Sharon Page - Blood Curse

“Yes, it does kill vampires.” Jade floated around him, her hair fluttering on the cool breeze. “It kills us very slowly. At least, it would kill you slowly for now, but her power will become stronger. If she keeps her power, it will become so strong she will be able to kill a mortal without touching him. And she will kill against her will. I mean, she will not want to hurt anyone, but she will not be able to control it. You, Ravenhunt, can take her power away from her. You would be doing something kind for her, freeing her of her curse.”

Poor kid. He knew what it was to be a monster—to kill against his control. But he did not trust Jade. “How would I take this power?”

“By making love to her.” The queen laughed. “Is that not always the way? By giving her pleasure, by touching her heart, you will cause her power to become stronger. Then you will have the ability to take it from her.”

“What does that do to her?”

Jade shrugged. “It might kill her. Such strong power could not be taken without a great cost.”

“I’m not interested.”

“You will be. For if you do not do it, your sister will be destroyed.”

He lunged for her, but Jade lifted her hand and he found he could not move. She was extremely powerful for a vampiress. “Remember, dear boy, if you kill me, you die. And I have acquired insurance. Other vampires are instructed to kill your precious sister if you do anything to me.”

Hades, he hated Jade. When he retreated, she gave peals of high-pitched laughter.

“If you are an obedient boy and bring me her power, nothing will happen to your sister.” Jade wagged an ivory white finger at him. “You will be tempted to drink Lady Ophelia’s blood,” she went on. “Insanely tempted. It will lure you. In truth, if you were to drink her blood, it would be the most pleasurable experience you’ve ever had.”

“I’ve had many pleasurable experiences,” he said coldly. “But I know I can’t drink her blood. That would kill her, and I can’t do that if I have to take her power to protect my sister.”

“No, you cannot drink from her,” Jade warned, her gaze haughty, “because it would not only kill her, it would also destroy you. I will give you a week to acquire her power. You must do it by making love to her.”

“How can I do that when I can’t touch her?”

“As I said—her power will kill you slowly. As you grow closer to the point where you can take her power, you will have developed immunity. But first, you must start giving her orgasms—without touching her. Unless you give her pleasure, unless you can make her climax, you cannot take her power. I will come to you again to tell you more.”

“Damn you, Queen, I need to know more now. How do I take her power? Is it by a spell? What in Hades am I supposed to do?”

“You begin by making her come. That is all you need to know for now.” She lifted her arms and rose into the dark sky.

Over the roof over his former home, he saw enormous bats circling.

If you hurt Frederica, Queen Jade, I will destroy you. He sent the threat through thought to Jade.

I will not touch her if you do as I say, Jade answered in his head. But the bats stay—they will not hurt her, but they will prevent you from double-crossing me.

Raven spat at the grass. There were dozens of bats. He could try to fight them, but he would lose. Then Frederica would be hurt.

He had no choice. To protect his sister, he had to do as Jade asked.

He had to seduce his captive.

It had been a long time since he had touched anyone without the intent to kill.

Arms folded over his chest, Raven leaned against the door frame and watched Lady Ophelia rattle the glass doors that led to the terrace. Ornate metalwork crossed each door, acting as bars. They covered all the windows and doors in the house, making an effective prison.

“Worked your way through the rest of the house, did you?” he asked.

A sharp gasp escaped her. She whirled around. Moonlight poured in, touching her pale oval face with a silver-white light. “How long have you been standing there, watching me?”

She amazed him. Most women would be swooning and weeping at being held prisoner. But fury radiated from Lady Ophelia.

“Not long,” he said.

Even when she was angry, her voice was husky and beautiful.

“I take it you’ve kept many prisoners here,” she said. Again, when she should show fear, she snapped at him. Her large indigo-blue eyes burned with condemnation.

“No, my dear. You are the first.”

“Then why is your house like a prison?”

“Look at it from the outside, Lady Ophelia.”

“What on earth do you mean?”

“From the outside it’s not a prison. It’s a fortress. I am tempted to let you leave this house, just so you can learn what awaits you out there. You will come scurrying back.”

“I would not.”

Ravenhunt grasped her chin, forcing her blazing gaze to meet his frustrated one. “There are men out there waiting for the chance to drag you into a laboratory, strap you down, and cut you open to examine you. You wouldn’t survive it, and your death would be slow, lingering, painful.”

Smoke rose from his fingers, from the contact of his skin with hers.

“Don’t touch me,” she cried, shoving his hand away.

Her chest rose on fast breaths. Her face was white. So many emotions were written on her face he could not read them all. But one stood out—pain. He saw deep pain in her eyes. He knew what raw pain looked like. He’d seen it in his own eyes after the first time he’d killed. He’d seen it in the eyes of men on the battlefield. He’d seen it in Frederica’s eyes, after she’d been told of his “death.”

“You never touch anyone, do you?” he asked softly.

“Of course not. I can’t.”

“No kisses?”

“N—no.” She hesitated. She winced. So there was a tale there. She had kissed, so what had happened? The mortal must have died.

“No embraces. No holding hands. No dances?”

She wrapped her arms around her chest. “I cannot touch anyone at all. Even gloves don’t help if the touch is prolonged, like a dance.”

“Do you like to dance?”

Wistfulness replaced pain. “Yes.”

Raven stroked his chin. “There is something I want to do. It will hurt eventually, but not for a while.”

Before Ophelia could move away, he came to her, pulled her into his embrace. His head bent to hers, and as she reeled back, realizing what he meant to do, his mouth touched hers. Softly. Then he pressed more. His mouth opened, coaxing hers to open, too.

His tongue touched hers.

He was kissing her. An intimate, passionate kiss.

Her lips sizzled. A burning sensation washed over them. Smoke rose between her and Ravenhunt.

She fought to push him away. Her lips did not hurt, yet there was no question her kiss was burning him. Hurting him.

But he was not going to let the kiss end.

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.