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

found, so she padded barefoot down the stairs, holding on to the gritty railing with as much strength as she could muster. At the halfway point, she stopped, light-headed and breathless. While she rested, she surveyed the remainder of Creek’s home.

A massive chain and winch hung from the ceiling, and old metal presses and piles of scrap had been pushed against the walls, but in the center of the dingy, concrete-floored room sat a two-wheeled monster. Nothing about the motorcycle seemed remotely safe. In fact, with the matte-black finish and the chromed metal parts, it looked evil. Like something a Nothos might ride. Or Mal.

Mal. She dropped her head and groaned softly. She had no idea what had happened to him after they’d parted ways. Please, holy mother, let him be safe.

‘You okay? Need some help?’ Creek came into view, wiping his hands on a towel.

‘No. I’m fine.’

He gave her a suspicious look and stayed where he was, watching her.

She started down the stairs, gripping the railing. She made it to the landing, wincing only at every other step.

He threw the towel over his shoulder. ‘If that’s fine, I’d like to see what still-in-pain looks like. You should really stay in bed and rest.’

‘I will. In my own bed.’ Because being in his made her uncomfortable. Just like being in Mal’s bed had.

‘Suit yourself.’ He turned and walked into the makeshift kitchen. ‘Coffee?’

Pulling her gaze from his back was almost impossible. ‘No, thank you. I just need to get home.’ Finally, she looked away and, feeling worn out from her trip downstairs, sat on the landing to wait for him to be ready. She rested her head on her knees, unable to recall the last time she’d felt so exhausted.

‘Chrysabelle?’

She woke with a start, earning a punch of pain through her gut. ‘What?’

Creek sat beside her on the landing. ‘You fell asleep.’

‘I was resting my eyes.’

He bit the inside of his cheek too late to hide his grin. ‘Look, I know you don’t like me, don’t want to stay here with me any longer than you have to—’

‘No, no, I like you just fine.’ She did, actually. Except for the part where he might be a fringe serial killer. Which she still needed to ask him about. ‘I’m sorry if I gave you that impression. I’m very thankful for what you did for me. Saving my life and stitching me up and all that.’ It was nice to be around another human.

His dark, winged brows lifted fractionally. ‘But?’

‘I don’t know what you mean.’ She knew exactly what he meant. She wasn’t comfortable with him because being around him felt like trying to stick the opposite ends of two magnets together. Too much push–pull. Too much dangerous attraction. One move in the wrong direction and the magnets stuck together like they were meant to be that way.

He leaned in, his blue eyes reflecting flashes of her signum. ‘Don’t you?’

It was wrong for a man to be that beautiful. ‘Don’t you think we should … ’ She pointed lamely at the motorcycle.

‘Uh-huh.’ He kept staring. Like he could see her lies. ‘You don’t feel at all uneasy around me?’

‘Don’t be silly. You’re human, I’m human – what’s to be uneasy about?’

Looking away, he picked up her hand as though he hadn’t heard a word she’d said. ‘You don’t have to feel that way, you know.’ His thumb stroked the curling gold vine that trailed from her wrist bone to her first knuckle. The dizziness returned with a vengeance. ‘I would never hurt you. It’s part of my directive to protect you.’

‘Good to know.’ The words came out much softer than she’d intended, but part of her was surprised she could speak at all. Her heart thudded. At least Creek couldn’t hear it. She told herself to pull her hand out of his. Nothing happened.

‘Don’t be afraid of me. I would never hurt you.’ He glanced at her, his face earnest.

She shook her head. Or nodded. She had no idea. There was a wildness about him that frightened her as much as Mal’s steely control. He let go of her hand. She looked down for a moment and when she raised her head, he was there. His mouth on hers. Warm and soft and—

Before she could respond to his kiss, he pulled away, stood up, and walked toward the motorcycle. ‘You’re right. Time for you to go home.’

Chapter Twenty

Chrysabelle was home. Mal could hear the rhythm of her pulse beneath the swooshing palms and the chorus of nocturnal insects. It was faster than her resting heart rate. Maybe she was training. That was a good sign. If she was training, she was okay. Still, he hesitated to knock. She’d be mad he’d climbed the privacy wall and circumvented her security. Or maybe she’d be mad he’d demanded she run from the Nothos. Or maybe she’d still be steamed about him fighting in the Pits or drinking her blood or a whole host of other things he could think of. She was good at being mad at him. Drain her, then.

They were good at being mad at each other.

But right now, he couldn’t think of a single reason to be anything but concerned. All he could think of was finding out if she’d been hurt by the Nothos. Or that whack job Creek. Kubai Mata. Did he also moonlight as the tooth fairy?

Mal walked to her door and knocked.

Predictably, Velimai answered. With her usual cold glare, she studied him for a moment. Then shut the door.

Cursing under his breath, he knocked again. ‘Velimai, get Chrysabelle.’

The bothersome fae opened the door and shook her head. Her hands and fingers flew.

He held a palm up. ‘You know I can’t understand a word you’re signing.’

Velimai rolled her eyes and disappeared into the house, leaving the door open. She returned, writing on a tablet with a stylus. Her mood didn’t seem to have improved. She turned the tablet so he could read