Be Mine Tonight (8 page)

T
he moon was a bright silver ball high in the sky when Chapel approached Pru’s dig site. Despite the lack of ambient light, he could see perfectly.

The night was his time to thrive and he felt the difference between darkness and day as acutely as the difference between sand and silk. As much as he sometimes wished he could feel the warmth of the sun again, he could not imagine ever giving up the joy of the night to do so.

It was like the difference between kissing Pru and being denied the pleasure. And that was one difference of which he was keenly aware.

He was also aware of the man standing beside a mound of rock on the crest of the hill. Even without his scent on the breeze, Chapel recognized
him as Marcus Grey. For some reason he felt a kinship with this young man, despite his uncomfortable curiosity.

Marcus Grey was no threat to him. Few mortal men were. But Marcus might be a threat to Pru, and for that reason Chapel could not trust him completely.

If Grey betrayed Pru, it wouldn’t matter that he meant something to her. Chapel would kill him.

“You have put in a long day, Mr. Grey.”

The young man’s head jerked up. He looked tired, and disappointed. “Mr. Chapel. Yes, it has been a long day.”

Chapel climbed the hill to stand at his side. He looked into the hole and saw the rocks piled there. He frowned.

“That does not look like an accident.”

Marcus glanced at him, not the least bit surprised. “It wasn’t. I do not know for certain who did it, but it appears that someone decided that the entrance to this cellar should not be uncovered.”

Had that person been Temple? Yes, Chapel could feel his friend there. The feeling was faint, so Temple was either masking himself or had already moved on. He prayed it was the latter.

“Yet you intend to uncover it regardless.” The young man was either incredibly brave or incredibly stupid.

There was a pause, then a decisive nod. “Yes.”

“There are those who would suggest you not tempt fate, Mr. Grey.”

Marcus nailed him with a dark blue gaze that was almost black in the darkness. “Would you like to be the one to tell Prudence that we should give up?”

No. He wouldn’t. In fact, he would prefer to face Temple rather than that. “Why is this so important to her?”

“You will have to ask her that.” Marcus turned his attention back to the hole. His shoulders slumped. “She hasn’t given me leave to share that information.”

Fair enough. If Grey held Pru’s secrets this dear, perhaps he would hold Chapel’s as close as well. “Why is it so important to
you
?”

Hands in his pockets, Marcus made his way down the hill to a small buggy. “May I offer you a ride, Mr. Chapel?”

Truthfully, Chapel could make it back to the house faster on his own, but he wanted to hear Grey’s story, so he accepted his offer and joined him on the padded seat. A flick of the reins and the two bay horses drew the conveyance into motion.

He didn’t have to wait long for Grey to speak. “Remember I asked you if you knew about Dreux Beauvrai?”

“
Ah, oui,
one of your mercenaries.”

Was it his imagination, or did Grey shoot him an amused glance? It was enough to send a shiver of apprehension down Chapel’s spine. There was no way Grey could know about his link to Dreux.

“Yes. Beauvrai was one of Philip’s mercenaries. He was also a direct ancestor of mine.”

The information hit like a brick to the gut. Dreux’s blood ran in this man’s veins. Here, beside him, was a living, breathing part of his long-departed friend.

No wonder he felt a kinship with him. Dreux’s scent would be faint on him, but it was there—low enough that he couldn’t identify it, but strong enough that it appealed to a part of him.

Dreux never knew his son. He was born after Dreux became a vampire, and Dreux, having seen the consequences of Chapel’s return to Marie, allowed his wife to believe him dead.

If Dreux hadn’t killed himself, he might have been here to meet this young man. Would family not have been a reason to go on?

Not for Dreux, no.

Aware that he had been silent too long, Chapel cleared his throat. “Is that why you hunt the Grail, because your ancestor did?”

“No.” Marcus spared him the slightest of glances as he focused on the buggy path ahead. “Because I think he found it. Or at least what he
thought
was the Holy Grail.”

The churning in Chapel’s gut worsened. “What do you mean?”

