Be Mine Tonight (16 page)

In fact, he’d be willing to bet that the order had thought the dawn would make him weaker, that he would be sleeping when they arrived and an easy capture.

Caroline found her voice. “You’re a vampire.”

It wasn’t quite a question, but he answered regardless. “Yes.”

She came forward a little, enough to stand before her family, but not too far from safety. Or rather, what she perceived as safety. Chapel wasn’t about to tell her that not even her entire family combined could save her if he wanted to attack.

“Like Count Dracula?”

Mon Dieu,
was there no one who hadn’t read that damnable book? “Not quite.”

“Perhaps Varney?”

“No.”

“Lord Ruthven?”

She certainly was well read on the topic. “To my knowledge there has never been an accurate depiction of the vampire in literature.” Either that or he and his four former companions were freaks even among monsters.

Not something he wanted to consider at the moment.

Caroline’s lips thinned. “One would think
someone
would write an adequate account.”

Chapel tried to smile. “Most of us try to avoid prolonged contact with humans.”

“Why is that?” Caroline’s tone was as curious as any scholar’s.

“Probably because they start to wonder what kind of wine complements us best, Caro.”

Chapel scowled at Pru’s sarcasm. “Red.”

Now she looked at him like he was a monster. He had expected it, but it hurt all the same. When had he ever tried to harm her or her family? He wore the blood of many to protect them, blood
that overwhelmed his senses and made his gums ache. Still, he controlled himself and the lust within. Had he not sated himself with the prostitutes days before and kept himself strong with Molyneux’s daily offerings, he would not have such control.

“Because,” he informed her in a cool tone, “humans tend to react hatefully toward those things which they do not understand. It is safer for us to avoid such situations.”

She flushed and lowered her gaze, her attention going to his chest. The wounds there were still healing, the flesh around them burning and itching as his body repaired itself. Did he repulse her? Frighten her? He picked up Marcus’s discarded dressing gown from the floor by the sofa and put it on, pulling it as closed as he could and belting it tightly.

“I did not mean to stare,” Pru murmured, still avoiding eye contact.

Chapel shrugged. It wasn’t as though he had expected her to accept what he was. “Think nothing of it.”

A snort of laughter left her, as though the idea of
not
thinking about it seemed an impossibility.

He hadn’t meant to show up shirtless, but the one he had been wearing had black paint on it and dirt. He had been in the midst of changing when the Silver Palm showed up. It had been difficult enough trying to fight them without actually winning, given his rage, but they needed them in one place. Needed to protect the family. Finding clothes suddenly hadn’t seemed so important.

“What happened to the windows?”

She was certainly very full of questions for someone who acted like she couldn’t stand him. Why not demand this information from Molyneaux or Grey rather than him? “The evidence in the cellar led us to believe there might be an attack on the house. Marcus had the idea to cover the windows to keep the sun out so the attackers couldn’t use my weakness against me.”

“Is sunlight your only weakness?”

“I am a man. I have many weaknesses.”

Pru snorted. “We know that a vulnerability to bullets and daggers isn’t one of them.”

She sounded almost jealous. Perhaps it wasn’t disgust she felt toward him at all. “It is difficult to kill me, yes, but not impossible.”

“But cancer couldn’t kill you, could it?”

He wouldn’t have been more surprised if she had doused him with holy water and shoved a crucifix down his throat.

“No,” he replied truthfully, though he didn’t want to. “I’m not vulnerable to disease or sickness at all—at least not human sickness.”

There was a hardness to her expression now. “So disease can’t hurt you, and neither can personal injury. Yet you claim to have weaknesses. What are they?”

She was angry with him. And she was looking for a fight. He supposed she felt betrayed, alone and confused. And helpless. He could see that in her eyes. Still, he didn’t like her tone, even if he did deserve it.

“Poison can make me sick,” he informed her.
“Such as the poison I took from you in the cellar. And sunlight, such as the dawn I carried you through that same morning, can kill me. In fact, had you been conscious, I imagine the sight of me then would have been bad enough to give you nightmares. Will those do for weaknesses, Pru, or shall I go on?”

“No,” she whispered. “That is enough.”

Too far. He had gone too far, he could see it in her eyes. He’d hurt her when he hadn’t meant to. No, that wasn’t quite true. A part of him had wanted to hurt her, wanted to make her realize that he wasn’t to blame for her illness, that she shouldn’t envy his life.

Because it wasn’t a life when you didn’t
live.

And perhaps there was a small part of him that resented her for making him see something worthwhile in living. It would have been so easy for him to give up and die that morning he’d carried her from the crypt. He could have given up, begged for forgiveness for his soul and gone wherever his kind went in the afterlife. Instead, he had clung to life, clung to this world. And he had done it for no other reason than he wanted to live to see Pru one more time.

