‘What kind of beer do you have on tap?’
She tucked her hand behind her and looked up into the face of a remnant. Disgusting mud-blooded hybrid. She’d had enough of this part of the charade. Waiting on these half-wits was getting her nowhere. Time to find someone who could lead her to the girl. ‘Taps are dry. Go home and drink there, freak.’
Finding some small joy in the remnant’s shocked expression, she flipped up the service bar and headed out into the rest of the club. If tonight proved fruitless and she had to return to this dump, she was going to reward herself by killing a few of the patrons.
She deserved that much, didn’t she?
Chapter Fourteen
Chrysabelle extended her stride to keep up with Mal’s long legs. They’d dropped Doc off at the freighter, then parked in Dominic’s private garage near the club. She’d pushed for driving to the streets Doc had told them about, but Mal had insisted that driving might scare off anyone lingering nearby. Which was exactly why she wanted to do it. Any opportunity to get Creek out of their path. Well, Mal’s path. She wouldn’t mind another chance to talk to Creek, find out exactly what he was up to without Mal freaking the guy out. Creek might be human, but his speed and weapons said there was more to him than that. What human killed vampires with so little fear?
Which led her to wonder what was going on with the dead fringe if Creek wasn’t killing them. The deaths could be the result of a turf war. The fringe were getting more territorial lately and definitely bolder. The way she’d been tracked was proof of that.
Maybe she’d run into her friends Frankie and Ruby. She wondered what they’d think of Mal. Probably that she never traveled without dangerous male company. She laughed softly.
‘What’s so funny?’ Mal asked.
‘Hmm? Oh, nothing.’ No point in telling him. He’d just get all bothered that she’d been in danger, which might have been touching once, but now that she knew it was just his way of guarding his own freedom, it lost some of its appeal. Also, telling that story might lead to Creek and she wasn’t up for that conversation with Mal.
‘Laughing at nothing is one of the first signs of mental illness, I believe.’
She stared at him. ‘Did you just make a joke?’
He clutched at his dead heart. ‘I can be funny.’
‘I … I’m sure you can.’ Not that she’d ever seen that side of him before. What a change from the man who’d been on the verge of losing control just a few hours ago at her home. Had he forgiven her for sending blood to Dominic? Or was it the possibility of his curse being removed that had him in such a good mood? Whatever the reason, she liked him this way. He seemed almost … human. Like Creek. Not that she could ever mistake Mal for anything but vampire.
Dawn was less than two hours away and the streets were deserted. She glanced at Mal. Most vamps would be thinking about shelter as the first tendrils of daysleep crept into their systems. He showed no signs of slowing.
‘Dawn’s coming,’ she said, still watching him and knowing that he was probably watching her as well with his exceptional peripheral vision.
Scanning the streets ahead of them, he answered, ‘We’ve got time.’
She knew what he meant. Not just time to check out what Doc had reported, but time for her to explain everything she’d learned talking to Dominic, which she hadn’t wanted to do with Doc in the car. And she wanted to let it settle into her own head before she had to explain it to Mal. She still hadn’t processed the news that she had a brother.
‘I will explain soon. I promise.’ The ritual for getting to the Aurelian was not going to be easy. It could kill her. Or push Mal over the edge. What were the chances she could keep him away while she carried it out? The streets of downtown Paradise City just didn’t seem the right place to explain how dangerous a thing she was about to do. Or get into another argument.
‘I don’t like soon. I like now.’
‘You know what I’d like? To kill Tatiana.’ That should change the subject nicely.
‘Who wouldn’t?’ He stopped. ‘Look, I’ve come to realize you don’t respond well to pressure. You’re stubborn.’
So much for a new topic. She halted beside him, crossing her arms. ‘I’m not stubborn. You push too much.’ He could be so infuriating when he tried.
‘You’re determined to do things your own way, without help, and you’re not dealing well with the transition from the comarré world to this one—’
‘I’m dealing fine.’ Was that what he thought? She was trying. She should get some credit for that.
‘No, you’re not.’ He shoved a hand through his hair. It was so long it skimmed his shoulders. ‘I’m not a patient man. Not anymore. I’m tired of waiting. So whatever you need to do to get ready, do it. Now.’
She almost laughed at how ridiculous he sounded. So very much like a man of his time. Or a noble commanding his comarré. She uncrossed her arms and planted her hands on her hips. ‘Is that an order?’
‘It is what it is.’ He took a step forward, and a bolt whistled through the space he’d just occupied. It sank into the concrete block of the abandoned storefront behind him, dropping hunks of debris to the ground. Cracks veined out from the impact.
He grabbed her, tossed her over his shoulder, and took off. She fought to catch her breath. Everything around her blurred into streaks of light and muted color. Her braid whipped out past her face
