Текст книги "The Sweet Scent of Blood"
Автор книги: Сьюзан Маклеод
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Текущая страница: 16 (всего у книги 24 страниц)
‘What, you think yanking her chain was wrong? You heard her, she’s ambitious, she already had plans for me, and I’m betting they had nothing to do with my wellbeing. The fact that she’s changed them isn’t going to make any difference in that respect.’
His hands squeezed my wrists until I thought he would snap the bones. I pressed my lips together to stop myself whimpering. Then the glow in his eyes flickered and snuffed out.
‘No, it will not make a difference.’ Slowly he loosened his fingers and placed his lips to the throbbing pulse in my left wrist and my stomach plunged into free-fall.
He released me and I scooted back to my side of the cab, trying to ignore the feelings inside me ... and the pieces fell together in my mind.
I laughed, short and derisive. ‘You knew, didn’t you? All that sneaking around, that hiding-in-the-shadows trick you do: you already knew what Rio was planning—only now I’ve gone and kicked you out of the loop. That’s why you’re so angry.’
He smiled and my stomach fluttered, not with fear but with warmth. ‘The way your mind works is almost as interesting to me as your body, Genevieve.’
Yeah, right, like distracting me is ever going to work. I smirked at him. ‘Oh, and thanks for the compliment.’
He arched a brow. ‘I didn’t know I had given you one.’
Yeah, yeah.‘I bet you know what they’re all up to; you probably even know who killed Melissa—and why.’
‘If I know so much, then why would I invite you along to help me?’
Ha! That one was easy. ‘There’s some sort of spell,’ I said, ‘you all want it, and you all think I can find it.’
He laughed, a deep rich laugh that sent lust fizzing in my veins and heated my blood right down to my toes.
I clutched at the door handle, glaring at him. ‘It’s not going to work, you know: getting me all hot and bothered isn’t going to make me forget.’
Almost in slow motion he reached for my hand, lifted it to his mouth and blew heat on my fingertips, his dark eyes never leaving mine. ‘Why would I need you to forget anything, Genevieve? What I want is for you to remember.’
As his words sank in, I frowned. ‘Remember what?’
‘Why, what I told you before.’ He placed a kiss against my fingers, but I felt the touch on my lips. ‘I wish to conclude this little episode to my own satisfaction. I do not require knowledge of anyspell to succeed at my task, so I have no need for you to find it.’
I wet my lips and the taste of Turkish delight sweetened my tongue. Damn mesma. Why didn’t he want the spell when the rest of them did? And why had he sent me the invitation if he didn’t want the spell?
The taxi slowed to a stop. ‘That’ll be nineteen pounds twenty, please, mate.’
Malik produced a fifty, handed it to the driver. ‘Please. Wait here for us.’
The locks clicked open. ‘Cheers, mate. No worries.’
‘No way,’ I said, ‘you’re not coming with me.’
‘Genevieve, we agreed—’
‘Go home, Malik.’ I repeated his own words to me, and jumped out of the cab.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Istormed off along the pavement and tried to roll the tension from my shoulders. Damn. Now what? A hot breeze rushed over the River Thames and threw my hair in my face and I shoved it back. I took a deep breath, then wished I hadn’t as all I got was a lungful of the ever-present traffic fumes mixed with the fainter scent of water.
Sighing, I rotated one ankle then the next. My feet weren’t impressed at having to walk in my high-heels again. I looked around, hoping for some inspiration to help me get rid of the pretty vampire. Along the well-lit Victoria Embankment I could see the RAF monument, its golden eagle perched on top. On the other side of the river the bright pods of the London Eye hung suspended. It might be midnight, but this was London and there were still plenty of people around: walking across the Hungerford Bridge, partygoers out for a smoke on the deck of the Hispaniola boat, a couple smooching under the railway bridge, a man in shorts walking a yappy Pekinese.
Only inspiration and ideas seemed to be in short supply. I sighed and turned around. Malik was standing, feet apart, thumbs hooked into his belt, arrogance surrounding him like a shadowed aura. Even if he wasn’t recognised for what he was, he looked dangerous enough that most people would give him a wide berth—like the dog walker who’d obviously turned back to avoid him.
Malik wasn’t going to go away as easily as that—but what if I tried the direct approach?
‘Look,’ I said, walking over to him, ‘I don’t want you to tag along, okay? Alan Hinkley is my client and it doesn’t look very professional if I bring you with me.’
He lifted his chin and scented the air. ‘Why are we not at the police station?’
