“Oh.” That possibility had never occurred to her. “That’s a good idea, then.” She sat on the bench at the end of the bed and patted the spot next to her. “Please,” she said to the comar. “Come sit.”
With a smile, the comar joined her. His scent was intoxicating. She closed her eyes slightly as she inhaled. The fragrance was rich and heady, like the finest rum. “You smell delicious.”
The word slipped out before she realized how it sounded. “I didn’t mean—”
The comar laughed. “Please, my lady. I’m supposed to smell delicious.” He held his arm out to her.
She stared at it, unsure.
“To bite,” Luciano said. “The wrist is less intimate.”
She nodded and took the comar’s arm, then stopped. “What’s your name? I feel like I should at least know your name.”
“I am Hector.” His slight accent recalled her childhood.
“Are you Cuban?” No wonder he’d reminded her so much of Julia.
“Si.” He laughed. “And I know who you are.” He tipped his head. “I am honored to be your first blood.”
The realization that what she’d become would soon be public knowledge struck her. Despite her growing hunger, she let her hands drop to her lap. Hector’s arm rested lightly in her grip, his warm flesh teasing her fingertips.
“Something wrong, Lola?” Luciano raised a brow, the displeasure on his face evident.
There was no turning back. She must embrace this new life that would allow her to govern Paradise City with the necessary power and rescue her grandchild. “No. Nothing is wrong.” She forced herself to smile at Hector. “I am pleased you are my first as well.”
She lifted his wrist, breathing in his luscious scent again, then closed her eyes, opened her mouth, and sank her fangs into him.
Hector’s only sound was one of pleasure. As blood surged into her mouth, she opened her eyes. Luciano had moved to the edge of the chair. He nodded at her. She closed her eyes and returned to drinking the life spilling out of Hector. Her body seemed to expand with every swallow, the sense of power increasing as her hunger waned.
Not wanting to disappoint Luciano or harm Hector, she stopped when the urgency to drink narrowed from the raging river it had first been to a small trickle of desire. She pulled her mouth away from his arm reluctantly.
“You’re done?” Luciano asked.
“Yes.”
With a look that said he didn’t quite believe her, Luciano stood. “Very well. You will be hungry again—not just hungry but ravenous—when you wake from daysleep this next week or so. It would be best if you stay here. There are plenty of rooms—”
“No.” She rose. “I have a city to run. I can’t take up residence in a nightclub. And I can’t sleep during the day.”
“I have a potion that will shorten the hours of daysleep you require, but I do not think you understand how much you’ll need blood.”
Hector jumped up. “I’ll go with her.” Uncertainty in his eyes, he paused, his hand clamped over his punctured wrist. “If the mayor wishes.”
“You cannot just go. A comar’s blood rights are not free.”
“How much?” Lola asked, suddenly willing to pay whatever it took to keep Hector with her.
“I must check with Jacqueline. She is our comarré housemother. She keeps their records.”
Lola rested her hand on Hector’s shoulder. “You know where I live. Send me the bill.”
Now was not the time to worry about Mal, but Chrysabelle couldn’t help but let a small amount of concern filter through her preparations for the ball. She didn’t like that he’d isolated himself after drinking from her, didn’t like how quiet he’d become. How purposefully distant. She hated it, actually.
Hated that something had happened and he wasn’t talking about it. But then expecting him to change overnight was a fool’s game. She crossed her arms and returned her focus to what was happening in the hangar.
The comarré Dominic and Katsumi had captured, the comarré who would provide the blood for Chrysabelle’s disguise, stood huddled near her patron. Chrysabelle felt for the girl, knowing she was an innocent participant in all this. Her patron would provide the blood for Mal’s disguise and the two vampires beside him, the blood for Dominic and Katsumi. Maybe before they returned home, Chrysabelle would give the comarré the chance to go with them.
Maybe.
The four hostages were bound with silver-core rope and blindfolded. The silver—and a shot of laudanum when Dominic was finished with them—would keep the vampires from escaping, but the comarré would have to be watched. That job fell to Amery, along with guarding the two planes now parked side by side in the secured hangar. The comarré’s behavior would determine what Chrysabelle offered.
Dominic came out of his plane, a tray of tools in one hand. Mal followed. Helping Dominic was a great way to keep his distance from her. She spoke to Dominic as he approached. “Do you need me for this?
“No, Malkolm will assist me. Katsumi is changing. You probably should as well.”
“All right.” Her gown would take a little time to get into anyway.
Mal grabbed the first vampire, a female, and held her in place while Dominic picked up the first syringe. Chrysabelle turned away and walked back to the jet. As she stepped inside, the vampiress let out a curse that rattled the hangar walls.