The Shifting Price of Prey (10 page)

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?’

‘Y
ou’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.

‘You may be willing, Genevieve. I am not.’

Hurt and rejection stung me more painfully than the jellyfish had. Looked like I’d really got my attraction wires crossed somewhere along the way. Maybe his refusal last time hadn’t
just been because of his deal with Tavish. Though if his body language was anything to go by, he wanted me as much as I wanted him. He was either lying to me or to himself. Well, fuck that.

‘Are you saying that you
don’t
want to have sex with me?’ I snapped out. ‘Because, spell or no, that’s not the impression I’ve got.’

His black eyes turned opaque and unreadable. ‘
Le Théâtre du Grand-Guignol
is performing scenes from
Scars of Dracula
all this week, Genevieve. I would be
honoured if you would attend as my guest, and after the show, it would be my pleasure if you would join me for refreshments.’

I stared at him speechless.
Le Théâtre du Grand-Guignol
was in the Blue Heart. He wanted me to go to a vamp show in a vamp club. Then join him for
refreshments
. .
. Was this some sort of weird sucker crap? Something to do with showing off his property? My mind stuttered between annoyed disbelief and bewilderment—

Unless, was he asking me on a
date
?

A heady lightness filled me, only to deflate like a pricked balloon. Hell, even if it was a date, why ask me to go somewhere I couldn’t be seen? I might not need the Witches’
Council’s protection any more, but I was the boss of Spellcrackers: it’s a witch company, and I needed my witch employees. If I started publicly hanging out with vamps when I was
off-duty, the Council would forbid them to work for me. No employees. No Spellcrackers. Malik knew that—

‘Genevieve?’

I shot him a narrow look. ‘Are you asking me on a date?’

‘I believe that is the current term, yes.’ Amusement twitched his mouth.

I blinked. He thought this was funny? It was more like inviting a starving woman to a banquet then telling her she couldn’t eat. ‘Then why invite me to a vamp club? You know I
won’t visit one unless it’s on witch-authorised business.’

His amusement died; replaced by . . .
regret
?
Sorrow
? ‘That you even think to ask that question, Genevieve, is the reason I ask.’

Damn. Now he was doing the cryptic thing. I hate that. ‘I’m asking because I want to know the answer, Malik. So explain it to me.’

‘It is not only yourself you hurt,’ he said softly, ‘when you deny who you are and refuse to embrace your true heritage.’ Then he was gone, leaving me frowning up at the
ceiling. I sat up to see him lift a shirt from the table nearest the door and slip it on.

What the— ‘You’re leaving?’ I said, stupidly, as that was obviously what he was doing.

‘There are clothes here to replace the ones I damaged.’ He indicated a suit carrier on the table.

When the hell had he organised them? Not to mention why was he running off in the middle of . . .
asking me on a date
? And how the hell had we got here from his asking permission to
kiss me to check out my memories of the tarot card? Damn it! I was missing something here, something important, only I couldn’t work out what past the confused whirl in my mind. And judging
by the way he was leaving— Crap. Had left! He wasn’t prepared to stick around long enough for me to sort things out.

I scrambled off the table and ran to the door. The corridor outside was empty.

Fuck. ‘Malik?’ I called, hoping he’d come back. ‘What about the Emperor?’

I will look into it.
His voice sounded distant in my head.
If you wish to accept my invitation, leave a message with my answering service.
Then there was nothing but
silence.

Angry and confused, I grabbed the suit carrier and headed for the en suite restroom to find myself surrounded by more bland beige luxury: marble sinks topped with well-lit
mirrors that flattered, expensive toiletries that smelled of lilies, and towels rolled and tucked into wicker baskets. The replacement clothes – black trousers, silky cream T-shirt and a dark
lilac linen jacket that wasn’t a colour I’d have chosen, but looked surprisingly great with my hair – were from a local 24/7 chain store. Whoever Malik had got to shop for me had
good taste. Briefly I wondered who, and if they’d seen me unconscious and naked on the table . . . which was kind of creepy . . . then decided that wasn’t worth worrying about. There
was underwear too. The cream lace would look good against my honey-coloured skin, or it would have if not for the rose-coloured bruises marking me.

