The Sweet Scent of Blood s-1

by Suzanne McLeod

Rising onto my hands and knees above him, I spat, trying again to get rid of the taste of his blood. His heart beat fast and shallow under his thin ribs, but it no longer pounded at the same dangerous rate as before. I closed my eyes briefly. My own heartbeat had restarted, a slow strong thud in my chest, but frustration and need still clawed inside me. Even now, sated with venom, I wanted more. A voice in my mind screamed at me to take what I wanted—what I needed.

  Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!

  I had virtually raped him, a kid—never mind I’d probably saved his life, never mind that he’d probably enjoyed it. He hadn’t been in a position to choose. A buzzing started in my ears, my stomach heaved...

  A hand grabbed my hair, nearly ripping it from my scalp, and I crashed into the wall of the alley. My skull cracked against the brick and stars exploded in my head.

  Chapter Seventeen

  There was a naked foot inches from my face. It seemed to have more than the requisite number of toes. I blinked and the toes resolved themselves into the standard five. I moved my head, then stopped as pain jabbed into my skull. Ignoring the foot, I cautiously touched the back of my scalp, and bringing my hand back in front of me, I stared at my fingers—it looked like I’d dipped them in red paint.

  Shit. So not good.

  I tried to get up and more pain jabbed along my side, making me gasp. I slumped back, wishing the spell would hurry up and heal my injuries.

  ‘How disappointing.’ Hot thumb-tacks marched over my skin. ‘That I should find you like this.’

  I recognised the voice, recognised the not-quite-English accent. Malik al-Khan.

  Why wasn’t he wearing any shoes?

  His feet were narrow, elegant. A thin band of jet ringed one of his toes. I stifled an almost overwhelming urge to reach out and touch and instead looked up. Black trousers, loose black silk shirt, I hesitated at the tantalising glimpse of pale skin at his throat and lifted my gaze further, straight into a pair of shadowed black eyes, punctuated by glowing red pupils.

  My heart lurched with terror, and something else. ‘What the fuck did you do that for?’

  Malik dropped into a crouch. The movement was as elegant as his feet. It brought his eyes closer. I pressed against the brick wall, not sure it had improved matters.

  ‘The human was near death.’ His voice was a soft threat.

  My gaze flicked to where Gazza was lying, still unconscious. I concentrated, listened to his pulse. It had slowed and now his heart was beating steadily; he obviously had the stamina of a cart horse. Relief eased the snarl in my gut. ‘Not any more.’

  Malik shook his head, the movement abrupt. ‘Feeding in such a way is dangerous. It is this’—his hand sliced towards Gazza—‘that escalates their fears, turning them into maddened vigilantes. That is why it is forbidden.’

  An irritated part of me wanted to say, I didn’t start it, I was just trying to help, but then if I’d been the one I’d discovered sucking on the damned evidence, I probably would’ve found me guilty too.

  ‘Thanks for the lecture.’ I started to edge to one side. ‘But really, it’s not needed. Believe me, I get all that PC stuff.’ The movement jarred my skull. I blinked away the pain, it wasn’t as bad now, so at least the spell was doing its thing. ‘Now, I’m just going to clear up my little mess and we can forget all about it.’

  He sighed, the sound sliding wearily round me. ‘You are mine, Rosa. I cannot forget. Nor can I allow you to continue like this.’

  Confused, I frowned. ‘What did you say?’

  ‘I have been informed you had become feral, Rosa.’ He ran fingers through his dark hair, pushing it from his pale, pretty face. ‘I did not believe it so.’ The black gem still pierced his lobe. ‘Until now.’

  Shock raced through me, the hairs at the back of my nape standing to attention. Why was he calling me Rosa? Was it some sort of game? ‘My name isn’t Rosa,’ I said, grateful the words came out calm. ‘You’re mistaken.’

  ‘No mistake, Rosa. You are blood of my blood.’ The glow in his eyes flared, then snuffed out, leaving them empty obsidian pools. ‘I gave you the Gift of this life.’

  I stared at him in horror. He thought he’d Gifted me? Why? This was just a spelled disguise ...

  Wasn’t it?

  Damn. Exactly what sort of black-market magic had I bought?

  I shook my head, the pain almost gone. Stupid question. It didn’t matter, not right now. Digging my nails into the gravel, I swallowed back my doubts. ‘No, you’re wrong.’

