Blood Rose (20 page)

Wild Drake had gone in search of the vampire, with Lord Denby and a few other men. She should have stopped him—he was under the control of solange. But what could she say in front of the others? Drake had caught her gaze, for just a moment, had lifted his brows, sent a silent message.
Don’t tell him.

Damn him—she wouldn’t.

She didn’t have that sense that Drake was in danger, not like she’d felt it before she found him with the solange.

Sommersby gave a quick nod. “A faint pulse.” Startled, Serena glanced down as he pressed a folded cloth into her hand.

“She’s alive?” She held the cloth to the wounds—even though they no longer bled.

Thank heaven, the poor thing lived. But the breathing was so feeble, and there was such a great pool of blood beneath her neck, shoulders, and head. Serena brushed at the dirt on the girl’s cheeks.

Sommersby’s lips thinned, his expression grim. “Barely.” He stripped off his coat and laid it over the girl.

The girl’s lids flickered up. Her eyes seemed almost black, pupils enormous. Her lips trembled. “Lukos.” A hoarse sigh spilled out, the girl’s lips rolled back from her teeth, and she stiffened. At once her limbs slackened.

Desperately, Serena touched the girl’s neck, searching for a pulse. It was just a murmur, so slow and light, she wasn’t sure if she truly felt it. She stepped back as Sommersby gathered the girl in his arms and stood.

Lukos had taken the girl’s blood and carelessly tossed her away to die. She would drive the killing stake into Lukos’s foul heart with pleasure.

Horror and rage entwined around her heart, ice cold and burning hot. Would she become a monster like that?

On shaky legs, Serena raced after the earl as he carried the girl to their carriage. “If Lukos wants me, couldn’t I draw him out? Couldn’t I act as…as bait?”

Sommersby bit out the answer. “Not on my blasted life, Miss Lark.”

Blood Rose ©Sharon Page 2007 Email: [email protected] 82

The drapes lifted and furled open, the velvet whipping like a cape caught by a violent wind.

Serena watched them float in the air, snap and dance, then settle down again. It should be impossible for them to move—the window was shut tight and locked.

She was…home, home with Althea, but she didn’t feel safe. The candle flame wavered, and she glanced to the clock on the mantle. A quarter of five in the morning.

Althea had insisted she go to bed and had fussed over preparing her room. A maid had laid garlic flowers along the window’s ledge, and Serena wore a cross around her neck. “Whatever you do, no matter what impulse drives you,” Althea had warned, “do not open the window. Ring the bell for a servant, for me, for my husband. But if Lukos comes, don’t let him into the house.”

Again the window banged in its frame. Serena sat up, blankets spilling to her waist. Should she summon anyone? What if the men were still out hunting? What if Althea came alone? She really couldn’t put Althea at risk.

Her feet wanted to slip down to the floor. Her legs demanded that she walk to the window.

She wanted to touch the smoothness of the drapes and fling them wide.

Instead, she thought back to her carriage ride home with Lord Sommersby.

She had protested the moment the coach left the physician’s home. “I do believe it is a perfectly logical plan.”

His lordship had rested back against the seat opposite, swathed in shadow, eyes hidden. His pose reminded her of a slumbering lion—relaxed, majestic, and dangerous. “You are not going to arrange yourself as a pretty temptation for a monster.”

“Well, I trust you to save me at the appropriate time.”

His mouth had tightened, and that harsh, hungry look touched his features—the expression she’d seen in her erotic dreams.

“Do you pay the physician to treat all victims you save?” she’d asked.

He had given a simple nod.

She had made love to Drake Swift, yet at that moment, wantonly, she was so aware of Sommersby, of this heroic man. This man who made it his duty to care about an injured street waif.

Dark stubble along his jaw had given him an enticingly roguish look, a sensual shadow that vanished into his white collar.

Do not look at his neck
, she had warned herself.

And then the carriage had stopped at Althea’s home, delivering her from temptation—from the temptation to kiss him. To seduce him. To put her lips to his delectable neck, the way she longed to with a desire that bordered on madness…

Serena.

An accented voice. A mere whisper. Not her imagination, she knew. Lukos was here.

Serena.

Her name sounded more beautiful and compelling in his voice than it ever had.

He wanted to lure her to the window.

