Blood Rose (19 page)

His cry was strangled, tight, a harsh, rough sound. His hips surged up. His head thrashed against his greatcoat. “Oh yes—” then his cry of pleasure turned to a sharp yelp of pain.

Blood. Slippery, coppery, shocking. His blood was in her mouth, on her tongue. Rearing back, Serena saw the wounds on his neck.

She’d bitten his neck.

Serena lay on his greatcoat, taking deep, unsteady breaths. What had she done? Blinking, she sat up. Mr. Swift—Drake, or did she dare still call him that?—sat on the edge of the rumpled, sagging bed. He held his cravat to his wounded neck to staunch the blood flow.

“I am sorry. Dreadfully so.” She was shaking. He had to know what she was. In an instant he would drive a stake into her heart.

Drake half-turned, revealing lips cranked in a smile, eyes alight with mischief. “I made you come so hard, you bit me. No need to be sorry, sweeting.”

Serena almost sobbed in relief. He thought it had been pleasure that made her bite him. He seemed to view his wounds as a badge of honor. It would be best to let him continue to think so.

She hadn’t remembered biting him! The pleasure had ripped through her, and her mind had seemed to melt in her skull. Her teeth had grazed that delicious flesh. And then—

Her mouth had been full of blood and she’d been…coming.

Serena tried to fasten her pelisse, tried not to let Drake see her frantic breaths. Her dress clung to her sweaty skin and the buttons slipped from her fingers, which were damp and trembled. Would gloves help? Where had her gloves gone?

Drake drew the red-speckled fabric from his neck. “Stopped now, love. I told you, I’m not afraid of a little bite.” He folded it, wound it around his collar. “We should go. Perhaps find a place for a drink. A spot of brandy would do you a world of good.”

Why did he behave this way? He spoke not a word of what they’d done, as though that intimacy had been swept aside. They’d made love. It meant nothing to him.

Blast this button. How many mornings had she found herself hurried outside William Bridgewater’s door, her wrapper clutched to her and a swirling lonely ache in her belly? Had a few stolen minutes of intimacy, of love, of pleasure and tenderness and belonging, been worth the coldness after? Worth the heartache that never went away?

Foolish to compare one man to another—but she knew she’d made the same mistake. She’d offered too much for a fleeting moment of intimacy. Had surrendered too much.

At least he didn’t suspect she was a vampire.

After yanking his greatcoat off the bed, Drake swirled it around his back, sliding his arms in the Blood Rose ©Sharon Page 2007 Email: [email protected] 78

sleeves in a fluid motion. To Serena’s surprise, he crossed to her, then dropped down on one knee.

He rested his chin on her knees, and he gazed up with a smile he must know could melt a heart.

“It was wonderful, love. The most perfect gift you could give me.”

Serena blinked away the burning threat of tears.

“Now, I must offer marriage. You’re owed marriage. I’m not a gentleman, love, not much of anything, but I’d take care of you well. Keep a roof over your head, and I promise I’d keep you happy in bed. So, it is to be marriage then?”

Serena gaped in shock. Even if she’d wanted marriage, she would never say yes to that! She pushed his hands from her knee and stood. “No.”

“Sweetheart, we could have made a child.”

In a small voice that made her wince, she said, “I don’t expect marriage.” She ran her fingers through her tumbled hair, trying to plait it.

Sighing, he paced around behind her. He straightened the pelisse on her shoulders. “Let me, Serena.”

Her hair tugged lightly at her scalp as he brushed his fingers through it. “So long, so beautiful,” he murmured.

She stood still and let him work, her eyes closed. He was taking great care, and the gentle intimacy of that made her heart ache.

Would he ask her again to marry him? Instead he stooped and gathered silver glints from the floor—some of her fallen pins. Coiling her hair bared her neck, and his fingers brushed there.

“We’d better go, sweetheart—hunt Lukos down and protect you.”

So she was reduced to damsel in distress, and he was distant from her. She snatched up her bonnet. “Then let us go from this place.” Without looking back, she crammed the bonnet on, messing up her hair again, and she strode to the bedchamber door.

What was it with London and fog? It was the thickest stuff Serena had ever known—cold as sin, wet and dirty too. It carried the soot of burning fires, and she knew her face would be black with it.

Serena wiped her glove across her cheek, saw the streaks of black on the dark blue satin.

