He had read it over and over, and knew the four lines of the spell that would free her from her power and send it to him.

The more he read, the more Raven wondered why she had this power. If she had been born with it, how could he remove it by using a spell? Had she been cursed with it? Why? It would have to have been when she was very young, before her menstrual courses began. Who would have done such a thing to a child?

Guidon had told him to read the part that explained how her power could be taken from her. He was to read it until he found the truth in the words.

Hell, he’d read them for an hour while she soaked sensually in a bathtub. He could smell the sandalwood soap—it was his soap and the thought of that normally masculine aroma on her feminine curves was driving him mad. His ears detected the faint splash of water. That brought to mind images of the lucky water hugging her curves, lapping at her breasts.

The book told him what Guidon had said—the only way for Ophelia to give up power and survive was through love. A shared love opened a conduit that allowed magical power to flow back and forth. It had to be true, deep romantic love.

The book was written in Latin, and while he’d studied Latin at Eton, he could not have cared less about languages and hadn’t paid much attention. His translation to English was clumsy, he knew, but he hoped it was good enough. He’d scrawled it over a bunch of sheets of notepaper.

Translated, the book’s title read: The Demonica, volume XI.

Raven read the passage about love again.

A special love is needed to break this curse. A love with the strength to endure for all time. It must be built upon complete honesty. It must be proven that this love can withstand the great blows that would destroy any lesser love. It must be able to survive the storms of betrayal and heartbreak.

How in Hades were you supposed to know if you loved someone that strongly? How could Ophelia know if she felt that way about him? Wasn’t the only way to prove love could withstand those things to have it last a lifetime? Wouldn’t they only know when one of them died?

The spell that released her from her power looked innocent enough, but spells and incantations were evil things. There was always a catch. This one had to be spoken after he’d given her several orgasms. He had to admit he liked the sound of that.

Raven leaned back in the chair—dust flew up when he did. Guidon, he called in his thoughts, I’ve read the passage. How do I prove Ophelia’s love can endure betrayal and heartbreak? I do not intend to do any of those things to her.

He waited, cursing the time it took Guidon to answer. He would miss Ophelia’s bath time. And he wanted to join her.

There is one great blow that you could give her—finally, Guidon answered. It would shake her love to the very core. It would make it almost impossible for her to love you. If her love for you were to survive that, it would be proof your love is true.

What in hell are you talking about? Raven snapped. What great blow? Never would I hurt her.

Another damned long pause, then Guidon spoke primly in his head, You don’t know, do you? I thought you knew, my lord. Think of the men you hunted for Jade and you will have your answer.

Don’t be so damned cryptic. I don’t have time for this.

You have to solve it for yourself, Ravenhunt. There is nothing I can do.

He sensed his connection with the vampire librarian disappearing. Damn it, Guidon, answer this. If she loves me so deeply, what happens after I take her power? Do I survive, or do I break her heart then? If I survive, what can I do? I can’t accept her love—I’m a vampire. Without her power, she will have the chance for a normal life—to have love and children.

You can provide those for her.

I cannot go out in daylight. I drink blood. I have to skulk through London, hiding in shadows. She deserves better.

You could transform her, Guidon answered. Give her eternal life. Then you would be together forever.

No, I couldn’t do that to her—condemn her to be like me—when all she has wanted is to be free of her cursed power.

That proves you are falling in love with her, Ravenhunt.

Raven felt the connection vanish in his head—it was as if a door had closed. Damn, he had more questions and no answers. Was the only answer to their love heartbreak? Even if they both survived this, he would have to let her go forever. He would never curse her to be a vampire.

How could he take her power unless he could fulfill the requirements of the book—that their love had to be strong and enduring?

Guidon, listen to me. He yelled it through his thoughts. If I can’t prove it, what happens to her?

The vampire librarian responded. I believe she will survive, Ravenhunt, because she loves you and I believe her love is strong. As the one who could cause her pain, the full price for taking her power will land on you.

