The Shifting Price of Prey (66 page)

‘Yep. But hey’ – I grinned, though it was more a baring of teeth – ‘I won’t hold it against you; we all assume things at times.’ Like I had. Good thing
he hadn’t seen the blackmail threat I’d sent him. Yet. I suppressed a shudder. ‘I’ve just had more time to think my assumptions through.’

He was silent for a long moment then raised an elegant, not quite mocking brow. ‘Then I will, of course, listen, Genevieve.’

‘Great,’ I said drily. ‘Only it’s a long story, so maybe we should leave it until later? Say, when you’re less volatile?’

Tension sang through his body, then he inclined his head in acknowledgement. ‘It might be wise, yes.’

‘Though there was one thing’ – I pursed my lips, waved at the Empress and took the plunge – ‘was she your wife?’

An odd, startled look crossed his face, followed by a longer, more pensive one. ‘You believed Shpresa was my wife?’

Did that mean she wasn’t? Hope lit in me. I tamped it down, keeping my voice dust dry. ‘I believe I might have made that assumption at certain points during the last day or so,
yes.’

‘I see.’

The two small words were bland, giving nothing away, but underneath I sensed he was pleased at the ‘assumption’ I’d jumped to, and was now . . .
stretching the answer
out
. . . I crossed my arms and gave him a narrowed look. ‘Well?’

The last of the tension between us dissipated as his mouth softened into a barely there smile. ‘I have never had a wife, Genevieve.’ He cast a look at the Empress, his smile fading.
‘Shpresa was my mother.’

His mother? I reached out, touched his arm. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘Thank you,’ he said softly. ‘But she was aware this would happen. It was her choice.’

Which didn’t make it any less sad for him. Though if Shpresa was his mother . . . ‘So,’ I said tentatively, ‘Bastien’s your brother?’

He nodded. ‘Half-bother, yes. His father was Suleiman.’

Half-brother? Still not wonderful, but way better than son. And the Empress on the tarot card telling me to save her children made even more sense now. She wasn’t just talking about
Bastien and his vamps, but Malik too. ‘Ah. Right. So who was your father?’

‘As with your story, that is one for another time.’ His enigmatic mask reappeared as if a switch had been flipped. Looked like I’d hit a sore point. Still we’d have
plenty of time for talking about all sorts of things, later. ‘Now, Genevieve, I would drink, please. If you are agreeable?’

I glanced at the dead Empress, uncomfortable. ‘Here?’

‘No. Not here.’ He held his hand out.

I placed my hand in his and he led me to the far side of the tent. The heavy material sliced open with a touch from Janan. We stepped outside into a small shadowed area enclosed by high, dense
bushes, the only light from the stars studding the night sky above us.

We stood, my hand in his as anticipation stretched a taut line between us. ‘Do you wish me to drink from the wrist?’ His question was neutral, but a dark intensity glittered in the
black depths of his eyes.

‘Hmm,’ I murmured. ‘It seems practical, unless you have a better idea.’ I let a smile ghost my lips.

‘I believe I may.’ He inclined his head, the glitter taking on a heart-fluttering promise as his gaze turned dark with need and possession. Pulling me into his embrace as if leading
me into a dance, he moulded my back against the firm planes of his chest. ‘Genevieve.’ His murmur grazed my hair, causing my heart to race. His tongue traced the sensitive whorl of my
ear and I gave a small, surprised yelp as he nipped the tender lobe, then sucked it hard into his mouth, making my knees weak. Dark spice and honeysuckle entwined in the air; our scents mingling.
My breathing quickened as lust coiled inside me, and a blood-flush electrified my body in readiness for his bite. I let my head fall back to his shoulder, offering him my throat, the pulse there
jumping beneath my skin as desperate need and joyous desire collided inside me. His hold about me strengthened and I felt the thick hard length of him press against me, ready and eager.

He cupped my cheek, his thumb gently circling the vulnerable spot beneath my jaw. ‘How long, Genevieve?’ His murmured question glided over my collarbone like a summer breeze.

‘Two nights.’ My own whisper was breathless. Two nights since I’d satisfied my body’s craving for vamp venom.