In fact, he had the rather acute thought that he would continue to want to see Pru one more time even after she was gone. Maybe once she was at rest he would be able to go as well, but he doubted it. The chance to sacrifice himself for someone else didn’t come very often. This was his first in six centuries.

He had managed to save Pru and her family, at
the cost of Pru’s trust. He could live with that, so long as she still breathed. But what if the order returned when they learned the Rylands were still alive? The next time they might wait until the sun was high in the sky to attack, instead of foolishly thinking he was weakest at dawn. They had been lucky this time with Marcus’s cooperation. Next time…

He would just have to ensure there wasn’t a next time. If he had to hunt and run to ground—or grave—every member of the Silver Palm, then he would do just that.

Some of his bloodlust must have shown on his face, because it was a room of pale faces that watched him.

Molyneux finally came forward. A cut on his head oozed bright red down to his eyebrow and around his left eye, but otherwise he appeared unhurt. The old priest could probably wrestle Satan himself and come out none the worse for wear.

“I know this is all very
fantastique
for all of you. I have spent more than half my life with Chapel and sometimes I expect to wake and discover it has all been a strange dream. Perhaps I can make it easier for you to understand.”

Molyneux’s words seemed to give a little comfort to the family, except for Pru. A pained expression came into her eyes when Molyneux admitted to having spent most of his life with him. His immortality was like a raw wound to her right now. What was worse: that she had believed him to be
just another man, or that he would outlive her even if she found a miracle cure?

“Please excuse me,” she murmured, rising from the sofa before Molyneux could go one. “I believe I will retire to my room.”

Chapel started to follow her, but Marcus stopped him with a firm hand upon his sleeve.

The dark-haired man nodded to the hall beyond the drawing room. It was bright with light—light so bright it stung Chapel’s eyes. The sun.

“She needs some time to herself,” Marcus said in a low voice. “And you broiling yourself won’t change that.”

Chapel nodded, his movements jerky with suppressed frustration. He would hide in this darkened room like a snake under a rock until it was safe to emerge, and then little Pru would have to face him. He could wait a few hours for that.

After all, what did he have if not time?

M
arcus didn’t look up as Pru entered the sitting room he used as a study. He sat bent over a stack of papers and a journal that was yellowed with age. His hair was mussed, and as he scribbled notes in a notebook, he drove the fingers of one hand into the dark waves.

“Did you know?”

He looked up. He seemed surprised to have company but not at all surprised that it was her.

He didn’t bother with hello either. “You mean about Chapel?”

Pru nodded. “Of course.”

Withdrawing his hand from his hair, Marcus leaned back in his chair. He was rumpled, his shirt creased but thankfully clean. He had at least changed clothing after the bloodshed in the
drawing room earlier. He looked more like the Marcus she knew and loved, not the stranger she had seen that morning.

To think it had been but a few hours since men had come to kill her and her family. A mere few hours since she’d learned that Chapel wasn’t human, and that he’d already lived close to a dozen lifetimes while she wouldn’t be allowed the fullness of one. And then she had found out that Marcus had befriended her because he had been urged to by those same men.

And yet, as much as she wanted to hang on to her feelings of betrayal, she couldn’t. Marcus had helped her and had proven himself a true friend by risking his own safety for her. He had done what he did because he was offered a chance to learn about his family—a quest he’d been on for years. She couldn’t hold that against him.

As for Chapel, he had saved not only her life but the lives of her family as well. How could she be bitter about that?

She was not totally innocent in all of this. It was her own selfish desire to prolong her life that had made all of this possible. The order wouldn’t have been able to use Marcus to get to her if she hadn’t been so obsessed with finding the Grail. Back when it had been nothing more than a historical fascination, she wouldn’t have been quite so quick to jump at the carrot dangled before her.

She wasn’t bitter about that either. There was no point, although she would be lying if she said she didn’t harbor some guilt for whatever part her
actions had played in leading up to this morning’s attack.

She blinked and found Marcus watching her in silence. “I’ve known about Chapel since I first started my research on Dreux Beauvrai, though I didn’t know him as Chapel then.”

“Severian de Foncé.”

“Yes. His strange aversion to sunlight and penchant for nocturnal wanderings made me curious to check my notes, and there it was—a reference to the names the knights took when they first gave themselves to the church. Chapel was listed as Severian’s new name.”

He hadn’t known for long, then, but long enough to have purposefully withheld the information from her. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

A dubious smile curved his lips, making him look more his age. “Would you have believed me?”

Probably not. “Perhaps.”

His smile widened. “You would have thought me mad.”

