Bittersweet Blood (The Order #1)

She ran her nail along the seam, caught the minute catch, and the locket sprang open.

Christian dropped his hand and took a step back. His eyes were wide and fixed on the open locket still held between her finger and thumb. The contents were so familiar—a strand of her mother’s hair, or so Tara had always believed, blond like her own.

“What is it?” she asked. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s some sort of spell,” he answered slowly. “The hair has been charmed and it’s powerful. This is warlock’s work.”

It just looked like a strand of hair to Tara. “What’s it for?”

“I have no idea, but there’s one way to find out. Take it off.”

A wave of reluctance washed over her.

Christian watched her curiously. “What’s the problem?”

“It’s stupid, but I don’t want to take it off.” She dropped the locket and fought the urge to hide it inside her shirt.

“Maybe not so stupid—I’m guessing there’s some sort of compulsion built into the charm. Which makes me even more curious about what it’s doing.” He thought for a moment. “Close your eyes. I’m going to take your mind off the locket, give you something else to think about.”

“What else?”

“Me. Now be a good girl and close your eyes.”

Tara closed her eyes. She sensed the movement as he came to stand behind her, so close his breath feathered through her hair. A hand stroked the soft skin of her neck. She shivered at the touch, and heat flared low in her belly as her body remembered the feel of him. He brushed aside her hair to bare the side of her throat and his lips pressed against her. He kissed her neck softly, opening his mouth against her. His sharp teeth scraped her skin, and she stiffened. “Christian—”

“Shh,” he murmured against her throat. “I’m not going to bite. Relax.”

She tried, but relaxing really wasn’t an option with his hands gliding up her body, skimmed her belly. They hovered over her breasts, hardly touching, but lightly grazing. Her nipples tightened, and she groaned. His hands again. It took her a moment to realize he was lifting the necklace over her head.

“It’s off. Open your eyes.”

He came to stand in front of her, her necklace dangling from one finger. His eyes met hers and something close to horror flashed across his face.

“What is it?”

He thrust the necklace at her. “Put it back on.” His voice was harsh and strained.

“Why?”

“Don’t argue, just put the necklace back on. Now.”

She took it from him with trembling fingers and lifted it back over her head. Christian turned away, his back rigid, his fists clenched at his side.

“What is it?” When he didn’t answer, she touched his shoulder. He flinched. “Christian, you’re frightening me. Tell me what you saw.”

For a moment he stayed where he was, his broad shoulders rigid with tension. He took a deep breath and relaxed. When he turned, his expression was blank.

“I didn’t see anything.”

“I don’t believe you. If you don’t tell me, I’ll take it off again.”

“Don’t do that until we know exactly what we’re dealing with.”

“But what’s it doing?”

“It’s hiding something. Or rather masking something.”

“What—”

He held up his hand. Tara bit her lip but shut up.

“I don’t know,” he said. “That’s the truth. When you take it off, it’s as if you’re transmitting some sort of message, but who’s picking it up or why, I don’t know. And until I find out, you keep it on.”

A cold lump settled in Tara’s stomach. She’d seen something bordering on fear in Christian’s eyes. What the hell did it take to scare a vampire? She thought about pushing it, but his expression was closed, and she knew he wouldn’t tell her anything more. Instead, she forced herself to think through the options. “I’m not sick or anything, am I?”

He smiled. It was faint, but a smile nevertheless. “Nothing like that. Was that the first time you’ve removed it?”

“No, I took it off when I was leaving Yorkshire. I was upset—I’d found out most of what my aunt had told me was lies. I was going to leave it behind with everything else from that life. It was almost impossible, but I managed to take it off and hang it from the gatepost. I was halfway down to the village, and ran all the way back and put it on again. In the end, I couldn’t leave it—it was the only thing I had from my mother.” Her legs trembled, and she sank onto the sofa. “Do you think it matters that I took it off?”

“Probably not.” He smiled. She knew it was supposed to be a reassuring smile, but it didn’t work.

“What do we do next?” she asked.

“We need to go to Yorkshire.”

“I don’t want to go to Yorkshire.”