I pulled on his sex to quieten him, I was in charge, not him. “Stop talking,” I said against his lips, then bit, just a nibble, a nip, enough to draw blood and make the vampire-within come out to play.
“No fair,” he murmured against my mouth, slipping his tongue inside and then rolling me over when I hadn't expected it.
Once again he pinned my hands above my head and then ground his hips into my body.
“But, I do believe you would be furious with me if I let this go any further. Make no mistake, ma douce, I want you every bit as much as you want me, but the next time you beg for me to 'fuck you', you will be in full control of your faculties, not directed by a bloody fey spell.”
He started rolling his hips against me and then lowered his face to my neck, kissing above my pulse point, licking a trail over the sensitive skin there and making me shudder.
“But, you will have to forgive me, my dear, I have not fed for some time and I have been taxed this day. Your neck is too much to resist. Allow me to help you with a taste of your sweet, sweet blood.”
His fangs pierced my skin smoothly, the sting immediately followed by an amping in the lust, but washed in a heat so pure, so carnal, that within ten seconds he had me coming and drew it out for the length of his feeding, making sure I was well and truly sated by the time his tongue sealed the wound.
I started drifting off to sleep immediately, so exhausted, so sated, so spent, nothing could have kept my eyes open, it was as though the spell manufactured the response, ensuring I would not participate in anything else.
“Lucinda,” Michel whispered against my lips. “No matter where you run to, I will find you. You are mine and I will never let you go.”
I felt a thrill run through me at his words, absent for so long and so desperately wanted, but the thrill was wrapped in layers of Dark. It wasn't a threat, it was a simple statement of fact; both a declaration of love and a vow.
Michel owned me and he would never let me go.
Chapter 17
The Genie's Bottle
I knew some of this was the Dark, that insidious devil that resides in all of us, but for vampires, it exists somewhere near the surface, somewhere just within reach. We all have it in us, but for them, it bubbles up incessantly, gets triggered easily and simply floats to the surface without much effort required to dredge it up at all. Michel had been battling his Dark for some time now, since Erika had betrayed him it had become a full-time job, one in which I think he was failing.
But then, I was failing him too, wasn't I?
I'm supposed to be the one that calls him back toward the Light. I am the Light to your Dark. You call to me as I call to you. I will always hold you dear. But, it was getting harder. I loved him, and it's not as if I never knew it would difficult loving a vampire, I just never knew the degree of difficulty it would entail.
Sometimes, I wonder if I am really cut out for all of this saving the world lark. I went through a period there where I fought it, denied it, rebelled against it, but I've come out the other side and understand that there are just some things you don't have control over. Like destiny and fate. There is no point fighting it, you have to give yourself over to it and work with what you have.
After Michel had left, I slept well into the next day. Samson had moved me to a bedroom, laid me on the bed and covered me with blankets, then set about righting the lounge. By the time I woke, the shutters were down and the TV and windows had all been replaced, and nothing was left of the shattered glass from Michel's anger.
A part of me wished I could clear up the mess inside of me just as easily whilst asleep, but here I was, wandering the streets of Kensington, getting my bearings and enjoying some weak winter sun. I'd ended up on Kensington Church Road staring blindly into gallery after gallery after gallery, not registering the art work or the sculptures, not seeing any beauty or inspiration at all.
Samson hadn't wanted me to go out, he couldn't of course come with me, but I convinced him there wasn't much could hurt me during the day and besides, I can kick butt when I need to. Armed with my new beautiful silver stakes and a replacement silver knife Samson had managed to somehow source for me, I felt capable of handling any problems that may come my way.
But I needed to get out of that house.
Samson had been nothing but his normal self, attentive but distant, the usual Samson persona and not a horny vampire in sight. I was relieved, but also conscious that Michel had influenced him that way. Samson would feel compelled to protect me when the spell came on, but he would no longer be attracted to me, because that would be in opposition to Michel's command.
Was I sorry Samson could no longer flirt? No. I was sorry he didn't have the choice.
