Blood Curse

4 Rescued

Ravenhunt drew back from her sizzling lips. “Stop worrying and enjoy the kiss,” he urged. “I’m not going to die.”

“I wish you w—” Ophelia began, but his mouth covered hers again, capturing her words, as he drew her tight to his hard body and kissed her deeply.

She couldn’t say she wished he would die. It wasn’t true. But she wished he would just . . . leave. So that she could get away.

This kiss was . . .

Oh, she was terrified of kissing.

Her first kiss had ended in horror. She had watched the man she loved fall to his knees, clutching his throat. David’s face had turned purple, his tongue had protruded, and his eyes had bulged out.

The horrible attack had stopped and he had lived. But she had never let herself see him again.

Ravenhunt kept kissing her. She held her lips so hard and tight they began to ache. She was going to kill him, and even though this was his fault, she was sick with guilt.

His hand cupped her jaw and slowly stroked. His fingertips massaged her skin beside her ear, making it tingle. His gentle touch soothed her. She found her spine was no longer ramrod straight with fear. Her legs began to melt.

Slowly, ever so slowly, her lips softened against his. The pressure of his mouth on hers made shivers of pleasure race down her spine. His lips were so firm but velvety. She ached inside—a strange, empty, throbbing feeling.

She pressed close to him, hard against his body—

What was she doing? He was her captor.

This was awful. The wonderful kiss she finally had was from a man she despised. It was wrong.

Ophelia shoved hard against his chest.

This time Ravenhunt let her go.

Raven’s mouth was hot with pain—pain that shot from his sensitive lips through his entire body. Jade had told him Lady Ophelia’s power would kill him slowly. She hadn’t mentioned it would hurt like hell.

That kiss had felt like his lips had been sliced by razors.

He touched his stinging lips tenderly. The pain was easing.

It had been hell while he’d been kissing Ophelia, but at least it hadn’t hurt her. Just him.

He could bear it for his sister’s sake.

Lady Ophelia grasped up her hems and scurried away like a frightened animal. She had pulled her gown on, and it hung around her, for she hadn’t bothered with her undergarments.

Many times he’d seen his sister run away from him in such a pose—biting her lip to fight tears, her heart filled with black fury toward him. When he’d become head of the family at twenty, he had seemed to spend most of his time leveling his sister’s dreams, breaking her heart, and, as she would describe it, ruining her life.

How was he going to coax Lady Ophelia into his bed? She could not see him as anything other than her captor. Raven had hoped her simmering anger might ignite into passion. Perhaps it would, in time. But he needed a way to cut to the chase.

He had to give Ophelia orgasms. How was he supposed to do that with a woman who ran away from him?

Ophelia would be searching for escape. There was no way out of his house. It gave him time to think.

How badly was it going to hurt him to seduce her? Hell, he couldn’t begin to guess. And it didn’t matter—he had to do it.

Raven stood absolutely still for several minutes.

Then he knew what to do.

From the battlefield, he knew the fear of imminent death made a man turn to anyone for help and rescue. Even an enemy.

There must be a way out.

But with each room she ran into and searched, Ophelia was losing hope.

No wonder Ravenhunt had left her room unlocked and had let her run around his house. No wonder he had not pursued her when she ran from him.

This house was indeed a prison. Except for the two of them, it was utterly devoid of life. No cook resided in the kitchen, no maids tended to the rooms. Ophelia hadn’t encountered another human soul.

The house showed its neglect. Cobwebs were strung from ceiling to bedposts and furniture in every room but hers. She had found no other bedroom that appeared occupied by her captor.

Every door to the outside was locked. He must carry the keys with him.

If she’d had her sculpting tools, she might have been able to spring open a lock. But she had nothing. Even if she broke a window, each one was covered with bars spaced too tightly for her to squeeze through.

If she could get hold of the keys . . .

If she let him kiss her again, could she search him for the keys? She shivered as she imagined running her hands over his body, pretending to be filled with desire but actually trying to find her escape.

She didn’t want to touch him. But she had to.

Now she had to find him. Or let him find her. She must ensure he did not guess her plan.

Where could she let him find her? She was on the upper floor, a few doors down from her bedroom. Ophelia pushed a door open. This bedchamber, too, was festooned with dust and spider-webs. But the bed was made.

