Blood Rights

Chapter Thirty-one

Fi wandered the cemetery, reading names and dates as best she could by the light of the moon. How many of these people owed their death to a vampire like she did? She traced the carving on one headstone, her fingers catching on the weathered stone as she glanced back toward the cars. She would have felt better if Doc had stayed. Hanging out with the fae was fine, but the drivers were still vamps. Vamps she didn’t know. Friendly or not, she wanted some distance. Especially since one of the drivers, Leo, had managed a few minutes on hallowed ground to toss his cookies, even if he had come out smoking like a burned pot roast.

She shivered and pulled her coat tighter. If Doc were here, he’d have his arm around her, keeping her warm. Hopefully he was okay, wherever he was. Mal would protect him, wouldn’t he?

Sighing, she strolled past the rows of tombstones. The relative safety of the holy ground didn’t stop the old cemetery from being a smidge creepy, especially at night, but it wasn’t enough to suppress her interest. This was exactly the type of place that would have piqued her curiosity when she’d been studying to be an anthropologist.

She frowned. That stupid drive to unearth some exciting, previously undiscovered thing had gotten her killed. Why couldn’t she have been a computer engineer? Or an accountant?

Her mind wandered to the day she’d discovered those ruins in northern England. The terror that followed. She shook her head to make the memories go away. This was not the place for those kinds of thoughts. Her feet carried her farther away from the car and the four othernatural males who were currently playing some kind of dice game. There was a huge crypt in the corner of the cemetery she was dying to see.

She smiled. Dying to see. Now that was funny. Doc would have thought so.

The crypt was illustrated on all sides with flowers and people and depictions of life, all brightly painted like the head-stones in the famous Merry Cemetery in Sâpãn¸ta. Had this family moved to Corvinestri from that part of Romania? What would make them do that? It must pay very well to work for the nobility. It would have to. She walked around the crypt slowly, studying the pictures and wishing for a headlamp and a sketchbook. How many of the family were still alive? Still working for the vampires who controlled this hidden city?

A soft mewling caught her attention. She looked in the direction of the sounds. Beyond the wrought iron gates of the cemetery sat a tiny striped kitten. He cried again and Fi missed Doc more than ever, remembering the day Mal had brought a torn-up Doc in cat form back to the freighter. Mal had thought the cat would give her something else to focus on besides tormenting him. He’d been right, but neither of them had known Doc’s true nature. He’d been too wounded to shift into human form. Once he had … well, not exactly the pet Mal had been counting on.

She grinned and hurried to the gate. ‘You poor thing. Where’s your mama?’

The kitten sneezed and blinked at Fi, meowing for attention. She stuck her hand through the gate but couldn’t quite reach him. ‘Aw, c’mere, baby. Do you have a wittle cold?’

But the kitten stayed put and answered her with more pitiful meowing.

‘Hang on, I’m coming.’ She glanced back at the men. Still busy with their game. The tall fae had warded the whole area. There had to be some overflow that covered the area beyond the gates too.

She opened the gate and stuck her head out to scan the area. No one lying in wait, nothing unusual in either direction. The kitten flopped onto its side and began to purr.

She slipped out but stayed close to the gate. ‘Here, kitty, kitty. Come on, come to Fi. I’m good with cats, you’ll see.’ She took a step toward the little ball of fluff, prepared to scoop it up and dash back through the gate, but no one jumped out of the bushes. Nerves were making her silly. She laughed softly and bent to pick up the kitten. ‘There you are—’

A hand closed over her nose and mouth. The kitten vanished into curls of black smoke.

Her fingers flew up to pry the hand away but found nothing, no physical being. She whirled, still scrabbling at her mouth, trying to wedge it open to no avail. The air prickled with dark magic, but she was alone. The unseen force pressed down harder. Her lungs burned with the need for air. The need to scream.

She concentrated on going spectral and, for a moment, the force seemed to weaken. Then it lifted her free of the ground and the invisible hand clamped down harder. She screamed but the sound came out weak and muffled. A dark shape appeared out of the shadows, the creature’s hands outstretched toward her. Her head spun with sparks of light and the clawing ache to breathe.

She tried to scream again as her body floated through the air in the creature’s direction. Numbness spread through her like a fog, closing down her vision until the last pinpoint of light winked out.

A thousand questions tumbled through Chrysabelle’s mind. Had her aunt always been able to walk? Why would she hide such a thing? Had Dominic known?

‘She’s down here,’ a voice called out behind Maris.

Maris limped forward, almost stumbling. She turned her head in the voice’s direction, then back again. Panic filled her eyes.

‘We’ve got her,’ the voice called out again, this time followed by the sound of multiple sets of footsteps running down stairs.

Maris held Chrysabelle’s gaze and touched her fist to her heart, then shook her head sadly. In a smooth motion, she dropped her weapons and brought her arms up in front of her face with her fists and elbows together. Her sleeves slid back to reveal her signum. The opening between them vanished. 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">