The Cursed (The Unearthly) (14 page)

Andre peeled away one of my socks and began to rub my feet, snapping my attention away from his sculpted torso. I tried to pull my foot away, but he held it hostage.

“No,” he said, and I heard a growl in his voice, “you are not going to be difficult about this.”

“Bossy much?”

“I’m a king,” he said. “It comes with the territory.”

After he finished rubbing one foot, he moved on to the other.

“Andre,” I started again, “you lost a lot of blood.”

A reluctant smile tugged at his lips. “I’m going to be fine, soulmate.” His face darkened up when his eyes moved back to me. “You, on the other hand, are still quite mortal,” he said, “and even though you make blue skin lovely, it’s not a good look for you.”

He got a splash for that.

“How come blood doesn’t seem to bother you?” I asked when he placed my foot back into the water. We were in a pool of it, yet he acted just as disinterested in it as I felt.

“I’m over seven hundred years old,” he said. “I’ve had plenty of time to learn how to manage my needs.” He picked up one of my hands and massaged warmth back into it.

“Plus,” he said, his gaze moving up to meet mine, “true, crazed bloodlust only happened to junkies, and those vampires were weeded out long ago.”

“Oh.” Another pop culture myth debunked.

My skin tingled where Andre’s deft fingers touched it, my first indication that I was getting better. He placed my hand back into the water and reached over to grasp my hips.

I sucked in air at his touch. I could be frozen over, a step away from death, and yet his touch still brought me back to life.

Andre’s eyes moved to mine, and I felt the soft stroke of his thumbs against my skin. He threw a leg over my own, so that my torso was imprisoned between his thighs. With a sly grin he picked up my other hand and began rubbing blood back into it while I shamelessly ogled him.

My gaze traveled up Andre’s sculpted chest, which was much too tan considering that he lived in darkness. My eyes scoured over the chiseled bands of muscle that roped around his arms.

Andre paused in his work. He gazed down at my hand, his nostrils flaring, and I felt his body tense.

“What?” I asked. That one word came out breathless and flustered.

Molten eyes met mine. “Your scent …” Almost as if he couldn’t help himself he leaned in, his lips skimming my throat. That live wire between us flared, electrifying my skin.

I turned my head so that my own mouth dipped near his hairline. I breathed in Andre’s spicy scent and blinked when I realized it was his pheromones. They must be pouring off of him. The scent had my skin glowing pale, golden light.

Andre drew back, and I saw barely contained lust behind his eyes. He closed them and took in a shaky breath. “It is so damn hard to keep my hands off of you, even now, when you’re recovering from injuries.”

His words sent a bolt of heat through me. A few more lusty looks and some sexy talk from him would have me sweating soon.

I lounged back, leaning my head against the rim of the tub. “Then don’t.” Despite my glowing skin, that wasn’t the siren speaking. Just as the devil might be growing bolder with me, so was I getting bolder with Andre.

The lust Andre had tried so hard to push away swamped his features once more. His eyes glittered. “Don’t tempt me,” he said.

“What if I want to?” I asked, not backing down. Oh yeah, I was definitely feeling better.

In the past Andre had kept himself tightly controlled. But now, he didn’t look like the master of his emotions. “You need heat and sugar,” he said, “you’re low on blood.”

“I need
you
.”

I saw how my words evaporated the last of his self-control. Hunger took over his features, and his gaze fell to my lips. He reached a hand up and ran his thumb over my lower lip, mesmerized by my mouth. Still he paused, like he just remembered that he was indulging in something he shouldn’t.

So I pressed a kiss to the thumb that rested against my lips.

That spicy smell of his amplified, and a subtle tremor moved through him. He closed his eyes. When he opened them, a possessive ferocity shined within them.

“We shouldn’t be doing this. Not when you’re still recovering,” he said.

I flashed him a slow, sultry smile, my skin beginning to illuminate. Who knew I could so easily fall into the role of femme fatal?

Seeing my smile, Andre cursed under his breath and ran his hands through his hair. Almost as if he couldn’t help himself, he glanced back at my lips and stared. And stared.

His hands dropped to his sides, and he leaned in achingly slow, drawing out the moment so that when his lips touched mine, the touch was sweeter than honey. A kind of desperation took over as our mouths moved against each other.

He coaxed my lips open with his own, and then the taste of him invaded my senses. My fangs nicked our tongues, and the sweet tang of blood joined the mix.

