Wicked Ever After (A Blud Novel Book 7) Page 7

  With a ragged growl, I dug my fingers into his hair and yanked his face away, forcing it back to my throat.

  “Drink,” I growled.

  “If I drink too much, you’ll die,” he murmured. “This bit’s chancy.”

  “Don’t take it this far and be gentle. Finish it, you bastard.”

  “So demanding, my love. But it’s almost your turn again. I think you’ll like that even more.”

  And then he was drinking above and teasing below, working his fingers under my skirts, slipping them inside me in time with his tongue’s lapping at my neck. He found that red-hot place, stroked it, drew a climax out of me along with my blood. As the echoes and my screams died away, he withdrew his fingers and pulled me up from my swoon with an arm around my shoulders.

  I’d never felt so empty, so light, so beautiful, so clear. I was floating in the blood again, suffused with bliss and seeing nothing but heady red darkness.

  “Drink now, love.”

  “Mmmmargarita,” I murmured, and wetness pressed up against my lips, and the first taste of salt and sweetness and glory washed over my tongue in a haze of power. I drank my fill to fullness again, and then, without weakening his hold, he gently held me away and moved back to my neck to take his own turn. We went on like that, back and forth, the frenzy and fear replaced with purposefully sensual, thoughtful care.

  I drank and drank and then suddenly sat back, licking my lips.

  “Keep drinking, sweetness.”

  I sniffed and wiped my mouth with the back of a dark gray hand.

  “I think I’m full.”

  Crim held me away and inspected me carefully from eyes to mouth to fingertips. He ended with my hand, holding it up to the light, turning it this way and that to admire the fine, light scales and sharp white talons. Eyes locked on mine, he licked the blood I’d just wiped off from the back of my wrist and smiled, radiant and true.

  “Congratulations, Letitia Stain.” He stood smoothly and pulled me up with a hand. “Welcome to the superior species.”

  I stretched, reveling in the fact that my back and hips weren’t popping, that I felt as sleek and strong as a tiger. All my aches and pangs, all my frailness and fretting, had disappeared. I sashayed to the buffet line with a new bounce in my step and a swagger to my swaying hips. There were no mirrors in the dining car, so I dumped out a dozen blood oranges from a silver bowl and turned it this way and that until I caught my reflection in the light. Even distorted, I could see a difference, as if I was somehow more real, more me. My eyes glittered, and my hair was a riot of dark waves.

  “Did I grow more hair?”

  He ran his fingers through it, and I wriggled like a kitten being stroked.

  “Feels like it. I wouldn’t have told you this a few hours ago, but your hair’s been thinning in the last year, going puffy as a dandelion. All the gray’s gone now. You’re sleek as a racehorse, love.”

  “I feel like I could run like one, too.”

  His grin was fond as he curled a lock of dark hair around one finger. “You can. You will. We’ll hunt together under a full moon, naked and free.”

  “Sounds positively barbaric.”

  His sharp eyebrow quirked up. “Doesn’t it just?”

  Our eyes locked, and it was almost as if the air shifted. He wanted me. I could taste it, feel it, like a silent telegraph tapping at my every entrance. But that wasn’t what I wanted, what I needed. “Let’s find Nana first. I’m ready. Let’s go.” I took a few steps toward the door, and he caught my wrist.

  “Wait, darling. It’s getting late. The process is draining, and the twins nearly killed you. You’re not fully recovered yet. You haven’t slept. How do you feel?”

  I shook off his hand, drew in a deep breath, and snarled at the press of my stays. How could I take stock when my body was bound so tightly? With a hand on either side of my corset, I popped the busk open, tossed the corset to the ground, and yanked open the few buttons remaining on my dress so I could inhale properly.

  “I feel overdressed,” I said. “And anxious for a fight.”

  “There’s only one thing that feels as good as a fight, you know.” Criminy’s eyebrow quirked up knowingly. “And you definitely won’t feel overdressed for it.” He stepped closer, his voice going lower. “Your mouth says you don’t want it, but your body says you do.”

  I ran my tongue over my fangs as heat bloomed all over my skin. He was right, damn him. “Promise?”

