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Authors: Suzanne McLeod
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aloes mixed with rancid blood. Fear of losing control, and of hurting me. Not that I wanted either of those things to
happen either, but hey, the other options – standing here until inevitably the sun came up or his disciplined restraint gave way – weren’t cutting it either.
‘Look,’ I said, frustration making me sharp, ‘I haven’t donated yet so I’ve got plenty of blood.’ My usual donation was a pint into a blood-bag; a daily
necessity thanks to the 3V infection turbo-boosting my red cell production. But hey, Malik could probably take a good three, even four pints before things got too iffy. ‘If you get too
carried away then you can heal me. And, I’m not human, remember. There’s no way you can pass your curse on to me, if that’s worrying you.’
‘It is a tempting offer, Genevieve. Thank you. But no.’
Stubborn vamp. Sometimes his phobia about his curse made him even more paranoid than me. ‘So what’s the plan, then?’
‘The plan?’
‘Yes. The plan to get out of this.’
There was a long silence. ‘I find it impossible to marshal my thoughts.’ The confusion in his voice was raw, as if he’d suddenly woken in a frightening place. ‘I do not
have any plan.’
I’d have sighed, if his arm around me had let me take a deep breath. Not working out what needed to happen next wasn’t like him. Had to be an effect of whatever the Autarch’s
spell was doing to mess with Malik’s mind.
Well, I had an easy way to sort that, whether he wanted me to or not. Except I’d left my turkey baster down in the square; not that I thought Malik, or rather the Autarch controlling
Malik, would let me take the turkey baster to his forehead. I choked back the slightly hysterical laughter at the image that thought conjured.
Next option was
absorbing
the spell; definitely not a good idea with who knew what side-effects the magic would sic me with. Much better to get rid of the spell totally, which meant
I’d have to
crack
it. Preferably not while it was on Malik. He’d heal the smashed-watermelon effect it would have on his skull, but I needed to talk to him tonight, not in
three or five or however many weeks’ time. So I needed to
call
the spell off of him and
tag
it to something else first. Something I could destroy without too much
damage.
I stared up at the painted ceiling and visualised what the room contained. There wasn’t much to choose from. Windows, pillars, paintings, stacked chairs, tables and . . .
Got
it!
I
focused
on the spell. Or at least I tried to, but the damn thing kept slipping away from me as if I was trying to hold water in a sieve. I needed to physically touch it.
‘Um, any chance we can change positions here?’ I asked. ‘Like, face each other?’
‘Why?’
‘This isn’t exactly comfortable.’
‘I do not think a change of position is wise.’
Because he wanted to sink his fangs into me. And going by the way a certain part of his body was still pressing into my back, he wanted to sink something else into me too . . . Which might be
enough to distract him from the bloodsucking bit.
Recalling the image he’d flashed in my mind of me on my knees before him, I closed my eyes, took a moment to get my thoughts in order, then, hoping the visual communication went two ways,
started sending mental pictures.
A shudder travelled through him. ‘What are you doing, Genevieve?’
Giving you ideas, hopefully.
His arm around me loosened slightly.
Yes! I sent more images to his mind—
His hand plunged into the V of my shirt, yanking it open violently enough that I saw a button hit the ceiling above us. He shoved my shirt aside, roughly cupping my lace-covered breasts. I
moaned loudly, pushing back and wiggling encouragingly against his thick length. He growled, driving his hips into me as he ripped away my bra, knuckles grazing my nipples. They tightened in
response, then I bit back a scream as he pulled on one, rolling the sensitive point between his
happen either, but hey, the other options – standing here until inevitably the sun came up or his disciplined restraint gave way – weren’t cutting it either.
‘Look,’ I said, frustration making me sharp, ‘I haven’t donated yet so I’ve got plenty of blood.’ My usual donation was a pint into a blood-bag; a daily
necessity thanks to the 3V infection turbo-boosting my red cell production. But hey, Malik could probably take a good three, even four pints before things got too iffy. ‘If you get too
carried away then you can heal me. And, I’m not human, remember. There’s no way you can pass your curse on to me, if that’s worrying you.’
‘It is a tempting offer, Genevieve. Thank you. But no.’
Stubborn vamp. Sometimes his phobia about his curse made him even more paranoid than me. ‘So what’s the plan, then?’
‘The plan?’
‘Yes. The plan to get out of this.’
There was a long silence. ‘I find it impossible to marshal my thoughts.’ The confusion in his voice was raw, as if he’d suddenly woken in a frightening place. ‘I do not
have any plan.’
I’d have sighed, if his arm around me had let me take a deep breath. Not working out what needed to happen next wasn’t like him. Had to be an effect of whatever the Autarch’s
spell was doing to mess with Malik’s mind.
Well, I had an easy way to sort that, whether he wanted me to or not. Except I’d left my turkey baster down in the square; not that I thought Malik, or rather the Autarch controlling
Malik, would let me take the turkey baster to his forehead. I choked back the slightly hysterical laughter at the image that thought conjured.
Next option was
absorbing
the spell; definitely not a good idea with who knew what side-effects the magic would sic me with. Much better to get rid of the spell totally, which meant
I’d have to
crack
it. Preferably not while it was on Malik. He’d heal the smashed-watermelon effect it would have on his skull, but I needed to talk to him tonight, not in
three or five or however many weeks’ time. So I needed to
call
the spell off of him and
tag
it to something else first. Something I could destroy without too much
damage.
I stared up at the painted ceiling and visualised what the room contained. There wasn’t much to choose from. Windows, pillars, paintings, stacked chairs, tables and . . .
Got
it!
I
focused
on the spell. Or at least I tried to, but the damn thing kept slipping away from me as if I was trying to hold water in a sieve. I needed to physically touch it.
‘Um, any chance we can change positions here?’ I asked. ‘Like, face each other?’
‘Why?’
‘This isn’t exactly comfortable.’
‘I do not think a change of position is wise.’
Because he wanted to sink his fangs into me. And going by the way a certain part of his body was still pressing into my back, he wanted to sink something else into me too . . . Which might be
enough to distract him from the bloodsucking bit.
Recalling the image he’d flashed in my mind of me on my knees before him, I closed my eyes, took a moment to get my thoughts in order, then, hoping the visual communication went two ways,
started sending mental pictures.
A shudder travelled through him. ‘What are you doing, Genevieve?’
Giving you ideas, hopefully.
His arm around me loosened slightly.
Yes! I sent more images to his mind—
His hand plunged into the V of my shirt, yanking it open violently enough that I saw a button hit the ceiling above us. He shoved my shirt aside, roughly cupping my lace-covered breasts. I
moaned loudly, pushing back and wiggling encouragingly against his thick length. He growled, driving his hips into me as he ripped away my bra, knuckles grazing my nipples. They tightened in
response, then I bit back a scream as he pulled on one, rolling the sensitive point between his
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