Gabriella Poole: Blood Ties (Darke Academy)

glowed before him with wealth, success and influence: how could it be otherwise? But still, he’d miss the comradeship, the secrets, the

power of being one of the Few at the Academy. It had been fun.

A light hand touched his arm. Yusuf turned to the girl, suddenly aching with the beauty of the night and with hungry longing.

She blinked. Her eyes were already a little unfocused and distant, her smile trembling on her lips as if she’d half-forgotten it was there.

Good …

He set down his own glass and took her face between his hands. She was lovely, with her golden heart-shaped face and her huge dark

eyes. Her lips parted and she made a small sound: it might have been desire or bewilderment, but he no longer cared. She’d drunk what

he’d offered her. She wouldn’t remember.

For one moment longer, he hesitated. Feeding like this was forbidden, because it was too dangerous. But for that very reason the thrill

made it irresistible. And Yusuf was nothing if not experienced. He was strong, he was skilled.

And damn, he was hungry.

Gripping her face, he brought her lips fiercely against his own. He felt the momentary simple pleasure of human contact. Then, inside his

chest, the spirit pulsed and energy gushed into his veins. His eyes widened, reddening.

As the girl made a small moan of protest, he forced himself back under control. He wouldn’t hurt her: that wasn’t how he got his kicks.

Relaxing his hold, he intensified the kiss, feeling life-energy thrill to his nerve-endings. Oh, this was feeding, this was satisfaction, this was

bliss.

His senses sharpened, smell and taste suddenly acute. He could hear the thrum and beat of the city, the throb of the cruise ship’s

engines. He could hear a soft footstep. And then a whisper said his name.

Yusuf Ahmeeeed …

Had he misheard? Releasing the girl, he went still, listening intently.

He’d chosen his place well: this secluded room with its romantic arches and nooks, above the restaurant in Old Istanbul. He’d paid the

owner extremely well because he’d made it perfectly clear he did not want to be disturbed.

How did they know his name? Was it someone who knew him from the Academy …?

He shivered at the thought. That was trouble he didn’t want, not right at the end of his school career. Unauthorised feeding, in a

forbidden manner? It wasn’t beyond possibility that he could be kicked out, like Katerina Svensson after the business with the Bell girl. Sir

Alric took his rules very, very seriously …

Silent, every sense alert, he turned towards the darkness beyond the window arch. He stepped closer, then became preternaturally still as

his eyes searched the night. Below him was a courtyard and the balcony extended round three sides of it, draped with shadows.

There. Against a cracked tile wall, one shadow darted past quickly.

Someone was spying on him. One who knew his name. Taunting him: a sixth former, one of the most powerful Few! The spirit inside him

kindled, but this time with rage. How dare they!

He’d satisfied his hunger, and now the romantic moment was lost too: one more reason to turn his fury on the intruder. He touched the

girl’s face. Gradually, gently, she came back to herself, eyes focusing, mouth curving into a more determined smile.

‘Aren’t you going to kiss me, then?’

If only you knew , he thought dryly.

‘Sorry, habibi. I’ve had a text, it’s an emergency. You have to go.’

Her sulky pout was delicious to behold. He laughed. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow night. I’ll make it up to you, yes?’

‘Oh, yes. You certainly will.’ She winked. Drawing a finger down his chest in farewell, she blew him a tantalising kiss and was gone.

Yusuf gave one last yearning sigh, but his muscles were already tensing for a chase. Light and swift, he vaulted through the arch and out

on to the rickety balcony. The dark figure had had plenty of time to make an escape, but only when he dropped lightly down to the

courtyard did Yusuf see it break into a run. Foolish, he thought.

The figure managed to keep several steps ahead of him as they chased through the alleys of Sultanahmet; its footsteps were almost as

deft and light as Yusuf’s own. It was growing dark and lonely as they travelled through the streets, the sounds of the city muffled by

distance, as if he had pursued the shadow into another time zone. No one around.

Slowing, he realised with surprise that the figure was heading up the steps of an outbuilding beside the Hagia Sophia. Was it a

mausoleum? Still, Yusuf felt no fear. He approached the entrance and realised the crypt was empty of people, closed for renovation. But as

he entered, despite his expectations the place was not dark. Above him a domed Byzantine ceiling gleamed in the light of hundreds of

candles.

Candles … ?