Exasperation left her in a loud huff. “Fine, I would have, but that is not the point.” She pulled herself together, leveling an even gaze at him. “You lied to me, Marcus.”

“Yes.”

At least he didn’t try to deny it. She waited for him to continue. He stared at her. “Aren’t you going to apologize?” She prompted.

“But I’m not sorry I lied.” Only he could say something like that and still look innocent. “I’m only sorry that you found out, and that your association with me put you in danger.”

He might not be totally honest, but he was certainly direct. “You are not sorry you lied?”

“No. I lied at first because I’ve found it more advantageous than admitting to searching for creatures of myth. Then I merely lied to protect you and your family. I had no idea it would go this way.”

“And yourself.” It was difficult to keep the sneer from her voice. “You lied to protect yourself.”

Not even a flinch. “Of course. Did you not lie to me at first about why you wanted to find the Grail?”

Heat flooded her face. “That was different.”

Marcus linked his rough hands across his belly. “If that makes you feel better, fine.”

What did it say about her that she found him somewhat attractive now that he had revealed this side of his nature? A scholar he might be, but underneath his thirst for knowledge lurked a side of Marcus that liked a little danger. It was a side of him that reminded her of Chapel. Protective, dependable and yet untamable. A romantic notion, but true.

Obviously she was drawn to dangerous men, because they didn’t come any more dangerous than a vampire.

But ever since Chapel had admitted what he was, she’d been thinking about what it would be like to feel his fangs in her flesh, to have him take her blood. Or had Mr. Stoker and all the other writers been wrong about that as well? It seemed that most vampires in fiction were blood-hungry fiends who took advantage of impressionable young women.

God knows she was impressionable, and here she had yet to be taken advantage of.

Had Stoker been wrong in saying that vampires could turn humans into vampires as well? And if he could, would Chapel turn her? And if he offered, would she allow it? She just wanted a normal life. Immortality wasn’t normal.

But it would be immortality with Chapel, and that was an idea that appealed to her more than she would ever dare admit.

Imagine all the things she could do and see if she lived forever!

God, she shouldn’t think such awful thoughts, but she couldn’t help it. She was dying damn it, how could she not wonder? She’d always been a selfish creature, and death wasn’t about to change that. In fact, her impending demise often made her more self-centered.

“So aren’t you going to ask?”

Her attention snapped back to Marcus with an annoyed frown. “Ask what?”

He looked at her as though he thought she was playing coy. “About Chapel. That’s why you really came here, isn’t it?”

So maybe he wasn’t so attractive after all, the bloody insolent git.

He was also right, and no doubt the color in her cheeks was proof of that to him as well. She had wanted to confront him about his involvement in the situation, of course, but even though Marcus had his own reasons for hunting the Grail, he hadn’t truly betrayed her. He simply
hadn’t trusted her with a fantastic tale, and she supposed the fault for that had to rest on her own shoulders as well as his. Had she not been so desperate, she might not have been so eager to admit to thinking that drinking from a particular cup might cure her.

What had driven her to his room was the fact that he seemed to know more about Chapel than she did, and she couldn’t stand that.

She swallowed. Her pride tasted bitter as it went down. “Will you tell me about him?”

Hands still linked across his abdomen, he spread his thumbs wide. “Of course, but he would be the more reliable source.”

She colored. “I would rather hear it from you first.” The truth was, she wasn’t ready to face Chapel just yet. She needed to be prepared, to have something to fortify her. Knowledge was something that always gave her comfort. She preferred being well schooled where her adversaries were concerned, be they the cancer in her or the vampire who affected her like no mortal man had.

Marcus studied her, his keen blue gaze seeing far more than she was comfortable with him seeing. “Sit. I’ll tell you what I can.”

Pru settled on the window seat and Marcus began to speak. His tale was very similar to the one Chapel had told them that night after dinner, but Marcus’s was more detailed. He told her about Chapel and his friends being sent to find Templar treasure and how they had found the
Blood Grail instead. He told her about the poison that had driven Chapel to drink from the cup and she shivered. Taking the poison from her as he had must have been a terrible reminder of that.

He told her about how the men had returned home expecting to be exalted as heroes, only to find out their families thought them dead. And he told her about Marie. How hard it was to believe that the silly woman had actually tossed herself to her death rather than embrace forever with the man she was supposed to love.

Pru had the same opinion of the woman now as she had when she’d thought her nothing but a character in a story—Marie was a twit.

Or perhaps Marie hadn’t loved Chapel as she had claimed to have. Regardless, Pru knew without a doubt that she wouldn’t fling herself off a balcony if Chapel told her he wanted her with him for all eternity.

All eternity. It was a frightening and exciting thought.

