They’d been a type of vampire. I tipped my head back against the wall, relieved. Vampire bites couldn’t hurt me any more than they had already.

‘Their prime function was for defence, to delay or divert the hunter.’ Water splashed. ‘In current terminology, they would be called cannon fodder, although there were no cannons in the beginning. Through the ritual humans gain the strength, the abilities, the features of the vampire.’ Glass chinked. ‘They have no care for themselves. They will fight until their bodies are no longer able. When they fall, they do not die. Their bodies remake themselves after every injury.’ The water cut off. ‘The revenant will follow the instructions given by their Maker until they taste their first blood.’

I stared at his back, or rather, at the back of his head. His mention of injuries brought back the memory of his caved-in skull. I frowned. It was completely healed now.

‘They will rise night after night, with no other need than to quench the Bloodthirst.’ His voice was expressionless. ‘Man, woman or child, even beasts: it matters not to a revenant.’

‘Just like your average sucker,’ I muttered, pulling at the fringe on the throw. ‘So far I’m not seeing the difference.’

The towel shifted against his legs as he walked back to me, brushing the fine dark hairs on his calves. Irritated that I’d noticed, I made myself look at the floor instead. ‘Even lost in the Bloodthirst,’ he continued, ‘it is rare for a vampire to actually kill. Once the initial need is satisfied—’ He paused, then continued, ‘Well, you do not kill the chicken that lays the eggs.’ His tone was slightly mocking. ‘It is much more effective to practice good husbandry.’

‘Oh yeah,’ I sighed as his feet came into view. They were as elegant as I remembered. Mentally I gave in. He was eye-candy, no point in denying it, or trying to stop looking, so long as that was all I did—and that I didn’t forget what he truly was. I looked up at him, and said, ‘A blood-slave is somuch better than a dead chicken.’

‘You are correct.’ He held the glass out to me.

I wrinkled my nose, thought about asking for some vodka, then decided I didn’t want him rooting in my fridge. I took a gulp, swilled the water around my mouth and swallowed.

‘Revenants are where the legends were forged,’ Malik carried on, ‘shambling corpses crawling from their graves, knowing nothing, caring for nothing, consumed only by their need for blood, until they die again with the sun. They are the true undead.’

I took another sip, and peered at him from under my lashes. More dark hair arrowed up his flat stomach to where a pink starburst of a scar nestled under his left rib. My lips parted in surprise: that was where I’d stabbed him the night before, when he’d mistaken my Alter Vamp for his Rosa. If his head had healed completely, why hadn’t that wound?

‘Revenants will kill every time they feed.’ He met my eyes, and something dark and bleak swam in the black depths of his, then he looked away and stared out of the window. ‘They will take three, four, sometimes as many as six or seven humans a night, every night, for as long as the blood-lust grips them.’ He headed back into the kitchen. ‘It can take months before the lust is fully sated, if ever.’

As what he’d said sank in, I shivered. ‘Shit—so those two goons would’ve gone on a killing spree every time the sun went down?’

‘That is why the ritual is forbidden.’ He looked back at me, his black eyes now flat and hard. ‘Even the most reactionary vampire does not wish to encourage humans to become vigilantes. ’

Snippets of the old myths hijacked my mind and dread cramped my stomach. If the old legends about vampires as ravenous monsters were true, what if one bite really was all it took to become one of them? Pizza Face and Fatboy had bitten me more than once ... my hand shook and sloshed my water over the floor—maybe I did have something to panic about after all.

Malik stood over me, an odd closed expression on his face. He held a bowl in his hands.

‘They both bit me.’ I dropped the glass and grabbed his ankle. ‘What’s that going to do to me?’

His expression didn’t change and I held my breath. Was that why he was here? To stop me changing? To rip my head off like he had Fatboy’s?

‘Nothing,’ he said at last. ‘Their bite is to feed only.’

Sucker bites.I blew out a shaky sigh and let him go. The bites were only sucker bites.

Crouching, he placed the bowl down beside me. ‘It appears you have become more of a threat than an opportunity.’

I scowled at him. ‘Yeah, I sort of got that, seeing as someone sent revenants to kill me.’

He gave me a considering look. He really was beautiful, all lean muscle and pale skin and dark hair, his features just the right side of almost too pretty. And as he mopped up the spilled water and wrung out the cloth into the bowl, twisting it tight between his fingers, even that simple movement seemed more than it was. My pulse hitched and he stilled, tension shimmering through him, then the moment was gone and he wiped the floor again.

Questions started to edge out infatuation in my mind. Who knew I was meeting Alan Hinkley? Everyone, apparently—but who knew the actual details apart from Alan and me? My head was beginning to ache, and not just because of my injuries. I pinched the bridge of my nose, trying to banish it. So it had to be someone Alan had told after he’d texted me. And my phone was lost somewhere at the Blue Heart—anyone could’ve checked out my messages. As I slumped against the wall, pain jabbed my shoulder again.

I clutched at the throw and held myself still, willing it away. ‘So who can do the ritual?’

A wing of damp hair fell over Malik’s forehead. ‘Here in London? At least eight, maybe nine.’ He brushed the hair away, held my look. ‘Including myself.’

I licked my lips. He hadn’t even had to think about the question. What was he doing here when he was obviously capable of figuring this out all on his own?

I narrowed my eyes. ‘Are you always this domesticated?’

He looked at me, black eyes intent.

Heat bloomed inside me, sending nervous spirals twisting through my belly. ‘Because it doesn’t strike me as being a normal vampire trait,’ I said. ‘So just exactly why are you here, Malik? What do you want from me?’

He took the bowl back to the sink and washed his hands, then came and stood looking down at me. ‘Why did you take me to the Embankment Gardens and not to Old Scotland Yard?’

I frowned, confused. ‘Because that’s where Alan Hinkley wanted to meet me. I told you that.’

‘And yet Alan Hinkley was not there.’ His voice was soft. ‘Instead, it was an ambush, one that was very nearly successful. ’

‘Obviously someone used either Hinkley or the information to set me up.’

‘No.’ He sank gracefully back into a crouch, his forearms resting on his thighs. ‘I do not think the attack was aimed at you.’

I snorted. ‘You could’ve fooled me.’

He leaned forward, and my heart thudded with fear. I wanted to shrink from him, but my back was already against the wall and I had nowhere to go to.

‘Or did you deceive me, Genevieve?’

‘What?’ I stared at him in surprise.

His hand flashed out and he gripped my chin. ‘The spell that stopped me from entering the gardens stunned me, but it did not stop you.’

I jerked out of his hold. ‘Something triggered the spell after I’d gone through the gate and it stopped me getting out.’

‘Did it?’

‘You know it did,’ I spat.

‘The spell was powerful enough to knock me unconscious for a few minutes.’ His eyes narrowed. ‘And that was long enough for someone to take a kerbstone to my head.’

So that explained the caved-in skull, but not what else he was getting at.

‘Whoever hit me was fae,’ he added, his tone accusing.

Okaaay, so that’s what—