“Did you read my father’s notes?”
She intended to lie; instead the truth came out. “Yes.” How could she sound so calm? “Is that what you plan to do to me?”
“Of course not.” His chest rumbled with his gravelly voice. “God, I could never—I want to find a way to stop your change.”
She frowned. She had never considered that.
“My father made an astounding discovery,” he continued. “A way to transform a vampire back to mortal. But I don’t know how he did it.” He raked his damp hair back.
Her heart pounded erratically. “You think you can…save me?”
Jonathon’s face was etched with pain. His eyes were completely black. “I swear I will find a way. I know you cared deeply for Swift, Serena, but I’ve desired you since I first saw you.”
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She had no idea what to say. Althea’s words—
it is not wrong to love two men
—hammered in her head. “Thank...thank you. I must leave you now.” She turned her back. Coward!
She tried not to think of Jonathon taking off the last piece of his clothing. She tried not to think of anything but walking briskly to the door.
“Serena.”
She paused at the sound of her name.
“What did you want from the vampires’ library? Why did you go? If there is a book that can help you, I need to know what it is.”
He wanted to save her. He knew what she was and he desired her. He had always desired her.
She turned—Jonathon was immersed in the tub, his body slick and wet. Trembling, she shook her head. “I went to find Vlad Dracul’s journal. I knew Ashcroft would want it, and I hoped to bargain with it for the truth.”
As soon as she closed the bathing chamber door behind her, Serena ran for the safety of her own room. Once inside, she braced her back against her door and gulped down breaths. She felt tumbled inside. Hot, needy, fearful, hopeful. Completely confused.
Six hours, six wasted hours spent sleeping. Hell, he never slept more than an hour or two, and despite the rumors, he didn’t take drugs to keep him awake. Jonathon let the cravat his valet had brought him flap around his neck as he strode down the hallway of Brookshire’s home.
He found Serena in the library. A pot of coffee sat on one of the tables, the accompanying cup full but untouched. She had not breakfasted—he’d learned that from the footman as he had shoveled ham and eggs down his throat—he didn’t have time to waste.
She hadn’t heard him walk into the room.
Her back was to the door, her glossy hair drawn back in a chignon. Daylight spilled over her from tall windows, transforming her hair into a rich sable black. She shut the book with a bang.
“There must be a way—a way to save a vampire.”
Jonathon paused, a few strides from her.
Surprised, Serena twisted in her chair to face him. “My lord, you should be in bed.”
So lovely, she took his breath away. To hear those words on her soft lips, to see the concern in her eyes— “Jonathon,” he reminded her. “Call me Jonathon.”
He saw one of the books in front of her. Newly published. The leather binding barely used, the pages crisp. Even from this distance he knew the book.
A Treatise on the Stake
. What vampire hunters would do to get published. What difference did it make how narrow was the point or what type of wood was used? Puncture the heart and the beast died.
Christ, how could he do that to Serena?
He had only a week to find a way to stop her becoming a vampire.
“Jonathon, you really should be resting.” A soft flush touched her cheeks and she stood up from her chair. She advanced toward him. She moved like a vampire—almost as though her feet did not need to touch the ground. She moved like music, and his throat tightened.
He had to say something. He couldn’t just stare at her like a cabbage head—his father’s favorite term for him as he was growing up.
“Serena, I must go back to my laboratory.”
“N—now? You are still weak.” Her black brows drew together. “Thank you for this, for trying to save me. But you need time to regain your strength. To recover.”
“I don’t have the luxury of time.”
Her lashes dipped. Of course, she didn’t either. He cupped her face, her delicate chin, and she looked up, startled. Her lips parted, pink and tempting.
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He slanted his mouth over hers, reveling in the hot beauty of her mouth on his, the lush pleasure of her in his arms. Her arms hooked around his neck and she kissed him.
Her mouth was warmth and heaven and salvation. He needed to hold her. Touch her. He needed to make her his. His hands clasped around her waist, his mouth slanted over hers.