She gazed at the drapes. Suddenly, before her eyes, she could see a bedroom like a scene painted on the fabric. The brothel’s bedroom? She closed her eyes, but the vision followed her.

Blood Rose ©Sharon Page 2007 Email: [email protected] 83

She felt a tickling against her skin—like the brush of a man’s soft hair. Her nipples puckered, her breasts tightened beneath her thick nightdress.

You suckle the right, Swift. The left is mine.

God, yes.

Wide awake now, she opened her eyes wide. The drapes stirred once more, but that haunting erotic image was gone. That had been Lord Sommersby’s hoarse voice in her head, answered by Drake’s throaty growl. The sultry memory of both voices sent a shiver of desire down her spine.

Her heart thrummed, and heat flooded her skin.

For one exotic instant, she’d seen two breathtaking men bending to her breasts. Sommersby and Drake! They’d opened their mouths to take her nipples inside—

And then it had vanished. Why had she even had such a vision? Was it Lukos who had put it in her mind? Was this how vampires seduced their prey?

Anger flared at the memory of the young girl, so limp and small in Sommersby’s arms.

Damn Lukos. Damn vampires. She didn’t care if she was one of them—damn them all.

What if she went to the window suddenly, crossbow in hand? Could she destroy Lukos?

How could she not try?

Serena slid off the bed. Glowing embers in the fireplace gave a weak light, enough to let her see. Creeping around the bed, she winced at the icy touch of cold boards against her bare feet.

Then her fingers brushed the bedside table and slid over it to the taut string of the bow.

It would be so easy to try. She might succeed.

And if she failed, Lukos could come into the house. Althea was enceinte, and it was known that vampires liked to prey on women who were with child.

She couldn’t take the risk. But Serena took up the crossbow, the sharp arrow. She crept out of her room and down the silent hallway. She had to go to Althea and tell her Lukos had come. He might try to gain entry elsewhere. They had to be ready.

A glow showed around the large library doors. Was Althea up and reading? Althea spent most of her time in this room, reading the books her father had left in England or writing in her own journals. Althea was documenting techniques of vampire hunting from a female perspective.

Serena gently pushed open the door. “Althea, I—”

She stopped dead in the doorway. Her hand gripped the knob tight. Her jaw dropped open.

A naked man’s rump. That was the first thing she saw. A stunning male body—wide shoulders, bunched biceps, narrow hips. And the arse. Oh heavens. Solid muscle, hard, perfectly sculpted.

She was looking at Lord Brookshire’s rump. He was pumping enthusiastically into Althea, who moaned in ecstasy and held tight to that gorgeous arse.

Althea’s shapely naked leg entwined around Brookshire’s. Long red hair spilled over his shoulders.

A burning flush raced from Serena’s hair roots to her toes, and she took a step back. But she stopped. In the shadows, she glimpsed a long lean leg. Golden hair. For one mad moment she thought it was Drake Swift.

It was Bastien de Wynter. His leg rocked rhythmically. He groaned in unison with his brother.

It appeared that—

It couldn’t be.

A shocked gasp came from her lips—no one should hear it over the moans and grunts, but Bastien de Wynter looked up. His heavy-lidded gaze locked with hers.

Serena turned and raced from the library.

Blood Rose ©Sharon Page 2007 Email: [email protected] 84

“It’s at her window!” Jonathon shouted.

Moving out into the open for a better shot, he jammed a bolt in his crossbow and aimed at the shape at Serena’s window. His finger slid to the trigger as the bat wheeled back, spun, and swooped down toward he and Swift.

The instant he fired the bolt, the bat darted and his missile flew wide. Damnation! The dark shape hurtled toward him as he struggled to reload.

Swift fired—his shot grazed the wide wings.

Bloody hell, it was as though the beast was protected from their shots. Wings spread, the bat aimed for their heads, soared low over them. Swift ducked, but stuck up his crossbow and fired blind. The bolt missed and the bat flew high, then vanished. Cursing, Jonathon loaded again, hoping the damned demon returned. Then he heard it—the beat of wings behind him. He didn’t turn; he knew it would swoop again and as soon as it passed, he’d shoot.

The sound grew fainter.

Blast, the bat wasn’t going to attack—it was climbing to escape. He spun around. Two bats swooped and rose, silhouetted against the moon. The first bat was the larger one and flew the highest. He had to bring down the closer one.

