The Shifting Price of Prey [4]

by Suzanne McLeod

  ‘Stops you wanting to polish the peanut, Cousin. What else?’

  Ah. ‘Okay,’ I said slowly, ‘it’s worked. So you can untie me.’

  His smile widened, blue eyes lighting with unholy delight. ‘Oh, I don’t think so, love. No gain without pain, isn’t that what they say?’

  He whipped the wet towel away. A cloud of dust motes floated up, the calm feeling vanished, and the painful arousal throbbed back to even more agonising life than before. The shock pulled a scream from deep inside me; but before it could escape, he stuffed the wad of sheet back in my mouth. I bucked and writhed, desperate to get free, to kill him, or myself, whatever would bring me release—

  His fist slammed into my jaw.

  ‘Oh, and next time, Cousin,’ I heard him say as I slid into unconsciousness, ‘just fuck the Turk. It’ll sort you out, put the great Malik al-Khan out of his misery, and save the rest of us the hassle of his bleeding melodramas.’

  I woke to the sun streaming round the curtain edges. The clock told me it was not long past dawn. The crazy sonofabitch was gone. No way would he stick around after the sun had risen, not when he’d have dropped into a vamp’s daytime sleep – a sort of hibernation mode that looked very much like being dead. And if I had my way, next time we met the vicious sonofabitch wouldn’t just look dead he’d be dead. I was going to make sure of it; the mad vamp had left me still tied to the damn bed.

  He’d also left me draped with the towel, which was now a sludgy mess dripping cold water adding to the existing wet spot beneath me. Ugh. On the positive front, that part of me felt fine. And I was no longer gagged, verbally or magically; the silver headband was gone. The rest of me felt fragile, in a beaten-unconscious sort of way. Unsurprisingly, since Mad Max had roused me a couple more times, whipped off the towel, cheerfully watched as my frantic struggles demonstrated that the spell hadn’t done whatever it was supposed to yet, and enthusiastically knocked my lights out again.

  I was going to enjoy killing him. Slowly.

  Once I got free.

  I debated shouting for help. Unfortunately any ‘rescue’ would come with embarrassment. There was no way this wouldn’t end up in the scandal rags. I’d have to live with headlines like SIDHE IN KINKY SEX ROMP until something more salacious came along. Not to mention the risk of YouTube.

  I shuddered. Maybe I should just wait. After all, Mad Max couldn’t leave me here like this . . .

  Just as I was thinking the sonofabitch might be crazy enough to do exactly that, a tentative knock sounded on the door.

  I froze.

  My phone rang, the ringtone coming from the short corridor outside the bathroom. As it went to voicemail the door clicked open. I braced myself, pulse racing, wondering if they were friend or foe.

  The door clicked shut.

  A figure moved slowly into the room, tall, dressed in black leathers, hair pulled back in a sleek blonde ponytail, phone in one hand, half-a-dozen bags in the other.

  Katie. I almost cried with thankfulness.

  ‘Genny?’ She stopped, shock rounding her eyes.

  ‘I’m fine,’ I said, forcing a rueful tone into my voice. ‘Practical joke that went a bit far.’

  ‘Your face is all beat up,’ she whispered, horrified. ‘Shall I phone for an ambulance?’

  ‘No.’ I sighed. ‘I doubt it’s as bad as it looks.’ Not that I knew how I looked, but— ‘Don’t suppose you could untie me, hon?’

  ‘Oh my gosh, of course.’ She dropped the bags, and rushed to me, tugged at the knots, then resorted to nail scissors to cut me free. Never had I been so grateful for the girlie contents of Katie’s huge designer handbag.

  As she snipped away freeing my wrists, I gave her a short, highly edited version of the night’s events. I’d had a problem with my magic, a ‘friend’ had helped me, and to stop me hurting myself or anyone else they’d had to tie me up. I hadn’t been too happy about it, which was where my injuries had come from. Only the ‘friend’ had a crazy sense of humour, and hadn’t untied me when they’d left. None of which was a lie; something I physically can’t do.

  ‘Frigging frenemy, you mean, leaving you like this,’ she growled when I’d finished. ‘They need a taste of their own medicine.’

