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 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.
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.
‘What happens now?’ I asked, a part of me still bemused by my own calmness, even though I could feel Malik smoothing over my thoughts.
He turned the key in the lift and it dipped slightly, taking my stomach with it, before the lights flickered on and it started to ascend. ‘We shall prepare for the oath, then once that is over we will go to the police station.’
The lift halted, the door gliding open. Blue carpet patterned with small silver hearts stretched down a long, empty corridor lined on one side with steel doors. I gathered the remnants of our clothes as he bade me, then followed him past half a dozen of the doors, my bare feet sinking into the thick carpet, until Malik stopped at one of them. He stilled, then lifted his chin, sniffing the air.
‘It appears we have company waiting for us,’ he said softly. ‘This is not a good sign.’
But before I could ask who, the door slid away into the wall and I had a brief moment of déjà vu. Hannah Ashby, dressed in her vamp-groupie outfit of pumpkin-coloured velvet bustier and black net skirt, stood in the opening.