The twang of a bowstring, the whistle of an arrow filled the air. Swift had fired again.

Jonathon let his arrow fly and grinned as he watched the result. Forced to bank to miss the first shot, the smaller bat flew into the path of the second arrow. Shrieking, the demon spun out of control, then plummeted to earth.

The ground trembled as the beast hit, only a yard from where Swift stood, the force jarring it back into human form. Stake at the ready, Swift raced over, turning the body with his boot to expose the heart.

Jonathon saw the long black hair spilling over the sprawled naked body.

It was the vampire Roman.

“Hold him,” Jonathon shouted.

A pleasure
, Drake thought as he slammed his boot on the vampire’s chest. “I could stake you now. Drive one of these through your heart, slice off your head, stuff your mouth with garlic. Or you could tell me where Lukos is.”

“And in return, I am given freedom?” Roman croaked.

“In return, I give you a merciful death.”

Roman spat, but Drake had expected it. He shifted to avoid the spray and drove the stake at Roman’s heart. But he controlled his speed, and even as the point shoved into the vampire’s chest and the vampire flinched, he stopped his swing. “Next time, I don’t stop.”

Sommersby stepped forward, holding a length of what looked like metal rope. Drake stared in surprise as his partner walked behind their prisoner, jerked the vampire’s arms back, and trussed his hands together. He’d never seen this before.

“We take him alive.” Sommersby pulled the rope tight. “I intend to learn how a man becomes a vampire.”

“You’re mad.” Drake stared at his partner. “You’re going to slice him up while he’s alive?”

“Studying corpses has taught me nothing.” Pacing around the vampire, Sommersby nodded.

“I’m running out of time.”

Roman spat at Sommersby, hissing through his fangs like a viper. He struggled against the ropes—Drake knew they wouldn’t hold. “We have to stake him.”

“G—god!”

The cry came from Roman. His face distorted in agony, and then his whole body twisted and Blood Rose ©Sharon Page 2007 Email: [email protected] 85

writhed in pain. A red glow came from his mouth, his ears, his eyes, and he gave an unholy scream.

Drake jumped back. “What the bloody hell?”

Sommersby lunged forward—a silver collar in his hand. “Roman,” he shouted. “Lukos is trying to destroy you. You have to pledge yourself to us. You have to let me put the collar on you, or you die.”

“Yes, do it—” Roman’s plea died on another scream.

Drake dropped to his knees beside the writhing vampire, and roughly jerked up his head to give Sommersby access to the neck. His partner slid the controlling collar around Roman’s neck but didn’t fasten it.

This was a bluff. Only an innocent woman could capture a vampire this way. The collar would not work.

Sommersby paused. “Tell me where I can find Lukos, Roman.

“Covent Garden—”

The red glow consumed Roman’s body. Within the circle of it, slices of bright red light crackled and forked like lightning. Sommersby jumped back and Drake took his cue—he leapt back just as a fireball engulfed Roman. He landed face down in the dirt, gasping for air. Heat rushed over him, a fiery wave, and he could feel the agony of it even through his clothes.

Then it retreated. Rolling over, Drake saw his partner staggering to his feet. But where Roman had been, there was nothing but a large burned circle in the grass.

“Dead?”

“I would assume so,” Sommersby growled.

“It’s almost dawn. Better to hunt Lukos in daylight. I say we head to Covent Garden.”

With a bleak emptiness in his eyes, his partner nodded.

Drake turned toward the house, and as Sommersby grabbed his arm, he snapped, “First I want to ensure the little lark is safe.”

“She’s safe with Brookshire and de Wynter. We have to hunt. Now.”

Drake cocked a brow. “I know you’re defying Ashcroft to hunt Lukos. He wanted me to keep him informed if you decided to disobey him.”

Sommersby jerked around, eyes narrowed. “And have you?”

Drake grinned. “When the hell would I ever do what Ashcroft wants?”

Serena wrapped her arms around her knees. She perched on the edge of the Grecian chaise, surrounded by silken pillows and bolsters. The fire still burned in this room, but her blood ran ice cold.

Surely she hadn’t seen Althea with two men. It must have been Lukos’ work—somehow Lukos had planted the vision in her mind. Or she was going mad.