9. Stipulations
ELOISE
“My clothes? I thought the deal was for my blood?” I stare up at him from the couch, sliding forward so that I’m perched on the edge. My heart bangs against my ribcage like an angry prisoner.
“You know how this works.”
“But I don’t need to light the candle or draw the symbol?” It doesn’t make any sense. “Why just the nudity?”
“The candle and the symbol are to summon me. I’m already here, and these are my terms.”
“The blood and my nudity are your payment?”
“You catch on quickly.”
“Why not just my blood?”
Damien begins to pace again, his eyes never leaving mine. “Because I wish it.”
That isn’t good enough for me. I already feel vulnerable as hell after my run-in with Tony and desperately unattractive after meeting his mistress. The idea of exposing every roll and mole makes my stomach turn, not to mention that my face is puffy and streaked from crying. I must look like a clown. “So, you want to humiliate me? Do you get off on that sort of thing?”
He stops in his tracks and rushes me until I have to lean back on the sofa to avoid his fangs. His nose almost touches mine and his brilliant eyes flash with inner fire.
“I’ll tell you why, little bird.” His low, rough timbre sounds like he’s dragged his throat through hot cinders. “First, I want you to remove that god-awful sweater because I don’t want anything that reminds you of him between us when I take your blood. Second, I want the rest of it gone because your body pleases me, and I want to feel your fragile skin against my hands when I’m at your neck. Third, I want to taste you and not this caricature he’s made of you. And finally, you will do it because if you don’t, I will hold you to our original agreement and show Tony what it feels like to be strangled by a string of pearls.” His teeth clack together when he finishes.
“You saw what happened. You were watching.”
“From a distance,” he growls. “You commanded me to leave. You didn’t say how far I had to go.”
I gulp so hard it seems to echo in the room. Once again, my body and brain are at odds. My mind tells me I should be afraid, but I’m not. My muscles grow warm and loose, my lids lowering as my face tips up to look at him, and my lips part. The intensity of his stare sends my pulse skittering. Heat blooms low within me. It’s been a long time since I’ve wanted sex, but all at once I ache for him.
His nostrils flare, and I wonder if he can smell my arousal. I don’t care if he does. Damien’s words make me feel seen. They make me feel wanted. And I don’t care if it is only for my blood. After a night where Tony made me feel worthless all over again, it feels good.
Without further hesitation, I stand and remove the cardigan and the matching sleeveless sweater. He takes a step back, watching me with hungry eyes as I toe off my shoes and shimmy out of my slacks. When I’m done, I stand before him in nothing but a black lace bra and thong.
I reach behind me to undo the clasp, but he raises his hand. “Those are yours.”
“Yes. I chose this set.”
“Better.”
“How did you know? That the outfit wasn’t something I chose, I mean.”
The hard edges of his face soften. “Even little birds are wild things. A wild thing with a tattoo like yours wouldn’t choose that outfit.” He frowns. “It was also how he grabbed your pearls. Denardi is a wicked man and I sensed that’s why he wanted you to wear them. He twisted them like a man who has dreamed about choking a woman.”
That’s a pleasant thought. I shiver.
“I’ve upset you, but you know I’m right.”
“I don’t want to think about him tonight.” I wipe my mind of everything but this room, this moment. “Do you want me to stop undressing?”
He shakes his head slowly.
Reaching behind my head, I pull the elastic from my hair and let the platinum-blond sweep across my shoulders. I try not to think of how much I hate the color or how many hours I’ve spent straightening it because that’s what Tony wanted. I unhook my bra and let the straps fall down my arms, then bend over to slide off my panties. Naked, all my insecurities rush back tenfold. I focus on the carved foot of the sofa.
Strong fingers clasp my chin and lift. His diamond eyes cut through me with their intensity. “Beautiful,” he grits out.
I shake my head.
“I have lived several of your lifetimes and have no reason to lie. Do not take my words lightly, little bird.”
“So...” I tip my head and wait for him to strike.
“I don’t take what is not freely given. Ever.” His eyes drift to the window behind me and the reflection of my tattoo. His fingers trace along my spine. “This is yours as well. Your choice.”
“Yes.”
“What made you choose this design?”
I look over my shoulder at the reflection. A collection of archaic symbols make up the abstract figure of a key. At the top, a diamond shape marks the base of my neck, flanked by two triangular figures that form a winged handle. A parade of interconnected symbols progress down my spine, forming the shank of the key and ending in a point, with two bits extending toward my right hip. The tattoo is purple and black, composed entirely of angles and spirals. Tony hated it. More than once, he’d asked me to have it removed. It was the one thing about myself that I refused to change.
“My mother was a professional artist, and this figure is featured in many of her most personal works. When I look at it, I see a key but others see an insect or?—”
“A dragon,” he says softly.
