She only wanted to hold him.
“You’ve never been able to touch anyone, Ophelia. I want to be the first.” Raven lifted her hand to his lips and suckled her wrist. She giggled, then squirmed in front of him. “Ooh, that feels lovely.”
He wanted to ease her back onto the settee and—
No, my lord Ravenhunt, you cannot seduce Lady Ophelia in my parlor. Guidon projected the words into Raven’s thoughts, sounding prim and shocked, even in thoughts.
Tonight will be the night, Lord Ravenhunt.
Raven nibbled the soft, silky skin of Ophelia’s wrist, then quickly kissed his way up to her shoulder, where he ran his tongue over her ear. Indeed it will be.
I mean tonight will be the chance to take her power, Guidon said. You must study the last chapters of that book exceedingly well. You must commit it to memory. Leave the poor young lady alone. You are not yet ready to seduce her.
Damnation, Guidon, he muttered in his thoughts, you know how to ruin the mood.
13
Five
Before he even changed back to human form, Raven was hard. He had transformed and flown from Guidon’s back here—to his dark home—with Ophelia riding on his back. She’d grown used to flying. Instead of clinging to him, his brave temptress rode him like a goddess on a magical steed.
He had landed on the roof, on a steep pitch, his claw-like bat feet gripped the slippery tiles, curling around the edges.
“Hold me tight,” he told her. With a flick of his wing, he triggered the lever. His secret door slid open. It worked with pulleys and gears, making a soft, grinding noise. He lowered through the square opening.
When he had set her on her feet on his attic floor, he transformed back. As fast as his muscles and bones had shifted shape, more blood rushed down to his cock.
“Doesn’t it hurt?”
He glanced down at his prick, thick and straight as an iron rod. “Actually, it does—”
“Not that, Ravenhunt. I mean when you shift shape.”
“Yes.” He shrugged. “But not as much as I hurt desiring you.”
She lifted her brow. Apparently that wasn’t a romantic statement. Then he saw how her hands ran along the cuts in her clothing. Hell. Moving with a vampire’s speed, he came up behind her and tore the fastenings of her shirt open.
“What are you doing?” She jerked away.
“Taking it off. I will burn it, so you never have to think of that damned place again.”
She wrinkled her nose, looking so sweet his heart lurched. “It’s too cold to undress here.” Her hand strayed up and stroked her tangled hair. Pulled out of her pins, it fell around her in disordered waves.
His cock bucked and smacked his gut—with her untamed hair, she looked like a woman who had just been fucked to an earth-shattering orgasm. But she was not disheveled because of pleasure, she had been through hell. “Come, I will take you to bed.”
Her fingers touched the slices in her clothing. “First, I wondered if I could bathe?”
“Of course. I will prepare it at once. You must relax in your room.”
What he wanted to do was hurry her to bed. He wanted to caress her, kiss her, lick her all over, make love to her. But he could understand those damned Royal Society men had made her feel unclean. Raven bowed, in the nude, and he headed for the kitchens, to heat the water for her bath. Since she knew he was a vampire, he had nothing to hide. Using his preternatural speed, he tore upstairs with heavy buckets of water, filling the deep tub to the brim.
On a seat, he placed a stack of soft, folded towels—they were his, as he had no spare for guests—and set out a bar of his sandalwood soap. Then he gave her privacy, closing the door as she walked into the steam-filled room.
Returning to his room, he dressed carelessly in trousers, a shirt, a hastily tied cravat and coat. This would allow him to blend in with passersby, while he observed who was watching his house. Raven left by the kitchen entrance into complete darkness, locking the door behind him.
Men surrounded the house. Well hidden, but he could easily see them. For him it was like seeing them in daylight.
These were Royal Society men watching the house. From what Ophelia had told him, he knew there was a splinter group of the Royal Society—men who objected to having vampires in their midst, and who wanted to destroy all monsters, who believed “demons” could never walk among the mortals.
Whether the men watching this house were part of that group, or were men loyal to the Society, Raven didn’t know. Now he knew the situation, he went back inside, moving so quickly the world blurred around him. But he couldn’t go to Ophelia in her bath.
He had to read that book.
Ophelia was in the bath, naked, while he was stuck in his dark and dusty study, reading Guidon’s mouldering book.
Raven could picture her in the bath. Steam rising around her, shielding her lovely body like a veil, giving him only tantalizing glances of pearlescent skin. Her hair would be wet, sticking to her damp skin. Her nipples would be hard, with diamond-like drops of water dripping from the sweet, pink tips—
He was as hard as a brick, and he couldn’t take the pain anymore. But he had no choice. He had to deal with the book.
He had read it over and over, and knew the four lines of the spell that would free her from her power and send it to him.
The more he read, the more Raven wondered why she had this power. If she had been born with it, how could he remove it by using a spell? Had she been cursed with it? Why? It would have to have been when she was very young, before her menstrual courses began. Who would have done such a thing to a child?
Guidon had told him to read the part that explained how her power could be taken from her. He was to read it until he found the truth in the words.
Hell, he’d read them for an hour while she soaked sensually in a bathtub. He could smell the sandalwood soap—it was his soap and the thought of that normally masculine aroma on her feminine curves was driving him mad. His ears detected the faint splash of water. That brought to mind images of the lucky water hugging her curves, lapping at her breasts.
The book told him what Guidon had said—the only way for Ophelia to give up power and survive was through love. A shared love opened a conduit that allowed magical power to flow back and forth. It had to be true, deep romantic love.
The book was written in Latin, and while he’d studied Latin at Eton, he could not have cared less about languages and hadn’t paid much attention. His translation to English was clumsy, he knew, but he hoped it was good enough. He’d scrawled it over a bunch of sheets of notepaper.
Translated, the book’s title read: The Demonica, volume XI.
Raven read the passage about love again.
A special love is needed to break this curse. A love with the strength to endure for all time. It must be built upon complete honesty. It must be proven that this love can withstand the great blows that would destroy any lesser love. It must be able to survive the storms of betrayal and heartbreak.
How in Hades were you supposed to know if you loved someone that strongly? How could Ophelia know if she felt that way about him? Wasn’t the only way to prove love could withstand those things to have it last a lifetime? Wouldn’t they only know when one of them died?
The spell that released her from her power looked innocent enough, but spells and incantations were evil things. There was always a catch. This one had to be spoken after he’d given her several orgasms. He had to admit he liked the sound of that.