They were alone in the street, which was good as Ravenhunt was naked.
“We have to run, but you’re—”
“We don’t have to run,” he insisted. “Since you can touch me now, I can transform into a larger bat, and you can ride on me.”
“Ride on you? You mean—in the air?”
He nodded, and then his body jerked and writhed as he went through his transformation. She had seen it in his bedroom, but she’d been too shocked to really understand what had happened to him. His skin stretched in ways that must be impossible. Beneath his pale skin, his muscle and bone reshaped. His back widened, then in the blink of an eye, huge wings formed out of his back. His body had barely changed in size. He still possessed legs, a man’s torso and hips and—and all the other parts. He looked more like a gargoyle than a man and in this form he was covered in sable-smooth black fur.
He turned, so his broad back and his wings faced her. Smoothly, he dipped down on one knee. She climbed on his back, lying along the lean, hard planes. So strange that instead of skin, she was pressed to velvety fur. She wrapped her arms around his neck, and her legs around his waist.
Then his wings flapped, raising up dirt from the street, and sending a soft breeze to ripple over her.
Together, they rose into the air. His wings beat slowly, with a languorous, graceful smoothness, but they lifted swiftly. By the second building they passed, they had reached such a height that they flew past the upper windows of two-story buildings. A heartbeat later, she could look down upon the roofs of Whitechapel High Street. Ahead were open fields beyond the London Hospital, a stretch of gray-tinted blue with moonlight. Shadows clung to the buildings, and Ravenhunt flew within them. She supposed it meant they disappeared from view when they were in the dark.
She held her breath. They climbed higher and higher. She felt as if she could reach out and touch the moon. For one moment, she felt a twinge of fear—they were dizzyingly high—but it disappeared. She had nothing to be afraid of when she was with Ravenhunt.
Ophelia drew in a deep breath. Up here the air felt and smelled different—cooler, crisp, clean. Her arms were securely wrapped around his neck. His powerful muscles flexed and moved beneath her slim arms.
As they’d risen into the sky, she’d heard shouting down below them. Her captors must have discovered she had escaped.
She could not believe she was flying. And if he’d taken her power, why was he not dead? What had he meant that Guidon had told him there was a way out?
Beneath her, she saw the streets of London laid out, following the curves of the Thames. Powerful wingbeats took them closer to the buildings below them.
Her heart dipped and then soared downward, and beat frantically when he climbed again.
Now she knew what it was like to fly. Exhilarating. Amazing. Somehow it seemed even more miraculous to fly close to the buildings below, to just graze over them, to whirl around them. Below them were narrow, elegant buildings with bow windows and painted signs that shone with gilt.
Charing Cross. They were going to Guidon’s.
Ravenhunt slowly descended to the sidewalk outside the bookstore. He landed lightly on his feet, then crouched so she could safely slip off his back. It was dark—no light glowed in Guidon’s shop. She looked back to Ravenhunt and in the seconds she’d peered into the shop, he had transformed back to a man.
“Is he asleep?”
“He’s a vampire.”
A vampire? She’d never dreamed of that, though it explained why he had been working in his shop at night. “What about you?” she asked Ravenhunt. “It is cold and you have no clothing. You cannot go in to see Guidon this way. We must get you clothes so you do not catch pneumonia.”
“Love, vampires do not become sick. The Royal Society will have armed men watching my house, so we cannot return there. Guidon will help me acquire clothing. This is the safest place for you.” He touched her cheek. The warmth of his hand on her skin was enthralling. But she couldn’t do this yet.
“We must find out from Guidon if I’ve lost my power—” She could not make herself say, “and if you are going to be destroyed.”
Ravenhunt hauled open the door. It was unlocked, and they stepped into darkness. Ravenhunt slid a bolt in place to secure the door behind them, then he took her hand. He threaded his fingers through hers—she hadn’t held hands like this in forever. She had last done it with her sister Lydia—she hadn’t seen her sister in years, nor her younger brother, Harry. Not since her family understood her power and kept her away from them. She had not started her life by killing people—it had begun when she was thirteen. She had hurt servants by accident; she had made her family ill, she had almost killed the man she loved. Then she had been locked away.