  He caught my hips and jerked me against him. “Oh, I do.”

  “But we have to hurry. My grandmother—”

  With a bark of a laugh, Crim spun me around so that I was facing the closest table. Step by step, he walked me forward until it bit into the fronts of my thighs. “Don’t talk about your grandmother when I’m about to make love to you, pet. She’ll wait.”

  With a hand firm on my neck, he gently pressed me down until I was bent over the table, ass up, and I obligingly clutched the edge and spread my legs. Before I could catch my breath, he’d lifted my skirts and run clever fingers in all the right places. Not that he needed to—I was ready, had been from the second the timbre of his voice had changed. He’d told me a Bludman’s body was more responsive, more attuned to pheromones and scents, but I’d had no idea how warmly my senses would welcome the onslaught of the alpha predator I knew so well as my husband. Even though I’d climaxed recently, I ached for him, jutting my hips back to tell him so. He chuckled as he undid his buttons and entered me in one rough thrust.

  All I could do was groan. It had never been like this. So simple, so animal, so pure. I could feel him in my pores, in my veins, in my blood, pulsing like a heartbeat, as if drinking from him had lifted what few barriers had separated us. We moved in time like a furious symphony, hot and wet and perfectly tuned to each other. My talons bit into the wood of the table as I bucked against him, as he rubbed me, as his other hand pressed flat into my back, holding me down. It was fast and savage and perfect, and I was coming already, groaning, howling, slamming against him to draw it out longer, riding the sweetness for as long as possible. With his usual perfect timing, he came at exactly the right moment to trigger another, deeper orgasm, and I screamed and went limp and boneless, my cheek against the cold, scarred wood.

  “Why didn’t I do this a long time ago?” I muttered, flexing my claws.

  “We did this a few hours ago, love. Although I’ll admit I enjoyed it more than usual, just now.”

  I arched my back and stood, sitting on the table and filled with contentment as he rebuttoned his pants. “I meant getting bludded, not having sex, silly. Why’d you enjoy it more, though? Because we weren’t angry this time?”

  My husband’s eyes glittered as he cupped my jaw. “Because this is the first time I didn’t want to kill you,” he said.

  9

  Even though I was anxious to get on the road, I never wanted to leave the mirror. After years of watching my body age five times faster than it should have, it was a relief and a joy to see the crow’s-feet and eye pouches gone, my dark-blue irises swirling and sparkly like the star-strewn night sky. My laugh lines had disappeared, replaced by actual laughter. My hands were smooth, if covered in small black scales, and my neck wattle and varicose veins and knobby old-lady toes were back to the graceful lines I’d taken for granted in my twenties. I’d inspected every inch of my body and felt that the curving fangs were worth the trade, even if I still slurred a little around them when I talked. I wanted to spin on a mountaintop, dance at a ball, and kill something large and vicious, all at the same time.

  “Darling, I can give you a hand mirror to bring with you, but the witch won’t wait for vanity.”

  “Oh, now that you’ve been properly serviced, you’re suddenly in a hurry?”

  He laughed his wild laugh, and I answered it with my own. “You’re beautiful, love. Always. Now, come on.”

  With a becoming rosy flush, I turned away from the mirror, already hating the high neck on my old dress. But the
same concept applied: whether I was a Pinky or a Bludman, appearing to be human would make travel to and through the city so much easier. I finally understood Criminy’s distaste for pretending to be human; hiding who and what I was made me want to rip the heads off the puny men in leather armor who would be hiding behind glass, guarding the grand gates of London.

  Criminy leaned against our wagon door, tidied up in a fine new suit after the mess of our trading blood and blud. The shirt he’d been wearing had gone right into the fire, and it was strange now, seeing him in a human man’s starched high collar and tightly tied cravat. More than ever, he resembled an extra-naughty Mr. Darcy, and I hurried across the room to kiss him hard, pressing him into the wood with a newfound freedom and confidence.

  When he pulled away, he ran a knuckle down my cheek and smiled. “Blud becomes you, love.”

  “It does. I don’t know why it took me so long to convince you.”

