Saving Death

Chapter 27

I pick up my drink and down it in one. It burns the back of my throat, but doesn't ease the disquiet inside me. I feel eyes on me. A girl with rippling blonde hair and killer blue eyes smiles at me from across the bar. I don't smile back, but my throat constricts as I inhale her scent. I admit that I'm tempted, but I see the shock register in her face as my eyes ripple. Stupid move. It's too open here and too busy.

I do want time though. I've never wanted it more. It's as if being so close to my own demise has elevated my need to reap souls. I'm hungry and I need to devour humanity. Leaving a wad of notes on the bar, I leave without a glance at the girl. I want to tell her she's got lucky tonight in ways she couldn't even imagine.

It's dark outside and there are plenty of people partying tonight. There's bound to be someone I can take. I've definitely come to the right place. I can feel my throat rattle in anticipation as my mark burns under my sleeve. It's never burned so much before and I pull my sleeve up to inspect the damage. I frown. The hourglass is full. But that can't be right. What has that witch done to me?

I glance at my phone. It's almost two in the morning, which means a few unsuspecting, vulnerable souls will be wandering the streets soon. No. It's not the balance. I've always kept the balance. I've never strayed, but then I've never felt like this before. The others do it. I curse under my breath and grip my throat hard. This hunger is beginning to consume me. I need time. I shouldn't bend reality to my own advantage, but—once, just this once.

I wander across the road and conceal myself in a shop doorway. There's a grey-fronted nightclub right across the street. The neon blue sign flanking the front reads Edge. Its windows are boarded up with wooden boards plastered in old posters, and the peeling emulsion on the brickwork suggests it isn't the most eloquent of public houses.

I watch as two bouncers mill about in front of the double doors, conversing. They are both heavily built; nothing I couldn't contend with, even with my power depleted—but then a girl stumbles from the doors. I stand up straight and watch as she reaches into her bag and takes out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. She glances either way down the street and then stumbles aimlessly along the side of the building to the corner, obscuring herself in an alleyway. This is your chance, Samael. I move.

I saunter across the road towards her. She clocks me immediately.

"Hey." I use my best boy-next-door voice to lure her in, and I watch her pupils dilate when she looks at me. "Where's your friend?" I ask. I hope she doesn't have anyone with her. It will make this easier. She shrugs and smiles at me. She must be in her mid-thirties judging by the lines at the edge of her eyes and the decade of clothes she wears. She's alone right now. It's enough. I smile back. "Come, I'll walk you to the taxi rank." I take her hand as I walk her along the high-street.

"Thanks," she mumbles, leaning on me for support. "I should call Leanne and let her know I'm leaving." She is with someone. Too late now. You've made your move. Just do it.

Her breath has the fresh fumes of alcohol on it, but I can feel the pulse in her wrist and the life emanating from her. My chest burns. I know I shouldn't be doing this. It's against the code. I've never done this before, but I've never felt like this before. I need time. I need her time; it's right there for me to grasp.

The mark on my arm throbs painfully as if sensing how close I am to the kill. I make a quick decision and push her against the nearest wall by her shoulders, sweeping her red hair back from her face. She gasps and fear flickers for a moment before she looks into my eyes. Now, she's looking at me with desire. She thinks I'm going to kiss her, but as my eyes glint and darken, her expression changes.

This isn't me. Do it, a voice calls out in my mind, and I listen to it because my throat is on fire and the pain is blinding me. Guilt flickers inside me, but I can't bear my raging appetite any longer and I press my hand against her forehead. I find her soul and grasp my hand around it, clinging to it. The life fades from her eyes and her muscles relax to become a dead weight against me.

But then she's there, like a tidal wave in my mind—the girl with hazel eyes. Her brown hair whips around her face and she glares at me with a fierce understanding—and love. I see her hand move towards my face and feel it's cool pressure on my forehead. Then I am thrown from my reverie and find myself back in the darkened street.

The breath catches in my burning throat.

Burning.

Still.

Growling in desperate fury, I let the dead girl slip down my body and crumple on the floor in a heap.

What is this magic? The witch is responsible for this. I turn and stalk out into the night.