Authors: Multiple
"But I've
felt the heat of you." He finished his statement before her interrupted
words and his voice was a low, scintillating rasp.
The meaning
shocked her and passions she never knew she had lifted her hand to slap his
cheek. The sound was sharp and it barely moved him. "How dare you,"
she hissed. "Men have been forced to marry for much less," she
finished as she glared up at him. Surprisingly unafraid at the fangs he
displayed.
She turned and
ran to the south side of the mansion, away from the room where Fanton had
attacked her. She was terrified she'd find Fanton as she crept through the
kitchen, then up the back stairway. It seemed to take an eternity, yet she
found the door to her rooms and opened it quickly. The squeaking of the door
nearly made her scream as she fearfully glanced around. She hurried inside her
rooms, shutting the door only to fall back upon it with gasping breaths. The
closed door felt as if it was a barrier against evil, but she realized it was a
flimsy curtain against Fanton's strength.
Fanton was a
vampire.
Beth's gaze
darted over the dark room as her heartbeat fluttered. "And he's had my
blood," she whispered. What she thought she knew of fanciful horror
stories about vampires was that they killed people and drank their blood. Yet
it was all she knew, and it was wrong.
"I know
Fanton is a vampire because Trinity is one." She grabbed herself about her
waist, rocking slowly trying not to break down and cry anymore. She'd always
believed her stepbrother was touched by evil, even capable of physical harm in
deviant ways. "How could I not know that he'd b-been …" Beth's
whispered voice cracked. "He'd been
sucking
my blood."
She shuddered,
resisting the urge to look over every inch of her body for evidence, and then
she gasped, running into her bedchamber as though she could escape the
feelings. The tiniest beginnings of dawn were showing behind her frilly
bedchamber curtains as she scrambled into bed and she dug under the covers.
She knew she
couldn't spend another night in her step uncle's mansion, even if it meant
living on the streets. She had to be gone in the light of morning, and perhaps
the one savior she might have had, Lord Trinity Montrose, only wanted her to be
his whore to fondle.
"I'm
doomed," she whispered.
***
Trinity forced
himself not to follow Beth with an effort that tensed his strength into
abnormal stillness. Not a breath or blinking of an eyelid would be shown for
many moments as he inwardly struggled with the beast that demanded he capture
Beth as his private possession.
As determent, he
reminded himself that she despised him. "And she's right," he uttered
through barely-clenched teeth.
It was as though
he'd lost all his sense and willpower, which he prided himself on. Willpower
for what? He'd not bitten her even as much as the pure blood flowing through
her veins tempted him to. For him, her perfect humanity helped to hold him
back. Could he deny the temptations of one pure woman knowing he existed? The
truth of that twisted inside him more than the temptation of her loins.
He needed a
woman beneath him. "Now," he growled, turning to stalk back across
the meadow to his horse.
He would find a
whore and befuddle her with liquor until his beast could release itself between
her thighs. Whores were aplenty. Perhaps he would take one of Cull's and plum
her for information as well. There wasn't a woman alive that could resist his
allure.
He swore
crassly, grasping the saddle of his stallion to throw himself on top, as his
thoughts cackled at him with venom.
Except one
woman.
Chapter Fifteen
Adam woke
twisted in the bed sheets of Beth's downstairs convalescent bed. His thoughts
were lethargic and cloying. Where was he? Where was Beth? He fought with his
hand, trying to free it from the tangle of the bed sheets, then it wormed free
as his blinking eyes tried to focus … On the ceiling?
He patted his
head a few times groaning, then lowered his hand to scratch his bare chest.
Jesus, had he gotten drunk last night? Even though he was looking at the
ceiling, his lower body was twisted with his naked ass angling upward. Naked?
The sound he made was a denying growl as he tried to move his lower body and
right his position, but his pants were caught about his shins. He still had his
half boots on.
"What the
hell," he muttered, putting more effort into sitting upright. An uncomfortable
feeling settled over him, making him feel nauseated. He hung his head in his
hands.
"What
happened?" he rasped. His voice felt raw. No, it felt sore and his hand
lowered to massage his throat. It was sore to the touch. He would believe that
he'd gotten drunk and stumbled into the wrong room while trying unsuccessfully
to remove his clothes. He was a horrid drunk. That's why he rarely drank more
than one glass. Years it had been, even with his university comrades cajoling
him to join their drunken revelry.
