The Bitter Seed of Magic

Chapter Forty-One

Heart pounding, I shoved at Malik, surprised when he backed off. ‘How the hell did you break through the Ward?’

He smiled, flashing fang. ‘You used a blood-Ward against a vampire you have freely given your blood to. The Ward holds me in place, but it also stretches with me.’

Which was exactly the warning Ricou had given me when I set the Ward: it was designed for protection, and that meant anyone inside it with a blood connection could do what Malik had done and stretch it; with enough will and time, they could even break it. And the Wards completely lose their effectiveness on your kids once they hit puberty, Ricou’d said in disgust—not that Malik needed to know I knew any of that.

‘You came too close,’ he said, placing a hand flat against the wall on one side of my head and leaning into me, ‘now, tell me what it is you require from me, Genevieve.’

Constable Taegrin’s voice called through the door. ‘Genny! Are you all right?’

‘I’m fine, and he’s agreed,’ I shouted, so they’d leave us alone. I narrowed my eyes at Malik. ‘Haven’t you?’

‘I have agreed to continue the game you have started. Notes and letters, or should I say, insubstantial carrots and sticks? If you were truly going to “allow” yourself to be abducted, you would have done so without giving me the opportunity to oppose it.’ He leaned closer, almost close enough to kiss, and breathed his next words against my mouth. ‘What is it you want, Genevieve?’

I put my hand on his chest. His heart wasn’t beating, and oddly, it reminded me of Finn’s heart thudding against my cheek, and why I was here. I pushed Malik back so I could look him in the eyes, then dropped my hand. ‘Helen Crane’s been tampering with evidence to cover the murderer’s tracks—but Helen’s disappeared. That note says she can no longer protect Maxim’s son, which means that his son is almost certainly the murderer. I want you to use your Oligarch powers and make Maxim talk to the police, and get him to tell them everything he knows.’

‘This is what you have deduced from Helen Crane’s note.’ He picked up a strand of my hair, twisting it through his fingers.

‘Well, from that and other things, like Francine’s and Maxim’s memories that the Morrígan showed me,’ I said, trying not to notice the way my scalp tingled.

‘And who do you think is Maxim’s son?’

‘I’m not sure, but I think it might be the manager at the Coffin Club: Gareth Wilson. He’s the right age and colouring …’ I trailed off at the mildly interested look on Malik’s face. My gut twisted in frustration. ‘He’s not, is he?’

‘No.’

Damn. Sometimes a straight answer isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. I didn’t bother asking him how he knew; if he had any doubts, he would’ve been more evasive.

‘Who is Maxim’s son, then?’ I asked.

‘I do not know.’

Another frustratingly straight answer. ‘But he does have a son?’

‘It is something I can neither confirm nor deny.’

I sighed. He was holding out on me again. Shame the ordering bit only worked one way. And disappointing as it was that my suspicions about the murderer had been a leap in the wrong direction, it wasn’t necessary information. All I had to do to stop the killer and save Nicky and the other faelings was to put our master plan into action. Simple. Now I just had to convince the aggravating, much-too-beautiful vamp whose elegant fingers were still playing with my hair and still sending tantalising little tremors over my skin, to help me.

‘The police are mounting an undercover operation,’ I told him, and revealed the one pertinent detail of my supposed abduction that I’d omitted first time around: Constable Martin and the Doppelgänger spell.

‘She is a police officer,’ he said indifferently as he ran a hand down the sleeve of my leather jacket. His touch seemed to burn against my bare skin—mesma—and I studiously ignored it. ‘She would not do this unless both she and her superiors felt she were capable,’ he finished.

‘Yeah, I know. But while she’s pretending she’s me, I could make use of the distraction.’ I took a deep breath and mentally crossed my fingers. ‘I want to sneak into the Tower, locate the entrance they’re using, then crack the magic holding it closed. At which point London’s finest can swarm in and sort it all out.’

He clasped my left wrist, his skin cool against my more heated flesh. My pulse jumped like it was trying to escape my skin. I concentrated on calming it.

‘You still do not tell me what you want of me, Genevieve,’ he murmured, giving me a sleepy look that was as much invitation as innuendo.

