Blood Fire by Sharon Page Read Free Book Online Page B

middle of the night.
    Matthew intended to return with De Wynter to the Carpathians and hunt vampires. It was the only way he could get any kind of vengeance for his brother’s death.
    He had been the one to unleash a demon. That made it his duty to destroy her.
     
    Octavia stared through her open window at the tree that grew beside it and the thick ivy that shrouded the wall like a shawl. She could not believe she had managed to climb the tree and the ivy to reach her bedroom. Her hands still stung from the tree bark, and her bare palms were stained green.
    In truth, she should have been too weak to do such a thing. And, after so much exertion, she should be ready to collapse where she stood.
    For weeks, she had been barely able to draw a deep breath. Today, she had done all sorts of energetic, mad, dangerous things; she felt powerful and alive. She felt like twirling on the spot until she fell down dizzy.
    She didn’t feel ruined. Or wrong. Or mortified and ashamed.
    Instead, her heart danced happily when she thought of what she had done. . . .
    There was so much to remember, and it was all so wonderful. How could she ever forget the soft-as-silk feel of the beautiful skin of Sutcliffe’s back? The way his smile had widened when she had grasped his shoulders in her pleasure. The hitch of his breath as she wrapped her legs tightly around his hips.
    He had liked it. Octavia felt thrilled to have given him something he liked.
    She felt full of laughter and joy. She felt . . . strong.
    She wanted more. Another night. If she felt this strong, perhaps it meant she wasn’t going to die right away. Maybe she did have more time. Time for more nights with Sutcliffe . . .
    Could she do that? Savor as many nights with him as she could before she finally got too weak to do anything?
    Or, by tomorrow, would she feel sick once more?
    She didn’t know. She didn’t know what the morning would bring. Right now, she must brush her hair and braid it for bed. She would pretend to have slept in her bed all night. There were still a few hours until dawn. If she still felt this wonderful when she awoke, she would get out of bed and dress. She was tired of being sick and spending all her time in bed.
    Her brush lay on her vanity. Foolishly, Octavia stretched her hand toward it, though it was across the room. She would have to go and fetch it—
    The silver brush rattled on the vanity.
    It must have been her imagination. There had been nothing that had made such a vibration.
    She took a step toward the vanity, but the brush suddenly spun around so the handle faced her.
    That . . . that was impossible. Brushes could not move by themselves. Was this something new from her illness? Was she now hallucinating?
    “Well, if I am, what if I envision the brush flying across the room to me?”
    She held out her hand. Was she going out of her mind? Perhaps she had an awful fever—she had hallucinated terribly once before when she’d had a high temperature.
    The brush spun madly as though it was trying to fly but was bound to the marble top of the vanity.
    Then it broke free. It rose up in the air and swooped toward her. It came so fast, Octavia ducked. A loud crack and a clatter told her the brush had gone over her head and tumbled across the floor.
    Of course it hadn’t. She was seeing things that couldn’t really happen.
    She blinked and looked at the vanity. The brush would be there, just as it should be—
    It wasn’t.
    Octavia whirled, not ready to believe the impossible. Yet there was the brush. It had skidded across the varnished floor and had come to a rest against the fireplace.
    She pressed her hand to her forehead. It wasn’t hot, and if she had a fever that could make her see flying brushes, she should be burning up.
    She didn’t care about her hair anymore. Wearing only her shift, not bothering to change into her nightgown, she leapt into her bed and pulled up the covers. The strength she’d thought she had must be an illusion.
    She