Last Blood

Chrysabelle.

He scrubbed a hand over his face. Her sweet scent intensified. He swung his legs over the side of the bed and grabbed a handful of the covers, lifting them to his nose. Her scent wasn’t just on him; it was on his bed linens, too. Had she been his kill? He scanned the room, but there was no body. Closing his eyes, he tried to remember what had happened last night. Had he gone back to her estate? Tracked her somewhere? Nothing came to him. Except that Chrysabelle couldn’t have been his dinner if he was feeling hungover. Comarre never touched alcohol, so drugs weren’t even a remote possibility. He must have bagged a street person or a club-goer.

Which left only one explanation for why her smell was so present. She’d been here. On the freighter. In his space. Anger burrowed through his veins. What did she think, that she was going to make him fall in love with her again? That moment of weakness was not going to be repeated. He’d rather it disappear from his brain the same way his love for her had. What had he been thinking? What vampire fell in love with their meal? It disgusted him that he’d stooped so low. Made his gut ache with unpleasant feelings.

He stared down at the sheets crumpled in his fist. If she would just stay away from him, maybe he could forgive her for interfering in his life. Weakling. But no, visiting him was too much. Too bold for someone who was nothing more than a food source to him now. A small pain jolted through his chest. He rubbed at it, chalking it up to indigestion from last night’s poor choice of blood supply.

Dropping the sheets, he got to his feet and smiled. Tonight would be different. Tonight he was going to dine on the finest blood he’d ever had and solve his biggest problem at the same time. The solar flickered and went dark. Twilight. Freedom.

He changed his clothes, then loped toward the exit, already anticipating the night that lay ahead of him. Throwing open the door, he stepped out onto the deck and stopped as the intoxicating aroma of human blood met him.

A shiny rectangular container sat a few feet beyond the door. The scent was so strong around the black box, it almost glowed red. He inhaled, scanning the area, but couldn’t pick up anything that indicated another presence nearby.

Cautiously, he crouched and put his hands on the container. Warm. Almost hot. How long had it sat out here in the sun? There was no lock, so he flipped the latch and opened it.

The voices went crazy. Bags of blood filled it to the top. He grabbed one. It was warm enough to be body temperature. His fangs shot down and he grinned. This was just what he needed. Now he could feed before he went after Chrysabelle, which meant her blood wouldn’t sway him and he’d be able to take his time with her.

He squeezed one of the bags to tighten it, then sank his fangs in. Definitely human. Not the best blood he’d ever had, but it was still rich and thick and perfectly heated. He drank deeply, emptying the first bag quickly. He tossed it and grabbed another. Near the end of that one, the ship seemed to lurch, throwing him off balance. He caught himself as he rocked to the side. What little light was left of dusk faded fast. So fast his eyes couldn’t keep up. Unable to hold the bag to his mouth any longer, his arm went limp and the bag fell to the deck.

His eyes closed and a second later, he dropped to the deck beside it.

Fi pushed a piece of bacon around on her plate with her fork. She hadn’t slept well since the incident with Remo, but she hadn’t mentioned it to Doc either. She knew he wouldn’t be happy that she’d spent time with Remo. Or would he? It was an effort on her part to get to know Remo better. She sighed and made a mound of her scrambled eggs.

Doc looked up from reading the morning news on his tablet. “You all right?” His gaze went to her plate. “Don’t like Isaiah’s cooking?”

She shoveled a forkful of eggs into her mouth, chewed, and swallowed. “No, it’s great.” She took a sip of coffee. “I think I’m going to go shopping today.”

“You know you can have anything you want sent in.”

She frowned at him. “How long have you known me? What’s my favorite thing to do?”

He broke into a wicked smile. “Me?”

She laughed. “Besides you.”

“Shop,” he answered. “Probably not as much fun when someone does it for you.”

“No fun at all. Plus, I told Chrysabelle I’d help her pick out some new stuff so she can start to ditch her all- white look.”

“About time. How’s she doing with… everything?”

“Okay.” Fi bit her lip to keep from blurting out that Chrysabelle was pregnant. She tucked her napkin under the edge of her plate and stood. “I’m going to get ready. You busy all day?”

He nodded as she came around to his side. “All day every day, but dinner is just us.”

She leaned down to kiss him. “Sounds good.”

He grabbed her hand as she started away. “You know if there’s something bothering you—or someone bothering you—you can tell me.”

She smiled, making light of his words. “Isaiah still hasn’t baked that chocolate cake I asked for.”

He laughed and pinched her side. “I’ll speak to him about it.”

Thirty minutes later, Doc was off to his office and she was in the elevator, headed down to see Remo. There was only one thing she could think of to make things right after last night. She would not be the cause of more tension in the pride, or worse, be responsible for creating some kind of rift between this pride and the Brazilian one.

The door opened and she stepped out onto his floor. Only two apartments here, both reserved for council members, just like the floor above it, except in this pride there hadn’t been a fourth council member in years. Instead, the second apartment was kept for DVs. Distinguished visitors. Remo’s father had stayed here when he’d come. Now his son was living in the apartment next door. She took a deep breath as she approached his door. Coming here was a risk, but not a big enough one to keep her away.

She knocked. After a long minute, the door opened a crack.

Remo peered at her, not far into his first cup of coffee, judging by his bed head and scruff. “What do you want?”

“To apologize.”

His eyes and the door opened a little wider. He wore soccer shorts and a T-shirt emblazoned with a Brazilian team logo. “For?”

“Last night.” She fished the vial of sand out of her pocket and held it out. “You asked for this. You should have this.”

He stared at it for a second before taking it from her.

She spoke before he could say anything. “I want you to know I wasn’t wearing that as a symbol of your sister’s death or some kind of trophy or anything like that. It was a symbol of strength to me. A reminder of everything I’ve been through and survived so that when things were tough or I doubted myself, I could remember what I’ve endured to be here. That I’d earned my place as the pride leader’s wife no matter what some of the pride thinks of me. It was about my own journey, not your sister’s end. I promise.”

He opened his hand so the vial lay on his palm, gleaming under the morning light filtering in from behind him. “Thank you. That… means a lot.”

“And I want us to be… maybe not friends yet, but at least not enemies.”

He closed his fist around the vial and his expression softened. “We’re not enemies. You’re the only one who’s shown me any genuine kindness.” He glanced at his hand, the same odd gleam she thought she’d seen before dancing through his gaze. Just like the last time, it disappeared quickly. “This is the start of a new future for me. For us both.”

“Fitting in takes time. I’m not entirely there yet myself.”

Tucking the vial into the pocket of his shorts, he opened the door farther. “You want to come in for coffee? It’s excellent. I brought it with me from Sao Paulo.”

“Thanks, but I’ve got to be somewhere.” Not entirely true, but she wasn’t about to be alone with him in his apartment. “Maybe you could come to dinner at our place tomorrow night.” Why had she said that? Doc was going to freak. Maybe.

Remo’s face brightened at the invite. “That would be very good. Thank you.”

“All right, seven o’clock then. The penthouse.” Like he didn’t know where they lived.