He’d said they weren’t permanent. Not that I cared one way or the other right now. I yanked the labels off the underwear. Damn it! The beautiful vamp had reached whole new levels of
annoying. He’d told me he wasn’t willing. Then asked me on a date. To a vamp club. Then spouted some cryptic crap about hurting myself, and him, by denying who I was and not embracing
my heritage.

Only I wasn’t denying anything. Everyone knew my father was a vamp, but I was sidhe like my mother. And while I might want to embrace Malik, no way was I going to rock the boat by going on
a public date with him, not when I didn’t know what the hell he was playing at. And not when he was making iffy comments about knowing what my answers to his questions would be. Almost as if
the irritating vamp was testing me . . . I tugged on the briefs, following that thought . . . As if he wasn’t willing to have sex with me unless I made some sort of grand gesture or
declaration that he meant something to me.

Damn. Didn’t he know that he did? Hell, I’d already forgiven the idiotic vamp for doing his mind-meld on my memories, for ordering me about as if I were a blood-slave, and for
killing me more than once – not that I’m masochistic, and the circumstances were extenuating; I’d even asked him to, that last time – but hey, how much more of a declaration
did he want?
A date. In public. In a place you wouldn’t normally go. For no other reason than to be with him.
And my knee-jerk reaction had been:
no way
. Crap. I’d
failed his test. He was right. Why the hell should he want sex or anything else with me when I wouldn’t even be seen with him in public?

I jerked the bra’s straps to adjust them, and slipped it on.

Except, by that same standard Malik was wrong too.

If he was going to play stupid games with me, instead of talking things through, then why the hell should
I
want sex or anything more with
him
?

Only I did want more. My heart thudded erratically as the trembling, indefinable emotion I felt for Malik crystallised into something steady and tangible in my heart.

‘So I should probably go on this date and sort things out,’ I told my reflection, then scowled as my mind threw a huge curve ball at me.

The Autarch.

The psychotic prick had been pulling Malik’s strings with the Jellyfish spell, trying to stop me removing it. And then there was Malik’s answers about the Emperor. Or rather his
non-answers, seeing as he’d started prevaricating as soon as I’d mentioned the tarot card. How far could I trust that whatever game Malik was playing was down to him and not the
Autarch?

And if it was the Autarch speaking through Malik’s mouth, then the Blue Heart date scenario made more sense. It was vamp territory, I’d be more vulnerable, and so would Malik. Damn.
I needed to talk to him; without the Autarch’s interference. I touched the rose-shaped bruises on my wrist that hid my bracelet; I could use Malik’s ring and contact him through the
Dreamscape: that might work. And the best place to do that was— well, not here; it wasn’t safe.

Last time we’d met in the Dreamscape, he’d used Tower Bridge as a backdrop, but really it could be any place we were both familiar with, like oh, say, my bedroom? After all, I
couldn’t get much safer than my own bed . . . My pulse raced as my Malik fantasies roared back to life, fuelled by our recent near miss. We’d been a breath away from sex. Lust and
longing twisted low inside me. And, boy, was I missing sex after nearly a year of no touch but my own. Sighing, I traced the bruises on my breasts, following them down my body to the last mark,
which disappeared beneath the lacy briefs, remembering the glorious feel of his hands on me—

Sudden excruciating arousal made my legs buckle. I fell to my knees and, desperate for release, shoved a hand into my briefs. As soon as I touched myself, an orgasm rocked through me, more pain
than pleasure. Panting, I collapsed against the mirror. My reflection stared back at me with molten-copper eyes wide with shock. Magic wreathed me in a swirling golden haze, and Malik’s marks
suddenly gleamed like blood-tinted silver pennies.