The Shifting Price of Prey [4]

by Suzanne McLeod

  Oops. Looked like I was going to have to do the adult equivalent of the kids’ trick of patting my head while tracing circles on my stomach, otherwise this was so not going to be any fun for him.

  Not that fun was what this was about.

  I focused on his forehead, slowly tugging the jellyfish, taking care none of its stinging tentacles snapped and were left behind. The things were vicious, alternatively attacking my arm or trying to reattach to Malik through the brand. The jellyfish pulsed against my palm, and horror washed through me as I realised it wasn’t the normal magical spell construct but was a living organism the spell had been tagged to. Ugh. It had been inside Malik’s brain, constantly stinging and no doubt feeding off him. No wonder he couldn’t think. I swallowed back bile. The sadistic Autarch really had it coming for this.

  The jellyfish finally pulled free with a disgusting sucking sound. I released Malik, threw myself back on the table and plunged the jellyfish into the flower arrangement, using my will to tag it to the roses. I yanked my hand back, focused on the magic at the Jellyfish spell’s heart, and cracked it.

  The roses exploded in a blinding flash, petals raining down like bloody confetti. Crimson seared my retinas, burned inside my skull and down my arm. I had a moment to think . . . that’s not right . . . before red-hot flames roared up and consumed me.

  ‘Genevieve.’ Malik’s voice pulled me from the fire I was twisting in. I opened my eyes. His were only inches away. For a long moment I wondered why I was on my back with Malik almost lying on top of me, his hands clasping my head as if he meant to kiss me. It was an intriguing position, and one part of me wanted to take advantage of— if it weren’t for the gleeful little devils sticking my arm and skull with their hell-hot pitchforks.

  ‘Do you remember what happened, Genevieve?’

  ‘Yep,’ I whispered past the pain. Pain that, I now realised, came from having parts of the spell, thanks to the jellyfish’s venom, inside me when I’d destroyed it. Damn magic, always ready to sting you – literally this time. Good job I was hard to kill. ‘Jellyfish stung me. Infected me with spell. Cracked it. Hurts. Happens.’

  Exasperation and concern warred on his face. ‘What hurts?’

  ‘Arm. Head,’ I muttered.

  A soothing chill emanated from his hands as his power cooled my blood. Not quite a healing but enough to banish the pain and spread a welcome peace through my body. I noted his pupils were back to their normal obsidian black, no hint of gold or red. I smiled, relieved, and as exhaustion swept over me, let myself drift away. Nothing appealed more than sinking into that coolness and sleeping for at least a month.

  Ice seared my veins as he dialled his power level up, instantly shocking me awake. ‘What the hell was that for?’ I muttered.

  ‘You were losing consciousness again.’

  ‘Yeah, well,’ I said grumpily. ‘I’ve had a busy night. Let me sleep.’

  ‘You can sleep once I know the spell is gone, Genevieve. Not before.’

  ‘Stop worrying. I blasted it and now you’re good to go.’

  ‘Yes. I am fine.’ He braced his hands either side of my head, raising himself up. I thought about pushing him totally off me, and getting up, then decided moving was too much effort; I might as well lie here while we chatted. ‘But it is you I’m concerned for. The jellyfish is parasitic. It has been living inside me for the last three months, feeding off my blood. It stung you. I want to ensure that you are not infected by its poison or any remnant of the spell, or my curse.’

  I sighed and forced myself to focus. The brand on his forehead was a healed scar, nothing more. He was clear of the spell. I scanned round. Shredded rose petals, tiny chunks of glass, bits of something green which had me frowning until I realised it had to be the florists’ foam stuff the roses had been stuck in, and specks of translucent jelly littered the table and no doubt the floor nearby. It was all free of any magic. As I was.

  ‘Everything’s clear,’ I said, turning my attention back to Malik. ‘They could add salt when they do the clean-up if they want, but the spell’s dead. There’re just the physical remains left.’ Bits of which peppered his pale skin— which was no longer glowing. Because the spell was gone? I ditched that thought as I belatedly remembered I’d been naked. I looked down. I was draped in something white . . . Malik’s shirt. And judging by the sticky itchy feeling of my skin, I hadn’t escaped being speckled by sticky spell debris either. Even as I wished for a shower, and wondered how long I’d been unconscious, frustration sifted in me as I saw I wasn’t the only one who was no longer naked.

