The Cold Kiss of Death (29 page)
‘Genevieve.’ Warmth slipped over my skin like the last breath of summer. His eyes flared, incandescent with - not anger nor rage, but something else: a slow burn of sorrow. His hands on my shoulders turned me towards him and he traced a cool finger along my jaw.
‘Why have you not healed?’ he asked with a frown, and pushed aside the collar of my blouse, touching the bruises that marked my chest. ‘I gave you my blood, and you have your own magic.’
‘I’ll heal soon enough.’ I shifted away, trying to ignore the tingling from his touch, ‘Once everything else is out the way.’
The glow in his eyes snuffed out. ‘Yes, you are correct. I will let you continue.’ He stepped back and the lift suddenly seemed to have way more space. His lips twitched, almost as if he’d read my mind, and I wondered briefly if he still could, then shrugged the thought away.
I toed off my trainers, unzipped my jeans and started to push them down over my hips, then hesitated; the spell-tattoo was back on my left hip, but the white bikini had disappeared along with the blonde ponytail. Damn, should’ve asked Tavish for real underwear and not settled for the magical stuff.
‘If you are concerned for your modesty,’ Malik’s voice was amused, ‘I can always turn my back.’
‘Like that’s going to make a difference with all these mirrors, ’ I huffed. ‘Anyway, that’s not it. My underwear is gone and the jeans are too small to put back on once I’ve changed, so I’m not going to be wearing much. I know this is a vamp club, but wandering round in just a short blouse is going to be noticeable for all the wrong reasons!’
‘You will have other clothes soon,’ he said. ‘It will not matter.’
‘Not to you, maybe, but it does to me.’
He smiled. ‘Then you shall have my jacket, of course.’
I gave it the once-over. It would probably be more of a mini-dress than anything, but it would do. I removed the jeans, lifted the edge of my shirt and ran my fingers over the hard circular ridge of the spell-tattoo, then over the Celtic design knotted at its centre. Its power shuddered through me as if it had been waiting, crouched and ready to pounce like a starving beast.
‘This magic—’
Malik’s quiet voice startled me, and I jerked my hand from the tattoo.
‘What will it do?’ he asked
Surprise made me blink. ‘It will change me to look like Rosa. You know that.’
‘The magic you employed at the bakery knocked you unconscious before its adverse effects caused the explosion.’ He gave me an enquiring look. ‘Will this affect you in the same way?’
‘No nothing like that,’ I muttered, restlessness itching down my spine as the tattoo pulsed like a second heart, growling like a ravenous spirit for my attention. It needed blood. ‘I need your knife.’ I looked up, expectant.
‘For what end?’
I shot my left hand out to him. ‘Cut it, straight across the lifeline. Make it deep.’
He stared at my hand as if it might bite him.
‘Just do it,’ I ordered, impatience scraping along my nerves. ‘Now!’
He frowned. Around us his myriad mirror images frowned with him, their eyes dark and shadowed, my own images all hard angles and demand, my eyes glowing fever-bright gold, pupils narrowed to vertical slits as the magic gripped me. For a second I saw a third face in amongst all those that stared back at us; Cosette’s face - filled with a strange eagerness; then Malik’s hand darted out, almost quicker than I could see, and slashed a deep wound across my palm. Nothing - then
pain
, brief and brilliant, forced a cry from my mouth as my blood welled, copper-bright and willing, the honeyed-metallic scent alluring. A shudder vibrated through Malik and his hands clenched into tight fists at his sides, but my mind had no time to care about him. The tattoo screamed out to me, desperate, hungry, and I covered it with my hand, smearing the viscous blood into the spell. My heart slowed until it was beating sluggishly, shallowly. My lungs were burning for lack of air ... ... uneasiness slid into me, something wasn’t right; the spell usually worked quicker than this. Desperately I clenched my fist, squeezing more blood from the wound, shoving it into the spell-tattoo. This time the blood ran slick and wet into the twisted design, flooding over its edges and misting red over my body. My skin tightened as if I’d walked into a frigid winter’s night.
pain
, brief and brilliant, forced a cry from my mouth as my blood welled, copper-bright and willing, the honeyed-metallic scent alluring. A shudder vibrated through Malik and his hands clenched into tight fists at his sides, but my mind had no time to care about him. The tattoo screamed out to me, desperate, hungry, and I covered it with my hand, smearing the viscous blood into the spell. My heart slowed until it was beating sluggishly, shallowly. My lungs were burning for lack of air ... ... uneasiness slid into me, something wasn’t right; the spell usually worked quicker than this. Desperately I clenched my fist, squeezing more blood from the wound, shoving it into the spell-tattoo. This time the blood ran slick and wet into the twisted design, flooding over its edges and misting red over my body. My skin tightened as if I’d walked into a frigid winter’s night.