Being around him right now, just left me cold. Not because Samson was back to his normal courteous, but well mannered self, but because of what Michel had done. Michel controlled everyone and everything around him, and when he couldn't he fell willingly into the Dark. Seeing Samson today just kept reminding me of how screwed up my relationship with my kindred was. I didn't have answers, so I needed to walk.
I also had a hunch about the missing Nosferatins. I hadn't been able to get in touch with Citysider, my London Nosferatin contact on Nero's website, so after a phone call back home to my mate Pete, my own personal information agent back in Auckland, I had a tip-off for where I could start.
Pete's a ghoul and ghouls are the best at gathering information. It's their currency of choice. If you want to know what's going on in a city, then you ask a ghoul, but they have rules you must live by. They will only deal with those people they can respect, that includes someone who knows how to play the game. Information must be bought with information. If I didn't have adequate information to exchange, Pete's contact wouldn't have a bar of me.
Often buying information from a ghoul left you wide open. What would this ghoul want from me that would warrant the info I needed in return?
I had been wandering the streets since early afternoon, but by the time I made it all the way up to Notting Hill, where Pete said his contact had a pub, it was close to 5pm. Already the sky was darkening - the sun hovering just above the horizon, but soon to be no more - and the stars threatening to come out and play. It never failed to amaze me how short days in the Northern hemisphere were compared to down under. Even in winter it didn't fall dark in Auckland until at least seven, here in England, some days could darken around four. Vampires must love it.
I found the pub easily, there weren't that many, to be honest, on Portobello Road. Bars and restaurants, but pubs? Nah. This one was your typical English Pub, worn old wood, leadlight windows, creaking sign hanging out the front saying The Genie's Bottle, a picture of a drunken genie holding a bottle of gin falling all over the words. The Norms probably didn't get it, but Ghouls, used to be called the Jinn and considered devilish types of genies, but nowadays, not too many subscribe to that point of view. I smiled up at the sign, a sure indication to the supernatural world of who owned the premises. Vampires beware, enter at your own risk.
Inside, bar stools and clean wooden tables stood scattered here and there, old photos of Notting Hill streets at the turn of the 20th century, up until today, hung over the walls, framed in matching worn wood. The smell of decades and decades of beer and greasy pub food reeked from every furnishing. I was sure, despite how hard they tried to scrub those floors, the smell would simply stay. Ingrained into the furniture, walls, doors and solid looking bar counter, it was its cloak, its clothes, without it, it would have been bare.
There was already quite a crowd, later afternoon tourists who'd been plying the streets of Notting Hill, maybe a few workers, grabbing a pint on the way home from a hard day's work and four ghouls. One of which was behind the bar and from Pete's description was the ghoul I was after. I squared my shoulders, ignoring the fact that every ghoul had their beady little eyes on me as I crossed the floor.
It wasn't hostility, but I sure as hell was getting wariness. These ghouls d
idn't like that I'd walked in to their world, but they were also curious. A typical ghoul trait. If a Nosferatin was in their pub, then I was here on business. Business was what made them tick. Ever since I went to Auckland and realised I could sense vampires and was built to kill them, I also had the uncanny ability to sense ghouls. I can spot a ghoul in a crowd of five hundred easily, likewise they can spot me.
I sat myself down at the end of the bar away from a couple of guys rowdily talking about some football team and waited for Pete's man to approach. He didn't immediately, although he wasn't serving anyone, he just continued cleaning the glass he had in his hand and watched me. I took the opportunity to check him out too.
He had scruffy, curly brown hair, a little too long, but not reaching his shoulders, he was clean shaven, but had thick eyebrows that could have done with a pluck, framing his muddy brown eyes, his face was heavy set, jaw firm and brow low. If I had to pick a look for a ghoul, his would have been a shoe-in. He was dressed in worn pale blue jeans and a clean white T-Shirt. It was warm in here, like most English premises, they ward against the cold, it might be bitterly frosty outside, but inside it's a furnace. I refused to take my jacket off, but I did concede my scarf and gloves.