A low growl vibrated through him as his lips marked a heated trail from my ear to my pulse. His mouth closed over it, the teasing press of fangs drawing a whimper of need from me. For an
achingly long, heart-thudding moment he held me, his arms wrapped about me, his mouth at my throat, only the thin barrier of my skin separating us. Then he pierced my flesh.

Pleasure, sharp and exquisite, sliced through me as his venom shot into my veins. But even as my body reacted in fierce delight to the demanding draw of his mouth, the feeling morphed, twisting
into excruciating, torturous agony. I screamed, throwing myself away from him, only to have my legs give way as I collapsed on the grass, shaking with pain-filled aftershocks.

I slapped a hand over my bleeding neck and gaped up at him. ‘What the—?’ My croaked demand stuttered. He was staring with enough horror that an errant part of me wondered if
I’d suddenly grown three heads, half-a-dozen assorted limbs and shifted into some sort of monster.

‘What the hell was that?’ I croaked again.

He crouched before me, with none of his usual elegance, his body radiating panic, whispered, ‘You bear my soul, Genevieve.’

‘Yeah,’ I said, shivering as I realised it wasn’t only Malik who was panicked; his soul was too. The ball of silvery light felt like it had stuck claws into my body; the source
of all the pain. ‘How else was I going to give it back to you?’

He pulled Janan from behind him. ‘You will allow me to transfer it to this.’

I frowned, then remembered him telling me Malak al-Maut, whose knife Janan was, had used the knife to carry those souls he’d collected. ‘Sure—’

He stabbed me in the chest, the stench of burning flesh hit me and Malik gave an agonised yell, his hand spasaming open.

I stared in shock at the blade buried to the hilt between my breasts, its amber dragon’s tear flashing like a warning beacon, instinctively thinking it should hurt, and that there should
be blood. Only, of course, it was a soul-bonding knife; there was no blood, and if there was any pain the claws piercing my body eclipsed it. I swallowed then looked at him. ‘Give a girl some
notice next time . . .’ I trailed off. Pink-tinged sweat beaded his forehead, his stare fixed on the knife in dismayed disbelief. ‘What’s wrong?’

‘It refused!’

‘What did?’

‘My soul.’ He grabbed my wrist, yanking me to my feet. ‘Come. We must find Bastien. You must bond my soul back to him.’

I bit back a scream as the claws gripped harder at Bastien’s name. No way did Malik’s soul like that idea. ‘Why can’t you have it back?’ I said, then yelped as the
claws shrank back and tried to burrow inside my heart; his soul obviously wasn’t on board with that suggestion either.

A shudder rippled through Malik. ‘It does not like the revenant.’

I opened my mouth. Then shut it again. We were heading back into weird possession/alter-ID territory again and I didn’t feel up to debating it, not with his soul chiming sharply in on the
discussion too.

‘Bastien said he didn’t want your soul back,’ I told him.

‘He will.’ Resolve crossed Malik’s face. ‘You should not have bonded my soul to yours, Genevieve.’

‘I didn’t bond them,’ I said. ‘I’m an
Anima Devoro
, remember?’

Shock flashed in his eyes. ‘You
ate
my soul.’

‘No, of course not. I
absorbed
it. It was happy about it so it’s not hurt. That only happens when the soul or spirit objects.’

He released me, horror filling his eyes. ‘How many souls have you eaten, Genevieve?’

‘Stop looking like that,’ I said, annoyed. ‘It was only some of the half-formed in
Between
and I spat the pieces back out again. They’ll stick themselves back
together soon enough; maybe even manage better shapes next time. Oh, and the two that didn’t fight’ – Viviane and Gold Cat – ‘are fine. Same as your soul’
– I placed a hand over my heart – ‘it was here, quiet as a mouse, until you bit me, so why not leave it—’

He shook his head, eyes blazing. ‘My soul is damaged, Genevieve. It will cause you harm. You have seen how Bastien is.’

I blinked. ‘Bastien is a crazy psycho because he had your soul?’

‘Yes.’

I frowned, recalling Malik’s harem memory and the child Bastien ripping his sister’s doll apart. He’d seemed pretty much fully-fledged as a psychopath back then. ‘Did
Bastien have your soul as a child?’

Malik swiped an anxious hand over his head. ‘No, he did not. He took it some years after I was cursed with the revenant. Come, we must find him.’ He took my wrist again.

