Read Online The Shifting Price of Prey by Suzanne McLeod - Free Book Online Page A

yourself such,’ he said. ‘In writing.’
    It took me a couple of seconds, then . . . Crap. I had. Last Hallowe’en. As part of my ‘blackmail’, I’d given another letter to the witches. It had been the carrot to go
with my stick. That letter gave Malik dispensation for any unspecified crimes he may or may not have committed (so long as he had Hugh’s agreement) against any witch, past, present and
future, in exchange for his property – a.k.a. me/my blood – used in a spell. My ‘admission’ seemed to have changed something. Leaving me vulnerable. My pulse sped
faster.
    ‘I’m sorry,’ I said, keeping my annoyance at myself out of my voice. ‘In hindsight that was a stupid idea.’ For me, anyway.
    He didn’t react. Not an indrawn breath or a muscle moved. He’d shut down. His lungs not working, his heart not beating. Which was a sign, hopefully, that he was getting himself under
control. I had an urge to swallow. I stifled it. Waiting. Hardly breathing myself. Then after a long drawn-out silence, I opened my mouth to apologise again.
    ‘Shh.’ He stopped me. ‘I am not fully myself. I need—’ He broke off. ‘It may aid me if you would calm your pulse. I find my thirst for you is greater than I
anticipated.’
    At the self-disgust in his voice, a suspicion slithered into my mind like one of Asclepius’ snakes. Maybe this wasn’t his game, but someone else’s. Like the Autarch’s. He
had to be the one who’d branded Malik; no one else would have the power.
    Angry resolve, rather than the usual panic, filled me. I concentrated on counting, slowing my pulse.
    What felt like aeons later, Malik’s grip on my hair lessened, allowing me to lower my chin a few millimetres, and ease the painfully stretched tendons in my neck. My gaze caught on our
reflection in the windows in front of us. Malik was fully vamped out— pupils flaring red with flame, lips drawn back in a silent snarl, canines and needle-thin venom fangs white and sharp.
The brand on his forehead now pulsed dirty silver in my sight.
    My stunned eyes met his grim ones in the glass. ‘It’s doing something to you. If I remove the spell, will it stop it?’
    ‘It marks me as his. As the Ancient Greeks used to mark their slaves.’
    Bastard Autarch.
‘You’re not Greek,’ I said flatly. ‘And neither is he. And I don’t get how that’s even relevant.’
    ‘You are right. We are not Greek. But the symbol is understood by those who need to see it. I am Oligarch, but all know that I took the position without his knowledge or permission. He has
asserted his authority. It is necessary to maintain the status quo.’
    Great. This was some sort of political vamp crap. ‘So keep the brand,’ I said. ‘What about the spell?’
    ‘The spell?’
    ‘Vamps can’t see magic. So what’s the point?’
    His hand spasmed, tightening his hold on my hair. ‘It is for his personal entertainment.’
    Sadistic psycho.
‘What’s it doing to you?’
    He was silent, a dark weight at my back.
    ‘C’mon, Malik. It’s doing something, or he’s doing something through it. You’re not usually so volatile.’
    ‘Volatile?’ He yanked my head back again. ‘Volatile is for the undisciplined, Genevieve.’
    ‘If you keep doing that,’ I croaked, ‘you’re going to break my neck. I’d be happier not wearing a brace for however long it takes to heal.’
    ‘My apologies.’ His voice was contrite.
    ‘Okay,’ I said slowly, trying to think of an out. ‘So we’ve both said we’re sorry. How about you let me go and we’ll talk about it?’
    ‘I find myself unable to do that. It is taking all of my . . . discipline to hold you like this and not feed.’
    Right. Well, maybe taking my blood would help. After all, what was a drink between friends? And Malik
was
my friend, despite the current stand-off. ‘So feed,’ I said.
    ‘No. I am too . . . volatile.’
    Underneath his attempt at dry amusement, I could taste his fear, like bitter