Page 4 of Fated In Blood

I cowered down—the very image of a weak and helpless human.

Vampires could smell me a mile away.

To their overly sensitive noses, my scent was undeniably addictive, something I’d discovered three months ago and had used to my advantage ever since. My distinctive smell—some potent mixture of hormones, sweat, and chemicals—had become my secret weapon.

The deadliest weapon in my entire arsenal.

Maybe I ate too much sugar, maybe my blood was richer than the average human’s, but whatever the difference, I was irresistible to these blood suckers.

I attracted them like moths to a flame, as it were.

And since I was still bleeding from my earlier fight, they’d fallen in behind me like panting dogs, saving me the trouble of hunting them down.

The sweat, my bloody lip, even the adrenaline from my very real fear were weapons. Weapons I wielded mercilessly, like I’d soon wield the sharpened edge of my blades.

But…

I braced my feet against the wet pavement and dropped my tense shoulders, forcing my muscles to loosen and my tight chest to relax as I sucked in a deep breath of cold spring air, clearing my head.

If I’d truly found Spencer Tyrell, then three months of painstaking work was about to come to fruition.

Ambrose, taller and infinitely more arrogant, prowled closer, gliding across the filth-smeared brick alleyway. “You’re right, Spencer, my love. She smells utterly mouthwatering, which means, since I’m the oldest, I insist on sampling her first.”

Spencer’s narrowed eyes darkened to midnight black, and my heart leapt. If they turned on each other, my job was half done, but predictably the spineless bastard shrank back.

“Of course, Ambrose.” A jittery, nervous laugh. “Age before beauty, as the saying goes.”

Ambrose’s lip curled. He hadn’t expected a fight, disgust flashing across his face before he turned back to me. “Let’s get a better look at you, sweets. Step into the light for me.”

God I hated when they called me pet names.Sweets, dearie, love.

I held out one hand beseechingly, reaching into my back pocket with the other. “Please. Please, don’t hurt me. I have money, I’ll give you everything I have if you just let me go.”

God, my plea sounded…rehearsedinstead of terrified, but neither of them noticed, too intent on an easy kill. Too full of arrogance to pause their creeping approach to wonder why we were so far off the main road.

Why I hadn’t bothered screaming.

Or running.

“I’m afraid it’s not money we want, sweets,” Ambrose murmured, close enough for me to make out the red veins lining his eyes, the harsh planes of his cheeks tightening as his nostrils flared in anticipation. “We’re after something a bit more tempting than…”

My blade sliced through his aorta a millisecond before severing his larynx, blood misting the air, his last words dull and hardly worth remembering. The razor-sharp edge cleaved sinew and muscle like butter, detaching everything except his vertebrae.

At least he’d stop boring me to death again with his prattle.

I stepped around Ambrose, his fingers scrabbling to close the wound separating his head from his shoulders, and plunged the tip of my knife between Spencer’s ribs, twisting until the tip nicked his heart.

“Silver blades,” I explained, ducking when Spencer clawed at my face with more fortitude than I would have ever given him credit for. “Coated with wolfsbane. Keeps the wounds from healing in all but the oldest Ancients and shuts down your magicfor half an hour. You really should have stayed home tonight, Spencer.”

With a wet gurgle, Ambrose crashed to his knees, eyes alight with fear, blood-coated hands thrashing at his throat as if he could somehow shove all that precious liquid back inside himself. Maybe reattach his head.

“Not going to work. There’s too much adrenaline; your heart’s beating so fast it will literally pump you dry. With all that wolfsbane in your system, you won’t heal in time to replenish your blood supply. Who’s the wee little lamb now?” I crouched down on my haunches, watching his body buck desperately in its last death throes.

Rain dripped from my hair and gathered in droplets at the ends of my eyelashes, but I never blinked. No. I watched him fight. I watched him flail. And I enjoyed every minute of his futile battle.

Ambrose would have slaughtered me and drank every last drop of my blood, like he had a thousand innocent victims before me.

His death was faster and far less painless than he deserved.

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