“But you don’t know that this discovery is in any way related to Miss Lark.”
“It was, sir. In the journal I did find, my father specifically says that he believed he had a better use for Miss Lark than waiting for her to transform, then cutting her open—” Jonathon’s stomach lurched as he remembered what his father had planned to do. In the name of protecting humanity, his father had dispassionately listed the procedures he would perform on Serena Lark’s corpse.
“And that use would be?”
“Proving, with her as example, that he could prevent the loss of soul. That he could reverse the transformation.”
“Impossible!” Ashcroft shouted. “We must observe what happens—Sommersby, we will never have this chance again.”
“She’s a living, breathing human being, not an experiment.”
Wheezing, Ashcroft shook his head. “She is a vampire, Sommersby. This is her destiny.
Imagine how many others could be saved.”
Jonathon clenched his fists at his sides. He remembered Lilianne’s eyes—that moment of trust, of hope. “I cannot sacrifice Miss Lark.”
“You will have no choice. You do not have your father’s notes. You can’t replicate his discovery, can you?”
Jonathon gave a curt shake of his head. No. No, he had no idea what his father had done. “His journals are somewhere. I will find them.”
With a groan and a pained grimace, Ashcroft lifted from the chair. “Sommersby, your duty is to the Society, to England. To mankind.”
Jonathon closed his eyes. Remembering the mantra—think of the innocent lives a vampire will claim. One life sacrificed to save many.
He heard Ashcroft’s rasping voice. “I have watched her grow from infancy, Sommersby. A vampire who would live as a mortal until the prime of her life, then transform into a being more powerful than any we have ever known. Since her birth, I have kept her under control…waiting for this…waiting for the moment of change. I had to take great care—she was my precious secret.”
“But you told my father.”
“Of course. I could trust your father.” Ashcroft clapped a weak hand on his shoulder. “Lady Brookshire informed me that Miss Lark is determined to hunt Lukos. She wants to destroy him before he goes after her. Sommersby, we cannot take the risk of letting Miss Lark get near Lukos.
Your mission is to protect her—to keep her away from Lukos.”
“Lady Brookshire is a vampiress,” Jonathon pointed out. “A good one. She has never killed.”
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He thought of Lilianne again. His pretty fiancée had not been a “good” vampire. He had lost her to one of the most brutal of vampires—one who created true soulless drones. She had become a monster.
And when he’d staked that vampire—that nameless, inhuman beast—he’d found that getting vengeance hadn’t given him peace.
Lord Ashcroft shook his head. “Lady Brookshire lusts for blood and she has the power to kill.
Even though she helps the Royal Society, we cannot forget that. I have kept it hidden from Serena Lark that her ladyship is a vampiress—you must not reveal the truth.” Ashcroft’s face was grim.
“A vampire can never be trusted. How can we allow them to flourish? They are stronger than we are—we are mere prey to them. Serena Lark is the key to saving human souls, Jonathon.”
Jonathon’s heart tightened. He was running out of time. “I’m going to need the time in the laboratory, sir—to try to save her. And I want to hunt Lukos.”
Ashcroft shook his head. “I’m afraid that won’t do, Sommersby. I have assigned other hunters to destroy Lukos. I want you to let Miss Lark hunt with you—”
“And how the bloody hell will that keep her safe?”
Ashcroft held up a quelling hand. His eyes gleamed. “You will make her believe she is helping you pursue Lukos, but you will keep her away from Lukos. You will keep her under your protection. In ten days she will turn…and we will learn how a vampire is made. We will be able to study her power.”
Then his mentor flashed the autocratic look of a father. “This is your duty, Sommersby. I expect you to carry it out.”
Moonlight filtered through the trees, casting puddles of blue-silver light on the path ahead of
her. She was running, her chest heaving, her heart pumping hard enough to burst. Her hair flew
out behind her; her skirts flapped around her, trapping her legs.
Serena tripped over a root and fell to her knees. Sharp rocks bit through the wool of her skirts.
The stake ripped against her bare palm, tearing her skin, releasing blood, and she heard the howls
behind her as her scent was carried back on the wind.