  ‘You dressed,’ I said, stating the obvious as I eyed his trouser-clad legs where they straddled my hips.

  ‘The situation was not conducive to remaining unclothed, Genevieve. Nor had I anticipated that your desires would result in such emphatic handling.’ One corner of his mouth lifted. ‘I fear you have unmanned me.’

  Unmanned him? I raised my brows, suddenly feeling much more alert. ‘Is that some archaic euphemism for what happened when I grabbed you?’

  Amusement sparked his eyes. ‘It was . . . unexpected.’

  ‘It was meant to be, buddy.’ I poked him in the chest. ‘I was trying to distract you.’

  ‘And you succeeded. In that, and in removing the spell.’ He smiled, his amusement tempered with gratitude and something that was balm to my heart: respect. ‘It was well done, Genevieve. Thank you.’

  ‘You’re welcome,’ I said, happily appeased. ‘Anyway, it’s not like you were being particularly gentle either.’

  ‘My apologies.’ Remorse replaced his amusement. ‘I would not have destroyed your clothes nor marked you if I could have avoided it.’

  I frowned. ‘Marked me?’

  He touched my chest gently where his shirt covered me. I peeked under it. For a moment, I thought the red marks scattered over my breasts and stomach were a dusting of finger-sized rose petals . . . then I realised the marks were like the bruises encircling my left wrist. Vampire property marks.

  ‘They can be removed,’ Malik said quietly, answering the question I was too stunned to think of, never mind ask. ‘I did not intend them, nor did I mean to cause you harm, but the force of the images you sent me was difficult to counter. If we should find ourselves in a similar situation, the equivalent of a whisper instead of a shout would be sufficient.’

  I let the shirt drop as I processed it all. The marks weren’t permanent, he’d been out of his mind with the spell, and I’d chosen that particular way of distracting him, so . . . ‘There’s nothing to apologise for.’

  ‘Yes, there is. I should not have proposed we meet, not when I knew Bastien would take the opportunity to use me to cause you injury.’

  Yep. Bastien, the Autarch, was never happier than when indulging his vicious side. The usual terror flashed in me. I squashed it.

  ‘But I was disturbed by your mention of this Emperor on the tarot card,’ Malik carried on.

  The tarot cards. Right. The reason I was here. ‘So it’s not just the card, there is a vamp called the Emperor? ’

  ‘I know of one who goes by that title—’

  ‘He’s not the Autarch then?’ I interrupted.

  ‘No, they are not the same, Genevieve.’

  ‘Good,’ I said, relieved, then as surprise lit his eyes, I added, ‘The Emperor can’t be as bad as the Autarch . . .’ His brows drew together and I sighed. ‘Okay, stupid assumption. I take it he is as bad?’

  ‘If the Emperor is the one I know, he is not as . . . impulsive as Bastien.’

  ‘Bastien is not impulsive,’ I snapped. ‘He’s homicidally violent, sadistic and psychotic.’

  ‘As the Emperor can be, in more considered ways.’

  Figured. ‘Sounds like he’ll be just as much fun to deal with then,’ I said drily.

  ‘If it is him,’ Malik said, ‘then we should prepare. But first I would like to see the image you saw on the tarot card.’ He touched my temple. ‘If you would allow me to access your memory
, of course, Genevieve.’

  He’d put me in a trance once by holding my hand. Apparently, the relaxed state helps you remember details only noticed by your subconscious. It had been like having a conversation through glass: I could see, but not hear. I’d asked him not to do it again without my permission and that hadn’t stopped him, not until now. Seemed he was finally getting the ‘do not treat me like blood-property’ message, despite the Jellyfish spell and the extra vamp marks. Maybe we were moving on at last.

  I smiled, waggling my hands. ‘Sure. Hit me with your best vamp hypno-mojo.’

  He glanced at my hands and then shook his head. ‘I propose a different method.’

  I gave him a narrowed look. ‘And what method would that be?’

  ‘You’ve had some dealings with Declan,’ Malik said, ‘the head of the Red Shamrock blood-family, have you not?’