  ‘Already with you,’ I muttered, as she started work on my ankles. I sat up carefully, mindful of the cracked ribs and the aching stiffness in my shoulders. Not to mention my head and face which felt tight and swollen, like my skin was about to burst like a rotten plum. Crap, the mad sucker had really done a number on me. I’d heal, and way quicker than a human, but quicker wasn’t instant. How the hell was I supposed to work like this?

  My gaze fell on a glass on the desk. It was full of dark red-brownish liquid.

  Suddenly hopeful, I asked Katie to get it for me.

  The glass had one of the hotel’s cardboard hygiene-covers on it. Scrawled across it, in what looked like blood, was: ‘Drink Me! ’

  ‘Is it another joke?’ she asked.

  ‘Better not be.’ I took the cover off and sniffed. Sour apples tinged with copper. Definitely Mad Max’s blood. I knew it had healing properties, almost on a par with Malik’s blood, having been injured once before (also Mad Max’s fault, albeit indirectly) and healed by his blood. I looked for a catch but couldn’t think of one, mainly because I regularly gave my donated blood to Mad Max’s faeling grandkid, Freya, my whatever-number-removed cousin (since she’s only eight, it’s easier to call her my ‘niece’).

  Thanks to Freya’s mixed-up genetics (vamp/sidhe/fae/human), she’s ended up with a vamp’s need for blood along with the more usual need for solid food in order to survive. With Ana (Freya’s mum and Mad Max’s daughter) pregnant, I’d stepped in as Freya’s blood donor instead. Mad Max knew that and, despite his seeming lack of family values, I could probably stake my life on his never doing anything to harm Freya.

  Plus it was like the crazy sonofabitch to leave me a way to heal the damage. After all, he’d enjoyed watching me suffer through bouts of painful arousal, while at the same time making a spell to rid me of it . . . or so he’d said.

  I put the blood down. No way was I drinking it unless the spell had worked. I explained briefly to Katie, then before her worried eyes, slowly peeled the sludgy towel away.

  Once it was gone I waited for the agonising throb to start up. It didn’t. Relieved, I let out the breath I’d been holding. I was okay. Mad Max had been telling me the truth about the spell. Another thought struck me.

  I looked up at Katie. ‘How did you know I was here?’

  ‘I got a text from you. The keycard was left in an envelope at reception.’

  Mad Max was evidently Mr Organised.

  I sighed. It was either drink his blood or send Katie out for an expensive, and not so quick, healing spell from the Witches’ Market.

  I couldn’t afford to show up anywhere looking like a victim of domestic abuse. Even without the embarrassment it would cause my clients, all it would take was one paparazzo and my battered face would be splashed across the front pages.

  Decision made I picked up the glass and slugged the sour-tasting blood down. My stomach clenched as it hit, then I grunted as it spread through my body like battery acid, burning me from the inside out.

  ‘Okay, that’s just . . . gross.’ Katie’s quiet mutter made me look at her.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Your face,’ she said, quickly dropping her gaze back to the sheet she was cutting. ‘It’s moving like there’s something running around under your skin.’

  Nice! ‘It doesn’t feel too good either,’ I mumbled around what felt like a mouthful of tiny crab apples. Not to mention my rippling skin was making me nauseous, or maybe that was Mad Max’s blood. I started picking at the sheet round my right ankle, hoping I wasn’t going to puke.

  Katie cleared her throat, the sound nervous, then keeping her gaze fixed on her scissors, said, ‘Did anyone get back to you about last night? The Carnival or the police?’

  Inwardly
I cursed myself. Of course she’d be worried about the flasher, whereas I’d totally forgotten about it. Some friend I was. ‘I don’t know,’ I said. ‘I haven’t had chance to check my messages.’

  Katie jumped up and retrieved my backpack. Fishing out my phone she checked, then looked up disappointed. ‘Nothing.’

  ‘I’ll call a bit later and ask,’ I said, hoping I’d get some sort of answer that would reassure her.

  She gave a small nod. ‘Thanks.’

  ‘I’m pretty sure it’s nothing to worry about. The police said they’d had reports of flashers in the park before, so it was just really bad luck we were there. It’s horrible, but there’s nothing personal in it.’

  ‘Yeah, I know. I talked to Mum about it last night. But then when I went over it in my head I realised I’d seen something else.’

  Had she seen a vamp? Worry pricked goosebumps on my arms. ‘Something else?’