‘Old Scotland Yard is just round the corner. Alan Hinkley wanted to meet here first, in private.’ I checked my watch. ‘If he’s not already waiting he’ll be here any moment.’
‘A street corner is not a suitable place for a private talk.’
‘We’re meeting in the garden.’ I indicated the gate. Through it I could see the gravel path stretching maybe eighty feet to the exit at the other end. Ringed by black iron railings, the garden was mostly grass, with a few large trees, and three statues that faced out towards the river. The buildings behind overlooked it and only a few of the windows were dark, with just the bushes near the railings giving the semblance of privacy. The place was well lit and it was easy to see it was empty.
A line creased between Malik’s eyes. ‘Why would he choose to meet you here?’ he asked, then looked over towards the underground. ‘Why not at the station or the café?’
‘Okay, enough with the twenty questions.’ I let out a frustrated sigh. ‘I don’t think that Alan Hinkley’s too taken with vamps just now, and neither am I. And I don’t want you frightening him—so what’s it going to take to get you to leave?’
He stood looking at me, expression enigmatic. ‘It is not the best place for an ambush, but it could still work. This time of night, not many humans enter the park, and should anyone see or hear something untoward from a window above, they might conclude it to be a lover’s assignation and not interfere.’
Apprehension tensed my shoulders. ‘You’re a scary bastard, aren’t you?’
‘You should learn to think like your enemy, Genevieve.’
‘But to think like my enemy, I’d have to know who he is, wouldn’t I?’ I jumped, startled, as a jogger ran past, feet slapping hard against the pavement. He veered away from the entrance to the gardens and pounded across the road to sprint along next to the river.
‘Why are you nervous?’ Malik asked.
‘Why the hell do you think?’ I snapped. ‘Too many vampires taking an interest in me makes me feel like a mouse surround by hungry cats.’
‘I shall wait here with the taxi while you have your assignation. ’ He bowed. ‘Rest assured I will not be seen, and therefore I will not “scare off” your client, or anyone else he brings with him.’ He smiled, and my stomach flip-flopped again. Damn.I was going to have to stop it doing that. And he disappeared.
Mice taste sweet to cats.
I snorted and strode through the gate into the gardens. A cobweb drifted across my face and I swiped it away. ‘I hate vampires,’ I muttered. The gravel path crunched under my shoes, but otherwise the place was quiet. Not even a leaf rustled. I checked my watch again and gave an irritated thought for my lost phone. Alan should’ve been here by now. Maybe he’d called it off?
Malik’s words sat uneasily in my gut, and I was almost glad he was watching. Slowly I headed for the tree in the centre, the one with its limbs propped up on tall wooden crutches, where I was supposed to meet Alan. Why couldn’t I hear the music from the party boats any more? Or the traffic? I shivered. Maybe the sensible thing would be to go back outside. Wait until Alan did finally arrive. I turned—
Wood cracked, the sound loud behind me.
Heart jumping in my throat, I spun around.
A tall, scrawny figure stood under the tree wearing a dirty red T-shirt over stained jeans. He was holding a Beater goblin’s baseball bat on his shoulder. ‘Say, these things work a treat.’ He swung the bat round like he was hitting a home run and demolished another of the wooden crutches propping up the tree.
Fuck: Malik had been right. Tensing, I half-crouched, adrenalin whizzing round my body on overdrive.
Human male, late teens, bad case of acne and no muscle tone: I could take him—except for the bat. The bat sort of knocked my confidence. Only a dead goblin gives up his weapon.
‘Yep, a treat. No wonder the little creeps use ’em.’ He nodded his shaved head. ‘I’m gonna try it on you next, faerie freak. Have us a bit of fun.’ Large black letters across his T-shirt advised me to Remember his name, because I’d be screaming it later.
I screamed Malik’s instead, as loud as I could.
The pizza-faced figure patted the logo. ‘That’s it, freakoid, get some practise in.’
Why wasn’t there a dangerous vampire rushing to my rescue?
I had a nasty thought, so I looked.The railings shimmered with green-tinged spells, as equally nasty as my thought—and green meant stun. Crap, no way could I get out, or Malik get in. Even if he’d heard my shout, which was doubtful, he was more than likely lying unconscious outside the gardens anyway. I could try crackingthe spells, but that would turn the railings into so much shrapnel, so it wasn’t worth the risk, not for one scrawny human.
‘Freakoid, faerie freak,’ Pizza Face sang, swinging the foil-wrapped bat around his head.
