Blood Rights

Now, the older she got, the further away she wanted to be from the past and the pain it held. And unfortunately, that included Dominic. They’d both gone too far in opposite directions to meet at any kind of middle now.

‘I had to change in order to survive. To take care of us.’ He pressed his cheek into her hand, then turned his face and kissed her palm before rising to his feet again. He smoothed his suit. The lines of sentimentality disappeared from his face as well. This was not a new conversation for them, but they’d not repeated it in several years. ‘Of course, we have moved beyond the past, you and me. What falls between us now is business. Duty. Nothing more.’

Cursing the bitterness of her own heart while praising the coldness of his, she nodded. ‘Yes, Dominic. That is the way of it.’

He put distance between them again and stared out to sea. ‘What is it you wish me to do?’

She held out a copy of the address Jonas had given her. ‘She went there, two days ago, and has not returned. Jonas is not returning my calls and I am tired of imagining what has happened. I want to know if … things have not gone well.’

He walked over, took the paper without looking at it, and tucked it into the inside pocket of his jacket. ‘I will find out tonight.’

‘Grazie, Dominic.’

‘And in return for this information?’

She’d known he’d expect payment. Prepared herself for it. After all, this was business now. She unbuttoned a few buttons, spread her shirt collar, and tilted her head back. At the edge of her vision, she spotted Velimai whirling like a hurricane behind the sheers. ‘I trust you will be gentle.’

His fangs gleamed. Her weak body betrayed her with its eager response, tightening in anticipation. He leaned in. ‘Ah, bella mia, as always.’

‘I own you?’ Fi almost bounced on her toes.

‘You don’t own me, only my blood rights,’ Chrysabelle explained for the third time. Why the ghost took such happiness in this, Chrysabelle didn’t understand. ‘And actually Mal owns them. Stole them, really.’

‘Enough with the stealing. We didn’t know.’ Mal ground his teeth and glared heavenward. ‘I need sleep.’ He shoved a hand through his black hair. ‘I should be getting up at sundown, not going to bed.’ His gaze shifted from Fi to Chrysabelle. ‘Try not to kill each other for the next four or five hours. Or do, I don’t care. Doc, you’re in charge.’ Shaking his head, he left.

‘Whatever that’s worth,’ Doc called after him from the kitchen, where he was fixing plates of something he optimistically termed dinner.

Chrysabelle sank into one of the chairs surrounding the worn table. She rested her head on her hands and stared at the scarred surface. This really wasn’t the new life she’d envisioned for herself. In that life, she wasn’t wearing a black T-shirt and baggy pajama pants that reeked of male vampire. A male who had not only stolen her blood rights, but didn’t seem to care one way or the other what that meant. She glanced at Fi. ‘Why are you so excited about this anyway?’

Fi cocked an eyebrow. ‘You don’t get it, do you?’ She leaned in. ‘Those voices in Mal’s head? I’m one of them, or at least I was until I got your blood in me. Since he killed me, I’ve had to listen to that chaos just like him.’

‘Why do you stay?’

‘Like I have a choice?’ Fi’s gaze strayed to Doc. ‘Mal’s not so bad. Not since he stopped killing. And look, being a ghost is better than being dead altogether.’ She glanced at Doc again, a slight smile on her face. What a strange pairing, the varcolai and the ghost. ‘Things aren’t so awful here.’

Chrysabelle kept her voice low. ‘You love him?’

‘Yes, she does, and I can hear you, you know,’ Doc called out from the kitchen.

Fi laughed as she turned back. ‘I can’t leave anyway, so might as well make the best of it. I tried once. Went corporeal and started walking. Six blocks and I got snapped back, like some big metaphysical rubber band attached us.’ She sat back. ‘So now, with your blood in me, I can’t hear the chaos anymore.’ She grinned. ‘Thanks.’

‘You’re welcome. I guess.’ Chrysabelle studied the girl, feeling a sense of sympathy she hadn’t before. What a strange existence.

Doc put plates of pasta in front of her and Fi. ‘Eat up. You must be jonesin’ for food big-time.’

‘I am, but’ – Chrysabelle poked at it with a fork – ‘where’s the meat?’

‘Beggars can’t be choosers,’ Fi said.

‘I am not a beggar.’ She wanted to add you little thief, but it was Mal’s fault, not Fi’s, that this had happened. ‘I need protein. It’s kind of important for someone like me.’

He squeezed Fi’s shoulder but spoke to Chrysabelle. ‘Meat’s spendy, especially when there are three of us now.’

‘Varcolai need meat, too.’

He shrugged and took the chair beside Fi. ‘I eat it every few days.’

Chrysabelle raised her brows. ‘Please tell me this ship is just naturally rat-free.’

‘I buy the meat,’ Doc said, stabbing his pasta. Clearly, she’d hit a nerve.

‘Every few days isn’t really enough, is it? Just because Malachi chooses to starve himself doesn’t mean you have to.’

Fi’s expression wrinkled. ‘Malachi?’ ns class="adsbygoogle" style="display:block" data-ad-client="ca-pub-7451196230453695" data-ad-slot="9930101810" data-ad-format="auto" data-full-width-responsive="true">