I hang up. A few moments later, the security team return past my windows, dragging a man in silver handcuffs. Paul Badica’s bloody face is visible beneath a shaft of moonlight.
I cross my legs, sipping my glass of blood and enjoying the show. Paul won’t be defacing my property or stealing from Sanctus ever again. Gideon may be a scoundrel, but he has some sense of justice.
And Paul Badica’s wealth has nicely refilled my coffers after buying this house. I may even do a good thing and drop a sizable chunk into the Sanctus construction account, since that’s probably where most of the funds came from.
Not because I care about Gideon. At all. But because I like living here, and I want to see it succeed.
As soon as I’ve pushed Gideon out and taken Sanctus for myself, I can get started on my ideas to improve this place.
I take another sip of blood. This is a decent vintage I opened for the occasion – a WWI British Soldier from the Sanctus cellar, full-bodied and earthy, like the mud of the trenches – but it would be even better fresh.
It’s been a long time since I’ve tasted fresh blood directly from the source. I lived on it after La Petite Mort was destroyed, when I had no money and no other options. And so, when I made a new fortune, I decided that I’d never again return to dragging victims from the street like a beast, supping my fill of drunks and addicts, tasting the sour notes of their vices in their blood.
Humans –consentinghumans – on tap is very tempting.
It’s my Bloodeve. Maybe I deserve a treat.
My fingers hover over the Sanctus app and its list of Thralled staff members available for feedings. Sinead’s name is at the top of the list, with 82 5-star ratings. “Oozes sophistication with notes of lime, fresh pear and honeysuckle leading towards a succulent finish,” one review says.
Mmmm. Sounds divine.
But no, I don’t want to spend my Bloodeve sucking on the neck of a woman who dislikes me.
I scroll down and see Danny O’Hare’s name, with a 2.4-star rating. I’m about to click on his reviews when my doorbell rings.
Annoyance sours the blood on my tongue. I’m not expecting visitors. I prefer to be alone on my Bloodeve. The only time I ever broke that rule was the night Gideon took me out on Sarah Bernhardt’s hot air balloon, and I won’t have a repeat of howthatturned out. No one in the Nevermore Coven would be able to breach Sanctus gates without me being alerted, so it must be someone on the estate.
I glance down at the Sanctus app, thinking I must have clicked on a Thrall order by accident. But no.
Who could be at my house? Is it the security team coming to tell me they’ve kicked out Paul?
Or another ex-client, here to make a nuisance of himself?
My gaze falls back to the dead bird on the table. The back of my neck prickles.
As my finger swipes through my phone, searching for the security feed, a movement out the window catches my eye. Something rustles in the bushes. A dark shape passes along the edge of my garden.
I gasp as the shape moves beneath a shaft of moonlight and I glimpse its form.
A wolf.
Agiantwolf with a piece of jewellery dangling from its ear – a distinctive gold hoop with a cupcake on it.
29
Arabella
Then
IWAKE SHROUDED IN SILK, my body warm with the glow of love.
It’s been so long since I feltwarm.
I open one sleepy eye, drawing out the pleasure of emerging from the night into his arms—
He’s not here.
My other eye flies open. I grasp the cold sheets beside me.
