Kiss of Steel (27 page)

All of her father’s studies had been on the newly infected at the Institute. Oh, dear. Blade’s age or his CV levels must have played a new hand into the deal. What would his CV levels be? He was over half a century old, more than enough time for the virus to colonize. For a moment fear curdled in her stomach.

“What poison did you give me?” He somehow found his feet.

Honoria didn’t trust the look in his eye. She stepped back, her heels hitting the door. Her palms were sweaty. She brushed them on her skirts. “It’s hemlock. A small dose has unusual effects on a blue blood. My father discovered it.”

He took a lurching step toward her. “Feels like me ’ead’s wrapped in wool.”

Honoria felt around behind her for the door handle. She didn’t dare take her eyes off him. “Yes, well. You’ll feel strange for—well, I’m not quite sure. Studies show that it takes about ten minutes for the paralysis to wear off. But there you are, right as a trivet, and it’s probably been only six minutes now.” Her hand closed over the knob. “You should rest for a while. Let it wear off. I shouldn’t want you to fall flat on your face.”

“Ain’t got time to bleedin’ rest,” he snarled. “Do you know what you done? I got the Ech’lon arrivin’ within the ’our. I can’t greet ’em like this.”

Her hand paused on the doorknob. “The Echelon?”

“The duke of Caine’s brat. Per’aps you ’eard of ’im? Leo Barrons? And a full score from the Guild o’ Hunters.”

The heat washed out of her face, down her throat, and lower, stealing her breath. For a moment she thought she was going to faint. “Guild of H-hunters?” The infamous Nighthawks who worked the city.

“We’re ’eadin’ out after the vampire. They’re workin’ with me on this. I can’t take it by meself. Why? Got a problem with it, Honor? That’s right. The guild’s got a warrant with your name on it.”

His hand hit the door beside her head. The manacle clinked. The door slammed shut.

“I just want my diaries back and then I’ll go.”

“I never ’ad ’em. I tole you that.”

She shook her head. “Then who—?”

“Esme.” Blade said. “She’s the only one that reads ’ere. Stirrin’ trouble between us. But she didn’t force your hand. You were the one as poisoned me.”

“I didn’t…” She pressed her lips firmly together. “I’m sorry.”

“Aye, well, an apology ain’t enough.” He held out his wrists. “This time you got to earn it, Honor. I need your blood to get me back on me feet.”

Chapter 16

The key to the manacles was in Honoria’s pocket, burning a hole through her skirts. “I thought you wished to wait.”

“Circumstances bein’ what they are,” Blade replied. “I can’t afford to.”

“I could fetch Esme.”

“Already fed from ’er this week. And Will. The only thrall within a ’alf hour is Mrs. Faggety, and I need more than she can afford to give.” He pressed his finger between her breasts. “You’re the only one as I can safely take, and there’s a certain sense o’ justice.”

She swallowed, looking down at the firm finger pressed against her breastbone. She barely dared to breathe. But he was right. If he appeared before the Echelon—even Leo—looking like this, they’d be circling like sharks. And it had been her fault.

She let out a shuddering breath. “I’ll do it.”

It was only what she had agreed to anyway. Why not get it over and done with now rather than drag out the inevitable?

“Oh, I know, Honor. I weren’t askin’.” A hint of anger still stirred in his green eyes. “Come ’ere.”

He gestured toward the bed.

“I don’t think so,” she said. The bed was entirely too intimate. And she was nervous enough as it was. “Why not the chair?”

“Honor.” There was no disagreeing with that voice. “The bed. Lie down.”

Her limbs were jerky as she crossed the room and sat down on the edge. Blade held out his hands in front of her with an imperious look.

“You want
me
to find the key?” he asked when she hesitated.

“No. That’s quite all right.” She dug it out. Her fingers were shaking. Damn him. It took her what seemed like ages to fit the key in the manacles and turn it. Blade could have taken over at any stage, but he merely held his hands still, as if forcing her to obey him was part of her punishment.

