“I don’t want to become a new, stronger being,” Octavia said. “If anything I would want to be normal. What of the rest of you? Haven’t you ever craved just being normal? Having children to love? Enjoying the beauty of a spring day?”
“It is impossible for us,” Esmeralda spat. “We are hunted always because we have power. If you do not join us, your father will die.”
“If I join you, he will also die, and so will other innocent people.” She had to stop this. The only way to do so would be to kill Esmeralda.
She had come alone, but not completely unarmed. Slipped up her sleeve was a sharpened stake. Shifting her arm as Althea had explained, she felt the point of the stake slide into her palm. “I won’t join you.”
Esmeralda roared, showing long, curving fangs.
Octavia stepped back, trembling. She couldn’t give in to fear. Her husband moved forward, but the witch held up her hand and suddenly Matthew could not move.
“I could kill you,” Esmeralda said. “In your place, I would take your daughter. She has the same powers as you; they are just dormant now.”
“She is an infant,” Matthew growled.
“As long as she possesses the same strong magic as Octavia,” the wolf-shifter said, “if Octavia dies, she will ultimately take her place as one of the special six women. I will keep her with me and have her powers awakened as soon as she is old enough.”
Octavia shook her head. “No, I will never let you take my daughter.”
Matthew fought to move. She saw the extreme strain in his face. Esmeralda glared at her. “It is time. If you do not come with us, we will kill you and take your daughter. Your husband is a mere man—he does not have the strength to fight us. You have a choice. Help us, or lose your father, Sutcliffe, and your child.”
Octavia knew if she attacked now, she couldn’t win. She had to drive the stake in Esmeralda when she wasn’t expecting it, when she thought she had won and was overconfident.
Esmeralda was driven by hatred. Octavia had to make the vampiress believe she had won.
“I will do it,” she declared. “My husband does not love me. He wants to imprison me. No man would ever accept me for what I am.”
Matthew grunted and growled, trying to fight the magic. “Octavia, no!”
“I must,” she said simply. She turned to Esmeralda. “What do we do?”
“We take hands and walk into the flame.”
Damn. Fear shot through her. She would have to slide the stake back up her sleeve, and she would have to break the handhold to use it. She would lose the hope of distraction. The flames would kill her.
Or would they? She could start fires with her emotions.
Could she use the control she had developed to control this fire and to protect herself from it?
Octavia adjusted the stake back into her sleeve. She held out her hand to Esmeralda. “For my daughter’s sake, I will go with you.”
The dragon-shifter took her other hand. They made a ring around the flame, then Esmeralda commanded them to walk forward. She breathed in smoke and coughed. The heat of the fire was terrifying. Around them, the light cover of snow was melting.
She had to do this.
Esmeralda shouted a strange incantation, and the fire exploded in size. Octavia, silently, commanded the flames to lick around her but not touch her.
She heard Father shouting and Matthew’s howl of horror. At her side, Esmeralda screamed, “Betrayer. I will kill you.”
In that moment, Octavia jerked her hand free. The stake fell into her hand. Then something grabbed her by her arms. Even without looking, she knew it was Matthew. He wanted to save her.
She had only seconds. She lunged, driving the stake into Esmeralda’s chest. The vampiress was weakened by the flame. She couldn’t escape Octavia’s killing blow.
Esmeralda dropped to the ground. The other women ran out of the flames, and Matthew pulled her free.
Would they be attacked by the other women?
But Octavia saw they were no longer alone. A dozen men stood there, holding crossbows, and leading them were Sebastien De Wynter and the Earl of Brookshire. The werewolf, dragon-shifter, and hawk-shifter changed shape. The wolf loped away; the other two flew.
They must never have been alone. Despite her plea to the Royal Society that she must go unaccompanied, they must have followed her.
Crossbows lifted. “No!” Octavia shouted. “Let them go. Esmeralda is gone, and I don’t think they wanted to do this.”
“It is true,” the witch said. “Esmeralda was the oldest of us all and the most powerful. We were brought here by threats. We do not want to rule the world; we want to exist in it and be happy.”
