Kristen Painter - Out for Blood

She closed her eyes again and replaced the bad memory with the one of being in bed with Mal on the plane. She ducked her head to hide her smile. What would Velimai say if she knew about that? Her smile faded. Did Velimai know Chrysabelle had slipped into bed beside Mal these past seven nights? That she’d laid her head on his soundless chest, wrapped her arms around him, and begged him to come back to her?

A knock on the open bedroom door made her open her eyes again. “Mortalis. Come in.”

“Any change?”

“No. Nothing yet.” She tried to smile, but what did it matter? Mortalis didn’t need her to put a brave face on. She shrugged, then shook her head. “How am I supposed to know what to do? It’s not like I can check his breathing.”

Hesitantly, Mortalis reached out and squeezed her shoulder. “I feel like this is my fault. I exposed you to the raptor. I knew what the risks were—”

“You knew that creature would do this to Mal?”

“Not exactly. I just knew the potential for things to go wrong was there.”

She went back to staring at Mal’s motionless form. “I don’t regret finding out what the ring of sorrows did to me, but this…” She sighed. “This is… hard. What if he doesn’t wake up?”

“He will. I’m sure this is just a side effect of whatever the raptor did.” Mortalis heaved out a breath. “If you need anything, Nyssa and I are here for you.”

She nodded. “Maybe you could talk to Damian. I’m sure he must think I’m a psychopath. I saved him from Tatiana only to ignore him in favor of the vampire she used to be married to.”

“I don’t think he thinks that.”

She laughed, a sad, bitter sound even to her own ears. “I’ve seen him three times in the last week. At least he’s got that other comarré Dominic brought back to keep him company.” Even so, her guilt at abandoning her brother to the guesthouse was a small thing compared to what had happened to Mal because of her.

Damian told me you should take all the time you need , Velimai signed.

“Time. I’m starting to hate it.” She swallowed a nauseous rush of panic. “If Mal… if he doesn’t…”

“He will.” Mortalis walked to the windows and pulled the curtains back. “Sun’s down.”

She glanced over her shoulder. The sky was purple with twilight. “Mal loved this time of night. When the evening was full of possibilities.”

“Bloody hell.”

She and Mortalis turned at the same time. Mal sat up in bed, a steeliness in his eyes she’d never seen before.

“Mal, you’re—”

“You.” He glared at her, his eyes flashing from silver to the full-on black of the beast, then back again. His lip curled back. “You did this to me.” He whipped the coverlet back, jumped out of bed, and stared down at the pajama pants he wore. “Where the hell are my clothes?”

She pointed at the chair on the other side of the bed. “There. Mal, why are you acting like this?”

“Acting?” He yanked the loose pants off, shredding them, then grabbed his jeans and tugged them on. “This isn’t acting. This is who I am.”

“No, it isn’t.” She stood, wondering if she should put some distance between them. “This isn’t the Mal I know. You must still be sick.”

Velimai stayed in the corner, but Mortalis came to stand beside her. “Could be some residual effect of whatever the raptor did to him.”

Mal sneered as his head came through the neck of his T-shirt. “The raptor did me a favor.” He snatched his jacket and started for the door.

She took a few steps after him. “Where are you going?”

“Anywhere I want to.”

“Mal, wait, we need to talk—”

He stopped, spinning to face her. “Do we? So you can explain why you’re holding me here?”

She backed up. “I’m not holding you here. I thought you’d want to be here. I’ve been taking care of you.”

He laughed. “Oh, that’s rich. You, taking care of me.”

Her stomach soured at the brutal tone of his words. “I love you.”

He rolled his eyes. “Spare me, princess.”

A shudder built along her spine. “You asked me to marry you.”

His face took on a hard, cruel set. “Let’s get something straight. I don’t love you. I don’t want you around me. And I sure as hell don’t want to marry my food .”

“That’s enough,” Mortalis snapped.

“You’re damn straight it is.” Mal turned and stalked out.

Her ability to breathe went with him. Chrysabelle reached for the chair she’d been sitting on, trying to find something to keep herself from collapsing. “I don’t feel so good.”

Velimai rushed forward and Mortalis grabbed her as she started to fall.

She leaned into him. Cold sweat rolled down her back. “What happened?”

Velimai pointed to the bathroom.

He nodded. “Let’s get a cold cloth for your neck.” He looped her arm around his shoulders and walked her into the bathroom, then helped her sit on the vanity bench. He ran the water while Velimai opened a cabinet, took out a washcloth, and handed it to him. He wrung it out and came toward her. “Lean forward.”

She did, running on some kind of autopilot that was happy to have someone tell her what to do.

Mortalis brushed her hair aside and laid the cool cloth on the back of her neck, then he kneeled in front of her and took her hands. “I know what happened.”

She nodded for him to continue, unable to manage much more.

“The emotion the raptor took from Mal. It had to be his love for you.” Mortalis’s voice broke and she looked up at him, causing the cloth to slip free. A thin line of liquid rimmed his lower lids. “I’m so sorry,” he said quietly.

“He doesn’t love me anymore.” She closed her eyes and an image of Mal laughing in bed beside her flashed across her field of vision. Everything that had happened between them, everything they had been through… none of it mattered to Mal anymore. None of it. She opened her eyes and pulled her hands from Mortalis’s to cover her mouth.

Her stomach rebelled. She ran to the toilet and vomited, heaving her guts out. She sat back on her heels. Velimai kneeled beside her and handed her the washcloth, then signed something to Mortalis that Chrysabelle caught out of the corner of her eye.

She wiped her mouth and shook her head. “Don’t. Don’t say that. There’s no way that can be true. Not now.”

Velimai’s hands stopped moving and she glanced at Chrysabelle. Sorry.

But somehow, Chrysabelle knew Velimai was right. She dropped the washcloth and folded her trembling hands over her thumping heart. Slowly, they slid down to her belly.

“Holy mother.” A debilitating weight settled over her. “I’m pregnant. How is that possible?”

“The plane…” Mortalis trailed off, looking slightly ill.

“I know how it’s possible, just not how it’s possible between Mal and me.” She covered her face with her hands for a moment as it hit her. “Holy mother. This is why comarrés aren’t supposed to sleep with their patrons.”

Velimai nodded. He bit you, didn’t he? For those few moments, he was as mortal as you are.

Chrysabelle shook her head. “But it’s only been a week.” Her stomach rolled again and she swallowed.

You’re comarré. He’s a vampire. You both regenerate at an accelerated rate. Velimai frowned. It might not be too late to rid yourself of—

“No,” Chrysabelle shouted, her voice bouncing off the bathroom walls. She pushed to her feet even though she felt like collapsing. With a hand on her stomach, she stared down the two fae across from her. “I don’t want to hear another word about getting rid of it, and I don’t want anyone knowing what’s happening until I figure out what to do about this, understood?”