Ghouls look like you and me, there's nothing physically to give them away. They prefer the night time hours, but can get about during the day. The biggest giveaway, if you're looking for one, is their diet. They eat raw and preferably still kicking. It's been a long time since ghouls have feasted on humans, hunted them down like prey, but they are not incapable of it. I shifted my shoulders and felt the weight of my stakes settle against my sides. Silver hurt ghouls about as much as it hurt vampires, but although a stake would upset them, I'd have to decapitate a ghoul to kill it.
Here's hoping that wouldn't be necessary, because since I walked in three minutes ago, four more ghouls had come to watch me closely. Pete's contact had called in reinforcements. I sighed, not off to a good start then.
Finally, after a few more minutes of watching me from the other end of the bar, the ghoul approached, placed a paper coaster down on the bar in front of me and then a Bacardi and Coke. I hadn't even seen him pour it, but that wasn't what made me start, he knew my drink of choice. He knew me.
I looked up into his dirty brown eyes and held his gaze.
“That'll be five quid,” he said, his voice low and gruff and not exactly friendly.
I handed him a five pound note, thinking it was clearly daylight robbery and took a drink from my very expensive glass. It was worth it, Bacardi always is.
“So, wha' brings your type in 'ere?” he asked, picking up another glass and starting to rub it clean with his cloth.
One thing I have noticed about ghouls, is they tend to be clean. Pete's sports bar in Newmarket is spotless, not a pub smell to be found and although this place reeked of years of patrons' abuse and although the tread was worn, the edges dented, she was an old lady, but on closer inspection, a spotless one. If I ran my finger along the bar top, it would come back clean.
“Pete said you might be of some help to me.” I took another sip of my drink and waited for him to confirm knowledge of Pete. He didn't, just kept cleaning the glass.
“I'm looking for someone. Someone who shouldn't be hard to find. He goes by the name Citysider. You heard of him?” With ghouls it's best to get straight to the point, no beating around the bush and although they do like a little friendly banter, I didn't know this guy and he wasn't giving off the vibes of friendly conversation.
“Maybe. Wha' ya got, luv?” Gotta love the way they drop their T's and H's here.
So, here we are, time to pay up. Being a ghoul and especially one I didn't personally know, there'd be no offering of information until he was satisfactorily paid. Pete sometimes threw me a bone, or allowed me to owe him one, although I usually refused to leave his premises unless we were all square. This guy, however, was a stranger and he'd not give me an inch, until he knew me a little better.
“There's a new Master in town. Goes by the name of Alastair.” I had no doubt he already knew this, but you always start at your rock bottom and work your way up.
“Old news, that is. Wha' else?”
“He's not playing by the rules.” The Iunctio's rules, it didn't need to be said out loud. Even ghouls are subject to those rules.
“So I've already heard.” That didn't surprise me and the fact that he was probably doing nothing about it, wouldn't have surprised me either. Vampires and ghouls don't play well together.
So, my last bastion of hope, my last nugget of gold.
“He's working with a Fey Prince.” If he didn't go for this, I was shit out of luck.
The ghoul stilled, glass and cloth suspended in air, hair on the back of my neck began to raise and a quick glance at the other ghouls in the bar confirmed they had all heard my words - despite the fact that I had whispered them - and were all having the same sort of reaction as my new found friend across the bar.
“Can you prove it?” He leaned in and whispered back.
Could I? I had a fey spell on me, but it wasn't as though I wanted him to activate it. Still, there are other ways.
“Can you sense spells?” I asked, licking my lips and feeling decidedly nervous about where this was going. Getting down and dirty with a ghoul is not exactly my idea of fun.
The ghoul flicked a glance at one of his comrades, who sauntered over and sat down next to me. I could smell beer and something rank coming off him. He looked clean, but I was guessing he'd not long dined and the rank smell was raw meat. Brush your teeth and gargle, why don't ya.