This had to be Ravenhunt’s room. But why in heaven’s name was it not cleaned? How could he stand sleeping in there?

“Ophelia.”

Ravenhunt’s voice made her jump.

He had found her, and now she must make this convincing. She had run away from him once—it would be artificial and suspicious if she suddenly threw herself into his arms.

She couldn’t rouse his suspicion.

Weakness. She hated to act like a ninny, but weakness would be believed. Mrs. Darkwell had bought in to it on the times she’d escaped from the woman’s house. If she was docile, meek, and frightened, no one thought she had any courage at all. No one thought she was using her wits.

She made her shoulders shake. “Are you going to force a kiss on me again? Are you going to attack me?”

“You liked the kiss,” he answered softly. He stayed put, studying her. Not moving, as if she were a deer he didn’t want to frighten.

“I—” How to play this? “I didn’t want to like it.” That was honest. But she knew it also was not a denial that she wanted him to kiss her again.

“Maybe I always wanted to know what a real kiss was like,” she continued, hurriedly. She had to sound genuine. “But I can’t.”

“Think of it as just that. A chance to see what a kiss is. Forget who I am. Imagine the man of your fantasies kissing you.”

His words made her want to mentally kick herself in the bottom. He had been the man of her fantasies for two weeks. “You’re going to do it again, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” he said simply.

Then he was there in front of her, and she supposed she was so nervous she hadn’t focused on him coming to her. He’d seemed to move in a heartbeat.

Let him touch you. Don’t panic. It’s not that you want this. It’s that you have to do it. His scents filled her head. Sandalwood, witch hazel, wool, and leather. She looked up at him, her lips parted invitingly. Hoping he didn’t need any more encouragement than just her standing docilely, waiting for him to master her again.

Anything else—any faked enthusiasm—would look strange.

He tipped up her chin, kept his finger there, as gentle as if she were fine porcelain.

His mouth lowered to hers. So slowly, her heart was pounding when their lips touched. It was like a burst of thunder after waiting and waiting for it.

She gasped into his mouth.

A plot . . . just a ploy . . . that was all it was supposed to be. She kissed him as passionately as she could. Everything he did to her—the play of his mouth on hers, the touch of his tongue to hers, the way his tongue teased hers—she tried to do it back to him.

Deep inside, she throbbed and ached. She was responding.

Stop feeling things, she warned herself. The keys. Find them!

Kissing him back, she put her arms around him. Awkwardly. She let her palms skim down his back.

She was searching for pockets.

Ravenhunt wrapped his arm around her back, clamped her close, and gave her such a long, intense kiss she almost fell dazedly to the ground.

She clung to his coat, knowing now he had no pockets in them.

He picked her up, his hands at her waist, and then pulled her forward. He supported her on his right thigh, with his leg thrust between hers. It made the most shocking pressure against her private place.

It made her want to wriggle against him to ease the yearning she felt there.

He was kissing her breathless, making it hard for her to explore him, to get her hands to the waistband of his trousers to search for pockets.

Did he know what she was doing?

And how could she be so . . . aroused for her captor?

Raven knew exactly what she was doing. Kissing him in the most tempting way she could as a distraction. While she ran her hands all over his body.

She was searching for the keys to the doors.

Clever lass.

She had found the perfect solution to his problem of building her trust. He needed her to escape. He needed her to find the keys.

Groaning, Raven slid the lapels of his tailcoat from under her hands. He jerked it back, shook his coat off his shoulders, let it slide down his arms.

He sensed her sudden tension as his coat came off. He also pulled off his waistcoat. Neither made a thunk as they hit the floor, which she must understand meant there were no keys in the pockets.

His keys were hidden in a place she would easily find.

He should hasten her to her objective, but Hades, he didn’t want to. Her touch hurt, but it aroused him. Blood flowed down to his cock, making it as hard as a cricket bat.

It felt bigger than one.

How long since he had last had sex?

Two years. Since he had left Jade. He got aroused—randy, aggressive, irritated—but he didn’t want to have sex anymore. After Jade, he never wanted to touch another female vampire again. As for mortals—once they caressed him, they got more than they bargained for. His hunger was unleashed along with his lust. He couldn’t help but feed from them.

He couldn’t feed from Lady Ophelia.

Fighting his nature made his every muscle shake. He had to—for Frederica.

