Blood Curse b-7

by Sharon Page

  He had to tell her everything. He sat up, took her hand, and lifted it to his lips, giving a gentle kiss to her fingertips. Threading his fingers with her slender ones, he held her hand. He liked touching her. But when she knew the truth, would she let him touch her again?

  He told her about the vampire queens—what they were and how they ruled the vampire world. “One of them turned me. I was bleeding to death in the mud after a battle, with my stomach ripped open by a sword and my throat cut. I probably had a musket ball lodged in my leg, as well—it’s hard to remember the details.”

  “And you wanted to be a soldier?” She stared at him as if he were insane.

  “Yes.” He kissed her hand once more. “I was tempting fate, waiting to get killed, and fate had finally delivered. But Jade, one of the vampire queens, had decided she wanted me for a mate.”

  “To be with her for eternity?”

  “Jade was never that faithful. A plaything for a few years was what she wanted. She created me and I had to serve her, acting as her assassin, destroying vampires who did not follow her rules. At first she kept me with her at all times, like a pet. She kept me in her house on the fringe of Mayfair. No one guessed Jade was feeding on residents and servants along the exclusive street.”

  He grimaced, but he knew he had to go on. “Jade wanted your power and she commanded I take it, even though it would risk your life. I refused, but then she threatened someone I love.”

  Surprise widened Ophelia’s enormous blue eyes. “But you are so alone. I thought you had no one. No family.”

  Hades, he saw it in her face. Confusion.

  “I am alone now, Ophelia, that is true. But I wasn’t always alone. I have a much younger sister. She is only seventeen. She believes I am dead and I have not spoken to her since I was turned. That was while I was fighting in Ceylon in 1817—when I toured the world looking for wars to fight in.”

  “Do you have parents? Does your sister live with them?” Her brows drew together. “And she thinks you are dead—she hasn’t seen you since you returned from Ceylon? You let her believe you were gone? She must be heartbroken.”

  Her gentle heart was wounded. Now he knew why Felie claimed to love him. It wasn’t that he was worthy; it was that she had a soft heart and she felt emotions deeply.

  “I couldn’t go to her and tell her I had become a vampire. She would think me insane—or she would have been terrified. It was for her sake that I let her believe I was dead. Before my supposed death, I was the Marquis of Ravenhunt. My sister, Frederica, lives with my cousin, who is her guardian. When I lived with Jade in her Mayfair house, I was only blocks from my sister, but I couldn’t go to her.”

  Her eyes went even wider. “You are a marquis?”

  He shook his head. “Not anymore. I can’t live in the mortal world. How could I explain that I don’t age? That I eat and drink nothing and need blood to survive?”

  “I suppose you couldn’t. It is so terribly sad, though.”

  Raven didn’t want to think about that. He had no choice. “Jade threatened my sister’s life if I did not take your power. I lied to you, telling you I was doing it for you. I was doing it to save Frederica.”

  “I understand why, if you had to save her,” Ophelia said softly. But she knew what it meant—he did not love her.

  Yet she did love him—perhaps even more—now that she knew he had been willing to give his life for his sister.

  Impetuously, she launched across to the settee and threw her arms around his neck. “That is the noblest thing I’ve ever heard,” she whispered.

  “You aren’t angry?” He cupped her face. “I did it for my sister at first, but now that I know you, I would have done it to free you.”

  “Do you really think it is enough—if we have love?”

  “It has to be enough. It is supposed to be enough to save you, Felie. That is what I care about.”

  “But I’m afraid for you—”

  “Don’t be.”

  “What should we do?” she whispered.

  “I am going to take you home, love. I want to make love to you. I can touch you in every way I’ve dreamed.”

  “You’ve dreamed of touching me?”

  He drew her to him, pulled her against his broad chest, cloaked in the robe. “With my hands,” he murmured against her ear. His lips grazed her lobe and she shivered in intense pleasure. “With my tongue. With my cock.”

