Blood Curse (Blood Series) Read online

  He had come up to her room at dark, had shouted through the closed door that he was going out and he had laid out a supper for her in the dining room.

  She hadn’t planned to waste time eating, but once she was racing down the stairs, she’d smelled the delicious aromas and she’d run to the table to grab some food before making her escape.

  Where the food came from, she had no idea. There were no cooks or maids after all. She’d stuffed a slice of roast beef in her mouth in the most unladylike way, swallowed it fast, and thrown down a glass of wine for courage.

  Now she stepped out onto the front step, her heart thundering.

  She was outside. She’d done it.

  She quickly drew the door closed behind her and locked it from the outside. There was a slim chance Ravenhunt had no other key and would find he was locked out of his prison of a house. At the very least, a closed and locked door might give her time to get away before he discovered she was gone. It would be what he would expect to find.

  She was out, but she had no idea where she was. On the outskirts of Mayfair, she would guess. Ravenhunt’s house was old—but across the street there marched a line of new townhomes. The street appeared to have some affluence, but was not of the best address. Perhaps it was a street where city merchants lived. It was quiet—only two carriages rumbled down it. But having at least some people around her gave her confidence. She must be safe now. If Ravenhunt pursued, she would scream. On a street such as this, which was not the stews, surely a cry for help would actually bring assistance.

  But she was not about to wait about and be caught again. Ophelia lifted her hems and ran down the street. At the corner, she saw the name. Hope soared—she knew where she was. Only a few blocks from Mrs. Darkwell’s house.

  One of the carriages slowed in the street at her side. A young man leaned out and called, “Can I help you, miss?”

  She was about to shout, “Yes!” Then she stopped. Beneath his beaver hat and mop of brown curls, the young gentleman stared at her. What if this man was helping Ravenhunt? What if he meant to take her back to that prison?

  She kept running. It took only two more blocks and she was panting. Her chest heaved. Pressing close to the edge of a fence that surrounded a house, she sucked in deep breaths. A narrow and shadowy lane led off from the street—she stood at the corner of it.

  What on earth was she doing? She didn’t want to return to Mrs. Darkwell’s, but where else could she go?

  She had escaped Ravenhunt’s prison. Why should she rush back to Mrs. Darkwell’s house, which was also a prison to her?

  She was free. She could finally, for once in her life, make a choice. Eight years ago, she had been taken away from her family to protect them. Willingly, obediently, she had gone, because she had been so afraid of hurting people.

  She did not have to live in a prison anymore.

  She could go anywhere in the world—well, she could if she had some money, and if she stayed away from people so she did not hurt them—

  “Lady Ophelia. How clever of you to have escaped that fiend.”

  The clipped baritone voice startled her. It certainly didn’t belong to Ravenhunt—it wasn’t as drawling, jaded, or gravelly.

  Ophelia spun around and found a gentleman standing behind her. Beneath his tall beaver hat, gray hair fell across his lined brow. A gray beard adorned his long, thin chin. Spectacles reflected street flares. Two younger, thin men in dark tailcoats accompanied him, flanking him. They carried . . . pistols.

  “Who are you?” She had never seen this man before. How could he know she’d been a prisoner?

  “I am Cartwell of the Royal Society.”

  She frowned. “Why in heaven’s name is the Royal Geographical Society interested in me?”

  Cartwell smiled, his manner paternal and condescending. “Not that Royal Society, my dear. Now you must come with me.”

  “No. I have no idea who you are, so I have no intention of going with you.” She was tired of being forced to do things. She wanted her choice.

  The men advanced and she backed away.

  “I am here to protect you,” Cartwell said.

  “I’ve escaped. I am going to protect myself.”

  “I cannot allow that, Lady Ophelia.” He spoke calmly, but with an implied authority.

  “I do not give a fig what you want,” she retorted.

  “Do not force the issue, Lady Ophelia,” Cartwell snapped. “It is the best for you if you quietly come with us. Given you were taken captive by a dangerous man, I should think you would be appreciative—”

  “Appreciative?” she snorted. “I am tired of people telling me I should be thankful that they’ve locked me in a room and won’t let me out.”

