Blood Cursed (15 page)

The memory of his scorching kiss stirred again, my flesh still purring for more. I glanced up at the swollen moon, and it smiled back, seductive.

My blood thrummed. Hmm. Maybe I’d been a bit rude, brushing him off like that. He’d gone out of his way for me, after all. Perhaps it wouldn’t hurt to give something back. Perhaps we could just …

I tripped on a loose tile, and common sense crashed cold.

God, did I really just think that?

So what if the moon made me horny? If he condescended to give me a few moments of his time? Didn’t mean I had to let him touch me.

I flushed, and Big Em’s rational voice addressed me curtly:
Grow up, Ember. Don’t give me shit about owing him anything or the moon making you. You’re a big girl. You wanna fuck him, you go right ahead. But don’t blame everyone else for it.

Diamond touched my shoulder, and I jumped.

Goddamn it. I still remembered how those fingers felt inside me, the hot melting pleasure when he—

“What?” I snapped without thinking.

He pulled me to a stop. “You can’t go home.”

“Why not?”

“Not safe.”

Alarm rippled my blood. “You mean they know where I live?”

He wriggled his fingers, palms upward—
maybe, maybe not
—and flicked hair from my cheek with a cocky claw. “Safer with me, peachy.”

Indignation burred my fingertips. That possessive caress drove me bugfuck. I liked him touching me. I hated it. Damn him. “No way. You’re so not taking me back to your place.”

“Okay. Wanna curl up right here, then? Nice gutter over there. Good comfy patch of dirt. Look, it’s even got a tree.”

“Don’t be a smart-ass.”

“Don’t be a princess, then. Take some gifties for once. Not everything is business.”

Golden sorrow melted his eyes, and for a bright moment, I believed him.

I puffed damp hair from my eyes—gosh, it was hot for three in the morning—and shrugged, knowing I had no choice. But I didn’t like it. Didn’t like the way he looked at me, like he was waiting for something to happen. “Okay. Fine. But just for the night, and then I’m leaving. And I get the bed. You do sleep in a bed, right?”

“Bed, yes. Sleep, no.” He drifted a few feet into the air, an easy wingsweep, and tugged my hand twice, like a kid who wants ice cream. “Shortcut?”

I resisted. “Why, where is it?”

He pointed with his chin. “Upski.”

I cocked my neck, moonlight shining in my eyes, and he took advantage of my lack of balance and pulled me aloft.

We shot up two stories, wind dragging my sweaty hair back.

I squealed, fluttering so I wouldn’t fall. “Someone’ll see!”

“Screw ’em. It’s three in the morning. Prob-mally shitfaced anyway.” And he tugged me higher on a powerful roseglowing slash. Muscled-up son of a bitch could really fly.

My skirt billowed around my thighs. Warmth soared beneath me, filling my delicate wing membranes with gentle upward pressure. The ground zoomed away beneath us. Laughing, I swooped into a dive, trailing my wings behind me and flaring them at the last second to catch myself. Diamond followed, arcing elegantly like a pinkglass dolphin, his hand still warm in mine.

I giggled, sublime. Fresh hot air swirled around me, and moonlight flashed from glossy apartment windows as we darted by. My damp dress plastered to my breasts and rippled in the breeze. Diamond’s hair streamed behind him, billowing over his wings like a rainbow. He never left my side, and his rosy halo enclosed me like a fragrant bubble, filled with warmth and safety and the dark male smell of his skin.

I rolled onto my back, drifting, bathing in the warm updraft, pleasant vertigo swirling in my skull. My wings stretched tight like tissue paper, and it felt fantastic, little starbursts of delight firing in my pores. A smile tweaked my lips. It did feel good, floating beneath a summer moon, the lazy friction of our glamours rubbing together sparking the air.

We fairies don’t get to fly much. Always too afraid some human will see us. It’s every fae girl’s nightmare. Trapped in a net like some stupid butterfly, wings peeled back or pinned to a slab, dissected alive by skinny dudes with bad breath and white coats, all in the name of science. Or worse, kept captive in secret by some lunatic with a fairy fetish, iron cagebars and worms for breakfast and grotty sex games in the dark.

Don’t laugh. It happens. An airfae girl I knew went out for milk and didn’t come back. They say some weirdo netted her for his collection, leaving only tufts of fluffy white hair and a pile of wingdust. They found her chewed wingbones in a Dumpster six weeks later. True story.

But if some grimy fairychewer wanted me, he’d have to come through Diamond first. At least, he would tonight.

