Blood Red (19 page)

Her tone, of course, held every condemnation for his kind.

But he just smiled, showing fangs. “She’s a country lass. A vivacious vixen from the looks of her. I expect she came out here to meet a man for a tumble and got something quite different Blood Red by Sharon Page ©2006 Advance Reader Copy www.SharonPage.com 93

than what she bargained for.”

“I don’t understand. You mean a man—a mortal man—did this to her?”

“No, I believe Zayan did this to her.”

“Yet he didn’t drink her blood.”

“She was his bait, angel.”

“How did you know to look here?”

Absorbed in his task of squeezing his blood into the poor victim’s throat he didn’t answer.

She tried not to shudder as she watched. The thought of his blood flowing so freely made her head dizzy. “How did—”

“I heard you, sweeting.” His voice swept over her like the icy winds of the Carpathians.

“What are you implying by that? That I did this?”

“No. I never even considered that.” She truly hadn’t and the idea struck her as horrific.

“But now you are thinking it is a perfectly plausible idea, aren’t you?”

“No. I imagine if you had done this—which would have been before you came to my room—she would be dead.”

“True enough,” he allowed and his voice had thawed. “I saw the common here through Bastien’s mind. Enough detail to recognized the spot.”

He drew his wrist from the girl’s mouth and Althea saw the girl’s throat move slightly, with the distinct motion of swallowing. Then again. The chest rose and fell with stronger determination.

Althea sat back on her heels with a sigh of relief.

Yannick unclasped his cape at his neck. “To wrap her in. Hers is soaked through.”

Her heart quickened at his concern, his kindness to this poor victim, as he cast his cloak onto the ground. But he must do this too when he fed.

“You’re thinking that I do this, aren’t you?”

She gulped as he spoke her exact thoughts and wondered how horrified she looked.

“I…I’ve never seen you drink blood.”

“I do, I promise you. But I’ve never killed for it.” Yannick scooped the girl up so gently he seemed more of a knight in a shining armor than a demon. He laid the girl on it and wrapped the cape around her.

Althea helped swaddle the girl’s legs. “Now, we need to get her to inside. To the Inn, do you think? I’ve no idea who she is or where she lives.”

He nodded. “Could you—no, you can’t move her alone, can you?”

“You want me to take her to shelter while you pursue Zayan alone.” Blast him, he was determined to be rid of her. Was it truly only for her safety? Or because he didn’t believe she was capable of hunting vampires? Pride pricked, she demanded, “What if you take her to the Inn and I pursue Zayan?”

“And I don’t doubt you’d do it, feisty wench. But how would you know where to go?”

“You could tell me, my lord, couldn’t you?”

To her surprise, he gave a rueful chuckle. “I’m not exactly certain. I can see a manor house, probably once the home of a baronet. Badly in need of repair.”

Blood Red by Sharon Page ©2006 Advance Reader Copy www.SharonPage.com 94

She had only been in Maidensby for a few days but had taken care to learn what she could about the small village. “Chatham Manor is nearby. I’ve never seen it, but I do know that the family died out. And the house has just been let.”

“And how did you learn all this?”

She preened at the admiration in his tone. “Chatter amongst the maids at the Inn yesterday as to the appearance, age, and financial situation of the new tenant.” She stroked the girl’s cold cheek. “It must be Zayan.”

“So where is it?” Yannick straightened so he was looking down on her. Rain pelted into his hair, his white shirt, his trousers.

“We are at an impasse, aren’t we, my lord? You can’t leave this poor child out here, and you need me to show you to the house.”

He slicked back his dripping hair. “You could run back to the Inn and get help.”

“And calmly inform Crenshaw the girl was bitten by a vampire?”

“Why not? He must wonder at the real purpose of your father’s late-night procession.”

“I suspect the whole village does,” Althea said. “But I am going with you.”

“You’re soaked through,” he pointed out as he dropped to one knee again. She could barely see him, even so close, but she heard the squish of his boots in the mud as his wet hand cradled her chin. “You need to get inside and warm up.”

Her wet, bedraggled bonnet stuck to her cheeks and cold rivulets poured over her lips.

