‘Maxim has a penchant for playing games, and he does not worry overmuch if he has to sacrifice someone whom he considers a pawn. Although I understand that their part in his ill-conceived plan was an unfortunate error, which Maxim then decided to use to his advantage.’
‘Okay, so why did Mad Max stake Fyodor, his Dear Old Dad?’
‘You would have to ask Maxim, Genevieve. I do not want to guess at his motives where his father is concerned.’
Another evasion. ‘Okay, then I’ll guess. Let’s say Mad Max staked Fyodor to shut him up, or keep him out of the way, so he didn’t spoil Mad Max’s blackmail plot to get you to agree to whatever it is he wants. So there’s a fifty/fifty chance Fyodor knows what it’s all about,’ I said pointedly. See, oh, uninformative one, there are other ways of getting information. ‘But is what Mad Max wants just to do with your usual vamp stuff, or is it to do with the curse and the missing faelings? With everything else, I’m leaning towards the latter. Especially with Francine’s memory connecting Mad Max to Ana, and Ana connecting to the curse, and the missing faelings. That whole degrees-of-separation thing. So, if I take a leap here, Mad Max could connect to the missing faelings’—I stopped and gave the beautiful, and still annoyingly closed-mouthed vamp reclining on my bed an enquiring look—‘unless of course you can tell me something different?’
‘I am sorry, Genevieve, but I cannot tell you anything about the missing faelings.’ He turned the platinum ring on his thumb—the ring he’d given me, then taken back in the dreamscape. ‘If I do discover anything about their plight, then I would as a matter of urgency inform the police and do whatever was in my power to help them.’
Damn. Whatever Mad Max wanted, Malik didn’t think it was anything to do with the missing faelings. Or he didn’t know if it was. But I still wanted the information so I could judge for myself.
I tilted my head at Malik. ‘Did you know Mad Max and Fyodor are my relatives?’
‘Yes.’
Finally a straight answer, even if it was monosyllabic, and didn’t give me any sort of clue. Maybe if I tried another hook? ‘Maxim’s been taking my blood from Darius as some sort of tithe,’ I said, ‘but I don’t think that’s the only reason. But I couldn’t prise the info out of Darius’ head, because he’s promised to keep it a secret. And Mad Max wanted me to think he was the one drinking my blood, but he isn’t, is he?’
‘I do not have an answer for you, Genevieve.’
Definite stonewalling now. ‘Darius was thinking about a name,’ I said, not giving up. ‘He tried to hide it from me, but I’m pretty sure it was Andy. Does that ring any bells with you?’
Malik tensed in interest, so maybe he really wasn’t the font of all knowledge, and I’d hit on something he didn’t know. ‘Did you receive any impression of who Andy might be?’ he asked.
‘Another vampire, maybe?’
‘It is possible.’ A frown lined his forehead. ‘But if he has been giving your blood to this “Andy”, I would like to know who he is—if only to ensure neither Maxim nor he are a threat to you any longer.’
‘Can’t you just order him to tell you who Andy is?’ I said, shifting uncomfortably. My aches and pains were heading for the major complaints department, even with the pillows at my back.
‘I have no way of forcing Maxim’s obedience, Genevieve,’ he said. ‘He owes his Oath to the Autarch.’
My instinctive terror at the Autarch’s name threatened to surface; I swallowed it back. Time to dig in a different direction. ‘So now we’re on the subject of the Autarch and Oaths,’ I said, the calm sound of my own voice surprising me, ‘want to tell me what that means for me?’
‘You need not be concerned about the Autarch, Genevieve.’
‘Easy enough for you to say,’ I said, keeping my tone reasonable, ‘but I don’t know what’s going on. And if the general consensus is that I’m your property, and you owe the Autarch your Oath again, then he can demand you give me to him. So I was wondering what my options are if the Autarch comes calling.’
‘I have given you my protection,’ he said dismissively. ‘It is not necessary for you to worry.’
Looked like I was getting the brush-off again, which meant it was time to discuss a few ground rules about whatever our relationship was, or wasn’t.
I gave him a bright smile. ‘You do know I’m not fourteen any more, don’t you?’
