A Night of Secrets (44 page)

A sudden burst of cold air swept into the room, stirring the dust on the floor and sending the flames in the hearth higher. Meg jerked her head toward the door. Mr. Smith surged to his feet and spun around. The door stood wide, the dark night quiet and watchful, invading their small abode.

“Did you open the door?” Mr. Smith demanded, dropping the cup to the floor. It rolled across the floor boards.

Meg shook her head.

He rushed across the room, slamming the door shut and bolting it. “Don’t lie to me!”

“I’m not, I swear it!”

Raising his hand, he started toward her, his face furious, yet something else there, in his eyes.
Fear
.

“Touch her and your death will only be more painful,” Grayson’s familiar voice sounded almost unrecognizable, inhuman, but Meg had never been happier. Meg turned, her heart hammering.

He stood near the hall, his dark shadow tall and intimidating. A shiver of unease raced over her skin.

“Stand back,” Grayson continued. “And I’ll kill you quickly.”

Mr. Smith spun around, grappling with the pistol in his waistband. Before he could even touch his weapon, Grayson flew across the room, a blurred shadow. Mr. Smith was slammed against the wall so hard, the entire building trembled. Meg gasped, scooting backward. Grayson held Mr. Smith to the wall, his hand wrapped around the man’s throat.

The Grayson she knew, the man she loved, was barely there. This Grayson was feral. She didn’t want this Grayson. This man frightened her.

“Grayson, please, untie me!” Meg begged, attempting to find the man she’d married within the feral being in front of her.

Meg held her breath, waiting. Finally, Grayson released Mr. Smith, letting him slump to the ground. Mr. Smith rolled onto his side, his hands going to his injured throat, gasping for air. Grayson was at her side in a blink, pulling a knife from his boot.

Meg bit her lower lip, studying this handsome face, looking for the man she’d married. He’d come for her. He did love her. She studied his features, but this Grayson was different, wrong. His face paler than normal, his eyes wide and haunted.

The rope around her ankles was cut, her legs free. He reached around her, searching for her wrists. Meg rested the side of her face against his chest, tears filled her eyes and streamed down her cheeks. He was quick as he cut the ropes around her wrists. Even though her arms burned, she threw herself into Grayson’s hard body.

“You don’t know how happy I am to see you.”

His hands moved over her hair, cupping her face and she could feel his body trembling. “Shhh, it’s all right now.”

Her Grayson. Her love. As much as she wanted to keep holding him, she moved back and grabbed his hand. “Hurry, we need to get back to Hanna.”

He didn’t stir. She pulled on his heavy body. “Gray?”

He knelt there, watching her with sad, emotional eyes, staring at her, as if trying to memorize her face. “You weren’t hurt?” He reached forward with trembling hands and cupped the sides of her face, his thumb gently rubbing the spot where Lord Winters had hit her.

“Grayson, I’m so sorry. I took Hanna to protect her. Hanna is your niece, Grayson. Your niece.” She swiped impatiently at the tears coursing down her face and stood. “But they’re trying to find her. Lord Winters is trying to find Hanna.” She rushed to the door. “I’m sorry, and you can yell at me later, but for now, we have to find her before he does.” She fumbled with the handle, but her hands were damp with tears and sweat. “Blasted door!”

Sensing that Grayson was not behind her, she paused. A shiver of unease raced over her skin. Something was wrong. Slowly, she turned. Grayson still knelt on the floor, his head bent low. Mr. Smith was watching them cautiously, as if he understood when Meg hadn’t a clue.

“Grayson?” her voice trembled.

The world seemed to grow quiet, as if holding its breath. Why wasn’t Grayson moving? Why wasn’t he angry? Why wasn’t he doing
something
?

“Gray?” she whispered, inching closer. “What is it?”

Slowly, he lifted his head. Was it her imagination or did he looked paler than normal? The thin blue veins more prominent along his temples. His eyes glowing more brilliantly than she’d ever seen before. And his body… his entire body was trembling almost violently.