  I frowned at his seeming change of subject, then realised what he was suggesting. Red Shamrock vamps could influence mood by evoking a person’s emotions from memories; it was why their Irish pub, the Tir na n’Og, was as successful as it was. Punters always experienced the best craic ever, thanks to the vamps trawling their minds for happy memories and bringing the associated feelings to the surface.

  But Declan, the blood-family’s head vamp, could do more. He could share or even steal memories. I’d seen him do it once with Fiona, his seneschal and human partner. They’d kissed. It hadn’t been a quick peck on the cheek either. Well, that explained why Malik was watching me like he expected me to pitch a fit. Either he was worried about the memory bit, the kissing bit, or both. Easier to go with the kissing, which after what we’d just nearly done . . .

  I looked up at him. ‘We’re talking about a kiss?’

  ‘If you have no objection.’

  I showed him my finger and thumb, almost touching. ‘Malik, we were this close to doing a lot more than just kissing right on this very table. Why would I object?’

  ‘Our actions were dictated by magic,’ he said stiffly. ‘They were not consensual.’

  Oh. Was he still worried I was about to cry the-big-bad-vamp-enslaved-me, or something?

  ‘Well, yeah,’ I said slowly, wanting to reassure him I was okay with things. After all, it had been my idea, sort of. ‘I know we didn’t exactly start out planning to have sex with each other, but it’s not like it’s never been a possibility.’ Hell, I’d practically laid myself out on my bed for him at one point during the ToLA case to persuade him to help me. Not that he’d taken me up on my offer, thanks to his pact with Tavish about protecting me. At least, not in real life. In my fantasies, however . . . I felt slight heat rise in my cheeks as I carried on, ‘And as I told you when we last had this discussion, I’m perfectly willing if you . . .’ I trailed off. He looked like I was asking him to inhale garlic.

  ‘You may be willing, Genevieve. I am not.’

  Hurt and rejection stung me more painfully than the jellyfish had. Looked like I’d really got my attraction wires crossed somewhere along the way. Maybe his refusal last time hadn’t just been because of his deal with Tavish. Though if his body language was anything to go by, he wanted me as much as I wanted him. He was either lying to me or to himself. Well, fuck that.

  ‘Are you saying that you don’t want to have sex with me?’ I snapped out. ‘Because, spell or no, that’s not the impression I’ve got.’

  His black eyes turned opaque and unreadable. ‘Le Théâtre du Grand-Guignol is performing scenes from Scars of Dracula all this week, Genevieve. I would be honoured if you would attend as my guest, and after the show, it would be my pleasure if you would join me for refreshments.’

  I stared at him speechless. Le Théâtre du Grand-Guignol was in the Blue Heart. He wanted me to go to a vamp show in a vamp club. Then join him for refreshments . . . Was this some sort of weird sucker crap? Something to do with showing off his property? My mind stuttered between annoyed disbelief and bewilderment—

  Unless, was he asking me on a date?

  A heady lightness filled me, only to deflate like a pricked balloon. Hell, even if it was a date, why ask me to go somewhere I couldn’t be seen? I might not need the Witches’ Council’s protection any more, but I was the boss of Spellcrackers: it’s a witch company, and I needed my witch employees. If I started publicly hanging out with vamps when I was off-duty, the Council would forbid them to work for me. No employees. No Spellcrackers. Malik knew that—

  ‘Genevieve?’

  I shot him a narrow look. ‘Are you asking me on a date?’

  ‘I believe that is the current term, yes.’ Amusement twitched his mouth.

  I blinked. He thought this was funny? It was more like inviting a starving woman to a banquet then telling her she couldn’t eat. ‘Then why invite me to a vamp club? You know I won’t visit one unless it’s on witch-authorised business.’

  His amusement died; replaced by . . . regret? Sorrow? ‘That you even think to ask that question, Genevieve, is the reason I ask.’

  Damn. Now he was doing the cryptic thing. I hate that. ‘I’m asking because I want to know the answer, Malik. So explain it to me.’

  ‘It is not only yourself you hurt,’ he said softly, ‘when you deny who you are and refuse to embrace your true heritage.’ Then he was gone, leaving me frowning up at the ceiling. I sat up to see him lift a shirt from the table nearest the door and slip it on.

  What the— ‘You’re leaving?’ I said, stupidly, as that was obviously what he was doing.