Holding someone’s hand felt reassuring.
But it reminded her of what she’d done. Probably destroyed Ravenhunt.
“Guidon?” he called.
There was no answer, only silence, but Ravenhunt murmured. “He is in his garden.”
“His garden? It is the middle of the night. How do you know?”
“He told me by thought.”
She let him lead her through the crowded bookshop, in the narrow aisle between shelves, skirting stacks of books. At the back, they passed through Guidon’s kitchen, its kettle on a table. Ravenhunt opened a rear door, and Ophelia walked out first into a tiny, walled garden.
The gnome-like man—vampire, she now knew—was crouched in front of a hedge of flowers. It was late at night, the sky velvety black, yet the garden was alive with color. She gasped, surprised.
Guidon jumped up and faced her, a beaming smile on his strange-looking face. He looked very happy and proud, and she smiled at him, despite her fears.
“Lady Ophelia, it is delightful to see you.” He bowed.
“It is lovely to see you, Mr. Guidon,” she answered. He did not appear shocked that Ravenhunt had no clothing.
He waved toward his house. “My—Mr. Ravenhunt, you will find a robe upstairs, if you wish. While you dress, I will show Lady Ophelia my garden. Then we can speak of what has happened.”
“Do you know what has happened?” she asked, startled.
“I can imagine.”
Ravenhunt left for the house and she could not help but blurt, “I am able to touch him now. It means he has taken my power, doesn’t it? Does that not mean he is going to die?”
“Are you afraid of that?” Guidon asked.
She gaped, perplexed. “Of course. I don’t want him to sacrifice himself for me.”
“That is a good start.” He almost skipped over to a bevy of huge white flowers. They were the size of saucers. “This is a moon flower. They bloom in moonlight.”
“They are lovely. What do you mean by it is a good start?”
“What will save Ravenhunt is your love, Lady Ophelia. He is worthy of it, even if he believes he is not. However, it must be true love, deep and powerful, to save him. I do not know if you care for him quite enough yet. In my garden, though, you will see how beautiful things can be that live for the night. That bloom only in the night.”
“I know Ravenhunt is beautiful, and I believe I do love him.”
“You cannot completely love him, my lady. Not yet.” Guidon pointed out other flowers with a gnarled, ink-stained finger. He spoke like a proud father about his children. There were lance-shaped white flowers with a pinkish tint and hairy leaves that he called Nottingham catchfly. He had borders of pink and purple four o’clocks. A beautiful yellow flower that was as tall as her he called evening primrose, creamy yellow night gladiolus, and elegant Casablanca lilies, which were very exotic.
“One would think a vampire would be denied the pleasures of a garden, but it is not so,” he declared happily.
“It is one of the most beautiful gardens I’ve seen,” she said, honestly. “The flowers show how much you love it.”
Guidon waved toward the back door of his house. “We should go back inside.”
They stepped inside as Ravenhunt came downstairs in a robe that reached his knees. He had it belted at his waist, wrapped around him to hide his naked body.
Guidon insisted they sit and he made tea. She poured it for them all. Guidon addressed Ravenhunt, “Do you have the book, my lord?”
“No, it is at my home. I had to leave my house in a hurry.”
She swallowed. He’d had to run because he was going to bite her, and then because he had chased her outside. Then she realized what Guidon had said. “You called him ‘my lord.’ But he is not—”
“There are still secrets between you. That is why you have not entirely saved him yet, my lady.”
Guidon stood and took Ravenhunt’s cup. He held it so she could see in the bottom. There were leaves there, and they had filled one half of the cup, making a perfect straight line through the center.
“You have given some of your power to him. Right now you are both sharing the strength of your power. It is half with you and half with him, which is why you do not hurt him when you touch him. But once he takes all your power, unless he wins your love, he will be destroyed. Ravenhunt, she cannot love you without knowing the truth.”
“I thought love saved her,” Ravenhunt said.
“It saves you both,” Guidon answered.
