Blood Curse

13 Five

Before he even changed back to human form, Raven was hard. He had transformed and flown from Guidon’s back here—to his dark home—with Ophelia riding on his back. She’d grown used to flying. Instead of clinging to him, his brave temptress rode him like a goddess on a magical steed.

He had landed on the roof, on a steep pitch, his claw-like bat feet gripped the slippery tiles, curling around the edges.

“Hold me tight,” he told her. With a flick of his wing, he triggered the lever. His secret door slid open. It worked with pulleys and gears, making a soft, grinding noise. He lowered through the square opening.

When he had set her on her feet on his attic floor, he transformed back. As fast as his muscles and bones had shifted shape, more blood rushed down to his cock.

“Doesn’t it hurt?”

He glanced down at his prick, thick and straight as an iron rod. “Actually, it does—”

“Not that, Ravenhunt. I mean when you shift shape.”

“Yes.” He shrugged. “But not as much as I hurt desiring you.”

She lifted her brow. Apparently that wasn’t a romantic statement. Then he saw how her hands ran along the cuts in her clothing. Hell. Moving with a vampire’s speed, he came up behind her and tore the fastenings of her shirt open.

“What are you doing?” She jerked away.

“Taking it off. I will burn it, so you never have to think of that damned place again.”

She wrinkled her nose, looking so sweet his heart lurched. “It’s too cold to undress here.” Her hand strayed up and stroked her tangled hair. Pulled out of her pins, it fell around her in disordered waves.

His cock bucked and smacked his gut—with her untamed hair, she looked like a woman who had just been fucked to an earth-shattering orgasm. But she was not disheveled because of pleasure, she had been through hell. “Come, I will take you to bed.”

Her fingers touched the slices in her clothing. “First, I wondered if I could bathe?”

“Of course. I will prepare it at once. You must relax in your room.”

What he wanted to do was hurry her to bed. He wanted to caress her, kiss her, lick her all over, make love to her. But he could understand those damned Royal Society men had made her feel unclean. Raven bowed, in the nude, and he headed for the kitchens, to heat the water for her bath. Since she knew he was a vampire, he had nothing to hide. Using his preternatural speed, he tore upstairs with heavy buckets of water, filling the deep tub to the brim.

On a seat, he placed a stack of soft, folded towels—they were his, as he had no spare for guests—and set out a bar of his sandalwood soap. Then he gave her privacy, closing the door as she walked into the steam-filled room.

Returning to his room, he dressed carelessly in trousers, a shirt, a hastily tied cravat and coat. This would allow him to blend in with passersby, while he observed who was watching his house. Raven left by the kitchen entrance into complete darkness, locking the door behind him.

Men surrounded the house. Well hidden, but he could easily see them. For him it was like seeing them in daylight.

These were Royal Society men watching the house. From what Ophelia had told him, he knew there was a splinter group of the Royal Society—men who objected to having vampires in their midst, and who wanted to destroy all monsters, who believed “demons” could never walk among the mortals.

Whether the men watching this house were part of that group, or were men loyal to the Society, Raven didn’t know. Now he knew the situation, he went back inside, moving so quickly the world blurred around him. But he couldn’t go to Ophelia in her bath.

He had to read that book.

Ophelia was in the bath, naked, while he was stuck in his dark and dusty study, reading Guidon’s mouldering book.

Raven could picture her in the bath. Steam rising around her, shielding her lovely body like a veil, giving him only tantalizing glances of pearlescent skin. Her hair would be wet, sticking to her damp skin. Her nipples would be hard, with diamond-like drops of water dripping from the sweet, pink tips—

He was as hard as a brick, and he couldn’t take the pain anymore. But he had no choice. He had to deal with the book.

He had read it over and over, and knew the four lines of the spell that would free her from her power and send it to him.

The more he read, the more Raven wondered why she had this power. If she had been born with it, how could he remove it by using a spell? Had she been cursed with it? Why? It would have to have been when she was very young, before her menstrual courses began. Who would have done such a thing to a child?

Guidon had told him to read the part that explained how her power could be taken from her. He was to read it until he found the truth in the words.

Hell, he’d read them for an hour while she soaked sensually in a bathtub. He could smell the sandalwood soap—it was his soap and the thought of that normally masculine aroma on her feminine curves was driving him mad. His ears detected the faint splash of water. That brought to mind images of the lucky water hugging her curves, lapping at her breasts.

