Blood Curse (20 page)

She twisted her head to look out the window that was behind her. It was the direction the drunken couple had come from.

There is a sign for an inn,
she told Ravenhunt.
It’s the Eight Bells. I’m in the basement of the building that is opposite it and up one, I think.

Footsteps sounded outside her door, and there was a rattle at the lock. Someone was opening her door.

They are coming back,
she thought desperately.
It’s too late. A doctor is going to cut me open. You’ll never get here in time—

There was no answer. Ophelia couldn’t explain it, but she had a cold, empty sensation in her mind for seconds. It went away, but she was sure it was because their connection had broken.

The door opened.

A short, plump man leaned over her. His white shirtsleeves were rolled up. He wore thick, round spectacles and a waistcoat of gray with dark spatters on it. Ophelia saw red stains on his rolled-up sleeves and realized it was blood.

He threw a bundle down on the table and unrolled it. It was a sheath of leather and as it opened, the light gleamed on blades.

This was the doctor and with those things he would cut her open.

“No,” she cried. “You cannot do this. This is inhuman—”

A gag was pulled between her lips, and it jerked painfully at the corners of the mouth. “Take care not to touch her.”

She recognized the voice as that of the second man. He was tall and muscular, and wore a gentleman’s clothes. His hair was jet-black, slicked back, and receding at the corners. It gave him a devilish look, along with his dark eyes. They looked as pure black as Ravenhunt’s.

But much more cruel.

Another man watched, at the edge of the shelves, his fingers stroking his chin. Clear blue eyes peered at her. His features were perfect, like a Greek statue. His hair was gold. At his side stood the man who had attacked her the first time she escaped. The grey-haired man called Cartwell.

“This blanket has to be removed,” the doctor barked. “How can I get to her to begin with a wool blanket wrapped around her?”

“We had to ensure she did not touch us.” Now she knew, from his voice, the blond man was the first man.

He stepped forward with scissors from the bench and hacked at the blanket. She flinched and tried to pull away as much as she could. When he had it cut to pieces, he ripped some of it back, but not enough to let her hands free.

She fought to break the rest of the blanket, lifting her arms. The straps bound her across the upper arms. Her hands were now free.

“Damnation,” yelled the blond. He came at her—he carried a dagger. He plunged it at her wrist and she screamed more shrilly than she ever had.

The tip went through the sleeve of her dress, securing it to the table.

The other man did the same to her other arm, and she was pinned, like an insect secured to a board.

“Now I begin.” The doctor nodded with satisfaction.

A blade cut through her shirt, and the doctor tore it open. He looked up and met her eyes. She couldn’t speak; she could only make fierce sounds around the gag.

“One day,” he said, “I will determine how magic resides in the bodies of demons like you.”

“We need to know,” said the second man, “so we can destroy her power.”

“Or take it,” said the first man.

“That you may not be able to do.” The doctor sliced through her shift. He was going to start cutting into her abdomen. To do that would kill her.

“There are stories that such powers like hers can be taken by magic, but that only works for other demons,” the first man said. “Mortals cannot take it.”

“The damned vampires who have infiltrated the society refuse to try,” the second man snarled.

“No, they cannot do it,” interjected Cartwell. “If they do, it is said it will destroy them. It would destroy a vampire to do it just as easily as it would destroy a human being.”

Ophelia jerked, forgetting for one moment the doctor, who had returned to his row of instruments. It would destroy a vampire to take her power?

That meant it would destroy Ravenhunt. He was going to free her from her power—but he would die to do it.

The doctor returned holding a thin instrument with a long, evil-looking blade. Standing over her, he lowered it to her stomach.

N
o! Ophelia struggled under the straps that clamped her to the table. She couldn’t break free. She shut her eyes and gritted her teeth as the blade touched her belly.

A loud scream filled her ears, and she opened her eyes wide. A dark shadow stood between her and the doctor. Before she could see what it was, the doctor rose off his feet still screaming. The knife fell from his hand. He was thrown across the room. His short, portly body crashed against the wall of shelves. Jars flew out from the impact and smashed to the floor. His high-pitched shriek overwhelmed the shattering of glass, and he landed, sprawled on his stomach, amidst the wreckage.