  Oh heavens. Wild images leapt into her head. Her hands trembled, not with nerves or fear, but with yearning. With a lifetime of wanting to hold someone—

  She only wanted to hold him.

  “You’ve never been able to touch anyone, Ophelia. I want to be the first.” Raven lifted her hand to his lips and suckled her wrist. She giggled, then squirmed in front of him. “Ooh, that feels lovely.”

  He wanted to ease her back onto the settee and—

  No, my lord Ravenhunt, you cannot seduce Lady Ophelia in my parlor. Guidon projected the words into Raven’s thoughts, sounding prim and shocked, even in thoughts.

  Tonight will be the night, Lord Ravenhunt.

  Raven nibbled the soft, silky skin of Ophelia’s wrist, then quickly kissed his way up to her shoulder, where he ran his tongue over her ear. Indeed it will be.

  I mean tonight will be the chance to take her power, Guidon said. You must study the last chapters of that book exceedingly well. You must commit it to memory. Leave the poor young lady alone. You are not yet ready to seduce her.

  Damnation, Guidon, he muttered in his thoughts, you know how to ruin the mood.

  13

  Five

  Before he even changed back to human form, Raven was hard. He had transformed and flown from Guidon’s back here—to his dark home—with Ophelia riding on his back. She’d grown used to flying. Instead of clinging to him, his brave temptress rode him like a goddess on a magical steed.

  He had landed on the roof, on a steep pitch, his claw-like bat feet gripped the slippery tiles, curling around the edges.

  “Hold me tight,” he told her. With a flick of his wing, he triggered the lever. His secret door slid open. It worked with pulleys and gears, making a soft, grinding noise. He lowered through the square opening.

  When he had set her on her feet on his attic floor, he transformed back. As fast as his muscles and bones had shifted shape, more blood rushed down to his cock.

  “Doesn’t it hurt?”

  He glanced down at his prick, thick and straight as an iron rod. “Actually, it does—”

  “Not that, Ravenhunt. I mean when you shift shape.”

  “Yes.” He shrugged. “But not as much as I hurt desiring you.”

  She lifted her brow. Apparently that wasn’t a romantic statement. Then he saw how her hands ran along the cuts in her clothing. Hell. Moving with a vampire’s speed, he came up behind her and tore the fastenings of her shirt open.

  “What are you doing?” She jerked away.

  “Taking it off. I will burn it, so you never have to think of that damned place again.”

  She wrinkled her nose, looking so sweet his heart lurched. “It’s too cold to undress here.” Her hand strayed up and stroked her tangled hair. Pulled out of her pins, it fell around her in disordered waves.

  His cock bucked and smacked his gut—with her untamed hair, she looked like a woman who had just been fucked to an earth-shattering orgasm. But she was not disheveled because of pleasure, she had been through hell. “Come, I will take you to bed.”

  Her fingers touched the slices in her clothing. “First, I wondered if I could bathe?”

  “Of course. I will prepare it at once. You must relax in your room.”

  What he wanted to do was hurry her to bed. He wanted to caress her, kiss her, lick her all over, make love to her. But he could understand those damned Royal Society men had made her feel unclean. Raven bowed, in the nude, and he headed for the kitchens, to heat the water for her bath. Since she knew he was a vampire, he had nothing to hide. Using his pre
ternatural speed, he tore upstairs with heavy buckets of water, filling the deep tub to the brim.

  On a seat, he placed a stack of soft, folded towels—they were his, as he had no spare for guests—and set out a bar of his sandalwood soap. Then he gave her privacy, closing the door as she walked into the steam-filled room.

  Returning to his room, he dressed carelessly in trousers, a shirt, a hastily tied cravat and coat. This would allow him to blend in with passersby, while he observed who was watching his house. Raven left by the kitchen entrance into complete darkness, locking the door behind him.

  Men surrounded the house. Well hidden, but he could easily see them. For him it was like seeing them in daylight.

