First Drop of Crimson

not caring that he was flying for the first time.

Crispin flew faster, grabbing him from behind and wrestling him to the ground. “Don’t, mate. Let me go instead.”

Spade flung him off, his hand going to his knife when Crispin started toward him once more.

“Touch me again and I’ll kill you,” he growled, whirling and running in the direction where Giselda’s scent was the strongest—and where other harsh, vile scents intertwined with hers.

He didn’t pause to check on the footman sprawled in a heap at the edge of the woods. A scrap of material clung to the thorny bush just beyond the footman. Spade dashed into the woods, following the reeking scents, seized with terror as he saw the multiple footprints in the mud and snow. She’d run, but she’d been chased.

The torn-up spot of earth he came upon next brought him skidding to a stop. It stank of sweat, blood, terror, and lust. Rage exploded in him as he saw pieces of a woman’s pantalets strewn about, the circling imprint of boots, then a larger impression of a body pressed into the earth, blood and other stains at the center of it.

Spade swung around, following the trailing scent of blood until he came to a large splatter at the crest of a hill. Everything in him tightened as he looked down the steep incline.

A redheaded woman was crumpled at the bottom, her dress half ripped off, her bruised body twisted and motion less. For a split second Spade felt overwhelming relief. It wasn’t Giselda; her hair was blond. Perhaps this poor lass had been traveling with her—

Realization crashed through him in the next instant. He flung himself down the ravine, a cry tearing out of him when he turned the woman over. Giselda’s frozen, pain-ravaged face stared back at him, her hair red from the blood soaked into it, her throat sliced open to the bone.

“You lied to me,” Raum said, tutting with the sort of disapproval one would use on a child. “You told me Spade was human, yet that’s a vampire you were rolling around in the snow with, calling by that name.”

Denise glanced at the door, hoping that Spade would somehow magically appear. But there was only the demon in front of her, his light brown hair in a ponytail again, wearing an Ozzy Osborne T-shirt over his jeans.

“How did you find me?” Had Raum been following them the entire time? He’d obviously been spying on them in the park, at least.

Raum cocked a brow. “You didn’t think I’d let you loose without a leash, did you? These”—he grasped her arms and the brands under her gloves—“have many uses. I would have called on you before, but the vampire was always there. Glad he’s finally gone. Got a bit too excited drinking from you, hmm?”

Denise was too scared to be embarrassed over what the demon had seen. “You haven’t done anything to my family, have you?” Please, no.

“I will,” Raum said bluntly. “It’s been a week. What progress do you have to report?”

“It’s not as easy as I thought it would be,” Denise began.

Raum released her. “Off to kill your father,” he said in a cheery tone, reaching for the door handle.

“Wait!” Denise grabbed him, panic welling in her. “I’ll find Nathanial soon, I promise! Please don’t do that.”

The demon considered her, a little smile still hovering over his lips. “I do so enjoy begging. It would be even more fun if you were covered in blood when you were doing it—but there’s some here, isn’t there?”

Raum yanked her head to the side with a fistful of hair, sniffing deeply near her neck.

“You stink like vampire. Is this how you repay my generosity? I offer you and your family a reprieve, but you squander your time feeding vampires instead of finding Nathanial. I’m beginning to question your usefulness.”

Denise blinked back tears from the twisting grip Raum had on her. She’d probably be missing a hunk of her hair when he let go.

“What do you think the vampire wanted in exchange for his help?” she lied, thinking fast. “We’re close. We have a good lead and we’re closing in on Nathanial. I just need a little more time.”

Raum let go of her. As she’d anticipated, he had several strands of her hair still wound around his fingers.

“An extension,” he mused. “And you want me not to kill any of your family during this extension, I suppose?”

“That’s right. Please,” she added, hatred burning inside her at his delight over her anguish.

“But I have to punish you for your slowness,” Raum said, as though that were the only logical con clusion. “Still, I’m in a good mood, so I’ll give you a choice. Pick which family member you want to die. It can be anyone, even a second or third cousin. Or I’ll increase the effect in those brands.”

Denise glanced down at her wrists. She couldn’t see the marks, but they seemed to throb in Raum’s presence. She wanted nothing more than to get his foul stamp off her, not amplify it, but what he’d offered her was no choice at all.

Denise took her gloves off and then slid her hands into Raum’s grip. “Go ahead.”

He grinned. “Are you certain? This will hurt.”

She braced herself even as she met his gaze. “I wouldn’t expect anything less.”

Raum’s hands closed over her wrists. Denise promised herself she wouldn’t scream, but once he started, it was impossible not to.

Spade heard the voices as if from a long way off.

“…body of a white male, late twenties to early thirties, no identification,” a female intoned. “Preliminary cause of death appears to be a stab wound. The knife is still embedded in the victim’s throat…”

Bollocks, Spade thought, listening to the multiple heartbeats and the shambling of feet around him. He must have passed out and been taken for a corpse. From the sounds of it, there were too many witnesses for him to get up, thank them for their time, and get the hell away, either.

Now that he was conscious, the silver burned in his neck and his head banged with a truly awful clamoring. The pain from the silver he expected; the headache was a mystery. It’s a hangover, he realized in amazement, noting how sluggish and ill the rest of him felt as well. Thought I’d experienced the last of those when I was human.

But at least his mind was clear, painful as the banging in his head might be. Denise’s blood had caused him to hallucinate for who knew how long, until it occurred to him that he had to purge himself of the poison in him. That’s when he’d taken a knife to his throat, wedging the blade in and willing his blood to flow out of the wound. Only when he’d drained himself to a trickle had he felt the worst of the hallucinations leave him, but apparently that was also when he passed out.

And now he was being photographed, printed, and processed as a murder victim. Why couldn’t the citizens of New York go back to not caring when they stumbled across a body? Everyone had to be such a Good Samaritan nowadays.

It took another hour of him lying there, waiting for the coppers to finish with him, until Spade was zipped inside a body bag and wheeled into an ambulance. He waited until the ambulance was well away from the park before ripping the heavy plastic with a fang and pulling it open.

“Jesus!”

A white-faced paramedic stared at him, shock and horror competing on his face. Spade yanked the knife out of his throat, tucked it into his trousers, and gave the lad a cool smile.

“Not nearly, mate.”

The ambulance swerved as the driver stared back at him with equal shock. Spade rolled his eyes. Poor bloke would wreck if he wasn’t careful.

“Watch the road,” he said, letting power leak out of his gaze. “You didn’t see me get up. You don’t know what happened to me.”

“Don’t know,” the paramedics mumbled in unison.

Spade climbed into the front and then went out of the side door, not bothering to tell them to stop first. A quick leap into traffic and then he was back on the sidewalk, heading for the Plaza. He was anxious to return to