Page 45 of Blood Match
Closing my eyes, I’m assaulted by a vivid flashback. Soft skin against my lips, the intoxicating scent of witch’s blood flooding my senses. The memory is so clear, I can almost taste her again.
I sit up abruptly, stretching muscles stiffened by hours of sleep. That dream…it felt too real. And now this strange sensation coursing through me. I flex my fingers. There’s a strange humming beneath my skin.
But most significantly, the hunger is gone.
Bullshit. That can’t be right.
I swing my legs over the edge of the bed, my bare feet sinking into dense carpeting. The strange tingling sensation persists as I stand, feeling oddly energized despite hours of inactivity.
Crossing to the dressing room, I select a crisp black shirt and dark trousers. As I dress, my eyes adjust further to the darkness. A flick of a switch has the automated blinds gliding open, and heavy drapes slide aside, allowing moonlight to filter in.
I pause at the full-length mirror, studying my reflection. My skin seems to have a subtle glow, my eyes brighter than usual. But it’s the absence of something that truly unsettles me. And that something is the ever-present gnawing hunger that’s plagued me for months…it’s gone.
Wishful thinking, Drake. It can’t be gone.
Shaking my head, I stride to the door. This isn’t going to last. It’s a cruel trick of my mind, nothing more.
The air is cool as I step out into the hallway, my footsteps echoing on polished marble as I make my way toward the main level of the mansion. A figure emerges from the shadows – Sebastian, my manservant.
“Good evening, my Lord,” he says with a slight bow. “You’re up earlier than usual.”
I nod curtly. “Call Marcus. Tell him I need to see him immediately.”
Sebastian’s eyebrows raise slightly, but he knows better than to question. “Of course, sir. Anything else?”
“No,” I reply, already moving past him. “That will be all.”
I need air. Space to think. To test this impossible lack of thirst.
The gardens sprawl before me as I step outside, a meticulously manicured oasis bathed in light. Fragrant roses mingle with night-blooming jasmine, their scents usually overwhelmed by the constant call of blood. Tonight, I can appreciate their subtle perfume.
I close my eyes, focusing inward. The strange energy sings through my body, foreign yet exhilarating. On impulse, I crouch slightly before launching myself upward.
The cool night air rushes past as I soar, effortlessly clearing the towering oak at the garden’s edge. I land lightly on its highest branch, barely disturbing the leaves. My enhanced strength and agility seem unaffected, perhaps even heightened.
Interesting.
I leap again, this time pushing myself further. The mansion shrinks beneath me as I sail over its roof, twisting in midair before landing in a perfect crouch on the opposite side of the property. No strain, no fatigue. If anything, I feel more powerful than I have in decades.
A flicker of movement catches my eye. A rabbit, frozen in alarm at my sudden appearance. Normally, the sight of a prey animal would ignite an immediate thirst. Now…nothing. I can appreciate its rapid heartbeat, the warmth of its small body, but there’s no compulsion to feed.
I approach slowly, curious, fixing it with a steady stare that has it transfixed. The rabbit remains motionless as I kneel beside it. Gently, I scoop the creature into my hands. Its heart races against my palm, yet I feel no urge to kill. After a moment, I set it down, watching as it bounds away into the underbrush.
What is happening to me?
Maybe I’ve been wrong about it…maybe I never had the Bloodbane after all. Perhaps it was just some sort of illness.
Right. Like a twenty-four-hour bug for vampires.
The thought makes me snort.
The sound of tires on gravel pulls me from my reverie. Marcus has arrived in one of the dark SUVs he favors as a mode of transportation. I make my way back to the front of the mansion, arriving just as he steps out of his sleek black car.
“This had better be important,” he grumbles, straightening his jacket. “I was in the middle of a rather delicate negotiation.” Somehow, I suspect that his “negotiation” involved a couple of blood groupies. Marcus doesn’t share my boredom with the women who constantly throw themselves at us. Maybe he will in a few hundred years.
I meet his gaze steadily. “It is.”
Marcus frowns, studying me intently. “You look…strange. What’s going on?”