But she had made love to Drake, she had cared for Drake—she must be in shock. Groaning, he broke away from the kiss.
Her gray eyes were half-closed and sultry, but they suddenly opened wide. “Are—are you going to hunt for Drake Swift tonight?”
Jonathon hesitated, but he owed her the truth. “Yes.”
The window rattled. Instantly awake, Serena rolled over and kicked at the covers tangled around her legs. The drapes were wide, and moonlight poured into her room.
She slid the stake off her bedside table, trying to disguise the motion. Her gown had loose sleeves, and she slipped the sharpened wood in her right sleeve.
Don’t fear, sweetheart. It’s me.
Drake? Serena crept toward the window and let the stake drop into her waiting hand.
Serena. Come to me. I’m waiting for you. Outside. I will be in a carriage at the end of the
mews. Please come to me now, my love. I must see you again.
It would be foolish to go, but he could not come to her unless she invited him into the house, and that she would not do.
Vampires lured their prey this way. They sent a command and the human obeyed. Only a ninnyhammer would trust a vampire, but she needed to see Drake.
If she took a crossbow and carried a stake …? She would be alone; it would be madness to let herself be lured, but his deep, sensual voice called to her. The night called to her. She stood in front of the window and gazed out at the moonlit garden. From where she stood, the half moon was bright and beautiful, its mysterious other half a deep, shadowy blue.
Serena…
She wanted to go outside. She needed to feel the cool air ripple over her. She needed to be in the dark.
It took no time to slip on her pelisse—the simple gray one with the deep interior pockets.
Hurrying to the shadowy corner, she turned an old iron key in the lock of a large, metal-bound trunk. She eased back the lid to display an arsenal of vampire-slaying weapons that still astonished her.
From the upper tray Serena took extra arrows for the crossbow and slipped them in a deep pocket. Pushing the tray back onto the opened lid, she drew out the smallest crossbow from the bottom. It would have to do; she couldn’t carry the large ones.
She threw a deep blue silk shawl over the weapon, though she could still not carry it without looking conspicuous.
Juggling the wrapped crossbow, she went out into the hallway, turned the key in the lock of her bedchamber door, and pocketed it. She waited while a maid hurried by, then she turned and made for the servants’ stairs. These were dark, narrow, and fortunately deserted.
But just as she reached the very bottom, the door flew open and a footman hurried in. He gave her a startled glance. She gave the young man—an attractive youth blessed with large dark eyes and full lips—a perfectly repressive governess stare. He flushed, averted his eyes, and moved past her.
The low-ceilinged basement felt cramped, imprisoning, and hellishly hot from the kitchens.
Serena passed through the kitchen, only to find the cook snoring and two scullery maids hard at Blood Rose ©Sharon Page 2007 Email: [email protected] 97
work on a mountain of pots.
And then, blessedly, she was outside in the cool, delicious, fall night air. Lord Brookshire and his brother entered often by the door in the back of the gardens, and she found it unlocked. The ripe scent of the mews assailed her; the vibrant sounds of the street echoed in the darkness here. This was a fashionable street, and lines of carriages traveled up and down.
Drake’s carriage, black as the night sky, stood at the end of the mews, just as he had promised.
She stopped, uneasy now that she faced it. A cloaked and shadowed figure sat up on the box, a figure that did not move as she took one more step closer. There was no trim on the polished carriage, nothing but shining wood to reflect the moonlight. Two ebony black horses stood with unearthly stillness; they wore plain black harness.
She saw that the door of the carriage stood open, revealing the black yaw of its interior. Then movement, and the moonlight glanced off silver-blond hair. Drake Swift stepped down from the carriage, his arm extended, his long-fingered, black-gloved hand waiting for her touch. Then he grinned—his teeth shone white, his eyes glowed. His eyes were silver—no longer green.
“Are you going to shoot me, Serena?”
“Only if you give me reason to—” Her voice died on his name. He looked just as Drake Swift had in life. But this was not Drake Swift, this was a demon.