  ‘There are clothes here to replace the ones I damaged.’ He indicated a suit carrier on the table.

  When the hell had he organised them? Not to mention why was he running off in the middle of . . . asking me on a date? And how the hell had we got here from his asking permission to kiss me to check out my memories of the tarot card? Damn it! I was missing something here, something important, only I couldn’t work out what past the confused whirl in my mind. And judging by the way he was leaving— Crap. Had left! He wasn’t prepared to stick around long enough for me to sort things out.

  I scrambled off the table and ran to the door. The corridor outside was empty.

  Fuck. ‘Malik?’ I called, hoping he’d come back. ‘What about the Emperor?’

  I will look into it. His voice sounded distant in my head. If you wish to accept my invitation, leave a message with my answering service. Then there was nothing but silence.

  Angry and confused, I grabbed the suit carrier and headed for the en suite restroom to find myself surrounded by more bland beige luxury: marble sinks topped with well-lit mirrors that flattered, expensive toiletries that smelled of lilies, and towels rolled and tucked into wicker baskets. The replacement clothes – black trousers, silky cream T-shirt and a dark lilac linen jacket that wasn’t a colour I’d have chosen, but looked surprisingly great with my hair – were from a local 24/7 chain store. Whoever Malik had got to shop for me had good taste. Briefly I wondered who, and if they’d seen me unconscious and naked on the table . . . which was kind of creepy . . . then decided that wasn’t worth worrying about. There was underwear too. The cream lace would look good against my honey-coloured skin, or it would have if not for the rose-coloured bruises marking me.

  He’d said they weren’t permanent. Not that I cared one way or the other right now. I yanked the labels off the underwear. Damn it! The beautiful vamp had reached whole new levels of annoying. He’d told me he wasn’t willing. Then asked me on a date. To a vamp club. Then spouted some cryptic crap about hurting myself, and him, by denying who I was and not embracing my heritage.

  Only I wasn’t denying anything. Everyone knew my father was a vamp, but I was sidhe like my mother. And while I might want to embrace Malik, no way was I going to rock the boat by going on a public date with him, not when I didn’t know what the hell he was playing at. And not when he was making iffy comments about knowing what my answers to his questions would be. Almost as if the irritating vamp was testing me . . . I tugged on the briefs, following that th
ought . . . As if he wasn’t willing to have sex with me unless I made some sort of grand gesture or declaration that he meant something to me.

  Damn. Didn’t he know that he did? Hell, I’d already forgiven the idiotic vamp for doing his mind-meld on my memories, for ordering me about as if I were a blood-slave, and for killing me more than once – not that I’m masochistic, and the circumstances were extenuating; I’d even asked him to, that last time – but hey, how much more of a declaration did he want? A date. In public. In a place you wouldn’t normally go. For no other reason than to be with him. And my knee-jerk reaction had been: no way. Crap. I’d failed his test. He was right. Why the hell should he want sex or anything else with me when I wouldn’t even be seen with him in public?

  I jerked the bra’s straps to adjust them, and slipped it on.

  Except, by that same standard Malik was wrong too.

  If he was going to play stupid games with me, instead of talking things through, then why the hell should I want sex or anything more with him?

  Only I did want more. My heart thudded erratically as the trembling, indefinable emotion I felt for Malik crystallised into something steady and tangible in my heart.

  ‘So I should probably go on this date and sort things out,’ I told my reflection, then scowled as my mind threw a huge curve ball at me.

  The Autarch.

  The psychotic prick had been pulling Malik’s strings with the Jellyfish spell, trying to stop me removing it. And then there was Malik’s answers about the Emperor. Or rather his non-answers, seeing as he’d started prevaricating as soon as I’d mentioned the tarot card. How far could I trust that whatever game Malik was playing was down to him and not the Autarch?

  And if it was the Autarch speaking through Malik’s mouth, then the Blue Heart date scenario made more sense. It was vamp territory, I’d be more vulnerable, and so would Malik. Damn. I needed to talk to him; without the Autarch’s interference. I touched the rose-shaped bruises on my wrist that hid my bracelet; I could use Malik’s ring and contact him through the Dreamscape: that might work. And the best place to do that was— well, not here; it wasn’t safe.