He struggled to maintain a level of calm, quickly realizing he was not going to maintain it much longer. He clenched his hands until his knuckles popped. ‘What does comarré law say about a comarré giving her blood to a vampire who is not her patron?’
‘That it is not allowed … ’ Her voice faded into the night air and she turned. Her thumb stroked the side of her bandaged hand. ‘Yes, I see what you’re saying. You’re assuming you still own my blood rights, which you very well may. Comarré law doesn’t really cover blood rights reversion in a case where your patron gains your blood rights by stealing them, then gives your blood to a ghost who is actually haunting him, who then turns human again only to die for a second time.’ She stared at him, a small storm brewing in her eyes. ‘Yes, that is rather a gray area. One I’m surprised you’d even care about … Oh, I get it. You’re jealous.’ A false smile lifted the corners of her crimson mouth. ‘Isn’t that touching.’
He moved toward her a step. ‘I am not jealous. I am simply tired of being betrayed.’
Her smile disappeared. ‘I did not betray you.’
‘You promised help, got what you wanted, and withdrew.’
The angry sparks returned. She jabbed a finger in the air. ‘Just because I haven’t helped you yet doesn’t mean I’m not going to. Besides, I sent you blood.’
‘Was that supposed to mollify me?’
‘You refused to speak to me, so I did what any comarré would do in that situation – the best I could.’
‘What you did was keep me at arm’s length. You could have come yourself, but then you would have had to face the fact that you’d lied to me. Yet again.’ She’d lied to him so much when they’d first met that he’d thought her incapable of the truth. Maybe he’d been right.
‘I didn’t lie about helping you.’ She shook her head, her mouth opening and closing as if the right words wouldn’t come. ‘You don’t understand.’
He crossed his arms. ‘Then explain.’
Anger and tension spun off her in waves. She tilted her face away from him, and he thought if not for her wounded palm, she would be wringing her hands. Blonde strands swung down to brush her cheek. ‘Contacting the Aurelian means a return trip to Corvinestri. I wasn’t ready to do that then. I thought you’d understand, give me time to get over Maris’s death.’ She turned her head just enough to make eye contact. ‘But you shut me out almost immediately.’
‘I didn’t shut you out.’ On the flight home, she’d sat alone, curled up and facing the wall. He’d let her be. He understood sorrow. ‘I gave you space to grieve. But you stayed silent.’
She rolled her eyes. ‘Yes, and you were the epitome of communication.’
He shook his head and angled himself toward the house. ‘This is pointless.’
‘Do you know where I went before I ended up at Seven that night?’ She moved forward a step. ‘I went to the freighter.’ Then another. ‘To see you.’ One more put her within a foot of him. ‘To tell you I was ready to help. But you weren’t there.’
She was too close. The needy ache throbbing in his belly again forced him back in her direction. ‘That’s convenient.’
‘It’s the truth.’ Her eyes dared him to call her a liar again.
‘So help.’ He spread his arms. ‘I’m right here.’
‘I will. Soon. I have to speak—’
‘Another delay.’ He threw his hands up and backed away. ‘How surprising.’
She grabbed his arm with her injured hand. Heat seared his skin. The voices whined at the blood contact, always hungry but always hating her. Bite her, drink her, drain her. ‘Listen to me. I’ve found a way to get to the Aurelian without going back to Corvinestri, but it’s dangerous—’
‘To who?’
‘To me. Now shut up and let me finish.’
He cocked a brow. Someone was shedding their sweet comarré image. ‘Go on.’
‘I just need to speak to someone who’s been part of the process before. Maris left some details in her journal, but not enough to make me comfortable.’ She scooped up a leather-bound volume from the table and began flipping through it. She stopped and tapped a finger on one of the pages. ‘This could be clearer.’
He glanced over her shoulder and snorted. ‘I don’t know what kind of trick you’re pulling, but that page is blank.’
Her face screwed into a questioning frown. ‘Are you blind?’ She lifted the journal. ‘This page isn’t blank. Granted, Maris’s handwriting is cramped, but it’s not impossible to read.’
‘The page is blank. You understand the meaning of that word, don’t you?’
A short, strangled sound emanated from her throat. She turned the page. ‘How about this one?’
‘Blank.’
She thumbed through a few more. ‘Anything?’
‘Nothing.’
‘Well, what do you know?’ A slow, impressed smile spread across Chrysabelle’s face. ‘Maris warded her journals against vampires.’
He tried to refocus her. ‘Who is this person you need to speak to?’
‘Just someone who knows how this works.’
‘Who?’
She stared at him, petulant sparks flying off her as if she were flint and he were steel, challenging him with her eyes to say something smart. ‘Dominic.’
‘No.’
‘No? Don’t even begin to try to tell me what to do. The way I see it’ – she poked him in the chest – ‘you need me. I don’t need you.’ She swept past him and walked toward the house, muttering as she went. ‘This is the most unbalanced relationship I’ve ever had the misfortune to be a part of.’
Unbalanced? Clarity smacked him in the face. She was mad because he’d drunk her blood, but she hadn’t gotten her half of the exchange. That was easy to fix. No. Unpleasant. Yes. But easy. Carefully avoiding her injury, he looped his fingers around her wrist – noting that her wrist blades weren’t strapped on – and brought her to a