Two large hands gripped her shoulders, lifting her. Sheer horror tore through her. Lukos. It
must be Lukos—she jerked her head up to see…Lord Sommersby. He towered over her, dressed to
perfection, a cloak swirling around him.
“I know what you are,” he said, “and I desire you in a way that is completely unholy. You
have bewitched me.”
His mouth lowered and she lifted hers, breathless—how long did they have before the vampires
caught them? Minutes? Or mere seconds? Sommersby pressed her back against a tree; the rough
bark bit into her. His mouth, hot and demanding, claimed hers. He cast a spell on her again, and
she hauled up her skirt, tangling her tongue with his.
His fingers filled her cunny, thrusting into her, and she sobbed with need and pleasure into his
mouth. She was going to die this way.
Another man. She sensed him at her side. Out of the corner of her eye, Serena glimpsed pale
silver-blond hair. Drake Swift.
His hand slid up her exposed inner thigh, brushed Sommersby’s, and found her derriere.
Delicately, his finger toyed at her anus, touching until she began to melt with pleasure.
The need to orgasm took her. She began rocking on their fingers. Sommersby freed her mouth,
and she panted with hunger and fierce desire. Yes, yes, more. She didn’t care about death. Didn’t
care about anything but coming, now, here, on the thick, skilled fingers of the men she desired—
Oh yes! The orgasm slammed into her and she screamed with it. The vampires would hear
her, they would come—
Blood Rose ©Sharon Page 2007 Email: [email protected] 44
She looked helplessly to Drake Swift as she shuddered and shook in ecstasy. He grinned and
bent close, his breath heating the tingling rim of her ear. “We are going to make love to you
together, little lark.”
And before she could gasp, she felt the delicious pressure of Lord Sommersby’s enormous cock
against her drenched cunny—
Fangs. She felt fangs explode from her mouth.
She heard Sommersby’s horrified shout, Drake Swift’s cry of shock. Swift’s hands gripped her
shoulders. Sommersby held a stake. The stake arced toward her heart—
She bolted upright, chest heaving. Sweat drenched her nightdress, her forehead.
A rap came at the door. From behind it, Althea, Lady Brookshire, called out, “Serena?”
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“And so, you saved their lives, of course, you clever girl!”
Serena couldn’t help but smile at the enthusiasm in Althea’s declaration. Trust Althea to make her whole disastrous night at the brothel sound like a triumphant adventure.
“Of course,” Serena replied, trying for modesty. With the blankets and sheets drawn up to her waist, she hugged her knees closer in a vain attempt to soothe her still-trembling body.
Althea rested her hands on her round belly, a lush curve beneath her ivory silk peignoir. “I’ve been up all night. I’ll summon tea—and biscuits, I think. Sugar biscuits. A little something to take the edge off before I have my breakfast, then go to sleep.”
Serena did laugh and felt much better for it. Had she ever once thought her best friend—her only friend—would be a countess? Althea de Wynter, the Countess of Brookshire. Of course, enceinte Althea, with her auburn curls; twinkling, fey green eyes; scandalous sense of humor; and penchant for vampire hunting, made a very unusual countess.
After she sent a maid to fetch tea, Althea continued, conspiratorially, “I’m sure those two daring vampire slayers couldn’t believe a mere woman could do all that you did! You found an absolute treasure—and by using dusty books that they think are insignificant!” Poised on the edge of the water-blue silk chaise, Althea gave her soft, lovely, infectious laugh.
Serena knew Althea was deliberately not speaking of Lukos yet, trying to make her forget about fear, about threat. She fought the urge to forgo stoicism and crumble into tears. She’d been captured by vampires, she’d discovered a demonic “master” was pursuing her, she couldn’t find Vlad Dracul’s journal, and she’d lost all the other books to pompous, lying Lord Ashcroft. And, on top of that, she was most likely a vampire.
Dimly, she realized Althea was still speaking. “We women can do remarkable things with books,” Althea declared. “We women do the most remarkable things in every way.”
She stroked her tummy and Serena’s heart gave a sharp pang.
Althea sat down next to her on the bed. “But in all seriousness, Serena, what of this Lukos demon?”