He looked at me intently, his grey-brown eyes surveying my entire body, but not in a lust filled way, thank the gods, but more as though he was reading my aura. After a few minutes of his decidedly uncomfortable perusal, he nodded at the ghoul across the bar.
“She has been tainted by fey, there is no denying it.” His English was surprisingly impeccable. Then he sniggered. “A lust charm.” He gave me another once over, this time definitely not taking in my aura and got up off the stool and disappeared. I sighed in relief, please Nut, don't let any of them start to get any ideas. That's all I needed, to make out with one of the Jinns.
The ghoul across the bar looked at me for a moment, then offered his hand to shake. I almost swallowed my tongue, but composed myself and took his hand. His grip was firm and commanding, but not dominating.
“Name's Geoff. I run the place.” And he wasn't just referring to the pub. He was obviously what Pete was to the ghouls in Auckland. The head honcho. Trust Pete to put me on to the top dog.
Another ghoul stepped behind the bar and started serving customers, freeing up Geoff to talk with me. Somehow no one sat down our end, even ghouls have a modicum of magic, Geoff was keeping them away.
“Wha' can ya tell me abou' this Fey Prince, luv?” I'd obviously passed the test of trust, but not paid enough for my information. If he knew where Citysider had got to, he wasn't ready to part with the knowledge just yet.
“His name is Lutin, Prince of Ljósálfar.”
“Well I never,” Geoff said, pouring himself a frothy headed beer and taking a slurp. “Been a while since one of their kind was in our world. The portals must be open.”
“So we believe. We don't know how, nor if any others have come through, Lutin is the only one I have come in contact with.”
“And he placed a lust charm on you. Why is tha', luv?” OK, so I'm not a complete newbie at this ghoul exchange of information thing, Pete had taught me well.
“You first. What do you know about Citysider?”
He gave me an appreciative look. Ghouls like dealing with people who hold their own and play the game well. Stealing information is child's play, they prefer a little battle of wills to make it fun.
“Been missing a few weeks, since Alastair showed up and took out Boris. Makes you think, the two are related, don' it?”
Yeah, it did.
“Alive or dead?” I asked, a lump
taking up residence in the pit of my stomach.
“Hard to say, but I know Citysider well, he's not stupid. My guess would be in hiding, biding his time.”
“And you haven't found him?” I was surprised a ghoul wouldn't have bothered to seek that valuable piece of information out. To the right person, it could be worth something.
“Haven't felt the desire until now.” He looked at me pointedly. Oh, right, I was the right person.
“Can you? Find him?”
He nodded. “What would you give me for this information, Nosferatin?”
I didn't hesitate, I had to find Citysider. Not only was he a Nosferatin in trouble, like me, but his territory was taking a battering from the new Master of the City. This was not how we were going to win the war against the Dark. I needed every hand on deck, I couldn't do this alone.
“You know who I am?” I asked, taking a casual sip from my drink.
He nodded. Which meant he knew I was the Prophesied. The Sanguis Vitam Cupitor, the Prohibitum Bibere and the Lux Lucis Tribuo. As far as the Nosferatin/Nosferatu scene went, I was big news. If he wanted a powerful ally, I would be a good bet and I was thinking he knew it.
“Well, I'm more than that." At least Lutin thinks I am - his elska - and it might be a good bargaining tool here. I could only hope Geoff fell for it. "Not even Pete knows. You find Citysider for me, I'll tell you what else I am.”
It was a gamble, would it be enough to tempt him. It was also something I didn't want to spread around, but getting Citysider back was urgent, non-negotiable. I could do a lot of things, but I couldn't defend London on my own. Where the hell was he?
Geoff watched me for a moment, clearly trying to decide if I was pulling his leg or not, he obviously found something in my face that satisfied him, because he gave a short nod of his head.
“Got a cellphone?” he asked. I quickly wrote down my number, he slipped it in his pocket. “I'll be in touch, Child of Nut.”
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