And then the night got so much better– not!—as another, fatter figure lumbered from the shadows under the tree. His baggy jeans hung from his hips and I could see the flab wobbling under his T-shirt. Small round glasses were stuck like magnifying lenses on his podgy face. ‘Ye’th,’ he lisped, ‘we’re gonna show you, faiwy fweak.’ A picture of a distorted Dalek blowing a speech-bubble shouting Exterminate, exterminate, stretched over his chest and he brandished an arrow-headed pole.
I bit my lip and swallowed a hysterical snort. Exterminating these two felt like a great idea.
Pizza Face moved to the left, putting me between him and Fatboy.
Pulse racing, I back-tracked until I was off the gravel path and on the grass. My gaze flicked from one to the other and back again: who would attack first, Lanky or Lardy?
‘C’mon, freakoid, come to me,’ Pizza Face called.
Fatboy did a shambling run over to Pizza Face. ‘So what’re we gonna do, dude?’ He waved his pole.
‘Do it just do it like I told you, right?’ Pizza Face shoved him on the shoulder. ‘Now get back over there, y’know, we’re gonna be like a pincer action.’
‘Oh yeah, yeah,’ Fatboy giggled. ‘Ni’th.’
I took a breath, concentrated. Pizza Face leapt forward, swinging his bat two-handed. I ducked and it swished over my head. Fatboy swiped low on my other side and I jumped the pole like a skipping rope, my ankles jarring as I landed on the rain-starved grass.
‘Hey, thi’th ith fun, man,’ he giggled.
Shit. I needed my own weapon. Glamour? I had to get within touching distance for that to work, so it was a nonstarter. But a wooden staff would do, and thanks to Pizza Face, there were plenty lying under the old tree; I just needed to get to one.
Fatboy jabbed his pole at me like a spear and as I swivelled out the way Pizza Face’s bat caught me a thudding blow on my shoulder. Pain shot down my arm and I screamed, throwing myself back into a roll that took me away from them. I came up in a crouch, my left arm hanging uselessly at my side.
Fear clamped round my chest—the power behind that blow didn’t feel human—and he’d definitely broken something.
‘Get her other arm, dude,’ Pizza Face shouted.
Fatboy moved towards me, shockingly fast, and jabbed again. I jerked to the side, but too slow. His pole ripped through my sleeve and stabbed into my injured arm. I screamed again, then I almost cried in relief—Fatboy’s pole was one of the iron garden railings—and the pain in my arm started to mute as the touch of the iron numbed my flesh.
‘Not that one, man, the other one!’
Fatboy raised the iron pole, started to bring it down like an axe. I scrambled back, hoping the numb feeling would last—and the bar thumped the grass in front of me.
‘Watch her head,’ Pizza Face yelled. ‘I tole yer, it’s better when they’re screaming. Go for the arms and legs so the freak can’t run away!’
I staggered up, breath heaving.
Pizza Face tossed the bat in the air, caught it. ‘Come to me, pussy, pussy,’ he crooned, then he punched Fatboy on the arm, almost knocking him over. ‘Get it, dude? The freak’s got eyes like a cat, so I called her a pussy!’
Fatboy giggled again. ‘Yeah, man, good one! The fweak’th like a little puthy cat!’
They were high or hyped up on something, and it was making them faster and stronger—the odds weren’t looking good and I needed to even them up, and for that I needed blood, and enough time to activate my Alter Vamp spell. Blood was no problem; it was dripping down my arm from where Fatboy had stabbed me with the railing. So that just left the time part then.
They were young. They were male.
I held up my good hand, palm out, ‘Hold it,’ I shouted, standing straighter, ‘I surrender, okay?’
Fatboy giggled. ‘Yeah, thurrender! Okay!’
‘Shut up dude,’ Pizza Face growled, ‘we don’t want the freak to surrender, no way. We want to fuck her.’
‘And that’s just what I’m interested in, boys.’ I tried a seductive smile, only it felt more like a pain-filled grimace. ‘You’ve heard about us faeries and sex, haven’t you? Like how hot we are? How much we want it, like all the time?’
Fatboy was nodding, his eyes wide behind his glasses.
Pizza Face slapped the bat into his hand. ‘Keep talking, freak.’
I lowered my hand, slipped the button on my jacket and pulled it open. ‘See we can all have a good time,’ I shucked the jacket off my shoulder, quickly snatching my good arm out of it, leaving me naked from the waist up. ‘No need to beat me up first.’