  “This is madness.” It was one of the young men who spoke. He had tangled red hair beneath his hat, as if he never combed it. He pointed the pistol at her, bringing it level with her bosom. “You are to come with us.”

  “Or you will shoot me?”

  Ravenhunt’s words came back to her. He had warned her that people wanted to hurt her and that she should depend on him for protection.

  She should be afraid.

  But Ophelia was tired of people wanting to hurt her. She didn’t want to hurt anyone. She wanted to be normal.

  Suddenly, she realized they had backed her into the shadows in an alley between houses. Where people from the street would not see her.

  She held out her hands and lunged toward the redheaded man with the gun. He jerked back, obviously terrified of her touch. “Boo!” she cried. “If you shoot me, I’ll still touch you first.”

  The other young man was moving toward her, and he trained his weapon at her head. “I’ll grab her—”

  “Stop,” barked Cartwell. “Do not lay a hand on her. It will kill you.”

  “I should shoot her now,” snarled the redhead, his voice filled with arrogance and bravado. “She is a monster. This idea of studying her is madness. She should be destroyed.” His finger was on the trigger.

  The shot fired, smoke rushing from the pistol. The explosion roared in her ears. Darkness rippled in front of her eyes, as if a curtain had been drawn. Her hands went to her chest.

  She expected to feel pain, to feel her body be ripped apart.

  But there was nothing.

  Dazed, she looked up. Ravenhunt stood there, between her and the pistol.

  Ravenhunt. Naked.

  How had he—? How could he have moved there so quickly? He half-turned to her. Blood poured from a wound in his chest. “Are you all right?” he shouted at her.

  “You’ve been shot.”

  Her eyes widened as she drank in the muscles of his chest—which she had seen before, but which looked all the more impressive under the glow of the streetlight. Her gaze went lower. Yes, utterly naked. Not a stitch on him.

  “Ravenhunt, for heaven’s sake, you don’t have clothing,” she cried.

  “This you notice, when one of these idiots shot at you?”

  “You are wounded.” He had been shot in the chest, and blood was rushing out of the wound like a river.

  Her legs wobbled, but she stumbled toward him. She had to use something to stop the flow of blood.

  She shouldn’t touch him—

  He would die if she didn’t.

  “It’s all right, Lady Ophelia.”

  “Stand down, Ravenhunt.” The gray-haired man held a strange weapon pointing at him. She recognized it from pictures in books. A medieval crossbow.

  In front of her, Ravenhunt seemed to disappear. But he didn’t. There was a blur of movement, like ripples in the air on a hot day. Next thing she knew, the arrogant young man who had fired the pistol was lying unconscious on the ground, Cartwell was disarmed, and nude Ravenhunt held the crossbow pointed at both men.

  The other young man fired. The pistol exploded with a roar, a flash of powder. The ball slammed into Ravenhunt.

  She screamed.

  Blood blossomed on his side. There was an eno
rmous, bloody, black-rimmed hole in the side of his chest. It should have felled him, just as the first shot should have, but he just frowned at it.

  Ravenhunt stalked to the man, grasped his arm, and twisted it sharply. A loud crack filled the air, as the man cried out. The pistol fell.

  “Run, you Royal Society bastard,” he snapped at Cartwell. “Run before I shoot you with your own damned crossbow.”

  Cartwell ran, stumbling on the cobbles.

  Ravenhunt turned to her and crooked his finger. “Come, Lady Ophelia. We must get you to safety. There are likely more of them—Cartwell’s flight will send them in pursuit of us.”

  She knew she was being a meek and cowardly fool. But she walked toward Ravenhunt. Even though he was naked. Even though he must be insane. Even though he had kept her as a prisoner.

  He had taken two pistol shots for her. She was dazed and unable to think.

  Ravenhunt stepped toward her, and she realized the blood was no longer flowing from his wounds. With shaky fingers, she touched the first wound. The blood was dry. The hole was smaller.

