Darke Academy 2: Blood Ties

by Gabriella Poole

  Scrambling to his feet, he stared at her, but he couldn’t move.

  ‘Go on, Ranjit. Get out of here.’ She reached back for the handle of her door, fumbled it open, clutching the cold metal to stop her hand shaking. ‘And don’t worry your pretty little head about me. It seems I’m the devil in disguise.’

  Stepping back through the door, she watched his stunning, devastated face. She made herself watch it, to prove her immunity. She didn’t take her eyes away from that beautiful gaze, not till she’d finally closed the door on it. Not till she could at last press her forehead to the wood and let the tears dribble down to the floor.

  Only for a moment, though. She wasn’t going to indulge the stupid tears. There was nothing to cry about. Nothing. She didn’t need him. She could look after herself.

  She could even ignore the tiny voice inside, begging her, pleading with her.

  That can’t be it. It can’t be over. It can’t be the end …’

  And then her own sad, plaintive inner voice was drowned out anyway.

  I see. You’re letting them go. We’re letting them go. Well, perhaps we don’t need them after all …

  ‘Estelle?’ she whispered. ‘Are you sure?’

  A comforting sensation of warmth trickled down her spine, spreading like an embrace. Her fingertips tingled; her eyes burned. Warmth, comfort, power …

  Yes, Cassandra, my love, I’m sure now. We can do this. You are strong. Stronger than him. I chose you well. And I’ll always be here for you! Always.

  Yes, thought Cassie, I know that now.

  And of course it isn’t the end, my darling. We’re only just getting started …

  Read on for an exclusive extract from the third book in the Darke Academy series: Divided Souls.

  DIVIDED SOULS

  This was no chore.

  Yusuf Ahmed smiled down at the girl who sat on the velvet couch, far more in his hungry eyes than the prosaic lust of a boy for a girl. Touching her jaw with a finger, he drew a gentle line to her chin: tantalising himself and her, feeling the hunger grow and letting it.

  ‘Another raki?’ He proffered the carafe.

  ‘I think I’ve had enough.’ Her voice was teasing.

  He gave a soft laugh. Yes, he thought. Yes, I think you probably have.

  Yusuf took a small step away from her, enjoying the masochistic kick of prolonging the wait. He was hungry, but not so hungry he would rush it.

  Raising his eyes to the open window and the balmy night, he let himself soak up the beauty of it: the moon on the Bosphorus; the lights of a cruise ship strung like a glittering diamond necklace. High and hazy in the warm evening, the dome and minarets of the Blue Mosque gleamed like chalcedony.

  It reminded him vaguely of Sacre Coeur, of last autumn term in Paris, when everything had changed. When things had begun, for the first time in so very long, to go awry for the Few. When that scruffy waif of a scholarship girl, Cassie Bell, had turned up at the Academy and been shockingly chosen by Estelle Azzedine, then tricked into becoming the new host the old woman needed for her powerful spirit.

  He wished now that he’d never got involved … though he still remembered with some relish the frisson of excitement at the joining ceremony, the sense of entitlement and arrogance and power. He vividly recalled the Bell girl’s fury as they held her down at Estelle’s mercy, and he recalled too the unexpected pity – and fear – he had felt in himself. Because it had gone wrong so fast. The joining ritual interrupted; part of Estelle’s spirit joined with Cassie, part of it shut out in the void; and the Few left as stunned as if a bomb had gone off in their midst.

  Yusuf shook his head. A new term had now begun, and the girl Cassie seemed to be settling into being one of the Few. He was actually glad. They were all glad. Or most of them were … So who knew what brighter turn things might take for the Few? Including himself.

  Closing his eyes, he inhaled warm air scented with night flowers, sea breeze, petrol fumes and charcoal smoke. Gods, he was going to love it here in Istanbul. This was his final term at the Academy, and he felt a keen sense of regret mingled with the anticipation. His future glowed before him with wealth, success and influence: how could it be otherwise? But still, he’d miss the comradeship, the secrets, the power of being one of the Few at the Academy. It had been fun.

  A light hand touched his arm. Yusuf turned to the girl, suddenly aching with the beauty of the night and with hungry longing.

  She blinked. Her eyes were already a little unfocused and distant, her smile trembling on her lips as if she’d half-forgotten it was there.

  Good …

  He set down his own glass and took her face between his hands. She was lovely, with her golden heart-shaped face and her huge dark eyes. Her lips parted and she made a small sound: it might have been desire or bewilderment, but he no longer cared. She’d drunk what he’d offered her. She wouldn’t remember.

  For one moment longer, he hesitated. Feeding like this was forbidden, because it was too dangerous. But for that very reason the thrill made it irresistible. And Yusuf was nothing if not experienced. He was strong, he was skilled.

  And damn, he was hungry.

  Gripping her face, he brought her lips fiercely against his own. He felt the momentary simple pleasure of human contact. Then, inside his chest, the spirit pulsed and energy gushed into his veins. His eyes widened, reddening.

