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FORTY-EIGHT | BIRCH AND OAK

The site of the attack was deserted. Even the last of the curious onlookers had tired of staring, and there was nothing there but half-dried blood and billowing police tape. The wind had picked up, rustling the nearby fir trees and blowing orange and burgundy leaves to the ground.

Skye stilled beside me, dropping my hand as he crept around the bloodied imprint. “I’ve smelt this before.”

I raised one eyebrow. “Not a vampire?”

He shook his head. “No, it’s the same smell that lingered after Pera was attacked. Not a vampire… I’m not sure what it is.”

Kathrena frowned, stepping closer. I was scared to move more than an inch towards the blood: it was less appealing to us once it had congealed, its life force diminished, but the scent of it was still thick and heady in the night air. The sky had darkened fully now, and the glow of the streetlamps

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