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I just had to hope the vamps in this building feared the Directorate more than they wanted to taste Ivan's blood.
I pounded down the stairs and out the shattered glass doors. Even against the thick reek of vampire that clung to the night, the odd scent of my quarry was easy enough to pick up. I raced across the barren ground of what once might have been a playground, and out onto the street. The vamp was nowhere to be seen, but his scent pulled me on.
"Sal, the vamp is on the run." Headlights swept across the darkness, tearing away the shadows. The vamp became briefly visible - stringy hair flying, his legs almost a blur, arms pumping. "He's about half a block ahead of me. If Talvin's near, can you call him in as backup?"
"Will do."
The car moved past, the headlights sweeping onto me. I threw up a hand to protect my eyes and kept on running. I was getting closer. Slowly but surely.
He swung right into a side street. I reached for more speed, not wanting him out of my sight for long, and felt the twinge of protest in my bruised and battered leg muscles.
I ran into the side street. The rich smell of barbequing meat filled the night, making my mouth water. The vampire was nowhere to be seen, but his lingering scent suggested he'd crossed the road and wasn't that far ahead. I flicked to infrared, and realized the strength of the scent was misleading. His body was a fading blur up ahead. Fuck, he was fast.
I upped my own speed again, and the twinges in my legs became outright pain. I ignored them and ran on.
The vamp swung left into another side street. It was almost thirty seconds later before I skidded around the corner. Who'd have thought a vampire with such skinny little legs could have so much sustained speed?
Under the glow of infrared, the street was empty of life. I frowned, looking left and right, seeing the glimpses of life in the houses along either side of the street, but nothing that indicated my would-be murderous vampire was anywhere near.
I couldn't have just lost him. No vampire could move that fast.
Yet his scent was not only fading fast, but dispersing in all directions. As if he'd stopped, and something had scattered the smell of him.
I looked upward. No vampire in the nearby trees, no unusual shape in the sky. Not that vampires could actually fly - not unless they'd been a bird-shifter in life, anyway.
Though with the sheer wrongness of his scent overwhelming everything else, it was possible for me to have missed the scent of shifter on him.
But if he was a bird-shifter, why hadn't he taken flight when he'd jumped out the window? He could have gotten away much easier and cleaner.
Unless his intention all along had been to drag me far enough away so he could go back and finish what he'd started?
"Sal," I said, as I turned and ran back as fast as my aching legs would allow. "My target has flown the coop and I've lost him."
"Well, shit, Riley, that's slack."
No doubting that. "He's five ten, gaunt build, with brown eyes and stringy hair. Can you put out a bulletin? I've got a bleeder in an apartment block of vamps to attend to. Send an ambulance ASAP."
"What about Talvin?"
"Can you ask him to patrol the building's grounds? Just in case our rogue decides to return?"
"Will do."
The graffiti-strewn building felt no safer going in the second time than it had the first. The vamps still hovered, their hunger stinging the air.
At least there was no sense of a feeding frenzy. No overwhelming aroma of blood filling the air.
I pounded back up the stairs, wondering if I was even going to be able to walk tomorrow after everything my poor muscles had been through today.
The vamps on the fourth floor had stayed back, as ordered. I slowed as I neared the end apartment again, my breathing short, sharp gasps that filled the air. I raised an arm to swipe at the sweat trickling down my cheeks and entered the apartment.
Ben's bloodied friend still hung by his wrists, and the odd-smelling vampire was nowhere nearby. Relief filtered through me. For once, fate hadn't chucked me a curveball.
"Please," he croaked, "get me down."
"There's a knife in the kitchen?"
He shook his head, sending droplets of blood flying from the cut on his cheek. "Not strong enough. Bedroom."