The book told him what Guidon had said—the only way for Ophelia to give up power and survive was through love. A shared love opened a conduit that allowed magical power to flow back and forth. It had to be true, deep romantic love.

The book was written in Latin, and while he’d studied Latin at Eton, he could not have cared less about languages and hadn’t paid much attention. His translation to English was clumsy, he knew, but he hoped it was good enough. He’d scrawled it over a bunch of sheets of notepaper.

Translated, the book’s title read: The Demonica, volume XI.

Raven read the passage about love again.

A special love is needed to break this curse. A love with the strength to endure for all time. It must be built upon complete honesty. It must be proven that this love can withstand the great blows that would destroy any lesser love. It must be able to survive the storms of betrayal and heartbreak.

How in Hades were you supposed to know if you loved someone that strongly? How could Ophelia know if she felt that way about him? Wasn’t the only way to prove love could withstand those things to have it last a lifetime? Wouldn’t they only know when one of them died?

The spell that released her from her power looked innocent enough, but spells and incantations were evil things. There was always a catch. This one had to be spoken after he’d given her several orgasms. He had to admit he liked the sound of that.

Raven leaned back in the chair—dust flew up when he did. Guidon, he called in his thoughts, I’ve read the passage. How do I prove Ophelia’s love can endure betrayal and heartbreak? I do not intend to do any of those things to her.

He waited, cursing the time it took Guidon to answer. He would miss Ophelia’s bath time. And he wanted to join her.

There is one great blow that you could give her—finally, Guidon answered. It would shake her love to the very core. It would make it almost impossible for her to love you. If her love for you were to survive that, it would be proof your love is true.

What in hell are you talking about? Raven snapped. What great blow? Never would I hurt her.

Another damned long pause, then Guidon spoke primly in his head, You don’t know, do you? I thought you knew, my lord. Think of the men you hunted for Jade and you will have your answer.

Don’t be so damned cryptic. I don’t have time for this.

You have to solve it for yourself, Ravenhunt. There is nothing I can do.

He sensed his connection with the vampire librarian disappearing. Damn it, Guidon, answer this. If she loves me so deeply, what happens after I take her power? Do I survive, or do I break her heart then? If I survive, what can I do? I can’t accept her love—I’m a vampire. Without her power, she will have the chance for a normal life—to have love and children.

You can provide those for her.

I cannot go out in daylight. I drink blood. I have to skulk through London, hiding in shadows. She deserves better.

You could transform her, Guidon answered. Give her eternal life. Then you would be together forever.

No, I couldn’t do that to her—condemn her to be like me—when all she has wanted is to be free of her cursed power.

That proves you are falling in love with her, Ravenhunt.

Raven felt the connection vanish in his head—it was as if a door had closed. Damn, he had more questions and no answers. Was the only answer to their love heartbreak? Even if they both survived this, he would have to let her go forever. He would never curse her to be a vampire.

How could he take her power unless he could fulfill the requirements of the book—that their love had to be strong and enduring?

Guidon, listen to me. He yelled it through his thoughts. If I can’t prove it, what happens to her?

The vampire librarian responded. I believe she will survive, Ravenhunt, because she loves you and I believe her love is strong. As the one who could cause her pain, the full price for taking her power will land on you.

So I don’t survive.

You may not.

Raven growled in his head, If I knew for certain she would be all right, it is a risk I could take. I don’t care about me, as long as she will be safe.

Ophelia opened her eyes, dozy from the heat of the bath, and gasped in surprise. Ravenhunt sat by the tub, on a stool. Fully dressed, he held a towel for her.

“I’ve soaked in this tub for hours, and I never thought you might want to bathe, too,” she said.

“I washed off with a basin and cold water.”

“That doesn’t sound pleasant.”

A grin tweaked his sensuous lips. “It was that or go mad while waiting for you, imagining what you must look like, naked in here.”

“You could have joined me.”

“I couldn’t. I had to read that book of Guidon’s. It gave me the incantation to use to draw out the rest of your power.” He stood, holding out the towel like a curtain, waiting for her. “I am supposed to repeat it after your fifth orgasm.”

“My fifth?” She could not believe it. He had given her many orgasms in a row, but she hadn’t ever had five.

