Page 4 of Cursebound
Except me, I decide as I attempt a classic knee-to-groin move. He might be a vampire, but he still has balls. Unfortunately, he also seems to have a brain, and he knows my fighting style. He shoves one of his thighs between my legs to block me. A big, thick column of a thigh, which is now firmly planted too near my pussy. So near I could ride it all the way to paradise. My traitorous lady parts flood with deeply inappropriate moisture, and I tremble slightly as he nudges harder into me. The bastard knows exactly what he’s doing.
His lips quirk into a crooked grin as I growl my frustration, and I battle a very real urge to stand on my tiptoes and kiss that stupid grin right off his stupid face. To lick the golden-brown wedge of flesh that is so close, to press my breasts to his chest. To tangle my free hand in his hair and pull that lush mouth of his down to mine…
Fuck, what is happening to me? I’m a Seer. I’m supposed to be immune to all the usual vampire tricks and charms, so what the hell is this?
Still looking amused, he tugs the arm he has twisted behind my back, tweaking it so that the angle and pressure tell me I can’t move an inch without something snapping. That I couldn’t escape if I wanted to. I should want to escape.
His free hand goes first to my waist, then slides to the small of my back, bringing my body closer to his. So close I can feel the hard outline of his cock, hear his quiet sigh as our hips clash.
Abruptly, the pressure on my wrist eases, and my trapped arm falls limply to my side. It throbs. And it’s not the only part of me throbbing as his black eyes lock on me. No, not black. They’re the deepest, darkest shade of brown.
He smiles, amusement playing across his face. Even that smile—knowing, proud, cruel—goes straight to my clit. I’m so turned on I feel like one touch in the right place would be enough to make me come, and it’s a feeling I hate and love at the same time.
I don’t roll like this. I don’t usually find vamps sexy, or find pain arousing, but both feel suddenly explosive. With this guy, pain and pleasure seem packaged into one breathtaking bundle.
“Like I said—none of us are invincible, Rosa,” he says, his voice a deep rumble of pure sex. “We all have our weaknesses… And believe me, if I had a normal heart, it would be beating as fast as yours right now.”
I hate that he’s right. It’s pounding behind my ribs, and my lungs ache from how fast I’m breathing. My hand strays to his hip, needing that contact on a bone-deep level. He pulls down my hood and sighs as my long, thick hair floods out over his hands. He wraps it around his fingers and tugs my head back so my face is turned up toward his. His other hand goes to the column of my throat, stroking the sensitive flesh there before circling my neck. He squeezes gently, a look of fascination on his face, as though he, too, is trying to control himself.
This is wrong. It’s dangerous. I am vulnerable, exposed. He could take me any way he wanted to. But no matter how loud the warnings are, they are drowned out by desire.
Using my hair to control me, he pulls my head to one side and leans down to my neck. No, no, no, my brain screams at me. But god, yes, my body replies as I grind myself against his erection, rubbing shamelessly up and down its thickness.
Soft lips brush the skin of my throat. A trail of kisses burns across bare, trembling flesh. I experience an explosion of need at the most gentle and unexpected of touches—then unwanted freedom as he releases me. He lightly dusts those same lips over my forehead and pushes my pulsating body away from his. Holding me at a distance, he looks me up and down and shakes his head.
“You are distracting.” He lets me go and runs his hands through his hair. His fingers leave it ruffled in thick ridges, and I like that there is at least one tangible sign that he feels this electric energy between us. Even if he has the self-control to stop himself from acting on it. “You are distracting, and we need to do the cleanup.”
He moves back into the darkness, away from the fizz and flicker of the streetlight, and for a moment I feel weak and deprived, like someone has switched off my air supply. I blink and take a few deep breaths, telling myself yet again to get a goddamn grip. He could have killed me. Or fucked me. Or both.
