Dawn Thompson (8 page)

An hour later, they stood over the anvil across the Scottish border at Gretna Green, and they spoke their vows, declared their desire to wed before the blacksmith and his wife. Jon decided to stay the night in one of the little cottages provided for the newlyweds, just in case. Though he
had thus far seen no sign of Sebastian, he took no comfort in it. He sensed the creature’s nearness, smelled the corrupt stench of death that flagged his presence. If there were to be a confrontation, let it be now. Let it be here, before the creature guessed their plans and followed them farther. Besides, the horses needed rest and tending. He could smell their musky, lathered sweat. Jasper would see to that at the coaching inn, where he would spend the night. And, God help him, Jon needed to feed. This was only the first lap of their journey. They still had miles to go before they reached the estuary at Blyth in Northumbria, where they would book passage on a ship that would carry them east, beyond Denmark to the Baltic Sea and the easternmost Polish border, where they would begin their overland journey.

More than anything else, Jon longed to scoop his bride up in his arms and set her down upon the bed. He longed to lie down beside her, to taste her honeyed sweetness, but already the bloodlust had begun, and he was having second thoughts about the wisdom of consummation. It wasn’t meadowsweet and lilies of the valley wafting toward him from her skin, from her sun-painted hair; it was the pungent lure of blood that sent shivers down his spine, that hardened his sex and quickened his heartbeat until it thundered to the same rhythm as her own. Instead, he carried her over the threshold, laid her down on the bed, and stepped back out into the moonlit darkness, warning her to stay.

Half hidden in the clouds, the moon shone down, silvering the pines at the edge of the clearing behind the cottage. There wasn’t a breath of a breeze. All was so still, the land around him seemed like a painting. He raised his head and shut his eyes, calling upon his heightened sense
of smell to show him some creature. Human quarry wasn’t likely in such a remote setting—a deer perhaps? There should be plenty of roe deer in the Scottish forest, but curiously there was nothing. Not even the twitter of a bird sounded in the night. The bloodlust was unbearable. He had to feed soon. He couldn’t go near Cassandra again until he had, and even then . . .

He breathed in the pine-scented air deeply, and his quicksilver eyes snapped open wide. Chills snaked down his spine. Hackles raised, he prowled toward the edge of the wood, drawn like a magnet, one shuddering step after another. A flapping sound in the uppermost branches drew his eyes. Something black descended, fluttering, expanding. It took form before his eyes.

Sebastian!

All his fleeting hopes that they had escaped the creature withered and died as Jon faced the tall, cloaked figure circling him in the moonlight. The vampire seemed to float, his motion mesmerizing. He must not look into its eyes; that was what had doomed him in the first place. Instead, Jon fixed his gaze a little to the right of those compelling eyes and fought their magnetic pull, his breath suspended, teeth gritted, cold sweat running down his face for the labor.

The emaciated figure seemed surreal. The latest London togs hung on that cadaverlike frame the way a child playing dress-up might appear draped in her mother’s clothes. The creature floated closer.
No!
Jon would not look into those eyes. They dominated the face, glowed red in the moonlight. All Jon could think of was Cassandra, unaware in the cottage behind, awaiting his return. What if she were to disobey his directive and come looking for him? What would happen to her if he were to succumb
to the predator circling him for the kill in this lonely Scottish clearing?

It was cooler in the higher elevations, and Jon was wearing his greatcoat. Reaching into his pocket, his fingers closed around the pocket pistol he’d carried since they left the Abbey. Without a silver bullet, how much good it would do against such a creature he had no idea, but he had no other weapon to employ. He drew and cocked it, provoking a burst of blood-chilling laughter from the vampire.

“You think to use
that
against me?” Sebastian tittered. He swept his arms wide. “Do your worst! The noise will bring the girl, and I will have you both. Go ahead! Fire!”

Jon’s finger caressed the trigger. Dared he chance it? He wasn’t given time to decide. Like lightning the vampire rushed him, and though he didn’t even see or feel the contact, the pistol spun out of his hand and landed several yards off in a patch of tall grass and prickly thistles.

“Fool!” Sebastian gloated. “Did you think you could escape me?”