So I don’t survive.

You may not.

Raven growled in his head, If I knew for certain she would be all right, it is a risk I could take. I don’t care about me, as long as she will be safe.


Ophelia opened her eyes, dozy from the heat of the bath, and gasped in surprise. Ravenhunt sat by the tub, on a stool. Fully dressed, he held a towel for her.

“I’ve soaked in this tub for hours, and I never thought you might want to bathe, too,” she said.

“I washed off with a basin and cold water.”

“That doesn’t sound pleasant.”

A grin tweaked his sensuous lips. “It was that or go mad while waiting for you, imagining what you must look like, naked in here.”

“You could have joined me.”

“I couldn’t. I had to read that book of Guidon’s. It gave me the incantation to use to draw out the rest of your power.” He stood, holding out the towel like a curtain, waiting for her. “I am supposed to repeat it after your fifth orgasm.”

“My fifth?” She could not believe it. He had given her many orgasms in a row, but she hadn’t ever had five.

“That’s when all your defenses will be down and your body will be able to release the power to me.”

“I don’t think I could have five.” Really, just two usually exhausted her. Ophelia stepped out and he clasped her hand to help her—the tub was deep, filled almost to the rim with warm water.

“You can have five,” he said.

She didn’t believe him, but loved the burning glow in his eyes as he said it.

“If you are planning to give me five climaxes, why are you dressed?” Inexplicably she was nervous, even though she trusted him. She was about to give up her power, and she didn’t know what would happen to either of them.

His strong arms wrapped the thick towel around her, surrounding her with warmth as he embraced her, too. But still she shivered.

He kissed her neck. That made her go stiff with shock.

Ravenhunt drew back. “I don’t want to frighten you. You know I won’t bite you. I can resist my hunger.”

He must have fed, but she didn’t want to think about that. He had asked her to touch him, and she yearned to do it.

Awkwardly, she turned in his embrace. She hadn’t touched in so long, and she’d never caressed a man she wanted to entice. How did she begin?

His hands slid around her, cradling her bottom and he drew her to him. Lost in wondering how to touch him, she lost her balance and fell against his chest. Her cheek pressed against his shirt. She closed her eyes. Tentatively, she laid her hands against the firm, strong muscles against which her cheek was pressed. Even through the linen of his shirt, she could feel the defined shape of his pectorals. Her palms savored the strength of him, unyielding beneath her touch.

She slid her hands higher, toward his neck. Earlier, she had wrapped her arms around his neck to hang on tight while they flew over London. Now she let her fingers caress him, stroking the column of muscle. She ran her fingers up and down, for his skin was like velvet beneath her fingers.

He groaned softly. His eyes were closed, his lashes lush crescents of black on his cheeks. His lips parted on quick breaths.

He looked this way before he would climax. She was making him look so sexually agonized with just her touch.

Mmm, she slid her fingers into his silky tresses. She’d always dreamed of running her fingers through a man’s hair. Now she could do it and do it to Ravenhunt, the only man she wanted to touch.

A giggle escaped. His hair tickled. It was so thick and beautiful. Ophelia pressed her fingers to his scalp, gently massaging.

His eyes opened. “That’s lovely,” he murmured. His head dipped back and he gave a guttural moan. “So good. No one’s ever done that to me.”

“It’s like stroking a cat.” She giggled again. “You are practically purring.”

“Don’t ever stop,” he muttered in a low, throaty growl.

“I’m afraid I have to. I want to explore all of you.”

He let his head drop back again and this time he made a soft howling sound. She couldn’t help but laugh. “I need to get your clothes off,” she said.

“Take them off then. I want to feel your hands all over me. But I’ll help by taking off my coat.” Ravenhunt pulled it off, tossed it to the floor of the bathing room. She had been so touched by how he had prepared the room for her, laying a fire for warmth, stacking soft towels, and setting many candles around the room so she bathed in a bright, gold glow.