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‘Grreeoffmee,’ I slurred, wishing he would go pop!or whatever dead-dream vampires were supposed to do.
‘I see that you are finding this hard to accept.’ He released my hand and we both watched as it thudded onto the mattress and bounced. ‘I must admit, I did myself at first, but I have become used to the idea that I am not truly dead.’
The pain in my hand receded and I tried to roll over in an effort to go back to the sparkling mist and end the nightmare. Or at least in my mind I did. My body stayed where it was. My own horrified eyes stared down at me as I realised I couldn’t move, my heart thudded slow and heavy in my chest and fear crawled into me on shuddering, drug-muted claws. Maybe this wasn’t a dream.
‘Iwatchedgoblinsscatterashes.’ My words still slurred, but I was getting a little more control now.
‘Yes, so you did. That was rather an unpleasant surprise.’ He smoothed a hand down his blazer lapel. ‘It was a much more pleasant revelation when I realised I had not quite shuffled off this mortal coil’—he flashed fangs again—‘or, in my case, immortalcoil.’
‘Happywithyoudoingshufflingbit,’ I muttered in disgust.
He sighed. ‘The medication is stifling your thoughts, my dear. It is a
Pain ripped through me and my arms and legs twitched like a dying fish as my brain’s message to fight struggled to reach my muscles. I screamed, but he clamped his hand over my face, muffling the sound as he pressed my head back into the black satin pillows. Then the world turned hazy and silver as his venom flooded my blood and hit my heart like a sledgehammer, and the pain dissolved in the rush of promised pleasure. My heart beat faster and faster. Heat and lust suffused my body as the venom-induced adrenalin sensitised every inch of my skin.
He reared up his head and inhaled deeply. ‘You know how this works, don’t you, my dear? With so much of my venom in your blood, your body will continue to crave sexual release, but it will unable to reach it other than through my feeding.’ He leaned over and pushed aside the negligée, smiling as he pinched my left nipple. I arched into his hand, the pain/pleasure nearly destroying me. ‘Of course, it would be quite crass of me to take advantage of you in this condition, when you are unable to defend yourself.’ The Earl gave a satisfied sigh and licked a spot of my blood from his bottom lip. ‘But it is edifying to know I haven’t lost my touch, as it were.’
I swallowed back the urge to beg, trembling uncontrollably as my body tried to cope with the venom. It’s like any other addictive substance: the more you get, the more you need—for vamps, it’s a great way to ensure your food follows you around like little blood-bloated sheep: a quick hit of venom with every bite keeps the sheep happy and healthy, and unwisely trotting back for more.
The Earl had given me more than a quick hit. If I’d been human, I’d be halfway to a heart attack. And that’s the bottom-line reason why fae blood is such a sought-after commodity by the vamps; it’s not our magic, or that we taste sweeter than humans.
We just don’t die so easily.
There’s somuch more fun to be had when your victims can survive whatever torture you choose to inflict. And leaving me primed and desperate was just another form of torture.
‘Bastard,’ I finally managed to gasp.
‘Now, now, my dear.’ He placed a warning hand on my stomach. Sharp need rippled through my body, forcing another desperate moan from my throat. ‘I would prefer you to keep a civil tongue in your head; our time together will be so much more enjoyable if you do.’
I gasped a couple of breaths, willing myself to ignore the cravings itching through my veins. The venom had cleared the clouds of the drug from my mind and my body. If I moved fast enough, maybe I could escape—
I still couldn’t move.
Fear blasted full-force into me.
The Earl could do anything he wanted with me.
Panic constricted my throat.
I couldn’t stop him.
I gulped for air, calm, wanted to scream again, stay calm, tears pricked my eyes. I opened them wide, not wanting them to fall, not wanting to give him the satisfaction, but felt their wetness roll down the side of my cheek.
He watched me, his blue eyes cold, detached.
Another tear followed.
He leaned over me—his breath in my face was musty and stale—and pressed his index finger to the corner of my eye. He followed the path of the teardrop, stopping when he reached the terrified pulse under my jaw, which beat slow and weak against him. He inhaled, his nostrils flaring in satisfaction. ‘Good. I see you finally understand the situation, my dear.’
‘What do you want?’ I whispered, hating the catch in my voice.
‘I would like us to watch the news together.’ He pinched my cheek, then lifted a remote control and pointed it at the wall in front of the bed. A soft hum filled the room and a large painting of an over-endowed nude male reclining on an uncomfortable-looking chaise longue smoothly gave way to a huge plasma screen.
‘Ah, here is the delightful Inspector Crane,’ the Earl said cheerfully. ‘I believe she has been searching for you, my dear.’
I stared numbly at the screen as I slowly pulled myself back from the yawning chasm in my mind. After a time the patrician lines of Detective Inspector Helen Crane’s face came into focus. I recognised her severe expression, her blonde hair pulled back into a tightly contained bun. She looked every inch the ‘I’m in charge here’ fortysomething poster woman for the modern police force, guaranteed to encourage ambitious new recruits everywhere. Factor in that she was a powerful witch, not to mention high up in the Witches’ Council and she sowasn’t someone to have as an enemy.
Trouble was, neither of us liked the other. We’d butted heads during the Mr October murder, and it wasn’t just because she’d wanted me to stay out of the investigation. No, our main bone of contention was Fi
I was thankful she was just on the TV.
And as she headed up the Metropolitan Police’s Magic Murder Squad, seeing her giving some sort of news conference outside the MMS headquarters, Old Scotland Yard, wasn’t any sort of surprise. The Earl turned the volume up.
‘—nothing more to report on the disappearance of Genevieve Taylor, the sidhe fae who is believed to have information about the tragic death of Tomas Eriksen, a local baker and businessman,’ Inspector Helen was saying. ‘Mr Eriksen was a much-liked and well-respected figure within the community of Covent Garden, and he will be sorely missed. Should anyone have information about the whereabouts of Genevieve Taylor, we ask them not to approach her for their own safety, but to call Old Scotland Yard immediately on the number now showing on the bottom of the screen. All calls will be treated as confidential.’
‘Detective Inspector Crane,’ someone shouted, ‘is it true that the sidhe is a suspect in the murder of Tomas Eriksen?’
Flashbulbs popped. The inspector’s three jade brooches and dangling garnet earrings glittered and for a moment I thought I could almost see the spells she’d stored in the gemstones. ‘We want Ms Taylor to help us with our enquires—’