Blood Curse (8 page)

The other young man fired. The pistol exploded with a roar, a flash of powder. The ball slammed into Ravenhunt.

She screamed.

Blood blossomed on his side. There was an enormous, bloody, black-rimmed hole in the side of his chest. It should have felled him, just as the first shot should have, but he just frowned at it.

Ravenhunt stalked to the man, grasped his arm, and twisted it sharply. A loud
crack
filled the air, as the man cried out. The pistol fell.

“Run, you Royal Society bastard,” he snapped at Cartwell. “Run before I shoot you with your own damned crossbow.”

Cartwell ran, stumbling on the cobbles.

Ravenhunt turned to her and crooked his finger. “Come, Lady Ophelia. We must get you to safety. There are likely more of them—Cartwell’s flight will send them in pursuit of us.”

She knew she was being a meek and cowardly fool. But she walked toward Ravenhunt. Even though he was naked. Even though he must be insane. Even though he had kept her as a prisoner.

He had taken two pistol shots for her. She was dazed and unable to think.

Ravenhunt stepped toward her, and she realized the blood was no longer flowing from his wounds. With shaky fingers, she touched the first wound. The blood was dry. The hole was smaller.

She looked at the wound on his side. He said nothing. Just stood and let her look.

When she straightened, the hole in his chest was gone.

“You’ve healed,” she gasped. “That’s impossible!”

Ravenhunt inclined his head. “I have a power, too, Lady Ophelia. The power to heal myself.” He smiled. “Do you believe me now, Ophelia? Do you accept that you are in danger and you can trust me?”

“I—I don’t know. Those men were going to kill me. But you took me prisoner. Was it for them?”

“No. But you have to understand now why I kept you and would not let you go.”

“Why are you not wearing any clothes?”

“I was undressing for bed when I realized you had escaped.”

“And you ran out naked?”
Naked
was not a word she was supposed to say to a man. Suddenly she thought of something. “You must have known I took your keys when you left. You would have tried to lock the door. You knew all along.”

He began to shake his head, but he looked guilty.

“You let me escape. You let me take the key, you followed me. When I thought I was so clever and I had defeated you, I hadn’t at all!” Somehow that made her the angriest. That he must have been laughing at her at every step.

“I had to let you understand the dangers out here,” he said.

“You let me escape because you knew they would attack me.”

“I had to make you appreciate the danger is real.”

“Why? Why would you care? What do you want from me? I have nothing to give. All I do is hurt people.”

Ophelia threw the words at him and tried to run from him.

But Raven caught her wrist and pulled her hard against his chest. He cradled her. Raven knew this touch was not for seduction. He heard the self-loathing in her frantic tones. She had a power she could not control, and he knew what hell that was like.

He hugged her.

“You shouldn’t do this,” she said bitterly. “You might die.”

“Then give me a kiss. If I’m going to die for it, I want to make it worth it.”

“We cannot kiss here. You are not wearing any clothes.”

He laughed at that. “True.” He released her and bowed. “Come back to my home with me. Let me keep you safe.”

“But what am I going to do? I mean, from now on. I cannot live like this.”

He kissed the top of her head. He was naked because he had changed into bat form and had flown to her rescue. It had been a closer shave than he’d planned.

“There is a solution, Lady Ophelia,” he said softly. “You can give up your power. You can give it to me. But—”

“But?”

“You will have to come with me, where you will be safe. Then I will explain. Are you willing, Lady Ophelia?”

“Do I have a choice?”

“Yes, you do. You can run away from me now.”

“And risk getting shot by more of those lunatic men. Or I can trust you. I choose you. I will go home with you.”

T
he door closed behind her, Ravenhunt turned the key in the lock, and Ophelia faced him, knowing she had willingly stepped into her prison. Now she would find out if she had been wrong to believe him.

“How do I give you my power? Why in heaven’s name would you want it?”

He led her to the dining room. The forgotten supper was cold, but he handed her a crystal goblet brimming with white wine. She sipped, for he seemed to be waiting for her to drink. When she paused, he motioned with his hand for her to drink more.

