Bitter Seed of Magic (9781101553695)

by Mcleod, Suzanne

  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 t
o 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 already 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.

  ‘If you were truly sorry,’ I said, forcing the words past the anger, and yes, hurt, constricting my throat, ‘you’d tell me why you’re hooked up with Tavish, why I’m such a valuable asset, and what’s going on with Tavish, and with Mad Max, and what it’s all got to do with the curse. Oh, and you’d tell me what’s up with you and the Autarch too.’

  I stared fixedly at my bedroom’s blank white wall until it went out of focus, waiting for an answer that didn’t come, nursing my anger. Malik might think I was a valuable asset now, but he wasn’t going to for much longer. I fell asleep determined to find a way to stop him running my life. Whatever it took.

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  Tap, tap. Tap, tap. Tap, tap.

  The noise beat insistently inside my head and I turned over, trying to get away from it. Instead, I came face to face with Malik’s dark, staring eyes.

  I blinked, then realised three things almost simultaneously:

  Malik had somehow missed leaving before dawn, and was now in his ‘dead for the day’ state.

  A thin sliver of sunlight was hitting the bed like a laser-beam, and it was inches from his bare foot.

  And something huge and black was perched outside my window, tapping on the glass with a very large and very sharp beak.

  My pulse speeding with apprehension, I leapt up—

  —and a swooshing sound thundered in my ears as the black thing flew through the window, knocked me flying, and crashlanded almost on top of me.

  Feathers.

  My mouth was full of feathers. I spluttered and spat them out, scrabbling at my mouth with my hands while something cawed loudly and indignantly next to my ear. There was a panicked flapping of wings as it moved, and a huge raven stared down at me from alien blue eyes, its long, grey, very sharp beak only inches away from my throat.

  Was it the Morrígan?

  The raven started to grow, and within seconds the monstrous bird was looming over me, blocking any escape. Keeping a wary eye on that beak, I scrambled backwards and wedged myself in between the bedside table and the wall.

  The raven gave another loud caw—

  —and exploded in a snow-storm of black feathers that spun and fell through the air, dissipating into the ether before they reached the wooden floor. Instead of a raven, there stood a naked man. His mouth opened as he let out one last impassioned caw, then he collapsed, shaking, onto his hands and knees, his head hanging down, his wheat-gold hair feathering out over the floor.

  ‘Goddess,’ he gasped hoarsely, ‘that hurt.’ Then he curled into a ball, moaning.

  Okay. So not the Morrígan.

  And not much of a threat either, judging by the moaning, which sounded a bit excessive, like he was putting it on. I unwedged myself from my corner, hauled myself up and ignored the moaning naked guy in favour of Malik.

  The sunlight might be weak, but if it hit him, it could cause a serious problem. I kept a wary eye on Mr Moaning Raven as I skirted past him and yanked open the wardrobe. Malik’s long leather coat was hanging neatly next to my own leather jacket, just as I’d known it would be. At least the neat-freak vamp was predictable in that area anyway. I grabbed them both, and flung the coat over Malik’s top half and my jacket over his feet. It wasn’t perfect, but I was pretty sure he was old enough that it would protect him for now.

  Then I turned to give my newest uninvited visitor the once-over.

  His back view was well worth looking at: broad shoulders narrowing to a taut butt, long, lean-muscled legs, and all covered in tanned skin sprinkled with fine golden hairs that glinted in the weak morning light. A twining tattoo encircled his left ankle, climbed up his calf and twisted around his thigh. It was a complicated pattern of stylised feathers and glyphs, none of which I recognised. The tattoo itself was etched in gold ink that was barely noticeable against his skin tone. A scattering of small diamonds were sprinkled along the tattoo and melded into his skin. When I looked, the tattoo and gems glowed with enough power to fill the room with golden magic, hotter than the summer sun.

  I’d bet my last liquorice torpedo that the naked man in my bedroom was the raven who’d been following me: but was he a messenger from the Morrígan, or something to do with the dead raven faeling, or both?

  Not that he was looking particularly competent for a messenger.

  Of course, there was another reason he could be here. I could’ve snagged myself another hopeful suitor like Sylvia. Damn fertility curse.

  ‘You know,’ I said, raising my voice slightly to be heard over his moans, and prodding his shoulder with my toe, ‘turning up naked in a girl’s bedroom isn’t the relationship starter it’s cracked up to be. Not to mention that the naiads have already tried it . . . unsuccessfully, I might add. Oh, and if you’re thinking of it as a fast track to courting me, you can think again. It takes more than pretty looks to get me into bed.’

  He stopped moaning and lifted his head to peer at me over his bent arm. He looked about my own age. His face was every bit as pretty as the
rest of him: high, angled cheekbones, sharp jaw, straight patrician nose and large indigo eyes with slitted cat-like pupils that gleamed more red than black as they twinkled at me.

  I stared at him, shocked. He was sidhe.

  ‘I think you’re maligning my good character here, my lady.’ He rested his chin on his arm, regarding me quizzically. ‘After all, I did just rescue you. But I’m prepared to forgive you for’ – he grinned – ‘a drink. Don’t suppose you’d care to pass me the vodka there, would you?’

  I blinked at him. ‘What?’

  ‘Saving damsels in distress from going up in flames with unconscious vamps is thirsty work. There’s the shifting, that takes its toll, even without flying through your window while not physically breaking it. Then I did have to stretch your Ward a bit, but seeing as it was already partially cracked, I didn’t think you’d mind. I think I deserve a drink after all that, don’t you?’ He winked mischievously, his grin widening to show straight white human teeth. ‘Oh, and pass me a pillow, will you? I can’t quite manage clothes yet, and I’d hate to stun you speechless with the rest of my pretty looks.’

  ‘It’s not your looks,’ I said slowly, tossing a pillow at him in bemusement. ‘It’s your eyes.’

  ‘Ah, I forgot.’ He closed them, muttered something under his breath, then opened them. The indigo irises were the same, but the pupils were now round, black and human. ‘Is that better?’

  Oddly, it was. ‘Um . . . yes. Who are you?’

  He sprang to his feet, clutching the pillow strategically in front of him, then did an odd bird-like hop towards me. He stopped and shook his head in irritation. ‘Sorry, takes a while to get rid of the mannerisms. The name’s Jack, my lady. Pleased to meet you, at last.’ He held out his hand, an expectant look on his face, as if I should know who he was even if I didn’t know him.

  ‘At last?’ I echoed questioningly.

  ‘Ah, she hasn’t told you.’ He dipped his head, his cheeks flushing with embarrassment, which made him look a good few years younger than the mid-twenties I’d originally guessed. ‘Well, that puts the hawk among the pigeons, doesn’t it? About that drink . . .’