  She looked at the wound on his side. He said nothing. Just stood and let her look.

  When she straightened, the hole in his chest was gone.

  “You’ve healed,” she gasped. “That’s impossible!”

  Ravenhunt inclined his head. “I have a power, too, Lady Ophelia. The power to heal myself.” He smiled. “Do you believe me now, Ophelia? Do you accept that you are in danger and you can trust me?”

  “I—I don’t know. Those men were going to kill me. But you took me prisoner. Was it for them?”

  “No. But you have to understand now why I kept you and would not let you go.”

  “Why are you not wearing any clothes?”

  “I was undressing for bed when I realized you had escaped.”

  “And you ran out naked?” Naked was not a word she was supposed to say to a man. Suddenly she thought of something. “You must have known I took your keys when you left. You would have tried to lock the door. You knew all along.”

  He began to shake his head, but he looked guilty.

  “You let me escape. You let me take the key, you followed me. When I thought I was so clever and I had defeated you, I hadn’t at all!” Somehow that made her the angriest. That he must have been laughing at her at every step.

  “I had to let you understand the dangers out here,” he said.

  “You let me escape because you knew they would attack me.”

  “I had to make you appreciate the danger is real.”

  “Why? Why would you care? What do you want from me? I have nothing to give. All I do is hurt people.”

  Ophelia threw the words at him and tried to run from him.

  But Raven caught her wrist and pulled her hard against his chest. He cradled her. Raven knew this touch was not for seduction. He heard the self-loathing in her frantic tones. She had a power she could not control, and he knew what hell that was like.

  He hugged her.

  “You shouldn’t do this,” she said bitterly. “You might die.”

  “Then give me a kiss. If I’m going to die for it, I want to make it worth it.”

  “We cannot kiss here. You are not wearing any clothes.”

  He laughed at that. “True.” He released her and bowed. “Come back to my home with me. Let me keep you safe.”

  “But what am I going to do? I mean, from now on. I cannot live like this.”

  He kissed the top of her head. He was naked because he had changed into bat form and had flown to her rescue. It had been a closer shave than he’d planned.

  “There is a solution, Lady Ophelia,” he said softly. “You can give up your power. You can give it to me. But—”

  “But?”

  “You will have to come with me, where you will be safe. Then I will explain. Are you willing, Lady Ophelia?”

  “Do I have a choice?”

  “Yes, you do. You can run away from me now.”

  “And risk getting shot by more of those lunatic men. Or I can trust you. I choose you. I will go home with you.”

  5

  The Bookstore

  The door closed behind her, Ravenhunt turned the key in the lock, and Ophelia faced him, knowing she had willingly stepped into her prison. Now she would find out if she had been wrong to believe him.

  “How do I give you my power? Why in heaven’s name would you want it?”

  He led her to the dining room. The forgotten supper was cold, but he handed her a crystal goblet brimming with white wine. She sipped, for he seemed to be waiting for her to drink. When she paused, he motioned with his hand for her to drink more.

  She frowned. “Why do you want me to be tipsy before you tell me?”

  “You are remarkable. You were just attacked by men of the Royal Society, and yet you are flinty-eyed and calm with me.”

  “You are avoiding the question.”

  “You are a worthy adversary, Lady Ophelia. But I want you to understand we aren’t fighting anymore.” He pointed to the door. “You are free to go whenever you wish.”

  “I don’t wish to right now.”

  He plucked her glass from her hand and filled it again.

  “Why do you want my power, Ravenhunt? Is it because you are an assassin?”

  “I don’t want to use it, love. It is my plan to destroy the power so no one can use it. Only I can do that, and I have to take it from you to do it.”

  She took another sip of the wine. It was dry and tart and delectable. His words did make sense. She could be free of the power. And it would never hurt anyone else—

  He lifted her hand to his lips as she drank a little more of the tempting wine. He brushed her fingers with a gentle kiss, then turned her hand and gave a long, lingering kiss in her palm.

  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 fac
e. “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.