The Shifting Price of Prey (30 page)

‘The Emperor may not want to bond any souls,’ Malik said. ‘Janan can also release a soul from its earthly body.’

I snorted. ‘Wouldn’t it be easier to just kill someone if he wanted to release their soul?’

‘No. Death frees the soul. But with Janan the soul can be captured.’

I shuddered. ‘Ugh, nasty thing.’

‘Not originally. Janan’s primary purpose was to keep the souls of the dead safe on their journey to the afterlife. That is why Janan is called, Beloved of Malak al-Maut. Malak
al-Maut is the Angel of Death.’

Shock slammed into me. ‘Malak al-Maut’s the Angel of Death? Why the hell would you use the Angel of Death’s knife to bond our souls together?’ Horrified and angry, I
shoved at him, catching him off guard. He went flailing backwards over the wooden seat behind him and thudded into the base of the boat, eyes wide with surprise. The small boat rocked dangerously
and, as if we were in the middle of a rom-com, I lost my balance and tumbled forwards to faceplant, oh so gracefully, between his legs, my nose mashing against a certain hard but obviously
sensitive part of him. As mortification spliced through my fury, and his pained grunt reached my ears, there was a clunk of something hitting wood, followed by the quiet tinkling of shattering
glass.

Cold liquid drenched my T-shirt, arms and hands.

My anger stalled as my mind tried to understand what broken glass and wetness meant. Then, as the boat steadied and Malik’s hands grasped my shoulders, lifting me away from him, it dawned
on me that my fall had smashed the fragile bottle of werewolf repellent.

The reek of it slapped me like a long-dead, heavily decaying fish.

I clapped my hand over my nose and mouth. My wet hand. My lips burned as if I’d pressed silver to them. Then as the metallic tang of the liquid seared my tongue, and my hands started to
blister, it hit me that the repellent did actually have silver in it. Silver which, thanks to my vamp blood, I’m allergic to. Shit. I snatched my hand away as my throat closed on a choking
cough and, catching a glimpse of bloody tears streaming down Malik’s pale face, realised I wasn’t the only one hit by the silver in the repellent.

Where’s the Hallmark moment now, Gen?

Then, almost faster than I could process, we were out the boat and in the lake. Water closed over my head. Instinctively I snapped my mouth shut, struggling and thrashing to the surface, but a
steel grip held me under. I gasped for breath and water rushed down my nose, my throat, filling my stomach and lungs. Hands ripped at my clothes, the cool lake water soothing my burning flesh.
Greyness edged my vision and a distant part of me thought I was probably drowning until I was hauled out of the water, coughing and spluttering, and dumped unceremoniously on to a patch of sandy
grass.

I collapsed there, retching. Damn Tavish. Why hadn’t he told me the repellent had silver in it? The stuff wouldn’t have killed me, like it might a young vamp, but if Malik
hadn’t dunked me I’d have been out of it for who knew how long while my sidhe body healed itself. Not to mention what harm had it done to him. And hadn’t that article in the witch
archive said silver didn’t work on werewolves? The kelpie had some explaining to do, next I saw him.

Finally, my heaves subsided.

I pushed wet hair out of my eyes and discovered I was on the small island just past the bridge.

Other than my briefs, I was naked.

With no sign of Malik.

T
en minutes later, I’d half-dragged myself down to the lake’s edge, rinsed my mouth out and was sitting there, hugging my legs, toes
tapping anxiously in the water as I tried to work out what to do next. Did I try to find Malik, or see if I could rustle up some help? Though the lack of clothes problem wasn’t exactly
conducive to accosting strangers, nor was the fact that I had enough aches and pains, and bruises blooming, that it felt like I’d been in a death-roll with a croc. Not to mention a vague
fuzziness in my head. The dunking I’d taken seemed to be the cause, or maybe the silver in the werewolf repellent was to blame.

Then Malik appeared.

My aches and pains muted with relief.