“Yes,” said Octavia. “That is what we want. Let them go.”
De Wynter nodded. He issued the command, and his group of slayers lowered their weapons.
Strong arms went around her. Octavia turned—and her husband pulled her into his embrace.
“How did you escape the power of the magic?” she asked softly, and she sank against his chest.
“I don’t know.” His arms tightened, and he kissed the top of her head. “I was not going to let you walk into a fire and lose you, Octavia.”
“What happened at the castle? I did not want to leave people there unprotected.”
“I arrived just as the attack started. De Wynter, Brookshire, and I were able to drive the assassins back, and we ensured no one in the castle was hurt.”
“Thank heaven,” she breathed.
“You are all right.” His concerned gaze searched her eyes. “And Lottie?”
“We are both fine.” She could see De Wynter’s men tending to Father.
“It should be over now,” Matthew whispered. “With Esmeralda gone, and the other women unwilling to join their powers, the males have nothing to fear. The assassins will no longer bother you.”
“There is still the curse. We have to try to save you.” She told him about Mrs. Darkwell. She remembered how the woman had said she would return. It appeared Mrs. Darkwell had been correct.
“We will do that. But I want to see Lottie, and we should get your father home. Then I want to spend the rest of the night making love to you. In peace, joy, and pleasure.”
20
Cursed
S
he loved to watch her husband strip off his trousers and his underclothes.
Octavia had seen it quite a few times now, but it still left her breathless.
Matthew grinned. “You look adorable in the tub, Octavia. Or may I call you Tavie, as your father does?”
She sat up. In the bathing room attached to her bedchamber at Sutcliffe House, she had been lying back in the tub, washing off grimy ash and the smell of smoke from the fire. She had to make room so her husband would join her. Steam rose from the water, and the air was filled with the heady, exotic scent of sandalwood soap.
“Do you truly forgive . . . me for what happened to your father? I know it . . . well, it ruined your life, for it took your father from you and turned your mother into a unhappy woman.”
He frowned. “It wasn’t your fault.”
“But I am what my mother was.”
“It wasn’t your mother’s fault that my father died. Nor was it his fault. It also wasn’t mine—”
“Heavens, how could you have felt responsible?”
He looked away, arranging towels on a stool. “I . . . I guess I couldn’t understand why I wasn’t worth living for. Why Father did not want to stay for Gregory and I.”
Octavia moved through the water, making droplets splash over the edge, but she didn’t care. She reached out and stroked his hip. “It had nothing to do with you. Your father was in the thrall of a wicked magic—”
She stopped. No wonder he had said he would never fall in love. His father had claimed to be “in love,” but he had really just been a slave to an evil magic.
It was the same for Matthew. Could he ever really believe he was in love with her? Or would he always think it was just a succubus’s dangerous, deadly magic?
She realized something else. “I never asked you when you were cursed! How long ago was it?”
“I was given a fortnight. I have two days left.”
Two days! Panicked, she moved to get out of the tub. “We must go to Mrs. Darkwell and convince her to remove this curse—”
He grasped her arm. “Later. Sex first.” Swinging his leg over the side of the tub, he drew her to him as he lowered into the water. He slid both legs in, so he was sitting on his bottom beside her.
She was floating in the water, and he gently pulled her though the water so she floated over him with her bottom gliding over her thighs. Then her cunny floated over his cock. Her nether lips brushed over him as she bobbed in the water. It was barely a touch, but it made her heart pound. Water lapped at her breasts, which also bobbed.
He reached down; his hand stroked her bottom before he took hold of his shaft. She felt the drag against her sensitive lips as he pushed his cock down.
Like a mermaid, a siren, she pushed down through the water, so her quim took his hot, slick cock inside. Her bottom pressed against his hard groin and thighs. Her moans of delight, of agony, of anticipation and encouragement floated out in the perfumed, steamy air.
“Yes,” he groaned. “Take me deep. Sit your lovely arse right on top of me.”
Water sluiced off his arms as he lifted his hands. Then he slid them back in the water, to squeeze and knead her breasts. Filled with milk, her breasts were enormous . . . and sensitive. She squeaked. He lightened his touch.