Fanton.
Adam nearly
vomited. He grabbed his throat and his head at the same moment as a picture of
Fanton's twisted features stabbed into his thoughts. The last thing he
remembered was the red slashes in Fanton's eyes, just as Fanton roughly grabbed
his neck. Adam dropped his hands into fists atop the bed. He'd not gotten
drunk. He was certain of it. Fanton had done something to him and he was
terrified to find out what. He felt horrible shame crawl over him as he stood
and reached down to pull up his trousers. There were not many reasons he would
awake half-naked, and his skin crept with thoughts of Fanton touching him
sexually.
"Jesus,"
he cursed softly with tears burning his eyes as he fought them down, while
tugging his shirt to tie it closed. If he didn't feel bad enough, he belatedly
remembered Beth. Why wasn't she in this room? Thank god she wasn't. But why?
That hastened him into action, yet when he reached for the door lever, he
slowed. "When I find her, I can't tell her about this."
He couldn't stay
in the mansion even one more night.
Ever.
That would leave Beth alone
here. He leaned on the door lever, butting the top of his head against the wood
as he crouched before it with worry, frustration, and fear. He rocked in his
frustration, calling out, "God, what can I do? What can I do?" Buy a
pistol was the first answer he thought of.
"Adam?"
The voice he
cared for most sounded outside the room. It was Beth. Thank god. It sounded as
if it came from the staircase and he schooled his features into calmness as he
opened the door.
"Beth,"
he called. Where the small hallway broke into the foyer, he found Beth standing
by the door with two traveling satchels at her feet. She wore a plum-tinted hat
with a dark veil pulled over her face and a black cloak falling to her ankles.
The intricately woven veil made it hard for him to judge her features.
"Beth, what
is this?" he asked, arriving before her. "It cannot be advisable for
you to be out of bed," he finished, wondering at the artifice he used so
readily, when he was relieved to find her out of bed with the newest, looming
dangers of Fanton.
Beth waved a
gloved hand. "I'm fine." She didn't look at him, but toward the door.
"Quick healer," she stated firmly. She seemed to take a deep breath
and turned her veiled countenance toward him, while he wished for a veil of his
own. He felt as if every sordid detail of the night must be written on his
features.
"Adam, are
you all right?" Her voice rose as she obviously really looked at him for
the first time since they arrived together.
He clasped her
gloved hands. "Of course," he lied. "Sleepless is all," he
lied again. Then he knew something was amiss, as her travel attire suggested
when she didn't begin to fuss over him.
"My fault,
I'm certain. I do apologize," Beth said. She pulled her hands free of his
grasp as he tried to square his shoulders and appear less destitute. "But,
Adam, the most extraordinary opportunity has come about for me." Adam
glanced at the traveling satchels. "I didn't mention it to you until I was
certain, but I've been accepted to teach at the ladies school in
Hartcastle."
He was shocked.
He'd not known Beth was thinking of such an action. Yet, he schooled his
features to show approval, and if he looked too closely, he might think himself
a cad. Beth was looking for a proper husband, not this.
"I'm
amazed," he said, and he realized he sounded without conviction, so he
strove to put more into his tone. "Simply amazed." That was better,
but he knew he had to add some surprise. "I had no idea."
However, he did
have an idea. This would vacate Beth from Fanton's malevolence, and it would
allow him to leave also. He'd not spend one more night under this roof. Gone
were concerns over what they'd witnessed outside the ball. Gone was the need to
speculate with Beth over what the Blacknalls were. Gone was any knowledge he
had about a murdered woman in the woods.
"Yes, I
know," Beth said, patting his arm. "I've just decided two seasons is
enough to try to find a husband, and this is such a pleasing alternative."
Then she added, "For us all."
They both seemed
to glance toward Fanton's side of the mansion. For a moment, it made Adam
wonder if they both had something in common.
"And now,
Adam, you can go straight back to the university."
Adam jerked his
attention back to Beth. She sounded urgent. "Well, yes," he started
to say.
"No,
really," she interrupted. "You must leave this morning. You must
promise me!"
"I, well …
of course," he said, feeling the need to appease her urgency.
"It's late
in the day, but if you …"
Adam felt
another shock as he interrupted her. "It's late?" he exclaimed.
"Why
yes," she replied, reaching for his arm, which she pressed with
reassurance. "Are you all right?"
