“Yeah,” Creek said. “Because the Aurelian is such a warm, fluffy bunny of a woman.”
Mal threw up his hands. “My point exactly. Not to mention the pain of enduring those signum when she’s not even properly healed.”
Fed up with being talked about instead of talked to, Chrysabelle stood. “What I’m going to do is not open for discussion. I don’t care if you agree or not. I’m doing it. You’re either with me or you’re not, and if you’re not, you’d better stay out of my way or as the holy mother is my witness, I will remove you myself with whatever means necessary.”
Creek and Mal went mercifully silent. Neither of them made eye contact with her for a few moments. Finally Mal looked up.
“I’m with you. You know that. I don’t agree, but I’m not going to stand in your way. I’ll do whatever needs doing.”
Creek nodded, his gaze meeting hers again. “What he said. Although there’s one little thing that might need taking care of first.”
She put her hands on her hips. “And that is?”
“After I found the comarré’s body this evening, but before I went to speak to the mayor, I got into a little fight.” He rubbed at his shoulder. “I’ve never seen one before in real life, but I’m pretty sure it was one of the ancient ones.”
“Castus?” she whispered, not daring to say the whole name out loud.
“Yes.”
She slumped back down onto the couch. “I guess we’d better go see the mayor after all.”
Chapter Nine
Standing in the middle of an all-too-familiar hangar, Tatiana stretched. Being cooped up with Laurent on the plane was almost as bad as being back in New Florida. “Wretched place,” she muttered, trying to find the energy to get through the next few days, because she wasn’t going to last much longer than that. Wearing Daciana’s skin wasn’t as draining as wearing that of a varcolai or a remnant, but it still required a heavy usage of power. Combined with the creeping fog of daysleep, she was ready to pass out, but a few moments away from Daciana’s husband was worth fighting off the tiredness for.
“What was that, love?” Laurent asked as he strode down the jet stairs. He stopped beside her, looking far too pleased with how things were going. Apparently, and despite his age, he’d never dreamed he’d make Elder, due to the politics afoot in the House of Tepes. A topic she’d listened to ad nauseam on the plane ride over.
“Nothing.” At the last moment, she remembered to smile pleasantly.
Laurent smiled back, sympathy in his daysleep-weary eyes. “My poor pet. Traveling doesn’t agree with you, does it? Not to worry.” Struggling with a yawn, he held up the dossier Tatiana had given him. Any spare moment he wasn’t chatting her up, he was reading through it. “I have Tatiana’s instructions and directions to the safe house. As soon as the sun goes down, I’ll commandeer a vehicle and we’ll be on our way. We’ll get settled in, then head out to the comarré’s home. Until then, let’s get back in the plane and bunk down. I’m knackered. Not sure how you’re upright.”
Because I’m not Daciana, you twit. How she wished she were home with Octavian. Or Octavian was here with her, but someone had to keep an eye on Daciana, make sure she stayed contained in the suite of rooms they’d prepared. “Yes, of course, we should sleep. I was just so excited to see New Florida.”
He put his arm around her. “I’m going to do a bang-up job of this mission. Make Tatiana proud. Make it impossible for her not to appoint me Elder.”
Her skin itched where he touched her. She managed to hold on to the sickly sweet countenance Daciana seemed to favor. Bloody good chance the prissy miss wasn’t smiling now. “I guess we’d better sleep, then, hadn’t we? So we’re fresh for the mission.” And so you’ll stop touching me.
He kissed her temple. “Back in you go, then.”
She swallowed the urge to gag. “Yes. See you at twilight.” She scooted past him, hoping to make it to the bed before there was any more touching.
He swatted her backside as she left. “Twilight it is, my pet. Then I’ll do what I’ve come to do and we’ll be on our way home to get what we deserve.”
“Indeed.” Tatiana laughed softly. He might get what he deserved a lot sooner if he touched her like that one more time. If only she could kill him and go back to being herself, but she couldn’t take the chance the council might find out she’d left Corvinestri. If things went according to plan, she’d nab Chrysabelle, get the ring once and for all, and be back before anyone was the wiser.
Then she’d kill him. And his simpering wife.
Doc woke up to a shriek and the sound of flies buzzing. “What? What? I’m up.” Pain radiated from his left hamstring. He pushed up onto his hands, the freighter’s deck gritty beneath him.
“You’re hurt. What are you doing out here anyway? What happened?” Fi hovered over him, literally.
Fortunately he’d collapsed in a shaded part of the deck. Unfortunately, the wound Preacher had given him hadn’t completely healed and was oozing pus and a slight stench. Which was drawing the flies. “Damn, that’s nasty.” He reached for a metal stanchion and pulled himself up. “What time is it?”
“Almost nine. Stop stalling and answer my questions.” Fi punched his arm lightly. “What happened? Who did this to you?”