I disagree. His best feature is the sweet nectar that flows in his veins.
I crouch down low behind the bins, trying to ignore the smell of stale beer and rotting fish and chips that assaults my olfactory sense. My thighs burn from crouching, but I know I need to time this perfectly. I need to take him by surprise and get him quickly away from the street. I don’t want him discovered until later, when I’m far away from this spot.
As I predicted, Danny turns down the alley towards me on his way to his favourite spot for a smoke. I’ve hurried out of the pub to get to my hiding spot ahead of him. Luckily, Lord Valerian distracted the woman with his mouth. Very chivalrous. And effective.
As Danny stomps past the bins, singing a reel under his breath, I reach out and grab his ankle. My fingers close around his damp sock. His body jerks and he goes down, crying out as his knees crack against the cobbles and dank water soaksthrough his jeans.
I step out from my hiding place and kick him in the ribs. “Roll over,” I command him, placing the weight of centuries behind every word.
He groans as he rolls onto his back, his eyes widening.
“You,” he hisses. “Why?—”
His words cut off as I lean over him, my hand circling his throat. It takes nothing for me to squeeze so tight that his air cuts off. “You’re a naughty boy, aren’t you, Danny? You should have learned by now not to mess with women.”
His throat pulses beneath my fingers, the blood rushing through his veins. This close, the salty scent fills my nostrils. I lean in closer and take a deep sniff, savouring the palate.
Then I bite down, and feast.
CHAPTER THREE
ALARIC
Gideon: Allie, you’ll never guess who’s called me this evening. Your mother. That’s right, Lady Callista of the Blood Valerian, darling of the Nightshade Court herself, demanding that I set aside my work on Sanctus to plan an elaborate ball at your place in six weeks’ time. A BALL, Allie? Have you got high off your paint fumes? What possessed you to agree to this madness?
“Did you have a pleasant evening, my lord?” Reginald asks as I slide into the car seat behind him.
“It was positively wretched,” I snap as I brace myself for Reginald’s erratic driving. My phone beeps in my pocket. Gideon again, no doubt. He’s the only other person who messages me, and I wish he wouldn’t. “You should have a word to Lilac about her vintage. Her blood tastes as if it’s watered-down with badger piss.”
“Of course, my lord.” If Reginald is surprised by my crass language, he doesn’t show it. This is wise, since the torment of my weekly visit to the village pub isentirelyhisfault.
I lean back against the seat as the vehicle speeds out of the village, taking deep inhales of the cold, musky air of the car. I cannot dislodge the taste that lingers on my tongue.
Strawberries and sunlight. The taste ofher.
My stomach blooms with warmth from all the blood I’ve consumed this evening. Or perhaps it’s from the memory of that delicious little moan.
I noticed her the moment she walked into the pub. At first, it was her scent that captured me, like nothing I’ve ever smelt before (which, in five hundred years, is quite a statement), but then it was the way she slumped over her drink, her damp hair plastered to her face.
She looked exactly how I’ve felt many times in my life, as though existing in the world had become a burden and the glass of alcohol in front of her was the only thing stopping her from throwing herself into a fairy circle and yelling,Take me away now!
When I saw that man harassing her, something stirred inside me, something of the old Alaric who stained the dirt red with the blood of my enemies, who wants to do good things but doesn’t know what good is anymore.
I meant only to frighten away the rat, but when I pulled her close and that scent rose from her skin, the monster in me took over.
It’s been so long since I’ve felt the warmth of a body pressed to my skin.
I touch the sharp tip of my fang, shuddering with pleasure at the memory of scraping it along her soft skin, horrified at how close I came to piercing her?—
By some sorcery, that scent still clings to me. My skin throbs with the heat of her living flesh. My ears ring with the delightful sound of her voice.
I am sick. All this exposure to humans is turning me mad.
“I saw you speaking to a lovely woman at the bar before I left to bring the car around,” Reginald calls over the rushing wind. He likes to drive with the windows down because he is a masochist. That’s probably also why hestill works for me.
I don’t answer him.
“That’s good, my lord! Six weeks ago you couldn’t walk into the pub without hunger overcoming you. Remember that fellow in the men’s toilets on the first night? We’re lucky he was too drunk to recall why his neck was bleeding. Now you’re talking to humans like you’re one of them.”