He managed to
compose himself from the realization he'd slept or been unconscious the entire
morning without realizing it. The thought jabbed him suddenly.
How close to
dusk was it?
He glanced at the parlor and could see sunlight shining on the
furnishings. The tension inside him lessened a little.
"I'm
fine," he said. "Time just got away from me." He added for a
reprieve, "It's been a few late nights."
Once again, he
noticed Beth didn't rise to the chance to coddle him. "It has," she
answered, sounding distracted. "But, if you pack now, we can share a
carriage."
"So you're
going to go to Hartcastle straight away then?"
He knew of the
county coaches to places like Hartcastle; one wouldn't be leaving this late in
the day.
He noticed right
off Beth seemed to hesitate, but then she said firmly, "I'm going to Lady
Ariel's for a few days, until my post starts."
"Oh, you've
heard from her then," he muttered.
Beth wanted to
swat Adam into motion. He asked too many probing questions she had to lie to
answer and she was a terrible liar. Immediately, she sought to avoid the
question of Ariel, because while she'd sent a note, Ariel hadn't replied with a
hearty, "Yes, come stay with me." The problem was what she could
remember of last seeing Ariel was that her lady-friend had been very upset.
"If we
hurry, we can both say goodbyes to step uncle Westfield, and thank him for all
he's done for us," Beth said, effectively sidestepping Adam's question
about Ariel. "I've got a carriage coming now, Adam. We must hurry."
Adam blinked at
her, shoving a hand through his bedraggled hair. He really looked poor with
red-rimmed eyes and a shallow complexion. "Right, I'll go pack," he
said, turning. "It won't take long."
"Can you
bring down my two trunks then, Adam?"
Beth watched
Adam lift a hand to her request as he loped up the stairs. Just as soon as he was
out of sight, she slumped, wringing her hands together. "Why hasn't Ariel
responded?"
Her entire and
quickly-concocted plan rested on her friend helping her. If she couldn't stay
at Ariel's then she was doomed. While she had enough money saved to rent a
room, just the fact she'd do such a thing would ruin her. No ladies school
would take her then.
Beth began to
pace the foyer. "You knew it was late and she might not respond." She
took a deep breath. She and Ariel had planned to go to the Lancaster's spring
ball this evening. It had been in their plans for a long while, because the
ball was being touted as one of the best balls of the season. "And I know
Madame Whiting of Hartcastle Ladies Academy will be there."
Beth knew Madame
Whiting would have her charges at their first ball this evening, showing off
the effect her school had polished in them. It was the very reason she was
going to attend the ball herself. She was going to ask the Duchess of
Hartcastle, her well-thought-of acquaintance, to recommend her to Madame
Whiting for a position.
"It will
work. I know it will," Beth said, vowing success by the strength of her
words.
Chapter Sixteen
Trinity moved
like a malevolent shadow scoured along the edges of the wall. He was certain if
it weren't for the smells of piss, stale ale, and the heavy body odors of old
fuckings in the brothel, the five vampires in the room beyond would have
smelled him coming. Even with the rank and heavy odors, he was surprised they
didn't.
He'd been
looking for a whore and his dissatisfaction of not finding the right one had
sent him through three brothels before the one he now crouched in. It seemed he
couldn't find the exact shadings of pale skin, black hair, and voluptuousness
that stroked his cock. So there he was in the fourth den of flesh and what had
he stumbled upon, but the most unusual meeting of Cull and Mongrel. The two
were near bitter rivals in the flesh trade, and it was very unusual to see them
meeting together without a fight.
Trinity stayed
in the shadows beyond the partially open door with his superior senses tracking
each vampire's movements and speech.
"He said,
clear as you want to hear, that he couldn't smell the vampire that's been
killing those bitches." Trinity tilted his head with interest to Cull's remarks.
"Fuck them,
dirty Blacknall, not smelling us would be grand." Trinity's eyes drew to
slits at Mongrel's words. The whore-keeper vampire was a slab of fat. Trinity
always imagined Mongrel was angry at being turned in such a corpulent state,
compared to all the beautiful vampires about.
"What I
want to know, Mongrel," Cull spat, leaning toward Mongrel with bared
fangs, "How'd any blood get the secret? We swore a vow between us no one
else would know. And I ain't told."
Growling started
between the two leaders, in addition their broods, and Mongrel lashed out
gutturally. "I didn't give anyone the wolfsbane!"