  ‘Do not think to deny me,’ he said. ‘You may have gained your autonomy, but it is still within my right to destroy my own creation,’ his beautiful lips thinned, ‘should I feel it necessary. ’

  So not what I wanted to hear.

  He carried on, ‘Why did you leave your home, Rosa?’ He reached out, sorrow in his eyes, and brushed his thumb across my mouth. ‘Why did you leave your companions?’

  My lips tingled, swelled. A shiver rippled through me, flooding me with need. Remnants of venom-infused lust swirled through my body, muting my pain with the anticipation of pleasure. I parted my mouth, touched my tongue to my lips and tasted rich spice.

  ‘I told you, you’ve made a mistake, I’m not your Rosa.’ But my voice sounded thin, uncertain, even to me.

  He gave me a sleepy smile, leant in until he was just a breath away from me. ‘I know this body, how to raise it to ecstasy.’ Gentle hands clasped my face. ‘I know how to drown it in power.’ Heat pooled in my belly. ‘I know how to promise it pain.’

  My lips trembled against his. My body knew what he meant, and it wanted that pain, would claw through hell to get it. Lost, I swayed forward, sighing against the coolness of his mouth.

  He caressed my neck, traced the line of my jaw, pressed his thumbs against the pulse jumping in my throat. ‘I should rip this pretty head from its body,’ he murmured against my mouth.

  Far away, deep in the back of my mind, a voice started screaming in panic. I shoved the voice away and listened only to the frantic desire thrumming through my heart. Needing to be closer, I moved to kneel between his legs and slid my hands around his waist, feeling the cool silk of his shirt beneath my palms and breathing in his dark spice scent. His hold on my neck tightened, and with a sigh, I lifted my mouth to his—

  In one quick motion he took us both to our feet and slammed me back against the wall, breaking me out of my daze. ‘But first,’ he whispered, ‘you will tell me what has happened to this body’s true owner.’

  ‘I am not this Rosa.’ I choked the words out around his hold on my throat.

  He tilted my face up to his. ‘Would you have me hurt you?’ His tone was soft, inviting.

  An odd feeling spiked low inside me, tipped over into desire, and I wanted him, needed to fill myself with him. Closing my eyes, I stayed still, clenched my jaw and struggled to ignore the feelings ...

  ... struggled not to beg.

  ‘Or would you have me pleasure you?’ His hands skimmed over the swell of my breasts, teased me to aching tightness. Cool palms slid low over my hips, moulding my flesh, sending heat singing through my veins.

  It’s not real. I shook my head against the wall. It’s only mesma. Rough brick scraped across my scalp raising a far-away pain. It’s not real. It can’t be.

  ‘No,’ I whispered, opening my eyes.

  The sensations stopped, leaving me empty, yearning.

  ‘Ah. So she is truly gone.’ He kissed my forehead sadly. ‘Rosa could not resist my touch.’

  Grief washed over me like a wave and spilled hot tears down my cheeks.

  He bent his head, licked the tears from my face. ‘These are precious jewels, not to be wasted.’

  My heart quivered beneath my ribs as his mouth met mine. His tongue invaded my mouth, slipping between my fangs, tasting me as though he was starving and I were a banquet for him alone. I welcomed him, drinking him down with a desperate thirst. His body shuddered under my hands, the echo of his heart thudded against my breasts, the sol
id length of him pressed into my belly sending me liquid and willing and eager and reaching for him to fill the aching urgent need inside—

  He broke the kiss and I whimpered at the loss. He stared down at me with eyes bright with tiny flames. ‘You shall not keep this body.’ He bowed his head. ‘It should not exist without her soul.’

  His words reverberated through me, shocking me back to my senses. He was going to kill me. No discussion. No offer of alternatives. No phoning a friend. Just dead. But he couldn’t kill me—a sidhe was too great a prize for any sane vamp to ever contemplate just killing. Only I wasn’t sidhe now, was I? I was just another sucker. Damn! How stupid was I? It wasn’t just the witches I’d been relying on for protection, it had been me, myself, what I was. And never mind what I’d always told myself about death being my first choice of options—

  I didn’t want to die.

