She leveled the weapons at him. ‘Mortalis, if you want us to remain on speaking terms, I suggest you stay out of this.’
Hands up, Mortalis lagged behind, but Mal kept walking.
She swung the blades to aim at Mal. ‘You’re trespassing.’
His dark gaze pinned her, the tiniest flicker of silver lighting his near-black irises. ‘So sue me. We need to talk.’
‘I think you mean you need to talk.’ She tossed the swords into the air, reversing her grip on the hilts as they came down so she could cross one arm over the other with the points toward the ground. The engraved blades threw soft sparks as they moved with her breathing. ‘But that assumes I’m going to listen.’
He stopped on the landing, just shy of the threshold. The invisible barrier from her lack of invitation loomed between them, but the look on his face said he might risk it. She’d once seen a vampire enter a house uninvited. Three days of cleaning hadn’t removed all the stains. Mal planted a hand on each side of the door and leaned in until his handsome face was inches from hers. The interior lights cast blue highlights in the black waves of his hair. ‘You’re going to listen. Then you’re going to do some explaining of your own.’
‘You can’t make me.’ Sweet sunlight, what was she? Five? At least she hadn’t flinched. Why did Mal’s nearness affect her at all? Because he must obviously still be her patron. Sounded good. She’d go with that. Better than admitting it had anything to do with her feelings or his broad, muscled body.
He inhaled, didn’t even try to hide it. ‘You smell good.’
‘You’d know.’ She snorted softly, sucking in a nose full of his scent in return. She could almost feel her traitorous body ramping up its blood production. He didn’t even have the decency to look like someone had just beaten the shade out of him. But then he’d heal quickly with a belly full of her blood, wouldn’t he?
‘How’s your hand?’
The simple question coupled with the soft growl of his voice nearly undid her, all but unbalancing the perfect blend of righteous anger and justified indignation she’d concocted. ‘What? It’s fine.’
He glanced at her right fist, his nostrils flaring. ‘It’s bleeding.’
‘Your fault.’ Somehow, despite the obvious blood scent she must be putting off, he was maintaining his human face. Something probably also made easier by the blood of hers he’d recently had.
His eyes narrowed slightly and one corner of his mouth twitched. ‘Would you like me to kiss it and make it better?’
Heat as unwelcome as he was spiraled through her. As a matter of fact, she wanted him to do just that. Kiss her hand. Then her mouth. No, she didn’t. She didn’t want that at all. Shoving that horrid thought aside, she asked, ‘And risk becoming one of your names? I think not.’
The subtle hints of pleasure vanished from his face. ‘Let me in.’
‘No.’ She shrugged, trying to throw off the urge to speak the words that would give him access. ‘House rules.’
Silver edged his pupils. ‘Chrysabelle.’
She tapped the left blade lightly against her leg. Suddenly, the game shifted and she was winning. Maybe she shouldn’t be enjoying this, but she was. ‘Is that the closest you can come to please?’
He pushed off the door frame and bent his head to stare at her from under his lashes. Oh, he was good at working the dark-and-dangerous thing, but she was over that. For the most part. He cocked one brow. ‘I’ll be around back.’ He ran his tongue over his teeth behind closed lips. ‘Don’t make me wait.’
And then he was gone in that lightning flash of speed only a vampire his age could manage.
Every brain cell screamed at her to let him rot out there. Every fiber of her comarré being itched to join him. Somewhere in between, the lonely, hungry female in her wanted to crawl into his arms and forget all the reasons she shouldn’t.
Beyond the walkway, Mortalis leaned against the car. He tipped his head to one side, indicating she should follow Mal.
She slammed the door shut.
Velimai waited on the other side, arms crossed.
‘I already know what you’re thinking, so just don’t. Don’t say it.’ Chrysabelle slipped her sacres back into their sheaths, girded herself mentally, and headed out.
Doc stayed in the cargo hold until Fi had come and gone again. He’d been able to talk to her once more, but her cognition of who he was and what was going on had only improved slightly. Watching her being torn apart didn’t get any easier either, no matter how many times he saw it. The gut-wrenching sight strengthened his determination to get Aliza the blood she needed to make all this go away.
He had no real plan to get Dominic’s blood, other than to explain to him face-to-face what the situation was. He figured Dominic owed it to him. After all, Fi had died in the attempt to rescue Maris. Not to mention Doc never would have been cursed if not for Dominic’s supernatural crank.
The scene outside of Seven was unreal. Around the roped-off entrance, the crowd accosted anyone going in or coming out with the kind of enthusiasm once reserved for rock stars and Hollywood players. Across the street, a small handful carried signs reading FANGS BUT NO FANGS and VAMPIRES SUCK. He stopped at the edge of the swarm, trying to catch the eye of Tec, one of the wolf-shifters who worked the door.
At last, Tec nodded to him and Doc pushed through the crowd. A woman, human by scent, grabbed his arm. ‘Are you a vampire? Do you want to bite me?’