I stared up at the painted ceiling and visualised what the room contained. There wasn’t much to choose from. Windows, pillars, paintings, stacked chairs, tables and . . . Got it!

I focusedon the spell. Or at least I tried to, but the damn thing kept slipping away from me as if I was trying to hold water in a sieve. I needed to physically touch it.

‘Um, any chance we can change positions here?’ I asked. ‘Like, face each other?’

‘Why?’

‘This isn’t exactly comfortable.’

‘I do not think a change of position is wise.’

Because he wanted to sink his fangs into me. And going by the way a certain part of his body was still pressing into my back, he wanted to sink something else into me too . . . Which might be enough to distract him from the bloodsucking bit.

Recalling the image he’d flashed in my mind of me on my knees before him, I closed my eyes, took a moment to get my thoughts in order, then, hoping the visual communication went two ways, started sending mental pictures.

A shudder travelled through him. ‘What are you doing, Genevieve?’

Giving you ideas, hopefully.

His arm around me loosened slightly.

Yes! I sent more images to his mind—

His hand plunged into the V of my shirt, yanking it open violently enough that I saw a button hit the ceiling above us. He shoved my shirt aside, roughly cupping my lace-covered breasts. I moaned loudly, pushing back and wiggling encouragingly against his thick length. He growled, driving his hips into me as he ripped away my bra, knuckles grazing my nipples. They tightened in response, then I bit back a scream as he pulled on one, rolling the sensitive point between his demanding fingers, the pain/pleasure arrowing straight to my core. Liquid heat filled me making me wish that this was for real.

Reluctantly, I reminded myself it wasn’t. This wasn’t about my fantasies, but about distracting Malik to get at that spell.

As his hand continued to map my body, making me yearn for more, I forced aside the distraction, letting my magic rise as I sent more images. He obliged, feverishly tearing the zipper on my trousers, shoving them down my hips so they pooled around my ankles. I kicked them off, thankful they were loose and as the golden glow of my power surrounded us, I slowly reached up to grasp his queue—

He ripped off my briefs, jerking me off my feet, his firm hold on my hair the only thing keeping me upright. Heart thudding, I sent another picture, praying this would work like the others as I tugged persuasively on his queue. Finally, he released me and I almost sagged with relief as he slid gracefully down to fall to his knees before me. I looked at him gazing up at me and my heart stuttered. The flames in his pupils were feathered with gold. I’d almost caught him in my Glamour.

My plan had worked better than I’d believed possible.

For a second I revelled in his worship . . . then, half-regretful, I blocked it.

Now for the next part.

I bent, using his queue to tug his head back and slapped my hand over the brand on his forehead. The magic in the spell felt slippery, like soft jelly. I grabbed it, panicking as it threatened to ooze out of my fingers. I gave it a small experimental pull; the body of the spell lifted away from Malik, but a forest of thin trailing threads – tentacles? –was still embedded inside his brain.

Eww, the thing was like some sort of horrible jellyfish.

Then some of the legs pulled out of him on their own, flicking round to sting my wrist. Intense pain shot up my arm and my hand jerked open. The spell disengaged, burrowing back inside Malik’s skull and disappearing. A pained grunt escaped his mouth, red flames eclipsing the gold in his pupils. He snarled, lips peeling away from his fangs as he readied to strike.

Crap. I was losing him.

I clasped his face, digging my fingers into his temples, frantically pouring my magic into him as I shouted more images into his mind. He growled low in his throat; the flames in his eyes flickered red, gold, red and then disappeared totally as his pupils, irises and whites all turned a brilliant gold. I stared transfixed as bloody tears ran down his face, and power rose around us like a red-gold mist. I bent lower, needing to place my lips on his, to drink down all that power, to take it into myself until it filled the hollow place inside me. But before our mouths touched, his cool hands touched my hips, slid up to my waist and, as he stood, he lifted me up—

And I flew back through the air to land with a jarring thud on the nearest table.

The pain and the heavy perfume of the roses next to my face brought me back to my senses. I stared at the ceiling, trembling as I pushed away the horrific thought that I’d been ready to consume Malik’s . . . what? Power? Soul?And gave thanks that he at least was still following the script of images I’d shoved into his head.

Hands manacled my ankles.

Now to get rid of that torturous spell.

I looked at him. He stood at the table edge staring adoringly at me from golden orbs.

He’d lost his shirt. I gaped. Not so much at his broad shoulders, or his lean, hard chest with its silky triangle of black hair, but . . .

I pushed myself up on my elbows.

It wasn’t just his shirt that was gone. All his clothes were gone. He was naked . . . Gorgeous . . . My eyes followed the silky black hair that shaded a line down his washboard stomach, all his muscles crisply defined beneath beautiful taut skin . . . skin that glowed a soft silver as if he’d somehow consumed the moon. I looked lower . . . all of him was—

Oh my gods! That wasn’t in the script!

He pulled me slowly towards him, his hands gliding like rough satin up my legs. My pulse turned erratic and instinctively I clutched at the tablecloth. But it and I slid unresistingly across the table until I was half lying, knees bent, legs dangling and Malik standing between them.

‘Well, Genevieve.’ He grinned: a feral, fanged slash. ‘This is how you wanted me, was it not?’

Chapter Eight

‘Um, sort of,’ I said, sitting up, bemused that he was talking and sounding like himself. He was trapped in my Glamour; he should be my willing, adoring slave, waiting for my every whim. So why wasn’t he?

‘Sort of?’ He raised an elegant brow. ‘Maybe you would prefer me like this.’ His grip on my knees tightened as he jerked me towards him. I yelped, surprised, clutching at his shoulders as his hands clamped high on my thighs, holding me teetering on the table’s edge.‘Is this close enough, Genevieve?’

I looked down; there was only a breath of air between us. My skin flushed, need and anticipation coiling tight inside me as the urge to wrap my legs around him and feel him thrust deep flashed in me like lightning; it had been too long since I’d last lost myself to pleasure. And this wasn’t some venom junkie; a stranger I’d picked up in Rosa’s body to satisfy my cravings, only to leave me with a bitter taste in my mouth . . . This was Malik.

A feeling hotter and sweeter than mere lust trembled inside me. I’d wanted him since I’d first seen him and that want had strengthened, shifting into something indefinable as my initial fear and distrust had dissipated. All it would take was one of us to move, and then—

I swallowed and raised my eyes to his. They were still gold with my Glamour . . . He might seem like he wasn’t my slave, but I wasn’t about to trust that, not when Glamouring anyone was akin to force. Shame mixed with yearning rolled through me.

This. Was. Not. Real.

‘I think that’s close enough,’ I said, though my voice held uncertainty instead of the dryness I’d been aiming for.

His mouth quirked. ‘Are you sure?’

‘Yes,’ I said, this time more firmly. ‘What I’m not sure about is how come you seem yourself again.’