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

the back of one hand. The Nothos grabbed for her. She ducked. It lunged, catching the edge of her tunic and shredding it. She shoved the creature as it went past, using its momentum to throw it to the ground. The scent of blood increased.

With a guttural growl, she drove her blades into the Nothos’s back before it could rise and anchored it to the pavement. The monstrosity planted its hands on the asphalt and pushed up. Its flesh slid along the blades, but the sacres remained fixed in the ground. Caught at the hilts, it stayed hunched over, unable to straighten further.

The Nothos screeched, swinging its double-jointed arms at her, reaching with its awful hands for the merest inch of skin. Threads of white silk hung from the claws that had almost sliced her belly open.

Behind her, Creek still fought. More than that, she couldn’t say. She moved around the Nothos so it couldn’t see her and jumped, landing with a foot on either side of its spine. The move slammed it into the ground again. She flicked out her wrist blades and drove one into the spot where the creature’s heart should be. A gush of yellow blood and renewed yowling told her she’d aimed correctly. With both hands on the second dagger, she punched the blade downward and severed the Nothos’s spine. She worked the weapon back and forth until the head was nearly severed. Finally, the creature went to ash beneath her feet.

Breathing openmouthed and ready to take on the second abomination, she turned in time to watch Creek spear his Nothos through with the quarterstaff. He lifted the staff until the creature dangled off the end like a bit of refuse, then smashed it into the ground with such force the asphalt compressed beneath it.

The Nothos didn’t move when Creek yanked his quarterstaff free, but Chrysabelle had doubts it was truly dead. Creek apparently understood that. He slid a long knife from his boot, kneeled, and bisected the spine with greater ease than she’d done. Like he’d had practice.

Nothing remained in the pothole but ash.

On odd lightness filled her head, as if the slowly brightening sky was invading her brain. Creek leaned over, resting his hands on his knees, his chest rising and falling with the exertion. ‘Those things are hard to kill.’

‘Yes, I know.’ She fought the urge to sit. Or sleep. What was wrong with her? ‘That wasn’t my first.’

‘Kill or encounter?’ He straightened. His jeans were torn where the side of his leg had been slashed open from thigh to knee. Fresh blood from his movement ran out of the gash. Suddenly she felt queasy. Like she might pass out. What had he asked?

‘Uh, both. We … we ran into them when we tried to’ – she swallowed – ‘to rescue my aunt. I mean, my mother.’ She pointed to his thigh. Her hand shook. ‘You’re bleeding pretty badly.’

He glanced up. His brow furrowed with abrupt concern. ‘So are you.’

‘No, it didn’t touch me, just ripped my tunic.’ Swaying slightly, she looked down at the frayed edge of her shirt. The fabric was deep red. And wet. Three broad gashes scored her stomach. Beneath the open flesh, muscle peeked out. Blood saturated the right side of her trousers all the way down her leg. She wiggled her toes, listening to the squishing sound of her fluid-filled slipper.

‘I think I’ve lost a lot of … ’ Her vision narrowed and a faint buzzing rang in her ears. ‘Creek?’ Her mouth was so dry. The sun would be up soon. Had Mal found cover?

‘Right here.’ She felt warm hands supporting her. Then nothing.

Tatiana, still in the guise of Mia, had tried and failed three times to explore the club and find someone who might be able to connect her with the rogue comarré. Each time she had slipped away from her post behind the bar, someone in charge had sent her back.

At the moment, she was standing in a cramped storage room amid cleaning products and bundles of cocktail napkins while some hoity-toity Asian fringe who used too much perfume and obviously enjoyed referring to herself as ‘the manager’ reprimanded Mia. Katsumi, some other flunky had called her.

‘Mia, are you listening to me?’

Tatiana couldn’t keep from rolling her eyes. ‘Yes, I’m listening.’ This whole scheme had gone bollocks up in a flash. Dawn had to be close, although she couldn’t feel it like she should. The club probably pumped drugs into the air system to keep the crowds partying. If she didn’t accomplish what she’d set out to do, and quickly, she’d be stuck here until nightfall. The very thought of being trapped in this place made her want to retch.

Katsumi narrowed her eyes and scowled. ‘Do you think running a club of this size and scope is such an easy thing?’ She planted her hands on her hips. One pinky was missing from the knuckle down. Interesting, but not that interesting. ‘I’m sure you think you could do better, but I assure you, you could not.’

Tatiana smiled. ‘That’s a marvelous idea. Best I’ve heard all night.’

‘What is?’ Katsumi squinted. ‘Why are you looking at me that way?’

Tatiana punched Katsumi in the temple with as much power as she could. Katsumi staggered back and caught herself on one of the metal racks. Using the shelving as leverage, she hoisted herself up and drove both feet into Tatiana’s torso.

Pain shot through Tatiana’s torso as one of her ribs fractured, and the force of Katsumi’s kick threw her into a stack of boxes. She leaped to her feet and charged forward, metal hand outstretched. She formed her hand into a collar, clamped it around the fringe’s neck, then lifted the woman until her feet dangled off the floor. ‘Think you can best me, weakling fringe? Think again.’

Terror-filled eyes wide, Katsumi pried uselessly at the platinum encircling her throat. ‘Who are you?’ she wheezed.

‘That’s the least of your concerns.’ Tatiana scanned the room for something to