I’ve never been in this position before, and I don’t know how to react. Even my amulet is confused. It usually flares with heat when I’m at risk and cools when the threat is gone. For the last few minutes, it’s been cycling furiously between the two, adding to my body’s confusion.
I stoop to pick up my fallen stakes and follow him over to the wounded girl. The one I unforgivably forgot about. He crouches beside her, and I notice again exactly how well he fills out those sleek suit pants, and how seam-bustingly broad those shoulders really are. I stand behind him, stake trembling in my fingers, and tell myself that if I really needed to, I could take him. If he shows any sign of harming the victim, or me, then I will bring him down. Just as soon as I stop feeling like a high school virgin with her prom date.
“Are you planning to stake me or screw me? I can feel those green cat eyes of yours all over me, bella.”
Unsure of the answer to his question, I ignore him and kneel beside them on the rain-soaked cobblestones. The smell of rotting food wafts from the dumpster, and distant sirens and electronic dance music pumping from a car stereo play in my ears.
Rogan’s victim is young—late teens, barely out of high school from the looks of her, despite the heavy makeup and the fuck-me pumps. She’s gazing up at the vampire, her face glazed with confusion and smeared with mascara. He gently wipes some of the blood from her neck and turns her head to inspect the wounds. He shows no sign of reacting to the blood, not even the tinge of red that usually rings vampires’ eyes when they scent prey. Yet another indication that this predator is old and has had decades, if not centuries, to perfect his control.
Rogan, on the other hand, was a sloppy eater. He shredded her skin and sucked a good amount from her, but it looked like he sealed the wound, presumably hoping to return to his snack later. The vamp version of using a chip clip on a half-eaten bag of Doritos.
Besides the ick factor, vampire blood is the best remedy around, and I carry a vial with me at all times. I’m not a superhero, so I don’t always make it in time. Sometimes when I find my target, a poor sap like this girl here is already pale, cold, and bleeding out. A couple drops of vamp blood rubbed into the wound or swallowed can work small miracles.
In previous eras, drinking vamp blood was enough to turn someone, whether they wanted it or not. Since the vamps agreed to the Bargain—a witch-sealed pact that changed all the rules long before my time—it’s much harder. Now the blood exchange has to go both directions and be repeated for three nights in a row. No more accidental vamps, and a top-class treatment method.
Tonight, I’m not going to need my vial of the red stuff, and I’m glad. Vampires can get weird about people walking around with a pocket full of their life force, and I can’t say I blame them. If more humans knew about its curative properties, they’d be dead and drained, and the stuff would be available for purchase with a premium-rate healthcare plan.
Instead, I pull out a travel pack of wet wipes, wad up a small handful, and clean the worst of the blood away. The mundane act calms me, reminds me of why I’m here. Allows my heart rate to slow to something below skyrocket riot.
The girl is drifting in and out of consciousness, shaking and crying as the terror and pain take hold. I use another wipe to clear the streaks of makeup from her cheeks and to smooth away her tears. Jeez. She really is young under the spackle, with big blue eyes and trembling lips.
She looks so innocent, so scared, so desperate for help. For a moment, she reminds me of Serena, my twin sister, despite there being no physical resemblance. It’s all in that confused gaze. In how I imagine Serena’s last moments, as her bloody hands clawed at the door that trapped her inside a burning building. It was too late for her, and she died alone while I was across town at a party, dancing my drunk teenage ass off.
I couldn’t help Serena, but I can help this girl. Even if it means working myself to death, I swear I will do all I can for as long as I can. I hold her face with tenderness, look directly into her eyes, and speak slowly and reassuringly. “What’s your name?”
“Heather… Heather O’Malley.” She looks from me to the vampire with nervous, darting glances. Dammit, he’s getting in the way. For both of us.
I need her focus on me so I can persuade her that every word out of my mouth is true. Seers are gifted with a power of suggestion that borders on the hypnotic, a bit like a vampire charm. It’s really useful for skipping the line at Starbucks. Or when you need to erase the memory of a vicious vampire attack.