Meg dropped to her knees. “What is it? Tell me now. Is it Hanna?”

He smiled then, a soft, sad smile. “No. She’s well. She’s safe.”

“Then what is it?” Meg demanded, fear making her voice harsher than she’d intended. But Grayson didn’t answer, merely continued to stare at her with those sad, knowing eyes.

“He’s dying,” Mr. Smith whispered, slumped against the wall.

Meg jerked her head toward him, then looked back at Grayson. Neither looked as if they were jesting. The words sank into her gut, wrapped around her heart and crushed her soul. “No! He can’t die!”

“I can,” Grayson whispered softly. “It’s merely more difficult to kill me.”

Meg stumbled to her feet. “No! You’re not.”

“He puts something in their drink.” Mr. Smith grimaced as he stood, leaning heavily against the wall. “It makes them bleed. They die from the inside.” The man stumbled toward the door, but she didn’t care a fig that he was escaping.

Die from the inside.
Frantic fear pulsed through Meg. “No.” She reached out, cupping the sides of Grayson’s face. He was cold. Much colder than normal, almost like ice. He’d tasted her blood only yesterday. He should be warm.

He took her hands in his. His touch was so chill that her fingers grew numb. “Meg, you’ll go to Brimley, understand? He has Hanna. He will protect you.”

“Stop!” She gripped his hands tighter. Damn him for giving up already. “I won’t hear of it! You’re strong, Grayson. You’re strong, you will survive this!”

“Listen to me, Meg. I’ve never told you, and perhaps it’s selfish of me now, but I must before it’s too late … I love you.”

Tears stung her eyes. The words she’d wanted to hear but not now, not this way, for his words of love were his farewell.

“From that first moment I saw you in the stream, you’d captured my heart. The way you protect those you care for…”

She jerked her hands away. “Grayson, no. You will not do this now, damn you! ”

“Listen to me.” He wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her close, his face serious, stoic. “I don’t have long, there are things I must tell you. I…I didn’t think I could be human. I didn’t think I could love until I met you. You’ve made me believe in happily ever after, Meg. You’ve made me believe in life. In love. In you.” He slipped his fingers through her hair and drew her forward, pressing his cold lips to hers in a soft, gentle kiss.

“Grayson, you’re frightening me.” She cupped the sides of his face, her entire body trembling so hard she thought she’d be sick.

“Don’t be afraid. You will no longer want for anything now that you are my wife.”

Anger overtook her fear. How dare he think she only cared about his money. She gripped his shirt in her fists. “I will want for you, you blasted man!”

His eyes glistened and for a moment she thought he was crying. But no, not tears…no. Red liquid slipped from his green eyes, trailing over his pale skin. She’d seen it happen before with his sister. Meg released her hold, her grip on his shirt loosening.

The world around her spun…off balance, tilting precariously.

“No,” Meg whispered. “No!”

He reached out for her. “Meg, shhh. Please.”

“No! I won’t let you!” She stumbled to her feet. “I won’t let you die!” Meg spun around, searching for something, anything that would staunch his injuries, anything that would clot his blood.

“Meg,” he whispered.

She ignored the plea in his voice and tore open the door to the cottage. “Julia,” she whispered, looking up to the heavens, a crescent moon smiling mockingly down on her. “Please help me.”

Her heart hammering wildly, she dropped her gaze to the wavering field that spread out front of the cottage. What could she use? Something, surely there was something! A soft breeze swept down form the Heavens. The weeds in the field wavered, swaying hypnotically back and forth. And then she spotted it… a green plant, almost silver under the light of the stars. Tall stalks that lined the front garden, disappearing into the dark trees.

“Sheperd’s Purse.” Meg pulled her skirt high, struggling to hold the massive weight and darted across the lawn, the dew soaking her slippers.

Hundreds and hundreds of the plants grew, so many she wanted to cry out with relief. Meg wrapped her fingers around the tall plant with the small white flowers and pulled. Thanks to the rain, the plant easily released its grip on the damp earth. “Thank you Julia!”

