Bloodspell (5 page)

"Hey there! Are you lost? You look confused, and well, you're talking to yourself." Her savior was a pretty girl with tight, reddish brown curls and brown eyes. She was with a dark-haired girl with an extremely sour face. The redhead continued in a friendly manner. "My name is Charla. That's Angie. Are you new? Where are you headed?" It was hard to keep pace with her rapid-fire speech.

"Um, yes, I'm a transfer. I'm looking for Kramer."

"Psych? Yeah, I'm in that building, too. Come on, we're headed there. Those maps are the worst, but don't worry, you'll get the hang of it. Only a few hundred students here, so it's not that big of a place and everything's pretty easy to find."

Victoria nodded her thanks and fell into stride beside Charla. The other girl followed and Victoria could feel the heat of her stare burning into her back.

"I'm Tori by the way, Tori Warrick. Thanks so much for stopping. I was getting desperate."

The dark haired girl's sudden hiss of indrawn breath behind her was barely audible, but Victoria heard it and could feel an answering flush heating her cheeks. Before she could turn around, Charla announced that they had arrived. Victoria shook it off. Maybe she had imagined it—or not, as the dark-haired girl rudely pushed past her and tossed an unpleasant look over her shoulder. Victoria ignored her and smiled her thanks again to Charla before heading into the crowded classroom.

The senior class material was the same as what she would have been taking at St. Xavier's, and she took careful notes on her new laptop during the hour-long course, enjoying the feel of being back in a classroom after the summer.

She glanced around and recognized the dark-haired girl, Angie, sitting about ten rows down. As if she had felt the weight of Victoria's glance, she turned around and stared back malevolently, her dark eyes piercing. Victoria refused to look away—she hadn't done anything wrong—and only the teacher rapping his books on the table signaling the end of class broke their eye contact, neither willing to back down.

Victoria shook her head and gathered her things, refusing to let some random girl ruin her day. She quickly checked her schedule. She had a break and then history, which was in another building. People chatted loudly as they exited the room, laughing and talking about their summer holidays. It felt nothing like St. Xavier's, the energy and excitement were infectious. She couldn't help smiling to herself as she walked toward the concert hall to finalize her assistant job before her next class. This time, she found the building easily.

"Five minutes," mouthed a young woman sitting at the outer desk while she wrapped up a phone call. Victoria waited in the small hall area and perused the posters of concerts and events lining the walls. She loved music. Going to Carnegie Hall every weekend with her parents in New York had been one of her favorite pastimes, and remained a fiercely cherished memory. As she walked, the lilting sounds of Beethoven came from a piano down the hall, its haunting melody flawless. Curious, Victoria motioned to the assistant that she'd be right back.

She pushed open the nearest door, noticing a lone, shadowy figure on the stage at one end sitting at a grand piano. His fingers flew over the keys with practiced ease. The music shifted from Beethoven to something that sounded like Chopin's
Fantaisie-Impromptu
piece with its impossibly fast finger-work that made her breathless, and then jerked yet again to a simpler refrain that sounded oddly familiar. The hairs on the back of her neck rose as the pianist's raw emotion flowed through the music, his keystrokes forceful and heated. As he gentled his movement and lowered the key, spacing out each note of the last few bars, Victoria recognized the music. It was Michael Nyman's score from
The Piano,
a piece of music that was as dark as it was sweet, and one that had always moved her. She closed her eyes.

The music faded into silence as the sounds of a stool scraping back filled the void and her eyes shot open. Christian Devereux was staring at her from across the dark room, his gaze impaling her to the wall. In the dim light, she knew he probably couldn't see who she was, but she guessed he knew that someone was there, and had been listening.

"You play very well," she said, then fled, the door swinging shut behind her.

In the hallway, Victoria pretended to stare at the floor as the door swung open, crashing on its hinges as Christian strode out. His brows were drawn together in a scowl and his lips were pressed into a thin, grim, white line. Annoyance emanated from every inch of him, yet even angry, he was as striking as she'd remembered. No doubt she was the cause of his anger, spying on him as she'd done. He looked furious ... and attractive in a way that shouldn't be attractive at all.

Her heart raced, jumping into her throat as his strange colorless eyes met hers for an instant, the beginnings of a smile on her mouth faltering and then disappearing altogether from the intensity of his flinty glare. His nostrils flared, his brow snapping together even more tightly, and he looked right through her as if she were not even there.

"
Miss
?" The assistant's voice was sharp as if it were the second or third time she'd asked, and Victoria turned distractedly. "Student identification card, please!"

"Um, yes sorry." She fumbled in her bag and handed over her ID.

"Fill these out." The girl thrust a pile of papers across the desk, which Victoria took mumbling her thanks.

Christian had gone without so much as a word, and his burning, ominous glare had left her shell-shocked. Swallowing the clogged knot from her throat, Victoria sighed and filled out the paperwork.

"Superb start," she said to herself, as she made her way out of the building and across the quad. She'd managed to somehow alienate two people in the space of three hours and it was only the first day. She couldn't begin to imagine what the rest of the day would bring.

Her history class was interesting enough though, and she met a few more people at the library prior to the class. Before she knew it, she was heading back to the parking lot utterly exhausted. Not really looking where she was going, and more than a little glad that the first day was finally over, she almost tripped over the pair of long denim-clad legs leaning against the side of her car. Her heart double-tapped as her brain drank in the way his gray rugby shirt clung to his shoulders and matched his eyes. His tousled blond hair shone gold in the fading sunlight.

Victoria berated herself for feeling any degree of pleasure upon seeing him after the way he'd treated her earlier but she couldn't disregard the sudden increased tempo of her heart or the sudden trill of her blood. Nonetheless, she tried to project a look of distracted boredom, as she stepped over his legs and unlocked her car.