  ‘Yeah.’ She stopped snipping and fixed me with an odd expression, half excited, half anxious. ‘Remember I said the man sort of collapsed, and then I saw that weird animal? Well, I think, instead of the man looking for the animal, I think they’re the same. I think the man turned into the animal.’

  I stared at her. ‘You think he was a shapeshifter?’

  ‘Yes!’ She leaned forward. ‘Is it possible?’

  Hmm. I hadn’t seen the naked man, or vamp as I’d thought he was. I hadn’t seen any weird animal. All I’d seen was an odd shadow of movement, and even that might have been my imagination. And the only pings I’d got on my inner radar had been the old man and his dog, who, when I mentioned them to the police, had confirmed the man was a local, and kosher . . .

  Except, what if the male had been a vamp, and had turned into an animal. It was possible and it would explain how he had vanished so fast, and why my Spidey senses hadn’t pinged him. After all, Mad Max turned into an Irish wolfhound, and when he did I couldn’t tell he wasn’t anything other than the dog he seemed. Not to mention if someone was spying on me, Mad Max was the obvious candidate.

  Only Katie had said the man in the park was dark-haired. Mad Max was blond. But the Autarch was dark-haired, and he’d given Mad Max the gift. Vamp powers ran through the bloodlines, so it was possible that the Autarch could turn into some sort of animal. Plus, I’d asked Malik if the Autarch could go out in daylight if he stayed in the shade and he’d never answered my question. Just told me the Autarch wasn’t the Emperor. Crap. Maybe my paranoia was spot on and the Autarch had been spying on me last night.

  ‘I looked up shapeshifters,’ Katie said, interrupting my worrying thoughts. ‘Did you know the only non-fae shapeshifters are werewolves? There used to be other animal/human-shifters but they were all hunted to extinction.’

  I blinked at her, surprised. ‘You think it was a werewolf last night?’

  ‘Well, they exist, so it’s possible, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yeah,’ I said slowly. Possible didn’t mean probable. ‘I suppose so. There aren’t any werewolves in Britain, though.’

  ‘Not living here, no,’ Katie agreed, dipping her head so her ponytail fell to hide her face, then went on to tell me werewolves had been hunted to extinction in Britain sometime in the 1700s, as had real wolves which was around the same time the rest of the world’s therianthropes or wereshifters had been killed off. However, werewolves – lycanthropes – had managed to escape total extinction when they were given ‘full human rights’ status in Russia by Empress Anna Ivanovna, who used them as part of her security police force. Apparently, there were only about hundred packs left worldwide, which amounted to just under a thousand lycans in total, the majority of those were in Russia. As usual, Katie’s research was thorough and gave more detail than I wanted or probably needed to know.

  ‘It also said that once they get the scent of a virgin,’ Katie finished, ‘they hunt them down so they can Change them.’ She stopped cutting, scissors poised above my foot. ‘I’m still a virgin, Genny.’

  Well, your mother will be pleased to hear that! Not that I’d thought any different. But I’d heard the hitch in Katie’s voice. She was worried some imaginary werewolf was going to come looking for her. I knew it wouldn’t happen.

  ‘That’s just an old wives’ tale,’ I said, trying to reassure her. ‘Far as I remember, new werewolves get recruited from long-serving members of the military or police. I’m pretty sure they’re all volunteers, and I doubt any of them are virgins. You know Wikipedia isn’t always right, don’t you, Katie?’

  She snorted and jabbed the tiny scissors back into the knotted sheet hard enough to make me flinch. ‘I didn’t get this from Wikipedia, but from the witch archives in the British Library.’

  ‘They’re password protected,’ I said, wondering how the hell she’d got access.

  ‘Tavish gave me one.’

  Crap. ‘Tavish has a lot to answer for,’ I muttered. I wasn’t surprised he’d hacked the archives, just that he’d given Katie the password.

  ‘So do werewolves hunt virgins?’

  I sighed. ‘Told you, it’s an old myth, and even if it were true, I doubt the male was close enough to you for it to be a problem.’

  ‘Genny! I know you told that policeman something last night, that you didn’t tell me.’

  Damn. Sometimes Katie was too observant for her own good. I picked at the knot I was working on for a moment, then sighed; if she was going to worry about something, it might as well be the truth. ‘I think the male you saw was a vamp who was following me. One that can shapechange. Only I won’t know for sure until I get some answers. When I do, I’ll let you know. And I’ll make sure that you’re not in any danger this time.’ Whatever I have to do. ‘Okay?’