Trinity seeped
back against the wall with the word, "Wolfsbane," on his lips.
The occupants of
the room nearly started a fight, which was irony upon itself, because they were
all dead with little blood to shed. However, the humanity of a man never quite
left. The terror of being harmed was always present.
Trinity thought
about wolfsbane. It was obvious the lower caste had discovered a monumental
instrument. He needed to decide whether to back away without being seen or to
confront the lawless bastards. They were like corrupt adolescents, always
needing to be monitored, because they could never come up with the right thing
to do. What he and his brothers could not get through their thick skulls was
that humans could and would kill vampires, if they became blatantly aware of
their existence.
Trinity eased
backward, turning, while keeping to the shadows as he left the hallway and
reached the stairs. Use of wolfsbane was a powerful concealment. If he'd not
see Mongrel lumbering up the stairs, he'd not have smelled the five vampire
conspirators. That was shocking.
"They'd not
smelled me either," Trinity muttered beneath his breath.
He brushed away
the advance of an emancipated blonde whore. It looked as if all the women in
the brothel were opium whores. Trinity strode to the door. He knew this was one
of Cull's establishments and having all the women addicted to opium was just
another mark to add to Cull's growing list of offenses. He shook aside his
distaste, knowing he and his brothers could not right all the unnatural evils.
"But if
they couldn't smell us coming …" Trinity sneered. He was going to take the
information of wolfsbane to Baptiste. His brother would soon know how to use
it.
***
Cull squeezed
Mongrel's obese neck with both hands. The fat vampire's weight worked against
him in a brawl. Yet Cull knew he had to make his own deception look good or
Mongrel would find out he was the one that let out the secret of wolfsbane. For
money of course. Lots of it.
It'd happened by
mistake … or luck, maybe he thought of it that way. There weren't many real
vampires in high society circles. At least most of the bloods knew better than
to turn nobles. But there were a few, and he was the unfortunate nob that
turned one of them. Lord Fanton Rothschild. Fuck, that'd been one big mistake
at the time he'd thought of as an opportunity. Now that noble fucking vampire
that he'd sired was going to get him killed by the Blacknalls or Mongrel's
brood, unless he lied his ratty little ass off.
"You did
it!" he yelled at Mongrel. "You did it! Say it."
Clawed fingers
grabbed him from behind and he let them pull him off Mongrel, while he snarled
and spat, putting on a good show of confusing who to blame.
Mongrel coughed
and sputtered. "If it weren't you, then it was one of them."
Cull allowed
Mongrel's new tactic, shaking free from the two of Mongrel's blood, until
everyone in the room stood hissing at each other. A standoff, just what he
needed. Confusion.
Later, the only
agreement they'd come to was to not tear each other apart. Just yet. Mongrel
had left vowing if one of his brood had slipped the secret out, he would find
them and stake them.
Cull looked at
his blood, Quint, who glared back at him. "
Better
not be you,"
Cull spat. "Now get out of my sight." Quint snarled, but turned and
left the room.
Cull walked to
the window, looking out into London's dank night, and then he slammed a fist
through the wall next to the window, rattling it as pain shot up his arm.
"Damn, Rothschild, I'm going to have to kill you to get out of this,"
he swore.
He knew the
question of who let out the secret of the wolfsbane would die down. It was
going to be known eventually, but with all the talk about it, and Blacknall's
visits, he'd just realized Rothschild had to be the one mutilating all the
whores. Something Trinity Blacknall had said about not being able to smell him.
"Fuck,"
Cull growled.
The thing about
Lord Fanton Rothschild was he was perverted even before he became a vampire.
That's how he'd turned Rothschild in the first place, after a knife fight and a
fuck gone badly between Lord Rothschild and one of his more ballsy whores. God
rest her ornery soul.
There'd been
screaming galore that night. It was one of his high-end whorehouses, which
catered to young and brash nobles. Nobles that had plenty of money but not much
conscience. It was his main whorehouse, and of course, he'd been there that
night. When the screaming started, he'd had to stop it quick. There'd been
other nobles in the house.
He'd landed a
punch to the Brighton whore that had found the massacre. Knocked the bitch's
screams right out of her, while he'd stood fighting his rising frenzy over all
the spilled blood. Maybe that blood frenzy had taken his usually sharp mind and
twisted it. All he knew was he'd walked in on a nobleman with a knife
protruding out of his chest and a dead bloody whore at his feet. Something
about the class difference between them had propelled him to turn the man
before he died.