I tore the blouse off and ran my hands over my borrowed body, revelling in the full lush curves, the hourglass indentation of my waist, the delicate lace of blue veins decorating the pale, almost translucent skin. Long black hair curled halfway down my back and large gentian-blue eyes watched me, arrogant and smug, from my reflection. Rosa was - or at least her body still was - one überbeautiful woman. Was that why Malik Gifted her?
At that thought I raised my eyes; his were empty, emotionless pools. I could hear his heart now, its beat slow, weak, and I could taste his hunger like sweet copper on my tongue. His rich scent saturated the small confined space, mixing with the tang of honeyed blood, making my head swim with desire, my belly coil with anticipation. I inhaled his hunger, the jagged edge of it grinding like a whetstone against my own thirst. I wanted,
needed
blood. It had been so long since I’d taken it, forcing myself to settle for venom. Then my prey had been human venom-junkies or captured fae, and I’d only ever drunk enough for my needs, or to rid them of their infection. But Malik wasn’t human, and he wasn’t fae. I stared at him, listening to the whisper of his blood, knowing that I could take whatever I wanted from him and the certainty that he would let me as he’d always done seeped into my consciousness. He wouldn’t - couldn’t - deny me; his guilt over what he’d made me wouldn’t allow him to. The thoughts swimming like leeches in my mind were both alien and familiar to me and as I traced my fangs with the tip of my tongue, I tried to separate things out, to choose which was
my
thought.
needed
blood. It had been so long since I’d taken it, forcing myself to settle for venom. Then my prey had been human venom-junkies or captured fae, and I’d only ever drunk enough for my needs, or to rid them of their infection. But Malik wasn’t human, and he wasn’t fae. I stared at him, listening to the whisper of his blood, knowing that I could take whatever I wanted from him and the certainty that he would let me as he’d always done seeped into my consciousness. He wouldn’t - couldn’t - deny me; his guilt over what he’d made me wouldn’t allow him to. The thoughts swimming like leeches in my mind were both alien and familiar to me and as I traced my fangs with the tip of my tongue, I tried to separate things out, to choose which was
my
thought.
But the hunger wouldn’t let me.
It wanted him,
now
.
now
.
I smiled, a practised, seductive curve of my lips, and slowly moved closer to him. I raised my hands to the first button on his jacket and released it. His jaw tensed and he looked almost wary, but he did nothing to stop me. I worked my way down, two, three, four, five buttons, then pulled the jacket open and pushed it from his shoulders. As it fell with a soft thud to the lift floor, I grabbed his black silk T-shirt and ripped it, exposing the pale, perfect skin, the lean muscles, the silky triangle of black hair arrowing down to his taut abdomen. I leaned in, pressed my lips to the firm flesh over his heart and, opening my mouth, let my fangs indent his skin. He trembled and I raised my eyes to find him gazing down at me, pinpricks of desire blazing in his pupils. Satisfaction spiralled fast inside me.
I kissed my way down his body, my lips seeking the scar that marked him below his heart, the one I’d given him, the one he hadn’t healed, even though he could. Blood bloomed beneath his skin, the scar flushing red like a rose. I struck, quick and hard, the sharp points of my canines piercing his firm flesh, into the heart of the rose, and glorious blood filled my mouth, tasting like spiced nectar and liquorice and sweet Turkish delight as it slipped down my throat, spreading a glittering chill that rushed me towards that edge, almost but not yet tripping me over into mindless, dazzling pleasure. Reluctantly I drew my mouth away and laved at the small wounds, feeling his stomach quivering under my tongue. His blood and hunger hummed inside me like a promise and I straightened, sliding my palms up to run them over his shoulders, my fingers digging into the corded muscles, then I moulded my body to his, crushing my softer breasts against his hard, cold chest. He groaned, and the sound reverberated inside me as his breath spilled along my cheek. I threaded my fingers into his hair and pulled his head back, then rose on the balls of my feet to place my mouth over the slow pulse beating below his jaw. His musky scent teased my nose and I licked his thin skin, long wet strokes, tasting salt and the copper tang of his sweat, as my jaw ached with need. I wanted to fill my mouth with more of the glittering taste of his blood, wanted it so desperately that the torture of holding back was an exquisite pain. He shuddered as his solid, thick length pressed into the softness of my belly. Lust slicked damp and liquid between my thighs, desire swelling my breasts and hardening my nipples into rigid, painful points.
And I wanted more than his blood in my body.