She could see what the shadow was. A huge winged creature. It swooped at the other men, who scrambled to retreat, almost tripping over each other. Like terrified rabbits, they scampered toward the door and Ravenhunt chased them. At least, she thought it was Ravenhunt. Who else could it be?

She fought the straps holding her down, straining to see what was happening. But it was impossible. She couldn’t lift off the table far enough.

Seconds later a naked Ravenhunt stood in the doorway.

Ophelia was no longer shocked to see him that way.

“I’m bound by the straps—” she began, but he ripped the ones off her legs with his bare hands. The metal creaked, twisted, snapped.

This display of strength and power didn’t frighten her. But seeing Ravenhunt safe made her long to touch him.

“You are alive.” Her voice was a choked whisper. “I feared they had killed you.”

“I’m the undead. I don’t die.”

“But you can be destroyed,” she gasped. How could he sound so unconcerned about it? She was so relieved, so grateful to him. She yearned to hug him to show it, to wrap her arms around him and press her head against his strong chest. Then she hungered to kiss him. Kiss him all over with joy because he was alive and he had come for her.

She wanted to kiss every single inch of him. Even naughty places.

She couldn’t do any of those things. Even if she were free she couldn’t.

As the band clamping over the top of her chest came off, Ophelia drew in a deep, grateful breath. She almost choked—the stench of blood and alcohol was thick in the air. Ravenhunt came to her, bending over her, concern stark in his eyes. Once she stopped sputtering, she managed to whisper, “I’m all right. It’s just the awful smell.” She met his intense black gaze, and the anger there made her lose her breath.

“Are you hurt, Ophelia? If you are, I will rip them all apart. Tear them limb from limb.”

She laid her hand on his arm. “No, don’t. I am all right.” Then she remembered and pulled her hand away. Startled by his dark rage, she’d forgotten. “You came in time—just before the doctor was going to cut into me. You saved me.” It seemed so inadequate, but she could only express all the emotion roiling in her—the relief, the happiness, the shock, the fear—in words. “Thank you.”

Never had she believed she would thank a vampire. Yet he was kinder to her than anyone had ever been. She supposed it was because he was like she was—a killer who was feared by the world.

His lips kicked up in a smile, and she caught a glimpse of the sharp points of his fangs. He turned from her abruptly, watching the door and the high windows. “Wait until we are sure we are safe before you thank me, love. I believe they’ve run. But they might have only retreated to get sufficient weapons and they intend to come back.”

His strong arms went around her and he lifted her, his large hands supporting her bottom and her back, but she struggled in his cradling arms. “Don’t do this,” she begged. “It will hurt you.”

“I don’t care.”

“I do,” she said.

Making a growling sound of frustration, he set her on her feet. He left her and prowled over to the fallen doctor. Three cavalier words, thrown out with a devil-may-care confidence, and with a certain amount of bitterness, ate in her heart.

Did he really not care? After all, he was willing to be destroyed to take her power. Of course, it would make sense that he didn’t care if she hurt him now. He knew he was going to die. Why was he doing all this for her?

It gave her the strangest feeling, as if her heart was swollen and no longer fit in her chest. But she didn’t want to win her freedom at the cost of his . . . well, his life. She couldn’t live with taking that away from him. Didn’t he understand that?

She stalked toward him, where he was crouched on his haunches at the side of the unconscious doctor.

“Raven—” Her voice died as he roughly rolled the doctor onto his back.

From this view, the doctor’s rotund stomach looked like a hill. Blood smeared the neck, his waistcoat. Grimacing, Ravenhunt pushed the man’s head to the side, then bent toward his neck—

“No!”

It had come out without thought. He looked up at her from beneath the fringe of his coal-black hair. “I need to feed, and this would let me finish him off. He deserves this for what he was going to do to you.”

