The Shifting Price of Prey (11 page)

The mark on my wrist had never done that – I looked – was still not doing that. Arousal flamed through me again, making me feel I’d perish in agony if I didn’t come. This
time it took much more than a touch to get me off as I crumpled over on the floor, forehead on the cold marble, arse in the air, my fingers working feverishly, unable to stop –
what the
fuck was wrong with me?
– until finally the orgasm ripped through me as if the pain/pleasure were trying to tear me apart. I screamed my release, the sound reverberating like a
banshee’s screech in the small room.

The door slammed open.

A vamp stood framed in the doorway, his platinum hair hanging loose around his shoulders, his hooded blue eyes cold as they scanned the room. He was dressed in jeans and a T-shirt with a picture
of a tongue-lolling Irish wolfhound’s head on it: an outfit that would’ve seemed odd if you didn’t know him.

I did. He was Maxim Fyodor Zakharin a.k.a. Mad Max. My uncle on my sidhe mother’s side; or distant cousin on my vamp father’s side. Neither of the relationships were ones I wanted to
acknowledge, even without the icky overtones of incest. Not that the family relationship, or the incest, stopped there; Mad Max had taken both further by having a fling with his niece, my
half-sister Brigitta, who I’d never even known existed until I’d learned she’d been killed by the vamps. I say fling, but it was more than that, seeing as they’d had a kid
together, Ana.

But even without the close family connections, there was no way I trusted Mad Max. He was the Autarch’s pet vamp. He was a crazy sonofabitch who hardly cared for himself, much less anyone
else; I’d seen him cheerfully stake his own father on a whim. And he was the vamp who’d kidnapped Katie last year. As relatives and vamps go, Mad Max was the last one anyone would want
to see, even if they weren’t huddled half-naked on the floor, fighting a compulsion to pleasure themselves again.

A compulsion my gut told me was magical.

Somebody –
the provider of the underwear?
– must’ve sicced me with some sort of sex spell.

But despite that, and the soreness between my legs telling me I’d been more than rough in my desperation, I still throbbed with arousal. I wanted. Needed. But my gut also told me another
attempt at release was likely to drive me as crazy as Mad Max, and quite possibly render parts of me raw and bloody. What I wanted,
needed,
was something more.

Mad Max stopped scanning and his gaze settled on me. For a moment he stared as if I were some strange specimen he’d never seen before, then he sniffed. A grin broke his face, flashing all
four of his fangs. ‘Paddling the pink canoe, are you, Cousin? Good for you. But a bit of rumpy pumpy’s much more fun than flying solo. Want some company?’

Not in a million years
, and
Touch me and I’ll stake you
vied as answers in my head, but the Compulsion riding me had other ideas. It wasn’t too impressed with the
faint reddish glow emanating from him, but it decided it was better than nothing, so even as part of me recoiled in horrified disbelief, I flung my magic at him. It snaked out, twisting round his
limbs like thick golden vines, and my mouth growled, ‘Yes, I want company.’

He barked a laugh, his eyes flashing from white to gold like manic warning lights. ‘It’ll be my pleasure, Cousin!’ And he stepped towards me, his stance familiar in a way I
realised way too late to counter, as he shifted his weight, swung his leg in a fast roundhouse kick and his boot connected with my temple.

The world exploded into the proverbial Milky Way of spinning stars—

And I plunged into darkness.

T
he world swam back into head-pounding, dimly lit focus. I still throbbed with arousal. Not as desperately as before, but more like banked embers
that would burst into flame at the slightest breath of air. But the Compulsion nagged at me. On autopilot I tried to touch myself, only—

I was tied down. On a bed. Spreadeagled like I was a star in some tacky bondage video.

Panic roared up. I struggled, my screams muffled by the fabric gagging my mouth.

‘Good-oh, Cousin, nice to see you’re awake.’ Mad Max loomed over me, eyes burning white fire, and slapped something wet and warm over my thighs and between my legs.

