Internally, she grinned at Mal’s assessment. ‘He’s just a guy who came to my rescue.’
‘Actually,’ Creek spoke up, ‘I’m more than that, Chrysabelle. I didn’t plan on telling you this way, but I think you need to know. I’m Kubai Mata. Sent to help protect you.’
Mal threw back his head and laughed. ‘Kubai Mata? The secret fairy-tale vampire-slayer organization? Oh, that’s rich.’
Kubai Mata? A wash of unease ran through her. Was that possible? She’d been educated to believe that they may have once existed but now were exactly as Mal described. A fairy tale of sorts. How would a human even know about them to make such a claim? Her stomach knotted with the feeling that her world was shifting too fast for her to keep up.
Mal tucked his blade away and looked at Chrysabelle. ‘You didn’t mention he was mental. Nice company you’ve been keeping.’ His gaze returned to Creek. ‘Slayers of any variety have a very short life span, so I guess I won’t be seeing much more of you. Kubai Mata.’ He shook his head. ‘Amazing. Come, Chrysabelle. We have work to do.’ He hooked his hand around her upper arm and began to turn them both around.
Creek stuck the butt of his crossbow against his shoulder and aimed. ‘Get your hands off her, vampire. I don’t care if you believe me or not, but you won’t hurt her while I’m here.’ His finger found the trigger. ‘Last chance.’
Mal rolled his eyes.
Creek pulled the trigger.
Before Chrysabelle could inhale to react, Mal shoved her out of the way, spun to the side, and snatched the bolt out of the air as it blasted past.
Creek fired again, but the second bolt whistled past Mal’s charging form, tearing the leather of his jacket under his arm.
Mal leaped at Creek, caught him around the waist, and slammed him to the ground. Together they rolled across the debris-strewn pavement.
‘No!’ Chrysabelle shouted. She yanked her sacre out of its sheath and ran toward them. Mal’s hands squeezed Creek’s windpipe while Creek reared back to land a punch. She slipped her sword between them before Creek’s fist came down. If Creek really was KM, she needed to talk to him. ‘Enough.’
Both men froze, but neither made an effort to disengage.
She unsheathed her second sacre and added it to the mix, easing the points of the swords into the hollows of their throats. ‘Let’s go. Now. This foolishness is over.’
Slowly, they untangled and got to their feet, glaring daggers at each other.
‘If one of you kills the other, I’ll kill the survivor, understood?’
Of course, Mal spoke first. ‘No, you won’t.’
No, she wouldn’t, but right now she felt like it. ‘Try me.’ She pushed them farther apart, opening a tiny nick in Mal’s skin that healed in less than a second. She would hear about that later. ‘I don’t care if you hate each other, I don’t care if you get along, but if you’re both going to live in this city, you’re going to have to find a way to tolerate each other.’ Neither of them looked like they’d heard a word she’d said. ‘That means no killing. Each other.’
Creek pointed a finger at Mal. ‘Killing vampires is part of my job.’
‘Not this vampire,’ Chrysabelle said.
Mal straightened and stared Creek down. ‘Your job’s fatality rate just went sky-high.’
Creek shook his head. ‘You don’t get it. Neither of you do. This city is about to crumble before you – along with the rest of the world. Since the breaking of the covenant, bad things have begun to happen.’
‘Like you?’ Mal asked.
Creek ignored him. ‘Like nightmares coming to life and black magic strengthening and evil’s foothold in this world growing larger. The more humans start to believe in the danger around them, the more power that danger has. Things you’ve never dreamed of will materialize on the strength of those beliefs. I’m not just here to protect humans from vampires. I’m the first line of defense against every unnatural horror about to rise up and take a bite out of this world. Vampires are just the beginning.’
Chrysabelle sheathed one sword. ‘Who put you in charge of protecting the human race?’ She’d always thought that designation belonged to the comarré.
Creek’s scornful look spoke volumes. ‘That’s always been the job of the Kubai Mata. We’ve been waiting for the day this would happen, and now that it has, we’re here.’
‘We? How many of you are there?’ she asked.
‘Enough.’ Creek backed up a step and jerked his chin toward Mal. ‘You step out of line toward her again, and you’re ash. I shouldn’t even allow you that much.’
Mal laughed. ‘You think you scare me?’ He cracked his knuckles. ‘I eat mortals like you for breakfast.’
Creek brought his crossbow back down. ‘Thanks for the reminder. Maybe there’s no point in giving you a chance.’
‘Both of you shut up,’ Chrysabelle snarled. ‘Mal hasn’t killed anyone in years.’ A rapid, muted thumping filtered in from the alley behind them. ‘What is that?’
Mal and Creek swiveled toward the sound. It got louder, but not much. The wind shifted, washing a sour wave of brimstone over them. Chrysabelle reached for the sword she’d sheathed as the tremble of recognition shook her spine. The sacre whined for blood, quivering to be used.
‘Nothos,’ Mal spat. ‘That can only mean one thing.’
Chrysabelle nodded. ‘She’s come after the ring, hasn’t she?’ Chrysabelle shoved the white-cold fear away and opened herself to the anger over Maris’s death, still fresh and close to the bone. Her sacre hummed, hungry, greedy, ready to engrave her pain on someone else’s skin.
‘You mean Tatiana?’ Creek asked.
Before either of them could confirm, the first Nothos came into view, all wrongly jointed and horse-faced, yellow eyes lit like embers, spittle dripping from its crowded jaw.
Creek’s smile split his face like a jack-o’-lantern as he nodded. ‘Looks like the hellhounds have arrived.’ He cocked the crossbow’s trigger. ‘It’s hunting time.’
Chapter
