Page 33 of The Vampire's Guide to Wooing a Curator
She dared a peek. Mr. Maclean was being physically restrained by two other vampires. His chair lay on its side on the floor.
“I’ll not be leavin’ until I’ve seen her punished,” Mr. Maclean said.
Mr. Drake chuckled. “Punishment? As you wish.” Then he twisted his body in an oddly serpentine motion that ended with Felicity lying prone over his legs. It happened so quickly that she didn’t have time to react before his palm came down on her rear.
She held back an outraged scream with tremendous effort. He wasspankingher.
“No.”SMACK.“Hitting.”SMACK.
The strokes were so hard that they echoed in the small room, but far worse than the indignation of being treated like a child and the jeers of the other vampires was the dampness pooling between her thighs. She wished at that moment that she could melt through the floor, but as that was not an option, she closed her eyes and soothed her anger with increasingly violentthoughts of what she’d do to Mr. Drake when they left the gambling den.
When her ‘punishment’ was over, he lifted her by the waist, settled her on his lap, and brought their mouths together.
Before the shock of his icy skin faded, there was a rushing sound in her head, a sharp prick on her lip, and then everything went dark.
Chapter Sixteen
As Jonathan carrieda hastily blindfolded Felicity out of the gambling hell, he cursed his mistake. He had forgotten that Mr. Aaron Wormwood had taken over management. The last time they’d met, Jonathan had swindled the man out of hundreds of pounds.
He shuffled Felicity in his arms. She had been almost unrecognizable in her role as his concubine. It made him wonder what she would be like in bed. Most humans were quite fragile, so he’d only visited his past mistresses every few days. Though lately, the idea of finding a new one did not appeal.
Perhaps it was Felicity’s blood. He’d only consumed a drop during their kiss, but the fresh, tart taste clung to the inside of his mouth and made him long for more. And her scent! Instead of dimming with his bite, it had intensified. No human had ever tempted him more. As he clutched her closer and inhaled, he tripped over a rock. When he hit the ground, Felicity rolled away, plucked the silk from her eyes, and leaped to her feet.
Damn.Now he’d have to extract a real promise from her not to reveal the location of the gambling hall to her family. He held out his hands as Felicity stomped toward him, steam practically erupting from her ears.
“How.”Stomp“Dare.”Stomp“You!” She put her hands on her hips. “Stand up.”
The order shot through him like an electric shock. He fought the compulsion, but it was like trying to move the bed of a rushing river. His sore thighs flexed, and his body moved of its own accord until he was back on his feet.
She swung a hand, obviously intending to slap him, but he caught it, then pressed his lips to her knuckles. “You did exceptionally well.” He drew her close, then continued in a whisper. “We are still being watched. Keep up the act unless you want me to return you home without your head.”
Her face turned bright red, but she kept her lips shut. All the better, as a dozen vampires peered down from the windows of the buildings above. Wormwood’s spies.
Jonathan scooped Felicity over his shoulder like a sack of flour. She didn’t resist but made an angry noise in the back of her throat.
“That’s more like it, darling,” he said loudly. “Save your fury for our bedchamber.”
They were almost at his carriage. His driver, Mr. Ferris, had arrived just in time. He sped up, but just as they were within reach of freedom, something slammed into his side.
He was quick to rise, but not quick enough. Their attacker, an emaciated, red-haired fledgling garbed in a pale-yellow dress that sagged around her skeletal frame, was already on Felicity. She snapped her jaws and shredded Felicity’s cloak with her claws.
Red tinted his vision. He withdrew his fangs and tackled the woman off her.
“Jonathan!” Felicity cried.
She had said his given name. A small part of him cheered in triumph, while the rest struggled to get the fledgling under control. Angry-looking bite marks covered the woman’s thin arms, and when he inhaled, he smelled burning candles and incense.
Marguerite.
The writhing creature jerked her head, tearing a chunk of flesh from his throat. The wound shouldn’t have been serious, but within a few seconds, his limbs grew heavy. He clasped the vampire’s head and twisted once, violently. Her head came off with a sickening crunch. He tossed it so it rolled toward Felicity’s feet. Then he lay on his back and stared up at the hazy sky.
If he hadn’t been so exhausted, he would have leaped to his feet, grabbed Felicity’s hands, and twirled her around.
He’d been right all along. Marguerite was alive, and she’d returned to London.
What he didn’t understand was how she was connected to the fledglings. Was it possible she’d made them? The maker he remembered would never have done something so foolish as letting her children roam the street.
Maybe that was exactly what she’d intended. This could have been some manner of test, a way to gauge if her nest had become strong enough to survive without her. If so, he was going to fail. He probed his wound with his fingers. It hadn’t fully healed. The mate atrophy was worsening. He had to get the codex and find the cure for his condition before his maker saw how weak he’d become and left the city in disgust.