“Do you mean, do I plan to bite you?” His lusty grin widened, his eyes burned. Just looking into his eyes took her breath away. “I won’t. I would rather have you bite me again.”
He was still a scandalous, cheeky wretch. She shook the crossbow so the shawl slid off it. His eyes widened as he saw it.
“You’ve been turned into a vampire. This is not the time to speak of—”
“Of sex?” he murmured in a forbidden tone that ignited a fire in her. “Of fucking, as we did in the brothel. Wanton, pleasurable fucking. Why shouldn’t we speak of it? We both want to do it again.”
He drew off one of his gloves. She gasped at the sight of his fingers—the nails were long, clawlike. With a flick of his fingers, he slashed his own neck. And smiled all the while he did it.
Blood welled instantly. Whose blood?
Mine, my love,
he answered.
Touch my neck.
“I know why you are speaking in my thoughts—but it won’t work. You won’t control my mind. And you aren’t Drake Swift anymore.”
I am. I don’t feel any different than I did as a mortal, Serena.
She touched his neck, and a dab of his red blood smeared her fingertip. Just a trace, easy enough to wipe it away on her skirts.
Taste it,
Drake urged.
A drop won’t change you, but it will make you understand.
She jerked her head up at that, and the blood dripped off her finger to her skirts. “What will it make me understand?”
Who you really are, Serena.
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“How do you know who I really am?” The crossbow bumped against Serena’s leg, and her finger ached from holding the trigger primed and ready to fire. Slowly, carefully, she let the string slacken. And she wiped her finger clean, afraid to taste it.
Drake gave a rueful grin—he licked his finger and ran it along his wound, which vanished.
I
learned everything from the vampire who made me. If you have the courage to follow me, I can
show you everything.
His deep, sensual voice murmured in her thoughts, startling her even as she quivered in arousal.
“From Lukos,” she said coolly. “From the vampire who wants to possess me.”
You have nothing to fear, angel.
She had a choice—to find the courage to follow her heart and find the truth, or she could hide.
The breeze caught Drake’s cape and threw it up behind him, like great dark wings. His silvery-green eyes flashed in the moonlight, and he reached out to her.
Drake lifted her hand and brushed the most gentlemanly kiss to her fingertips.
Do you know
why you can hear my thoughts?
“Because vampires do this to lure prey?”
No, sweetheart. You can hear my thoughts because I love you. Even as an immortal, I am
yours. I belong to you. And I will always protect you, Serena.
He caught her hand in his and strode out of the mews. She had to trot to keep up with his long, determined strides. She was so wet, so lusty and wet. Drake was a beautiful man. A desirable man—but did she burn so intensely because he was a vampire and because she was?
“But don’t you belong to Lukos now?” she asked.
A slave? I am no man’s slave, little lark. Lukos believes I have become one of his disciples,
but I have not.
“But what happened? How did you get away?”
Since he thinks that I serve him, he allowed me my freedom. Drake pushed open a wooden gate in a tall stone wall and led her through. Moonlight flitted through an elegant garden, reflecting off stone fountains and statues. Fallen rose petals covered the ground.
“Where are we?”
This home belongs to a countess—there is a small dinner party tonight, but the night is warm,
and soon the gardens will be full of trysting lovers.
“Why are we here?” she whispered. She refused to speak only in her head.
To steal a few minutes of pleasure.
Suddenly he vanished from sight. Her skirts lifted! “What are you doing?” she gasped.
“Aren’t you horrified to have been transformed? Aren’t you angry?”
No, little lark. I am not angry. Now, bend over—grasp onto that statue
.
The statue was a nude woman, of course. A bounteous water nymph, with large stone breasts and lovingly rendered nipples. Of course the only place for her to grip was on those breasts. Serena heard Drake’s low chuckle as she clutched the plump stone bosom.
“Wait!” She cried the word through a whisper. “What of your change? Did it hurt? How exactly do you change?” But the wind was blowing up her skirt, the breeze naughty and erotic Blood Rose ©Sharon Page 2007 Email: [email protected] 99