Andre groaned at the taste, and I felt my skin ripple approvingly. We were creatures of blood and darkness, and at the moment I fearlessly embraced this.

His hands skimmed my shoulders, sliding under the damp coat I wore. Without breaking off the kiss, he tugged it off of me.

I smiled against his lips, and he made a noise at the back of his throat. “You undo me, soulmate,” he murmured.

His hands dropped to my waist, and he pushed my shirt up. He drew away to pull it over my head. I heard the distant smack as it hit the bathroom floor.

Wind whistled through Andre’s teeth as he sucked in air, his gaze riveted to my chest. I glanced down and saw I wore one of the lacey bras Oliver gave me.

“
Jesus Christo
,” Andre muttered running a hand over his mouth, his gaze transfixed.

The last of Andre’s resistance crumbled right there. His lips were on me once more, but this time, the slow burning sensuality was replaced by an insistent, carnal craving that demanded more, more,
more
. For once, me, the demanding siren inside of me, and Andre were all on the same page.

Hurriedly we shucked off the last of our clothes, save my lingerie and Andre’s boxer briefs. Those required some admiration.

Andre chuckled at whatever expression I wore. “The best is yet to come, soulmate.” He wrapped a hand around my thigh and another around my back, and stood, lifting me with him.

His words jackhammered my pulse.

I latched onto him, reveling at the feel of our bare skin pressed together. “Where, exactly, are you taking me?” I whispered against him, pressing a kiss to his neck.

“To my bed.”

Chapter 19

His bed?
Brilliant
light flared along my skin; I might as well have sent up a smoke signal informing all interested parties that I was turned on. It would’ve been less obvious. “So the doctor thinks I’m healed enough for physical activity?” I asked.

“What makes you think we’ll be doing anything other than tending to your injuries?” Andre said.

My eyebrows shot up, and I drew back enough to see his face.

Laughter danced in his eyes. “I have every intention of giving you a thorough physical examination.”

My lips twitched, and then I laughed. A melodic echo laced my laughter. It was eerie as hell.

One sizzling look from him, and my laughter died away, replaced by throbbing need.

Luxurious warmth licked along my back as Andre entered his room, and we drew closer to a fireplace.

Andre rounded a large four-poster bed not so different from the one at Bishopcourt. He laid me down on it, rearing back long enough to gaze yearningly at my body. I watched the flickering firelight dance over him. Right now he looked like a creature of the night. A very, very sexy one.

His eyes traveled to my face, and when they did, affection mingled with lust, the emotion moving across his face and shining in his eyes. “What good deed did I possibly do to deserve you?”

“Good deed?” I asked skeptically. “You think a good deed brought you me? I’m probably punishment for all the bad you’ve done. You got cursed with me.”

A smile curled the edges of his lips. “You’re probably right
—
you are awfully surly,” he admitted. I swatted his arm and he grinned. As he stared at me, it melted away. “But I will be thanking fate till the end of my days for bringing me such a wonderful curse.”

At the mention of fate, I felt a chill rise from within me that had nothing to do with the storm outside. The devil had also mentioned fate this evening.
Don’t think about it.

Ever so slowly, Andre draped his body over mine so that I felt each point of contact as skin met skin.

I gazed up at the face of my soulmate, the king of the vampires. Loose tendrils of his hair hung down, and I laughed as water droplets slid down them and hit my skin.

He looked at me reverently, heat entering his gaze as we stared at each other. “Be mine forever, Gabrielle.”

“I already am,” I breathed.

His weight settled
heavily against me, and I stroked a thumb from the nape of his neck down the length of his back.

Andre showered kisses down my face and moved against me. Despite the remaining clothes, I felt the movement
everywhere
. I threw my head back, closing my eyes.

“All that is holy,” I said, breathless, “you obviously know what you’re doing.” Sometime during Andre’s 700 years of life, he’d learned exactly how to undo a woman.

Andre nuzzled my neck and brushed a kiss along it. “I’m glad I can give you this.” Again he moved against me, and again I felt my body’s sensual reaction everywhere.

In my other ear, I felt the breath of another mouth.
No, consort.

I stilled.

Andre drew back, his brow creased. “Are we moving too fast?”

I shook my head furiously. “No,” I said
—
practically pleaded. But inside I was beginning to freak out. Had the devil just interrupted us?