Softly, Lady Ophelia explored the skin at his neck. Damn, he’d forgotten how sensitive the skin of his throat could be.

How erotic it was to feel a woman’s gentle fingers stroking the muscles of his neck.

His heart started to pump faster.

Her hands skimmed along his shirt at his shoulders. Up behind his ears, which made his breath hitch.

As a vampire, his skin felt more alive. When she touched him, with her power, it was like having lightning crackle over him.

Painful, but hot.

But where did she think he’d hidden the keys? In his hair?

Her hands went down his back. At least she was getting closer. Raven smothered a grin as he kept kissing her. He wanted to go for her neck, kiss her there, but that would be—

Too much temptation.

He would bite her if he tried it.

She moaned. He knew she was faking every fluttering sigh and soft groan. But she had a lovely, throaty voice, and her moans were so sensual . . .

His cock was so filled with his blood it was getting harder to keep control.

He had to.

He couldn’t do what he wanted, which was to rip off her dress, and kiss, lick, and suck her all over. What he had to do was let her go.

At least, let her run a certain distance, far enough to get into trouble. Then he would fly to the rescue.

And his seduction could begin.

Raven’s lips and his skin burned with heat and pain—it was the pain from her power. If he wasn’t a vampire, with superhuman strength, the burning of his lips would be agony.

Lady Ophelia’s hands went lower. Down his back to below his waist. His cock pulsed with a shot of arousal and bucked against his belly. His prick had shifted shape from limp to rock-hard faster than he could grow his wings.

She groped his back. He would have to help her as the key was not trapped within the linen folds of his shirt. It was somewhere quite different.

Raven pulled off his cravat, opened the throat of his shirt, and yanked it off as quickly as he could.

Strange. Normally his naked chest was a bluish-white, as though he’d been frozen in ice. Even when he fed, he didn’t gain a more normal color. He looked more like a marble statue than other vampires did. Many of them easily passed for mortal.

But right now his skin was lightly flushed. It looked almost human.

He gazed down at her beneath his lashes. Ophelia was the most fetching human he’d ever seen. Pink glowed on her cheeks. She possessed the dewy skin of a lady who protected her face with bonnets and parasols. Amber lashes swept over eyes that glittered and sparkled.

She was so human, so alive; it was like taking a blow to the chest.

Stupidly, he broke their kiss and put his lips to her throat. It lured him like iron to a magnet. Pulled him there as if he were a dumb chunk of metal.

Her skin tasted of warmth, lightly of salt, possessed a lovely, unique flavor.

Her heartbeat pulsed under his lips.

Drinking from her would be the most pleasurable experience he’d ever known. So Jade had said. His instincts were screaming that it would be.

All he had to do was plunge in his fangs—

No. If he did, he would sacrifice his sister.

But, hell, he was going to kill pretty Ophelia, wasn’t he, when he took her power?

Remember, idiot, she has to escape. He had to move this along. Before he bit her. Or fucked her.

Raven gripped her wrists. He moved her hands so they were on his trousers. On his arse.

Ack. Ophelia jerked her hands back up. She’d wanted to search for pockets, but she was not ready to cup his . . . his derriere.

Her palms touched smooth skin. The skin of his bare back.

He shifted his position, lowering his leg, pulling her hard against him.

Against her tummy, there was a bulge in his trousers. Ravenhunt believed she desired him. Just as she’d wanted him to.

But now she felt awful. It stung her pride, churned up fear, made her want to be sick. She didn’t want to think she was embracing, kissing, exploring a man who was half-unclothed and whom she hated.

At least the fact he was naked above the waist meant she had fewer places to search for the key.

What if the key was in one of his boots? How would she explain sticking her hand down in one of those skintight leather things?

Worse, what if it was down inside his trousers?

He must have a pocket of some sort. And if she couldn’t find it there, she would make up some reason for him to take off his boots. She could say she was afraid he would step on her toes while kissing her.

She had gotten good at lying since she’d had to keep her power secret.

Wait? What was he doing?

His hand was sliding between their stomachs. Ophelia took a quick look down.

He opened the placket of his trousers. He was pushing them down.

She could not let this continue.

Even for the key.

Ophelia tried to pull her hands away but he grasped her wrists and drew her arms around him. Behind his back, he planted her hands on the edge of some soft material. His linen drawers.

He had put her hands on his underclothing.

