All I could smell was blood.
Blood that was thick and ripe.
Blood that plastered my body, itching at my skin.
I stirred, groaning softly as I rolled onto my back. Other sensations began to creep through the fog encasing my mind. The chill of the stones that pressed against my spine. The gentle patter of moisture against bare skin. The stench of rubbish left sitting too long in the sun. And underneath it all, the aroma of raw meat.
It was a scent that filled me with foreboding, though why I had no idea.
I forced my eyes open. A concrete wall loomed ominously above me, seeming to lean inwards, as if ready to fall. There were no windows in that wall, and no lights anywhere near it. For a moment I thought I was in a prison of some kind, until I remembered the rain and saw that the concrete bled into the cloud-covered night sky.
Though there was no moon visible, I didn’t need to see it to know where we were in the lunar cycle. While it might be true that just as many vampire genes flowed through my bloodstream as werewolf, I was still very sensitive to the moon’s presence. The full moon had passed three days ago.
Last I remembered, the full moon phase had only just begun. Somewhere along the line, I’d lost eight days.
I frowned, staring up at the wall, trying to get my bearings, trying to remember how I'd gotten here. How I’d managed to become naked and unconscious in the cold night.
No memories rose from the fog. The only thing I was certain of was the fact that something bad had happened. Something that had stolen my memory and covered me in blood.
I wiped the rain from my face with a hand that was trembling, and looked left. The wall formed one side of a lane filled with shadows and overflowing rubbish bins. Down at the far end, a streetlight twinkled, a forlorn star in the surrounding darkness. There were no sounds to be heard beyond the rasp of my own breathing. No cars. No music. Not even a dog barking at an imaginary foe. Nothing that suggested life of any kind nearby.
Swallowing heavily, trying to ignore the bitter taste of confusion and fear, I looked to the right.
And saw the body.
A body covered in blood.
I couldn’t have. Surely to God, I couldn’t have.
Mouth dry, stomach heaving, I climbed unsteadily to my feet and staggered over.
Saw what remained of his throat and face.
Bile rose thick and fast. I spun away, not wanting to lose my dinner over the man I’d just killed. Not that he’d care any more...
When there was nothing but dry heaves left, I wiped a hand across my mouth, then took a deep breath and turned to face what I’d done.
He was a big man, at least six four, with dark skin and darker hair. His eyes were brown, and if the expression frozen on what was left of his face was anything to go by, I’d caught him by surprise. He was also fully clothed, which meant I hadn't been in a blood lust when I’d ripped out his throat. That in itself provided no comfort, especially considering I was naked, and obviously had made love to someone sometime in the last hour.
My gaze went back to his face and my stomach rose threateningly again. Swallowing heavily, I forced my eyes away from that mangled mess and studied the rest of him. He wore what looked like brown coveralls, with shiny gold buttons and the letters D.S.E. printed on the left breast pocket. There was a taser clipped to the belt at his waist and two-way attached to his lapel. What looked like a dart gun lay inches from his reaching right hand. His fingers had suckers, more gecko-like than human.
A chill ran across my skin. I’d seen hands like that before--just over two months ago, in a Melbourne casino car park, when I’d been attacked by a vampire and a tall, blue thing that had smelled like death.
The need to get out of this road hit like a punch to the stomach, leaving me winded and trembling. But I couldn’t run, not yet. Not until I knew everything this man might be able to tell me. There were too many gaps in my memory that needed to be filled.
Not the least of which was why I’d ripped out his throat.
After taking another deep breath that did little to calm my churning stomach, I knelt next to my victim. The cobblestones were cold and hard against my shins, but the chill that crept across my flesh had nothing to do with the icy night. The urge to run was increasing, but if my senses had any idea what I should be running from, they weren’t telling me. One thing was certain--this dead man was no longer a threat. Not unless he’d performed the ritual to become a vampire, anyway, and even then, it could be days before he actually turned.
I bit my lip and cautiously patted him down. There was nothing else on him. No wallet, no ID, not even the usual assortment of fluff that seemed to accumulate and thrive in pockets. His boots were leather--nondescript brown things that had no name brand. His socks provided the only surprise--they were pink. Fluorescent pink.
I blinked. My twin brother would love them, but I couldn’t imagine anyone else doing so. And they seemed an odd choice for a man who was so colorless in every other way.
Something scraped the cobblestones behind me. I froze, listening. Sweat skittered across my skin and my heart raced nine to the dozen--a beat that seemed to echo through the stillness. After a few minutes, it came again--a soft click I’d never have noticed if the night wasn’t so quiet.
I reached for the dart gun, then turned and studied the night-encased alley. The surrounding buildings seemed to disappear into that black well, and I could sense nothing or no one approaching.
Yet something was there, I was sure of it.
I blinked, switching to the infrared of my vampire vision. The entire lane leapt into focus--tall walls, wooden fences, and overflowing bins. Right down the far end, a hunched shape that wasn’t quite human, not quite dog.
My mouth went dry.
They were hunting me.