Free The Dark Blood of Poppies by Freda Warrington Page B

Let me kiss you.”
    In an ecstasy of excitement, Pierre smiled and closed his eyes. “Whatever you say.”
    He knew he’d made a mistake, half a second after it was too late. Her hands slid softly over his shoulders. She leaned into him, her face questing towards his. Then, in a flash, her fingers became steel traps, and her mouth slid along his jawline and fastened on his throat.
    His eyes flew open. He gripped her wrists, couldn’t shift her. Her fangs darted into him and he felt her shudder from head to toe, felt the unvoiced release rumbling through her like the purr of a lioness.
    Other vampires had fed on him before; it wasn’t so bad, could even be pleasurable. But this was hideous. The first taste of blood seemed to madden her, and she unleashed all her pent-up hunger on him. She pushed him back across the terrace wall, almost cracking his spine, and came down on top, tearing at his neck, sucking.
    Helpless at first, Pierre began to struggle. His surrender should have been divine. Instead it was horrific. There was nothing sensual about her. She wasn’t like Ilona: beautiful, savage, but still womanly. No, Violette was elemental, covering him like the wings of a vast, sharp-taloned owl.
    She blocked his instinctive escape to the Crystal Ring, held him in place. Pain ran molten from his throat to his spine. Already she’d taken too much blood.
    How intimately he knew the compulsive power of the thirst. He knew she would not be able to stop… And his own response, even through his agony, shamed him. An urge he rarely felt because blood thirst was everything to him, a need he despised as human: sexual desire.
    Suddenly the pain ceased and her face rose over his. Blood gleamed on her lips. Her mouth and eyes were purple caves.
    “Do you want to kiss me now, Pierre?” she said throatily. “You think me some pliant doll you can jeer at, then have just for the asking? My friend? You liar.”
    Her contempt quenched all desire. Panicking, he thrust his foot under her ankle to wrench her off-balance. Then he was away, evading her clawing limbs, taking long strides that brought him to his knees on the ground, his legs were so weak.
    Pierre staggered up and ran on.
    He crossed the courtyard to another open corridor, and found himself in a maze. High walls rose on all sides and steps led in three different directions. No sign of a way out. The Fortress was vast and he had no idea of its layout.
    He felt her following him. Heard faint sounds like wingbeats, claws scraping the cobbles, an animal panting after its prey.
    Pierre made another wild leap at the Crystal Ring, fell back like a bird with clipped wings. How had she stolen his strength so quickly?
    He ran into a dark archway. She was behind him, playing cat-and-mouse, laughing. His heart pounded and he turned clammy, like a scared human.
    She can tear off a vampire’s head with those little hands…
    He broke a lock, burst into a tower room, and ran up flights of stairs to the top chamber. On the far side was another door. He flung it open, found only a small flat roof beyond, just a lookout place, a dead end. He weighed his chances of simply throwing himself off the edge. A long fall down the outside of the Fortress… That appeared his only escape, and wouldn’t kill him, but this was his inadmissible weakness: he hated heights.
    Trapped in the chamber, Pierre could hear Violette climbing the stairs quite slowly after him. There were old weapons displayed on the walls for sightseers. Pierre grabbed a spear and crouched in an alcove to wait for her.
    His fear turned to anger. This had happened too many times, a stronger vampire feeding on him, stealing his pride with his blood. Usually Kristian, sometimes Karl. Perversely, he hadn’t minded so much – but from a female, it was insufferable.
    An owl screeched far away in the forest. Dull light fanned through a leaded window and through the open door. She would probably sense his presence, but if she didn’t –