  These were Royal Society men watching the house. From what Ophelia had told him, he knew there was a splinter group of the Royal Society—men who objected to having vampires in their midst, and who wanted to destroy all monsters, who believed “demons” could never walk among the mortals.

  Whether the men watching this house were part of that group, or were men loyal to the Society, Raven didn’t know. Now he knew the situation, he went back inside, moving so quickly the world blurred around him. But he couldn’t go to Ophelia in her bath.

  He had to read that book.

  Ophelia was in the bath, naked, while he was stuck in his dark and dusty study, reading Guidon’s mouldering book.

  Raven could picture her in the bath. Steam rising around her, shielding her lovely body like a veil, giving him only tantalizing glances of pearlescent skin. Her hair would be wet, sticking to her damp skin. Her nipples would be hard, with diamond-like drops of water dripping from the sweet, pink tips—

  He was as hard as a brick, and he couldn’t take the pain anymore. But he had no choice. He had to deal with the book.

  He had read it over and over, and knew the four lines of the spell that would free her from her power and send it to him.

  The more he read, the more Raven wondered why she had this power. If she had been born with it, how could he remove it by using a spell? Had she been cursed with it? Why? It would have to have been when she was very young, before her menstrual courses began. Who would have done such a thing to a child?

  Guidon had told him to read the part that explained how her power could be taken from her. He was to read it until he found the truth in the words.

  Hell, he’d read them for an hour while she soaked sensually in a bathtub. He could smell the sandalwood soap—it was his soap and the thought of that normally masculine aroma on her feminine curves was driving him mad. His ears detected the faint splash of water. That brought to mind images of the lucky water hugging her curves, lapping at her breasts.

  The book told him what Guidon had said—the only way for Ophelia to give up power and survive was through love. A shared love opened a conduit that allowed magical power to flow back and forth. It had to be true, deep romantic love.

  The book was written in Latin, and while he’d studied Latin at Eton, he could not have cared less about languages and hadn’t paid much attention. His translation to English was clumsy, he knew, but he hoped it was good enough. He’d scrawled it over a bunch of sheets of notepaper.

  Translated, the book’s title read: The Demonica, volume XI.

  Raven read the passage about love again.

  A special love is needed to break this curse. A love with the strength to endure for all time. It must be built upon complete honesty. It must be proven that this love can withstand the great blows that would destroy any lesser love. It must be able to survive the storms of betrayal and heartbreak.

  How in Hades were you supposed to know if you loved someone that strongly? How could Ophelia know if she felt that way about him? Wasn’t the only way to prove love could withstand those things to have it last a lifetime? Wouldn’t they only know when one of them died?

  The spell that released her from her power looked innocent enough, but spells and incantations were evil things. There was always a catch. This one had to be spoken after he’d given her several orgasms. He had to admit he liked the sound of that.

  Raven leaned back in the chair—dust flew up when he did. Guidon, he called in his thoughts, I’ve read the passage. How do I prove Ophelia’s love can endure betrayal and heartbreak? I do not intend to do any of those things to her.

  He waited, cursing the time it took Guidon to answer. He would miss Ophelia’s bath time. And he wanted to join her.

  There is one great blow that you could give her—finally, Guidon answered. It would shake her love to the very core. It would make it almost impossible for her to love you. If her love for you were to survive that, it would be proof your love is true.

  What in hell are you talking about? Raven snapped. What great blow? Never would I hurt her.

  Another damned long pause, then Guidon spoke primly in his head, You don’t know, do you? I thought you knew, my lord. Think of the men you hunted for Jade and you will have your answer.

  Don’t be so damned cryptic. I don’t have time for this.

  You have to solve it for yourself, Ravenhunt. There is nothing I can do.

  He sensed his connection with the vampire librarian disappearing. Damn it, Guidon, answer this. If she loves me so deeply, what happens after I take her power? Do I survive, or do I break her heart then? If I survive, what can I do? I can’t accept her love—I’m a vampire. Without her power, she will have the chance for a normal life—to have love and children.

  You can provide those for her.

