A bitter tang of fear laced the air of the apartment as well. Its odor had faded, some hours old, but lingering like fog.
He strode through the living room, about to head for the kitchen where the blood droplets continued. As he stalked farther inside, his gaze snagged on a stack of photos lying on the sofa table.
They were rough cuts, an odd assortment of images. Some he recognized from Gabrielle's work-in-progress, the one she was calling Urban Renewal. But there were a few shots he hadn't seen before. Or maybe hadn't looked close enough to notice.
He noticed them now.
Goddamn, did he ever.
An old warehouse near the wharf. An abandoned paper mill just outside the city. Several other forbidding-looking structures that no human - let alone an unsuspecting woman like Gabrielle - ought to be getting anywhere near.
Rogue lairs.
Some of them were defunct now, forced into that status by Lucan and his warriors, but a few others were active cells. He spotted several that Gideon currently had under surveillance. Sifting through the others, he wondered how many other photos she had here of Rogue locations not yet on the Breed's radar.
"Jesus Christ," he whispered tightly, fingering through a couple more images.
She even had some exterior shots of local Darkhavens, obscure entryways and masking signage meant to conceal the vampire sanctuaries from easy detection, whether from nosy humans or the enemy Rogues.
Yet Gabrielle had found all of these places. How?
It sure as hell wasn't by chance. Her extraordinary visual sense must have led her to them. She had already proven to be all but immune to the regular tricks of vampire guile - mass hypnotic illusion, mind control... now this.
With a curse, Lucan shoved a few pictures into the pocket of his leather jacket, then tossed the rest back onto the table.
"Gabrielle?"
He moved into the kitchen, where something even more disturbing waited for him.
The scent of Gabrielle's blood grew stronger here, drawing him to the sink. He froze in front of it, something cold clamping down around his chest as he stared into the basin.
It looked like someone had tried to clean up a crime scene, and had done a piss-poor job of it. More than a dozen waterlogged, bloodstained paper towels were clumped in the sink along with a paring knife that had been removed from the wooden block on the counter.
He picked up the sharp blade and gave it a quick inspection. It hadn't been used, but all the blood in the sink and spattered on the floor from the foyer to the kitchen belonged solely to Gabrielle.
And the torn clothing that lay in a discarded heap near his foot carried her scent, too.>She'd felt fascination.
She'd felt an incredible sort of... peace.
A few months after that surprising discovery, Gabrielle cut herself again. She did it deliberately, secretly, never with the intent to harm herself. Over time, she did it frequently, whenever she needed to feel that same profound sense of calm.
She needed it now, when she was anxious and jumpy as a cat, her ears picking up every slight noise in the apartment and outside. Her head was pounding. Her breath was shallow, coming rapidly through her teeth.
Her thoughts were careening from the flash-bright memories of the night outside the club to the creepy asylum she'd taken pictures of the other morning, to the confusing, irrational, bone-deep fear she'd experienced this afternoon.
She needed a little peace from all of it.
Even just a spare few minutes of calm.
Gabrielle's gaze slid to the wooden block of knives sitting on the counter nearby. She reached over, took one in her hand. It had been years since she'd done this. She'd worked so hard to master the strange, shameful compulsion.
Had it truly ever gone away?
Her state-appointed psychologists and social workers eventually had been convinced that it had. The Maxwells, too.
Now, Gabrielle wondered as she brought the knife over to her bare arm and felt a surge of dark anticipation wash over her. She pressed the tip of the blade into the fleshy part of her forearm, though not yet firm enough to break the skin.
This was her private demon - something she had never openly shared with anyone, not even Jamie, her dearest friend.