Suzanne McLeod - The Shifting Price of Prey

The jellyfish finally pulled free with a disgusting sucking sound. I released Malik, threw myself back on the table and plunged the jellyfish into the flower arrangement, using my will to tag it to the roses. I yanked my hand back, focused on the magic at the Jellyfish spell’s heart, and cracked it.

The roses exploded in a blinding flash, petals raining down like bloody confetti. Crimson seared my retinas, burned inside my skull and down my arm. I had a moment to think . . . that’s not right . . . before red-hot flames roared up and consumed me.

‘Genevieve.’ Malik’s voice pulled me from the fire I was twisting in. I opened my eyes. His were only inches away. For a long moment I wondered why I was on my back with Malik almost lying on top of me, his hands clasping my head as if he meant to kiss me. It was an intriguing position, and one part of me wanted to take advantage of— if it weren’t for the gleeful little devils sticking my arm and skull with their hell-hot pitchforks.

‘Do you remember what happened, Genevieve?’

‘Yep,’ I whispered past the pain. Pain that, I now realised, came from having parts of the spell, thanks to the jellyfish’s venom, inside me when I’d destroyed it. Damn magic, always ready to sting you – literally this time. Good job I was hard to kill. ‘Jellyfish stung me. Infected me with spell. Cracked it. Hurts. Happens.’

Exasperation and concern warred on his face. ‘What hurts?’

‘Arm. Head,’ I muttered.

A soothing chill emanated from his hands as his power cooled my blood. Not quite a healing but enough to banish the pain and spread a welcome peace through my body. I noted his pupils were back to their normal obsidian black, no hint of gold or red. I smiled, relieved, and as exhaustion swept over me, let myself drift away. Nothing appealed more than sinking into that coolness and sleeping for at least a month.

Ice seared my veins as he dialled his power level up, instantly shocking me awake. ‘What the hell was that for?’ I muttered.

‘You were losing consciousness again.’

‘Yeah, well,’ I said grumpily. ‘I’ve had a busy night. Let me sleep.’

‘You can sleep once I know the spell is gone, Genevieve. Not before.’

‘Stop worrying. I blasted it and now you’re good to go.’

‘Yes. I am fine.’ He braced his hands either side of my head, raising himself up. I thought about pushing him totally off me, and getting up, then decided moving was too much effort; I might as well lie here while we chatted. ‘But it is you I’m concerned for. The jellyfish is parasitic. It has been living inside me for the last three months, feeding off my blood. It stung you. I want to ensure that you are not infected by its poison or any remnant of the spell, or my curse.’

I sighed and forced myself to focus . The brand on his forehead was a healed scar, nothing more. He was clear of the spell. I scanned round. Shredded rose petals, tiny chunks of glass, bits of something green which had me frowning until I realised it had to be the florists’ foam stuff the roses had been stuck in, and specks of translucent jelly littered the table and no doubt the floor nearby. It was all free of any magic. As I was.

‘Everything’s clear,’ I said, turning my attention back to Malik. ‘They could add salt when they do the clean-up if they want, but the spell’s dead. There’re just the physical remains left.’ Bits of which peppered his pale skin— which was no longer glowing. Because the spell was gone? I ditched that thought as I belatedly remembered I’d been naked. I looked down. I was draped in something white . . . Malik’s shirt. And judging by the sticky itchy feeling of my skin, I hadn’t escaped being speckled by sticky spell debris either. Even as I wished for a shower, and wondered how long I’d been unconscious, frustration sifted in me as I saw I wasn’t the only one who was no longer naked.

‘You dressed,’ I said, stating the obvious as I eyed his trouser-clad legs where they straddled my hips.

‘The situation was not conducive to remaining unclothed, Genevieve. Nor had I anticipated that your desires would result in such emphatic handling.’ One corner of his mouth lifted. ‘I fear you have unmanned me.’

Unmanned him? I raised my brows, suddenly feeling much more alert. ‘Is that some archaic euphemism for what happened when I grabbed you?’

Amusement sparked his eyes. ‘It was . . . unexpected.’

‘It was meant to be, buddy.’ I poked him in the chest. ‘I was trying to distract you.’

‘And you succeeded. In that, and in removing the spell.’ He smiled, his amusement tempered with gratitude and something that was balm to my heart: respect. ‘It was well done, Genevieve. Thank you.’

‘You’re welcome,’ I said, happily appeased. ‘Anyway, it’s not like you were being particularly gentle either.’

‘My apologies.’ Remorse replaced his amusement. ‘I would not have destroyed your clothes nor marked you if I could have avoided it.’

I frowned. ‘Marked me?’

He touched my chest gently where his shirt covered me. I peeked under it. For a moment, I thought the red marks scattered over my breasts and stomach were a dusting of finger-sized rose petals . . . then I realised the marks were like the bruises encircling my left wrist. Vampire property marks.

‘They can be removed,’ Malik said quietly, answering the question I was too stunned to think of, never mind ask. ‘I did not intend them, nor did I mean to cause you harm, but the force of the images you sent me was difficult to counter. If we should find ourselves in a similar situation, the equivalent of a whisper instead of a shout would be sufficient.’

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.