When she parted her lips, her teeth chattered. “You’re drenched yourself.”

“But it won’t kill me. I won’t develop a fever.”

“Well, you can just feed me your blood and protect me, can’t you?”

She heard his breath catch.

“What? You can, can’t you? You’ve fed my father and this girl. Why wouldn’t you feed me?”

“I would, sweeting. To save your life.” He raised her by her hand and she shook out her wet skirts. “And I don’t need you to lead me to Chatham House. I can hear Bastien, which means he’s alive and he can tell me where he is. Now get your lovely backside down that hill and to the Inn.”

She had no choice but to obey his rude, condescending command. Not unless she risked letting the poor girl die. Perhaps he was deliberately making her annoyed with him so she would willingly let him go to his destruction. She couldn’t be truly angry at him, not when he’d saved the girl’s life. Beneath the nobleman’s arrogance, beneath the predatory nature of the vampire, was a kind-hearted man.

And she couldn’t let him face such danger alone. But he wouldn’t be alone; he would be with Bastien and together the Demon Twins could defeat Zayan.

She had to believe that, but she desperately needed to kiss him before he left. She wanted to hold him tight, touch his face, memorize its every plane. For just a minute, before he had to go.

But as Althea arched up on tiptoe to reach his lips, she saw him stare over her head. She spun around to follow his gaze and spied a lantern at the very top of the common. A lantern that suddenly began bobbing toward them. Father, possibly, or O’Leary or one or more of his workmen. It was true that Father had abandoned discretion by rounding up workmen to aid in Blood Red by Sharon Page ©2006 Advance Reader Copy www.SharonPage.com 95

his hunt. She suspected most were drunk by now after downing spirits to keep them warm and occupied. The moving lantern did seem to weave back and forth—as though carried by a shaking arm on an unsteady man.

She caught hold of Yannick’s arm and heat surged through her at the contact with his solid, muscled arm, even through his soaked coat and shirt, even though she was frozen stiff.

He looked down at her, so close they could kiss if she just stretched an inch more, but she flinched at the low chuckle she heard. How could he be amused by vampire hunters? Even though Father wouldn’t hurt him, a dozen drunken uncontrollable louts with axes and shovels could kill him.

“You must get away,” she urged. “Go now.” A plan began to form. She knew exactly where he was going; she could return to the Inn, then follow.

Yannick’s long-suffering sigh broke into her thoughts. He cupped her chin and tipped up her face. Rain splattered her cheeks as he searched her eyes with his silver gaze. “I can guess the plans running through your mind, sweet angel, and I fear that the only way I can feel you are safe is to keep you in eyesight at all times.”

“Then take me with you,” she breathed with triumph. Then guilt and compassion surged.

“But what about the girl? We—I—can’t leave her.”

He smiled. “A quick entrance into the thoughts of those men will bring them here to help her. We can escape now and leave her to them.”

“But—”

“I can also erase their memory of us.”

“Perfect.” Althea moved back to allow him to concentrate, though she missed the comfort and the intimacy of having his hand cradling her face. She waited. Was he doing it?

An urgent demand that he hurry up formed on her lips but died as he took a long stride forward and caught hold of her by her shoulders. Every time he touched her, her skin sizzled.

Not just where he made contact but everywhere. And most especially between her thighs.

“But, before I do this, we have to strike a bargain.” His voice was deep, low, serious.

“A bargain? Of what sort?” Immediately her thoughts flew to an erotic bargain.

“You must listen to me, Althea. And obey me. I demand that you obey me and do exactly as I ask.”

His commanding tone once again set her bristling. “I have many years experience slaying vampires, I might remind you, my lord.”

“I do not care if you’ve had twenty centuries slaying vampires.” He started off toward his black gelding—one of his carriage horses, saddled for their search. The horse nickered as his master’s hand slid over his nose, turning his head in pleasure at the caress.

She hoisted up her skirts and strode to Yannick’s side. “I’ve been helping my father hunt the undead for longer than you’ve been one, my lord.”

The horse gave a gentle whinny and flicked his head, sending his midnight black mane dancing about his graceful neck. She never expected a vampire to have such a gentle touch with animals.