She frowned. “Why do you want me to be tipsy before you tell me?”

“You are remarkable. You were just attacked by men of the Royal Society, and yet you are flinty-eyed and calm with me.”

“You are avoiding the question.”

“You are a worthy adversary, Lady Ophelia. But I want you to understand we aren’t fighting anymore.” He pointed to the door. “You are free to go whenever you wish.”

“I don’t wish to right now.”

He plucked her glass from her hand and filled it again.

“Why do you want my power, Ravenhunt? Is it because you are an assassin?”

“I don’t want to use it, love. It is my plan to destroy the power so no one can use it. Only I can do that, and I have to take it from you to do it.”

She took another sip of the wine. It was dry and tart and delectable. His words did make sense. She could be free of the power. And it would never hurt anyone else—

He lifted her hand to his lips as she drank a little more of the tempting wine. He brushed her fingers with a gentle kiss, then turned her hand and gave a long, lingering kiss in her palm.

Tendrils of smoke rose, and she snatched her hand back.

“To take your power, Lady Ophelia, I have to make love to you.”

“You have to do
what?
”

Ravenhunt dropped to his knees before her. He pushed up her skirts, exposing her stocking-clad legs, then the silk of her garters, the bare skin of her thighs.

In her shock, the wineglass tipped in her hand, the golden liquid splattering on his head. He just shook his hair. With her skirts bunched up and captured in place by his hands, he pulled her toward his face.

“What are you doing?” she cried.

He pressed his lips to her belly, just above her private place. His eyes were closed, his thick lashes touching his cheeks. He groaned with pleasure. She still had her shift covering her, but what he was doing was scandalous.

She tried to push him away. “Stop it. You are making this up. How could I give you my curse—my power, as you call it—by making love to you?”

This must be a ploy to fool her into surrendering her innocence, to get her into his bed. Why he would want to do such a thing, she couldn’t imagine. She had burned his mouth, and smoke had risen from his lips when he kissed her hand. What was wrong with this madman that he would want to kill himself just to get her into his bed?

Beneath arched brows, his dark eyes reflected candlelight at her. “I can’t explain exactly how it works, but I was assured by experts that it would.”

She had to admit he looked innocently at her, as if speaking the truth. “Good heavens, what sort of experts would tell you how to take an evil power from a woman through . . . through those sorts of things?”

His lips lifted in a gentle smile. “You are adorable, Lady Ophelia. You have to trust me. I just saved your life, did I not? I am trying to protect you, exactly as I promised I would. Would you not want to be free of the power to take human lives just by touch?”

Of course she would! It was what she dreamed of . . . that one day she would wake up and discover she no longer hurt people. Then she could leave Mrs. Darkwell, and she could have a life like other women. But there was one problem . . .

“I can’t make love with you.” Ophelia put her hands over her face. “How could I do such a thing? It is what husbands and wives do. I am not
married
to you.”

“You are astoundingly innocent.” He sighed. “You do not believe me, do you?”

“I don’t know. It sounds . . . impossible. You saved my life and everything you warned me about seems to be true, so I do trust you. But this sounds utterly insane.”

“Isn’t your power impossible? How could you destroy people just by touching them? But you do. Ophelia, you have to believe I want to free you. If you require marriage to come to my bed, then I am willing to do it.”

“Heavens, you can’t mean you would marry me?”

“Yes. If necessary, I would.”

He must be joking, yet Ravenhunt’s level, steady gaze showed no hint of amusement. He looked completely serious. “No! I would never marry you.”

“Then let me pleasure you.”

Abruptly, he pulled her forward again so her tummy bumped against his mouth. She could hear deep, harsh breaths. He put his lips against the juncture of her thighs, through her shift. He kissed her there.

Her eyes were so wide with shock, it hurt. “Stop that!”

“I can’t,” he growled. “I have to do this. I have to take your power from you, to free you.”