  As the girl made a small moan of protest, he forced himself back under control. He wouldn’t hurt her: that wasn’t how he got his kicks. Relaxing his hold, he intensified the kiss, feeling life-energy thrill to his nerve-endings. Oh, this was feeding, this was satisfaction, this was bliss.

  His senses sharpened, smell and taste suddenly acute. He could hear the thrum and beat of the city, the throb of the cruise ship’s engines. He could hear a soft footstep. And then a whisper said his name.

  Yusuf Ahmeeeed …

  Had he misheard? Releasing the girl, he went still, listening intently.

  He’d chosen his place well: this secluded room with its romantic arches and nooks, above the restaurant in Old Istanbul. He’d paid the owner extremely well because he’d made it perfectly clear he did not want to be disturbed.

  How did they know his name? Was it someone who knew him from the Academy …?

  He shivered at the thought. That was trouble he didn’t want, not right at the end of his school career. Unauthorised feeding, in a forbidden manner? It wasn’t beyond possibility that he could be kicked out, like Katerina Svensson after the business with the Bell girl. Sir Alric took his rules very, very seriously …

  Silent, every sense alert, he turned towards the darkness beyond the window arch. He stepped closer, then became preternaturally still as his eyes searched the night. Below him was a courtyard and the balcony extended round three sides of it, draped with shadows.

  There. Against a cracked tile wall, one shadow darted past quickly.

  Someone was spying on him. One who knew his name. Taunting him: a sixth former, one of the most powerful Few! The spirit inside him kindled, but this time with rage. How dare they!

  He’d satisfied his hunger, and now the romantic moment was lost too: one more reason to turn his fury on the intruder. He touched the girl’s face. Gradually, gently, she came back to herself, eyes focusing, mouth curving into a more determined smile.

  ‘Aren’t you going to kiss me, then?’

  If only you knew, he thought dryly.

  ‘Sorry, habibi. I’ve had a text, it’s an emergency. You have to go.’

  Her sulky pout was delicious to behold. He laughed. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow night. I’ll make it up to you, yes?’

  ‘Oh, yes. You certainly will.’ She winked. Drawing a finger down his chest in farewell, she blew him a tantalising kiss and was gone.

  Yusuf gave one last yearning sigh, but his muscles were already tensing for a chase. Light and swift, he vaulted through the arch and out on to the rickety balcony. The dark figure had had plenty of time to make an e
scape, but only when he dropped lightly down to the courtyard did Yusuf see it break into a run. Foolish, he thought.

  The figure managed to keep several steps ahead of him as they chased through the alleys of Sultanahmet; its footsteps were almost as deft and light as Yusuf’s own. It was growing dark and lonely as they travelled through the streets, the sounds of the city muffled by distance, as if he had pursued the shadow into another time zone. No one around.

  Slowing, he realised with surprise that the figure was heading up the steps of an outbuilding beside the Hagia Sophia. Was it a mausoleum? Still, Yusuf felt no fear. He approached the entrance and realised the crypt was empty of people, closed for renovation. But as he entered, despite his expectations the place was not dark. Above him a domed Byzantine ceiling gleamed in the light of hundreds of candles.

  Candles … ?

  He stopped, ears pricked. Every inlaid door leading off the room was open.

  Yusuf was very alert now. Beyond the vast atrium, the place was a maze of arches and passageways, and whoever the prowler was, he was hiding. And he was very good at it …

  Yusuf felt himself thrill at this stealthy hunt. Not a wasted evening, really. An opponent was almost as much of a kick as a lover. He was going to teach this upstart a lesson.

  Ha! Movement, sharp, at the corner of his eye. There, beyond that arch with its chipped and faded gilding. Yusuf moved, swift and silent as a cat.

  The anteroom was small, with fretwork cloisters and half-destroyed blue mosaics, and the glow of candlelight didn’t penetrate the shadows beyond the pillars. There was no exit: it was a trap. Yusuf halted, smiling wryly. Time to turn the tables and flush him out, this insolent stalker.

  ‘Show yourself.’ His voice, clear and commanding, echoed through archways.

  In response there was only silence. He turned a slow half-circle, eyeing every corner, every shadow.

  ‘There’s nowhere to go. Face it.’

  Still nothing. The flickering golden air was heavy with the stillness.

  ‘Who the hell are you? Show yourself now.’

  A movement, a sound behind him. It might only have been a footfall, but it was close. Too close.

  Yusuf spun on his heel, tensed to strike, furious at the audacity. The glint of a smile met him, and then another, more sinister glint.

  ‘You? What the hell—’

  Yusuf staggered back, flinging up his hands in horror. He didn’t even have time to scream. Couldn’t run. Couldn’t shut his terrified eyes. He only felt, for the first and last time, a crushing and paralysing terror as the figure lunged at him.

  Then every candle in the building went out, and Yusuf’s world turned to absolute blackness.