He rose up out of the water about fifteen feet in front of me until he was standing waist deep, hair slicked wet down his back, moonlight gleaming on his pale chest, its silky triangle of black
silk hair arrowing down to disappear into the water. He looked like some sea god, breathtaking and beautiful and ready to be worshipped. My toes curled of their own volition. He came towards me,
the lake getting shallower as he did, to reveal, much to my regret, that he wasn’t all-the-way naked. He was still wearing his leather trousers. Damn him.

A hot wind sprang up from nowhere tangling my hair across my face. When the wind dropped, Malik was standing before me. I shuffled a few feet back up the grassy bank and he sank elegantly down
into a crouch before me. He held something grey out. When I frowned at it, he wrapped it round my shoulders and tied it gently. As I watched, he nicked a finger on one fang and let it bead with
dark, almost black blood.

He offered it to me. ‘Freely given, Genevieve.’

The scent of liquorice and dark spice drew me and I leaned forward eagerly, sucking his finger into my mouth. A brief glorious taste burst on my tongue then, disappointingly, his finger was
gone. I blinked as the aches and pain vanished and the fuzziness in my mind cleared.

His blood had healed me.

I frowned as I realised his hair was dry, as were his leather jeans, and the grey thing around me was the pashmina; also dry. My backpack was on the grassy sand next to me; the spell Sylvia had
put on it to keep my things safe had obviously worked to stop its contents getting wet, which explained the pashmina. But not Malik’s dry hair nor the trousers . . . Unless that had been the
wind . . .
some sort of vamp power . . .
something to think about later.

‘Thanks,’ I said, placing my hand on his arm. ‘For helping me.’

‘You are welcome, Genevieve.’ He smiled, then his mouth thinned as he added, ‘Though I fear your clothes are unsalvageable. I did not know how much silver the potion held, so I
was primarily concerned with removing them before they could do you harm.’

I gave a lopsided grin. ‘Seems to be a habit you have, ripping my clothes off.’

His mouth twitched. ‘I will replace these as I did the others.’

‘’S’okay,’ I said. ‘Think Tavish owes me, not you.’

‘The kelpie did not tell you there was silver in the potion.’ Condemnation edged his statement.

‘Nope,’ I agreed. ‘But even if he had, neither of us would have thought I’d end up wearing more than a drop at a time, or virtually drinking the stuff. Anyway, I
didn’t think silver worked against werewolves?’

‘It does not. I believe silver can be used as a magical carrier for other ingredients. The sidhe do this, so I have heard. It concentrates them, giving them more potency.’

Figured. My lack of knowledge when it came to sidhe magic was almost as frustrating as my lack of magical ability.

‘How about you?’ I asked. ‘Did the silver do you any damage?’

‘Nothing I could not heal.’

‘So, I guess I should say I’m sorry for’ –
headbutting you in the balls; nice subtle sophisticated moment, Gen!
– ‘um, landing on you like
that.’

Malik’s eyes lit with amusement. ‘It was not a . . . landing I had imagined.’

‘Me either.’ I gave him a wry smile, then rolled my shoulders. ‘But finding out you’d used an Angel of Death’s personal blade to bond our souls was a shock.’
I raised my voice slightly in question. We were still in the open, but maybe he could tell me something . . .

He dropped his gaze, broke off a strand of rough grass and twisted it tight around his finger, then let it fall. ‘I did not use Janan to bond
our
souls, Genevieve.’ He
lifted his head. Sadness darkened his eyes then was gone. ‘Your soul was bonded to mine by proxy; mine was not tethered to yours. Your future was not mine, but belonged to the
Autarch.’

The usual panic rippled through me. I stamped on it. ‘Yeah, well, the Autarch can go whistle,’ I said flatly. ‘That’s never gonna happen.’

‘No, it will not,’ he replied, moving so he knelt before me.

‘You have nothing to fear.’

I hit him with a sceptical look. ‘Seriously? But you owe him your Oath. What if Bastien orders you?’

Malik’s pupils flared with power. ‘He cannot.’

My gaze caught on the fading scar on his forehead where the Autarch had branded him with delta, meaning slave. Actions speak louder. ‘Fine,’ I said, ‘you might believe that,
but I don’t. The Autarch is a sadistic psychopath, nothing’s going to change that no matter what you think.’