“I don’t know anything about him—other than what I told you. He is sailing to England, and he knows who I am.” Serena held back the reason Lukos knew who she was—that he knew she was a vampire. Nor had she told Althea about Roman’s intent to claim her.
“And he had a pack of six vampires as disciples!” Althea gave a shiver.
Serena nodded. It was not unusual—vampires were driven to create other vampires; increasing their numbers gave them protection. Lukos was building his own private army.
Althea frowned and tapped her chin. “When I woke at dusk, I read through that book that you brought back, after Yannick and Bastien went out to hunt.” Althea sighed. “I’m not allowed to join them anymore, due to my condition. Really, I shall have the fortitude to give birth to this child in a few months—I’m certain that being a vampire hunter will not be as exhausting as that.”
Serena could hardly imagine thinking of handsome, aristocratic Lord Brookshire as Yannick and his devastatingly gorgeous twin as simply Bastien. Both men were completely devoted to Althea—and Bastien was shockingly seductive with his brother’s wife, though Serena had never seen Brookshire show jealousy.
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Serena reached out and touched the ancient book sitting on her bedside table. The binding was old and cracking, the stitching worn, the linen sheet tearing at the edges. There were smears of dirt on the pages. It was written in one of the runic alphabets, and these she was studying but did not completely understand. “I tried to read it, but I’d taken the laudanum then, and I couldn’t stay awake.”
“They are written in Orkhon runes,” Althea clarified. “I saw examples that had been discovered in the Orkhon river valley of Mongolia.” Althea stood, shaking out the skirt of her peignoir. “I believe the book tells a tale of a creature known as Lukos—a creature who could become wolf or man and who served Lucifer, taking lives at his command.”
The maid knocked, then brought in the tea tray including a plate heaped with cakes and biscuits. Althea licked her lips and Serena smiled.
“So Lucifer wishes me and has sent Lukos to fetch me?” Serena reached for the teacup after Althea poured. She looked down at her wrist—she still felt the horrifying bite of the shackles.
“I don’t know, but this is very serious.”
“A demon knows my name and tried to capture me? Of course I know this is serious!”
“I’m surprised you aren’t hysterical.”
“Being a governess taught me to be neither emotional nor hysterical. Really, a good governess can’t have any human weaknesses at all.” Serena tossed the comment off with ironic humor, but it had been all too true.
Vanilla and lavender surrounded her as she felt the warmth of Althea’s arms.
“You’ve been very brave, Serena. But you must trust us to help you.”
She’d never had hug from a friend—she’d never even had a friend. Althea did not know she was a vampire—what huntress would allow a vampire into her home? But she was so confused.
Why would Lord Ashcroft put enceinte Lady Brookshire at risk by having her bring a vampire into her home?
“I had your clothes from last night burned,” Althea said. “They smelled of a smoke—a smoke that reminded me of solange. Though it couldn’t be. Why would vampires burn solange?”
Because they know I am a vampire.
But she couldn’t say that to Althea.
“What were you searching for in the library, Serena?”
She took a deep breath and straightened. “Lord Ashcroft knows about my past, about my parents, but he won’t tell me. I thought the library would give me a way to coerce him to tell me.
There was supposed to be a special book there—a journal written by Vlad Dracul.”
“And you wanted to trade that for the truth about your parents?”
She nodded. “But now I have nothing.”
Althea drew back. She toyed with the smooth silk at the lapels of her wrapper. “The past needn’t matter so much. You can’t change it—you can only move forward.”
Serena bit back a bitter laugh. What did she have to look forward to? And she couldn’t forget the past. Everything haunted her. The venom behind Mrs. Bridgewater’s smiles. The hopeless and pitiful way she’d thought William Bridgewater had loved her when he came to her bed. But how could she explain this to Althea? How could she talk of that horrible night when she’d told William she lost the baby and he’d whooped with joyful relief?
“I need to know,” she said, softly. “Do you know you are the only friend I’ve ever had, Althea? I’ve never belonged anywhere. I need to find out who I am.”
“I never had friends either.” Althea hugged her again. “I followed my father on his expeditions. I understand what you are feeling, but you can’t risk your life to find out what happened. It’s not worth that.”