He said it so matter-of-factly. But Ophelia felt the blood draining out of her head as she imagined his teeth sinking into the man’s neck, as she thought of him drinking blood. She grabbed the shelves as her legs almost melted beneath her.

She managed to hold her body up, but the horror made her dizzy. Ravenhunt needed blood now—he needed to feed, he said. Yet he had gone to feed after almost biting her. That had not even been a full day. How many victims had he taken since becoming a vampire?

At once he was beside her, his hands on her waist, and he supported her.

She pulled away from him. “No, I don’t want this. I don’t want you to—to drink his blood out of revenge.” Warily, she faced him. Agony was etched on his handsome features. “What happens if you don’t feed when you want to?”

He turned away, resting his hand on the shelves. “The craving becomes stronger.”

“What happens after that?”

“I always have to feed eventually,” he said, over his shoulder. “It will happen even against my physical will, if it must. But I understand how you feel. I won’t do it in front of you.”

He went to the door, looked out, then he took a few strides down the hallway. Now she saw there was a corridor formed of stone walls beyond this room, and it led to a heavy oak door. At the end of that corridor was yet another door, which stood partly open. That was where her captors had run.

“I have to get you out of here, but we cannot go that way,” he muttered.

“There are the windows.” She pointed to the low windows that gave a view of the sidewalk and street.

“Good idea.” He gave her an approving smile.

“How do we break them?”

“That is easy.” From the large table, he took a dusty book, flung it, and the glass shattered. It was formed of small panes held with putty and wood, but Ravenhunt threw with such force, the entire thing exploded into pieces.

“Climb up,” he said. “I will help you out the window.” He motioned to the table. It astounded her how it didn’t bother him to be naked. Her shirt was cut into tatters at the waist, but Ophelia had to admit she didn’t care. She just wanted them to escape this horrible place.

She hesitated. “You’ll have to touch me.”

“It’s all right. It won’t hurt for long.” He held out his hands to lift her onto the table.

“Wait. I know we don’t have long and that we must escape. But I have to tell you what I learned. Those men said that a vampire who takes my power will be destroyed. You have to—”

“I know, Ophelia. I’ve known it all along.”

“You know and you—you are willing to die to free me?”

This time he hesitated. He threw a glance back toward the door. “It’s complicated. There is a way out for both of us. Guidon told me how it can be done. But that is for later.”

He grasped her hips and lifted her. With his amazing strength, he easily lifted her up on the table.

Impulsively, she swiveled and bent down. Her hands cupped his jaw, which was soft to her touch, but rough and scratchy, too, because it was shadowed with black stubble.

She had never cradled a man’s face.

She had to stop touching him. But as she tried to move her hands, he grasped them and held them against her face. His eyes widened, his dark brows shot up and disappeared beneath his mussed hair. His full, beautiful lips parted. “Ophelia, there’s no pain. I don’t feel any pain.”

How could it be possible? He cupped the back of her neck with his hand and drew her to him, so their mouths were only an inch apart.

Ophelia surged forward and hastily, clumsily, pressed lips against his. Her heart thundered. They could be caught and killed any moment. But she wanted to know if she could do this without pain. Just one quick, wild kiss.

Heavens, his lips were so warm and velvety soft. When her mouth touched his, there was a sizzle—but a glorious, thrilling, exciting one. The gentle contact of their mouths stole her breath. It made her hot and achy inside.

He drew back. “There was no pain.”

“Does it mean you took my power?” Reality hit her. There was no joy, no happiness now—just horror. If he had taken her power, she’d killed him.

“I don’t know. But it means I can get you out of that window. Come, Felie, let us hurry.”

Felie. A pet name. She’d never had one.

Ravenhunt jumped onto the table beside her, then he wrapped his arm around her hips and lifted her so she could grasp the ledge of the window. She gripped it—a small piece of glass bit into her hand, but she didn’t care about pain. Pulling on the ledge, she tried to scramble up, but he gently pushed her, so she was out the opening in moments. Ophelia scrambled to her feet—the window was just above the level of the cobblestone street. She turned to help him, but he leaped up from the table, soared cleanly out of the window, and landed on his feet beside her.