Fatboy’s mouth hung open, his eyes fixed on my chest.
Pizza Face licked his lips. ‘This a trick or something?’
‘Trick?’ I dragged the jacket off my injured arm, trying not to wince. ‘Why would I trick you when we all want the same thing?’ Taking a deep breath, I expanded my chest, did a little shimmy. ‘Anyway, big boy.’ I jiggled my foot at him, showing off my heels, then stood legs further apart, bracing myself. ‘I mean, it’s not like I’m going to get very far if I run away from you, is it?’
Pizza Face nodded. ‘You ain’t wrong there, freak.’ He beckoned with his finger. ‘Come ’ere, then, if you want it so much.’
‘Nuh-uh.’ I stroked my fingers down my cleavage, let my hand fall on the ties that kept my skirt on. ‘Don’t be so impatient. ’ The blood trickling down my injured arm had reached my elbow. ‘Don’t you want to see the rest?’
‘Ye’th, more!’ Fatboy grinned, dropping his railing.
I tugged at the ties and let the wrap-around skirt drop to the floor. The blood was meandering down my forearm and I was down to black briefs and my shoes. Damn. I should’ve worn more clothes. They were running out as fast as my time was. I shook my arm, trying to get the blood to run faster.
‘Cool tattoo, freak. Got any more?’ Pizza Face took a step towards me.
The blood trailed another few of inches. C’mon, just a couple more.
‘Hang on in there, big boy.’ I forced a grin. ‘You haven’t seen the best bit yet.’
‘Looks good enough to me,’ Pizza Boy said, breathing fast.
‘Me too,’ squeaked Fatboy.
Glamour would distract them, gain me a few more seconds, even if I wasn’t going to sic them with it. I breathed in, focused, and my skin glowed, misting golden light around me.
‘Magic,’ Fatboy yelled, waving his arms, ‘the fweak’th doing magic!’
The blood snaked over my wrist.
‘No magic tricks, freak,’ Pizza Face ordered. He lifted his bat.
Honeysuckle scented the air. Blood trickled into my palm.
‘Stoppit!’ Pizza Face leapt at me.
I threw myself to the side and landed hard on my knees, frantically rubbing the blood across my hip into the spell-tattoo. An arm clamped round my waist and yanked me down onto my back. I screamed as the pain exploded in my shoulder breaking my hold on the Glamour. Why wasn’t the spell working?
Pizza Face stared down at me, his pupils tiny pinpricks in his muddy brown eyes, and desperation flooded through me as I ground my hand into the tattoo. Where was my Alter Vamp? Pizza Face grinned, flashing sharp fangs. Shock froze me. What the fuck washe? He sniggered open-mouthed, curry-breath hitting in my face. I jack-knifed my legs up—
His fist connected with my jaw, and I fell into the dark.
Chapter Thirty
I t was safe in the dark, still and quiet and calm ...curry, and the coppery taste of blood in my mouth ... no one could find me ...hands tugging at my hair ... nothing hurt in the dark, only the hunger ...pain sharp at my throat ... and I wasn’t hungry, not yet, not now ...pain pricking at my breasts ... the darkness was safe.
I sank back down, into the cold depths.
‘Hey. man,’ a voice whined, ‘I can’t do it like thi’th.’
My eyes snapped open and I froze. Fatboy was kneeling almost astride my head, gripping my scalp. I clamped my mouth shut to stop from screaming.
‘Fucking wait then, dude,’ Pizza Face snarled. ‘I told you, I’m not sticking my nose up your shitty arse.’
I couldn’t move my head, but I could just make out Pizza Face crouching between my thighs. Instinct made me clamp my legs together, but his body got in the way.
‘Hello, freakoid.’ Pizza Face leered up at me. ‘We started without you. You can start screaming now if you want.’ He grinned, showing bloodstained fangs, and swiped his tongue over his lips. ‘Think I’m gonna like this blood-suckin’ business. You taste great, y’know, sorta sweet, like honey. I told yer we was gonna have some fun, didn’t I?’
Fatboy giggled above me. ‘Ye’th, man!’
Bastards. I’d show them fun.