"Oh, hello. Christian, was it? Are you lost?"

"I guess I deserve that," he said without rancor. "Here, let me help you with those books." Before she could protest, he'd placed her things in the backseat of the car, and then stood up to face her. "I really want to apologize for what happened in the music hall earlier today. I was upset and taking it out on the piano, and then you arrived. I'm sorry. It has nothing to do with you. I was just ... frustrated."

"Why?" she said, distracted by his absurdly luxurious lashes as she tilted her head to look up into his face. She was five foot eight inches and still had to arch her neck to look at him properly.

"There's been a change in the funding for my program, and there's a chance that it will be revoked completely," he said. "I'm a student here," he added helpfully.

"In music?" she asked before she could help herself. "I mean, I saw ... I heard you playing. You're not bad."

A smile. "Thank you. No, not music, cultural studies."

"Oh. Well, I'm sorry about your program."

"It's one of those wait and see situations."

"I hope it works out then," Victoria said politely, wanting nothing more than to escape his nearness as she reached back to close the passenger door of the car. He reached forward at the same time and their hands met. A jolt of electricity passed between them that made her want to wrench her hand away. Her blood raced as tiny pins and needles surged across her entire body from the one single touch. For a second, she forgot how to breathe.

Christian stared fiercely into her eyes, the warring emotions in hers reflected in his, and she swallowed, hypnotized by something completely outside of herself. She felt her body sway toward him. He took a deep, steadying breath and released her fingers, stepping back at the same time. A practiced, shuttered mask fell into place.

Victoria jerked back, mortified at her body's heated response. She swallowed, her distressed gaze drawn by an imperceptible movement of his mouth. A fleeting vision of what it would feel like to be kissed by him ran through her head and heat ballooned in her chest. Unbearably warm, she too stepped back, staring at his impassive, granite face. Every part of her wanted to read his mind, as she'd done so easily with others earlier in the summer.

What are you thinking?

As if the thought magically translated into action, a part of her subconscious leapt forward to obey the instinctive command. It was like hitting a brick wall head on.

Christian raised an eyebrow. He had felt it! He'd felt her trying to read him! Emboldened, Victoria accepted the unspoken challenge and
pushed
harder. The wall didn't budge. His mouth twitched, and for some reason, his amused arrogance infuriated her so much that without thinking, she gathered the already agitated energy swirling within her and hurled it toward him.

Christian went flying back three feet before crashing to the hard asphalt. He was on his feet in seconds.

"What the hell was that?" he said. She was frozen in shock.

"I have no idea," she said, then immediately contrite, she asked, "I'm so sorry. Are you hurt?"

"No." His voice was flat, cold.

"Well, you're the one who asked for it," she said, hiding her horror and remorse behind a show of bravado. She wasn't sure whether to kick him or apologize. And now, blast it, he knew that she could do things—strange, freakish things that would no doubt have him running in the opposite direction.

Only he
wasn't
running ... he was staring at her with an odd, appraising expression. He stepped forward, his face relaxed but wary, his fingers barely brushing a tendril of hair that curled into her face.

"Don't worry, Tori, your secret is safe with me." He paused, as if considering his next move. "I'll forgive you on one condition."

"What's that?" she asked, stunned into silence by his gentle caress.

"Dinner. Saturday night."

"You're asking me on a
date
?"

"I would say tomorrow but my back just isn't up to it," he said, deliberately misunderstanding her question and pressing his hands into his lower back. He grimaced. Almost immediately, he saw the guilty flush steal up to her cheeks and he knew she would agree, if only out of misplaced remorse.

"Why?" she asked.

"Because we got off on the wrong foot, and I'd like to make amends."

The velvety tone of his voice was back and Victoria could feel herself melting in response to it. His reflective eyes were intense, compelling. She'd never wanted to say yes so badly to anything in her life! She tore her eyes away. A date, or anything that required proximity, would be disastrous! It wasn't that she didn't trust him, she didn't trust
herself.
Already her legs felt like water.

"I don't think it's such a good idea ..." she began.

"Why not?"

"I barely know you."

"So this is a way for us to get to know each other."

"I don't—"

Christian didn't hesitate. "Don't you think you owe me just a little?" She stared at him hard. The expression in his eyes didn't flicker for an instant.

"Fine, Saturday then!" she said, capitulating not at all gracefully, flouncing into her car and slamming the door. As she drove off, she didn't deign to look back but could hear his laughter in her head all the way down to the end of the drive.
Damn him
!

CHRISTIAN WATCHED THE car's retreating lights and smiled. She'd resisted his compulsion easily but he didn't mind doing whatever it took to get what he wanted. In more than a hundred and fifty years no one had been able to catch him off-guard, far less knock him off his feet. If it were as instinctive as he had initially thought, then he had seriously misjudged her abilities. The thought of Lucian rose unbidden in his mind, and he shoved it away. He knew
exactly
what Lucian would do with her.

He took out his cell phone and turned it between his fingers, his face brooding. Christian remembered the touch of her fingers on his own and the electricity that had coursed between them. He'd barely been able to contain himself, and all he could think about was placing his lips in the delicate curve of her neck, taking and taking until he couldn't take any more. The thought of it had almost driven him to his knees. Very deliberately, Christian placed the cell phone back into his pocket.

Everything in him knew that it was a mistake. He should call Lucian, and let him assess the threat, because now he knew without a doubt that there was one. Her power was too raw ... too dangerous.

He should walk away before he was pulled any deeper or jeopardized far more than just himself. But still, even as he thought the words, a part of him recognized that it was too late. Far too late.

They
would already know.