Suzanne McLeod - The Shifting Price of Prey

My phone rang, the ringtone coming from the short corridor outside the bathroom. As it went to voicemail the door clicked open. I braced myself, pulse racing, wondering if they were friend or foe.

The door clicked shut.

A figure moved slowly into the room, tall, dressed in black leathers, hair pulled back in a sleek blonde ponytail, phone in one hand, half-a-dozen bags in the other.

Katie. I almost cried with thankfulness.

‘Genny?’ She stopped, shock rounding her eyes.

‘I’m fine,’ I said, forcing a rueful tone into my voice. ‘Practical joke that went a bit far.’

‘Your face is all beat up,’ she whispered, horrified. ‘Shall I phone for an ambulance?’

‘No.’ I sighed. ‘I doubt it’s as bad as it looks.’ Not that I knew how I looked, but— ‘Don’t suppose you could untie me, hon?’

‘Oh my gosh, of course.’ She dropped the bags, and rushed to me, tugged at the knots, then resorted to nail scissors to cut me free. Never had I been so grateful for the girlie contents of Katie’s huge designer handbag.

As she snipped away freeing my wrists, I gave her a short, highly edited version of the night’s events. I’d had a problem with my magic, a ‘friend’ had helped me, and to stop me hurting myself or anyone else they’d had to tie me up. I hadn’t been too happy about it, which was where my injuries had come from. Only the ‘friend’ had a crazy sense of humour, and hadn’t untied me when they’d left. None of which was a lie; something I physically can’t do.

‘Frigging frenemy, you mean, leaving you like this,’ she growled when I’d finished. ‘They need a taste of their own medicine.’

‘Already with you,’ I muttered, as she started work on my ankles. I sat up carefully, mindful of the cracked ribs and the aching stiffness in my shoulders. Not to mention my head and face which felt tight and swollen, like my skin was about to burst like a rotten plum. Crap, the mad sucker had really done a number on me. I’d heal, and way quicker than a human, but quicker wasn’t instant. How the hell was I supposed to work like this?

My gaze fell on a glass on the desk. It was full of dark red-brownish liquid.

Suddenly hopeful, I asked Katie to get it for me.

The glass had one of the hotel’s cardboard hygiene-covers on it. Scrawled across it, in what looked like blood, was: ‘Drink Me! :)’

‘Is it another joke?’ she asked.

‘Better not be.’ I took the cover off and sniffed. Sour apples tinged with copper. Definitely Mad Max’s blood. I knew it had healing properties, almost on a par with Malik’s blood, having been injured once before (also Mad Max’s fault, albeit indirectly) and healed by his blood. I looked for a catch but couldn’t think of one, mainly because I regularly gave my donated blood to Mad Max’s faeling grandkid, Freya, my whatever-number-removed cousin (since she’s only eight, it’s easier to call her my ‘niece’).

Thanks to Freya’s mixed-up genetics (vamp/sidhe/fae/human), she’s ended up with a vamp’s need for blood along with the more usual need for solid food in order to survive. With Ana (Freya’s mum and Mad Max’s daughter) pregnant, I’d stepped in as Freya’s blood donor instead. Mad Max knew that and, despite his seeming lack of family values, I could probably stake my life on his never doing anything to harm Freya.

Plus it was like the crazy sonofabitch to leave me a way to heal the damage. After all, he’d enjoyed watching me suffer through bouts of painful arousal, while at the same time making a spell to rid me of it . . . or so he’d said.

I put the blood down. No way was I drinking it unless the spell had worked. I explained briefly to Katie, then before her worried eyes, slowly peeled the sludgy towel away.

Once it was gone I waited for the agonising throb to start up. It didn’t. Relieved, I let out the breath I’d been holding. I was okay. Mad Max had been telling me the truth about the spell. Another thought struck me.

I looked up at Katie. ‘How did you know I was here?’

‘I got a text from you. The keycard was left in an envelope at reception.’

Mad Max was evidently Mr Organised.

I sighed. It was either drink his blood or send Katie out for an expensive, and not so quick, healing spell from the Witches’ Market.

I couldn’t afford to show up anywhere looking like a victim of domestic abuse. Even without the embarrassment it would cause my clients, all it would take was one paparazzo and my battered face would be splashed across the front pages.

Decision made I picked up the glass and slugged the sour-tasting blood down. My stomach clenched as it hit, then I grunted as it spread through my body like battery acid, burning me from the inside out.

‘Okay, that’s just . . . gross.’ Katie’s quiet mutter made me look at her.

‘What?’

‘Your face,’ she said, quickly dropping her gaze back to the sheet she was cutting. ‘It’s moving like there’s something running around under your skin.’

Nice! ‘It doesn’t feel too good either,’ I mumbled around what felt like a mouthful of tiny crab apples. Not to mention my rippling skin was making me nauseous, or maybe that was Mad Max’s blood. I started picking at the sheet round my right ankle, hoping I wasn’t going to puke.

Katie cleared her throat, the sound nervous, then keeping her gaze fixed on her scissors, said, ‘Did anyone get back to you about last night? The Carnival or the police?’

Inwardly I cursed myself. Of course she’d be worried about the flasher, whereas I’d totally forgotten about it. Some friend I was. ‘I don’t know,’ I said. ‘I haven’t had chance to check my messages.’

Katie jumped up and retrieved my backpack. Fishing out my phone she checked, then looked up disappointed. ‘Nothing.’

‘I’ll call a bit later and ask,’ I said, hoping I’d get some sort of answer that would reassure her.

She gave a small nod. ‘Thanks.’

‘I’m pretty sure it’s nothing to worry about. The police said they’d had reports of flashers in the park before, so it was just really bad luck we were there. It’s horrible, but there’s nothing personal in it.’

‘Yeah, I know. I talked to Mum about it last night. But then when I went over it in my head I realised I’d seen something else.’

Had she seen a vamp? Worry pricked goosebumps on my arms. ‘Something else?’

‘Yeah.’ She stopped snipping and fixed me with an odd expression, half excited, half anxious. ‘Remember I said the man sort of collapsed, and then I saw that weird animal? Well, I think, instead of the man looking for the animal, I think they’re the same. I think the man turned into the animal.’

I stared at her. ‘You think he was a shapeshifter?’

‘Yes!’ She leaned forward. ‘Is it possible?’

Hmm. I hadn’t seen the naked man, or vamp as I’d thought he was. I hadn’t seen any weird animal. All I’d seen was an odd shadow of movement, and even that might have been my imagination. And the only pings I’d got on my inner radar had been the old man and his dog, who, when I mentioned them to the police, had confirmed the man was a local, and kosher . . .

Except, what if the male had been a vamp, and had turned into an animal. It was possible and it would explain how he had vanished so fast, and why my Spidey senses hadn’t pinged him. After all, Mad Max turned into an Irish wolfhound, and when he did I couldn’t tell he wasn’t anything other than the dog he seemed. Not to mention if someone was spying on me, Mad Max was the obvious candidate.

Only Katie had said the man in the park was dark-haired. Mad Max was blond. But the Autarch was dark-haired, and he’d given Mad Max the gift. Vamp powers ran through the bloodlines, so it was possible that the Autarch could turn into some sort of animal. Plus, I’d asked Malik if the Autarch could go out in daylight if he stayed in the shade and he’d never answered my question. Just told me the Autarch wasn’t the Emperor. Crap. Maybe my paranoia was spot on and the Autarch had been spying on me last night.