  He laughed and snaked an arm under my legs, swinging me up into his arms and carrying me through the open door of our wagon and out into the pink-tinged morning like a husband with a new blushing bride. As much as we’d both wanted to hurry, we’d been exhausted by the blood exchange, and no one set out on a journey at night in Sang, thanks to brigands and large, lurking predators. I’d slept like the dead, deep and long and hard. And today I felt like a million bucks, ready for the same fight I’d wanted yesterday.

  Parked outside was a high, two-seated wagon with a fat, dappled gray bludmare jigging in place under harness. In back, an old trunk was strapped on. But it wasn’t traveling clothes; it was the remains of our main sideshow attraction, the heads of Catarrh and Quincy tossed on top of their bloodless body. The best way to dispose of murder victims in the wilds of Sangland was merely to drop them on the moors among the bludbunnies. Not that Catarrh and Quincy had anyone to notice their disappearance. Crim had already ordered the signs on the Freak Tent repainted, and the other carnivalleros were not likely to miss their most dangerous and creepy coworkers.

  “Three strikes, you’re out,” I said, thumping a fist on the trunk and making the horse snort against the metal cap over her dangerous muzzle. Crim raised an eyebrow at me, waiting for an explanation. “When I glanced on Charlie, I saw Lydia. I know she didn’t make it. If the twins hadn’t gone after her that night, she wouldn’t have died. He’d still have her.”

  “That’s only two strikes, darling.”

  I bared my teeth. “They both bit me. That makes three.”

  Crim swung me up into my seat and kissed my hand with a wink. “Ah, Letitia. I didn’t think I could love you more, but this bloodthirstiness is ever so beguiling.”

  It felt quite nice, sitting high up on the carriage with Criminy, enjoying the benefits of clear eyesight and the most stunning thrum of health and wellness I’d ever known. I could almost hear the blood—no, blud—pumping in my veins, feel the fantastic efficiency of my upgraded body. The only real negative was that, instead of a picnic basket filled with cheese, bread, and bludbunny jerky, now a small traveling blood warmer sat at my feet, filled with a week’s worth of corked glass vials for Crim and me, should London prove challenging. I still felt full from last night, although Crim had pushed a vial on me the moment I woke up. He was apparently concerned that, since he’d drained the bloodthirsty twins before feeding me, I might have inherited some of their mad and uncontrollable hunger, but thus far I hadn’t been tempted to attack any of the humans around the caravan. I did feel a slight twinge of hunger upon hugging Jacinda in her sleeping robe, but it was more a polite urge than an insane craving. London would be the first true test of my calm and control as a Bludman.

  I could see the high hump of it, still miles away, rising from the moors in a haze of fog. It was the biggest city in Sangland by far, vast enough to see from half an island away. It looked like nothing so much as the work of a busy hermit crab, layer after layer of topsy-turvy buildings built into and on top of one another, spiraling ever higher. The top echelons were hidden by smog from the factories nestled around the base of the wall. In most cities, the apex of the layer-cake-like, maze-riddled structure would be the cleanest part, where only the highest-ranking and wealthiest humans could afford to live, while the squalor was down near the walls and surrounding the Darkside ghettos reserved for Bludmen. But London had grown so large that the top was as filthy as the bottom, and the finest, most highfalutin folks lived in the sparkling white middle, almost like a piece of thick chocolate cake with a small strip of delicious vanilla filling.

  The thought of cake turned my stomach, and I shook off the fancy.

  Man, I missed cake. Or at least the idea of cake.

  “Penny for your thoughts, love?” Criminy asked.

  “Oh, I was just contemplating how stupid these cities are. I mean, they seemed silly when I was a human, but knowing what it’s like to be the most terrifying creature on two legs, now I see that the Pinkies are just fooling themselves. No walls could keep us out, if we really wanted in.”

  Crim picked up my hand and kissed the black scales. “Now you know our secret. Welcome to the cabal.” He set my hand down and jingled the reins to hurry the horse along. “But the most terrifying creature on two legs is actually a cassowary. Bloody buggers have leg daggers and poison spit and will eat anything.” And then, much to my surprise, my husband shivered. “Ugh. Oz. Terrifying place. Nothing but giant spiders, monsters, and death.”