Fashionable clothes posed a nuisance. The modiste had wanted to use peacock blue for her dress.

How did a woman creep about in the dark in brilliant blue?

A nervous giggle fought to get free. She swallowed hard. She was only thinking of such ridiculous things because she didn’t want to think of what she’d done. She’d made love. Turned down an offer of marriage. Bitten an innocent man’s neck.

Proved she was a vampire.

Her heart ached so harshly she didn’t think the pain would go away. How could a vampiress marry a vampire slayer?

The rain had stopped, though puddles sat between the uneven cobbles. Skirting around a muddy mess that smelled of dung, Serena leaned against the rough wall for a moment and remembered….

Bloody inconvenience, William had snapped. Why didn’t you tell me it was your fertile time?

She’d been shaking, head bowed. Why hadn’t she? Would he have stopped?

But this time… it was too soon after her courses. There couldn’t be a child, could there?

There was a chance there could.

The silence made her look up.

There was no sign of a tall hat, broad shoulders, swirling gray coat.

Where had Drake gone? He hadn’t paused, hadn’t waited. He’d kept walking and now she Blood Rose ©Sharon Page 2007 Email: [email protected] 79

was alone. Did he want so desperately to be rid of her now? Tension stiffened her limbs and she took awkward, jerky steps down the lane. Her neck felt icy cold, her heart pounded. He was in danger. She felt it.

Shadows fell upon shadows as she passed a narrow alley. Stifled, a male grunt reached her and she turned, hand at her throat. She shouldn’t be able to see in the stinking gap between buildings—

there was no light, just blackness—but she could. She saw a beaver hat, the tiers of an expensive coat, the gleam of boots, and the flash of an object as it was lifted to a man’s mouth.

And she saw white-blond hair—the hint of it beneath his hat. Crossing her arms in front of her chest, Serena stalked into full view of the alley. “What is that? What did you just drink?”

“Nothing, love.” Drake held the glass by his hip, and he paced toward her, his shoulders rolling easily, his legs taking long strides. There came the brief shatter of glass. He’d dropped the tiny flask to the ground, and it broke on cobbles.

Was it liquor? Just a gulp for courage or was he dependent on the stuff? Serena breathed in a sweet smell that wasn’t alcohol, and Drake grimaced as though he’d just tasted poison. She knew nothing of drugs, but the change in Mr. Swift was immediate. His eyes dilated, turning an eerie, glassy green, his pupils pinpoints of black. His shoulders jerked, his arms twitched, even his hands seemed to move as though strings controlled them. Then he seemed to relax all over, and a lazy smile came to his lips.

“Opium? Is it opium?” she demanded.

He laughed at that. “No, love. Solange.”

“Good heavens, you drank solange? But that—” Serena couldn’t finish, horrified. Words leapt to her mind.
Solange lures even the noblest of men to behave with complete sexual abandon…a
mortal man will readily become its slave…
Was that what had happened between them—the drug had made him desire her? “You must stop this,” she insisted.

His leer sent chills to her heart. “I don’t want to.”

“It will destroy you.” A foolish and stupid statement. He knew that, of course. Perhaps at first he hadn’t cared. Now, she doubted he had any choice. “You will stop it—I will inform Lord Sommersby at once—”

Suddenly she found herself pressed against the wall. “And what do you think he’ll do?” Drake rasped. “Try to save my sorry arse? He’ll let me die. He wants me to die. Always has done. He’ll see me turned out of the Society. He won’t raise a finger to help me. Do you care about me, Serena? Don’t you give a damn about me?”

You don’t care about me. You gave me that terrible proposal—to scare me away. You didn’t
really want to marry me—I was just a mistake you had to take care of.
She silenced the foolish thoughts. Swallowed hard. “I won’t let you kill yourself.”

“Sweetheart, I hunt vampires. Every night I commit suicide by stalking demons—only so far I haven’t been successful.”

“Stop it!”

“Blast it, Serena, I love you. But like this, what I am, I can’t have you. I should be strung up for making love to you.”

So much pain in his eyes. They opened so wide, and she had to look down because she couldn’t look into those wild, drugged eyes. “You made love to me. You shouldn’t die for that.

You don’t deserve to die.”

“In your world, your class, you should be bound to me now. My bride, my wife, the one woman who will despise me for ruining her.”

“You didn’t ruin me.”