‘Wait!’ I pulled out of his hold. ‘I can’t wander around with a knife-hilt sticking out of my chest. People will freak out.’ I carefully wrapped my hand around the
flashing dragon’s tear, hesitated, then, under Malik’s worried gaze, yanked it out. As far as I could tell, my own soul stayed in place, seeing as I didn’t drop down dead or float
off with the breeze, as did Malik’s; its claws still had their death-grip on my heart.

I tucked Janan safely in the back of my jeans. ‘Right,’ I said, pleased my voice only shook slightly. ‘Let’s go and find Bastien, but remember, the priority here is to
get the info about the fae’s trapped fertility out of him. We can worry about your soul later, okay?’

‘I do not think—’ He stopped, stared up at the heavens as if entreating some god, then just as I was about to push the point, he took a breath he didn’t need. ‘We
will do that, Genevieve.’

‘Right.’ I rubbed my breastbone as the pain there vanished. Malik’s soul had sheathed its claws the second he’d agreed and was now back to being a soft ball of silvery
light. Damn. It was determined to become a permanent resident.
Later
.

‘So,’ I said, ‘did you get enough of my blood for whatever it was you were planning to do?’ Not that I thought either of us were up to him trying to bite me again.

‘It is possible, but we shall see.’ His mouth twisted and he offered his hand, wary. I took it just as cautiously, braced for the claws. Nothing. We both sighed in relief.

He held the slashed tent open and we stepped back in together.

Waiting for us was Bastien.

B
astien flashed fangs. ‘Well, well, my loyal shadow and my lovely sidhe princess.’

Malik stepped smoothly between me and Bastien. ‘Our agreement was that you should cause Genevieve no harm, Emir.’ His voice was soft with threat. ‘You will take my soul back
now; else I will consider it broken.’

‘You know I have not broken any agreements, Abd al-Malik. The sidhe took your soul of her own volition.’

‘Genevieve would not have been in a position to do so, had you not altered the plan. This is—’

Malik fell silent as Bastien held up one finger then treated me to a gleeful smile. Dread crawled down my spine as I leaned forward to look at Malik. He was frozen, his beautiful face etched
with anger and determination.

Crap. Looked like Malik didn’t get enough of the power in my blood. And going by Bastien’s expression, he hadn’t had the juice to trap Malik before. Damn. I so didn’t
want to find out what other little extras chomping the Emperor’s head had given the psycho.

He waggled his finger at me. ‘I find my elevation to Emperor is proving to be immensely enjoyable, my sweet bride.’ He gave the statue-like Malik a delighted poke.

‘You mean the power you stole,’ I said flatly.

‘Stealing? Ah, yes, it appears thieves abound. For instance, did you know there is another who looks exactly as you do? I believe she may have stolen your identity.’

Confusion winged through me. ‘What the hell are you talking about?’

Bastien whirled away, his toga flaring about him, calling, ‘Come and I will show you.’

Heart pounding, I raced after him, barely noticing the four werewolves who had taken up sphinx-like positions around the Empress on her stone, to a spot outside in the lee of the stage.

Bastien waved a hand at the open space with its chain circles and cages. ‘Behold!’

I looked. And stared in horror, my eyes refusing to believe what they were seeing.

The place was a hive of movement. Hugh’s boys and girls in blue had corralled the vamp centurions and a crowd of folk dressed in their designer best, who had to be the auction bidders,
into some of the cages. And now they were taking statements from the huddle of Others who were obviously the ‘lots’ from the cages and their ‘coin-holders’ from the chain
circles. But despite all the activity under the fierce glare of the halogen spotlights, my eyes fixed on the small group gathered at the heart of it all.

I, or someone who looked enough like me, right down to my black jeans and T-shirt, that
I
couldn’t tell the difference, was standing talking to Hugh, Tavish and Finn. Bastien said
something, but his words didn’t register past the pulse thundering in my ears. Finn had his hand protectively on the imposter’s shoulder, his horns curving up in full threat mode.
Tavish had a nimbus of watery power surrounding him like an aura – a personal Ward – and, held securely in his arms, was a bundle of brown fluff that I recognised as Freya, my niece in
her doggy form. The imposter had her arm round Katie, hugging her close. And loitering a few feet away from Katie, his shoulders hunched over, was Katie’s treacherous ‘boyfriend’,
Marc, the big-cat-shifter.