“There is some dispute among my research sources as to just what Beauvrai and his companions found during their plunder of the Templar base.” Marcus shot him another glance, as though he were hoping Chapel might have something to
add. Chapel remained silent. “Some believe it was the Holy Grail. Others believe it was an artifact of dark power.”

Oh. God.
Chapel’s fingers gripped the seat, biting into the bench so hard that the polished wood groaned. “Is that what you hope to find, this dark object?”

“It doesn’t matter, not to me. For Pru’s sake, I hope to find the Holy Grail, but that is not the true treasure I expect to find in that cellar.”

That he hadn’t said he wanted the Blood Grail was the only thing keeping Grey alive at this moment. It would not be a task Chapel relished, but if he had to, he would kill to keep the Grail out of the wrong hands—it was why he was there. Even if if meant killing one of Dreux’s blood, he would do it.

“And what treasure do you hope to find?” His tone was even, calm, nothing in it belying his panic.

“I believe there is something in that cellar that will tell me what really happened to Dreux Beauvrai and his companions.”

“You talk as though you believe there to be some great mystery. They all died shortly after the Templar raid.” It came out more hotly than he intended.

Grey shook his head. “I have reason to believe that they did not die. I have documents—written accounts that Beauvrai was spotted
alive
after he was supposed to have died. There is even a story in my family that he went to the funeral of his
firstborn and was spotted by his widow. She supposedly fainted at the sight of him.”

She had. Sweet Jesus, she had. How did Grey know this? “Really, Mr. Grey.” He forced a chuckle. “Such tales. Are you sure you are not related to Bram Stoker?”

“You believe in something as fantastic as the Holy Grail, but not in vampires, Mr. Chapel? I’d thought you a man open to the possibilities of those things which we cannot prove.”

Vampires.
Grey had actually said it aloud.

“I have traveled extensively, Mr. Grey. I have seen a great many things, but I have seen no evidence that can prove the existence of Dracula or his kind.” That wasn’t a lie. He hadn’t
seen
any evidence. He was evidence.

“What do you know of Severian de Foncé?”

Chapel’s heart fell to his stomach. “He was one of Beauvrai’s companions.”

“There are accounts that he became a vampire as well. Supposedly he killed his own fiancée.”

Closing his eyes against the pain that he knew would glow there like a beacon, Chapel drew his strength. He would not think of Marie. He would not.

“De Foncé is dead.” It was a low growl, uttered from between clenched teeth. “I have seen his grave for myself.”

“Yes,” Grey replied. “I would imagine you have.”

What the hell? Chapel stared at him.

Grey’s eyes left the dark path ahead for but a
split second. “Being the historian that you are, I mean.”

That wasn’t it at all. Regardless, Marcus Grey was no threat to him—not physically. Perhaps it was time for this young man to realize what he was up against.

“If you believe these legends, Mr. Grey, then you must know that whatever it is you seek may very well be guarded by one of these vampires.”

“One of these vampires is exactly what I’m hoping to find, Mr. Chapel.”

“You have no more sense than a squirrel. No, less.” He could not keep the anger from his voice. “If you do find one of these vampires of yours in that cellar, he will not be happy to see you, do you understand?”

Marcus nodded. “I know. Isn’t that why the church sent you and Father Molyneux?”

Chapel’s eyes closed in resignation. “How much do you know?”

The buggy stopped and Marcus turned in his seat to face him, his boyish features highlighted and shadowed by the lantern on the front of the carriage.

“I know that the church suspects there is something in that cellar as well. Which one do you think it is? Bishop, Saint?”

“You do not know enough, then. Were what you are suggesting possible, it would not be them.” Then he realized his fatal error.

Marcus Grey knew the names the church had
given them, and now he knew that Chapel knew them too. He looked up.

From the fear in Grey’s eyes, it was obvious that he realized he might have revealed too much. It also revealed that he
knew
too much. Dropping all pretenses, Chapel let the demon side of him rise to the surface. If Marcus Grey was so randy to see a vampire, then he would give him one. His eyes warmed and his fangs extended. He could see himself reflected in Grey’s wide eyes and he saw how both terrible and beautiful he was.

“How long have you known?”