“Right. It was probably inspired by many things, but this particular piece of art was important. Both my mother and father had it tattooed on their chests, right over their hearts. After they were killed, I wanted it to remember them. I wanted them in my skin. I was only seventeen, but Maeve knew a guy.”
He strokes his long fingers along the tattoo again, sending shivers through me. I arch, inhaling as my breasts press into his shirt. “How does a woman with a tattoo like this become such a helpless, trembling little bird?”
“I’m not helpless,” I say weakly. The feel of Tony’s fingers twisting in my necklace comes back to me in a rush and I don’t know if my words are truth or lie.
“But you are trembling.” Damien’s eyes meet mine.
“It’s drafty in this room.” And I’m naked and pressed against a monster’s gloriously handsome body.
He toys with a strand of my hair, rubbing it between his fingers. “You have the power still. I haven’t yet taken your blood. You hold the candle. You should know, Isobel Gowdie was much like you. She was the first of the family to call on me. She was accused of witchcraft by a spurned admirer. At first, she didn’t want to hurt the man who she’d once thought of as a friend, but when they beat her and told her she would burn at the stake in the morning, she understood she had no choice. She lit my candle, and she traded her blood. I killed her accuser, the magistrate, and the would-be executioner and used some compulsion on the guards to have her freed by sunrise.”
I grasp onto that last part, remembering how he’d compelled Tamara. “Why can’t you use compulsion on Tony to save my house? Make him drop his claim to it?”
He shakes his head. “It only works if a person’s will is weak around a situation. Tamara left Tony’s office because she didn’t deeply care about being there. She found the situation awkward and embarrassing. I sensed in her the desire to leave and simply bolstered that thought. The same with the guards. They liked Isobel, and some part of them knew it was wrong to hold her. But the men I killed —men like Tony— their will was strong. Tony covets this house. I don’t know why, but he’s firm on this. I felt it.”
“He wants to hurt me,” I hypothesize. “Because he can’t control me any other way.”
Damien slants a curt nod and pulls me tighter against him. “You want to take the moral high ground. You don’t want blood on your hands. But it wasn’t wrong for Isobel to use me to save herself, and it isn’t wrong for you either. This is a game of kill or be killed, and if you don’t find the strength to fight him” —he runs a hand over my tattoo— “I’m afraid you may not survive this, little bird.” His voice becomes as low and smooth as a caress, his breath brushing my bruised throat. With his hand petting my back in long, fluid strokes, the temptation to obey him is strong. “Free me to do this thing for you. Be free of him.”
I sag in his arms, wanting to say yes, wanting to agree to anything this seductive creature proposes. Tony does deserve it, I tell myself. But when I think about giving the command, I can’t. “A burning stake is different from a house, Damien. I wouldn’t be saving myself from an excruciating death. I’d be saving my home, my memories, and a place for Grams. Those are big, important things, but they aren’t the price of a person’s life. Even Tony’s. It’s not the same.”
Damien cups my face in one massive hand and it’s like he’s looking straight into me, as if his ability to travel through shadows extends to the darkness in my soul. “So be it.” His words come down like a hatchet. He strikes quickly, sinking his fangs into the side of my throat. Once again, there is a mild sting and then pleasure— deep, calming pleasure. I fist his lapels.
His hand drifts down my spine to cup my ass and squeeze. A moan escapes my lips, and my lashes flutter as my eyes roll back. I clench his jacket tighter to keep myself from embracing him. He’s a monster. He’s a monster.
Too soon, he retracts his fangs, licking the wound again and again. Last time, he’d spent much longer at my vein until I’d passed out. This time, I’m not even woozy. He’s taken less blood, but it’s his touch that lingers, his hand smoothing over my butt cheek, back up my spine, to massage the base of my skull. He licks his way to the other side of my throat, and I tip my head, wondering if he’ll strike again. He doesn’t, but he lifts my hand and kisses trails along my bruised wrist, scraping the flesh with his fangs. I watch the deep red splotches fade to almost nothing and remember what Maeve said about his saliva having healing qualities.
“Thank you,” I say softly.
He meets my gaze and for a split second there’s this look on his face, like a kid who’s seeing his first dinosaur. There’s wonder and pleasure and warmth, and then the scowl returns and the softness I thought I saw is gone. He backs away toward the shadows.
“You can stay,” I blurt. It’s a terrible idea I’ll most certainly regret tomorrow, but I want him. If he asks me, I’ll let him take me right here on the floor. I don’t care about the repercussions or that I’d possibly be inviting my own death. For the first time in forever, I feel beautiful and wanted, and I welcome the pleasure I know he can give.
But he refuses with a shake of his head and a look loaded with challenge. “No, I can’t. But call me again if you change your mind about Tony.”
Damien blends into shadow and is gone with a flick of that smoky barbed tail, leaving only the crushing realization that he was my only plan to save Harcourt Manor.