Flesh And Blood: House of Comarre: Book Two (House of Comarre 2) Painter, Kristen (historical books to read txt) 📖

‘Well, now, they’ll let anyone in here, won’t they?’ She neatly folded the spotless bar rag she’d been wiping down the bar with and tucked it away before she made her way over. The reflected prisms from the blinged-out bar covered her in speckles of light as bright as her smile. ‘I can’t believe it.’

‘Believe it. It’s me.’ He smiled back. Hard to imagine a chick that petite could be a threat to anyone, but he’d seen a fae-varcolai remnant purposefully sneeze on her once. Bad idea. Mia’s fear of germs bordered on the manic. She’d hit the offender with a blow to the windpipe so fast and hard the creature had required two weeks of ventilation to recover.

She leaned against the counter. ‘What are you doing here? I haven’t heard from you since your pride … you know.’ Her smile faded, memories flickering in her eyes. ‘Well, it’s really good to see you.’

‘You too.’ He dropped his smile as well. ‘How have you been?’

‘Good. Busy. You know, same old same old.’ Her face twisted in the wistful look of pity he’d gotten all too accustomed to. ‘How are you doing?’

He paused. Mia wasn’t just anyone. They had history. He’d once thought they also had a future, but those days were gone, and the only woman he wanted a future with now was Fi. Still, Mia was a friend. Seemed to still be. ‘Things are okay.’ He shrugged and sat back, tried to smile away the truth. ‘Nothing you need to worry about.’

She tilted her head, her eyes shimmering to their icy wolf blue for a brief second. ‘Whatever you say, Maddoc. You want a white Russian?’

She remembered his usual, but he hesitated. Varcolai social laws made turning down food or beverage from another varcolai highly disrespectful, but Mia was a bartender. Offering drinks was her job. ‘Just a club soda.’

‘You on the wagon?’ She made a funny face but snagged a tumbler and started filling it from the gun.

‘No. I’m here to talk to Dominic.’

‘Ah.’ She squeezed in a lime before setting the glass in front of him. ‘Sure a drink wouldn’t be a better idea?’

‘Gotta stay clearheaded.’ He sipped, watching her wash her hands. The water beaded on her skin like it was coated in oil. He turned the glass in a small circle, shifting the ice. ‘You wearing latex?’

‘Spray-on latex is my best friend.’ She wiggled her fingers at him. ‘But then you knew that.’

He ignored the subtle jab at their past. ‘Speaking of Dominic—’

‘Which we weren’t.’

‘But we are now. Where is he tonight?’

‘In his apartments, I guess.’

She leaned in and he caught a whiff of vanilla. Flashes of the past, of bare skin and hot nights, flitted through his brain. ‘Between us, he’s been scarce on the floor lately. Real scarce.’

‘What about Mortalis?’ He sucked in a chunk of ice, cooling himself down. Mia might still get a little physical reaction out of him, but she’d get that from most men. Fi was where his heart was.

Mia straightened as a server came to the service bar and put in a drink order. Mia nodded and lined up glasses. ‘He’s usually here, but I haven’t seen him tonight. I think he was taking somebody home.’

Since when had Mortalis become the designated driver for anyone but Dominic? He turned, watching the crowd in the lounge while Mia filled the order. Some were barely keeping their clothes on, but that was status quo in Vanity. You didn’t come here to fade into the background. One vamp, Middle Eastern and possibly noble-blooded, had a horde of fake comarré around him, but his gaze seemed stuck on Mia. Doc reminded himself it wasn’t his place to care anymore, but that didn’t stop the protective feelings from surfacing. The server took her drinks and left. He turned back to Mia. ‘Who’s Sheik Fang over there? He looks noble. And he’s staring you down pretty hard.’

She snorted. ‘He might be noble, but if he’s in Paradise City, he’s probably anathema. He intro’d himself as Nazir or something. He tried to kiss my hand. Can you imagine? Dead lips on my skin? Like that’s going to happen.’ A pair of remnants sat at the end of the bar. She greeted them with a smile, before glancing at Doc. ‘Let me get their order and I’ll be right back.’

He nursed the soda until she returned. ‘I heard Ronan got beat down in the Pits.’

Mia laughed. ‘Man, that was beautiful. Well, from what I heard. I wasn’t there.’ She sighed as she wiped down the bar. ‘You’re never going to believe who he fought.’

He swallowed the ice he was chewing. ‘Who?’

‘Remember that anathema who used to fight here all the time, hardly ever won, had those names all over him like tattoos – Hey, you know, I think that’s who Mortalis was taking home.’

Mal. Doc dropped the glass. ‘I gotta go.’

Within moments, he was back outside and running toward the freighter. If Mal had returned to the Pits, there was a damn good reason why. Not that Mal wouldn’t welcome a chance to turn that Irish neck biter into ash. Doc ran with a speed no human could match, but it wasn’t nearly as fast as he could have gone in his leopard form. His lungs barely straining, he plowed through street after street. The neighborhood surrounding Seven was about as ghetto as you could get, but the chances of someone giving him trouble were slim. This was fringe country, and the uneasy peace between fringe and varcolai had so far survived the covenant’s breaking.

He turned a corner, putting the worst of it behind him. An acrid odor rose up around him, clinging to his skin like spider-web. He slowed down, scanning the street for the source. He knew that smell from somewhere. It reminded him of … of … He came to a complete stop.

Piles of ash dotted the asphalt and sidewalk. The bitter scent reminded him of the way the vampires they’d killed