his arm reluctantly.

  “You’re done?” Luciano asked.

  “Yes.”

  With a look that said he didn’t quite believe her, Luciano stood. “Very well. You will be hungry again—not just hungry but ravenous—when you wake from daysleep this next week or so. It would be best if you stay here. There are plenty of rooms—”

  “No.” She rose. “I have a city to run. I can’t take up residence in a nightclub. And I can’t sleep during the day.”

  “I have a potion that will shorten the hours of daysleep you require, but I do not think you understand how much you’ll need blood.”

  Hector jumped up. “I’ll go with her.” Uncertainty in his eyes, he paused, his hand clamped over his punctured wrist. “If the mayor wishes.”

  “You cannot just go. A comar’s blood rights are not free.”

  “How much?” Lola asked, suddenly willing to pay whatever it took to keep Hector with her.

  “I must check with Jacqueline. She is our comarré housemother. She keeps their records.”

  Lola rested her hand on Hector’s shoulder. “You know where I live. Send me the bill.”

  Now was not the time to worry about Mal, but Chrysabelle couldn’t help but let a small amount of concern filter through her preparations for the ball. She didn’t like that he’d isolated himself after drinking from her, didn’t like how quiet he’d become. How purposefully distant. She hated it, actually.

  Hated that something had happened and he wasn’t talking about it. But then expecting him to change overnight was a fool’s game. She crossed her arms and returned her focus to what was happening in the hangar.

  The comarré Dominic and Katsumi had captured, the comarré who would provide the blood for Chrysabelle’s disguise, stood huddled near her patron. Chrysabelle felt for the girl, knowing she was an innocent participant in all this. Her patron would provide the blood for Mal’s disguise and the two vampires beside him, the blood for Dominic and Katsumi. Maybe before they returned home, Chrysabelle would give the comarré the chance to go with them.

  Maybe.

  The four hostages were bound with silver-core rope and blindfolded. The silver—and a shot of laudanum when Dominic was finished with them—would keep the vampires from escaping, but the comarré would have to be watched. That job fell to Amery, along with guarding the two planes now parked side by side in the secured hangar. The comarré’s behavior would determine what Chrysabelle offered.

  Dominic came out of his plane, a tray of tools in one hand. Mal followed. Helping Dominic was a great way to keep his distance from her. She spoke to Dominic as he approached. “Do you need me for this?

  “No, Malkolm will assist me. Katsumi is changing. You probably should as well.”

  “All right.” Her gown would take a little time to get into anyway.

  Mal grabbed the first vampire, a female, and held her in place while Dominic picked up the first syringe. Chrysabelle turned away and walked back to the jet. As she stepped inside, the vampiress let out a curse that rattled the hangar walls.

  “Solomon, bring four gags,” Dominic called to the cypher fae he’d brought along. Solomon would get them through achtice’s warded gates, but then he’d return to the protection of the hangar. Cyphers were extraordinarily useful except when it came to fighting. Then they were pretty much helpless.

  Dominic’s pilot, a fringe vamp, would drive them to the estate; then he’d stay outside with the other drivers, keeping to himself and sticking to his story of being a new hire. Once inside the ball, they couldn’t afford a single loose piece in the very complex puzzle they were creating.

  Mortalis would wait in the second car at the end of the tunnels, where hopefully she, Mal, and the vampire baby would end up.

  Chrysabelle retrieved her garment bag from the plane’s storage closet and carried it to the bedroom. There, she stripped down to her underwear, taking off the sheaths that held her wrist daggers and laying them on the bed. Her sacres were currently stored in the front closet where her dress had been. The small Golgotha blade normally tucked in the back of her waistband had stayed home. Going into this ball with only a pair of daggers strapped to her thighs was almost the equivalent of going in unarmed. Two short blades against Tatiana, who could transform her metal hand into any weapon of her choosing, was ludicrous. It meant the only effective fighting Chrysabelle could do was up close. Not really where she wanted to be when dealing with an aged, noble vampire.

  With a resigned sigh, she clipped on the garter belt Nyssa had altered to serve as the sheath for the daggers and aligned it, then attached the stays around her lower thighs and inserted her wrist daggers into place.

