and a small nightstand.
What kind of man would stay in a place like this? he wondered as he looked around the neat and tidy surroundings. Maybe the lead he was following up was wrong. Surely someone with Serrano’s means and lineage would never surround himself with such flea market squalor, even if it was simply used as an occasional hideout.
He opened the nightstand drawer with his handkerchief and found a flashlight, an unscented candle, a book of matches and a well-worn bible. He grabbed it, flipped through the pages, and when a guitar pick fell out, he couldn’t help smiling. Serrano took his guitar everywhere.
This was promising after all.
When he picked up a pillow and drew in a deep breath through his nostrils, something lingered in the back of his scent memory and almost—
“How can you tell if your guy is my renter?” The woman’s voice broke his concentration and his shoulders stiffened. “I mean, we really shouldn’t be in here without his permission. It ain’t right.”
“Wait for me outside near the blue car.”
“Why—”
He leveled a hard stare at her and noticed the loose skin of her jowls hung in parallel cords from her chin to the base of her neck. The soft tissue would tear easily, he thought as the tips of his fangs poked through his gums.
“I’ll be right out there if you need me,” she said, suddenly wising up.
Good. He didn’t want to flood his system with her blood right now anyway. It would dilute his senses too much and he needed them keen at the moment.
As his fangs receded, he turned back to the cot. With a fingernail, he lifted the lid of the prayer box and held it to his nose.
He recalled the Oath of Loyalty ceremony when the item had been placed in his possession centuries ago. In the dimly lit caverns beneath the city of Madrid, he had watched as the Overlord drew a blade over the palms of each of the inductees. They were to dip a square of muslin in their own blood, place it inside a prayer box and present it to their assigned blood assassin as a sign of their undying loyalty to the Overlord and the Darkblood Alliance.
Something about Serrano’s demeanor had nagged at him that day, and he’d checked inside the tiny golden box before placing it into the vault. Maybe it was the way Serrano had looked at him, almost glaring at the Overlord, eyes full of defiance, with no trace of the reverence visible on all the others’ faces. It was, after all, an honor to be asked to join the inner circle.
Maybe it was the slight sheen of sweat he’d noticed on Serrano’s upper lip. Rejavik couldn’t be sure what it was that hadn’t seemed right, but it was a good thing he’d checked—the tiny box had been empty. The blood-soaked piece of cloth had somehow fallen to the dirt floor.
Serrano had acted surprised, as if he thought he’d placed it inside the box, but Rejavik wasn’t so sure it hadn’t been intentional.
When he’d learned Serrano had been identified as the insider responsible for the death of their great leader, that he’d been feeding intelligence to the Governing Council’s Guardian unit for years, Rejavik hadn’t been surprised. He doubted Serrano had ever been loyal to their cause. It would be his pleasure and honor to kill the traitor.
A quick death would be too kind. No, he’d make sure to draw it out as long and as painfully as possible. And if there was anyone special in Serrano’s life, anyone he cared enough about to share blood, Rejavik would find her and make her suffer as well.
He inhaled deeply and held his breath, the remnants of Serrano’s blood inside the box reactivating his scent memory. He visualized the defiance in Serrano’s eyes, which shone brightly beneath his hooded robe, the slight flare of his nostrils and the rigidity of his shoulders. Ah, yes. It was all coming back to him now.
He closed the lid and ran his fingers lightly over the bed, leaning his face close to the surface. Yes, the scent patterns matched. Although the smell was old, Serrano had definitely been here.
But there was something more.
He pulled back the comforter and sniffed again.
Although faint, the smell of sex still clung to the sheets. Serrano had fucked someone in this shit hole? A whore? Did he drain her as well? Rejavik didn’t detect any blood scent, though.
He was about to leave when his hand alighted on a lump near the foot of the bed. Flipping back the comforter entirely, he spotted a tiny, wadded ball of black string and lace forgotten on the sheets, kicked off in the heat of the moment.
With just the tip of a finger so as not to disturb the scent, he lifted the flimsy material to his nose.
Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.
Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».
Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.
Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.