Grey’s mouth opened. To his credit, the young man was nowhere near as terrified as most would be. “Yesterday. I saw your name in my papers.”

“Who else knows?”

“No one. I swear.”

Chapel believed him. Grey smelled of fear and awe, but not deceit.

“Dreux killed himself because he could not live with what he had become.” The young man may as well know the truth. “Temple and I undertook the protection of the Blood Grail.”

“Temple.” Grey breathed the name like it was sacred.

A faint stirring tingled in the air, setting Chapel on guard. His old friend was nearby. “I very much fear that he is what is in that cellar, Mr. Grey. I do not have to tell you what he will do to you if you enter his domain.”

“I just want to know about him—about all of you.”

Chapel could throttle him. Perhaps he should kill him now and be done with it. “And what of Prudence? Were you just stringing her along?”

“Of course not! My research indicates that Temple is the keeper of the Holy Grail as well.”

Now,
that
was news! Was it possible? He had always been told that the Grail was missing, but the church had a tendency to bend the truth to their will. Perhaps Temple was in charge of it as well—which made his remaining hidden all the more imperative.

“I will kill you rather than allow you the Blood Grail.” There was nothing but brutal honesty in Chapel’s tone. “You and Prudence can take the credit for finding the Holy Grail if it is there, but then it returns with me and Molyneux. Whichever cup is there, I cannot allow it to fall in to the wrong hands.”

Grey nodded. “Fine.”

Chapel wasn’t finished. “You will allow me to enter the cellar before you or your men. If Temple is there, I will warn him and he will leave with the Blood Grail and anything else that needs to be protected. He will decide what will be left for you to find.”

“And in return?”

He seized Grey, hauling him close. “I will let you live. Temple may not be so kind.”

Grey was afraid, but not nearly scared enough. “Will you tell me about him? About all of you?”

“No.”

“You want to know why the Grail is so important to Prudence, don’t you?”

Chapel’s lip curled. Marcus blinked, his gaze fastened on ’s mouth—and no doubt the fangs that were revealed. “You would barter with her confidence?”

“If you will keep her safe. If you won’t hurt her…” He paused. “Perhaps.”

He searched Grey’s gaze for any hint of duplicity and found none. Frowning, he released him. “Why is this so important to you?”

“It just is. I want to cooperate with you, Severian. Will you cooperate with me?”

“Call me by that name again and I’ll drain you.” The surprise was that he meant it. But more disturbing was that he wanted information about Pru badly enough to let Grey live, even though he shouldn’t.

“But do we have an agreement?”

“You really don’t have any sense.”

Grey actually grinned. “Not much, no.”

Some of the tension eased from Chapel’s shoulders. “You remind me of him somewhat.”

“I do?”

“Yes. There isn’t enough time tonight, and I won’t do it with you near, but before you enter I will investigate the cellar and make sure it is safe.”

“How do I know I can trust you not to take whatever you find inside?”

“You don’t.”

Marcus mulled that over for a moment. “Will you tell me anything about what really happened to the six of you?”

Chapel gave him a very pointed look. “No, but
I will try to keep the same thing from happening to you.”

Back at the house, Chapel made his way toward the library, as was his habit. He needed a drink—not that it would do him much good. And he needed to think about what the hell he was going to do with Marcus Grey. How was he going to explain this to Molyneux?

And more importantly, would Pru join him tonight, or would she avoid him as a rabbit avoids a fox? Perhaps it would be for the best if she avoided him. The last thing he needed to do was reveal himself to her—or form an attachment, especially to a mortal.

Even if he could make her understand what he was, even if she could accept it, their time together would be far, far too brief, and far too painful when it ended.

That was, of course, assuming that Pru would like to have a relationship with him. She had run away from him, after all.

That he was even thinking these things amazed him. After so many years, why now? Why her?

Was it the desperation she wore like a perfume? Or the life that radiated off of her like a beacon? There was comfort in her presence, a sense of belonging so acute it almost hurt.

She made him feel like a man, not a monster. And for the first time in a long time he thought of a mortal as a possible companion, not food. There had been women in his life and in his bed since
he had become a vampire, but he hadn’t allowed anyone to affect him as Pru did.