“Doc can be stubborn.”
She laughed softly. “Pot, meet kettle.” He was about to respond when she turned a corner and stopped, then glanced back the way they’d come, her eyes questioning.
“You don’t know which way to go, do you?”
“Not a clue.”
He smiled gently. “Where do you want to go?”
“The kitchen, I guess.”
He squeezed her hand. “The galley it is.” As they walked, she explained in more detail what had happened with Doc and Fi and the mayor’s curfew. He shook his head. “Dominic’s going to have something to say about this. She’s basically shut down the bulk of his business. Fae and varcolai can come and go during daylight hours, but the fringe who come for his comarré, not so much. She’s bitten off more than she can chew.”
“I agree, but Dominic can fight his own battles on this one. I have enough of my own problems to deal with.”
“Then why not let Doc face the punishment that’s coming to him? A couple hours in the square isn’t the end of the world.”
“Because Doc is our friend and—”
“I agree with that reason completely.” You don’t have friends.
“It won’t look good if the pride leader is put on display like, well, like an animal. Doc will be humiliated. He’ll be forced to retaliate. Or the pride will on his behalf. It’s just a bad situation all the way around.”
Mal nodded. “All good points.”
“And”—she took a deep breath—“if we can get Doc out of this, the pride will owe us. And we need them to owe us.” She came to a stop and faced Mal. “Pride law says a life for a life. Brutus killed me and you killed Brutus, but word is beginning to spread that I’m alive.” She grabbed his hand and held on. “They could demand your life. I’m not going to let that happen. Doc won’t either. But it would really help if the pride felt indebted to us.”
Mal thought a moment. Solving this problem was easy enough, but Chrysabelle wasn’t going to like his solution. Better keep it to himself until the time came. “I said whatever you needed me to do, I would do. That hasn’t changed.”
She smiled, leaned up on her tiptoes, and pressed her mouth to his for the briefest of seconds. “Thank you.” She tugged him forward again. “Let’s get you some blood.”
Once Mal found a clean glass and they’d settled at the table, she flicked out the tiny blade on her ring and nicked a vein, filling the glass. He held it while the blood level rose, savoring the warmth seeping into his palm. He couldn’t stop staring at her, even though he knew it would get him into trouble.
“Stop looking at me,” she whispered without making eye contact.
“I like to look at you. You’re beautiful. And you know how I feel.” Fool.
“So you’ve told me.” Her mouth bent in a poorly repressed grin. “It’s just strange.”
He lifted one shoulder. “I’m a strange guy.”
“That’s for sure.” She smiled as she pulled her arm up and pressed two fingers to the tiny cut. She tipped her head toward the glass. “Drink up.”
“I get to kiss you afterward.”
Her cheeks colored, causing her signum to flare brightly against the rising pink. “I know.”
“And that embarrasses you?”
“No. But you talking about it so plainly is going to take some getting used to.”
“I’ll do my best to contain myself.” He lifted the glass. “Of course, my best isn’t very good, so you should probably just get used to it.” She rolled her eyes, making him chuckle. Torturing her was its own reward. He put the glass to his lips and drank, relishing every swallow of the sweet, rich liquid, but not nearly as much as he was about to enjoy kissing her.
Glass emptied, he set it down, closed his eyes, and tipped his head back to await the rush of power only comarré blood provided. One… two… three… It hit with the force of a full-body blow, first searingly painful as his muscles and tendons tightened with the burst of renewed strength, but then the pain vanished, leaving wakes of heat behind, heat that spread through him and erased his normal chill. He relaxed and blew out a breath as his lungs began to work again and his heart pulsed.
He lifted his head and opened his eyes to find Chrysabelle’s gaze fixed on him. He smiled.
She smiled back. “It’s amazing to watch the life come back into you.”
“Is that so?” He shoved the table out of the way, toppling the glass, and pulled her onto his lap. Damnation, but the weight of her body against his brought a maddening pleasure twice as intoxicating as the taste of her blood and the rush of power. “Feel for yourself.” He put her hand on his chest to feel its rise and fall as he breathed and the beating of his heart.
“I’ve felt it before,” she protested, but her hand stayed a few beats longer. Then her fingers traveled to his jaw. She narrowed her eyes. Something was on her mind.
That something, it seemed, was him.
“Open your mouth,” she commanded.
“Why?”
“I want to see your teeth.”
“I’m not a horse.”
She traced his bottom lip with her index finger, setting fire to a thousand other parts of his body. “I want to see your fangs.”
Tremors of pleasure running through him, he parted his lips and tilted his head to give her better access while still being able to watch her.