his feet and ran to her.
Mrs. Darkwell turned to her. A tear trickled down the smooth, perfect cheek. “I am sorry, Lady Ophelia. My son wanted your power. I foolishly let him learn about it. He has never been content because he is considered to be even less than a half-blood. He resented his lesser place, and that he is not accepted amongst the gods.”
“Damnation, Mother, you have blinded me,” Valde howled. “How could you do such a thing to your own son? But it doesn’t matter—I can see with my senses, with my powers.”
Mrs. Darkwell cried out and rushed toward her son. “No, my dear. Stop—”
Lightning shot from his hands. A stream of it shot into Ravenhunt, ripping into his flesh. Ophelia screamed, then a vivid shot of light hit her.
Terror. Agony. Wild, awful screams tore from her lips.
She was burned. Bleeding.
But Ravenhunt was on his knees, and he was—
Oh, it was awful.
She hurt, but he seemed to have been torn apart. It made her sick to look at him. He slumped to the ground.
Dimly, she heard voices—many voices. Brookshire and his men had arrived, but they were too late. As if through a thick fog, Ophelia heard Mrs. Darkwell cry out, “You must carry them inside. They will be destroyed. I will punish my son, but you must take them into the church.”
She couldn’t let Raven go. She wouldn’t.
21
Pleasure Forever
Warm, soft hands caressed his face. His head rested on a place as soft as a silken pillow.
Raven opened his eyes and saw Ophelia’s pale, terrified face hovering over him. She was cradling his head on her lap. His blood soaked his trousers and his shirt, and cold seeped into him as fast as his blood leached out. The power that Valde, the demigod, had thrown at him had almost torn him apart.
The bolt of energy had struck Ophelia, too. She needed him—he should be tending to her, not lying in her lap. But his strength seemed to have exploded out of him when the bolt hit him, and he could barely move.
“I can save you if you turn me,” she whispered. Her breath was blessedly warm by his icy ear. “Please turn me.”
“No,” he said weakly.
Mrs. Darkwell got to her knees at his side, her black skirts flowing around her. The woman’s pale face looked almost ghostly, her expression as stern as a schoolmistress. “Why won’t you change her, Lord Ravenhunt?”
“I—” Raven fought for strength. “I would be condemning her to the hell of being a vampire for eternity.”
“Is it truly hell, Ravenhunt?” the woman demanded. “You have seen the vampires of the Royal Society. Do they look as if they are in hell?
Felie managed a smile at Mrs. Darkwell’s angry order.
“My son told you her power will destroy her, did he not?”
“Yes,” he croaked.
Mrs. Darkwell turned to Felie. “You can destroy your power if you have the strength of a vampire. The only way to save her and yourself, Ravenhunt, is to change her.”
“All right, woman.” He found the strength to snap at her. “Then leave us in peace. I want this to be special between Felie and me.”
“Of course, my lord.”
Out of his dimming sight, he saw her rise. Gruffly he added, “I owe you my life. Do not call me ‘my lord.’ I am not one anymore, and I am your servant.”
A glowing smile transformed Mrs. Darkwell’s face into something extraordinarily beautiful, with skin that shimmered and enormous eyes that were a vivid blue. She inclined her head gracefully, then retreated.
Leaving him to change Felie.
“I’m sorry if this hurts,” Raven whispered. “You’re going to have to bend down to me so I can bite you.”
He brushed hair from her neck, cupped his hand around the slender column. Then he frowned. “You’re cold.”
Ophelia struggled to give him a weak smile. Sight and sound grew more indistinct as if layers of muslin were being tossed on her head. Her fingers . . . her feet . . . she couldn’t feel them anymore.
“I was shot, too,” she whispered. “Just after you fell. I didn’t want you to know.”
“I have to turn you. To save you.”
“Don’t care if it hurts,” she murmured. It was getting hard to speak. “Do it.”
Raven’s hand stroked her neck. “Oh angel,” he muttered, then his hair tickled her neck and her chest as he drew her neck down and his face lifted to her throat. Something cold and sharp touched her skin just below her jaw, and she caught her breath. Stupid to be afraid of pain when death lurked just behind them both, waiting to drag both of them away.
Gently, Raven licked her skin. That brought a weak smile to her lips, and a tingling sensation to her neck. His hand cupped her face, his thumb brushed her mouth. It felt as if sparks had landed on her lips.
“Do not worry.” Mrs. Darkwell spoke in firm tones from the gathering darkness surrounding Ophelia. She could not see anything beyond Raven anymore.
“You love her so you cannot hurt her.” The goddess’s voice broke at the end. Ophelia heard a sob, and it stunned her.
“Now, love,” Raven whispered.
A swift, hot pain punctured her neck. The strangest, most frightening sensation of rushing water went through her throat. It was her
Weakly, she tried to pull back, afraid of the feeling. He kept caressing her, and a warm, calming sensation washed through her. The rushing feeling was gone. She felt as if she were floating, turning slowly in the air, hovering just a little above the floor.
An aching feeling grew between her legs. She shifted her hips. The sensation between her thighs became a hungry, demanding throb.
She wanted him.
She didn’t care that she was weak. Even that he was. Forcing her numb arms to move, Ophelia caressed him all over—his shoulders, his chest, his bare arms, then lower, to stroke his hips and the bulge in his trousers, while she wriggled madly, on fire with need.
Then she opened her eyes wide and she couldn’t see anything. The warmth went away like a candle’s flame disappeared when snuffed. Cold attacked her. Remorseless cold.
She slumped back, falling to the floor, but instead of hitting hard, she seemed to land the way a feather would.
Raven got up and moved over her. She couldn’t see him, but she would sense him. His warm, hard forearm pressed to her mouth. She knew from the iron-hard feel of it, the ropy veins, the taste of his skin. Another taste touched her almost numb lips. Coppery. Wet. Hot.
He held her so she had to keep her mouth in his blood.
“Drink,” he coaxed. “Drink, Felie. It will save you.”
Drink his blood. Courage failed her. She couldn’t swallow. But it was leaking between her lips, filling her mouth. Finally, reflexively, her mouth moved. Her jaw ached, and her teeth felt strange, as if they were growing larger in her mouth. She felt her teeth bite into his skin and she took his blood in.
