upon his emotions on Tower Bridge, in the dreamscape, but they felt stronger now, almost as if it was
And ended up on my butt on my bedroom floor, my head spinning like I’d taken a trip on a roller-coaster.
‘I would prefer that you stay out of my mind, Genevieve.’ Malik’s calm voice floated down from the bed above me.
‘Yeah?’ I scowled at the bottle of vodka, which was now nestled under the bed among the messy pile of my shoes and boots. ‘How about you stay out of mine then?’
‘As you wish.’
Something snapped in my head, and a barrage of aches and pains pulled a groan from me, and when I looked down, I saw it wasn’t just my ankle that was bruised, but the rest of me too. The bruises carried on up both legs, going from fading yellow to puke-coloured green as they disappeared under my sleep shorts and—I lifted up my strappy vest—darkening to a mottled purple mass over my diaphragm. More bruises tracked down both my arms like blue fingerprints, and the soreness in my back no doubt meant it was as colourful as my stomach.
I pressed my lips together, grabbed the vodka and shakily knocked back another shot in a futile attempt to fool my body that I hadn’t gone ten rounds with a starved vamp lost in bloodlust.
Trouble was, my sidhe metabolism meant I’d have to drink the whole bottle—not to mention the two others in my fridge—before I even started to feel the effects. At least the alcohol rinsed away the sour-apple taste of Mad Max’s blood. I gently prodded the spreading bruise colouring my midriff: either Mad Max wasn’t as good at healing as Malik, or he hadn’t put enough effort into it. I was betting on the latter.
And thinking about Mad Max, it was time for the beautiful vamp in front of me to come up with some answers.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
I pitched the vodka bottle and the glasses onto the bed, then, mindful of my aches and pains, I snagged a couple of pillows and made myself comfortable against the bed end. Malik was still lying in his supposedly relaxed pose … a pose that showed off the flex of his biceps, and the lean, hard muscles of his pecs … and I had a sudden urge to flick my tongue over his dark nipples, to feel them come alive under my mouth … desire spiralled deep inside me and my own breasts tightened in anticipation. Damn, even with all my aches and pains, my libido was doing the happy dance about having a moonlit half-naked Malik lying in my bed, and this time the thoughts were all mine. An errant part of me wondered what would happen if I made a move on His Fanged Hotness. Reluctantly, I nixed that idea. Even if I was sure he’d be interested—which I wasn’t—there were too many other complications, most of them to do with the curse. Not to mention sex isn’t always the first thing on a hungry vamp’s mind. Maybe the second …
I stifled a sigh, gave my libido a mental cold shower, and got my own mind back on track.
‘Okay,’ I said, piecing together the later events at the Coffin Club in my mind, ‘so I’ve got this hazy memory that you agreed
‘There is no need for you to be concerned about your friends, Genevieve,’ he said, without opening his eyes. ‘They are all safe.’
‘Thank you,’ I said, grateful. If he said they were safe, then I knew they would be. ‘But what about you?’
‘You do not need to be concerned about me either. I can control my thirst sufficiently that you are not in danger.’
‘That wasn’t what I meant.’ I smoothed my hand over the sheet. Now I was looking at him with more concern (and slightly less lust), the shorn hair emphasising the sculptured planes of his face still suggested vulnerability to me, but even though I’d felt his deep thirst, there wasn’t the slightest shadow of blue veins mapping his skin (always a sign of a vamp’s hunger). How that was possible was a mystery, but— ‘I meant; are
He opened his eyes, looking at me with his usual enigmatic expression. ‘Tell me about these memories that the Morrígan has given you.’
Okay, so he didn’t want to talk about himself … yet. Determination settled in me; he would later. For now, I told him about the first sad, sad memory belonging to one of the Moth-girls, and the dreadful memory from Darius’ childhood. ‘But I don’t think they’re connected to what the Morrígan wants me to know about the missing faelings,’ I said thoughtfully. ‘It feels more like her spell was all-encompassing than specific.’ Then I described Mad Max’s memory of the child on the slide. ‘I’m pretty sure that that one is connected, just not how.’
Malik frowned and crossed his arms over his chest. ‘What makes you think that?’
‘Not sure.’ I tapped my glass. ‘Instinct, or a prod from the Morrígan, maybe. I got the impression the boy was Maxim’s son, but I couldn’t pinpoint any clue in the memory as to when it had been. Do you know how long ago Maxim took the Gift?’
‘He has not yet reached his first century.’
So, not that long ago, but not very specific either, which wasn’t because Malik didn’t know: he’d answered way too quick. ‘Do you know if Maxim had a son, either when he was human or since he’s taken the Gift?’
‘I have not heard him talk of a son, but that does not mean he does not have one. Many who took the Gift in the past isolated themselves from their human families.’ A fleeting bleakness in his eyes made me wonder for a moment if Malik himself had done just that.
‘Don’t suppose you know when they first invented children’s slides, do you?’ I smiled hopefully.
Amusement flickered on his face. ‘I am sorry, Genevieve, no. It is always possible that Google will be able to answer your question.’
I grinned. ‘So you’re not the font of all knowledge then?’
He sat up, resting his forearm on his bent knee. ‘Is that all the memories?’
‘No, I got one from Francine too. Hers is much more informative,’ I said, and told him about the hysterical blonde girl Mad Max had been dragging away. And that I’d finally remembered where I’d seen her before.
‘She’s a faeling called Ana,’ I said, thinking that it really couldn’t be a coincidence that Ana kept popping up, ‘and she’s also the great-granddaughter of Clíona.’ I filled him in on the whole story, from Ana’s loss of her fae mother, her two years in a blood-house in Sucker Town—it didn’t take a genius to work out it must have been Francine’s—and her ‘escape’ and marriage to Victoria Harrier’s wizard son. ‘Ana and her family have been victims of the curse more than once, but I’m not sure how she fits in now. But I am sure there’s a vamp hanging round her. Maxim.’
‘I can see why you think that Maxim might be intimate with this family’—he brushed a hand over his buzz-cut head—‘but I do not know this is the situation. If he is, then it would be something almost impossible to hide from his master. But I will investigate the matter and if the situation is as you suspect, then I will see that it ends.’
I narrowed my gaze at him. Like fae, vamps don’t lie. It’s not that they magically can’t, unlike us fae, but the old ones in particular are all about their honour. Malik was both old and honourable. If he said he didn’t know, then he didn’t. Although as he was London’s Head Fang, he
‘There are some things that it is safer that you do not know, Genevieve. One is what Maxim wants from me. I have refused him, but he is persistent, and so when the opportunity presented itself to him in the shape of Darius, he set a trap for you. It is what he does. He prefers to put himself in a position of strength before any possible negotiation. He planned to use your concern for Darius’ welfare as a leverage point with me.’
‘Yeah, I worked that out.’ I sipped my drink, thinking Malik was still being much too careful about what he