‘I had noticed,’ he said, giving me an amused once-over.
‘Good,’ I said, ignoring the twist of desire inside me. There hadn’t been enough heat in his eyes for it to affect me like it did. ‘Well then, much as I’m grateful for all your past protection, and your help, you should also know that you can’t keep leaving me out of the loop or doing your mind-mojo thing whenever you feel like it.’
An odd, indecipherable expression crossed his face. ‘No?’
‘No,’ I said firmly.
‘How do you propose to stop me, Genevieve?’ he said softly.
That wasn’t the answer I’d expected, and it certainly wasn’t what I wanted to hear. I stared at him, a part of me wondering if he was joking. ‘What do you mean?’
‘You gave me your blood of your own free will.’ His eyes were cool, contemplative. ‘Not only does it allow me an open invitation into your home, but into your mind. I can make you think or feel whatever I choose to, whenever I choose to.’
‘But you won’t,’ I stated, in spite of the unease crawling down my spine.
His shoulders lifted in an elegant shrug. ‘Why not?’
Because you’re supposed to be one of the Good Guys. ‘Look, Malik, I spent the last five months sleep-walking through my life because you and Tavish got over-protective and sicced the Sleeping Beauty spell on me—I mean, I get that you were both worried about me after everything that happened, but I’m fine now. And the pair of you can’t keep leaving me out of the loop. You need to talk to me, to tell me what’s going on, to stop hiding things from me. It’s my life, after all.’
‘I have given my word I will keep you safe, Genevieve.’ He paused. ‘Even from yourself, if necessary.’
I tightened my hand on the glass, exasperated. ‘C’mon, Malik, I can look after myself.’
He raised his brows. ‘As you did so successfully tonight.’
‘Fine, okay, most of the time,’ I admitted. ‘Tonight was an exception.’
‘No, it was not an exception.’ A thread of anger laced his voice. ‘You are continually reckless with your own safety.’
My exasperation exploded into frustration. ‘I had to help them—they’re my friends, and it was because of me they were getting hurt. If I hadn’t, one or more of them might have died.’
‘It is possible,’ he agreed. ‘People die all the time. It is sad, and sometimes regrettable. But their lives are not as valuable to me as yours. You wear my mark, you are my property, and as such I will take care of you. In the future you will not visit Sucker Town without my permission.’
I felt the order sink into my mind.
I stared at him in shock. ‘You can’t do that.’
Chapter Twenty-Eight
‘You have given me your blood, Genevieve,’ Malik said, his eyes black and opaque, ‘so I have no need to indulge you, or negotiate with you, or discuss anything. If and when I want anything from you, then I will mould your mind and body into agreement, and I will take it.’
My shock turned to confusion, then to gut-churning betrayal. I poured another drink, almost on autopilot, and knocked it back, concentrating on the clean taste of the alcohol. The urge to smash the bottle over his head erupted inside me, but as quickly as it arrived the anger was gone, replaced by a sick feeling of inevitability. Hadn’t I always known it would come to this: that one day I’d end up at the mercy—or otherwise—of a vampire? And despite, or maybe because of Malik’s high-handed over-protective habits, I’d believed he thought I was a person in my own right—that he cared about me. And I’d trusted that he’d never abuse the power he held over me
. But evidently I was wrong, since he thought it okay to mess around with my mind, to make me do whatever he wanted without any discussion. Obviously I was nothing more than valuable property—his trophy sidhe.
I stared into my empty glass, not wanting to let him see how much that hurt. I gritted my teeth, tears stinging my eyes at my own stupidity … Automatically I raised my hand to my neck, seeking solace in the touch of Grace’s pentacle—
It was gone.
A quick flash of memory showed me my body in Darius’ room: my throat was a bloody mess … and there was no pentacle. I’d lost it while Darius had been necking me.
Panic, and the overwhelming need to find it overrode everything else, flooding adrenalin through my veins. I jerked up—
—and Malik’s hand fastened round my left wrist, holding me in place. ‘The necklace is safe, Genevieve,’ he said softly, indicating the bedside table, ‘but the chain is broken.’
