Half-sister, I mentally corrected him, though you couldn’t tell by looking at Brigitta’s picture. We could’ve been twins, if she hadn’t been born forty-odd years before me. Even though I’d thought of her earlier when Mad Max had first appeared, his mentioning her again, and the fact she’d taught him magic, raised a mix of grief and anger that I’d never known her, along with the usual frustrated envy that she obviously hadn’t lacked anything in the magical ability department. Unlike me. But then Brigitta’s father had been the fossegrim, a lesser fae, while my father had been a vamp. For a moment I almost asked Mad Max whether he knew if our having different fathers was the reason why I couldn’t do magic, then I nixed that idea. No way was I going to discuss the ins and outs of anything with him. Instead, I scowled and said again, ‘What’s the spell in the towel do?’

‘Stops you wanting to polish the peanut, Cousin. What else?’

Ah. ‘Okay,’ I said slowly, ‘it’s worked. So you can untie me.’

His smile widened, blue eyes lighting with unholy delight. ‘Oh, I don’t think so, love. No gain without pain, isn’t that what they say?’

He whipped the wet towel away. A cloud of dust motes floated up, the calm feeling vanished, and the painful arousal throbbed back to even more agonising life than before. The shock pulled a scream from deep inside me; but before it could escape, he stuffed the wad of sheet back in my mouth. I bucked and writhed, desperate to get free, to kill him, or myself, whatever would bring me release—

His fist slammed into my jaw.

‘Oh, and next time, Cousin,’ I heard him say as I slid into unconsciousness, ‘just fuck the Turk. It’ll sort you out, put the great Malik al-Khan out of his misery, and save the rest of us the hassle of his bleeding melodramas.’

I woke to the sun streaming round the curtain edges. The clock told me it was not long past dawn. The crazy sonofabitch was gone. No way would he stick around after the sun had risen, not when he’d have dropped into a vamp’s daytime sleep – a sort of hibernation mode that looked very much like being dead. And if I had my way, next time we met the vicious sonofabitch wouldn’t just look dead he’d be dead. I was going to make sure of it; the mad vamp had left me still tied to the damn bed.

He’d also left me draped with the towel, which was now a sludgy mess dripping cold water adding to the existing wet spot beneath me. Ugh. On the positive front, that part of me felt fine. And I was no longer gagged, verbally or magically; the silver headband was gone. The rest of me felt fragile, in a beaten-unconscious sort of way. Unsurprisingly, since Mad Max had roused me a couple more times, whipped off the towel, cheerfully watched as my frantic struggles demonstrated that the spell hadn’t done whatever it was supposed to yet, and enthusiastically knocked my lights out again.

I was going to enjoy killing him. Slowly.

Once I got free.

I debated shouting for help. Unfortunately any ‘rescue’ would come with embarrassment. There was no way this wouldn’t end up in the scandal rags. I’d have to live with headlines like SIDHE IN KINKY SEX ROMP until something more salacious came along. Not to mention the risk of YouTube.

I shuddered. Maybe I should just wait. After all, Mad Max couldn’t leave me here like this . . .

Just as I was thinking the sonofabitch might be crazy enough to do exactly that, a tentative knock sounded on the door.

I froze.

My phone rang, the ringtone coming from the short corridor outside the bathroom. As it went to voicemail the door clicked open. I braced myself, pulse racing, wondering if they were friend or foe.

The door clicked shut.

Chapter Eleven

A figure moved slowly into the room, tall, dressed in black leathers, hair pulled back in a sleek blonde ponytail, phone in one hand, half-a-dozen bags in the other.

Katie. I almost cried with thankfulness.

‘Genny?’ She stopped, shock rounding her eyes.

‘I’m fine,’ I said, forcing a rueful tone into my voice. ‘Practical joke that went a bit far.’

‘Your face is all beat up,’ she whispered, horrified. ‘Shall I phone for an ambulance?’

‘No.’ I sighed. ‘I doubt it’s as bad as it looks.’ Not that I knew how I looked, but— ‘Don’t suppose you could untie me, hon?’

‘Oh my gosh, of course.’ She dropped the bags, and rushed to me, tugged at the knots, then resorted to nail scissors to cut me free. Never had I been so grateful for the girlie contents of Katie’s huge designer handbag.

As she snipped away freeing my wrists, I gave her a short, highly edited version of the night’s events. I’d had a problem with my magic, a ‘friend’ had helped me, and to stop me hurting myself or anyone else they’d had to tie me up. I hadn’t been too happy about it, which was where my injuries had come from. Only the ‘friend’ had a crazy sense of humour, and hadn’t untied me when they’d left. None of which was a lie; something I physically can’t do.

‘Frigging frenemy, you mean, leaving you like this,’ she growled when I’d finished. ‘They need a taste of their own medicine.’

‘Already with you,’ I muttered, as she started work on my ankles. I sat up carefully, mindful of the cracked ribs and the aching stiffness in my shoulders. Not to mention my head and face which felt tight and swollen, like my skin was about to burst like a rotten plum. Crap, the mad sucker had really done a number on me. I’d heal, and way quicker than a human, but quicker wasn’t instant. How the hell was I supposed to work like this?

My gaze fell on a glass on the desk. It was full of dark red-brownish liquid.

Suddenly hopeful, I asked Katie to get it for me.

The glass had one of the hotel’s cardboard hygiene-covers on it. Scrawled across it, in what looked like blood, was: ‘Drink Me! :)’

‘Is it another joke?’ she asked.

‘Better not be.’ I took the cover off and sniffed. Sour apples tinged with copper. Definitely Mad Max’s blood. I knew it had healing properties, almost on a par with Malik’s blood, having been injured once before (also Mad Max’s fault, albeit indirectly) and healed by his blood. I looked for a catch but couldn’t think of one, mainly because I regularly gave my donated blood to Mad Max’s faeling grandkid, Freya, my whatever-number-removed cousin (since she’s only eight, it’s easier to call her my ‘niece’).

Thanks to Freya’s mixed-up genetics (vamp/sidhe/fae/human), she’s ended up with a vamp’s need for blood along with the more usual need for solid food in order to survive. With Ana (Freya’s mum and Mad Max’s daughter) pregnant, I’d stepped in as Freya’s blood donor instead. Mad Max knew that and, despite his seeming lack of family values, I could probably stake my life on his never doing anything to harm Freya.

Plus it was like the crazy sonofabitch to leave me a way to heal the damage. After all, he’d enjoyed watching me suffer through bouts of painful arousal, while at the same time making a spell to rid me of it . . . or so he’d said.

I put the blood down. No way was I drinking it unless the spell had worked. I explained briefly to Katie, then before her worried eyes, slowly peeled the sludgy towel away.

Once it was gone I waited for the agonising throb to start up. It didn’t. Relieved, I let out the breath I’d been holding. I was okay. Mad Max had been telling me the truth about the spell. Another thought struck me.

I looked up at Katie. ‘How did you know I was here?’

‘I got a text from you. The keycard was left in an envelope at reception.’

Mad Max was evidently Mr Organised.

I sighed. It was either drink his blood or send Katie out for an expensive, and not so quick, healing spell from the Witches’ Market.

I couldn’t afford to show up anywhere looking like a victim of domestic abuse. Even without the embarrassment it would cause my clients, all it would take was one paparazzo and my battered face would be splashed across the front pages.