Jon backed toward the woods—anything to put distance between them and the cottage, and Cassandra waiting there unaware. Calling upon his keen senses, he sniffed the air and employed his night vision. No, there was no other entity near. Sebastian was evidently acting alone, and Jon continued to back into the forest, a close eye upon the vampire advancing.

All at once, the creature disappeared. In an instant he reappeared behind Jon, laughing at his staggering surprise as he spun around. Jon turned twice more, and each time Sebastian disappeared and reappeared, thwarting his strategy as he’d done before.

“Do you see how useless it is to oppose me?” the vampire
asked. “And while I do so enjoy playing with you, it grows tiresome. You are my creature. I have made you what you are, and what I have made, I can destroy.”

“You have not made me yet, Sebastian,” Jon said. The gurgling sound of a stream at his back caught his attention. Inspiration struck. If boiling holy water wouldn’t burn his skin, perhaps he still possessed the power to bless it. If that were so, he might just have the weapon he needed to fight the creature. He was hardly in a state of grace, but maybe, just
maybe
. . . It was worth a try, and he stepped across the stream at its narrowest and squatted down, a close eye upon Sebastian, coming closer.

The vampire snorted. “What?” he said. “Surely you cannot believe that old wives’ tale about vampires not being able to cross water?” He plunged one foot into the stream, dispelling the myth.

Jon’s muscles clenched. He hadn’t even heard that tale. There was so much he hadn’t heard, and so much that he
had
heard was contrary to the truth of his situation thus far. He dared not trust anything except his instincts. And by all accounts, they were screaming:
Now
!
Do it now
! He plunged his cupped hands into the cool, clear water of the running stream, scooped some up, and murmured a blessing over it. Almost at once, it began to boil in his hands, though it did not burn his skin.

Sebastian jerked his Hessian out of the stream and took a step back. “Eh?” he grunted. “What is this, then?”

“If you were once what I am now—a man of the cloth—you know what this is!” Jon triumphed. Surging to his feet, he stomped through the stream and threw the boiling, steaming water full in the vampire’s face.

With a cry unlike anything Jon had ever heard, Sebastian spun. A whirlwind grew that lifted dead leaves and
pine needles from the forest floor and sent them flying in all directions. The vampire’s dark image was reduced to a squeaking, flapping flurry of fur and sinew, and he soared off into the trees, bat wings slicing through the still night air in a rowing motion, to disappear beyond the outer darkness into whatever underworld gave him sanctuary. Jon had banished the creature . . . for now. That he would be back Jon had no doubt—but that wasn’t likely tonight.

That he could bless the water was no great feat; a layman could do that as long as he had faith enough to believe in the blessing. Had his calling saved him, or was it simply that those powers of his former self had not yet been rescinded? The condition did seem to be progressive. He would know more when the boiling holy water burned him. For now, it was enough that he had won a reprieve. He dared not count upon more.

He stared long after the bat had spiraled out of sight. Only then did the voices of the forest, conspicuous in their absence, return. Birds ruffled the pine branches, chipmunk and squirrel skittered over the pine needles underfoot. Behind, a twig snapped, calling Jon’s eyes to the author of the noise. A large roe deer had stepped up to the stream to drink. Jon stood very still. He had to feed; he could not return to Cassandra until he did. Whether it was the hour or the excitement of his encounter with Sebastian, the feeding frenzy was upon him with such a voluptuous swell that only gouts of blood would slake it. He felt the pressure as his deadly fangs began to descend. His heartbeat quickened. He had the deer in his sights—eye to eye. He had the power to mesmerize it. Its blood wouldn’t be as satisfying as a human’s, but the animal was large and there was the consolation that there would be no remorse in draining it dry. Such
deer were plentiful, after all. This would simply be one less beast for the hunters to weed out.

With a silent snarl, he sprang. The attack drove the deer to its knees. It was his. There would be nothing left for Sebastian to drain afterward. Jon fed, and having done, he retrieved his pocket pistol from the thistles and strode back to the cottage.

Dressed in her muslin nightshift, Cassandra was pacing before the bed when Jon entered. She flew into his arms. He had just fed; she could smell the blood on him, yet no trace of it remained, and his hair was wet, the rich mahogany waves slicked back from his handsome face.

