The trees along the edge of the road rustled in the slight breeze as Finn strolled out and joined me. ‘Remind me not to take a brownie job again,’ he said, a hint of laughter in his voice.
‘If I remember right, youdidn’t.’ I teased, but my heart wasn’t in it. ‘This was myjob. Youjust came along for the fun of it.’
He stepped in front of me, close enough that I had to look up at him. ‘Not for fun, Gen.’ He traced a finger along my jaw, an intent, almost hopeful expression in his eyes. ‘To get to know you better.’
I dropped my gaze to the base of his neck, my mouth watered and I had to stifle the urge to place my lips on the smooth tanned skin that stretched over his pulse. Shit. The need was getting stronger, less easy to deny. And I didn’t know why. But why wasn’t the problem here. I took a step back, holding up my hands.
‘Not biting, Finn.’ Mentally I rolled my eyes at my own Freudian slip.
‘Speaking of biting, that was rather interesting, what you told the little faeling.’
‘What did I tell her?’
‘About how we fae taste to vampires.’ His eyes lit up. ‘Wonder what flavour you would be?’
‘I already told you, don’t wander. You’ll only get lost.’
‘Yeah, yeah.’ He looked at me speculatively. ‘Oranges, maybe,’ he mused.
‘Red hair? Oranges?’ I huffed, striding off. ‘You’ve got to be kidding. Soooonot original.’
Finn matched his pace to mine. ‘You’re right; oranges are much too ordinary. Umm, what would ... Figs maybe? Now they’re supposed to be sexy.’ Shaking his head, he slid an arm round my waist and pulled me to a stop, smiling. ‘Ah, got it—sweet, exotic, hard knobbly shell—gotta be passion fruit.’
I gave him my hard knobbly elbow in his ribs. It connected with a satisfying thud.
‘Speaking of food,’ Finn gasped as he bent double, ‘how about dinner?’
Only if he was on the menu. I shook my head. It wasn’t even a euphemism. I had a moment’s fantasy where I said yes: we went out, had fun, and I didn’tspend the evening wanting to rip into his throat. Then I sighed and came back to live in the real world. No way could I go out with him, or any other fae, not with 3V running riot through my veins. Being fae, Finn would feel its taint in me—if I let him get too close—then he’d run for the nearest faerie hill, not to mention I’d be out of a job.
He caught up with me. ‘C’mon Gen, you’ve got to stop torturing me like this.’ With a rueful smile he rubbed a hand over his stomach, then winked. ‘Or at least say yes, then you can do whatever you want with me.’
Way too enticing.‘Finn, you’re a nice guy, but ...’ I trailed off as disappointment darkened his eyes, echoing my own silent regret, then I made myself carry on. ‘I’m sorry, but getting personal is not—’
A stiff wind hurled itself along the road, snatching the words from my mouth and rushing up through the branches above us.
Finn placed a finger on my lips, silencing me.
I moved back. ‘Look, I’m really not—’
‘Genny, it’s okay.’ He half-smiled. ‘I get that you’ve said no, but it’s not that.’ He waved an anxious hand at the road. ‘It’s the trees. I think they’re talking about you.’
Another gust whipped past us and the canopy of autumn leaves rustled almost like they were laughing.
I frowned and looked at Finn. ‘What are they saying?’
‘Hell’s thorns, Gen, how should I know? I never learned the language.’
Chapter Four
Dusk coloured the sky like a purple bruise as I headed for my meeting with Alan Hinkley at Old Scotland Yard Police Station, the headquarters for the Metropolitan Police’s Magic and Murder Division. The bodies of vampire attacks, like Melissa’s, are contained in the specialised basement morgue ever since the mandatory fourteen-day waiting period came into force—just in case they spontaneously do the Lazarus thing. Old Scotland Yard is also the one-stop-cop-shop for vampires. Keeping a vamp incarcerated is difficult enough without adding humans into the mix. The only time it was tried—back in the eighties when the vamps were reclaimingtheir human rights—the riot lasted a week and a vampire ended up on an impromptu bonfire, together with a prison guard and three other inmates.
That the vampire was proved innocent, post-death—a tarnished silver lining or a kamikaze-inspired martyrdom, depending on your point of view—became the catalyst for all sorts of changes.
As I turned off Whitehall, leaving the noise of the traffic behind, a horse’s high-pitched whinny made me jump—Old Scotland Yard is also home to the Met’s horses—and I slowed, uneasy in the quiet. A tree rustled as I passed it. Was Finn right, were they talking about me? But why would they? Then the leaves of the next tree stirred and the air trembled in response. Goosebumps rose on my skin, even though the heat of the day hadn’t dissipated with the night and I looked up into the branches, but they were empty. I blew out a breath. Damn. I usually avoided being out after dark like this, trees or no trees. You never knew who you might bump into.
I lifted my bag over my head, settled the strap across my chest to free my hands and slowly walked under the archway that led to Old Scotland Yard. Alan Hinkley was waiting by the police station door. Along the pavement, the street lights created pockets of shadow. As I got closer, one shadow was darker, more solid than the others. My heart tripped and I stopped, staring into the blackness.
The vampire stepped out into the light and stared back.
His appearance was almost a relief.
I played statues, counting under my breath, using my own will to force my pulse to a slow steady thump. It was harder to pull off than I thought. Damn, I was so out of practice. Instinct shouted at me to flee. Bad idea. Never run from a vamp, gets them too excited, all that blood pumping faster and faster. Better to take the gamble that they won’t attack and wait until they’re gone. Of course, that attitude does have its minus points.
‘Genevieve Taylor.’ His chin lifted as he scented the air.
His accent carried a touch of something, not English. Black hair curled into his neck, even blacker eyes glinted, their almond shape hinting of the East. His face was the prettiest I’d ever seen, alive or undead, and a distant part of me wondered why it wasn’t plastered over every billboard in town. And why I’d never seen him before.
I shook my head even as I thought it. It didn’t matter who he was, not when I could feel his mesmabrushing against my mind. I looked past him to Alan, but the blank look he wore had ‘vampire mind-lock’ written all over it. No help there then, not that I had really expected any. In fact, he was going to be more a hindrance if there was going to be a fight.
‘Perhaps Mr Hinkley should wait inside?’ I said, keeping my voice steady.
Alan turned and disappeared through the door without the vampire so much as twitching. I was impressed despite myself, and had to concentrate even more to keep my pulse at its slowest beat.
‘How interesting.’ His voice rolled around me, as rich as sugar-dusted Turkish delight, making my mouth water.
I tilted my head to one side. ‘Not from where I’m standing. ’
The vampire had obviously been young when he’d accepted the Gift, near my own age. His suit was ubiquitous vampire-black, but he must have pulled the darkness around him to hide his pale face and hands. Even without the evidence of Alan’s departure, that trick alone told me he was old, over five hundred, at least. And he looked like he belonged to the classic Armani style rather than the excess of black leather that the younger vamps preferred—not that I could be sure without checking the designer labels, but I wasn’t planning on getting that close.
‘Your eyes are truly remarkable.’ Smooth silk slipped along my skin as his gaze swept over me.