Andre eyed me cautiously. “Perhaps we should slow down …” he said. I could feel him retreating.

Screw this. I wrapped a hand around the back of Andre’s neck and pulled him to me. There was nothing sweet about the kiss I gave him; it was demanding, lustful. I moved against him as his tongue swept through my mouth. He groaned and gave in, his hands running down the length of me.

Consort, stop.
The devil’s voice tickled the skin of my ear, and I stiffened, breaking off the kiss.

Above me Andre paused. “Gabrielle … ?”

Our eyes met, and I swallowed. He caressed the side of my face. “What is it?”

You are mine and mine alone.

I flinched at the voice.

“Gabrielle,” Andre said more insistently.

I winced as I spoke. “It’s the devil. He’s demanding that we stop.”

Andre cursed. “He does not get a say in the matter.”

Oh yes I do. You are mine, consort. Not his.

“I am no one’s,” I said out loud.

Anger and confusion replaced lust on Andre’s face. “The bastard’s still talking to you, isn’t he?”

I really wanted to punch the devil in the face. Instead I rubbed my ear. “Yeah, he is.”

“What’s he saying?”

“Essentially, that you can’t have sex with me.”

Andre’s features went carefully neutral, which meant he was getting well and truly pissed. “And why is that?”

I couldn’t look at him when I spoke. “I think he wants to save me for himself.” My skin crawled and my stomach rolled at the thought. I couldn’t bear his touch, so I definitely couldn’t imagine doing
that
with him. The devil wanting a bride, that was the thing nightmares were created of.

“He doesn’t get to have you,” Andre said vehemently.

Ah, yes, this delicious subject. I swallowed. “Andre, there’s something I haven’t told you,” I stared at the crimson comforter.

“What is it?” Andre asked, his voice lethally calm
—
this was when Andre was his most dangerous.

I closed my eyes and replayed the end of my visit with the devil. Those parting words, the sureness in the devil’s voice.

“Gabrielle?”

My eyes opened, and I focused on Andre’s dark gaze. “The devil told me that he and I were fated to be together.”

Andre thinned his eyes, gave me a sly, disbelieving look, then tipped his head back and laughed. I wondered how many people had died to that terrible sound, because there was no humor in it. But there was plenty of wickedness. “Is he mad?” Andre asked.

“Most definitely.” When it came to the devil, that was a given.

“
We
are soulmates,” he said.

“Yes.” I knew that for certain.

“He is known as a trickster for a reason,” he said. “He lies.”

I watched the firelight flicker across Andre’s face. “That, or fate doubled dipped.”

Chapter 20

The next morning
I stared out the window of Andre’s study, watching the way the wind whipped small flakes of snow against the mansion.

Fated to two men. Clearly the Fates couldn’t agree on what was to become of me. At the moment, I despised all of them; they made it seem as though my sole destiny was to be with some dude.

Fate aside, companionship couldn’t be the only reason that the devil wanted me, could it? But then again, why else? I had some interesting abilities, but nothing the devil could gain from, right?

When I ruminated on this topic, Andre’s words always echoed back:
power
. This was all a power play. I just couldn’t yet see how I’d give the devil more power.

I stretched and grabbed the laptop Andre had loaned me. Well, technically he’d given it to me, but I didn’t exactly need another computer.

Still, I made good use of it, emailing Grigori, Oliver, Caleb, and the head Politia about where I was and the events that took place last night.

An email sent from Grigori’s phone came back right away, asking me whether I was okay and informing me that due to the bad weather conditions and the upcoming holiday, all Politia officers had received the next two days off.

Holiday? I checked the computer’s calendar. “I’ll be damned.” It was Christmas Eve. Somehow, between everything that had occurred since my birthday, I’d forgotten.

I turned my attention back to the email and typed up a message to Grigori letting him know I was alright and how to get ahold of me now that my phone was probably lying under a foot of fresh snow.

Once I sent the message, I leaned back, feeling useless. I grabbed a pastry from a nearby platter, my fifth one this morning and probably my twelfth since last night. After the devil crashed our little party and majorly ruined the mood, Andre had gone back to tending to me.

I downloaded a video chat app onto the computer and decided to give my mother a call. The line connected, and my mom’s smiling face showed up across the screen. My eyes pricked at the sight of her.