His grip loosened and she took a breath. “Beautiful, beautiful, Serena. You can’t understand—

”

Blood Rose ©Sharon Page 2007 Email: [email protected] 80

His mouth closed on hers—she tasted the horrid flavor of solange on his lips and pulled away.

His fist came up and pounded into the brick beside her head. He’d punched the wall in rage.

It was enough. She broke free and scurried out of the alley. A door opened ahead and light poured out. She had to blink.

A man filled the laneway. Huge, well-dressed, eyes and hair black in the foggy gloom, but she knew him at once. Lord Sommersby.

He turned to the other man who followed him out the door.

Drake Swift caught hold of her skirt. “Serena, don’t—”

Serena yanked her skirt free and ran toward Lord Sommersby.

Jonathon heard the slap of boots running over the cobbles and turned. Silhouetted against the light spilling into the lane, a woman hurried toward him, a slender but curvaceous woman with skirts flapping around her legs. She skidded on the wet stones. Chivalry drove him forward to catch her elbow, her outstretched hand. Her head tipped back and he saw glossy black curls, parted lips, and a streak of soot on her cheeks.

Miss Lark. An endearment almost slipped out of his mouth. Abruptly she brushed at the sagging rim of her bonnet. “What did you find out, my lord?”

Vivid pink flushed her cheeks, and the curls at the side of her face were tangled. Cold, bitter fury lashed Jonathon’s heart. “Where did Swift take you?”

Miss Lark recoiled. Hell, he’d snapped at her.

“A brothel,” she said. “We discovered two victims. Jades who might have been bitten by Lukos.”

“A brothel?” The words erupted from him.

“Please, my lord, we don’t need to waste time on false propriety. I’ve already been to a brothel—and it appears I shall have to do so often. Vampires frequent such places, just as gentlemen do.”

A retort came to his tongue, but he bit it back. For all her prickly pretense, she was shaking.

“Miss Lark—”

He stopped as a dervish raced out of the dark—a wild, possessed lunatic crashing through the fog, screaming at the top of her lungs.

“Help! Murder! ‘E’s killed ’er!”

The dark figure plowed into his side, rocking him on his feet. Spinning, Jonathon caught…a girl, a slim waif with tattered hair and tear-strained cheeks. “Easy, lass.” He tried to soothe, but the girl swept her gaze up him. At the sight of his shoulders, his chest, she paled and stuttered helplessly, “N—n—no!”

“Where is she?”

She froze like a tiny rabbit.

“Let me help her, lass. Tell me where she is.”

The girl scurried back from him. Damnation. He grabbed for her dress, caught it, but she spun, and the fabric ripped free.

A man emerged from an alley—Swift.

“Catch her!” Jonathon yelled.

But as Swift lunged for the girl, she lashed out. Silver flashed. A blade?

“Jesus bloody Christ.” Swift reeled back, and the little creature drove forward, slicing toward his gut. His hand snaked out toward her wrist, but too damned slow.

“Bugger ye!” the girl screeched, and she ran, nimbly avoiding Swift’s grasp.

Hell and perdition, Swift moved like a man in a trance. Jonathon knew he couldn’t deny it Blood Rose ©Sharon Page 2007 Email: [email protected] 81

anymore—either drink or drugs controlled Drake Swift.

Miss Lark grasped his arm. “It’s Lukos—I’m certain of it. We must go after her.”

Jonathon saw only determination and horror in Miss Lark’s large, silvery eyes. But he couldn’t shake off the feeling that this was a trap.

Still, sometimes a man had to walk into a trap, but with his eyes open and a crossbow in his hand.

Serena sank to the cold ground beside the young girl’s body. The girl couldn’t be older than fifteen. Her head lolled back, and her thin legs were splayed in the dirt. Torn open, her bodice revealed sharp collarbones, small grimy breasts, and bite marks. Small punctures scattered the fragile chest.

Lord Sommersby knelt and stripped off his glove. He put his bared fingers to the girl’s neck.

Serena felt the earl’s breath, warm against her cheek. She knew she couldn’t let herself trust Sommersby—so why did she draw such strength from having him close?

The poor sweet girl. She hadn’t had a chance. Serena looked up. Swirling fog poured down the alley, and Drake Swift was out there, in the mist, a makeshift bandage wrapped around the knife wound in his side. He’d called it a “flea-bite” but it had bled through the first cloth Sommersby had wound around his waist.