This wasn’t what she wanted. Panicked, she started to move her hands away—

Her fingers brushed a rigid lump.

Shutting her eyes, tense as a drawn bow, she explored. The shape in his drawers was long, slender, and hard. A shape very like a key.

In his arousal, he must have forgotten he had put her hands right beside the key.

She gathered her courage. Then she thrust her tongue into his mouth to play with his, kissing him with desperate abandon.

To distract him while she eased her hand down the back of his drawers.

Firm, hard contours met her fingertips. It was the warm skin of—gah!—the globes of his bottom. Then she brushed cool metal.

She was breathing hard into his mouth, half-paralyzed with fear. She was terrified he would feel what she was doing.

Sliding her other hand down, Ophelia cupped the curve of his derriere on the outside of his underclothes. Her fingers felt stiff. But she managed to squeeze his rump. He jumped, apparently startled by her boldness. In that moment, with him distracted, she slid out the key. It was cold and hard against her palm, and she curled her fingers around it.

With her object hidden in her hand, she didn’t need to endure the kiss any longer. What she needed was to get away from him.

She tore her lips away from his. “Stop! I don’t want this.”

His lips curved up. “This is sudden. You seemed to be enjoying it up to now.”

“I was not!”

“You liked it and that bothered you. I understand, Ophelia. I’ll leave you alone.” He took a step back.

She couldn’t believe he would surrender so easily. But her heart soared with relief. She had the key squeezed so tight against her palm it was cutting her skin.

Shrugging, he picked up his shirt, then buttoned his trousers. “Until next time.” With that and a quick bow, he strolled away from her, still half-naked. Humming, for heaven’s sake.

There would not be a next time.

That made her smile. Smugly.

Ophelia pushed open one of the front doors. It creaked as it opened. She winced, then remembered she didn’t have to. There was no one to hear it.

After she had taken the key, she had hurried up to her bedchamber to hide it. She knew she could never escape with him in the house.

He had come up to her room at dark, had shouted through the closed door that he was going out and he had laid out a supper for her in the dining room.

She hadn’t planned to waste time eating, but once she was racing down the stairs, she’d smelled the delicious aromas and she’d run to the table to grab some food before making her escape.

Where the food came from, she had no idea. There were no cooks or maids after all. She’d stuffed a slice of roast beef in her mouth in the most unladylike way, swallowed it fast, and thrown down a glass of wine for courage.

Now she stepped out onto the front step, her heart thundering.

She was outside. She’d done it.

She quickly drew the door closed behind her and locked it from the outside. There was a slim chance Ravenhunt had no other key and would find he was locked out of his prison of a house. At the very least, a closed and locked door might give her time to get away before he discovered she was gone. It would be what he would expect to find.

She was out, but she had no idea where she was. On the outskirts of Mayfair, she would guess. Ravenhunt’s house was old—but across the street there marched a line of new townhomes. The street appeared to have some affluence, but was not of the best address. Perhaps it was a street where city merchants lived. It was quiet—only two carriages rumbled down it. But having at least some people around her gave her confidence. She must be safe now. If Ravenhunt pursued, she would scream. On a street such as this, which was not the stews, surely a cry for help would actually bring assistance.

But she was not about to wait about and be caught again. Ophelia lifted her hems and ran down the street. At the corner, she saw the name. Hope soared—she knew where she was. Only a few blocks from Mrs. Darkwell’s house.

One of the carriages slowed in the street at her side. A young man leaned out and called, “Can I help you, miss?”

She was about to shout, “Yes!” Then she stopped. Beneath his beaver hat and mop of brown curls, the young gentleman stared at her. What if this man was helping Ravenhunt? What if he meant to take her back to that prison?

She kept running. It took only two more blocks and she was panting. Her chest heaved. Pressing close to the edge of a fence that surrounded a house, she sucked in deep breaths. A narrow and shadowy lane led off from the street—she stood at the corner of it.

What on earth was she doing? She didn’t want to return to Mrs. Darkwell’s, but where else could she go?

She had escaped Ravenhunt’s prison. Why should she rush back to Mrs. Darkwell’s house, which was also a prison to her?

She was free. She could finally, for once in her life, make a choice. Eight years ago, she had been taken away from her family to protect them. Willingly, obediently, she had gone, because she had been so afraid of hurting people.