“There is a stream in the wood,” he said, answering the question in her eyes. “I washed afterward.” But there was another question she had, and he answered that also. “A deer,” he said.

Something untoward had happened. She knew it—sensed it. She could smell it on him. She might not be as deeply infected as he, but her senses were alarmingly heightened. Leaning back, she searched his eyes. They shone like silver in the candlelight.

“Was it . . .
him
?” she murmured.

Jon stared down at her for a long moment without speaking. He seemed to be weighing what to tell her. Well, she wouldn’t settle for less than the truth. Not now, not ever. They were married. Although it was all so new,
and in the worst possible circumstances, she would have the truth—even though she knew his motive was to spare her. They were in this together. When would he know she didn’t need to be spared? She needed to be trusted.

He nodded, but turned away.

“You cannot hide these things from me, Jon,” she said. “I knew it the moment you entered the room. Will you not trust me?”

“It isn’t a matter of trust. I do not want to worry you.”

“Well, I
am
worried. If there is danger, we both face it. There is strength in numbers—even in this number.”

“Will you submit to a little test?” he said.

“What sort of test?”

“You have no fear of holy relics. I want to see how you react to holy water. It could be vital to us both, Cassandra.”

“Very well,” she said. “Where shall we get some?”

“I will make it,” he replied.

Cassandra stared, slack-jawed. This was the last thing she’d expected him to say. “I . . . I don’t understand,” she murmured.

Jon took her hands, led her to the bed, and sat her down on the edge. “As I feared, Sebastian followed my scent,” he said. “He was waiting outside. My pistol was useless against him. He disarmed me in a trice. Then, all at once, I remembered the holy water.”

“What holy water? You aren’t making any sense.”

“I’m making more sense than you know. One of the first changes that came upon me after Sebastian . . . fed upon me was that, when I put my fingers in a holy water font, the water boiled up around them—yet it did not burn me. I never even told this to Clive.”

“Go on,” she murmured, hanging upon his every word.

“Sebastian was stalking me in the wood outside when I
came upon the stream. All at once it occurred to me that if I could stand the touch of holy water, I might still be able to bless it. It worked. I repelled him, Cass. I want to see how you react to it. If you can bear it also—as I assume you can—it will make an excellent weapon for both of us against Sebastian, and against others like him until I can meet with the holy men of Moldovia and they can council me on alternatives. Are you game?”

“There’s water in the pitcher there,” she said, pointing toward the dry sink, where a pitcher filled with water and a basin stood.

Swallowing, Cassandra watched while Jon splashed some of the water into the basin and blessed it. Then, motioning her near, he dipped his fingers into the water. She gasped as it began to boil. Yet it did not seem to burn him, though steam rose from the rolling bubbles.

“Y-you want me to put my hand in
that?”
she cried. She was incredulous.

He nodded. “How else are we to know? If my suspicions are correct it will tingle a bit but feel cool to the touch, just as it does to me.”

Cassandra shot out her hand and retracted it again thrice before easing her fingers gingerly into the water. To her surprise, the water did not burn her, though the heat of it suddenly cracked the basin and she jumped back as the ceramic broke with a loud crack, spilling the water at their feet.

Jon took her in his arms. “Thank God!” he murmured.

“What does it mean?” she said. “How can you . . . How did it . . . ?”

“I do not presume to know, nor do I know how long the phenomenon will last, but while it does, we will arm ourselves with it, and use it if needs must without hesitation.
I have an empty wineskin in my trunk. I shall bless the rest of this and we will carry it thus until we can find suitable vials.” He stroked her cheek with the back of his hand and slipped his other arm around her. “This is not how I planned our wedding night to be,” he murmured.

“None of it is your fault,” she said. “We are together. Nothing else matters.”

He scooped her up in his arms and carried her to the bed. Her breath caught as he knelt beside her. Stripping off his waistcoat and shirt, he tossed them down, never taking his quicksilver eyes from her face. His moves were more feral than human then, and he slid the nightshift down over her shoulders, exposing her breasts to his gaze. Her heart began to hammer. She was certain he could see it shuddering beneath her skin.