Kristen Painter: Blood Rights

She was not for him. He knew that, and not just because of the voices, but getting his body to agree was a different matter. Her scent numbed him like good whiskey. Made him feel needy. Reckless. Finding some shred of control, he shadowed her out of the club, away from the mob awaiting entrance, and herded her deep into the alley. He scanned in both directions. Nothing. They hadn’t been followed. He could get her somewhere safe. Not that he knew where that might be.

‘No one saw us leave.’

She backed away, hugging herself beneath her coat. Her chest rose and fell as though she’d run a marathon. Fear soured her sweet perfume. She had to be in some kind of trouble. Why else would she be here without an escort? Without her patron?

‘Trust me, we’re completely alone.’ He reached awkwardly to put his arm around her, the first attempt at comfort he’d made in years.

Quicker than a human eye could track, her arm snapped from under the coat, something dark and slim clutched in her hand. The side of her fist slammed into his chest. Whatever she held pierced him, missing his heart by inches. The voices shrieked, deafening him. Corrosive pain erupted where she made contact.

He froze, immobilized by hellfire scorching his insides. He fell to his knees and collapsed against the damp pavement. Foul water soaked his clothing as he lay there, her fading footfalls drowned out by the howling in his head.

A few hours until sunset and Tatiana had yet to succumb to daysleep, but she would give in to its siren call upon completion of this last chore. Through the smoked, helioglazed glass of her Bentley, she watched her driver speak to the headmistress of the Primoris Domus, the house of the renegade comarré. Madame Rennata looked past the driver at the car, then nodded.

With gloved hands, Tatiana pulled the deep hood of her floor-length cape over her head and adjusted her dark sunglasses. Her driver extended a wide black umbrella before opening her door and escorting her to the portico. The strip of shade it offered was far too narrow for her comfort.

‘That will be all,’ Tatiana dismissed him.

She extended one hand and spoke in the most pleasant tone she could manage when dealing with lesser beings. ‘Madame Rennata, so good of you to take my call.’

Rennata eyed her warily and kept her own lace-gloved fingers wrapped securely around the crook of her ivory cane. ‘Rather an unusual visit, Mistress Tatiana. I do hope all is well with Damien.’

Tatiana dropped her hand to her side. ‘With whom?’

Rennata tilted her face to one side, causing the delicate gold signum curling across her brow and cheekbones to glint. ‘Damien? Your comar?’

‘Ah, yes. He’s fine. I’m not good with names.’ Not when it came to servants anyway.

‘What can I do for you, then?’

Tatiana glanced at the line of approaching sunlight. ‘Perhaps we could go inside?’

Rennata’s spine stiffened as rigidly as the elaborate coif confining her pale blonde hair. ‘You know our rules don’t allow for random visits. As you’ve already purchased your comar, you’ve no need to be here.’

Tatiana suppressed the desire to tear the woman’s throat from her neck. How dare this glorified whore tell a noble what she could and could not do? Tatiana chose her words carefully, steadying her voice to hide the distaste on her tongue. ‘This is an unusual situation.’

‘Indeed, it must be to bring you here.’

‘Please.’ Was there a more bitter word? How she longed for a draught of blood to rinse it from her mouth.

Rennata unpursed her lips. ‘You may enter the foyer and great hall, as those are common areas. You will not be invited farther.’

‘Of course.’ She followed the woman over the threshold, pulling off her shades and pushing back her hood. She’d not been here in many years, not since coming to purchase her own comar with Lord Ivan, but the aroma was the same. Dark, seductive, sweet … it sank into the vein like a velvet needle. Her mouth watered, and her head spun. She swallowed, blinked hard.

‘Does the light bother your eyes, mistress?’

‘No, I … yes, it is a little too bright.’

Rennata gestured and white-robed comarré dimmed the lamps in the great hall, then vanished. She moved toward a pair of tapestry chairs near a crackling fire. ‘Sit, won’t you?’

Tatiana took the chair farthest from the flames. Fire was not a vampire’s friend.

‘Now then. What brings you here?’

Right to it. Good enough. Tatiana had no desire for small talk either. ‘I’m looking for Algernon’s comarré.’

‘She’s not here. I imagine she’s with her patron.’

‘Ah, then you haven’t heard. Algernon’s dead and the girl is gone.’

To Rennata’s credit, her face showed no reaction, good or bad. ‘That is unfortunate, but technically she would be considered released.’

‘Technically, yes. But at the moment she’s considered the prime suspect in his murder.’

‘You think a comarré capable of such an act? We are hardly our patrons’ equals, mistress.’

‘Comarré are trained in swords, are they not?’

Rennata shrugged and a wisp of a smile played on her lips. ‘All for ceremony and show. Our skills lie in other, more delicate areas.’ She turned her face toward the hearth and the firelight brought her signum to life like bright, golden vines unfurling across her skin. ‘Was there blood on her sword?’

‘I don’t know.’ Damnation. She hadn’t asked the servants to check that. Tatiana leaned back and sighed. ‘I would like to see her room.’

‘That access is not mine to grant.’

‘I merely wish to see if I can cross the threshold. If so, I will not disturb anything within.’ This charade of politeness wearied her. For all her power, she was bound by an age-old pact with these creatures. Had the comarré forgotten they were, at heart, still kine? If not for the vampires, they would be ordinary mortals. Ripe for plucking, like the rest of the kine. If not for that ridiculous covenant.

‘You want to know if the girl lives.’

‘Yes.’

‘Let me confer with the others and I shall return with an answer.’ Rennata pushed to her feet, leaning heavily on her cane.

As soon as she left the room, Tatiana closed her eyes and concentrated, listening, sensing, trying to eavesdrop as best her abilities would allow. The house was strangely quiet. At any given time there might be several hundred comarré here, and yet she heard nothing. No voices, no movement, no breathing. Not even a heartbeat. Still, she could sense she was not alone. She opened her eyes and studied the room’s opulent appointments. Crystal and silk, gilding and exotic woods, rare paintings and priceless sculptures. Comarré were well compensated for their services, that much was plain. Granted, blood from this house had been proven to be the best of the best and so these comarré demanded the highest price of all, but still the grandness of it gnawed at her cold heart.

For the donation of blood, they lived like nobility. Was what beat in their veins that special? Unfortunately, it was. The purity was unmatched. The power it gave was remarkable. The taste – her cheeks ached – was richer than the finest wine, more succulent than any ordinary mortal could ever be. And merely owning a comarré indicated a vampire’s wealth and status. She eased her grip on the chair and tried to remain calm. She was almost done here. Then she could return home. To her own comar. What had Rennata called him? David? Daniel?

‘Mistress Tatiana, we will grant you access this once.’

She stood and nodded. ‘Very kind of you.’

Rennata’s eyes flashed. ‘If you would follow me.’