“Lie back.” His voice was silky smooth.

She obeyed. He knelt on the edge of the bed, his weight dipping the mattress. Her hip rolled into his, and she caught at the sheets to prevent herself from tumbling into him.

Then his other knee came down, straddling her lower legs. Honoria wriggled backward, her back hitting the headboard.
Breathe
, she reminded herself.
Just
breathe
.

But she couldn’t stop her gaze from shooting to his mouth. That wicked, slightly lopsided mouth with its thin lips that often quirked in humor. A mouth that would soon be on her body, lapping at her blood.

Good
God.
She wasn’t ready for this. Perhaps she never would be.
I
made
a
deal
, she reminded herself.

Blade tossed the manacles beside her. There was no expression on his face, just a glint in his eye that she wasn’t quite certain how to decipher. “Put ’em on.”

“I’m sure that’s not necessary. I’ll lie still.”

“Honor. Shut up.” He reached over and dragged a small table closer then flung the leather roll of fléchettes open upon it. “I can’t afford to ’ave you move. It excites me.” His eyes met hers. “That’s not a good idea right now.”

“Could you please put your shirt on?” she blurted.

“Don’t you like the look of me?” He pointed to his pale, chiseled torso as though she weren’t well aware of it. Almost casually, he traced a line down the center of his chest, drawing lower, mingling with the tawny stubble of hair that arrowed toward his trousers.

Honoria ignored his question. “Please.” A flush of discomfort swept through her. This wasn’t easy. Though the role of a blue blood’s thrall in society was a respectable one, she had always been somewhat old-fashioned. A thrall meant that one was owned. Cattle. She’d seen enough feedings at the Institute to know what lay ahead. He would hold her down and slash a vein, latching on greedily for the hot pump of her blood.

How could you respect something that was essentially food? An awful thought. It burned within her stomach, a nauseating curl.

He had been kind to her. Bought her dinner. Brushed her hair in an almost affectionate manner. But this changed. Now. Here. After this moment she would be nothing more to him than a meal.

Blade seemed to sense something amiss. His finger stopped its wicked path. He unstraddled her in silence, got off the bed, stepped away, and grabbed at his shirt, tugging it over his head. “Better?”

She nodded miserably. “Yes.” The words were a hoarse whisper. She tried again. “Thank you.”

“I won’t ’urt you,” he said abruptly then frowned. “Or I’ll try to make it as easy as possible. It might sting a little.”

He’d misunderstood her reluctance, though the thought of the knife blade on her flesh sent a shiver through her.

“If you would please get it over with. I’d prefer not to discuss it.”

“Of course.”

He knelt on the bed again, straddling her. Honoria closed one of the manacles over her wrist before she could change her mind. She was nervous enough that she wasn’t entirely sure if she might fight him or not, and neither of them wanted that. It would only excite him, arouse the dangerous side of him. She’d seen enough feedings to know that. Still, the click of the latch sounded like a prison door closing.

“What should I attach it to? You’ve quite destroyed the bed.” Strangely her voice was cool and composed now. She felt a little distant from it all.

“Let me.” He knelt over her, his shadow obscuring the gaslights in the chandelier.

A shiver of anticipation swept through her. She lay on her back, feeling the oppressive weight of his body.

Blade focused on the manacles. He drew her wrist up, over her head. Then the other. Her nipples brushed against the stiffened linen of her stays. Strangely taut. Aching.

He latched the other manacle around the bedpost, then about her other wrist. Kneeling back, with his hands on his thighs, he stared at her, his weight heavy on her legs. “Where?”

“The femoral.” Heat flushed through her cheeks, and she closed her eyes to avoid his penetrating gaze. “I would still prefer not to have the marks visible.”

And no matter where he took from her, it would be intimate. At her throat, his mouth working on the delicate skin there. Or lips brushing against her wrist, but she already knew that the veins there weren’t as generous as others.

