The source of the smell was a young-looking vampire in jeans and a sweater that might have been light blue a few days ago. He was bound firmly to a metal chair with heavy chains, but they were probably just to kill the poor bastard’s morale. Thick wooden stakes speared through his chest to weaken him, while an intricate chalk spell on a tarp beneath him—mixed with his own blood—would cage him in if he got free.
Just go get it and get out.
It wasn’t the first time she’d drained a vampire. After Lux brought Shea into the house, she’d made Stella bleed him for her spells. Even when he was barely stitched together by magic and bandages, he’d spat crude curses at her the whole time. This one was younger, and much weaker thanks to the hunter who’d worked him over.
Armina was thoroughly displeased that the hunters only managed to bring one of the Durendal vampires back from Atlanta. Marlee had taken one down, but couldn’t get to him before his partner got him to safety.
That left this one for whatever Lux was up to. The older witch wouldn’t answer Stella’s questions directly, but given what she’d been doing to Shea and his followers, it wasn’t too hard to figure out. One of Julian’s followers might give her a connection to him, making it easier for Ms. Voss to track him down, maybe even to make more puppets like Paige and Adrian.
At the sound of her footsteps, the captive vampire stirred. His head lifted, and soft blue-green eyes met hers. His brow furrowed. “You’re a new one,” he said. There was a faint lilt to his voice, with a hint of a British accent. “Don’t suppose you want to let me go, do you?”
“I…” She was rooted to the ground. This would be much easier if he was unconscious. “I have to get blood from you.”
“This golden goose is running dry, I’m afraid,” he said with a little chuckle.
She dared to step closer, and his gaze lifted.
“That’s a nasty cut you’ve got there. Smells a bit off.” She frowned at him, but he was unfazed. A split lip tugged at his smile, rendering it slightly crooked. “No offense. You smell fine. But I’d keep an eye out for infection. Take a bit of my blood for yourself if you like.”
“What?” she breathed.
“Vampire blood is good medicine for humans,” he said. His head cocked. “Surely you know that.”
“I, uh…”
He was breathtakingly handsome, as many vampires were, but that wasn’t what had her so shocked. It took a lot more than a good-looking man to render her speechless. It was the sincerity that radiated from him like heat. His voice was warm and soothing, like chamomile tea.
It was probably a damn trick.
“If I drink your blood, you can control me,” she said.
He laughed. “If I wasn’t a bloody pincushion and you chugged a pint before sitting in my lap and gazing in my eyes, perhaps. Take it and drink it later. It’ll be our little secret.”
“Just be quiet,” she said, trying to shake off her growing sense of unease at his civility. She hesitantly strode closer, then walked behind him. The blood-caked sleeves of his sweater were pushed up, revealing lean forearms. Criss-crossing gashes marked his flesh, swollen and red. “You should be healing faster.”
His nose wrinkled, and his head tilted back like he was trying to see her. There was a nasty purple welt at his temple, as if he’d been struck. “That’s what happens when you get cut open with wood and don’t feed for a few days. Well, when I do,” he said with a laugh. “What’s your name?”
“Stella,” she said before she could catch herself. She did not need to make friends with the damned vampire.
“That’s a lovely name. Stars in the night sky,” he said.
She hesitated with the knife, eyeballing that vicious landscape of markings. Had this been Jordan or Lux’s work? Was it worse to find new ground or to spare him another scar? And why the hell did she care about being careful?
“I’m Rhys,” the man said.
No. He was a vampire. He was work, and nothing more. That kind smile didn’t need a name.
“I don’t care,” she said. “Don’t talk to me.”
“Well, brusque introductions aside, you’re still much better company than Mr. Cole,” he said. “And I’m a social butterfly. Stella, I—” He hissed in pain as she sliced into one of the angry-looking cuts, letting his blood drip down into the flask. But instead of cursing at her like Shea, who’d managed to shock even her with his creative and thoroughly misogynist profanity, Rhys kept talking, his voice slightly pinched by pain. “I’m guessing she wants my blood to hurt Julian.”
“I don’t know,” Stella lied. That made sense, though. If he was connected to Julian, his blood was incredibly useful.
“Quick heartbeat, Stella,” Rhys said, fingers twitching. She held his hand firmly, guiding the trickle into the flask. “Why are you scared? It’s not me that scares you.”
“Be quiet,” she said shakily.
“Stella!” Lux shouted from upstairs. “What the hell is taking so long?”
