Dark Destiny (Dark Sentinel #1) - Lexxie Couper Page 0,81

red blood on the white floor tiles beneath the vanity mirror caught his attention. A little further away, about the length of Amy’s torso, was a puddle of urine. A few wavy strands of blonde hair lay scattered on the floor, the microscopic white nub of follicle root still attached to the ends of each one.

He ground his teeth, the image of those strands, along with about one hundred thousand others cascading down Amy’s naked back flooding into his mind all too easily. His fingers had been buried in those strands a little less than ten hours ago.

He swiped at his mouth, his fangs digging into his top lip as he did so. “Shit.”

Dropping into a crouch, he touched his fingertips to the smear of blood and then raised them to his nose.

The distinct scent of the other vampire threaded into his nostrils, played over his preternaturally developed olfactory bulb. It filtered through the hypersensitive cells; traveled over the olfactory nerves until, with barely a moment of time passing, he recognized the source.

A low growl rumbled deep in his chest.

Raziel. The lowlife scum vampire who frequented The Pleasure Palace and fed from the hookers and tourists too stupid not to linger near dark alleys. The vampire who always seemed to turn up wherever Ven was, even once at the cliff beach.

Cold anger and guilt rolled through him. If he’d not been so freaked out this morning, if he’d not fled Amy like a rabid dog with its tail between its legs, he would have recognized the bastard’s scent and done something about it. Like tear the lowlife dickhead a new arsehole before ramming a piano leg through his chest. Or better still, a cricket bat.

He bit back a snarl, silencing the enraged entity within his core.

Christ, what did he do? The bastard had Amy and it was all his bloody fault.

Does he have her, or has he fed from her? Drained her of life and dumped her body somewhere? Worse still, has he turned her?

Ven ground his teeth. He didn’t like the possible answers to any of those questions.

Okay, then how about this question, then? How did Raziel get here during daylight? How did he survive the sun?

Ven’s gut dropped, frustration and worry fighting with guilt and anger. Jesus, maybe he wasn’t so unique after all? Dragging his hands through his hair, he pulled in a long breath—and for the first time since entering the bathroom detected the faint taste of burnt flesh on the air.

He pulled a deeper breath, narrowing his senses onto the telltale odor. The taste and smell of barbequed white meat flowed into his nose and a cold grin pulled at his lips. It seemed the lowlife dickhead had gotten singed pretty bad getting his skinny, pale arse over here.

Ven’s lips curled away from his teeth. “Good.”

Straightening to his feet, he ran his gaze over the small bathroom, searching for anything that would tell him something. Apart from the blood smear, urine, strands of hair, and Raziel stench, there was nothing.

Letting out a harsh sigh, he dropped his head into his hands and raked his nails over his head, scratching lines of hot pain in his scalp. Bloody hell. How was he going to find Amy? How was he going to save her?

If there is anything left to save.

He drove his nails into his scalp. “Shut up.”

Closing his eyes, he forced the calm to flow through his body again. He needed to get to Amy. Wherever she was, he needed to find her. If Raziel was with her, all the better.

Drawing the sweet, innocent scent of her blood into his lungs, he formed an image of her in his mind. Concentrated on it. On her.

And opened his eyes in hell.

Or something close to it.

“Aaah,” a male voice cheered behind him. “Steven Owen Watkins. At last.”

He spun about, his stare locking immediately on the skinny man in the black suit he’d met at the beach. Pestilence grinned down at him from a throne made of bones, the hideous piece of furniture raised on a dais illuminated by what appeared to a thousand flickering candles.

Pestilence jabbed a finger at him, his grin stretching wider. “You’ve caused me quite a few problems over the years, Steven. Quite a few. More than one attempt to end your brother’s existence has been foiled by you.”

Ven raised his eyebrows. “Foiled?” He snorted, folding his arms across his chest, keeping the rage boiling through him under tenuous control. The entity inside him, the