Page 3 of Cursebound
CHAPTER 2
ROSA
“You won’t be needing that stake,” he says, stopping a few feet in front of me. Just out of arm’s reach.
He too is wearing black—suit pants that skim the long muscles of his thighs, a soaking wet shirt clinging to the wide outline of his shoulders.
I maintain my grip on the weapon. “Oh? And why not, may I ask?” I’m not about to drop my guard because a pretty face tells me to. He isn’t the first attractive vampire I’ve met.
The way he’s studying me, his head tilted to one side, eyes drinking me in, suggests he is fully aware of who and what I am. Fully aware that I am one of only three Seers left alive.
This whole encounter is leaving me confused. It’s not only that I’m gazing into the liquid eyes of Mr. Tall, Dark, and Dead. It’s how I’m reacting to it.
My pulse speeds up, and my fingers itch to reach out, to discover if those biceps are as hard as they look. He is powerful, old, and intoxicating, and his presence has turned this skilled tracker into a giddy teenage girl.
Get a grip, I tell myself. He’s a vampire. A gorgeous one with a bodacious bod, but a vampire all the same. That doesn’t mean I have to kill him—not all vampires are enemies—but it does mean I can’t bed him. My brain knows that, but my libido isn’t listening.
His eyes skim my face, his gaze so intense he might as well have reached out and touched me. I can almost feel fingers on my jaw, forcing my face up for a kiss, except he hasn’t made physical contact. All that is accomplished with only his eyes.
Those same eyes drop to my chest, and I curse silently as my nipples stiffen in response. They ache beneath my bra, desperate to be squeezed, nibbled, sucked.
Unbidden, an image appears in my mind’s eye, so vivid I could be living it: I am lying flat on a bed of black silk, naked, my arms held above my head. He has both my wrists held in one of his hands, trapping me underneath him. He sucks so hard on my breast that every ounce of sensation in my body flies to its rigid peak, all self-control gone as he holds me still and fills me with need.
The vision fades as quickly as it came, but the damage is done. A small sigh escapes my mouth, and my pussy contracts so hard it feels like the start of an orgasm.
“I mean you no harm, Rosa.” My name is a whisper on his lips. His perfect, sensual lips, created to kiss a woman in all the secret places she wants to be kissed. I shudder at the sound of his voice, the way my name sounds on his tongue. It must be the cold. Yeah, that’s what it is.
“Not right now, at least,” he adds wickedly.
He knows my name, and he is implying that he might mean me harm at some point. I need to get my head out of the gutter and back in the game.
“You’re wet and chilled,” he says. “I’d offer you my jacket like a real gentleman, but as you can see, I don’t have one, and I’m a long way from being a gentleman. Perhaps we can go somewhere warmer and dryer. And more private?”
“Why?” I ask bluntly. I am shaken by the images, by the flood of want rushing through my normally controlled body. I don’t react like this, ever. Not to a vampire, not to a human, not to anything. I don’t like it, and I need to remember who I am.
I am a Seer and a Capelli. The Capellis are Vecchissime, one of four ancient families that have acted as a buffer zone between humans and supernaturals for hundreds of years. My birthright goes back centuries, and I am here to protect the weak from the strong.
Except right now, it feels like the only one who needs protection is me—protection from him and the effect he has on me. I wrap my fingers tighter around the stake, seeking reassurance.
“Because I need to talk to you, Rosa Capelli,” he says slowly, each word a drop of poisoned honey. “Your life is at risk.”
“Yeah? What’s new there?”
“The fact that this is serious. You must have noticed. That little trinket you wear under your clothes.” He gestures at my chest, his eyes lingering a moment longer than they should on the curves under my sweater. “You’ve been called more often, that thing heating up with more frequency, no? And each time, you are faced with a vampire, bigger and stronger than the last.”
“Luckily, less intelligent too. Like the Rogan here.” I motion toward the crumbled bone dust that has turned to mud on the ground.
“Don’t be so sure of yourself, cara mia. You are good, but you’re not invincible. You can be beaten.”
Before I can draw breath to make a suitably snarky reply, the hand that is holding the stake is grabbed with abrupt force, and my arm is twisted up and behind my back. He crushes my body against his, and one squeeze of my wrist with his long fingers makes me drop my deadly weapon. Except it’s not so deadly now, I think as it clatters to the ground and rolls away. Unless he trips and accidentally falls on it.
I have other problems. Like the fact that I am now eye-level with his chest. The first few buttons of his shirt are open, revealing golden skin and a hint of silky black hair, as well as the corner of a tattoo—maybe a dragon’s wings—snaking across his collarbone, etched in silver.
My eyes go wide at the sight. It is almost impossible to tattoo a vampire because their skin heals so quickly. Younger vamps, those transformed in recent times, often come complete with existing tats—the usual mix of tramp stamps, busty mermaids, and I Love Moms.
But the older ones, like this guy has to be? That takes real dedication. Using liquid silver mixed with the ink is the only method to make them stick, and it comes with a mind-blowing amount of pain. The only vampires who usually go to such lengths are members of the Coscas, which at least gives me a few hints as to this magnetic stranger’s origins.
I process all of this as I struggle to free myself, which only appears to amuse him. Cosca vamp fits. He has the arrogance, the strength, the streak of cruelty. He is made of power—I can feel it oozing from him—and he could pass as human in a way that Rogan could not. This man could move through both worlds and dominate all.