‘You were losing consciousness again.’
‘Yeah, well,’ I said grumpily. ‘I’ve had a busy night. Let me sleep.’
‘You can sleep once I know the spell is gone, Genevieve. Not before.’
‘Stop worrying. I blasted it and now you’re good to go.’
‘Yes. I am fine.’ He braced his hands either side of my head, raising himself up. I thought about pushing him totally off me, and getting up, then decided moving was too much effort; I might as well lie here while we chatted. ‘But it is you I’m concerned for. The jellyfish is parasitic. It has been living inside me for the last three months, feeding off my blood. It stung you. I want to ensure that you are not infected by its poison or any remnant of the spell, or my curse.’
I sighed and forced myself to focus. The brand on his forehead was a healed scar, nothing more. He was clear of the spell. I scanned round. Shredded rose petals, tiny chunks of glass, bits of something green which had me frowning until I realised it had to be the florists’ foam stuff the roses had been stuck in, and specks of translucent jelly littered the table and no doubt the floor nearby. It was all free of any magic. As I was.
‘Everything’s clear,’ I said, turning my attention back to Malik. ‘They could add salt when they do the clean-up if they want, but the spell’s dead. There’re just the physical remains left.’ Bits of which peppered his pale skin— which was no longer glowing. Because the spell was gone? I ditched that thought as I belatedly remembered I’d been naked. I looked down. I was draped in something white . . . Malik’s shirt. And judging by the sticky itchy feeling of my skin, I hadn’t escaped being speckled by sticky spell debris either. Even as I wished for a shower, and wondered how long I’d been unconscious, frustration sifted in me as I saw I wasn’t the only one who was no longer naked.
‘You dressed,’ I said, stating the obvious as I eyed his trouser-clad legs where they straddled my hips.
‘The situation was not conducive to remaining unclothed, Genevieve. Nor had I anticipated that your desires would result in such emphatic handling.’ One corner of his mouth lifted. ‘I fear you have unmanned me.’
Unmanned him? I raised my brows, suddenly feeling much more alert. ‘Is that some archaic euphemism for what happened when I grabbed you?’
Amusement sparked his eyes. ‘It was . . . unexpected.’
‘It was meant to be, buddy.’ I poked him in the chest. ‘I was trying to distract you.’
‘And you succeeded. In that, and in removing the spell.’ He smiled, his amusement tempered with gratitude and something that was balm to my heart: respect. ‘It was well done, Genevieve. Thank you.’
‘You’re welcome,’ I said, happily appeased. ‘Anyway, it’s not like you were being particularly gentle either.’
‘My apologies.’ Remorse replaced his amusement. ‘I would not have destroyed your clothes nor marked you if I could have avoided it.’
I frowned. ‘Marked me?’
He touched my chest gently where his shirt covered me. I peeked under it. For a moment, I thought the red marks scattered over my breasts and stomach were a dusting of finger-sized rose petals . . . then I realised the marks were like the bruises encircling my left wrist. Vampire property marks.
‘They can be removed,’ Malik said quietly, answering the question I was too stunned to think of, never mind ask. ‘I did not intend them, nor did I mean to cause you harm, but the force of the images you sent me was difficult to counter. If we should find ourselves in a similar situation, the equivalent of a whisper instead of a shout would be sufficient.’
I let the shirt drop as I processed it all. The marks weren’t permanent, he’d been out of his mind with the spell, and I’d chosen that particular way of distracting him, so . . . ‘There’s nothing to apologise for.’
‘Yes, there is. I should not have proposed we meet, not when I knew Bastien would take the opportunity to use me to cause you injury.’
Yep. Bastien, the Autarch, was never happier than when indulging his vicious side. The usual terror flashed in me. I squashed it.
‘But I was disturbed by your mention of this Emperor on the tarot card,’ Malik carried on.
The tarot cards. Right. The reason I was here. ‘So it’s not just the card, there is a vamp called the Emperor? ’
‘I know of one who goes by that title—’
‘He’s not the Autarch then?’ I interrupted.
‘No, they are not the same, Genevieve.’
‘Good,’ I said, relieved, then as surprise lit his eyes, I added, ‘The Emperor can’t be as bad as the Autarch . . .’ His brows drew together and I sighed. ‘Okay, stupid assumption. I take it he is as bad?’
‘If the Emperor is the one I know, he is not as . . . impulsive as Bastien.’
‘Bastien is not impulsive,’ I snapped. ‘He’s homicidally violent, sadistic and psychotic.’
‘As the Emperor can be, in more considered ways.’
Figured. ‘Sounds like he’ll be just as much fun to deal with then,’ I said drily.
‘If it is him,’ Malik said, ‘then we should prepare. But first I would like to see the image you saw on the tarot card.’ He touched my temple. ‘If you would allow me to access your memory, of course, Genevieve.’
He’d put me in a trance once by holding my hand. Apparently, the relaxed state helps you remember details only noticed by your subconscious. It had been like having a conversation through glass: I could see, but not hear. I’d asked him not to do it again without my permission and that hadn’t stopped him, not until now. Seemed he was finally getting the ‘do not treat me like blood-property’ message, despite the Jellyfish spell and the extra vamp marks. Maybe we were moving on at last.
I smiled, waggling my hands. ‘Sure. Hit me with your best vamp hypno-mojo.’
He glanced at my hands and then shook his head. ‘I propose a different method.’
I gave him a narrowed look. ‘And what method would that be?’
Chapter Nine
‘You’ve had some dealings with Declan,’ Malik said, ‘the head of the Red Shamrock blood-family, have you not?’
I frowned at his seeming change of subject, then realised what he was suggesting. Red Shamrock vamps could influence mood by evoking a person’s emotions from memories; it was why their Irish pub, the Tir na n’Og, was as successful as it was. Punters always experienced the best craic ever, thanks to the vamps trawling their minds for happy memories and bringing the associated feelings to the surface.
But Declan, the blood-family’s head vamp, could do more. He could share or even steal memories. I’d seen him do it once with Fiona, his seneschal and human partner. They’d kissed. It hadn’t been a quick peck on the cheek either. Well, that explained why Malik was watching me like he expected me to pitch a fit. Either he was worried about the memory bit, the kissing bit, or both. Easier to go with the kissing, which after what we’d just nearly done . . .
I looked up at him. ‘We’re talking about a kiss?’
‘If you have no objection.’
I showed him my finger and thumb, almost touching. ‘Malik, we were this close to doing a lot more than just kissing right on this very table. Why would I object?’
‘Our actions were dictated by magic,’ he said stiffly. ‘They were not consensual.’
Oh. Was he still worried I was about to cry the-big-bad-vamp-enslaved-me, or something?
‘Well, yeah,’ I said slowly, wanting to reassure him I was okay with things. After all, it had been my idea, sort of. ‘I know we didn’t exactly start out planning to have sex with each other, but it’s not like it’s never been a possibility.’ Hell, I’d practically laid myself out on my bed for him at one point during the ToLA case to persuade him to help me. Not that he’d taken me up on my offer, thanks to his pact with Tavish about protecting me. At least, not in real life. In my fantasies, however . . . I felt slight heat rise in my cheeks as I carried on, ‘And as I told you when we last had this discussion, I’m perfectly willing if you . . .’ I trailed off. He looked like I was asking him to inhale garlic.