They’d left my arms free. My left shoulder was a mass of hurt—the numbness from the iron had worn off—but my right arm still worked okay. I punched Pizza Face in the mouth and his head jerked back, his fangs scraping my knuckles. Yanking my head from Fatboy’s grip, I reared back and jammed my skull into his groin and he squealed, short and high. Pain shot through my shoulder, but I blocked it. Pizza Face swayed unnaturally upright and I brought my knees up tight to my chest as he lunged over me, sniggering. I screamed and kicked out, stamping both metal-heeled shoes into his stomach and shoving him up and away. He was still sniggering as he thudded to the ground, one shoe still impaled in the soft flesh just under his ribs.
Rolling over, I got my legs under me, pushed up onto my feet. The gardens blurred as a moment of dizziness made me sway.
Fatboy was clutching himself, mouth gaping, tears streaming from his wide-open eyes.
I stepped towards him and kicked out, aiming at his temple. With a soft thud, he crumpled to the ground.
I turned back to Pizza Face. He was lying on his back, pink spittle foaming out of his mouth as he gasped for air. There was a dark, wet stain on his T-shirt where blood bubbled out around my shoe. It looked like I’d stomped on him– oh wait, I had!But had I hit his heart or just his lungs? As I watched him, Pizza Face frowned down at my shoe, then wrapped his fingers round it and pulled. It came out with a wet popping sound.
He gave another sniggering laugh and threw it at me.
I ducked, and it sailed over my head.
He sat up, grinning like a maniac and pulled up his T-shirt to show me his fast-healing wound.
I took half-a-dozen steps back. Another moment of vertigo made me stumble and agonising pain shot through my injured shoulder. The dizzy thing had to be blood loss, or concussion, or maybe even both. I swallowed, anxiety speeding my pulse. No way did I want to pass out, not while Pizza Face was still alive and kicking.
‘C’mon, faerie pussy pussy.’ Pizza Face staggered to his feet and grabbed his crotch. ‘It’s my turn to stick something in you.’
I kicked off my remaining shoe—it wasn’t going to help me now—and took another step back. My foot came down on something hard: Fatboy’s iron railing. I crouched and picked it up, wedging it between my waist and my good arm like a jousting lance and hoping like crazy I’d get a chance to use it before the spreading numbness from the iron made me drop the damn thing.
Pizza Face giggled as he lurched towards me.
I ran at him yelling at the top of my voice. Pizza Face lurched faster, gaining speed, and the pole dipped, starting to slip. My gut clenched with fear. Three feet, then two, then one, and I shoved the pole at him. The metal arrow-head glanced off his ribs and pierced his side, and I followed through with my good shoulder, knocking him down. The pole jammed into the dry earth, staking him to the ground.
‘Fuckin’ faerie bitch,’ he gasped, struggling to pull it out.
It wasn’t going to take him long to free himself. The garden blurred again, this time because of tears. Angry with myself, I swiped them away. Free.That’s it: I had to get free and get help. I had to crackthe spell on the railings. I started towards the gate and tripped over something. I looked down: the goblin’s bat. I shook my arm to relieve some of the numbness and snatched it up. Weapons were always handy things to have around.
A shuffling noise behind me raised the hairs on my body, and I swung round.
Ten feet away, Fatboy shambled over the grass, slack-faced, his glasses reflecting red. His mouth gaped open over his fangs. It was like a B-movie, the kind of horror flick where the monster just keeps getting right back up. Hysterical laughter threatened to choke my throat.
I tensed and, arm shaking, raised the bat.
Fatboy jerked to a stop. His head snapped to the side and a strange sucking noise, like a turkey leg being wrenched off, splintered the air. Fatboy’s body thudded to the ground.
Malik stood above him like some dark avenging angel, flames consuming his eyes. He held Fatboy’s dripping head between his hands. The round glasses dangled off one ear. The head’s eyes fluttered open, squinted at the ground.
I didn’t lower the bat.
‘Where is the other one?’ Malik’s voice sounded rusty, as though he hadn’t spoken for a long time.
I jerked my head behind me, then wished I hadn’t as the world went painfully out of focus.
‘Dead?’ he asked.
‘No.’ My own voice sounded just as rusty.
‘I will take care of it.’ He turned toward where I knew the river to be and threw Fatboy’s head up into the night sky. It flew high through the trees and over the road, disappearing into the darkness. For a second there was nothing, then, in the distance there was a faint splash as it hit the water.
I let the bat fall to the ground as exhaustion washed over me.
Malik took a step back, unsteady, and as the light caught his head, I saw why. Blood seeped down his neck in rivulets from a matted wound at the base of his scalp.
I blinked.
Something, or some one, had caved in most of his skull.
Another wave of dizziness washed over me and once again the night rolled away into darkness.