“They are so lovely and big,” he whispered, then nibbled her neck.
That made her freeze, until she realized he was just using his hot, firm lips. His tongue stroked her wet skin.
Oh, this was so good. She lay back against him, reveling in the pleasure of his tongue and his hands. His hips began to move under her impatiently.
Of course—she had him inside, he wasn’t doing anything, and in male fashion, he was rather eager. “I want to celebrate having you with me, having you safe.” His voice was rough, throaty.
Pushing off with her hands, she lifted on him, then dropped. His hoarse moan sent shivers down her spine.
One thrust really made him feel so good? She could make him feel so good?
The water made it feel elegant to rise and fall on him. The warmth and slipperiness felt erotic and sinful. All her skin felt as her cunny did—hot and silky and slick.
His hips arched, thrusting his cock hard.
Oh yes, this was perfect. She was exhausted from the confrontation with Esmeralda. Walking into the fire had drained her strength—and had tested her courage to its limits.
This made her feel strong.
Strong enough to fight Mrs. Darkwell, to triumph over the curse.
Matthew leaned back into the tub, so he could thrust his hips with great force. His crotch banged her bottom, his hard cock drove deep, and he lifted her through the water.
“Touch your clit,” he rasped. “Pleasure yourself while I fuck you.”
She loved the sheer naughtiness of what he’d said. She felt wild and wicked, and she liked it. Splashing water everywhere, she pumped on him. Her hand knifed through the water, and she found her private place and rubbed mercilessly.
She panted. Moaned. Screamed.
Oh God, the pleasure struck like a burst of lightning. She arched forward on him, then fell back. Her body was out of control.
She’d never felt so good . . . or so strong.
She bounced and bounced, then he moaned, “I can’t last much longer. Will you take me in your ass?”
Yes. She was tingling there, in her entrance there, surprisingly sensitive after her orgasm.
He lifted her; she held her breath, then she felt the thick, full head nudge against the round opening. Even just that touch felt stunning, wonderful.
She was floating, poised on his cock, and it was magic and naughty.
Then he arched his hips and pushed his thick member in, just a little.
“Oooooh, yes,” she gasped. Her head flopped back against his shoulder.
Two more slow and gentle thrusts, and his cock was all the way inside. She couldn’t deny the arousal of this. She liked this.
His fingers slid between her nether lips to touch her clit.
He pleasured her three ways—his cock up her bottom, his fingers on her clit, his hand on her breast.
Hazy with pleasure, she moved with him. Her groans and cries grew louder, like music coming to its wild, fervent climax.
“Oh yes!”
Then he growled, like a wild beast, and he thrust his cock deep. Heat filled her, and she felt the spasms of his out-of-control body against her. They gasped together, cried out together, laughed in unison.
“I never dreamed I would find this. A woman I could admire, respect, love, and lust for—all in one. I thought it would be easy to resist love. You make it impossible.”
What did he mean—that because she was a succubus he couldn’t resist her?
Desperately drawing in breath, she managed to whisper, “All right, we must go now to Mrs. Darkwell.”
“Octavia.” He let his head fall back and rest on the rim of the tub. “There’s no rush, love.”
“There are only two days. How could there not be a rush?” Then she understood. “You don’t think you can be freed. Do you not believe I love you?”
“Mrs. Darkwell does not want me to be with you. So I don’t believe she will free me.”
“You think she wants you to die?”
“Apparently she doesn’t believe I am good enough for you.”
“I hate calling upon females,” her husband grumbled, as their carriage drew to a halt in front of Mrs. Darkwell’s manor house.
Octavia arched a brow. “This is hardly a social call—we are here to have you freed from a curse. Besides, you are holding a female on your lap, and you seem very happy to be with her.”
Her heart lurched as her husband smiled down at Lottie. Beneath her blankets, Lottie wore a pretty baby gown of lace, along with a lacy bonnet trimmed with silk roses. She blew bubbles at Matthew, making a wistful smile come to his lips. Octavia knew he was fighting his need for day sleep.
“Do you really thinking bringing Lottie will work?”