He floated beside me, basking in the warmth, moonlight flashing off his weirdglass wings, and I had to admit it felt kinda nice. Jasper had protected me, sure, but always I’d had that nagging feeling he’d toast me in an instant if someone made him a better offer. Diamond … Well, he was hanging with me for some bullheaded reason of his own, and making Diamond change his mind if he didn’t want to seemed to be right up there with bleeding stones and pissing into the wind.

Hell of a reason to feel safe. But I did. From fairy-chewers, that is. Not from Diamond.

He spiraled, pulling me around with him like two fish playing in the surf. Concrete walls lurched perilously close, and then we flitted over a tall glass balcony rail and he settled me to my feet, his arm steady around my waist.

I staggered, fatigue making me heavy. Too much action and excitement. Sure, I loved to party, but that didn’t usually involve smacking some zombie chick over the head with a toilet bowl and sprinting through a crowded casino with the fire alarm going off.

Or kissing some naughty fairy boy in steamy moonlight.

“You ’kay?” His whisper warmed my ear.

“Umm … sure.” He still had his arm around me, his body pressed hard against my side, slick with delicious fairy sweat, and mmm, was that his wing edge rubbing against mine? Dirty boy. My wingjoints swelled with pleasure, and I wobbled away, flushing. Enough of that tonight.

The long balcony glared silver in moonshine, curved around the side of the building, tiled in glossy black with dusty raindrops sprinkling the tinted glass door. In the corner sat a fat ultragreen potted plant, wrapped tight like a mummy with purple tinsel.

I peered over the edge, my heart thudding. On one side, a taller building blocked the view, but on the other, you could see all the way across the river to the city, skyscrapers knifing the sky, lights sparkling orange and blue and white. Beyond the park across St. Kilda Road, lightning flashed, too distant to hear the thunder. I inhaled, fresh eucalyptus and flowers, dirty underneath with smoke and distant rain we wouldn’t get. The smell of Melbourne in summer, gritty and delightful.

Inside, it was dark, outlines of furniture dim. He slid the glass door open and walked in. Magenta light pooled around him, shadows flickering. I followed, envious, searching for obstacles with my toes. Must be nice to make your own light.

He flipped the downlights on, presumably for my benefit, and I stopped short.

Handy, too, when your place was such a fucking mess.

He had shit everywhere. And I mean everywhere. His coffee table was jammed between two couches, the whole thing piled up like a Mexican pyramid with magazines, books, DVD cases, empty chocolate wrappers, crunched-up tinfoil and discarded glassware smeared with suspicious glitter, green and blue and black. The floor lay ankle-deep in the same. I saw laptop computers, game consoles, tablets, a couple of MP3 players.

Even the walls were a furious clutter of paintings, photos, and drawings, hung crooked and cramped together in a mass work of chaotic art. He’d drawn on them, colored in and over with paint or crayon or glitter. And behind them, more spraypainted colors splashed the creamy walls. Even the ceiling hadn’t escaped clean. It looked like some epileptic artist had partied with the Unabomber.

I stared, overwhelmed. This place was a riot. If this was what his brain was like, no wonder he had a few too many syllables tumbling off his tongue.

He shrugged at my bewildered glance. “What? If I’d known you was coming, I’d have cleanified.”

I snorted. “No, you wouldn’t.”

“I mighta. Sometimes I even vacuum.” His wounded look just made me laugh, and he relapsed into a dazzling grin and fluttered over piled books and paper flowers to land on the raised part of the floor. It was rich red timber, and you could see it, which was an improvement on the rest.

He swept an armful of paper and DVDs off his bed, which sported a neat bright purple quilt and looked like he hadn’t slept there. “Homify yourself. Tasties in the fridge, eat what ya see. ’Kay?”

My mouth watered at his mention of food, and I fluttered to the kitchenette so I wouldn’t trip over his stuff. Long time since I ate. His fridge looked all white and shiny underneath, but he’d fingerpainted it, tangled smears of blue and green and orange. I yanked the door open. Chocolate bars, iced coffee, bananas, cans of fizzy caffeine drink. Mmm. All the good stuff a party-fairy needs.

I grabbed a Kit Kat and a banana, and lighted on his glimmering quilt. Mmm, squishy purple goodness. I wriggled my wings and yawned, stretching as I peeled both banana and chocolate, and munched.

Diamond knotted shining hair in his fist, averting his gaze. “Umm. Gonna takem shower. You okay?”