  The dress went on next, carefully so as not to damage the delicate lace. For a moment, Chrysabelle wished Velimai and Nyssa were with her, but it passed quickly. She wouldn’t want them in harm’s way. Not that Velimai’s vocals wouldn’t come in handy against Tatiana. Chrysabelle zipped the dress as best she could. Someone would have to finish the job for her.

  She slipped her hands through the slits designed to look like pockets. Her hands connected immediately with the hilts of her daggers, their smooth surface offering some comfort to the anxious prickling running the length of her spine.

  At last, she pulled the sides of her hair back with diamond combs and let the rest of it fall loose. She did a quick turn in the full-length mirror on the back of the bedroom door to make sure everything was okay. Except for not being completely zipped up, she was ready to go. She opened the door and found Mal waiting.

  Her heart caught in her chest at the sight of him wearing the outfit Dominic’s tailor had prepared. From the snowy cravat to the velvet frock coat and soft wool trousers, it was like getting a glimpse of him as he might have been so many centuries ago. Just seeing him dressed as befit his true noble status washed a curious sense of weakness through her. As if he were suddenly some distant, untouchable patron and she, his submissive comarré, awaiting his command. She glanced away and gathered her composure around her like a screen, but he’d already have heard the uptick in her pulse.

  He shook his head, his gaze running the length of her. “Bloody hell.”

  Her spirits sank and she glanced at him. “You don’t like it?”

  “I like it. I don’t like the thought of other men looking at you in it.” His eyes silvered. “Come here.”

  She did as he asked, the feeling of being possessed by this wicked creature coiling through her in a way that tripped the darkest pleasure centers of her brain. When she stopped before him, she lifted her chin. “You don’t own me, you know.”

  He slipped his hand around her waist and drew her in until the space between them disappeared; then his lids dropped a little lower and he smiled, his mouth closed and assessing. “I’m well aware of who owns who in this relationship.”

  “Then tell me why you’ve been avoiding me since you fed.”

  His smile disappeared. He released her and stepped away, turning so that he no longer faced her. “The voices, the beast… they’re pushing me to kill. To make up for not killing you. It’s like they know I’ve gained the ability to protect you and they want to punish me for that.” He rolled his head to one side, closed his eyes, and sighed. “My head aches with their efforts.”

  “I’m so sorry,” she whispered, wanting to go to him, but not sure if he would welcome the touch since he’d moved away from her.

  He tilted his head to look at her. “I’ll be okay.”

  “You look very handsome, by the way.”

  His smile deepened and he laughed softly. “I don’t think anyone will be looking at me this evening, but thank you. That dress is really something.”

  She smoothed the skirt. “It was supposed to be my mother’s wedding dress.”

  His brows rose. “Has Dominic seen it yet?”

  “No, but I don’t think he knows that’s what it is.” She held out her hand. “Shall we go?”

  “Wait. I have something for you.” He went to the closet her dress had been in, took his bag off the top shelf, and rummaged through it, finally pulling out a long, cloth-wrapped parcel. He handed it to her. “I want you to have these.”

  She untied the leather cord securing the cloth and unfurled it into her hand, already recognizing the shapes within. When the matched set of daggers fell into her palm, she let out a soft, “Oh.” She set the cloth aside and inspected the weapons. Tiny rose-covered vines curled down the slim blades. Just before the blades met the rosewood hilts, their edge gave away to about an inch of serration, making them deadlier than the daggers she’d planned to use. “They’re beautiful.”

  “More important, they’re as sharp as the devil’s tongue.”

  “I love them. Thank you.” She leaned up and kissed him. “These are from your personal collection?”

  “Yes. They were one of the first pairs I ever… acquired.”

  She frowned, knowing that most likely meant he’d killed their owner.

  “Don’t look so upset. He was a highwayman who attempted to rob the carriage I was traveling in. He killed my driver before he got what he deserved.”

  She tilted the blades so they caught the light. “All that matters is that you wanted me to have something of yours.” She smiled at him. “I like that.”

  “So do I.”

  “Here, hold them while I take the old ones out.” She handed them over, then balanced her foot on one of the seats, pulled her skirt up, and slid the first dagger out. She held her hand out to Mal for the replacement.

  Nothing filled her open palm. She glanced up. Mal was holding the dagger out to her, but his gaze was on her bare leg. She cleared her throat. “A little to the left.”

  “What?” He looked at her and readjusted his aim. “Don’t show that much skin if you don’t want me to look.”

 

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