“That’s when all your defenses will be down and your body will be able to release the power to me.”

“I don’t think I could have five.” Really, just two usually exhausted her. Ophelia stepped out and he clasped her hand to help her—the tub was deep, filled almost to the rim with warm water.

“You can have five,” he said.

She didn’t believe him, but loved the burning glow in his eyes as he said it.

“If you are planning to give me five climaxes, why are you dressed?” Inexplicably she was nervous, even though she trusted him. She was about to give up her power, and she didn’t know what would happen to either of them.

His strong arms wrapped the thick towel around her, surrounding her with warmth as he embraced her, too. But still she shivered.

He kissed her neck. That made her go stiff with shock.

Ravenhunt drew back. “I don’t want to frighten you. You know I won’t bite you. I can resist my hunger.”

He must have fed, but she didn’t want to think about that. He had asked her to touch him, and she yearned to do it.

Awkwardly, she turned in his embrace. She hadn’t touched in so long, and she’d never caressed a man she wanted to entice. How did she begin?

His hands slid around her, cradling her bottom and he drew her to him. Lost in wondering how to touch him, she lost her balance and fell against his chest. Her cheek pressed against his shirt. She closed her eyes. Tentatively, she laid her hands against the firm, strong muscles against which her cheek was pressed. Even through the linen of his shirt, she could feel the defined shape of his pectorals. Her palms savored the strength of him, unyielding beneath her touch.

She slid her hands higher, toward his neck. Earlier, she had wrapped her arms around his neck to hang on tight while they flew over London. Now she let her fingers caress him, stroking the column of muscle. She ran her fingers up and down, for his skin was like velvet beneath her fingers.

He groaned softly. His eyes were closed, his lashes lush crescents of black on his cheeks. His lips parted on quick breaths.

He looked this way before he would climax. She was making him look so sexually agonized with just her touch.

Mmm, she slid her fingers into his silky tresses. She’d always dreamed of running her fingers through a man’s hair. Now she could do it and do it to Ravenhunt, the only man she wanted to touch.

A giggle escaped. His hair tickled. It was so thick and beautiful. Ophelia pressed her fingers to his scalp, gently massaging.

His eyes opened. “That’s lovely,” he murmured. His head dipped back and he gave a guttural moan. “So good. No one’s ever done that to me.”

“It’s like stroking a cat.” She giggled again. “You are practically purring.”

“Don’t ever stop,” he muttered in a low, throaty growl.

“I’m afraid I have to. I want to explore all of you.”

He let his head drop back again and this time he made a soft howling sound. She couldn’t help but laugh. “I need to get your clothes off,” she said.

“Take them off then. I want to feel your hands all over me. But I’ll help by taking off my coat.” Ravenhunt pulled it off, tossed it to the floor of the bathing room. She had been so touched by how he had prepared the room for her, laying a fire for warmth, stacking soft towels, and setting many candles around the room so she bathed in a bright, gold glow.

It had been so sweet the way he had rushed, at his preternatural speed, to do it.

Her fingers fumbled on his quickly tied cravat. She had to stand on tiptoe to do it. She was too eager to touch his skin to deal with his clothes. But he wanted her to undress him.

He helped her tug his cravat open, and he slid it out from around his neck and threw it aside. His collar points dropped away, revealing his strong neck, down to the hollow at the base of his throat.

She caught her breath. Warmth exuded from the linen of his shirt, tempting her. Strange, but he felt warmer than he had when she had first been brought here as a prisoner.

All she had to do was get beneath his shirt and she could feel more of his beautiful skin. Her palms tingled. Her fingers itched to begin.

Holding her breath, Ophelia opened the ties of his shirt at his throat. Ravenhunt stepped back, pulled it over his head, and lowered his arms. She loved the way his biceps bulged, the way his chest muscles rippled then settled as he let his arms rest by his hips. He dropped his shirt.

This magnificent chest was hers to touch. She planted her hands over the hard curves of his pectoral muscles. He made them twitch under her palms. She giggled. Looked up to him and saw his smile.

His nipples had tightened until they were two hard points that tickled her palm. She rubbed them and he groaned with desire. His nipples grew harder. She wanted to explore. To see what her touch could do to him.

With her thumbs, she lightly strummed his nipples. Awkwardly at first, then she found a better rhythm. His head fell back. “God, yes, Ophelia. Your touch is beautiful.”

