She hated the idea of drugging Mal, but… “Okay. I don’t like it, but I like it better than him reverting to killing humans.” If he hadn’t already. Please, holy mother, don’t let him have come to that. “Will you be able to get it to him in such a way that it keeps him from hunting?”
Dominic nodded. “I can enhance the aroma, make it irresistible, make it so that he is drawn to the blood and thinks of nothing else. And I’ll be sure it’s placed in his path. It will be done. You’ll see.”
“Good.” She stood, ready to be home again. “One last thing. I don’t care if Luciano guards my house, but I don’t want to see him, I won’t give him shelter from the day and under no circumstances is he to approach Mal if he shows up. Is that clear?” She knew she sounded harsh but didn’t care. “I just… need my space right now.”
“Absolutely. Perhaps I will find a better use for my errant nephew.” The twinkle in Dominic’s eyes said he found her commands either amusing or charming but she was in no mood to be either.
“Do you think this is funny? This is my life we’re talking about. And the life of my—” She stopped cold, the word “child” dancing on her tongue. Her hand slipped to her stomach. “Brother,” she covered.
The twinkle died, replaced by sudden curiosity. Dominic tipped his head. “How is your brother? And the other comarré? Amylia?”
Afraid she’d say something she’d truly regret, she answered quickly. “They’re both fine. If you’ll excuse me, I really must go. I’m not feeling well.” And with that, she hurried toward the door. Dominic could think what he liked as long as he sent Mal the blood as promised.
“Chrysabelle,” he called after her.
She kept moving. It was that or vomit in his office.
Chapter Nine
The throb of bloodlust infiltrated Mal’s daysleep with an undeniable force. The moment he moved, the voices started up. Their chant of blood, blood, blood multiplied his growing hunger until he could almost smell blood.
He sat up in bed. Actually, he could smell blood. Human blood. Still in the clothes he’d collapsed in when daysleep hit, he stumbled out of his room and down the freighter’s long hall toward the scent. The solars had kicked on with the setting sun, but he could have found his way by the smell alone. It grew stronger as he approached the door to the main deck.
He swung the door open. A container sat a few feet away. Every sense alert, he checked the area but found nothing to indicate it was a trick. He inhaled. Beyond the thick perfume of blood, there was a faint trace of spice. The smell of vampire. Namely, Dominic.
A satisfied smile curled Mal’s lips. About time Dominic started giving him what he was due.
He wrenched the top of the container off. Inside sat four bags of blood, still warm thanks to the container’s insulation. He grabbed them and with one final look around, headed back inside. These would be just enough to fuel him for an evening of hunting. The deer he’d had at Chrysabelle’s had barely scratched the surface of his need.
Squeezing one of the bags to tighten it up, he sank his fangs in and drank. The blood was definitely human, probably from Dominic’s comarré, but a little flat tasting. Maybe because nothing compared to drinking straight from Chrysabelle’s vein, something he’d do again, very soon. Yes, the voices urged. Soon.
Swallowing the last of the bag’s contents, he tossed it away and started downing another. Halfway through it, his feet got harder to lift, his body less responsive. Still the voices urged him to drink more. Blood, blood, blood.
He struggled to keep his head up. The remaining two bags slipped out of his grasp. The one he’d just about emptied followed after, falling with a soft plop onto the metal flooring. Stooping to retrieve it made everything go sideways. He put his hands out to steady himself, but ran into the wall anyway. He dragged his feet over the threshold of his room. The light from the solars dimmed like they were running out of juice. Was dawn coming? He couldn’t feel the sun approaching. No, definitely night. The sun had just set. The voices went quiet.
He lifted a hand to rub his eyes and missed. His lids drifted down, heavy as though he’d had no daysleep at all. Maybe he’d rest a little before he went hunting. Before he went back to Chrysabelle’s and…
He stumbled onto his bed, closed his eyes, and passed out.
Luciano jumped down from the upper deck. All sounds of movement had ceased several minutes ago and judging by the way Malkolm had torn into the first bag of blood, he’d ingested enough of the drug for it to have taken effect. Luciano’s lip curled at the rust and decay surrounding him. How could any noble vampire live this way?
He picked up the container’s lid and tucked it into the empty vessel, then ducked inside to collect the blood bags. Considering that he’d gone from vampire assassin to vampire babysitter, perhaps he should be less critical, but this ship reeked of rats and rot.
One blood bag was empty, another still had a few ounces in it, and two were untouched. He picked them all up, then went a little farther down the hall to confirm Malkolm was safely out for the evening.
He was. Sprawled on his bed, arms akimbo, one foot still on the floor. Luciano smirked. When Dominic said he’d do something, he did it.
With a shake of his head, Luciano headed out. He stuffed the bags into the container, then tucked the whole lot under his arm and jogged back to where he’d hidden his car. Dominic’s car, actually. Since he’d run from his noble life, he’d had little opportunity to take anything with him.