She did not have to live in a prison anymore.

She could go anywhere in the world—well, she could if she had some money, and if she stayed away from people so she did not hurt them—

“Lady Ophelia. How clever of you to have escaped that fiend.”

The clipped baritone voice startled her. It certainly didn’t belong to Ravenhunt—it wasn’t as drawling, jaded, or gravelly.

Ophelia spun around and found a gentleman standing behind her. Beneath his tall beaver hat, gray hair fell across his lined brow. A gray beard adorned his long, thin chin. Spectacles reflected street flares. Two younger, thin men in dark tailcoats accompanied him, flanking him. They carried . . . pistols.

“Who are you?” She had never seen this man before. How could he know she’d been a prisoner?

“I am Cartwell of the Royal Society.”

She frowned. “Why in heaven’s name is the Royal Geographical Society interested in me?”

Cartwell smiled, his manner paternal and condescending. “Not that Royal Society, my dear. Now you must come with me.”

“No. I have no idea who you are, so I have no intention of going with you.” She was tired of being forced to do things. She wanted her choice.

The men advanced and she backed away.

“I am here to protect you,” Cartwell said.

“I’ve escaped. I am going to protect myself.”

“I cannot allow that, Lady Ophelia.” He spoke calmly, but with an implied authority.

“I do not give a fig what you want,” she retorted.

“Do not force the issue, Lady Ophelia,” Cartwell snapped. “It is the best for you if you quietly come with us. Given you were taken captive by a dangerous man, I should think you would be appreciative—”

“Appreciative?” she snorted. “I am tired of people telling me I should be thankful that they’ve locked me in a room and won’t let me out.”

“This is madness.” It was one of the young men who spoke. He had tangled red hair beneath his hat, as if he never combed it. He pointed the pistol at her, bringing it level with her bosom. “You are to come with us.”

“Or you will shoot me?”

Ravenhunt’s words came back to her. He had warned her that people wanted to hurt her and that she should depend on him for protection.

She should be afraid.

But Ophelia was tired of people wanting to hurt her. She didn’t want to hurt anyone. She wanted to be normal.

Suddenly, she realized they had backed her into the shadows in an alley between houses. Where people from the street would not see her.

She held out her hands and lunged toward the redheaded man with the gun. He jerked back, obviously terrified of her touch. “Boo!” she cried. “If you shoot me, I’ll still touch you first.”

The other young man was moving toward her, and he trained his weapon at her head. “I’ll grab her—”

“Stop,” barked Cartwell. “Do not lay a hand on her. It will kill you.”

“I should shoot her now,” snarled the redhead, his voice filled with arrogance and bravado. “She is a monster. This idea of studying her is madness. She should be destroyed.” His finger was on the trigger.

The shot fired, smoke rushing from the pistol. The explosion roared in her ears. Darkness rippled in front of her eyes, as if a curtain had been drawn. Her hands went to her chest.

She expected to feel pain, to feel her body be ripped apart.

But there was nothing.

Dazed, she looked up. Ravenhunt stood there, between her and the pistol.

Ravenhunt. Naked.

How had he—? How could he have moved there so quickly? He half-turned to her. Blood poured from a wound in his chest. “Are you all right?” he shouted at her.

“You’ve been shot.”

Her eyes widened as she drank in the muscles of his chest—which she had seen before, but which looked all the more impressive under the glow of the streetlight. Her gaze went lower. Yes, utterly naked. Not a stitch on him.

“Ravenhunt, for heaven’s sake, you don’t have clothing,” she cried.

“This you notice, when one of these idiots shot at you?”

“You are wounded.” He had been shot in the chest, and blood was rushing out of the wound like a river.

Her legs wobbled, but she stumbled toward him. She had to use something to stop the flow of blood.

She shouldn’t touch him—

He would die if she didn’t.

“It’s all right, Lady Ophelia.”

“Stand down, Ravenhunt.” The gray-haired man held a strange weapon pointing at him. She recognized it from pictures in books. A medieval crossbow.

In front of her, Ravenhunt seemed to disappear. But he didn’t. There was a blur of movement, like ripples in the air on a hot day. Next thing she knew, the arrogant young man who had fired the pistol was lying unconscious on the ground, Cartwell was disarmed, and nude Ravenhunt held the crossbow pointed at both men.

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.”