In the Heat of the Bite (16 page)

Eynsford had no idea how very thirsty he was. “Not at all,” he clipped out. “But business does await.”

The Lycan extended his hand. “I’m glad we understand one another.”

As Matthew took Eynsford’s hand, he wasn’t at all certain they did. But he seemed to have permission to pretend to court the lovely Miss Sinclair. Of course, as long as he didn’t drink her blood, throw her skirts over her head in a fit of passion, or otherwise embarrass her publicly, he had permission. Why did that have to be the parting thought? He wouldn’t be able to get the thought of tossing her skirts over her head out of
his
head the rest of the night.

Matthew stepped out the front door and couldn’t help but look up at Thorpe House, to the upstairs window. His eyes were drawn to the only one lit by the soft glow of a candle. There she stood, her face in shadow, half behind the curtain. He bowed quickly to her, threw her a winning smile, and turned to walk down the street.

A gentle breeze caressed his cheek, and he couldn’t keep from reaching up to touch the spot. As he did, a tiny twinge of pain flashed within his chest. What was
that
about? Matthew frowned. It didn’t hurt much. It was a bit uncomfortable, but mostly it was unsettling. He supposed he’d have to pay a call to Callista. Damn. He’d rather drink bilge water.

Matthew stood on the cobblestone street, frowning at the little cottage in Hampstead. In all of Britain, it was the last place he wanted to be. But he was here, so he might as well get this over with. Although, the ache in his chest
had
stopped. Well, mostly anyway. Perhaps it would be better to drop by another time. Surely the pain would subside all together and this little trip would have been for nothing.

The front door creaked open, and in the blink of an eye, Callista stood before him, her russet curls billowing over her shoulders. One sculpted eyebrow lifted imperiously. “Are you just going to stand in the street all evening?”

How long had she been watching him? “I didn’t realize the hour, Callista. I should come another time.”

“Where is your protégé? And why do you smell like sheep’s blood?” Though she was shorter than him by at least a foot, she somehow seemed to be looking down her nose at him like a regal queen eyeing an insignificant squire.

Sheep’s blood.
Could that vile blood have caused this dull ache? That didn’t seem likely. Of course, having chest pains after more than six centuries didn’t seem likely, either. “May I have just a moment of your time?”

Fast as a blur, Callista was back at her front door, holding it wide. “Do come in, Matthew. I don’t have all night.”

He followed her, though at a much more human pace. As soon as he crossed the threshold, the aroma of fresh human blood assaulted him. Like a hound on a fox hunt, Matthew followed the scent into a small parlor, which was swathed in black. Dear God, he was starving.

Callista appeared at his elbow, a goblet outstretched in her hand. “You look awful. Drink this.”

He must look awful. He’d never known Callista to act the role of servant for any man, vampyre or otherwise. Matthew tentatively took the glass from her. Inside, the liquid was nearly the same dark red as Eynsford’s claret. “Where did this come from?”

Callista frowned at him. “Gift horses and all that, Matthew. Drink the damned blood.”

No one ever argued with Callista, not if he wanted to keep his head. So Matthew tossed the drink back and swallowed it in one gulp. And he instantly wished he hadn’t. Bloody hell! He’d never tasted anything so revolting. “Good God,” he rasped. “The sheep’s blood was better. Are you trying to poison me?”

Callista’s glower darkened. “What would be the point in that?”

She always had been calculating. And there was no good reason to poison him or kill him. None that he could think of anyway. “The blood is rancid.”

Callista’s frown vanished, only to be replaced with a most quizzical stare, as though he was an oddity or anomaly of some sort. “There is
something
off about you.”

Matthew wasn’t sure whether he should be relieved that he wasn’t imagining things or worried that something was most definitely wrong with him. “Do you know what it is?”

She shook her head and gestured to a chaise a few feet away. “But you should probably sit. I’ve never seen you look so terrible.”

And that was saying something as she had found him slowly dying beside dozens of already dead knights in the Holy Land. “I look like I’m once again at death’s door?” Matthew sat, staring up at her, hoping she had some wisdom that would help.

“So to speak.”

Well, that was hardly reassuring. “You’re right, of course. There is something wrong. I just don’t know what it is. That’s why I’ve come, Callista. I’ve never felt this way before.”

“Felt what way?” She settled in beside him.

There were so many things now that he thought about it. “I couldn’t feed today. The girl offered herself up to me. And nothing. No desire.” He laughed derisively. “My bloody fangs didn’t even distend.”

“Am I to suppose that explains the sheep’s blood?”

“MacQuarrie gave it to me to tide me over.”

Her brow rose in reproach. “Shouldn’t you be taking care of him, not the other way around?”

“I don’t know that I’m fit to take care of anyone right now. I’ve been getting headaches. And there’s a pain,” he tapped his chest, “right here. It’s slight and dull, but it won’t go away.”

Callista leaned forward and touched his chest. “Here?”

Matthew nodded, hoping beyond reason she could help. She was the oldest vampyre he knew. If there was something to be done, some precedent, Callista would know it. She cocked her head to one side and winced, but only for a second.

“What is it?” He pressed her hand more firmly against where his heart had once beat.

She scoffed as though the idea was ridiculous. “It’s nothing.”

“Tell me.”

Callista stared deeply into his eyes, and for the first time in a very long while, she seemed to be completely sincere. “I’m not sure, Matthew. But I don’t believe sheep’s blood is the answer.”

“It was a one-time occurrence.”

“Well, I can still smell it on you.” She scrunched up her nose. “I am concerned about all this. We’ve seen plagues sweep through and decimate human populations. I would hate for it to be our turn.”

Matthew hadn’t even considered that possibility.

“This girl that offered herself up to you. Was she attractive?”