“Thank you.” She’d sculpted male bodies, but she’d never touched one. Even though he was formed of solid muscle, his skin was so soft. She slipped her hands up to his shoulders, ran along them exploring their marvelous breadth. Then down to explore his biceps. His forearms were like iron.

She touched his hands, loving that she could thoroughly explore them. Veins were raised in the back, his fingers long and elegant. She giggled even when she stroked his knuckles. It was so wonderful to feel the wrinkles there and the crisp edges of his fingernails.

Then she lifted his hand to her mouth and kissed it, the way a gentleman kissed a lady’s hand.

Under thick lashes, Ravenhunt watched her. “No one’s done that for me.”

Smiling, Ophelia turned his right hand over and kissed the palm. His skin was slightly rougher there, and she playfully brushed her lower lips sensually against him. He responded with a shiver. “That sent a shock right down to my cock, love.”

There was a place she could not wait to touch. But she wanted to please him, too. Watching him saucily, she kissed his fingertips. She ran her tongue down his index finger. She sucked it.

His eyes widened in astonishment as she playfully suckled him. Her wanton thoughts went to his cock—she’d seen it, but had never been able to touch it.

She was panting now. She had her hands on his back, stroking the broad, smooth muscle there. Her hands went lower, to his low back, tracing the curve of his spine.

Her fingers brushed the waistband of his trousers. Think of how naughty, how wonderful to slip her hands down lower . . .

She did. Warm, smooth skin met her touch, as firm and sculpted as marble, but so much more arousing to feel. Her fingers dipped into a hot area . . . heavens, the valley between the cheeks of his derriere. She explored there, then touched one cheek, running her fingers over it. Being wildly daring, she squeezed his firm bottom.

“Like my arse, do you?”

A hot blush raced over her cheeks.

He grinned. “There’s no reason to be embarrassed or shy. I appreciate your interest.”

“I like all of you,” she said honestly.

His dark hair fell around his face. “I love being touched by you. No other woman’s hands have felt so exciting on me.” He reached to unbutton his trousers but she stopped him.

“Let me. It’s a dream come true to do that to you,” she said.

He laughed. It was harder than she expected, for his trousers were strained by his erection, and it took a great deal of strength to undo the buttons. She had to fight to slip them through the holes. The placket fell open, and his erection, straight as a rod, sprang forward.

Its musky scent teased her. She could touch it, but she still approached warily, reaching out her hand with caution, as if it could bite. Her fingers bumped the head, making it sway.

“The head likes to be stroked. It’s very sensitive,” he said softly.

Tentatively, she caressed it, with her fingertips. She followed the contours, from the rounded top, with the tiny hole in the center, to the sweep of velvety skin to the crown that ringed it, before the long, thick shaft began. Clear, silvery fluid leaked out, making her fingers sticky.

He moaned in pleasure. Then she moaned in surprise and delight: as she fondled him, he cupped her left breast. Beneath his hand, her heart thundered. His thumb played the same lovely games on her nipple as she’d done to his.

She almost melted to the floor. She gripped his erection to stay upright. Then let him go. “I was squeezing you! I’m so sorry.”

“I liked it.” He put his hand over hers and guided her to slide her palm along the shaft. “Stroke me.”

Her hand slid to the hilt, slickened by his moisture. Her fingers did not reach all the way around, at the base of his enormous cock. Such amazing textures. Veins ringed his thickened shaft, her palm felt each ripple. At the base, crisp hairs tickled her skin. She even let her fingers graze his sensitive ballocks.

“Lovely, my dear. But since I can touch you freely, I want to do something I’ve always dreamed of.”

She gazed at him, wondering, knowing she looked terribly innocent. “What?”

“My mouth on your cunny. My tongue licking you to heavenly ecstasy.”

“Your mouth?” she gasped and in her shock, she gave a rather ruthless tug on his cock. He merely laughed, gathered her in his arms, and with his trousers drooping around his thighs, he set her down on a soft rug on the floor close to the warming fire.

He parted her legs and got on his knees between them.

“You aren’t really going to—”

Her words died. Ravenhunt bent and took her nether lips into his mouth, gently sucking them. Then his tongue flicked them apart, and his slightly raspy, warm wet tongue ran over her clit.