‘Yes, you do. You have to kiss me, and you just downed a glassful of blood. My blood, but still. That might work for you, but I don’t particularly want to taste it.’ She pushed the bottle closer. ‘Drink.’
‘It didn’t bother you the first time.’ He jumped to his feet. Maybe it was the hot rush of blood, the new burst of energy or the beautiful woman in front of him, but suddenly, kissing her didn’t seem like such an awful thing to suffer through. He’d been angry the first time. Unsure of himself and the way her blood had affected him. This time, he wasn’t angry. If kissing her was the price he had to pay for feeling this strong and this powerful, so be it.
‘It didn’t occur to me the first time.’
He took the bottle, wrenched off the cap, and drank. He swallowed with gusto and held out his arms. ‘Happy?’
‘Not particularly, no.’ In fact, she looked downright terrified. ‘Just get it over with.’
‘Now who’s flirting?’ He tossed the bottle aside and reached for her. The honeyed perfume that surrounded her enveloped him with a fresh wave of intoxication. His hands fit to her waist like they’d been there a thousand times before.
Tentatively, her hands found his arms, resting on his biceps. Keeping him at bay. Without any real effort, he assumed his human face and retracted his fangs. ‘Better?’
‘Just do it, please.’
He bent his head and brushed his mouth across hers with a gentleness he hoped would forgive the first time he’d done this to her. Her lips parted under his press, and he tasted the same warm sweetness he’d just drunk, but purer. He lifted one hand to her neck, threading his fingers into her hair and grazing his thumb across the pulse that trembled beneath her ear. The skin there was so warm and soft he had to fight to keep his fangs retracted.
Her grip tightened on his arms. Her head tilted a little farther back.
And then a sharp realization pierced him. She wasn’t food. She was life. Brilliant and sparkling and powerful. No one had ever made him feel—
The door swung open. At the noise, she pushed away and scrambled for her weapons. Her cheeks flushed and she bent her head, swinging her hair down to hide her face as she strapped the blades on.
Ronan stood in the open door, leering at Chrysabelle like the bloody fool he was. He laughed rudely. ‘Looks like you’re not so superior after all, princess. At least Dominic’s whores get paid.’
Mal took a step toward the whelp as Chrysabelle twisted toward him in a blur of white and gold. Something shot from her hand. Ronan howled, grabbing at his suddenly bloody shoulder. A bone dagger protruded from it, sending up wisps of smoke.
Mal looked at her in amazement. ‘I barely saw you move.’ She shrugged. ‘It’s the kiss. I’m always fastest after a fresh infusion of power. Not usually that fast, but you’re a lot stronger than Algernon was. He never had the benefit of his drained sire’s powers.’
Oh good. At least he had that going for him.
She walked to Ronan, yanked the blade out of his body, and wiped it on his shirt. ‘Was there a reason you barged in without knocking?’
‘You little whore.’ He reared back, fist raised.
She punched him where the dagger had been. Dropping his hand, he groaned and staggered back, smacking into the door. ‘Answer me, or it’s Malkolm’s turn to take a shot.’
Now that sounded like fun.
Angry vapors wafted off Ronan, but a quick glance at Mal kept him from reacting further. His lips curled back in an evil sneer. ‘Mortalis is back. Your aunt’s ticket’s been punched.’
‘Where is she?’ Chrysabelle shoved through Dominic’s office door. He and Mortalis were bent over a small figure on the couch. The Asian woman from the Pits slouched in Dominic’s desk chair. Chrysabelle’s stomach roiled with panic. ‘What happened? Is she okay?’
The vampire and the fae moved to face her, giving her a clear look at the blood-covered figure. She stopped dead and released the breath she’d been holding. ‘That’s not my aunt.’
‘That’s Nyssa,’ Mal said behind her.
‘Is she going to be okay? I know that name. Who is she?’
‘She’s a runner for Jonas Sweets. And she should be fine.’
Jonas was the guy Maris had contacted. A numbing chill settled into her belly. Had they already broken Maris? ‘He’s the guy who sent me to you.’
‘Yes,’ Mal answered.
Mortalis turned back to Nyssa, but Dominic approached Chrysabelle. She started in before he could speak. ‘Ronan said Maris’s ticket had been punched. What did he mean? Where is she? What’s going on?’
Dominic held his hands up. ‘Ronan is a heartless fool.’
‘There’s a lot of that going around,’ the Asian woman said. She twirled a jeweled letter opener in her fingers.
‘Katsumi.’ The warning in Dominic’s voice matched the flicker of silver in his eyes. ‘Mortalis trailed a Nothos back to an abandoned hangar in one of the old private airports. There was a plane parked inside, evidence of two human kills, and the heavy scent of comarré blood. Before he killed the Nothos, he saw two noble vampires, one male, one female. The male used black magic.’
Mortalis lifted his head from Nyssa’s side. ‘The female is the one who hurt Nyssa.’
‘Mikkel and Tatiana.’ Red edged her vision. If they’d harmed her aunt in any way, she was going to kill them both. Maybe stake them to a field of sacred ground and wait for the sun to come up. ‘What are we waiting for? You must have a sun-proof vehicle. How long will it take to get to the hangar?’