Free Drake Chronicles: 01 My Love Lies Bleeding by Alyxandra Harvey

inhaling deeply the fragrance of roses and wild mint. I was thinking so hard I wasn’t paying attention to my surroundings.
    First mistake.
    I might not have super hearing yet, but the arrow whistled so close to my head I could hear the air through the fletchings. It thunked into one of the oak trees, showering splinters. At the same time, someone crashed into me, curling around me like a particularly heavy parka.
    “Oof! What—”
    “Get down, you ijit!” It was Bruno. He only slipped back into his native Scottish accent when he was really pissed off . “Get in the damn house.” He ran me up the porch steps. I felt like the president of a small country under attack. All he needed was the ear transmitter and a pair of mirrored sunglasses. And a black suit— but I didn’t think he’d ever wear a tie, even for us. He looked just like what he was: an ex-biker with a shaved head to disguise the balding, and tattoos from shoulder to knuckle. He’d been working for us since before I was born. Bruno shoved me inside and slammed the door behind us.
    “Stay here,” he barked, running back out, shouting orders into a walkie-talkie. The gardens were quiet; even the birds were cheerfully oblivious. My heart was thumping wildly, making me feel dizzy. That arrow had been really close, too close. And only one organization used wooden arrows of that style.
    Helios-Ra.
    I wondered if it had been Kieran, skulking in the shadows, waiting for me to turn my back. The sun glittered on the gravel drive, the black iron fence. No vampire ancient enough to withstand this kind of a summer day would be able to sneak onto the property. Someone would have scented his pheromones.
    Bruno came back, eyeing me grimly. “The tunnels for you from now on, lassie.”
    “Did you get him?”
    “Not even a damned footprint.” He rubbed his head. “Get away from the window, Solange. It’s not safe.”
    “This is getting ridiculous,” I muttered.
    “Agreed,” he replied.
    “I’m going to the loft,” I told him peevishly.
    “Use the tunnel,” he repeated.
    I went down into the basement and used the short passageway that linked the house to the garage. The second floor had been converted into training space complete with floor mats, punching bags, a weight machine, and two treadmills. The back wall was covered with fencing gear and swords. I didn’t bother with the uniform or the mask since I was practicing on my own. I just needed the distraction. If pottery wasn’t enough to really calm me down, lunging and stabbing an imaginary foe would have to do. I took up my favorite sword, or foil as it was called in fencing.
    Out of habit I saluted my pretend opponent and bowed. Then I cross- stepped back and forward a few times to warm up. I lunged, I stabbed, I parried and circular parried and disarmed. I lunged again and again until my thigh muscles ached and sweat spiked my hair. I ducked right, I parried low, I jabbed high. Retreat, riposte, retreat, riposte.
    I felt better until I happened to glance out the window and saw Bruno going back into the house, dragging a huge bag full of packages and flowers. I tossed my foil aside and sprinted down the steps, through the tunnel and up to the front hall. I scowled at the open bag, panting and scowling.
    “What the hell is that?”
    “More gifts, lass,” Bruno said. “We’re finding them all along the property line.” For some reason, all those presents were really pissing me off. I jabbed my hand inside and pulled out postcards, a clump of daisies, something that looked like a Ziploc bag full of blood.
    “That’s disgusting.” I dropped it immediately. The light glinted off something silver and I pulled it out gingerly. It was an apple, perfectly crafted out of silver, with a leaf dangling from the stem. The delicate leaf was engraved with a name: Montmartre.
    I put the apple aside so I could wipe my hands completely clean of Montmartre cooties, and it teetered on the edge of the table. It