‘We have come to an agreement, Genevieve. He has given his word.’

‘C’mon, Malik,’ I said, denying the flicker of hope that he might be right. ‘You know Bastien better than me. Sooner or later he’ll work out a way to get around
whatever he’s promised.’

He regarded me for a moment, then repeated, ‘He has given his word, Genevieve.’ But his hesitation told me my suspicion was correct. That he too thought that whatever Bastien had
agreed, there was a chance he’d find a way round it. The flicker of hope snuffed out.

‘If you say so,’ I said flatly.

He frowned. ‘Is this why you changed your mind about my invitation?’

‘What invitation?’

‘To meet with me tonight.’

I shook my head, perplexed. ‘I didn’t. I told the woman at Sanguine Lifestyles I’d meet you at the Blue Heart as she requested. I said so yesterday.’

His frown deepened. ‘I sent a text message today to ask you to meet me at sunset instead. Your exact reply was, “Any meeting must be private at office or not at
all.”’

‘Huh? Well, it wasn’t me. My phones went kaput this morning and I’ve been stuck with the police on a closed crime scene all day . . .’ I trailed off. I’d left my
phones at work to be fixed. Had someone at Spellcrackers been checking my messages? And answering them? But who the hell would do that? Damn it, whoever it was, was due a bollocking.

‘You did not have your phone all day?’

I focused back on Malik. ‘No.’

An odd hesitation showed in his eyes, then he said, ‘After your refusal the other night, I thought you had changed your mind about my invitation.’

Oh. He thought I’d got cold feet. ‘I hadn’t— still haven’t, but . . .’

‘But what, Genevieve?’

Looked like now was the time for our chat. I took a breath and drew the pashmina closer. ‘I’ll be honest, asking me on a date to a vamp club when you had to know I wouldn’t
accept’ – I gave him a candid look – ‘well, it smacks of playing games.’

He treated me to a considering look, then nodded. ‘Yes, you are right. I am sorry. I should have stated my concerns plainly and not attempted to force a decision from you. I find your
insistence in allying yourself with the witches and fae, to the point where they can dictate your decisions for you, while distancing yourself from the vampire side of your heritage, troubling. And
I allowed my disquiet to compromise my good judgement; such a misstep can occur when I am somewhat . . . volatile.’

I gave him an ironic look. ‘You don’t say?’ The corner of his mouth twitched, then his amusement faded as I said, ‘It also made me think the Autarch was behind the
invite.’

‘I appreciate why you may have thought that, Genevieve.’ His gaze turned thoughtful. ‘I have given you my assurances that you are safe from Bastien. I understand that you still
have some anxiety where he is concerned, but there is no need for it.’

‘I wasn’t anxious about me,’ I said. ‘But you. I thought he was doing some strange possession thing with you.’

Amazement crossed his face. ‘You were concerned for me?’

‘Yes. So once I had time to think about it, I realised I had to accept.’

‘You did?’

‘I thought you needed help.’

One elegant brow rose. ‘You would risk the condemnation of the fae and the witches, and put yourself in danger, to help me?’

‘Don’t act so astounded,’ I said, peeved. ‘For one, as you’ve pointed out, I shouldn’t be toeing the witch and fae line. And two, I’ve helped you
before. That time at the Blue Heart with old Elizabetta.’

‘That was to help you, Genevieve.’

‘It helped both of us, if I remember right,’ I corrected. ‘And anyway, you’ve helped me plenty of times in the past. So I couldn’t not help you. That’s what
friends do.’ ‘Friends’ wasn’t all I hoped for, but it would work as a start.

His black eyes met mine and for a moment I glimpsed vulnerability in them before he said, ‘We are friends?’

I half-smiled. ‘Yes.’

‘Thank you.’

‘You’re welcome.’

‘It is generous of you, Genevieve, to accept my invitation because of your concern for me.’ His expression smoothed into his usual enigmatic mask as he spoke, but not before I saw a
shadow of something like disappointment. ‘But it was not necessary, even as a friend.’

Idiot vamp. Did he think that was the only reason? I gave him an arch look and said blithely, ‘Oh, my concern was part of it, but not all of it.’