She had no time to waste. With dirt sprinkling across her gown, she held the flower close and rushed back into the house. Grayson was sitting, leaning against the wall, the trails of blood contrasting brilliantly against his pale face. Meg shivered, biting her lip to keep from crying.

“Meg,” he rasped. “You must leave. Hide. You can’t stay here.”

“Shhh! I need to think.” She wouldn’t look at him, she couldn’t concentrate if she looked at him.
He must not die
.

“Meg, please. Stop.”

“No, I won’t.” She rushed to the kettle hanging over the fireplace and latched onto the handle before she thought better. The burn was immediate. Meg cried out and jerked back, dropping the wildflower.

“You’re going to get yourself killed,” Grayson growled from where he sat, a weak representation of himself.

Meg ignored him and using her skirt, picked up the kettle. She dropped to her knees, grasping the cup Mr. Smith had left.
He must not die
.

Hot water splashed on her hands, burning her skin as she poured, her fingers trembling too badly to work properly. Ignoring the sting, she scooped up the plant and tore it to bits. She dared to glance at Grayson.

His eyes were closed.

“No!”

He jumped, startled by her outburst. Meg almost laughed in relief. With shaking hands she scooped up the pieces of plant and tossed them into Mr. Smith’s cup. She stumbled to her feet, moving carefully so as not to trip on her gown.

“Drink,” she demanded, kneeling before Grayson.

He mumbled something indecipherable. Meg pinched his chin and pulled down, parting his lips. “Grayson, please, you must drink for me.”

She pressed the cup to his lips and tilted the contents into his mouth. He coughed, his throat working as the muddy mixture went down his throat.
He must not die.

The contents empty, he turned his head away and Meg dropped the cup to the floor. “How do you feel?” She pressed her hand to his forehead, his skin still icy cold.

He shook his head, his eyes closed. “Meg, let me go.”

“Never,” she whispered, tears burning.

He needed strength. He needed something that would heal his body. He needed … blood. Clean, good blood.

She spun around and spotted Mr. Smith’s knife on the side table. Deep down she knew she was grasping at straws, but she was determined. Grayson would not die. Not now. She snatched the knife from the table and fell to her knees. “Gray, love, please, open your eyes.”

He didn’t.

Her hands trembling, she lifted the knife and sliced it across her forearm. The sharp pain was nothing compared to the ache in her soul.

“Grayson, you must drink. Please, please hear me.” She leaned close to him and pressed her injured arm to his lips, hoping the blood would seep into his mouth. Praying he’d taste the sweet nectar and flourish. She would allow him to drain her, if she must.

“Please, Grayson. Please. I love you,” she whispered, tears slipping down her cheeks. “You can’t leave me here alone.”

Chapter 25

William strolled into his townhome, his footfalls impatient. For three days he’d bedded down at a disgusting Inn halfway between Cumberland and London, his injuries too severe to travel.

Damn Grayson Bellamont to hell for tossing him out that window. No doubt, the story had traveled to London already, arriving before him. Even in death, the man had to leave his mark. How would he explain the man’s actions? How would he explain his brother-in-laws sudden disappearance? It didn’t matter, nothing mattered but the fact that he had finally succeeded. The soft tap of footfalls alerted him to his butler’s presence.

“Any cards, Peters?”

“No, My Lord.” The butler hurried to take Williams jacket. “But a Mr. Smith is waiting in your study.”

William nodded, rolling his shoulders and attempting to ease the tautness of his muscles. “Good man, feel free to retire.”

“Thank you, My Lord.” Peters bowed and swept down the hall.

He certainly didn’t need any servants eavesdropping at the door. He hoped, if they did overhear, they would know better than to gossip. If the world knew what was out there… there’d be utter chaos. Fortunately, there were men like him. Men who would do their all to see this country safe from demons. God’s work is what they were doing and he would make sure every last monster was killed. Even his own daughter.