Blood Rights (House of Comarre 1) by Painter Kristen

Author:Painter, Kristen [Painter, Kristen]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
ISBN: 9780748121298
Publisher: Hachette Digital
Published: 2011-08-31T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Nineteen

Doc whistled low and long from the driver’s seat. ‘Your aunt must have some serious coin to live out here.’

Fi and Mal crouched on either side of Chrysabelle on the ancient sedan’s floor. She was surprised Mal owned a car, but not surprised how substandard it was. The interior smelled like mildew and gasoline. Cracks webbed the leather seats and grime filled every crevice. At least it ran, and hopefully, with the darkly tinted windows and the cover of night, her extra companions would go unnoticed.

‘Doc, you’re supposed to be my driver. None of this should affect you.’ Chrysabelle eyed the gatehouse ahead as they rounded the corner and headed over the bridge that connected Mephisto Island to the outskirts of Paradise City. The light was on inside the building, but from this angle she couldn’t see the guard. ‘And I’m a guest, so I can’t bring anyone in without my aunt putting them on the list.’

‘You have to be on a list? Doc’s right. Serious coin,’ Fi said.

‘Hush.’ Doc and Fi’s comments didn’t bother Chrysabelle half as much as Mal’s silence. Since the kiss, he hadn’t spoken more than a few words to her, as though she’d caused some great rift in his personal well-being.

As if he had any personal well-being.

That kiss was her due. Not that an anathema would understand the exchange between a comarré and her patron. Not to mention that if he’d been vampire enough to take from her vein, that awkward kiss would have never transpired.

Her blood had changed him. She could see it in the fullness of his muscles, the increase in his speed, the surety of his stride. She’d made him as close to whole as he’d been in a long time.

And his kiss had torn her to pieces.

That kiss should have been such a simple way to complete the exchange since he refused to bite her. How wrong. Kisses were not simple. Not that one. Not in any way. But then she’d never had another kiss to judge by. Comarré who valued the purity of their blood remained chaste until such time as they were selected for the honor of breeding. Patrons understood that as well. Very few wanted to depreciate their investment by bedding their comarré. Some didn’t care, but those patrons, and the comarré who acquiesced, were the exceptions.

The car slowed, and Doc lowered the window. Still no sign of the guard.

Mal’s head came up, his eyes glazed with silver. ‘I smell blood.’

‘You always smell blood,’ Chrysabelle answered, clasping her hand over the spot on her wrist where she’d drained earlier even though her wrist blades were back in place and covered the mark.

Doc nodded. ‘I smell it too.’ He groaned softly. ‘Varcolai blood.’

Mal slid into the seat beside her, but his head swiveled toward the building. ‘Recently spilled, by the scent.’ His eyes half-closed before opening fully. ‘There’s nothing alive in that guardhouse.’

Fi unfolded from her crouch and moved to the seat, tucking herself against the door. She reached up and squeezed Doc’s large shoulder.

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