  It was freeing to be on the moors as a predator instead of prey. I hadn’t suffered a bludbunny bite since the day I’d arrived in Sang, naked and still convinced the whole thing was a dream. But the number of rabbit carcasses left on the hooks of the dining wagon and the handfuls of copper coins Crim handed out for killing the edible monsters added up, as did the number of human guests and carnivalleros who reported to the artificer’s wagon to be patched up after they let one of the adorable little buggers get too close.

  Sang would always be dangerous, but for me, now, a little less so. As the bludmare trotted on, snorting bloody froth into her muzzle cap, I actually found the ride toward an evil witch and a city that maligned me somehow restful. Pleasant. What would happen would happen, and I was ready for it.

  No wonder Crim was in a good mood all the time, if he was constantly consumed by this sense of supreme confidence and peace. I could get used to the idea of two hundred more years feeling this way.

  “So what’s the plan?” I asked.

  Crim sighed. “We have to find the witch in order to find your grandmother. Last I heard, Hepzibah had established a lair in London, but I don’t know where it is, and it’s most likely well hidden and better guarded. I suggest we hit Deep Darkside and visit the shadiest magician we can find. Either we’ll pay for the information or we’ll steal it with your palms. Your glancing should be unaffected by your recent transformation. Or it might even be heightened. We’ll check it unobtrusively before it becomes necessary.”

  “So we waltz through the gates, talk to people, and then attack the bitch? Doesn’t sound too hard.”

  “Ah, a Bludman’s perpetual optimism. Let’s hope it’s not. We deserve another honeymoon to enjoy your newfound—”

  “Body?” I supplied with a smirk.

  He nudged me with his shoulder. “Attitude, I meant. Although, yes, you might find your appetites rejuvenated in all sorts of lovely new areas, as you’re already noticing.”

  “I’ve never seen Deep Darkside in London before,” I mused. “Probably all sorts of interesting marital aids for sale.”

  Crim gave me a scandalized side-eye. “Darling, London’s Deep Darkside isn’t a place for amusing gadgets, unless you want them made of human bone and cursed to crawl up inside the user. This is business. Although . . .”

  “ ‘Although’?”

  “I’ll confess, I was rather hoping to find time to stop by Demi’s cabaret. With our two-headed boy gone, there’s room in the caravan for a new act, and she did mention in her last letter that she had a rather promising daimon
in her ballet who’d been born with wings.”

  “Oh, my God, you gossipy old woman!”

  “Darling, I’m not a gossipy old woman. I’m an apex predator with a show to run who needs to check in and make sure that the French brigand she picked up in Paris is taking proper care of the closest thing I have to a daughter.”

  I erupted in laughter, and after a moment he joined in. Once we fell off into giggles, I put my head on his shoulder. I was still a bit sleepy after nearly dying.

  “Just out of curiosity,” Crim asked as I was on the verge of a sunny nap, “what are these ‘marital aids’ you wish to shop for, and don’t you think Mr. Murdoch could make better ones?”

  I perked up immediately and tried to describe a Magic Bullet to a man who’d never heard of gunpowder.

  10

  The Demimonde was London’s first cabaret, and I’d never seen Criminy as proud as he was the night it opened under the careful tutelage of his adopted daughter and protégée. Demi had been an unhappy college student on Earth when she passed out, overly depressed and suicidally drunk, and woke up in Sang. Luckily, Criminy had been near enough to hear her screams. Unluckily, she’d already been mauled by the bludbunnies by the time he reached her, and his only choice was to blud her on the spot. She became his star contortionist, a Bludwoman with all the power of a vampire and all the sass and independence of a college freshman with a minor in women’s studies. And honestly, I’d missed her ever since she’d left for Franchia and, now, London.

  At the moment, she sat across from me in a silk kimono that dragged on the floor, a hideous one-eyed cat purring on her lap. It was a new experience for me, reclining on a velvet cushion and sipping blood from a painted teacup among others of my kind. When Criminy held out a candy dish of sugared red curls, I selected a sliver and chewed it thoughtfully.