The Sweet Scent of Blood

‘Hello, Gen.’ He swivelled his chair round to face me.

‘It’s to do with the vampires, lets them steal power from us—’ I could hardly get the words out fast enough.

He ran a hand through his hair and scratched behind his left horn. ‘Why are you here, Gen? I left a message on your phone to stay away.’

‘Dammit, Finn, didn’t you hear what I just said?’

‘Yes, I heard.’ Sweat beaded on his forehead.

Fuck. He so didn’t look so good. I looked. The mist clung to him like a thick second skin. ‘Shit, it’s all over you!’

He pushed himself out of his chair and stood up. ‘I know all about the spell, Gen,’ he said, sounding tired.

I blinked. ‘You do?’

He came up to me and tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. ‘I felt it earlier, when I tried to pull that stunt on Helen: something draining at me, sucking me dry. I didn’t realise what it was then.’

My heart thudded against my ribs. Mick said the spell only killed faelings. Finn was fae. What if Mick was wrong? Swallowing back my fear, I wrapped my hand round Finn’s wrist. His skin was hot and clammy. I slid gold tendrils of magic into him, searching.

‘Finn, I think I can call the spell, take it from—’

He gave me a sad smile. ‘It’s too late Gen.’ He lifted my chin with his forefinger and touched his mouth gently to mine. ‘Way too late.’

Jagged thorns ripped through my heart, bled grief like acid juice. In the far reaches of his mind, a desolate wind scoured all before it.

Damn. What was he doing—why was he fighting me? Didn’t he know I was trying to help?

I built a hedge of golden hope to keep the wind out.

Sliding my hand round Finn’s neck, I pulled him down. ‘Don’t fight me, Finn.’ I pressed my lips to his, spilling my Glamour into his mouth. ‘I know how to—’

Something stung my upper arm.

Yelping, I jerked away. A pinprick of blood spotted my skin. Eyes wide, I looked at him.

‘What the—?’

‘I’m sorry, Gen.’

‘Sorry?’ I frowned, bemused, glanced at the blood again. Then back at him.

He held up something that looked like a short pen. ‘I wasn’t fighting you.’ His voice was dull.

I couldn’t feel my arm, couldn’t move it. There was no pain, just spreading numbness. And then I knew what it was. He’d injected me with iron filings. They’d slip through my body, numbing me as they went, until they reached my brain ... and I’d be unconscious—or maybe worse ...

I stared at him, speechless, and lost my hold on the magic.

The wind screamed against the golden hedge, turned it brittle with despair. The mist escaped like grey smoke swirling into the sky.

Horror sliced through me. He’d been containing the spell, and now he’d let it go. Finn’s face wavered, then doubled. I gazed at the two of him disappearing into the mist as the greyness filled the room.

He touched my cheek. ‘You really shouldn’t have come looking for me. You should’ve gone to Hugh. You’d have been safe there.’

Safe? My lips tried to form the question. The room tilted as I felt his arms wrap around me, then he lowered me to the floor.

‘I didn’t want to hurt you, my Lady.’ His eyes swam through the grey. Only they weren’t the moss-green I knew; there was something wrong with them. They were like algae-covered pools, waiting to suck me down. Then his tears splashed emerald chips into the greyness.

I tried to catch them with my fingers.

Green stems pushed their way into the fog, seeking for something to hold onto.

‘Oh good, hon, you’ve done it.’ The voice was female, brisk.

The fog closed over the stems, hid them from my Sight.

‘Did you inject her over the heart?’ the voice said.

‘You should’ve let me stun her.’ Finn’s voice was harsh. ‘This is too dangerous.’

‘No. This way is better. If you’d stunned her, she might have cracked it before you’d hit her—much too risky. She’s been iffy with magic lately. Too much salt in her diet.’

I had to banish the fog. I had to find the stems.

Gold light flared, formed trembling tendrils that curled into the greyness. One green shoot crept its way up through the fog.

‘I told you, she’s too strong. Even half out of it, she’s trying to use her Glamour. It has to be the heart. Lift up her top.’

‘No, I won’t.’ But it was more a plea than a determined denial.

‘Finn, there’s no way you can gainsay me, not with the spells I’ve tagged you with, so stop fighting and just get on with it.’

Pink and purple streamers slithered through the grey, twisting over and along the fragile green stem. The stem shivered and struggled and writhed in pain, trying to be free. But the streamers wrapped around and around, until there was nothing but a thrashing nest of brightly coloured snakes.

Feverish fingers traced over my skin.

‘That’s it, do it there. I’ll hold her down.’ Weight pressed against my ribs. ‘Sorry, Honeybee, but this is going to hurt like the Nine Circles of Hell.’

The sting was a tiny, distant pain. She’d been wrong. Somewhere I laughed.

The fog bloomed with golden flowers.

Then cold iron filled my chest.

And the flowers withered.

Chapter Forty

My inner vamp sense told me sunset had long gone and night was here. My eyeballs felt like they’d been rubbed with sandpaper and my lids stuck together with Super Glue. Fear made my pulse jump in my throat. It jagged with pain. I lay frozen and listened.

I could hear a faint noise: shallow, fast breaths.

My heart pounded as my eyes snapped open. I stared, fearful, at the fuzzy greyness. Mouth dry, I blinked and the greyness resolved itself into a carved rock ceiling. Wincing, I slowly turned my head towards the light. There was a door about five feet away, steel, like the ones at the Bloody Shamrock. I sniffed, and caught a whiff of earthy dampness. I was in a cave, somewhere underground.

Why couldn’t I remember what had happened?

I tried to sieve the confusion from my mind.

Venom fizzed through my veins, but its usual lust-hyped high was muted; my body felt like one big bruise. And I could smell blood. Had I been caught feeding? Was that why I felt like I’d been in a slugfest with a horde of Beater goblins? My stomach clenched in hunger and I ran my tongue over my fangs in anticipation—only I didn’t have fangs, just teeth. Confusion slipped back into fear. Had I become so melded with the Alter Vamp spell that I no longer knew which body I wore? The blood snagged at my senses again. It smelled of sour blackberries.

And memory rushed back like a charging troll, smashing my fears into insignificant pieces.

Finn was somewhere nearby.

Toni the bitch witch had tagged Finn with the spell, and tied it with some sort of compulsion magic—no way would he poison me with cold iron. I visualised Toni’s face, compared it with the photo Psycho Louis had shown me.