Blood Curse (36 page)

“Stop, Valde,” Cartwell shouted. “No one man can claim her power. Your lackeys believed your rubbish and tried to help you, but they were wrong. No one can have such power.”

“I can, you bloody fool.”

In the shadows, Harry was approaching the Royal Society men from behind. But Valde lifted both his hands. Lightning bolts shot from his hands, like Mrs. Darkwell’s, yet much weaker. But they struck the men and knocked them back.

“Stop right there.” Harry came forward, pointing his bow.

Lightning flew at him, and she screamed.

The bolt exploded in midair, and the lightning burst against Harry’s chest, driving him back.

“Stop!” she cried. “I will give you anything.”

Valde lifted his hands, palms pointing toward her. But as the streak of light burst from his hands, it exploded in a brilliant flash in front of Ophelia’s eyes. Valde screamed, and when Ophelia could see again, she saw Valde on his knees, wailing with pain, his hands over his eyes.

“You foolish boy.” Mrs. Darkwell stepped forward, pain etched in her beautiful face, making her look much older and haggard.

“Ophelia!”

Ravenhunt’s voice! She looked up. He was limping down the stairs, with Guidon’s arm flung across his shoulders, and he was carrying the smaller vampire. Thank heavens they were both . . . alive. He set Guidon on 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.

W
arm, 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?
You
were in hell, Ravenhunt, because you did not have love. Now you do. Stop being so foolishly noble, and save the woman you love. I will slap you if you do not hurry up.”

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
blood
.

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.
Now.
She was on fire for 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.

She meant to gag. She expected to be sick. But the taste changed as it flowed into her and became something delicious. More intoxicating than wine, sweeter than cream and candy. She craved more.

Her lips worked against his soft, beautiful skin. The motion, the pressure, drew more blood into her mouth. She didn’t care that it was strange or should be terrible. This was
joining
them.

He held her closer, fed her his blood, then his hand caressed her. His palm lightly nudged her left breast, bumping it.

An instant climax exploded in her. She cried out against his arm, and her body arched helplessly as pleasure shattered in her head.

He held her so close and so tightly, and he kissed her all over her eyebrows, her eyelids, her forehead, her nose, her cheeks. She’d never felt anyone show love to her like this.

She hadn’t died, but now she knew what heaven was. It was the glorious power of love.

“You,” Ophelia said quickly. “I have to save you. How do I do it?”

“Your blood,” said Mrs. Darkwell from the edge of the room, from the doorway. “Do what he did. Cut your wrist and feed him your blood.”

“Cut it—?”

“With your teeth, my dear. You will find you now have fangs.”

Blood stained her lips a rich scarlet. The pallor of her skin was gone. Raven knew what that shattering cry meant. The transformation had made her come. In the afterglow of her orgasm, color bloomed in Ophelia’s cheeks and her blue eyes glowed like sapphires.

With eyes wide, she looked at him tentatively as her tongue slid around her teeth. When she found the tips of her brand-new fangs, she cried, “Oh!”

She lifted her wrist to her teeth and gently rubbed the tips of her long, curved white fangs over the delicate skin. She grimaced.

“No, Felie,” he protested.

“Yes.” Shutting her eyes tight, she pushed her teeth into her wrist. She gave a cry of shock and pain, then sliced her fangs along her wrist so a line of blood welled. Her scarlet, sweet-scented blood.

She bravely held out her wrist, with a droplet racing down her arm. “Drink, Raven. Please.”

Shifting so he sat on his arse, he pulled her onto his lap and cradled her close to his chest. Raven bent until his lips caressed the top of her hair and he kissed her. God, he wanted to kiss her everywhere.

He couldn’t hurt her now by taking her blood. Closing his eyes, he drank in the perfume of her blood—like heaven flowing through her—and put her wrist to his mouth.

Ambrosia must taste like stewed mutton compared to this. His head soared like a drunken man’s. His body was hot in an instant, his cock rigid.

The words thrummed through him as he drank, as her blood flooded into his mouth. His cock pulsed, feeling as if her warm hand stroked it. Up and down in a sensual, erotic rhythm.

His breath came fast.
Don’t drink so much. Stop.

He couldn’t stop. Damn, he was going to come. Like usual, once he was rushing to his orgasm, he was out of control.

Her words broke the spell. Raven’s heart slowed. Lust stopped driving him. He didn’t have to rush to a climax and mindlessly take her blood. He wasn’t a slave to his vampiric nature. He damn well wasn’t.

He was in control. He could be free. He could be the kind of vampire who could be a husband.

For the first time, Raven knew he wanted a future. He wanted to fight for eternity with Felie.

Panic hit him with that thought. All his bitter thoughts slammed into him. Margaret’s tears and desperation. The empty horror when he’d learned she had killed herself and taken her unborn baby with her. All the young men he’d watched die on the battlefield. His victims—

I love you,
Ophelia said firmly in his thoughts.
I know I am not wrong to do so.

He pulled back and released her wrist. Before his eyes, the wound marring her pale skin began to knit. Her skin now glowed like pearl, as if an inner fire burned within and yearned to radiate out. He kissed her cut as it healed before his eyes.

His strength came back with a rush. Knowledge came faster: he owed his very life to her.

“You’re alive,” she whispered.

“Thanks to you.” Words failed him. His throat was so tight he couldn’t have made a pretty speech if he tried. “Thank God, you’re alive.”

“She is undead,” Mrs. Darkwell corrected. “She is your mate, to be with you for eternity.”

His for eternity. He loved the sound of that. Throughout his mortal life, he’d heard people speak of their hearts swelling. Now Raven knew what it meant. His heart felt larger, filled by love.

He gazed down at Felie, who lay in his lap. “I’ve made you a vampire, but I promise we will go to the vampires of the Royal Society and learn how to live with mortals so we do not act as predators. I want to change. For you.”

“Again, I love you, Raven.”

He had never said the words, for he’d believed he had no right to say them. Strange how easily they came now. “I love you, Ophelia.”

Gleeful clapping sounded behind them. Raven jerked around to look. Guidon stood beside Mrs. Darkwell in the doorway, and he applauded merrily. Beaming from ear to ear, the gnome-like vampire gazed up at Mrs. Darkwell and clasped her elegant hands. Laughing, Guidon proclaimed, “You have completed your labors, my darling, my beautiful daughter of Aphrodite. You have found love for all of these happy young couples. Now, you can go free.”