I gulped a choc-banana mouthful. Awkward much? Here I am, in his apartment. On his bed. At three in the morning. Five minutes ago, this hot luscious fairy boy had his tongue between my legs. My body still tingled from his touch, the air still rich with the scent of my desire. Normally, I knew what to do now. It’s the part where I strip to my lingerie, coax him onto me, figure out what he likes, make him gasp and sigh and worship me … .

Or not. “Um. Yeah. I’ll just … get some sleep, I guess.”

And I rolled over away from him, wrapping myself in the quilt. It smelled of him, roses and warm glass and hot spicy fairyboy and damn it if it wasn’t sexy as hell. My nipples tingled. I wanted to rub my face in it, strip naked and feel him on my skin.

Awesome. Like I’d sleep now.

And the splash of running water as he started the shower didn’t soothe me. It only made me imagine him, wet and delicious, rainbows glistening on his naked skin, wet hair plastered to his body, his powerful thighs flexing, the muscles in his butt clenching as he …

Yeah. Stay right where you are, Ember. He’s not for you. Tomorrow, you’re leaving.

I closed my eyes and drifted away into feverwarm dreams.

When Diamond tiptoes from the bathroom, Ember’s sleeping.

Fuck. He drags damp hair from his neck, already sweating again. He didn’t really need showerings. Only to get away from her.

Sweat shines her forehead, scarlet lashes fluttering softly on her cheek. She tosses and murmurs in her sleep, pretty lips quivering. She looks so … vulnerable.

His fingers hover over her hair, and static tingles up his wrist, where the prickly bracelet squeezes his tendons tight. The jewel glows brighter, dragging hot urgency from his blood. He wants to touch her. Brush that girlysoft hair from her face, glide his thumb over her lips, tilt her chin up for a kiss.

He recalls her honeyspice mouth opening under his, her little gasps tugging his breath away, her flavor so sweet, it ached his throat like sugar. And touching her, stroking her inside, her soft succulent flesh so wet and eager …

Irrational desire flushes him fiery all over again. God, it was hard enough to let her go once. And she’s right here in his bed, her beautiful body so fragrant and warm and begging to be touched … .

This is usually so easyfied. Her desire is real enough, isn’t it? Even if she’s confused and crazyhot in her moonblood and has no reason in the world ever to trustify him again.

Even if her smile makes him all hot and reckless, burning to touch her, set her free, hear her glossychime laugh.

Fuckity shit. He’s used people before. It’s what he does. Prettylicious ladies no exception. He’s untruthed dozens of girls. Used his talent to pleasure them, too. Never meant any badness by it. Why is this one so different?

He plops onto the couch in a pile of crunchy tinfoil and flicks on the TV. Mindless images flicker and swap, some old action movie with melting robots and a big guy in leather. But his gaze drags back to her, curled like a chocolatefrost angel in his bed, her sweaty wings ashiver. She tosses the quilt off, battling some invisible foe with twitching legs. Her skirt falls in her lap, and her thigh glistens, a single sweatdrop gliding over smooth brown skin, down into the tasty crevice between her thighs … .

He sighs, hot, and switches telly off. Not be here. Not watch her mutter and thrash in the grip of dirty-fever dreams. Not think about touching her when in two nights’ time he’s gonna feed her to a vampire.

He glances at her again, some achy-honest compulsion dragging his gaze to her face, and the dizzy flame in his blood ignites an agonizing truth he can’t ignore.

Gotta tell her everything, D.

Can’t not. Can’t.

He squeezes his eyes shut, denial a sparkling ache in his heart. But it’s no use. He can’t untruth her anymore. Not when in his mind, they’re already lovers, her sweetblood scent forever alive in his nose, her lost flavor an empty hollow inside where he hungers for her, in more ways than hot blood and a sparkle hard-on can accountify.

He snaps harsh teeth on moonswept memories of kissing her, tasting the dusky skin inside her thigh, exploring her deliciousness with his tongue, making her shudder … . He tries to think of Rosa, his real lover, dark hair and paledeath skin and … what color eyes again?

Fuck. He can’t do this anymore.

Let her have sleepings. She’s earnified. And in the morning, he’ll tellify everything. Rosa. The shiny on his wrist. The poison he couldn’t slip into her fizzies. And then he’ll have to crafty up some way to make her stay.

Because he can’t leave her alone now. Vincent could be watching. That bloodfetish bitch and doggy-blue on a chain from the club might not’ve given up. Hell, Rosa said Famine knew someone was huntifying those gemstones. How the hell did Famine find out anyway, the twisticated little boneworm?