“Why? Why must you?” She jerked away from him, her heart pounding. She managed to drag herself free. Her crumpled skirts fell down to cover her legs.

Ravenhunt looked . . . wild. His eyes were narrowed and seemed to be burning fiercely. His mouth was a slash of agony. He raked his hands through his hair, turning it into tangled waves that fell to his shoulders.

“I need to because—” He frowned and ran his hand through his hair again. “It doesn’t matter. If I take it, Lady Ophelia, you’ll be free. I’m going to free you from this power, whether you like it or not. So, tonight, we are going into town. There are people who will prove to you that what I am saying is true.” His dark brow lifted. “By the time I am finished with you tonight, Lady Ophelia, you will be begging me to make love to you.”

He’d gone too far with those last words, damn it.

By making such a bold statement, he had scared her away. Even now, in the hackney carriage, Lady Ophelia was huddled in the shadowy corner, as far from him as she could possibly sit.

Raven wanted to kick himself.

But he hadn’t been thinking. He’d been driven by hunger and lust. Right now, he was fighting like Wellington to avoid the scent of her blood. Sweet, enticing, it promised delicious warmth on his tongue—and a rich flavor that would stay with him for days.

When he’d been on his knees in front of her, he’d scented her blood and the musky aroma of her cunny. He’d almost lost control.

Jade had been right. The smell of Ophelia’s blood was the most intoxicating scent he’d ever known.

He wanted it. Even just a drop—just one incredible drop.

He knew damn well he would not stop at one drop.

“I apologize for my crude words earlier,” he said softly. He had to seduce her. She had to be a very willing partner in this, or he could not get her power.

“Harumph,” she muttered. “I would not marry you.”

“Remember the prize at the end of this. You would be free of your power.”

“And married to
you
.”

“You don’t have to marry me. Just be my lover, and then you can be free.”

She bit her lip. In the gesture, he saw how uncertain she was. She wanted freedom, but for a gently bred maiden, the price was frightening and high.

He had to take it slower.
Seduction, damn it. Remember?

He should sit beside her, and slowly, carefully, make her more receptive to him. But it would be damned impossible to be so close to her and hang on to his control. He was fighting hard inside to not drink from her. In the small confines of his carriage, he couldn’t escape her alluring smell. He could hear the thunder of her blood. Her heart had been pumping hard ever since he’d said those ill-chosen words to her about making love to her. It was like an echoing drumbeat in his head. On its rhythm, his head filled in words:
Drink. You are so hungry. Take her.

Raven managed to give her a seductive smile. When what he wanted was to jump across the carriage to her, sink his fangs into her neck, and pleasure her lovely breasts and her creamy, hot cunny while he savored her blood.

“This is a fool’s errand,” she said coldly. “Even if you convince me this crazy tale is true, I won’t—”

“Freedom always comes at a price.” He bit off the words so he softened his voice. “I promise you’ll also enjoy it.”

“But how could it work? It makes no sense. Anyway, how do you know all of these things?” Her gaze narrowed. “Who are you?”

He was astounded she hadn’t yet guessed he was a vampire. Given how much he wanted her beautiful blood, he was amazed he’d hidden it so well. “I know about the preternatural beings that live in London.”

“How? Do you know Mrs. Darkwell? Is that how you know about me?”

“It doesn’t matter how I know about you. All that matters is that I can change you. I can free you, if you let me. Now, no more questions. I will lead you tonight. Then you can make your decision.”

Watching her turn to the window and stare out, he felt a strange pang in his chest. The light from street flares caressed her face as they passed them. She had a sweet face. An upturned nose, plump lips. Large, guileless indigo-blue eyes.

She wore a cloak he had loaned her. The night was cool. The hood engulfed her, the hems trailed below her feet. He never bothered with a coach, and he kept no servants. He had needed the hackney to bring her. He knew the Royal Society would have spies watching the house—it had been easy to enter the minds of their weak sentry, to make those young, stupid men believe they were seeing nothing, then he had walked Lady Ophelia out, right under their noses.