  She stayed quiet for a long moment, head down, blonde hair covering her face. ‘A vampire?’ She glanced up, a mix of anger and fear flashing in her grey eyes, just as I felt the skin of my face twitching like it had popcorn jumping beneath it. She grimaced and looked down again. ‘Okay. Actually that’s less worrying than thinking he was a werewolf.’

  I blinked. ‘Really?’

  ‘Yeah. I know you’re sort of half vamp, and I know they’re not all bad. And I know you can deal with the bad ones anyway.’

  What was I supposed to say to that? It was good she had confidence in me, but I wasn’t sure I could live up to it. Only if I said that, it might only make her anxious again.

  ‘And I’ve got these.’ She grabbed her huge designer bag and upended it on the bed between us. In amongst the make-up, hair products, glossy mag and other girlie stuff were half-a-dozen bulbs of garlic, three tubes of minced garlic paste, one of chilli paste and a bag of red chillies, the tiny super-hot ones, and a thin bundle of what looked like brass chopsticks.

  She’d got her very own vamp-repelling kit. Eating the garlic and chilli wouldn’t put them off, but the paste smeared on skin would stop them biting; charred lips are a quick, easy way to kill a vamp’s appetite.

  She waved the chopsticks. ‘Tavish says one of these in the heart will paralyse a vamp. He said I’d probably never need to use it, just wave it around to get their attention and remind them to behave.’ She leaned forwards and hooked her heart-shaped pendant from inside her top. ‘He also added some spells to this; one that stops the vamps using their mind-lock on me, and another that makes me smell like a faeling. He said all the fae and faelings in London are under the Oligarch’s protection, thanks to you, so none of them will even come near me so long as I wear this.’

  Wow. Tavish had been busy, but in a good way.

  Katie gave me a lopsided smile. ‘So, thanks for telling me, Genny. I know you didn’t ’cause you didn’t want to worry me, but I’d rather know. And I know vamps can’t get me if I stay safe behind a threshold and don’t invite them in. That doesn’t apply to werewolves.’

  She had a point. The counselling must’ve done more good than I thought, making her look at things in a practical, proactive way and not just panicking. A lesson I could do with, particularl
y when it came to dealing with the Autarch.

  ‘You’re right,’ I agreed. ‘I didn’t want to worry you. Sorry. I’ll tell it like it is next time.’

  ‘Good.’ She nodded, packed her stuff away and worked on in silence for a few minutes, then gave a final flourish with her scissors to set me free.

  I waggled my foot in relief and she peered at me, grey eyes glinting with mischief. ‘Your face looks better now. Less like you’ve got beetles tunnelling under your skin and more like you’re hungover.’

  ‘Nice image.’ I snorted, jumping up to peer in the overdesk mirror. Hungover was about right, but even as I looked, the dark circles were fading. I prodded my ribs, no pain. Mad Max’s blood had done the business. In fact, I was pretty sure another ten minutes would see me healed of everything other than Malik’s rose-coloured bruises. What I needed now was something to eat and a shower. Not necessarily in that order. Spying the room service menu, I asked Katie to order us some breakfast, then headed for the bathroom.

  I stood under the hot shower, easing the kinks in my muscles and mulling over Mad Max.

  Never mind the mystery of why he’d helped me, the real question was: what was he doing sniffing round me like a hound following a scent? Either he was spying on me, or Malik . . . or hell, maybe Malik had asked him to watch out for me? He’d obviously asked someone to buy me new clothes. And that someone might have been Mad Max.

  So, if Malik had asked Mad Max to keep an eye on me, that would explain why he’d helped me. Even if his help was the really tough-love type. But really, why would Malik trust Mad Max? He knew I didn’t. And aside from the fact he was a crazy sonofabitch, Mad Max owed his Oath to the Autarch.

  Then again, the Autarch might be Mad Max’s liege and master, but maybe crazy Max wasn’t so insane after all, since he appeared to hate and fear the psychotic sadist as much as I did.

  Of course, there was a third option. Mad Max was keeping an eye on me for the sidhe side of the family. Which was almost as worrying an idea as him spying on me for the Autarch.