Bastard was playing with me. Okay, admittedly I’d started it, but if he thought coming on to me was going to make me back down, he could think again.

‘I want you to come with me,’ I said brightly, ‘as back-up.’

His hand round my wrist tightened for a second, then relaxed. His eyes half-closed as he considered me. ‘You wish me to play rescuing hero with you?’

‘Yes.’

‘Why?’

‘Despite what you think, I’m not reckless, I don’t want to get injured, and if I go in there on my own, it could be tantamount to suicide. Plus you’re the best vamp for the job. Once I get us inside, you can do your vanishing-into-the-shadows trick and keep us both hidden while I search for the entrance, and at the same time you can keep me safe.’ I smiled expectantly, hoping he’d see it as a done deal. ‘Simple.’

He gave me a lazy smile back, and I caught a glimpse of fang as his thumb rubbed over my pulse, the touch sending shivers through my blood. ‘And what if I do not wish to accompany you?’

Did I go for straight for Plan B, or take the (definitely interesting) hand he was dealing and see how the cards fell? Choices, choices.

I flattened my palms on his chest, pushing him back again, and this time I left them there, relishing the cool silk of his skin against my own venom-heated flesh. ‘Maybe I could persuade you,’ I said, giving it my best seductive voice.

He traced a finger down my throat. My pulse there started up a rapid tattoo, even with the venom hit my day’s ration of blood-fruit had already given me. ‘What had you in mind, Genevieve?’ he murmured.

I swallowed, my mouth dry, recalling the images he’d dropped in my head not ten minutes ago, and looked past him at the bed. ‘You’re the one with the imagination, you tell me.’

He clasped my wrists and lifted them slowly above my head, as if he expected me to protest, and a spiral of anticipation and need twisted inside me. I lifted my chin in silent offering. After all, he was hungry, and with 3V and the blood-fruit turbo-boosting my blood production, I had plenty to spare. He captured my wrists in one hand and pinned them, amused heat lighting his eyes. ‘My imagination informs me it has a plan.’

I licked my lips, nervous in a good way. ‘And what does this plan involve?’

He traced a tingling line down the lace V of my silk top.

Desire shot through my veins like high-voltage electricity, leaving me quivering.

‘It involves’—his fingers grazed the swell of my left breast—‘staying here.’

My nipples tightened, pushing against the lace of my bra.

‘Where I can’—he cupped my breast through the silk of my top—‘protect you.’ His thumb brushed over the stiff, sensitive peak. I gasped, arching into his palm. ‘Yes, I like this plan better,’ he said, sounding entirely too pleased with himself.

‘Seducing me isn’t protecting me, Malik,’ I breathed, wondering if this was going where I thought, or if he was going to do his usual, and stop before things really got hot—

He stopped—and I almost whimpered in frustration … until he moved to give the same teasing attention to my other breast. Then I couldn’t help but whimper.

‘Ah,’ he said, his eyes deep pools of drowning darkness, ‘but who is seducing whom, Genevieve?’

‘I’m the one with my hands above my head.’ Mentally, I willed my melting legs to hold me.

‘Yet you are not struggling, and see how your body responds to my touch,’ he said softly, continuing his light, barely there caresses. ‘I find it … intriguing, how much you want this. I wonder what other liberties will you allow me in the hope I will accede to your needs?’

Needs? I closed my eyes and tipped my head back against the wall. I needed his mouth on my throat, his hands on my body, and him deep inside me. Were they my thoughts, or his? It didn’t matter. I wanted this, and not just to persuade him to help me. I was tired of always being the kid outside the sweet shop with her nose pressed against the glass, tired of sex being about breaking curses, about commitment, of about anything other than pleasure and fun. Life was too short not to enjoy it—maybe a cliché, but it was true. If it wasn’t for Sylvia and luck, I could be suffering the same fate in the Tower as the poor missing faelings. I wanted this, wanted Malik, just—well, just because. Even if that was selfish, while others might be dying … except until the rest of the plans came together, there wasn’t anything else I could do right now. And he did need persuading.

I looked at him from under my lashes. ‘What other liberties have you in mind?’