“Merry Christmas Eve, sweet daughter of mine,” she said.

With effort, I pulled myself together. “Merry Christmas Eve, mama,” I said.

In the background I could hear carols playing over the radio, and a pang of homesickness hit me. I should’ve been there with her. But she couldn’t afford a plane ticket for me, and I couldn’t just buy one with my own money. Not unless I wanted to tell my mother just how I came to be a millionaire dozens of times over.

“Did you get my package?” she asked, interrupting my thoughts.

“Er, no,” I said guiltily. I probably would’ve if I’d been on the Isle of Man. But I wasn’t, and she couldn’t know that her teenage daughter was staying in a new country. “But I’ve heard that international shipping to the Isle of Man is a nightmare.” Inwardly I cringed at the lie.

“Aw,” her face fell, “Well, maybe it will arrive today. I’d really hoped you’d get to open it on Christmas.”

We chatted for a long time after that, catching up on good books, TV shows, and what we’d done since we last talked. It was pleasure and pain, talking to her, since I missed her so dang much. And guilt always seeped in when I had to lie or omit the truth.

Just like right now.

“Where are you?” she asked.

“Peel Academy’s library,” I said, not missing a beat.

“Wow. Some library,” she said, noticing the gilded molding and the marble side table next to me. “They let you eat and talk in there?”

Whoops. “Ah,
no
, but the place is abandoned during the holidays.”

“Oh, well honey, I hope you’re not spending all your time in there when you could be celebrating with your friends.” She looked genuinely concerned. If only she knew the truth. She’d go ballistic.

She smiled over the screen. “In case I don’t talk to you tomorrow, Merry Christmas,” she said, “I love you.”

“Love you too. Merry Christmas.”

Thuack.

The knife made a solid sound as it embedded itself into the target. I’d discovered Andre’s training room late in the afternoon, and I’d lingered ever since.

I spun a knife in my hand. I’d forgotten how good it felt to exert control over something
—
even a simple weapon. It was almost cathartic after the last few days I’d had. Not to mention feeling my muscles catch and release with exertion. There was some basic satisfaction to being capable of defending myself.

Power tickled over my skin as I stared at the target
—
someone else’s power. Andre was waking up, and that meant that I might be able to train with him. The thought had the corners of my mouth curling up. Between Andre and me there was enough pent up sexual tension to make for some
very
interesting grappling.

I threw the knife in my hand, watching it tumble hilt-over-blade, before sinking into the target with a satisfying thump.

Another bull’s eye. I stepped back a few yards and glanced down at the belt I wore. Three knives were still strapped into the sheaths that circled my waist.

Two months ago, when Andre began to train me, I balked at the idea of training with swords and knives
—
medieval
weapons. But now, I understood. In a fight, a knife, a sword, a battle-axe, arrows, throwing stars
—
all these weapons and more could be retrieved and reused, unlike modern weaponry. A spent bullet could never be procured again in the heat of battle.

Not that this stopped supernatural beings
—
Andre included
—
from using guns. All and all, they were still quite effective.

But the other equally important reason Andre trained me with swords and knives was that these weapons required muscle control, good form, dynamism, and
—
when one was engaged in combat
—
improvisation.

Thuack, thuack, thuack.
I threw the rest of the knives in quick succession, a pleased smile dancing along my lips when they hit the target exactly where I had intended.

“Remind me never to piss you off.”

I started at the voice. I swiveled around to see Andre standing in the doorway, arms folded.

“You’re getting even better,” he commented, dropping his arms and sauntering into the room. “Though I still would’ve gotten the drop on you.”

“It’s good to see you too,” I said, turning back to my target to retrieve my knives. As I did so, my face heated. Even with our hard-to-ignore connection, Andre
was
still able to sneak up on me.

“Is my soulmate embarrassed?” Andre’s voice was amused.

Damn vampires and their sense of smell. When I reached the target, I began yanking the blades out. “You shouldn’t go provoking women who play with knives,” I said, sliding one into a sheath while reaching for another.

The air shifted, and then Andre’s lips brushed against my ear. “Maybe I like my women dangerous.”

I smiled. Tonight there
would
be some naughty combat. In one fluid motion, I spun, aiming the edge of the blade I held for Andre’s throat.

He caught my forearm, predicting the move, and bent my wrist back until pain forced me to drop the knife. Even as I did so, I brought my leg up and kicked him in the chest.

