I shake my head.
“I have lived several of your lifetimes and have no reason to lie. Do not take my words lightly, little bird.”
“So...” I tip my head and wait for him to strike.
“I don’t take what is not freely given. Ever.” His eyes drift to the window behind me and the reflection of my tattoo. His fingers trace along my spine. “This is yours as well. Your choice.”
“Yes.”
“What made you choose this design?”
I look over my shoulder at the reflection. A collection of archaic symbols make up the abstract figure of a key. At the top, a diamond shape marks the base of my neck, flanked by two triangular figures that form a winged handle. A parade of interconnected symbols progress down my spine, forming the shank of the key and ending in a point, with two bits extending toward my right hip. The tattoo is purple and black, composed entirely of angles and spirals. Tony hated it. More than once, he’d asked me to have it removed. It was the one thing about myself that I refused to change.
“My mother was a professional artist, and this figure is featured in many of her most personal works. When I look at it, I see a key but others see an insect or?—”
“A dragon,” he says softly.
“Right. It was probably inspired by many things, but this particular piece of art was important. Both my mother and father had it tattooed on their chests, right over their hearts. After they were killed, I wanted it to remember them. I wanted them in my skin. I was only seventeen, but Maeve knew a guy.”
He strokes his long fingers along the tattoo again, sending shivers through me. I arch, inhaling as my breasts press into his shirt. “How does a woman with a tattoo like this become such a helpless, trembling little bird?”
“I’m not helpless,” I say weakly. The feel of Tony’s fingers twisting in my necklace comes back to me in a rush and I don’t know if my words are truth or lie.
“But you are trembling.” Damien’s eyes meet mine.
“It’s drafty in this room.”And I’m naked and pressed against a monster’s gloriously handsome body.
He toys with a strand of my hair, rubbing it between his fingers. “You have the power still. I haven’t yet taken your blood. You hold the candle. You should know, Isobel Gowdie was much like you. She was the first of the family to call on me. She was accused of witchcraft by a spurned admirer. At first, she didn’t want to hurt the man who she’d once thought of as a friend, but when they beat her and told her she would burn at the stake in the morning, she understood she had no choice. She lit my candle, and she traded her blood. I killed her accuser, the magistrate, and the would-be executioner and used some compulsion on the guards to have her freed by sunrise.”
I grasp onto that last part, remembering how he’d compelled Tamara. “Why can’t you use compulsion on Tony to save my house? Make him drop his claim to it?”
He shakes his head. “It only works if a person’s will is weak around a situation. Tamara left Tony’s office because she didn’t deeply care about being there. She found the situation awkward and embarrassing. I sensed in her the desire to leave and simply bolstered that thought. The same with the guards. They liked Isobel, and some part of them knew it was wrong to hold her. But the men I killed —men like Tony— theirwill was strong. Tony covets this house. I don’t know why, but he’s firm on this. I felt it.”
“He wants to hurt me,” I hypothesize. “Because he can’t control me any other way.”
Damien slants a curt nod and pulls me tighter against him. “You want to take the moral high ground. You don’t want blood on your hands. But it wasn’t wrong for Isobel to use me to save herself, and it isn’t wrong for you either. This is a game of kill or be killed, and if you don’t find the strength to fight him” —he runs a hand over my tattoo— “I’m afraid you may not survive this, little bird.” His voice becomes as low and smooth as a caress, his breath brushing my bruised throat. With his hand petting my back in long, fluid strokes, the temptation to obey him is strong. “Free me to do this thing for you. Be free of him.”
I sag in his arms, wanting to say yes, wanting to agree to anything this seductive creature proposes. Tonydoesdeserve it, I tell myself. But when I think about giving the command, I can’t. “A burning stake is different from a house, Damien. I wouldn’t be saving myself from an excruciating death. I’d be saving my home, my memories, and a place for Grams. Those are big, important things, but they aren’t the price of a person’s life. Even Tony’s. It’s not the same.”
Damien cups my face in one massive hand and it’s like he’s looking straight into me, as if his ability to travel through shadows extends to the darkness in my soul. “So be it.” His words come down like a hatchet. He strikes quickly, sinking his fangs into the side of my throat. Once again, there is a mild sting and then pleasure— deep, calming pleasure. I fist his lapels.
His hand drifts down my spine to cup my ass and squeeze. A moan escapes my lips, and my lashes flutter asmy eyes roll back. I clench his jacket tighter to keep myself from embracing him. He’s a monster. He’s a monster.
Too soon, he retracts his fangs, licking the wound again and again. Last time, he’d spent much longer at my vein until I’d passed out. This time, I’m not even woozy. He’s taken less blood, but it’s his touch that lingers, his hand smoothing over my butt cheek, back up my spine, to massage the base of my skull. He licks his way to the other side of my throat, and I tip my head, wondering if he’ll strike again. He doesn’t, but he lifts my hand and kisses trails along my bruised wrist, scraping the flesh with his fangs. I watch the deep red splotches fade to almost nothing and remember what Maeve said about his saliva having healing qualities.
“Thank you,” I say softly.
He meets my gaze and for a split second there’s this look on his face, like a kid who’s seeing his first dinosaur. There’s wonder and pleasure and warmth, and then the scowl returns and the softness I thought I saw is gone. He backs away toward the shadows.
“You can stay,” I blurt. It’s a terrible idea I’ll most certainly regret tomorrow, but I want him. If he asks me, I’ll let him take me right here on the floor. I don’t care about the repercussions or that I’d possibly be inviting my own death. For the first time in forever, I feel beautiful and wanted, and I welcome the pleasure I know he can give.
But he refuses with a shake of his head and a look loaded with challenge. “No, I can’t. But call me again if you change your mind about Tony.”
Damien blends into shadow and is gone with a flick of that smoky barbed tail, leaving only the crushing realization that he was my only plan to save Harcourt Manor.
10
The Library
