Mal glared at him. ‘You want to add to the voices in my head?’ Yes. ‘The names on my body?’ Yes. ‘Give Fi a playmate?’ Sure. ‘What’s one more soul to bear, is that it? No. Never. Don’t ever suggest it again. I haven’t drunk from the vein in almost fifty years. I’m not about to start now.’
‘I never said drain them dry. Just take a little.’
‘I don’t have it in me to just take a little. You know that.’ Take it all. That’s all you’ve ever done. All you know how to do. He slammed his head down onto his fists, trying to shut the voices up.
‘You shouldn’t have let it go this long.’
‘Thanks for pointing out the obvious.’
They stared at each other for a moment, the other option hanging in the air between them unspoken. Mal knew Doc wouldn’t suggest Seven, and Doc undoubtedly knew Mal wouldn’t go there, even if he did. That club was out of the question for a multitude of reasons.
Doc cleared his throat. ‘Speaking of souls, where’s Fi? I haven’t seen my girl in a few hours.’
‘She can’t be far.’ Fiona was the first human Mal had drunk to death after being cursed and imprisoned some fifty years ago. She was also the last, since Mal had discovered every life he took after her would manifest in spirit form just as she had. Being haunted by one ghost was one too many. Fortunately, the rest of the lives he’d taken stayed in his head, their voices a constant torment, their names inked across his body. He wore Fi’s name across his left forearm, a few inches above his wrist. ‘I’m not her keeper.’
‘Well, you kind of are, aren’t you? Otherwise, she would have bugged out of here a long time ago.’
‘Just because she can’t leave me doesn’t make me her keeper.’
‘Did I hear you talking about me?’ Fi floated in wearing her spirit form. ‘Miss me, huh?’ She propped herself against a wall of conveniently located daggers, swords both long and short, crossbows and throwing stars, and gave Doc a wink. ‘Hiya.’
Mal eyed his ghostly companion, wishing for the millionth time he hadn’t sucked the life out of her. ‘Just wondered where you were is all.’
‘You get cranky when you haven’t fed. I was looking at the fall fashion mags Doc brought me.’ She spun to show off the clingy dress and high boots she wore.
‘This is New Florida.’ Doc laughed. ‘We don’t have fall.’
She frowned at him. ‘In case you’ve forgotten, I’m a ghost, pussycat. I don’t feel temperature. If I want to pretend to wear wool, I will. You should at least tell me I look pretty.’ She planted her hands on her hips. ‘Don’t you have mice to catch?’
Doc’s pupils narrowed into slits. ‘You’re the only mouse I want to eat.’
Fi giggled.
Mal groaned. ‘Get a room.’
Fi opened her mouth to retaliate when the door on the deck below them creaked open.
Mal shot Doc a look. ‘Forget to lock up again?’
‘Hey, I had my hands full.’ He jumped out of his chair. ‘Welcome wagon on the way.’
A minute later, he bounded back up the stairs. ‘There’s a fine female downstairs. Says Jonas sent her, but she’s definitely not Nyssa. Nothing remnant about this chick. She’s carrying a bag too. I think your vino de vena has finally arrived.’
‘Tip her, get the goods, and bring them up here, now.’ His stomach knotted with hunger, and his fangs dropped. A split second later his facial bones shifted. Just as well. Maintaining his human face was wearing him out. He needed that blood. Desperately.
Doc reappeared empty-handed. ‘I tried. Says she’ll only talk to you.’
‘Son of a priest. Jonas must want a report on how I can’t do without him.’
‘Probably going to jack up his price.’ Doc tipped his head toward the door. ‘You want me to bring her up?’
Mal spun toward the overflowing bookcase behind his desk, using the tall back of his leather chair to screen himself from the door. The voices clamored for blood. ‘Bring her up, but you two get lost. I don’t need an audience for this.’
‘Sure thing, boss.’ Doc curled his finger at Fi. ‘C’mon, baby.’ The door clicked shut. Several long minutes later, it opened again.
‘Hello?’
The dark, taunting perfume of blood and honey choked Mal like a silk noose. His hands dug into the leather. His wound throbbed anew. Get away, get away, get away …
He twisted his chair around, already knowing who stood at his door.
‘You,’ he snarled, reaching under the desk for his hidden blade. ‘Come back to finish what you started?’
Chapter Five
Mikkel squeezed Tatiana’s hand. She responded to the gesture with a stifling glance. Didn’t he understand this was neither the time nor the place to display such affections? Perhaps she shouldn’t have brought him at all. He’d been turned barely seventy-five years now. Hardly more than a vampling, he still acted like the traveling magician he’d once been. She bit back a smile, remembering the nights they’d spent in Rome. Of course, those youthful appetites were exactly what had drawn her to him in the first place. Now his lineage kept her interest. Mikkel was from the House of Bathory, known for its powerful skills in the black arts. Besides being a strong family, they were the only one that rivaled the bloodthirstiness of her own family, Tepes.