With a tug, Yannick undid the loose knot, slid the reins off the branch. “Althea, I don’t doubt your skill. Or your courage. Or your quick wit.”

Blood Red by Sharon Page ©2006 Advance Reader Copy www.SharonPage.com 96

In one fluid motion, he settled his booted foot in the stirrup and swung his leg over the great beast’s back.

Fuming, Althea expected him to spur the horse and gallop away. But he steadied the animal, pressing his thighs into the flanks, and bent down. He caught hold of her around the waist and lifted her on to his lap just as he had outside the stables. His arm held her as the horse shifted beneath her.

She twisted around and Yannick leaned forward. He kissed her. Masterfully. Hungrily.

Until his fiery kiss left her dizzy and she had to hold tight to his arms. With his lips locked to hers, he urged the horse into a canter. Her rear bumped painfully on the saddle. She had rarely ridden and had no sense of horses. They were large, unpredictable, and scared her.

“Relax,” he whispered, “It’s instinct.”

Somehow his hot kiss did make her relax and Althea found she could match his rhythm, lifting slightly on the saddle to avoid a pounding. Once she moved gracefully in unison with him, Yannick released her lips. He sped them into a gallop, the rain pelting at her from beneath her sagging bonnet brim. She had to close her eyes and trust completely in Yannick.

As they thundered over the field, he pressed his mouth against her ear. “Goddamn it, sweet angel, do what I say tonight. I couldn’t bear to lose you.”

“You aren’t afraid, are you?” Yannick pushed the wet branch back to allow Althea to follow. A shower of droplets rained down on him. Above, rain pattered into the canopy of leaves. Ahead he saw an opening in the denser woods and a stretch of untended lawn, grass bent down by the storm. Between interwoven branches and rambling shrubs, he spotted the porticoed roof, white columns, and quiet solidity of the mausoleum.

“I cannot begin to count the number of mausoleums I’ve entered in the middle of the night.”

Althea ducked for another low branch, but once she cleared it, she stood absolutely straight, her spine stiff with courage.

Even with her hair plastered against her face, her bonnet flopping, and rain dripping from her point of a chin—which made him wince with worry that she would catch cold—she sparkled with beauty. And strength. An inner strength that, oddly, he’d encountered more often in jades and courtesans than in women of the
ton
. Certainly, his gentle, timid mother never had it.

He’d been raised as a gentleman. Possessiveness, protectiveness had been bred into him.

Qualities he believed to be the measure of the man. But never had his instincts to cosset and protect screamed so loud. He’d shielded his mother from the slaps, the blows, the insults, and been whipped brutally for his audacity. With Althea, his need to take care of her burned in him like a raging fire. He was determined to protect her from evil. And she was equally determined to face it.

Althea seemed to have no qualms in standing up to him—and he was a far more dangerous man than his father had been. He was bigger in build, but also immortal and possessed preternatural strength.

But he wasn’t his father and would never use that strength against a woman. Never against Althea. Her stubborn streak sorely tried his patience, but, God in heaven, he’d never raise his hand against her.

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“Are you coming?” she asked. “You aren’t afraid, are you?”

Yannick frowned and stalked toward her. Branches slapped at him but he refused to duck.

One branch, as thick as his wrist, strained, resisted, and broke with a snap against his chest.

She gasped at that and her eyes widened, but as he reached her side, cheeky mischief gleamed in her eyes and he knew she’d only intended to goad him with her question. He wished she would show a trace of fear, just so he could be sure that she took this seriously. This wasn’t a lark or a game or a dare.

“I’m afraid only for you, sweet,” he admitted and let her make of that what she would.

It was the bloody truth. Bringing her here was a mistake, but he didn’t doubt she would have made her own way here. And worse, he had the nightmarish suspicion she would have done so alone. He knew she would. Not because she was foolhardy. She was an intelligent woman with experience in realms that no sweet innocent should have but she would have been concerned about protecting him from her father’s “vampire hunters”.

He held aside more branches for Althea, although thorns snagged at her sleeves and skirts.