Ravensclaw Read Online Free

small cottage that nestled among the tall spruce trees. He was waiting in the mountaintop meadow where aromatic grasses and flowers grew.
    “I hunger. Let me taste you.” He spread out his dark cloak.
    She steeled herself against him. “I know what you are.”
    He reached out his hand to her. “As I know what you are, iubita.”
    She moved closer to him, closer, unaware that she had moved at all. “You do?”
    Cool fingers slid through her hair to the nape of her neck. “It is a matter of scent.”
    His eyes were blue as the ocean’s depths. She whispered, “Scent?”
    “You smell of garlic.” He lowered his lips to her throat. His teeth found her pulse. Sensation flooded her senses, an intoxicating warmth—
    …
    Emily surfaced slowly from the depths of slumber, a heavy weight on her chest, the metallic taste of blood bitter in her mouth.
    She had bitten her own lip. Emily touched it with her tongue. Found herself wondering, shockingly, if Ravensclaw would like the flavor of her blood.
    Don’t think of that, you pumpkin-brain! You must find the athame.
    Warily, Emily opened one eye. She had read of incubi, that special class of demons who squatted on the breasts of sleeping women and made them long for things unimaginable in the practical light of day.
    No incubus perched atop her chest, but Machka. They were almost nose to nose. The cat’s whiskers tickled. After a moment’s slit-eyed contemplation, Machka butted her head against Emily’s chin and began to knead her neck.
    Gingerly, Emily patted the creature. She hoped her necklace of talismans would prove effective against whatever Machka was. They weren’t protecting her against the sharp claws that pricked her throat.
    She turned her head on the pillow. The small cell-like stone room was simply furnished, her bed a straw-filled canvas mattress placed upon wooden slats. Easy to imagine an archer standing at the narrow vertical window, firing his arrows down on the enemy below.
    The warped door creaked open. A maidservant bustled into the room. “Good morning, miss. I’ve brought your chocolate. Ah, the naughty pisica!” She scooted a hissing Machka off the bed.
    Maidservant? The woman more closely resembled a tavern wench, brown-haired and buxom, with a fine color in her cheeks and plump pouting lips. Emily pulled herself into a sitting position. “What is your name? I didn’t see you yesterday.”
    “Zizi, miss.” The servant set down her tray, on which rested a pot of chocolate and a plate of biscuits. “There’s three of us, not counting old Isidore.”
    Emily reached for the chocolate pot. Here was a perfect opportunity to learn more about her enigmatic host. “Have you worked for the Count long?”
    Zizi scooped up Machka, who was inching toward the biscuits. “As long as I can recall.”
    Glamour, Emily decided. Although Zizi, as opposed to being pale and wan as befit an undead’s victim, was awesomely robust. Nor were there any fang marks on the startling amount of creamy neck and bosom that were on display. “Indeed?”
    “As near as makes no difference.” Cat tucked under one arm, Zizi began to tidy up the room. “Ravensclaw treats his people well. None of us would want to work elsewhere.”
    They wouldn’t, would they, if Ravensclaw had bespelled them? It was only sensible of the Count to have servants do his bidding during the daylight hours when he couldn’t be abroad. By means of the glamour , he blinded them to the knowledge that he was a bloodsucking fiend so foul no mortal could gaze upon his true form without being driven insane—
    Insane with lust. Perdition! No incubus had sent that dream.
    Zizi was still talking. “Himself says that as soon as you’re ready, we’ll leave for Edinburgh.”
    Emily glanced at the bright light streaming through the window. “Himself?”
     “The master.” Machka growled. Zizi set the cat ungently on the floor. “Will you need help dressing, miss?”
    “Thank you,” Emily said,