  I cannot go out in daylight. I drink blood. I have to skulk through London, hiding in shadows. She deserves better.

  You could transform her, Guidon answered. Give her eternal life. Then you would be together forever.

  No, I couldn’t do that to her—condemn her to be like me—when all she has wanted is to be free of her cursed power.

  That proves you are falling in love with her, Ravenhunt.

  Raven felt the connection vanish in his head—it was as if a door had closed. Damn, he had more questions and no answers. Was the only answer to their love heartbreak? Even if they both survived this, he would have to let her go forever. He would never curse her to be a vampire.

  How could he take her power unless he could fulfill the requirements of the book—that their love had to be strong and enduring?

  Guidon, listen to me. He yelled it through his thoughts. If I can’t prove it, what happens to her?

  The vampire librarian responded. I believe she will survive, Ravenhunt, because she loves you and I believe her love is strong. As the one who could cause her pain, the full price for taking her power will land on you.

  So I don’t survive.

  You may not.

  Raven growled in his head, If I knew for certain she would be all right, it is a risk I could take. I don’t care about me, as long as she will be safe.

  Ophelia opened her eyes, dozy from the heat of the bath, and gasped in surprise. Ravenhunt sat by the tub, on a stool. Fully dressed, he held a towel for her.

  “I’ve soaked in this tub for hours, and I never thought you might want to bathe, too,” she said.

  “I washed off with a basin and cold water.”

  “That doesn’t sound pleasant.”

  A grin tweaked his sensuous lips. “It was that or go mad while waiting for you, imagining what you must look like, naked in here.”

  “You could have joined me.”

  “I couldn’t. I had to read that book of Guidon’s. It gave me the incantation to use to draw out the rest of your power.” He stood, holding out the towel like a curtain, waiting for her. “I am supposed to repeat it after your fifth orgasm.”

  “My fifth?” She could not believe it. He had given her many orgasms in a row, but she hadn’t ever had five.

  “That’s when all your defenses will be down and your body will be able to release the power to me.”

  “I don’t think I could have five.” Really, just two usually exhausted her. Ophelia stepped out and he cla
sped her hand to help her—the tub was deep, filled almost to the rim with warm water.

  “You can have five,” he said.

  She didn’t believe him, but loved the burning glow in his eyes as he said it.

  “If you are planning to give me five climaxes, why are you dressed?” Inexplicably she was nervous, even though she trusted him. She was about to give up her power, and she didn’t know what would happen to either of them.

  His strong arms wrapped the thick towel around her, surrounding her with warmth as he embraced her, too. But still she shivered.

  He kissed her neck. That made her go stiff with shock.

  Ravenhunt drew back. “I don’t want to frighten you. You know I won’t bite you. I can resist my hunger.”

  He must have fed, but she didn’t want to think about that. He had asked her to touch him, and she yearned to do it.

  Awkwardly, she turned in his embrace. She hadn’t touched in so long, and she’d never caressed a man she wanted to entice. How did she begin?

  His hands slid around her, cradling her bottom and he drew her to him. Lost in wondering how to touch him, she lost her balance and fell against his chest. Her cheek pressed against his shirt. She closed her eyes. Tentatively, she laid her hands against the firm, strong muscles against which her cheek was pressed. Even through the linen of his shirt, she could feel the defined shape of his pectorals. Her palms savored the strength of him, unyielding beneath her touch.

  She slid her hands higher, toward his neck. Earlier, she had wrapped her arms around his neck to hang on tight while they flew over London. Now she let her fingers caress him, stroking the column of muscle. She ran her fingers up and down, for his skin was like velvet beneath her fingers.

  He groaned softly. His eyes were closed, his lashes lush crescents of black on his cheeks. His lips parted on quick breaths.

  He looked this way before he would climax. She was making him look so sexually agonized with just her touch.

  Mmm, she slid her fingers into his silky tresses. She’d always dreamed of running her fingers through a man’s hair. Now she could do it and do it to Ravenhunt, the only man she wanted to touch.