Enforced calm relaxed my body, muscles going limp as cooked noodles. My panic retreated deep inside, where it clawed and spat like a caged tiger; the pounding in my head diminished and
everything around me took on a recognisable shape and form.

I was in a hotel room, going by what I could see out of my oddly swollen eyes and the trickle of light coming from behind the wall of drawn curtains. The light’s sodium hue told me it was
still night. As did the red electronic clock on the plasma TV opposite, which also told me I’d been here for a good hour.

On the plasma a large St Bernard was lolloping after a blonde standard poodle. The St Bernard was wearing a bow tie, and streaming from the poodle’s collar was something white and lacy . .
.
a bridal veil
? The sight was so surreal I stared until Mad Max grunted and pointed the remote. The TV flicked off.

In its place, spent magic drifted like dust motes, and the place smelled of herbs, treacle and something vinegary. The same fabric –
ripped sheets?
– that gagged me was tied
around my wrists and ankles, with knots that tightened as I gave an experimental tug. Silver banded my head— silver that stopped me using magic. Not that I had any, other than my Glamour.
Which had obviously been so successful –
not!
– at trapping Mad Max earlier.

I gave myself a quick mental once-over: as well as the silver burning my head, my skin itched from dried sweat, my body felt like a horde of Beater goblins had introduced me to their baseball
bats, and the rawness in my throat suggested I’d been practising sword swallowing. The only part of me that didn’t hurt, or throb, was between my legs . . . numbed by whatever the warm
wet thing was.

Which would’ve been a whole new worry, if not for the enforced calm.

Mad Max leaned over, poked my cheek. I glared up at him, wanting to knock his hands away.

‘Bleeding hell, love, you’re a hard nut to crack,’ he drawled. ‘I’ve met mountain trolls who break easier than you.’

I was going to kill the sonofabitch.

The white fire in his eyes faded. He settled into the chair next to the bed, crossed his arms over his bare chest, and stretched out long pale legs with an exaggerated sigh. All he was wearing
was a pair of red boxers decorated with black coffins.

It hit home that all
I
was wearing was the cream bra. I couldn’t feel the briefs, but I couldn’t tell if that was because I was numb, or they weren’t there.

I lifted my head, straining to look. The wet warm thing moulded to me like a thick second skin was made of nubby towelling. It was pink-tinged, dotted with bits of green leaf and the magic in it
glinted like the tiny chunks of glass of a smashed car windscreen. Did our mutual state of undress mean he’d had sex with me? After all, I’d been offering it to him on a plate –
or the Sex-compulsion spell had. The panic and rage inside me threw itself against its cage, but the calm kept it contained.

I jerked my chin at him and tried to spit the gag out.

He got the message. ‘Start screaming,’ he warned, ‘and it goes straight back in.’

I nodded, and he pulled it out.

‘Why—’ I coughed, licked my lips, which were split and tasted of my own dried blood, and started again. ‘Why the hell am I tied up?’

‘Just keeping you out of my pants, love. Much as I enjoy a bit of the rough stuff when it comes to foreplay, you’re a tad too forceful for my liking.’ He spread his arms wide.
Long bloody furrows ran down his chest and stomach, disappearing into his red boxers, as if some rabid animal had attacked him; only a hazy memory told me the rabid animal had been me. I almost
apologised, but he added, ‘Of course, as a bit of slap and tickle was all that was on the cards, I have to confess I did rather let my frustration get the better of me when it came to
subduing you. But y’know, Cousin, what goes around, comes around.’

The swollen eyes, split lip and various other pains made sense now.

I’d attacked him once – he’d been hurting my friends – and had beaten his face almost to a pulp almost with a backpack full of bricks. He’d obviously decided to
return the favour.

‘Bastard,’ I spat out.

‘Payback’s a bitch! Oh, no, wait! This time payback’s a dog!’ He chuckled then growled menacingly exactly like a dog, which was eerily apt since his other form was an
Irish wolfhound. Like the picture on the T-shirt he was no longer wearing.

‘Why aren’t you dressed?’