  Malik’s hands slid through my hair, holding me still. ‘For you, Rosa, for your love.’ His murmur wrapped around me, tying me with the finest chains as his mouth moved over my jaw, lips trailing along my skin and cool breath whispered over my neck ...

  I wasn’t going to let him kill me.

  His fangs pierced my throat.

  The pull on my neck was delicate, the sting diffusing into delight. The pull turned seductive as bliss spiralled through my body. His mouth grew more demanding, drawing pleasure and power and pulsing life from me. Shadows swirled like spirits around us, half-seen colours glinting in their darkness ... He was killing me ... his dark spice scent in my lungs, his beautiful lips taking my life’s blood at my throat ... Killing me with pleasure.

  I wanted to live.

  I dragged my trembling hands from him and flattened them against the wall behind me. I swayed forward, slumping against him, letting him take my weight and slowly, so slowly, felt behind me until I closed weak fingers round my knife.

  Could I do it?

  I hesitated on the edge of his pleasure, anticipating the plunge into ecstasy until, sobbing, I thrust the knife up between us towards his heart. His mouth at my throat spasmed and I screamed, shoving the knife deeper. He reared back, his eyes incandescent with shock and pain, his mouth stained crimson.

  Clutching a hand to my neck, I stumbled back, my eyes never leaving his.

  He dropped to his knees, spread his arms wide, called out to me, not with words, but with blood.

  Blood of my Blood.

  I hesitated, wanting to go to him as warm wetness streamed between my fingers, but I clenched my fist and took another step back. My foot caught on something and I stumbled, twisting, arms flailing to break my fall. I landed on my hands and knees, staring down at Gazza.

  His eyes snapped open, pupils dilated with fear, and choked out a cry of terror.

  ‘Rosa—’ Stone rattling on glass sounded behind me.

  I swallowed back my own fear, my own urge to run. There was no way I could leave Gazza, not with a wounded vampire only feet away.

  I reached out my hand to him, but he batted it away, wriggling back from me, dragging his trousers up over his hips.

  A groan sounded behind me and heart aching, I fought the urge to go to Malik, to heed his call still drumming through my blood.

  I crawled after Gazza, and he scrambled back again, moaning and swinging his fist wide. Ducking under the blow, I grabbed his wrist. ‘Be still,’ I hissed, using my touch on his skin to send the command into his mind. He froze, shivering with fear.

  ‘A pretty trick, my love, to spite me so.’ Malik’s breath burnt along my cheek, I flinched though I knew he wasn’t there. ‘You always had such pretty tricks ...’

  Mesma. It’s only mesma.

  ‘Run home!’ I ordered Gazza, and snatched my hand from his skin.

  Gazza staggered to his feet and reeled drunkenly away towards the alley’s entrance.

  With my heart thudding in my mouth, I turned, curling ready into a crouch. Malik slumped against the alley wall, the pearl handle of my knife a shiny exclamation point in the black shadow of his body.

  ‘S-s-s-silver, Rosa.’ He hissed, the accusation sliding over my skin like molten oil.

  For one long moment, I stared, desolate ... then I forced my legs to flee.

  Chapter Eighteen

  I fled with vampire speed, urged on by the predawn light fading the darkness from the sky. My feet flew over pavements, leapt over barriers, careened round corners, buildings distorted before my eyes and the discordant sounds of early morning traffic buzzed in my ears. Half-seen pedestrians blurred as I passed them by, silent and unheeded.

  Like Gazza, I was running home.

  Had I wounded Malik enough to kill him? My knife was silver and I’d struck for his heart, but had I pierced it? Counting the landmarks that meant I was nearly home, I sprinted past the Law Courts on my right and Somerset House to my left—but I hadn’t felt the life leave his body—I turned off the Strand and headed for Covent Garden—not like the last time I’d killed a vampire—I darted between St Paul’s Church and the Apple Market, feet still flying, tiny wings of hope fluttering inside me. Why they should be was something I chose not to think about too closely.

  I reached the ladder in the church’s garden and sprang up, closing my hand round the cold metal rung. I concentrated on climbing. I had to get to the top before the sun hit the horizon, before the spell reverted, leaving me dead while the new day started. Halfway up my heart thudded, then went silent. I stopped, leaned my forehead against the ladder and closed my eyes. It was a long way back down, nearly thirty feet, and I couldn’t risk falling, couldn’t risk being found. Closing my eyes, I willed my heart to start again. I needed it to beat now. I needed to get home. It stuttered inside my chest, weak and irregular. I lifted my hand and staring fixedly at the brown brick wall, I climbed.

