“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.

Can’t do that. Get command of yourself.

“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.

She had a core of strength, but she was vulnerable. He could sense it about her. Normally, as a vampire, he would prey on weaknesses in mortals. But because he admired her courage and strength, her susceptibility provoked his sympathy.

He didn’t want to hurt her. He couldn’t understand why the thought of taking her power and taking her life was hurting him so much. He’d had to kill as a soldier and as a vampire. He had to do this to protect his sister. Why did the thought of taking her life fill him with so much guilt?

It hurt in his gut. That was something he’d never experienced before.


“A bookshop in Charing Cross? This is where your experts reside?” Ophelia held on to the hood of Ravenhunt’s cloak as she surveyed the front of the shop. The cloak trailed behind her, and the hood dipped over her eyes.

The store looked well weathered. Paint on the once-elegant sign was faded. The glass in the front was dusty.

“This is one,” he answered. “The others, whom you will meet soon, reside in far more interesting places.”

She couldn’t understand him. He had come up with this strange tale that she had to make love to him, yet in the hackney he had sat back in the shadow and had acted as if he wanted to avoid her. On the other hand, she had done the same, determined to avoid him.

He had saved her life.

She kept remembering that. He had come to her rescue, and he was offering to give her the one thing she wanted in the world—freedom from her wretched power. The freedom to be among people. To go home. What did she have to lose, really, by believing in him? She couldn’t go on living alone.

But could she be intimate with him? A small voice inside whispered this might be her only chance to ever know what it was like to hold a man. To make love . . .

Ravenhunt held the door open to the shop, waiting for her. Books were stacked up against the bow window, hinting that there were so many inside it would be impossible to move between them.

She stood at the door but didn’t go in. “I really do not see how a bookseller can prove I will be ‘cured’ of my cursed power by—by doing things with you.”

“Come in, Lady Ophelia,” was all he said.

She didn’t. “Who are these experts? I think I have the right to know. Where are these interesting places? I’m not going to take one more step until you tell me.”

“Trust me.”

Gah. It was an impasse, yet he was in control, and she knew he knew it.

She hated to give in, but she would learn more if she went inside. She would learn nothing if she stayed on the threshold. Glaring at Ravenhunt, she let him win this round, and she went in.

The dust on some of the books tickled her nose. Ophelia sneezed. But she didn’t care about the slightly musty smell. She liked it. She had always dreamed of being able to walk into a bookstore again. After she had come into her power, she was never allowed to go out. She’d dreamed of going to places—to stores, Hyde Park, museums and galleries, Gunter’s for treats, to balls and parties. And to bookstores. She had so longed to go to a bookstore again.

Then she realized something strange. “It is late at night. Why is the store open?”

“The owner works late. He is a historian as well as a merchant.”

She was surprised. For once Ravenhunt gave her an answer. She couldn’t resist examining the books on the shelves. Moonlight spilled in through the window and illuminated them. A glow of candlelight came from the back of the shop.