Blood Curse

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