Or at least I tried to.

He let go of my arm in time to catch my leg, and then he twisted it. I only had an instant to lift my other leg. Had I waited a second later, Andre would’ve snapped the bone.

And he probably would’ve done it, too.

When we first began training, I assumed Andre wouldn’t hurt me. I assumed wrong.

The first injury was a dislocated shoulder. And it took me a week to forgive him. During that time, Andre still dragged my ass to training, still threatened bodily injury when we faced off, but boy was he remorseful. I wouldn’t talk to him, wouldn’t smile at him. Never had I heard someone apologize so much as he did that week.

Lesson learned: I might be able to bring a man to his knees faster by kicking his legs in, but nothing felled a man quite like a woman’s wrath.

My entire body twisted in the air, and I landed hard on the ground. But already I’d pulled my boot back and kicked Andre in the face as his body followed mine to the floor.

Andre bellowed as bone crunched, and for a split-second his grip on my leg loosened. It was as good an opening as I was going to get. I slammed my boot against him again, eliciting another roar from Andre, and then I wrenched my foot from his grasp.

I tensed my muscles, ready to lung at Andre and go for a kill shot again, but before I had the chance, he sprang forward, knocking me back into the ground. Even injured, he was a force to be reckoned with.

And
this
was precisely why Andre risked injuring me: pain honed us. Physically it made us better, quicker, more resilient, and it forced us to think and strategize through agony.

And it might be the only way I’d survive the devil.

With one hand Andre captured my wrists, and with his other hand he snatched one of the knives from my belt.

He pressed the edge of the blade against my neck, just as I had originally intended to do to him. “Never allow your enemy
—
”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” I said, feeling the knife slice into the skin of my neck as I spoke. “If I get pinned to the ground, I’ll be deader than you are.”

Andre frowned at that, and then his eyes caught sight of the blood at my neck. He grimaced and threw the knife aside before leaning down and placing a kiss to the wound. “I’m sorry for this, soulmate,” he murmured against my skin, just like he did every time he hurt me while we fought.

“It’s okay,” I said, mostly because I knew how badly Andre did feel about my injuries. He was raised in a time where women were treated like breakable objects. Hurting me went against some of his most deep-seated beliefs. But even those beliefs could be overridden by fear for my future wellbeing. “I’m, ah, sorry about your nose,” I added. “Sorta. Okay, I’m not, but only because that’s like the seventh time I’ve ever gotten a hit on you.”

“Oh?” Andre said. “You’re not sorry?” he murmured as his lips skimmed up my neck and jawline, heading straight for the pay dirt that was my mouth. Ah, naughty grappling. My favorite.

“Nope,” I said, being obstinate.

His mouth halted. “Well in that case …”

He drew his lips away from my skin, and I groaned. The bastard was going to hold out on me until I caved. “Okay, fine,” I conceded, “I’m super sorry. Are you pleased now?”

Andre’s mouth returned to my skin, and I felt him smile against it. “Very much so.”

His lips had just alighted upon mine when his phone rang. He groaned against me. “I’m not done with you,” he whispered into my mouth, and then he pulled away to sit on his haunches.

“Yes?” he said brusquely into the phone he’d procured from his pocket.

“Sir,”
said the voice on the other end of the line,
“I looked into last night’s attack, just like you asked.”

I pushed myself up onto my forearms, and Andre’s eyes met mine. He knew I could hear the conversation.

“And?” he asked.

“It seems your theory is right that a demon attacked.”

His theory. Ha!

“Only it’s so much worse,”
the man said.

“How so?” Andre’s grip had tightened on the phone.

“In demonic circles there’s a bounty out on Gabrielle’s head. It’s rumored that the devil himself placed it.”

My eyes widened. Had that been why I’d seen so many shadows since I’d arrived? Were they all demons who were after me?

“And what, precisely, is the bounty for?” Andre said, his low pitched low.

I heard the man on the other end of the line exhale before he spoke again.
“Whoever can successfully deliver the girl to the devil has been promised title and power by the Unholy One.”

It didn’t take a rocket scientist to deduce that whoever was going to
deliver
me wasn’t planning on dropping me off at the devil’s doorstep. Nope. My butt was going to get shanked.

“We need to stop this,” Andre said, menace lacing his words.

A pause. Then,
“Sir, I’m not sure we can.”