“When Dreux Beauvrai, my ancestor, committed suicide, the rest of the brotherhood turned to the church, offering themselves in service, in the hopes of saving their souls. Only Temple and Chapel stayed.”

“Brotherhood?”

He nodded. “The Brotherhood of Blood.”

Pru’s eyes widened.

Marcus waved a hand. “It is melodramatic, I know, but it is the name most often applied to their group.”

The Brotherhood of Blood. Very dramatic indeed. Very violent as well. Before today she never could have imagined the kind of violence Chapel was capable of, but she had witnessed firsthand the ease with which he killed. He hadn’t seemed to enjoy it, however, which was a small point in his favor.

No, not a small point. He had killed to protect her family. For that she would excuse him almost anything.

“Whatever else you think of him, Pru, he is not evil. He has spent the last five centuries serving God and the forces of good. He came here not to trick or lie to you, but to protect you. To protect all of us from the potential danger Temple and the Blood Grail might have posed.”

She stared at him. “How could you have endangered us that way?”

His mouth twisted in distaste. “I was stupid. I foolishly believed the order when they told me I could stand against Temple. They told me he would be weak and easily overpowered. They seemed to know so much about the brotherhood I readily believed them. I
wanted
to believe them, because doing so served my purpose.”

This was more the Marcus she was familiar with—the one who could never forgive himself for being wrong or overly eager.

“Can you forgive me?” he asked after a moment’s pause.

Pru nodded. Oddly enough, she found it rather easy to forgive him. Perhaps she was feeling char
itable, or perhaps she simply understood that he had forsaken logic in his fervor.

Or perhaps she finally understood that life was too short to hold grudges.

“I can and I do,” she replied. “You are my friend, Marcus. A mistake doesn’t change that.”

He seemed surprised. “It was a pretty large mistake.”

“Yes, well, we’ve all made those, haven’t we?”

His expression softened—saddened. “I’m so sorry we didn’t find the Grail for you, Pru.”

She could only nod, her throat suddenly tight. She wouldn’t cry, not now. Not here.

“What happens now?” she asked when her voice returned.

“Molyneux is sending word to the church about what has happened and I’m waiting to hear from contacts of my own who might know of the order’s plans and movements. They have vacated the nearby location I knew of, so it seems likely that they will move to another part of England, if not another country. Possibly France, especially if they have Temple with them as Chapel suspects.”

France. “So Chapel and Molyneux will be leaving soon.”

Again he seemed to peer right to the very heart of her. Were it anyone else, she might have squirmed. “It is possible, though I doubt they will want to leave your family unprotected should the order return.”

Terror clutched at her heart. Oh, God, what if that happened? What if they hurt her family? She
could see that man pointing a gun at her sister so clearly in her mind. She’d had no doubt that he would have pulled the trigger if she hadn’t done what he ordered. These men would not hesitate to kill her family to protect themselves.

“I won’t let any harm befall you or your family, Pru.”

She dipped her chin. Marcus was true to his word, of that she had no doubt. His voice was rife with promise and determination, yet he was but one man against many.

No, there was only one man who could protect them from the order, and he wasn’t a man at all—at least not a normal one. And he was a man who seemed to have spent most of his existence hiding from life rather than fighting for it.

Still, there was no denying that Chapel was a warrior. She had no doubt that he would protect her and her family with every last breath.

But when all was said and done, who was going to protect him?

She didn’t have the same luck sneaking up on Chapel as she had with Marcus. The
vampire
didn’t even pretend not to hear her. In fact, Pru wondered if he had sensed her long before she ever reached the library. Somehow she had known that was where she would find him.

His back was to her as he stood at the window. She saw herself reflected behind him in the glass. “Good evening, Pru.”

Was it? She was alive. Her family was un
harmed, but her father, Marcus and every other man in the house, with the exception of the one who couldn’t face sunlight, had spent the early hours of the day disposing of the bodies of the men who had come to kill them. She didn’t know if the evening itself was good, but it was certainly better than the day that had preceded it.

Then again, Chapel had set off after their leader by himself as soon as the sun had set. She would ask him about that later. She had some bitterness to relieve first.

“Six hundred years.” She entered the room cautiously despite the sarcasm in her tone. “That must be some kind of record.”

He glanced over his shoulder, the clean, rugged lines of his face haloed in the soft light. “A record for what?”

“Self-pity,” she replied, the words bitter on her tongue. “I doubt I could manage it that long.”

If she’d made a dent in the personal armor he wore, he showed no trace. “Are you angry that my existence has been too long or that yours is to be too short?”

Damn him for knowing exactly what she felt, for knowing exactly where to strike. “Both. And is that how you see it, as merely an existence?”