‘Just being practical, Cousin.’ He pointed at my bottom half. ‘That’s a wet towel and I’ve got a bath full of Poultice potion.’

Practical? Him?

‘But I ’spect you’re asking ’cause you’re wondering if I took you up on your offer to do the old in and out together,’ Mad Max continued cheerfully

I gritted my teeth. ‘Yes.’

‘Enticing as making the beast with two backs with you might be, a few too many interested parties would get a tad upset about it. My loopy fruitcake of a sister with her part-time goddess
gig, for one – or two, depending which way you look at it.’

I wasn’t sure that his sister, a.k.a. my mother, Angel, would even notice, though she had spied on me magically in the past, but why was anyone’s guess. She wasn’t just loopy,
but seemed to have the mental age of a five-year-old, so I doubted she even knew I was her daughter. Hell, I hadn’t even known she was my mother until I’d met her for only the second
time three months ago. Until then I’d believed my mother died at my birth— all of which was something my head, never mind my heart, was still coming to terms with.

And as for Angel’s goddess hitch-hiker, The Mother, well no way could I predict how she’d feel; it wasn’t like she’d been overly concerned about me in the past other than
to dump me with a problem she couldn’t be bothered to solve herself. Though Mad Max knew them better, so if he thought they’d be ‘a tad upset’, I was happy to go along with
him. On that, anyway.

‘Then there’s the Turk’ – he gave a dramatic shudder – ‘I’d have to be insane and suicidal to get on the wrong side of the great and powerful Malik
al-Khan. Oh, and let’s not forget His Royal Brattiness—’

‘The Autarch’s not coming here!’ I interrupted as a spurt of panic overcame the spell’s calm.

Mad Max waved a dismissive hand. ‘Oh, don’t get your knickers in a twist, Cousin. It isn’t worth sticking my head above the parapet to tell him about your little problems. He
enjoys eviscerating the messengers too much.’ He cocked a finger and mimed shooting himself in the head. ‘So, unluckily for you, Cousin, you’re doomed never to know the
magnificence that is my love wand.’

Relief flooded through me. Not that his self-serving restraint was going to stop me removing his love wand and shoving it, along with the rest of him, where the sun
did
shine, given
half a chance.

‘Now, of course, you’re probably also wondering why we’re having ourselves a little bondage party here.’ He flashed a fang-filled grin. ‘I must admit I was too, for
a while, since it’s unheard of for me to be so altruistic. But then I convinced myself that having everyone find out I’ve got more than one crazy relative was going to reflect
particularly badly on me.’

And they say chivalry is dead.

‘So I magnanimously opted to save you from beating around your own bush until some poor unsuspecting human stumbled into your Glamour.’

The suspicious part of me wondered exactly how and why he’d been oh, so conveniently on hand to
save
me, but that thought was eclipsed by the horror of what could have happened.
Humans can’t survive full-on sex with a sidhe outside of the Fair Lands. If a human had found me, I’d probably have fucked them to death.

‘I’m sure you can think of a suitable way to thank me later, Cousin,’ Mad Max said, a smug smirk on his face. ‘But I can’t always be waiting around to clear up your
nasty little messes, so this lesson is by way of a heads up.’ He leaned forward in the chair. ‘So, listen carefully.’

I snorted. ‘It’s not like I’ve got any choice.’

‘Good-oh!’ He wagged an admonishing finger at me. ‘Living like a nun while shacking up with a Fertility spell isn’t the best lifestyle choice for a sidhe fae.’

I wasn’t shacking up with a Fertility spell, exactly. I was living with Sylvia, my friend who was pregnant. And Sylvia was wearing the sapphire pendant with the fae’s trapped
fertility that had made that pregnancy possible. She and her partner, Ricou, had moved in with me after the ToLA case, due to their families arguing about where they should live; my flat was
apparently nominated neutral territory. I hadn’t been too thrilled having new flatmates to begin with, but it had turned out to be fun, though evidently the fertility magic in the pendant had
been having its own fun without any of us knowing— if I was to believe Mad Max.