Salvation's Kiss (Tales Of Mython Book 1) by Kathryn Jayne (old books to read .TXT) 📗

“Yes?”

“Sign here, please.” He thrust a device forward with a fingerprint signature request. Releasing a breath and the bat, she cracked the door a little further and reached through to touch her thumb to his screen before the young man produced an envelope. She met his brown eyes briefly, sensing something familiar in his presence that she couldn’t quite place. She took the manila envelope, waiting for the dark-haired stranger to let himself out of the screeching gate before closing the door.

Turning the envelope over, she slid her finger across the fold, removing a small picture with a note attached by a paper-clip.

If you want me to keep your secret, you'll have to do something for me.

The back door, midnight.

Until then,

Liam.

Ashley focused on the picture, her heart quickening as she looked upon a still image of herself in the grasp of her attackers. Their faces were a mesh of anguish. The small time stamp on the bottom suggested it was a caption taken from moving footage, a recording. She felt her heart hammer, unaware the paper within her hand was aflame, being reduced to cinders. Swearing, she dropped it, stamping on the curling paper, but it was too late to salvage anything. Turning the envelope over, she looked for a post location, anything she could recognise, only to find the envelope was blank. Snatching the door open, she dashed down the overgrown path, cursing as her bare feet caught the loose stone chips as she hurried, hoping to catch sight of the delivery man. No address meant someone had handed it to him. She had to know who. Standing at her gate, she looked left and right, hoping to catch a flash of taillights or hear the roar of an engine being brought to life, but he was nowhere to be seen.

Liam stood masked by the shadows cast by the overgrown back garden. The unpruned shrubs created the perfect cover for a slender man such as himself to fade into the background. He couldn’t believe he was actually doing this, but her blood had saved him, brought him back from the brink and now it was all he could think about. He could still recall seeing her there, lying on the bandstand bleeding, fighting for life yet unable to prevent it from fading away. He had seen what she had done to survive and had lingered in the darkness, much as he did now, ensuring she was on the verge of unconsciousness before daring to approach.

It had been his intention to help her, nothing more, but he had been weakened and exhausted from the trials of the evening. But as he saw the injury, the enormous slice expanding from the upper part of her thigh to almost her knee, he knew to fail would be to let her die. As he had sat trying to staunch the flow of her blood and knit the wound together, he felt his remaining reserves wane and his instinct took over. It had been as if he had known her blood would rejuvenate him. Through a haze of exhaustion, he found himself latched onto her thigh, suckling in the same manner her attackers had. He had taken only a mouthful, maybe two, but he felt his strength returning and her wound sealing, reacting to the surge of energy which flooded through him. No longer caring for the intimacy of the location, he greedily devoured the remaining fluid, resisting the urge to bite her and draw more of the sweet ambrosia from the jagged scar he had left.

He had not felt that energised for a long time, but the high soon wore off, and now he needed more. It was the least she could do. After all, he had saved her life. Creeping forwards, he placed a small box on the back doorstep before once more retreating to the shadows. There was no chance she would recognise him; he had already confirmed as much when he delivered the doctored image. It hadn’t been his best work, but it had needed to show very little, especially when her panicked mind would fill in the details. He had seen what she had done and mirrored it in the image as best he could. There was no reason she would doubt its authenticity.

He tensed as he heard the door handle rattle. Light spilt from inside, flooding the garden with the pale illumination, but he knew this place well. There were areas where shadows always remained dominant, especially since she had never gotten around to changing the bulb in the back security sensor.

“Hello?” He could hear the fear lining her voice, and for a brief moment felt guilty before assuring himself he was owed this. The fact that she stood there now and could call out like this, was because he had intervened. She was alive because of him.

“There’s a box on the step. Pick it up.” He watched as she stepped forward from the safety of the house, her rust-coloured hair reflecting the many red lowlights within as her eyes fixed upon the lock box. Glancing around again, as if to seek him out, she obeyed.

“What is it you want?”

“The contents are self-explanatory.” He paused for a moment, thinking he should offer her a little more incentive to comply with his demands. “How is your injury?”

“Healed,” came her snipped reply. “What am I meant to do with this?” she asked, a frown creasing her delicate features as she peered into the box at its contents. He suddenly realised his mistake. Anyone unfamiliar with Taphouses would have no idea what was inside.

“They left you to die.” The coldness of his tone surprised him. He saw her shudder, the hand not holding the small box rubbing the chill from her arms.

“What is it you want?”

“I saw what you did to them. I had to wait until you were almost unconscious before I dared save you.”

“You?” She straightened slightly, once more peering into the shadows as if