A little tingle of awareness throbbed between her thighs. Anticipation. Fear. And something else, something that burned through her like wildfire.

Her breath hitched. Blade looked at her sharply, but she forced herself to stare at the ceiling, trying not to think about the heavy steel cuffs that bound her to the bed.

Every muscle in her body was rigid. She felt the brush of her skirts over her shins as he slid them up. Anticipation coiled in her womb, and she realized she was holding her breath and let it out. Then his fingers brushed against her garters. “
Wait
.”

He stilled. Patient. Waiting. Honoria tried to form some coherent thought behind the instinctive protest. There was none. Her mind seemed to have turned to mush.

And still he waited. It was that alone that gave her the strength to meet his eyes. He let her have the control in a situation that was clearly his.

“I’m ready,” she whispered.

He picked up a tourniquet and tested the give in the leather. She recognized the style of it from the Institute. “I’ll make it swift.” One hand tugged her left knee up, pressing her stockinged foot into the mattress. The other looped the belt around her thigh.

She hadn’t meant to watch. But somehow she couldn’t tear her eyes off what he was doing. He moved with such efficiency she could almost forget that her skirts were up around her hips, her pale thigh naked to his gaze above the faded ribbons of her garter. Then he tugged the belt tight.

Pain. Constricting. A dull throb in her leg.

“’As to be tight,” he apologized, his voice dropping to a growl.

She cried out softly as he tugged the belt tighter. Her upper thigh felt as though it were throbbing in time to the beat of her heart. She could suddenly hear it, loud and panicked in her ear. Wrapping her hands around the chain of the manacles, she ground her teeth and held on.

After a moment’s wait, she tilted her head to look down. Blade was breathing hard, his jaw tight with strain. As if sensing her gaze, he looked up. Black eyes, the demon’s eyes, met hers. And the world fell away.

She couldn’t breathe again. She could only feel—the burning throb in her leg, the wet heat between her thighs, the aching tightness of her nipples. Danger screamed through her, sending her senses on alert.

Blade’s hands dug into the soft, tender flesh of her thigh. He sucked in a sharp breath through his nose. “Don’t move, luv.”

She nodded then let her head slump back onto the pillow.

Shutting her eyes narrowed her world down to the feel of his hands on her thigh. Tugging her garter ribbons undone. Rolling down the top edge of her stocking. Each touch was a blistering scorch of sensation against her throbbing, heated flesh. She bit back a whimper, not quite of pain. An unusual feeling she’d never felt before. His thumb. Testing the artery. Then the sudden loss of touch as he reached for the razor.

She tracked everything with her peripheral senses. The shift of his weight on the bed. The rustle of sheets, an intimate sound. Then the smooth brush of his hand against her thigh.

The pain of the razor was sharp and sudden against the inside of her thigh. Honoria cried out, trying to hold herself still. Heart pounding. A drum in her ears. And then…his mouth. Shockingly wet. A burning, icy heat against her skin. Sucking. An answering tug deep in her womb, as though each mouthful of blood drew with it something of her essence.

He jerked on the belt and let it loose. Her hips arched off the bed at the sudden agony as blood rushed into her starved limb. The piercing ache of his mouth intensified until she could almost bear it no longer.

“Easy.” A breath against her thigh, hoarse with need. An iron hand against the soft flesh of her lower abdomen, forcing her hips down.

She felt his touch keenly, the need burning through her with a fierce fury. She was barely aware of her wrists, tugging unconsciously at the manacles, or the way her skirts bunched around her hips, carelessly forgotten in the heat of the moment. Everything was his mouth on her skin—tugging, suckling, his tongue lapping at her sensitive flesh. Everything was the sudden surge of longing, so hot and wet between her thighs. Slick. An alien sensation so infinitely greedy that it swept her into this fury of need, giving no heed to consequences or rationale.