The Sweet Scent of Blood

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 someone, had caved in most of his skull.

Another wave of dizziness washed over me and once again the night rolled away into darkness.

Chapter Thirty-One

Somewhere it was raining. The drumming noise intruded on my sleep. I snuggled my cheek into the soft throw, the comforting scent of honeysuckle telling me I was home, and safe. Jabbing pain shot through my shoulder as I lifted my arm to pull the cover over my head, and I stifled a scream as the memories rushed back. I squinted through my lashes past the bronze and gold of my rug, searching for signs of Malik, but the room was empty. Slowly I moved, wincing as my shoulder complained again, and stared up at the vaulted ceiling lit by its waterfall pendant of amber and copper glass beads.

The rain cut out.

Carefully I sat up. Nausea roiled in my stomach and I rolled onto my knees, retching. Cool hands held my head and stroked the back of my neck and the pain dulled. I heaved again and tasted the sourness of bile as I took shallow breaths and willed myself not to add to the mess I’d made on my varnished floorboards. Shit. At least I’d managed to miss the rug—and Malik’s bare knees. The palm of his hand was like ice against my forehead. It reminded me of when he had held me frozen. My heart thudded faster and I shoved him away, ignoring the sharp agony in my shoulder at the movement.

‘Get the fuck off me,’ I croaked.

‘You are hurt, Genevieve.’ He bent over me, a coaxing tone in his voice. ‘I can help.’

‘No way. Keep your hands to yourself.’ I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand, grabbed the throw and scooted backwards until I was sitting with my back to the wall. Damn, why had he brought me home?

‘As you wish.’ Malik sat back on his heels, neatly adjusted the towel that wrapped around his narrow hips. He studied me with a calm look on his face, as if it was nothing out of the ordinary for someone to vomit at his knees. Maybe it wasn’t. His black hair was wet, and I could smell the faint honeyed fragrance of my soap—he’d obviously used my shower—and his pale skin gleamed, his muscles lean and defined, his body even better than my errant mind had imagined. The silken triangle of dark hair on his chest narrowed down—

Annoyed at myself, I dragged my eyes up and glared at him. ‘How did you get in?’

‘Through the window in your bedroom.’ He shrugged, and a droplet of water rolled down over his collar-bone. ‘It was unlocked.’

‘I meant,’ I huffed, ‘how did you get in: I didn’t invite you over my threshold.’

‘Last night, outside Old Scotland Yard, you freely offered your blood to me.’ An odd sadness filled his black eyes. ‘I no longer need an invitation.’

Of course! I dropped my forehead to my knees, wondering how much more stupid I could get. Still, one bright point, if whoever wanted me dead did manage to succeed, offering open house to a vampire wasn’t going to matter much in the great scheme of things. And that brought the next question to mind. They’d had their teeth in me. 3V might be the ultimate zapper for any human infection, but they hadn’t been human, had they?

I lifted my head. ‘What were those things?’

‘Revenants.’

‘Explain revenants,’ I demanded.

He rose in one easy motion, his bare feet silent on the wooden floor as he walked the few steps towards the kitchen counter. ‘It is an ancient ritual, forbidden now.’ He stood at the sink, his back to me. ‘A human can be Gifted in a matter of minutes, without need of the cautious nurturing that we are used to indulging in.’

They’d been a type of vampire. I tipped my head back against the wall, relieved. Vampire bites couldn’t hurt me any more than they had already.

‘Their prime function was for defence, to delay or divert the hunter.’ Water splashed. ‘In current terminology, they would be called cannon fodder, although there were no cannons in the beginning. Through the ritual humans gain the strength, the abilities, the features of the vampire.’ Glass chinked. ‘They have no care for themselves. They will fight until their bodies are no longer able. When they fall, they do not die. Their bodies remake themselves after every injury.’ The water cut off. ‘The revenant will follow the instructions given by their Maker until they taste their first blood.’

I stared at his back, or rather, at the back of his head. His mention of injuries brought back the memory of his caved-in skull. I frowned. It was completely healed now.

‘They will rise night after night, with no other need than to quench the Bloodthirst.’ His voice was expressionless. ‘Man, woman or child, even beasts: it matters not to a revenant.’

‘Just like your average sucker,’ I muttered, pulling at the fringe on the throw. ‘So far I’m not seeing the difference.’

The towel shifted against his legs as he walked back to me, brushing the fine dark hairs on his calves. Irritated that I’d noticed, I made myself look at the floor instead. ‘Even lost in the Bloodthirst,’ he continued, ‘it is rare for a vampire to actually kill. Once the initial need is satisfied—’ He paused, then continued, ‘Well, you do not kill the chicken that lays the eggs.’ His tone was slightly mocking. ‘It is much more effective to practice good husbandry.’

‘Oh yeah,’ I sighed as his feet came into view. They were as elegant as I remembered. Mentally I gave in. He was eye-candy, no point in denying it, or trying to stop looking, so long as that was all I did—and that I didn’t forget what he truly was. I looked up at him, and said, ‘A blood-slave is so much better than a dead chicken.’

‘You are correct.’ He held the glass out to me.

I wrinkled my nose, thought about asking for some vodka, then decided I didn’t want him rooting in my fridge. I took a gulp, swilled the water around my mouth and swallowed.

‘Revenants are where the legends were forged,’ Malik carried on, ‘shambling corpses crawling from their graves, knowing nothing, caring for nothing, consumed only by their need for blood, until they die again with the sun. They are the true undead.’

I took another sip, and peered at him from under my lashes. More dark hair arrowed up his flat stomach to where a pink starburst of a scar nestled under his left rib. My lips parted in surprise: that was where I’d stabbed him the night before, when he’d mistaken my Alter Vamp for his Rosa. If his head had healed completely, why hadn’t that wound?

‘Revenants will kill every time they feed.’ He met my eyes, and something dark and bleak swam in the black depths of his, then he looked away and stared out of the window. ‘They will take three, four, sometimes as many as six or seven humans a night, every night, for as long as the blood-lust grips them.’ He headed back into the kitchen. ‘It can take months before the lust is fully sated, if ever.’

As what he’d said sank in, I shivered. ‘Shit—so those two goons would’ve gone on a killing spree every time the sun went down?’

‘That is why the ritual is forbidden.’ He looked back at me, his black eyes now flat and hard. ‘Even the most reactionary vampire does not wish to encourage humans to become vigilantes. ’