Cull could say
it was because he didn't want the Bow Street Runners on his ass. But he'd known
even then his scheming mind had turned over the idea of having a nobleman in
his pocket. So he had bit him and took part of his blood. That'd been the
hardest part. Stopping. He'd forced himself to quit. Not many vampires had the
strength of will to stop before taking it all. Then he'd made Rothschild taste
his blood. It really took only a drop for the torture of turning to strike.
"Fucking
nobleman," Culled cursed, turning back into the room. He'd have to take
care of Lord Fanton Rothschild before Blacknall found him. "Such a fucking
waste," he hissed.
***
Trinity entered
Blacknall mansion from the roof. He didn't like anyone predicting which
direction he might arrive. Besides, the connections he had with his brothers
worked both ways. They knew he was coming. He knew they were there, and he
wasn't certain he wanted to see Church. His elder brother had an unerring way
of poking those areas he wanted left alone. Like Beth … whom he'd not stopped
thinking about since he'd last seen her. Tasted her. Felt her. That had been a
mistake.
It was as if
he'd become a weakling. What was she doing? Was she all right? And those
thoughts tempted him more beyond reason, and in places he shouldn't go. Was she
happy? Was she upset? Did her breasts look as young, firm, and as big as they'd
felt? Trinity shook his head with a rumble curling in his throat. He'd had
those soft breasts in his hand and in his mouth for a bit, but not near enough
to imprint them on his mind. Only enough to dream …
What would a
vampire and human be together
? He stalked down the hallway toward the
library, hoping to find Baptiste alone in his favorite haunt.
"I'd
forever want to taste her and she'd forever be afraid I might," he
answered himself under his breath.
"Actually
you could draw blood from her if you gauged when to stop and leave her
healthy," Baptiste announced before he stepped from the opened door of the
library. Vampire hearing was acute.
"Make her a
feeder?" Trinity hissed, showing his distaste.
"Not for
your substance alone, but for both your pleasure. I've heard it could enhance
pleasure," Baptiste replied calmly, not the least piqued by Trinity’s
quick aversion.
"You've
heard?" Trinity asked, raising an eyebrow.
"It's all
about our willpower though. Are we strong enough to stop?" Baptiste
continued, ignoring Trinity's inferred insult.
"If those
parasites in the lower east-end can stop before killing their feeders,"
Trinity said. "We. Could. Stop."
Baptiste held up
his hand with his dark blue eyes turned serious. "That's not the same,
brother. They stop because they are sated. It's scientifically lucky a vampire
will be sated before a human will be killed. Of course much depends on each
person's weight and stature."
Trinity gave
Baptiste a rare half-smile. "Learning many things there, little
brother."
"There you
are," Church's voice called out, preceding him down the hall.
Trinity
grimaced, but stood his ground instead of walking away. He squared his
shoulders, preparing for the onslaught of Church's questions and opinions, so
he was surprised when Church said nothing, but slapped a newspaper across his
chest.
Reflexively,
Trinity grabbed the paper, hearing Church say, "Better read this."
Trinity didn't
like the tone in Church's voice. He sounded apocalyptic. Trinity turned the
folded paper over and saw the title, which inferred gossip. "You don't
expect me to read or care about this gossip tableau," he said, nearly
scowling with irritation.
"When your
name, Lord Trinity Montrose is in it, I do," Church snapped.
Trinity looked
down, quickly finding his title as Marquis Montrose. He read the snippet, and
then he flung the paper aside, while cussing sharply.
"This will
ruin her," Church stated flatly.
"I'd tell
you to calm down if I knew what it was," Baptiste interjected grabbing his
arm. "Calm down, Trinity."
Trinity realized
his fangs were bared and his eyes were yellowed.
No one harms Beth,
kept
reverberating through his mind.
"Interesting,"
Church muttered, as if he were some type of experiment he'd concluded a theory
about.
Trinity turned
as though he was going to attack Church. One moment Trinity was hissing at
Church and the next, he was thrown against the wall with Church's hand
squeezing his neck.
"She means
this
much to you," Church demanded.
Trinity lashed
his claws outward, raking Church across the neck and chest. Church merely
sneered at him pushing him harder against the wall. Trinity knew he'd never
beat Church, but that didn't seem to matter to his fevered thoughts with Beth's
name pounding in them.