“If Mrs. Darkwell’s tasks on earth involve finding true love, I want to make it appear we have found it. Whether it is the truth or not.”
“It is the truth,” he growled.
But she saw the uncertainty. He just did not know.
Feminine laughter could be heard outside. Octavia looked out, and she saw Mrs. Darkwell’s tall, elegant form step out from the house, onto the front step.
She stood. “It is time, Matthew. We are going to win.”
Minutes later, she was seated in the front parlor with Matthew and Mrs. Darkwell. Matthew cradled Charlotte and from his arms Lottie gazed at the world around her.
“We have come to break the curse,” Octavia said simply. “Matthew had to win my heart within a fortnight, and he has done so.”
Mrs. Darkwell held up her hand as a footman entered, bearing a tray of drinks. Matthew had brandy, and two slender glasses of sherry were for the females.
Matthew took a sip. Then he made a face and put it down. “Damnation,” he muttered, “I cannot drink anymore.”
“Just blood,” Mrs. Darkwell pointed out. “It is how Esmeralda sired you.” She took her drink and sipped. “The curse can only be broken if you truly love him.”
“I do.”
“Do you love him even if he doesn’t love you in return? Even if he can never believe in his love for you, because he is afraid of it? Once you attempt to break the curse, you will set it in motion. If you cannot break it, Sutcliffe will die.”
Panicked, Octavia looked to her husband. She knew she had to try. The curse required him to win her love. It did not say he had to love her in return to survive.
She was willing to love him without certainty he would ever love her. It would lead to heartbreak, but she was willing to do it.
She was willing to take an enormous risk.
All her life, she’d dreamed of traveling like Sutcliffe and her father. She never would have dreamed the greatest and most dangerous adventures lay in love and marriage.
“He lives or dies by your answer,” Mrs. Darkwell whispered. The woman stood, lifting her arms toward the heavens. “And your answer must be the truth. You can never lie well enough to outwit a curse. Do you love him, Octavia?”
She hesitated. She wanted to be
sure
. It was only months ago that she had run away from this man. Love could be terrifying: Her mother had died of love for her father; his father had died for love of her mother.
Could she love the Earl of Sutcliffe even if he never loved her? Could she survive a hopeless love?
Matthew was watching her. He’d dipped his head. Obviously he believed he’d failed—he didn’t think he’d captured her heart.
Then his gaze slipped away from hers. In that one moment, when she needed him to look at her and she needed to see that he cared for her—
He looked at Lottie. Tenderness leapt into his eyes, and they glistened with tears. His lip quivered. She’d never seen him make such a vulnerable gesture. He was Lord Sutcliffe, the fearless explorer.
Inside though, he was a man who needed love but was afraid to ask for it.
He had moved heaven and earth to save their baby. He had walked into a fire to rescue her.
Watching that sweet delight in his eyes as he looked longingly at their daughter, Octavia knew the truth.
“Yes,” she shouted, her voice echoing through the entire house. “I love him.”
At that instant Mrs. Darkwell swiftly moved to her husband and scooped Lottie from his arms.
Octavia rose to her feet, fearing she had been tricked, until she saw her husband’s face. She gasped in horror.
Blood. The hunger for it roared through him. His jaw twisted, distorted, and shifted back and forth with a loud
crack
. His fangs shot forth, driving into his lower lip and drawing blood.
Delicious, tasty, beautiful blood.
Then his every muscle screamed with pain, and Matthew grabbed the nearest chair for support. He jerked helplessly as his muscles seemed to expand, then contract. His pulse galloped; his heart felt on fire and pain shot from it, down his arms and through his gut to his legs.
The pain was so great, he slammed his head against the wall.
He roared like a beast, staggered to the middle of the room, so he was facing his wife and Mrs. Darkwell, who held Lottie. Like a wild animal, he was slavering over them. He could hear Octavia’s heartbeat, and he could literally see the beat of Octavia’s pulse beneath the pale, creamy skin of her neck. She grasped their daughter from Darkwell, and backed away from him, hugging Lottie close.
He wanted her blood. The vampire in him was taking control.