  The wall disappeared.

  Confusion made me sway and my fingers clutched the metal rungs painfully hard. I gazed across the gravel in front of me, then the soft scents of lavender and rosemary and lemon balm greeted me and I realised I’d reached the top: this was my roof.

  I crawled over the ledge, the sharp stones digging into my hands and knees, and collapsed, too tired to go any further. A bright yellow caterpillar concertinaed past my fingertips, flashing his black inner body. Footsteps crunched in the gravel.

  My heart stopped.

  I lifted my head and gazed towards the east where the sun stretched pale fingers above the horizon. A shadow fell over me, tall and broad, then as it crouched down and the risen sun spilled over my skin, the fires of the dawn consumed me.

  The scent of gardenias drifted over me. I had fallen asleep on the floor, my head pillowed on my building bricks and their sharp edges were digging into my cheek. A hand touched my shoulder, gentle and familiar. I hugged my favourite toy, a grey towelling elephant, and tried to snuggle deeper into dreamland.

  ‘Genevieve, moy angelochek.’ Hands lifted me into the air and Matilde, my stepmother settled me onto her hip. ‘You must wake now.’

  I was dreaming of a time when my world was simpler. I knew that time was long-gone, but still I burrowed my face into Matilde’s gardenia-scented neck and curled my fingers into her long golden hair.

  ‘Why do you lie on the floor like a peasant, moy malish?’ Her hand patted my back. ‘Is the bed your father gave you not comfortable enough?’

  I stuck my thumb in my mouth and mumbled, ‘Tired.’

  ‘Too much playtime, I’ll guess.’ She hitched me higher. ‘But now we have a surprise for you, your father and I.’

  ‘Like surprises,’ I murmured.

  ‘First we must make you presentable.’ She plucked at my brown cord dungarees. ‘Little girls should wear pretty dresses, and have ribbons in their hair.’

  I took my thumb out of my mouth and gazed sleepily into her large blue eyes. ‘Bessie says I get mucky.’

  ‘Mucky.’ Matilde mimicked the nursemaid’s northern tones and then smiled. ‘A bath will wash away the muck.’

  I reached
up to pat her face and smiled. ‘Surprise first, Tildy?’

  She laughed open-mouthed, her fangs white and sharp and her eyes sparkling like sapphires. ‘No, no, moy malish, you will have your bath first. Save your charms for your father’—she kissed me on the lips—‘for I am wise to them.’

  ‘Not want bath,’ I pouted.

  ‘I do not want a bath,’ she corrected me, sounding out the words.

  I stroked her neck, rubbing my fingers over the tender swollen bite there. ‘I do not want a bath, Tildy.’

  ‘Very good,’ she smiled, and carried me out of the room that was my nursery.

  Matilde held me by the hand as she led me down the hall towards my father’s study. With each skip I took, I could see my new shiny black-patent leather shoes decorated with their green satin bows, dancing along beneath the flounces of my new green dress. I bobbed my head in time with the tap, shuffle, tap sounds that bounced back at me from the grey stone walls.

  We stopped outside the dark oak door. Hundreds of candles in wall brackets flickered like fireflies on either side of the doorway.

  Matilde slowly crouched down and balancing carefully on her high heels, smoothed the green Alice-band that tied back my hair. ‘Your hair is so beautiful, moy angelochek, the colour of fresh blood cascading over our beloved golden domes.’

  I leaned in, kissed her pale powdered cheek. ‘At the Kremlin, Tildy?’

  She smiled, though I could still see the sadness in her face. ‘Yes, like my so—beautiful home in Moskva.’ Moisture tinted the whites of her eyes with pink. ‘One day we shall travel to see it. You and I. Teram Palace, the Cathedral of the Assumption—’

  ‘Ivan the big bell,’ I giggled.

  She rubbed her nose against mine. ‘Da, da, moy malish.’ Then her expression turned serious. She touched a finger to my eyes, my ears, my mouth and my heart. ‘Your father has a guest, Genevieve. You must be very much the young lady and remember the manners I have taught to you.’

  I touched the black opals that collared her neck. ‘What about the surprise?’