“What more can I tell her?” Ravenhunt’s full lower lip thrust out. “She already knows the worst of me. My brutal past and the fact I am a vampire.”
“She needs to know everything.” Guidon turned to her. “What do you wish to ask him?”
There was so much. So much, she couldn’t think of one thing. Then a question popped out, even though she hadn’t really thought of it as the one to ask. “Why would you risk your very life to save me?”
Ophelia licked her lips, waiting for his answer, and when he fell back against his seat and groaned, her heart pounded with worry. There was something he did not want to tell her.
Raven had no idea what in hell Guidon was talking about. Ophelia knew the bad things about him and still cared for him. It should be enough. But, damn it, if Guidon insisted it was not enough, he knew the vampire had to be correct.
Guidon touched Raven’s shoulder but looked to Ophelia. Now Raven thought of her as Felie—his special, sweet, and incredibly courageous Felie. “You love him now, do you not?” Guidon asked.
A fetching blush raced over her soft cheeks. “He was willing to die for me. No one has cared for me so much. Yes, I know I do. So how can that not be enough?”
Raven grimaced. He’d done this for his sister—Felie did not know that. Without knowing all the truth, she must have thought he’d done this solely for her. That was why she cared about him. If she knew the truth, she’d probably feel betrayed. And fall out of love. Women tended to do that. With Margaret, his fiancée, he always had to prove his love. Margaret was always emotional and upset, accusing him of betraying her, of not really being in love with her. She had always threatened to stop loving him if he did not reassure her with one grandiose gesture after another.
Was that what Guidon meant?
“You must understand that she cannot truly love you until she knows everything about you. You have been given a reprieve—a short chance to win her love once and for all. If you are not honest or if she does not fall in love with you, you will be destroyed.”
He poured more tea in Ophelia’s cup and pushed it into her hands. “Love is a most powerful emotion,” Guidon said to her. “It can literally save lives and souls. But if it is built upon a foundation of deceit, it can never be real. To have magical properties, love must be real.”
Raven knew Guidon might be talking to Felie, but the words were meant for him.
“I will leave you now,” Guidon continued. “Here, in my parlor. You will be safe here in my home, and you will have privacy.”
As Guidon left, he stopped in the doorway. He picked up a bowl and sprinkled the contents in the doorway—flower petals, and bits of dried leaves. There was a sweet, pungent smell.
“That will protect you from others who might intrude,” he said. “I will sprinkle these around the doors and windows. No men of the Royal Society could cross these. They would lose consciousness at once.”
Once the librarian left them alone in his parlor, Raven raked his hand through his hair. “Guidon is correct—I haven’t told you everything, Ophelia. I haven’t told you why I must take your power.”
She was perched on the edge of the chair opposite him. She bit her lip, then said, “It is not to save me, is it?”
He was sprawled over the settee. “I always wanted to save you. I thought I was going to kill you by taking your power and I refused to do that. I was only willing to try to do it when Guidon told me that love would save you.”
He had to tell her everything. He sat up, took her hand, and lifted it to his lips, giving a gentle kiss to her fingertips. Threading his fingers with her slender ones, he held her hand. He liked touching her. But when she knew the truth, would she let him touch her again?
He told her about the vampire queens—what they were and how they ruled the vampire world. “One of them turned me. I was bleeding to death in the mud after a battle, with my stomach ripped open by a sword and my throat cut. I probably had a musket ball lodged in my leg, as well—it’s hard to remember the details.”
“And you wanted to be a soldier?” She stared at him as if he were insane.
“Yes.” He kissed her hand once more. “I was tempting fate, waiting to get killed, and fate had finally delivered. But Jade, one of the vampire queens, had decided she wanted me for a mate.”
“To be with her for eternity?”
“Jade was never that faithful. A plaything for a few years was what she wanted. She created me and I had to serve her, acting as her assassin, destroying vampires who did not follow her rules. At first she kept me with her at all times, like a pet. She kept me in her house on the fringe of Mayfair. No one guessed Jade was feeding on residents and servants along the exclusive street.”