Read Online Blood Curse by Sharon Page - Free Book Online

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