Which one? There had been two. An image of Rhiannon Sinclair tossing her hair over one shoulder flashed in Matthew’s mind. “There was…” But he’d really rather not mention Rhiannon to anyone. Still his teeth did distend when he was with
her
.

“There was what?”

Matthew shook his head. “The girl at
Brysi
was perfectly attractive.”

Callista’s black eyes narrowed infinitesimally. “Come now. You’ve known me too long to mistake me for a fool, Sir Matthew,” she said, reminding him exactly how long she had known him by referring to him by that name. “What is it you’re keeping from me?”

If he didn’t tell her, she’d still find out one way or the other. Alec MacQuarrie would probably blurt it out at the worst possible time. “There is a girl…”

“Yes, there are
many
girls,” she said, her tone implying he was a complete simpleton.

“My fangs… They do work for her.”

Callista froze, her gaze locked on his. “Indeed?”

Everything else worked for her, too, but Matthew would rather not divulge that. He nodded once.

“And have you taken from her?”

“No.” He shook his head. “And I’ve promised not to.”

Callista tossed her back and laughed. “More fool you.” It seemed ages before she could control her mirth.

“I hardly find it amusing.”

Callista put a hand to her heart and rose from her seat. “You had me worried, Matthew. And for no good reason. Take from the girl and be done with it.”

The idea of sinking his teeth into Rhiannon brought other parts of his body to life. “I can’t.”

One delicate brow rose indignantly, and the mirth vanished from Callista’s face. “You most certainly can.”

Well, he
could
. There was no arguing that point. “What if it doesn’t work? I can’t take from the poor girl the rest of her life.”

“Why not?”

Because it wasn’t fair. He couldn’t ask that from Rhiannon. He had nothing to give her in return. He couldn’t steal her future. But he couldn’t say any of that to Callista. She wouldn’t understand, and even if she did, she wouldn’t agree. “I gave my word,” he said instead.

“Then you will suffer the rest of your days, Matthew. Will your honor keep you warm during the day, do you think? I have a feeling this girl, whoever she is, would do a much better job.”

“I have nothing to offer her.”

Callista cupped his jaw with her hands. “You have yourself, my son.” Then she patted his cheek with more force than was necessary, as though to abate any lingering sentiments of affection.

Matthew touched his ill-used cheek. “She’s an innocent, Callista.” Taking from Rhiannon wasn’t the same as taking from one of the Cyprians who spent their lives at
Brysi
. However, his mother, for lack of a better word to describe his maker, had never seen the difference.

She threw up her hands in annoyance. “Then marry the girl if it eases your conscience.”

Did she honestly think it was that easy? “She will want children.”

“Then help yourself to the foundling hospital of your choice,” she grumbled irritably. “You are making this more difficult than it needs to be, Matthew. Innocents and children. You are a vampyre. You need human blood. This girl calls to you for whatever reason. Have done with it already.”

Matthew rose from his seat and tipped his head in Callista’s direction. “Thank you for your wisdom.”

“In other words, you’ll do whatever the hell you want, like always.”

He couldn’t help the grin that spread across his lips. “It has been a pleasure.”

Callista’s brow furrowed. “I want you back here within the week, Matthew Halkett. And I want you looking like yourself.”

Or she’d come in search of him. The threat was there, even if she didn’t utter it. Matthew nodded tightly. “Until then, dear.”

Avoiding the all-hearing ears of a Lycan wasn’t easy when one wanted to sneak out of the house. Rhiannon waited anxiously for the household to quiet, then very slowly opened her chamber door and peeked down the corridor. No one was moving about, and the corridors were dark; perhaps everyone had finally gone to bed.

Back home in Edinburgh, she had often slipped out under the cover of night to climb to the top of Arthur’s Seat, where she could be alone to think. But finding time or space to be alone at Thorpe House was incredibly difficult. Not only were there servants everywhere, but Eynsford’s Lycan brood was always underfoot. If they weren’t lounging about, they were worrying the living daylights out of the marquess. Honestly, that part was quite humorous. She’d never seen the golden Lycan at sixes and sevens. But, still, if solitude was what one needed to find a balance within one’s self, one could not find it at Thorpe House.

Her powers had been off-kilter ever since her arrival in London, and they weren’t getting any better. Blodswell’s appearance made it even worse. After that kiss, she wasn’t certain she’d ever be herself again. She’d never felt so out of sorts in her life, and the majority of it centered on the earl.

Certainly, he was handsome beyond belief, but he also possessed something else that drew Rhiannon like a moth to a flame. Perhaps it was his confidence? She wasn’t certain what it was, but from the very first moment, he’d had her powers, not to mention her heart, all aflutter.

On quiet feet, she tiptoed to the garden door and let herself out into the dark night. In London, there was no place like Arthur’s Seat that she could take advantage of, but there was the park where she’d originally had her temper-fit and where she’d first met the earl. It should be quiet and vacant at this time of night.

Rhiannon tugged her cloak tighter about her body and raised the hood to cover her head. She had no fear of being alone in the night since she could create a fog so thick that no one could even see her, much less harm her. She inhaled deeply and continued into the night, her shoes barely making any sound on the cobblestones as she wound her way to Hyde Park.

When she finally reached the gates, she stopped to look up at the night sky and enjoyed the flicker of the bright stars. They often seemed to mock her with their winking and twinkling, but not tonight. Tonight, they hovered like beacons of hope.

What a ridiculous thought.
Rhiannon silently berated herself as she crossed to a park bench and sat down. Apparently, she’d been spending too much time with Cait, who had the most romantic of hearts. Rhiannon was very much the opposite. Of course, Cait’s father had doted on her and made certain she’d lived a life that could foster hope and romantic imagination. Rhi’s own sire had holed up in his study, rarely to be seen. And Aunt Greer… well, she wasn’t the most nurturing of women.