My heart thudded in relief at the sight of the pentacle and the little pile of coiled chain, both glinting gold against the dark wood of the table top. I pulled away from his hold and started to reach out, but stopped. Oddly, my need to touch it had dissipated now I knew where it was. Briefly I wondered why I hadn’t felt the loss of it earlier, then that thought was banished by another.
He’d not only found Grace’s pentacle and brought it back safely, he’d noticed it was missing in the first place. Okay, so he could just be observant, hard not to be when you were as old as he was, but my gut told me it was more than that. After all, he’d killed me more than once in his efforts to protect me, so his ‘I am the master, you will do as I say’ pronouncement was just more of the same. But if I needed more convincing … Well, I was damned sure no other vamp would be keeping his fangs to himself when he was thirsty enough to drink an ocean of blood while he watched me drinking vodka … especially since he’d once told me he’d coveted me since I was four. But that didn’t mean he wouldn’t happily turn me into his cosseted, pampered blood-pet and leave me to twiddle my thumbs in some ivory tower if he thought it best for me. And it didn’t tell me why he was playing the big bad vamp in an attempt to distract me from whatever was going on.
And it didn’t make me any less angry.
Time to go fishing.
I looked up and met his dark, enigmatic eyes. ‘So,’ I said, letting the fury simmering inside me bleed into my words, ‘I’m valuable property, a possession you need to keep safe. But I’m curious as to what happens now: is this going to be an exclusive arrangement, or am I going to have to earn my keep?’ I leaned forward, spitting the words out: ‘Are you the only one I’m going to be forced to feed and fuck, or will you be offering my blood and my body around? After all, there’s no point wasting me, not now you’ve got me, is there?’
His pupils lit with pinpricks of rage, then snuffed out almost as quickly. He studied me in silence for a moment, then, talking as if to a recalcitrant child, said, ‘There are times when not utilising an asset can better maintain its worth. Your own father was careful to protect you, and to ensure both your blood and body were untouched, so as not to lessen your value.’
‘Ri-ight,’ I snorted. ‘And we both know how well that turned out for him—the Autarch killed him. Not to mention the fact that my “untouched” value doesn’t exist any more—after all, you’re the one who infected my blood with 3V, and it’s been a while since I was a virgin. So as far as I can see, I’m hardly worth having any more.’
He treated me to another long, silent gaze. ‘Your value now lies in you being alive and uninjured, and not in the possession of a vampire. By agreeing to keep you that way, Genevieve, I gain a powerful ally in the kelpie.’
Surprise winged through me. I knew why Tavish wanted me safe—hard not to, with the fertility curse hanging over my head like a phallic Sword of Damocles—and I knew the pair of them were plotting whatever together, but I didn’t know what Tavish could offer Malik, that had the vamp passing up my supposed coveted sidhe blood. I cast another lure.
‘Tavish?’ I exclaimed, deliberately injecting disbelief into my voice. ‘You’re doing all this just so you can stay friends with Tavish?’
He settled back against the pillows, crossing his arms loosely over his chest. ‘Tavish is an ally, not a friend. His alliance is important to me.’
‘Well, somehow I don’t think Tavish is going to be the wonderful ally you think he is, so good luck with that,’ I said, saluting him with my drink.
My glass went flying, and Malik was just suddenly holding my wrist, kneeling on the bed, his face close to mine. My pulse tripped, even though I’d sort of expected his reaction. ‘Explain,’ he said, the order sinking into my mind. I didn’t try and resist it; I was happy to explain, whether he ordered me or not.
I jerked my head at the silver ring banding his thumb. ‘I’m not the only one you talk to in your dreamscapes, am I?’ I smiled, showing my teeth. ‘You told Tavish about my visit with The Mother, which is why he turned up the very next day with his new pal the Morrígan.’ And why Tavish hadn’t asked me how I’d got rid of the sorcerer’s soul. And why Malik hadn’t been surprised when I’d first mentioned the Morrígan to him at the Coffin Club. ‘But I hope whatever deal he cut with her is worth it, because she’s got him chained up as her new slave.’ His hand tensed around my wrist. ‘There appears to be a lot of slavery going around, though, so maybe it’s not something that worries you.’ I looked pointedly down at where he gripped my arm.
