Kristen Painter - Out for Blood

Wasn’t like he’d planned on taking Sinjin out. Doc shook his head, no longer seeing the fully loaded pad around him but instead replaying the fight between him and Sinjin, the moves slowed down in his head, each punch, kick, roll, and grab like part of a choreographed dance that had gone horribly wrong when he’d suddenly gone up in flames and turned Sinjin into barbeque. The memory of that night brought a rush of heat to Doc’s skin. He popped another ketamine just to be safe.

Why the hell had Sinjin thought that framing the vampires for fake comarré deaths was a good idea? The beef between Sinjin and Dominic wasn’t a secret, but killing off Dominic’s counterfeit comarré was no way to go about settling things. Doc had no love for the vampire either, but those girls didn’t deserve to die for it. No one did. Except maybe Dominic.

Now the mayor had even more ammo against othernaturals, especially since the first fake comarré killed had been her daughter. Dammit. This was such a mess. Doc didn’t know where to start fixing things. When he hadn’t been calming Fi down, he’d been searching for a loophole that would free him from being pride leader, but he’d found nothing. If the pride leader challenged you and you took him on in a fight and killed him, you were the new pride leader. Plain and simple. Black and white. Done deal.

“Sir? I mean…” The butler cleared his throat. “How would you care to be addressed?”

“Doc is fine.” How much did a place like this cost anyway? Did the pride really have that kind of cash?

“I wouldn’t feel comfortable with that.”

Doc turned to the butler. “Look, I don’t feel comfortable having a butler, so we both need to compromise, you dig?”

The butler nodded.

“You have a name?”

“Isaiah.”

“Good name.” Doc nodded. “My grandmother would have approved.”

Isaiah smiled. “Thank you. May I call you Mr. Mays, perhaps?”

With a deep inhale, Doc shook his head. “You call me Mr. Mays and I’ll be looking for my father. How about you call me by my full name, Maddoc.”

“Such a civilized name for an alley cat,” a voice purred. Another feline presence filled the space, and Doc turned, his gaze landing on the person who’d caused the heartache in his relationship with Fi these past few days.

Isaiah gave her a little head bow, then held his hand out toward her as he addressed Doc. “Maddoc, this is Heaven Silva. Your wife.”

Velimai’s mood hadn’t improved since Chrysabelle had thrown Mal out, so Chrysabelle walked outside to meet Creek after the guard at the front gate had called with his arrival. She perched on the fountain’s edge in the center of the circular drive, trailing her fingers through the water and listening for the sound of his motorcycle over the fountain’s gurgling.

The bike’s rumble preceded him and a few seconds later, he drove through the estate’s open gates and parked a few feet away. He climbed off the bike, set his helmet on the seat, and smiled. “It’s good to see you. You look healthy.”

“Good to see you, too. And I am healthy. I guess. What brings you by?” She had nothing against small talk, but her mind was elsewhere.

“Straight to it, then.” He sat beside her on the fountain’s wide ledge. “Look, this is hard for me to tell you, but try to remember at this point, I’m just the messenger. I want you to understand that.”

“Okay.” Had to be Kubai Mata business. Creek always seemed so apologetic about it. “What’s going on?”

“Samhain evening, my sector chief informed me that the Castus have the vampire child.”

She nodded. “We already know that.” She’d kicked Mal out and yet she’d just said we . Like the two of them were a unit.

He nodded. “I figured you did.” He worried a small hole near the knee of his jeans. “The KM want you to get the baby back.”

“Why me? Why don’t they send their own warriors in?”

“We’re too obvious. Too detectable. Nobles would scent us out immediately—if we even got past the city wards.” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “Those sacred brands? They make our blood smell sour. Ask Mal, he’ll tell you.”

She shook her head. “The KM has resources. They could figure something out.”

He sighed. “They have figured something out. That they want you to get the baby back. I’m sorry, Chrysabelle. I know you probably have no desire to go back there.”

She studied him. The bend of his mouth and the way he sat a little hunched over told her he wasn’t enjoying this. “And if I refuse?”

He dragged a hand over his Mohawk. “They’ll start by eliminating Mal.”

She laughed sharply. “If the nobility can’t kill him, I’d like to see the KM try.”

His gaze shifted and his voice lowered. “Then they’ll come after you. I’m powerless to stop them.”

Anger ripped through her. “I’ve done nothing to them. They have no reason to involve me in this.”

He sat back. “That’s not totally true. You haven’t returned the ring of sorrows to them.”

“Why should I even care about returning a ring to an organization I know so little about? If I even still had the ring.”

He stood and paced a few steps away. “I don’t know much about them either, and half of what I do know, I question.” He raised his hand as if to stop himself from talking.

“Then why keep working for them?”

He looked sideways, like someone might be watching. “I owe them, Chrysabelle. Big-time. For my freedom. For things they’ve done for my family.” He shook his head. “They own me. At least for a little while longer.”

“No one should be indebted like that.” Her anger with him defused. She understood exactly the position he was in. “You have to find a way out.”

He exhaled, his words quiet. “I can’t. Not yet.”

“Do they know what I’ve done with the ring?”

“No.”

She stood, ready to go back inside. “Then tell them.”

Something close to fear shadowed his eyes. “That’s calling down trouble.”

“I can handle it. And I want them to know they don’t control me. So tell them exactly what I did with their precious ring and that there’s nothing you can do about it. Then maybe they’ll leave you alone.”

“Nothing will make them leave me alone.” He spoke the words quietly, his tone resigned.

Her anger on his behalf grew. “In fact, tell them I want nothing to do with them and will consider them enemies if they contact me again.” She turned and headed back to the house.

“Chrysabelle—”

She spun back around. “I don’t mean you, Creek. You can contact me, but not on their behalf. I like you. You’ve been a good friend to me.” More than that. He’d saved her life more than once. Fought at her side. Kissed her. She tempered her anger for the sake of their friendship. “If the Kubai Mata want that child, they’ll need a new plan. I’m done being a pawn for the greater good.” She paused. “So should you.”

By the time she reached the front door, the sound of Creek’s motorcycle had already begun to fade. She slammed the door behind her and stormed into the kitchen. Her anger wasn’t completely at the KM for wanting her to do their bidding. No, much of it was at herself for pushing Mal away. Velimai glanced up from where she was setting plates of dinner on the table.

“That was Creek,” Chrysabelle said. Like Velimai hadn’t heard when the guard had called. She threw herself into one of the kitchen chairs, her temper darkening with each passing minute. Why was she so afraid of facing things? Why did Mal raise such emotion in her? Answering those questions meant coming to terms with what she was feeling. Something she was so not ready to do.