Blood Rights

‘She asked for her freedom.’ So she could leave her patron and be with the man she loved. That much Chrysabelle knew from the letters she’d received.

‘So ask.’ Frustration bracketed his mouth as his steps brought him closer. ‘Why haven’t you done that alread—’

‘It means one of us dies. Remember how I said you could die or I could kill you? This is the I could kill you part.’ She waited, but he kept silent as he turned to pace the other way. ‘Libertas is a battle to the death. If the comarré survives, she goes free. If the patron survives, he gets his choice of a new comarré.’

He reached the far wall, planted his hands on it and leaned in. ‘That seems fair.’

She agreed with his sarcasm. ‘I wasn’t suggesting it.’

For a moment, he didn’t say a word, his head bowed. Then he lifted it and spun to rest his back against the wall. Promise glittered in his eyes. ‘You would lose.’

She took a breath. Then another. ‘You don’t know that.’

‘Yes, I do. I’m vampire. Anathema, but noble nonetheless. You’re human. Basically. I’m stronger, faster, older—’

‘I know what you are, and what you were.’ Death dealer. Headsman. Executioner. ‘But now, you’re not half the strength you could be. Can you use your inherent Family gifts? Can you scatter?’

‘Not all vampires can scatter. You should know that.’

That wasn’t an answer. ‘What about healing then? You saw how quickly Dominic healed. How long does it take you?’ The scratch on his chest from the sword was already gone, but that had just been a scratch.

‘That has nothing to do with my fighting ability.’

She snorted a soft breath. ‘You’re easy to weaken.’

The glitter darkened. ‘You’re easy to kill.’

Truth rose in her throat like bile. She lifted her chin and began to chip away at the solid gold fortress she’d been raised in. ‘Comarré train all their lives. Swords, crossbow, close range weapons. Hand to hand. Linear, circular, hard, soft, internal, external.’ She shook her head. ‘There’s not a martial art or fighting style I haven’t studied. A block or thrust I don’t know.’

He laughed, a thin, cagey sound. ‘You weren’t kidding, were you?’

‘About what?’

‘You said comarré were lethal killers trained from birth in the dark art of assassination. That wasn’t a lie, was it?’

A chill racked her body. These were sacred truths she’d sworn to take to her grave. Speaking them aloud violated every tenet she’d had thrummed into her these last one hundred fifteen years. What did it matter? That life was her past. And without him helping her, she’d have no future. No matter what he was, anathema, killer, head case, she couldn’t do this alone. Not for long anyway. And her inborn will to survive overrode all other options.

‘No,’ she whispered. Any hope of returning to the life she’d left, however infinitesimal, vanished with that word. Her safety net had been cut away. ‘It wasn’t a lie. But it is the most closely guarded secret of the comarré.’

He beckoned her closer. ‘Then show me.’

‘What?’ He couldn’t mean what she thought he—

‘Drop the katana and show me,’ he urged. The names on his body seemed to swim before her eyes. ‘I won’t hurt you, I promise.’

‘Why?’

‘Because I can’t take another voice in my head.’

‘No.’ She frowned, taking comfort from his confession nonetheless. ‘Why do you want me to show you these skills?’

His mouth twisted cruelly. ‘Because everything out of your mouth has been a lie.’

‘Not everything. Not this.’ Withholding full truths wasn’t the same as lying. Not when you were protecting yourself.

‘Then prove it. Prove it and I’ll help you. You have my word.’

His word. As though the vow of an anathema meant anything. She relaxed her grip on the curved blade anyway and let it fall. It thunked against the padded floor, throwing sparks of light as it settled. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. This was insane. And dangerous. For both of them.

As her eyes opened, she shifted to fighting stance, her dominant side toward him.

He mimicked her, standing loose and ready, feet planted, fingers curled in easy fists. A dubious half smile, half smirk curved his mouth.

Fine. She’d remove that first.

He motioned her forward with an open hand. ‘I’m not going to make the first move, so it’s up to you—’

She lunged forward, popping her right fist into his jaw. His head snapped back. She followed with a hard left to his solar plexus. He stumbled, hit the floor hard. If he’d been mortal, the move would have emptied his lungs. She stood over him, ready for more.

‘Get up, vampire.’ Easy to kill. Ha!

He did, almost quicker than her eye could follow. The smirk was gone. She shot a rapid combination of punches toward him, but he blocked them. Was he taking her seriously yet? She couldn’t tell, so she backflipped to gain some space, then leaned into her rear leg and nailed a side kick to his ribs. The crunch of bone and his wince rewarded her. Adrenaline flooded her system. She smiled.

‘Twice in two days.’ He shook his head, muttering curses under his breath. ‘Fine, I get it. You can fight. But your fancy moves aren’t going to kill a vampire.’ 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">