The last time she’d done this, Mal had met her in the city. And she hadn’t been pregnant. How fast things could change in so little time.
At the hotel, Jerem turned the keys over to the valet but wouldn’t let the bellboy touch the bags. It wouldn’t take a genius to figure out that the long duffel held two swords and a leather roll of smaller blades. At least flying private made transporting weapons a lot easier.
Once in the penthouse, they separated into their bedrooms, each setting their alarms for the same time. The only place she knew to look for Khell was La Belle et la Bete, the oldest othernatural bar in the French Quarter. It’s where she’d found him last time and she’d gotten the sense that he was a regular there, thanks to info Augustine had given her.
She didn’t know if Khell would be there now, but chances were good she’d be able to persuade someone there into divulging his address. How much persuading that would take she didn’t know, but she wanted to be rested for it.
Besides, there was little point in arriving at Khell’s too early and waking him or whatever his girlfriend’s name was up. Chrysabelle needed him to be as amenable as possible, not cranky because she’d pulled him from his beauty sleep.
But when the alarm went off a few hours later, the sleep she’d managed had been fitful at best, disturbed by anxiety over what the outcome of this trip could mean if things didn’t go well. Trying to push the worries out of her head only gave place to new ones.
Reluctantly, she tapped the alarm off, got up, and showered. She dressed in something that gave her a little more edge: black jeans, a long-sleeved gray T-shirt, and a darker gray leather jacket.
Then she unpacked her arsenal and strapped the daggers to her waist, where they’d be mostly hidden by her jacket. The sacres might upset a few patrons at the bar, so they’d stay here until she returned and knew she had passage to the Claustrum. They were definitely going with her then.
Fi walked into the bedroom sipping a large cup of coffee and wearing one of the hotel robes. Her hair was still a little damp. “Where to first?”
Chrysabelle sat at the dressing table and began to braid her hair out of the way. “La Belle et la Bete. Means beauty and the beast. It’s an old othernaturals-only joint in the French Quarter.”
“Sounds awesomely not awesome.” Fi rolled her eyes. “Only fae would name a bar after a fairy tale. What is it, one giant tea party?”
Chrysabelle laughed, catching Fi’s gaze in the mirror. “Not exactly. Last time I was there, the bartender was varcolai.” She raised her brows for effect. “
“For real?” Fi sat cross-legged on the bed. “So is this one of those deals where I have to stay in ghost form?”
She tied off the end of the braid and flipped it over her shoulder. “You might not even be able to see the building in your human form. It’s got all kinds of fae magic protecting it.”
“Hmm,” Fi said. “This place might not be so bad after all.”
Mal tucked the portrait of Sophia into his pocket. “You can’t stay here.”
Tatiana seemed perplexed by that news. “Why not? The sun will be up soon. Where else am I going to go?”
“Back to Corvinestri. I have something to take care of before I help you.” Some
She laughed. “How exactly are you going to get to Corvinestri? You keep a private jet somewhere I don’t know about?”
“I can borrow one.” Dominic owed him. Or he’d steal it.
“You won’t be able to get through the wards.”
“So fix that. You already said you were going to return me to my noble status. Make that the first step. Otherwise, I’ll have a hard time believing you.”
“Fine.” She lifted her chin. “Not that I’m not happy to get out of this hellhole you call home.” She grimaced. “How do you live here?”
He picked one of his favorite daggers off the wall, hefting it in his hand. “You didn’t leave me with many options.”
Her eyes went to the blade. “Yes, well, let’s try to put that behind us, shall we? I’ve promised to rectify the situation. Let it go.”
Let it go? She’d chained him in the ruins of an old fortress and left him to rot. He should just kill her now and be done with it, but the lure of access to all that wealth was great. And having power meant getting away with murder. Literally. He reluctantly tucked the dagger into his belt. “I’m ready for you to leave.”
She sniffed. “What if someone tries to drug you again?”
“They won’t. I’ll only drink straight from the vein until I see you again.” Which meant killing a few humans, but it wasn’t like he’d never done that before.
“That’s still not a guarantee.”
“You’re wasting dark. The sun will be up soon and you’re
“What are you going to do? Throw me overboard?”
He raised one brow.
“Bloody hell.” She grabbed the jacket she’d discarded and headed for the door. “You’re supposed to be helping me.”
She kept muttering to herself as she left the ship, her voice fading as he selected another blade for his last and final trip to see Chrysabelle. If he didn’t take care of her now, she’d only end up following him to Corvinestri and with his new life as a noble before him, he couldn’t take the chance that his unfortunate past would come back to haunt him.
Again the word “ghost” flitted through his brain. He shook it away. Too much to do to think about consequences.
First he’d need to find a meal. Going after the comarre hungry meant there was too much chance he’d lose control. He needed to be focused. To strike cleanly and swiftly.
But most of all, he needed the comarre dead.
Chapter Nineteen
Creek lay flat on the roof of the warehouse, a few of the ashes of the Nothos he’d killed still clinging to his clothes and souring the air. He kept his eyes trained on Mal’s freighter. If Tatiana spent the day there, he’d sneak in and—no, she was leaving. How about that. Had she killed Mal?
He kept watching, waiting to see what she’d do. She seemed to be talking to herself. He caught a few choice curses and almost laughed. She was complaining about Mal, so maybe she hadn’t killed him. A sharp whistle cracked the night air and he realized she was calling for the Nothos.
That wasn’t going to go well.
When the creature didn’t come, Tatiana cursed again, then scattered into a swarm of wasps and flew off. Apparently, she wasn’t in a mood to wait.
Not long after, a second dark figure emerged on the ship’s deck.
Mal.
Creek quietly crawled back from the edge and rappelled down the back of the building, where he crouched behind a stack of pallets. Mal was just stepping off the gangplank. He took off in a jog. Creek followed far enough behind that Mal didn’t seem to notice.
They headed into Little Havana. Once there, Mal slowed to a walk. There were a few people out at this hour, some just coming home, some on their way to early-morning shifts, and some who never left the streets. Mal picked a woman in a hotel maid’s uniform and started trailing her.