I hooked my leg around his waist, opening myself to him, lifting myself up to rub against the thick length of him, the coarse fabric of his trousers abrading my sensitive, swollen flesh. I sucked at his throat, pulling the soft skin into my mouth, anticipating the moment when my fangs would pierce his skin. A tremor of pleasure echoed through me, and I ground myself against him again, wanting to feel him thrusting inside me, wanting his blood spurting down my throat, wanting his fangs penetrating my body.
I slid one hand down, following the silky arrow of hair until my fingers closed on his belt. I picked urgently at it, freeing the buckle, the throbbing heat between my legs growing ever more frantic—
‘No.’ Hard fingers manacled my wrist, stilled my hand. ‘I do not want this.’
I struggled against his hold, my mouth working, my hips almost jerking with need.
He couldn’t say no, I had to have him inside me, had to!
He couldn’t say no, I had to have him inside me, had to!
He yanked my arm behind my back, wrenching it upwards, straining my shoulder, the pain like a lover’s pledge. His other hand caught me by my hair, ripping me away from his throat.
He couldn’t deny me, I wouldn’t let him!
I hit out, catching his chin with the heel of my hand, banging his head back against the lift side, and kicked my heel into the back of his knee, screaming my frustration. He stumbled, falling, his hold on my hair tearing, his hand yanking my arm higher up and popping the shoulder joint. We hit the floor, my body beneath his. Pain exploded like a fire-burst across my back and ricocheted down my spine. I screamed again, lips curling back from my fangs, wanting to tear into his throat, wanting to coat myself in his blood, wanting to fuck him ...
I wrapped my legs round his thighs, locking my ankles together, bringing him hard against me. He stared down at me, rage lighting his black pupils, his own lips pulled back, all four of his fangs sharp and gleaming. I struggled beneath him, goading him; pain flared in my shoulder, building pleasure between my legs. He growled low and yanked my head to the side, stretching the tendons in my neck, exposing my throat.
Deep inside me a sliver of fear chilled the lust raging through my body.
He twisted my arm higher and pain bloomed hot and razor-sharp in my shoulder. Eagerness replaced the fear.
‘Break it and fuck me,’ I pleaded, my hips spasming against him with desperate lust even as a distant part of me recoiled in shock at my words.
The fury in his eyes turned to hot flames, flames that licked over my body as if to scorch the flesh from my bones. ‘No,’ he snarled, ‘I will not.’
‘Break my arm and fuck me,’ I screamed into his face. ‘It’s what you want, isn’t it?’
‘Be still,’ he ordered, staring down at me, his eyes fixed on my throat, and in the silence I waited, frozen on his command, desperate for him to grant me pain, needing it, knowing that for him to hurt me was the only way he could bring me pleasure.
‘Please, Malik, I beg—’
‘You will not say it.’ The sorrow in his voice twisted like barbed wire round my heart. ‘I will not allow it ... you are not her.’ He lowered his mouth to mine, touching my lips briefly with his. ‘You. Are. Not. Rosa.’
Then he was gone.
The wire pierced my heart, leaving it bleeding, and I curled in on myself, hugging my knees to my chest, his grief battering against me as if it were a horde of Beater goblins. Tears of shame pricked my eyes that I hadn’t pleased him. I struggled to hold them back but they seared down my face, drowning me in hopelessness. Then the feelings were gone, shut off like a tap, replaced by an ice-cold stillness like the depths of frozen water.
I blinked and looked up.
Malik stood there, looking calm and remote. He pointed to his jacket lying in a heap on the floor. ‘Get up and put it on,’ he said, his voice expressionless.
Silently I grabbed the jacket and scrambled up; contorting so I could pull it on past the distant pain in my shoulder. The silk lining settled over my skin like a soothing caress. Using my good arm, I lifted my hair from where it was trapped by the jacket, feeling bewildered, almost numb as I clumsily buttoned it closed.
What had just happened? Or rather,
why
had it happened? Why had I asked - no, almost begged him - to hurt me? The feelings had felt like mine, but I was pretty sure they’d been Rosa’s. Fuck. There really was something wrong with the spell; why else would I experience her memories and her
desires
twice in one night? This was
so
not fucking good.
why
had it happened? Why had I asked - no, almost begged him - to hurt me? The feelings had felt like mine, but I was pretty sure they’d been Rosa’s. Fuck. There really was something wrong with the spell; why else would I experience her memories and her
desires
twice in one night? This was
so
not fucking good.
I wiped the tears from my face with the jacket cuff and shoved the thoughts away. The pain in my shoulder was almost gone as the spell healed it. All I had to do was get through this fealty thing tonight, then I’d never use the spell - never use Rosa’s body - again. I’d find some way to cut myself off from it, from her.
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