He didn’t let go. He was silent for a moment, his face unreadable, then some decision passed through his eyes. ‘You are still suffering from your injuries. Come, and I will heal you.’
I felt a buzz in my mind, not quite an order, more of a suggestion. I pushed it away frustrated. Crap, he’d decided to clam up. Now I wouldn’t get anything else out of him. ‘No, thanks. I’m not interested, not unless you’re prepared to talk to me.’
‘Genevieve, you are in pain.’
‘And I prefer to stay that way,’ I snapped.
‘I prefer to heal you.’ His dark spice scent swirled round me with a touch of soothing mesma.
‘No,’ I said flatly, trying hard not to breathe, and failing miserably. ‘I don’t want anything from you, Malik. I’m sidhe, and I heal up well enough on my own, thank you.’ I mentally batted away another, stronger suggestion, and tried to yank my wrist from him. ‘And don’t bother trying to force me: you’ll only end up damaging the goods.’
‘I do not intend to force you.’ He dropped his hand. ‘Instead, I would point out that you are in pain, and you have the fae to deal with tomorrow. Would you rather waste time in unnecessary convalescence over the next few days out of unconsidered anger, or accept my offer?’
He had a point, but it made no difference; if I hurt that much I could always buy a healing spell from the Witches’ Market. Not to mention—
‘I hardly think my anger is unconsidered,’ I said, not bothering to disguise the disgust in my voice.
‘Would it help if I apologised?’ he said quietly, fixing me with a steady gaze.
I blinked. ‘What for? Taking over my life and treating me like a possession? Don’t bother. If you were really sorry, you wouldn’t have done it in the first place.’ I waved at the window: the stars were twinkling happily away in the night sky. Bastards! ‘It’s time for you to leave.’
He brushed a hand over his forehead, hesitated, then smoothed it over his buzz-cut. A stupid errant part of me wanted to know why he’d cut it— I growled at it to shut up.
‘No,’ he said, ‘I have told you I will keep you safe, so I will leave at dawn when it is no longer possible for another vampire to gain entry to your home.’
I snorted. ‘You’re the only sucker who’s got an invite, remember, so don’t bother—’
‘You have been giving your blood to Darius,’ he interrupted, a flare of anger lighting in his dark pupils, ‘therefore, you have also given him an open invitation. He is young and easily manipulated; and you have alre
ady seen how one more powerful has made use of him to gain access to you.’
I laughed—it wasn’t a happy sound—and pulled open the bedside drawer. I grabbed one of the empty blood bags and slapped it down on the bed between us. ‘This is how Darius gets my blood, and he pays for every single bag—a token amount, admittedly, but it’s the principle that counts—and what’s more, he’s in credit for the next six months. Blood paid for or stolen can’t be used against you: I learned that lesson from you. Now get out.’
He settled back against the pillows again. ‘I will leave at dawn, Genevieve. Not before. The bed is big enough for both of us to lie comfortably.’
I glared at him, my hands clenched in anger and frustration. London wasn’t big enough right now, never mind my bed! But there was no way I could physically throw him out. I wanted to scream, to shove a sharp blade through his cold, arrogant, currently unbeating heart, and then I wanted to empty the other two bottles of vodka in my fridge until I couldn’t remember his name, let alone his pale, perfect face …
I dumped the bottle on the floor, swung my legs off the side and stood, immediately regretting moving so quickly as my battered body objected. I grabbed my pillows and thought about sleeping in the living room, but damn it, this was my bed, and I was lying in it, whether he was there or not. Carefully, I crawled under the sheet, giving him my back and keeping as far away from him as possible. As my head sank into the soft pillows, I couldn’t hold back a relieved sigh.
‘Genevieve, I can heal you …’
‘No,’ I said, not caring if I sounded sulky or sullen, ‘I don’t want to be healed. So don’t touch me, or speak to me, or use your mind-mojo on me, and I’d be prefer it if you didn’t breathe either.’ Not that it would make much difference to him whether he did or not. ‘I don’t want you here.’
‘I am truly sorry, Genevieve,’ he said, regret slipping round me like a gentle summer breeze.
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