Dawn Thompson (33 page)

“Where shall we begin the search?”

“Brotherhood or no, we need to split up. The Abbey is far too large to search together. We shall never be done by dark.”

“What about the young miss?”

“Bloody hell!” Joss erupted, slapping his forehead with the heel of his hand. “How could I have forgotten her?”

“You do not really want her to go,” Milosh answered bluntly.

“It doesn’t matter what I want, Milosh. I have no right to keep her here.
You
don’t even know what I am . . . or what I will become. Given that, what can I possibly offer her? Suppose my symptoms continue to worsen with no hope of preventing the bloodlust. She would be at gravest risk. I would not be able to control my urges. I couldn’t subject her to the remotest possibility of that.”

“She loves you.”

“Yes,
and I love her.
That is why I cannot keep her. Don’t you see?”

“So . . . what will you do?”

“What I planned earlier. Take her out of here—now, before dark. I’ll take her to the kirk—to the vicar. She’ll be safe there while we deal with this. Afterward, if I can I’ll see her safely south, on her way to her estate and away from all this. It’s all I can do.”

“You’re sure?”

“I’ve saddled two horses already,” Joss said. “It’s still a good two hours before twilight. I won’t be long. Can
you begin the search without me? Parker said the wolf went below stairs.”

The Gypsy nodded, though there was a troubled look in his eyes. He didn’t approve. Well, it couldn’t be helped. Joss couldn’t concentrate upon the task at hand while Cora was in danger.

They parted at the landing, Milosh disappearing into the servants’ quarters while Joss bounded up the staircase toward the master suite, and Cora. The urgency of seeing her to safety gave his feet wings. If he hurried, he could have her safely to the vicarage and return before dark. Thinking of nothing else, he took the stairs two at a stride.

Cora paced the Aubusson carpet in the master suite bedroom. Just hours ago, she’d been resolved to make an end to what was happening between herself and Joss. Now she knew too late that she could never, ever leave him.

The last thing she’d expected was that
he
would end it. But while she’d lain cocooned in the down feather beds where they had made love, wrapped in his silvery brocade dressing gown that smelled of citrus, musk and
him,
dreaming of his embrace, he’d been saddling horses to send her away. Well, he couldn’t send her if he couldn’t find her, and so she tugged on her frock, tossed a shawl over her shoulders, for the corridors would be cold, and peeked out into the hall. It was deserted. All was still. It should be fairly easy to find a hiding place without being seen in such an understaffed house. Determined to do just that, she slipped out into the hall on feet that made no sound, and closed the door behind her.

It stood to reason that their search for the vampire would begin in the lower regions of the servants’ wing, since that was where the creature first disappeared; she’d seen it herself. Given that, she began to climb upward. When she reached the third-floor landing, the halls were in darkness. Of course they would be, with no lit candles in the sconces. None of the rooms on the third floor were in use. The only light was coming from the oriels at each end of the east and west wings, and that was fading. The day was almost done. Soon she would need a candle to light her way . . . but not yet. It might show below.

There would be no fires lit on the third floor, or in the attic either. Since that part of the Abbey wasn’t in use, the flues were capped off. She was glad she’d brought her shawl. It was thick, woolen and black. Not only would it keep her warm, it would blend well with the shadows. When the siege was over, somehow she would convince Joss that they belonged together. She knew he loved her. He’d told her so, but he hadn’t needed to; she’d felt it in his arms, in the tender strength of his embrace. She’d seen it in his haunting, quicksilver eyes, tasted it in the deepness of his kiss. No, she wouldn’t be cold prowling the unlit hearths of the third-floor recesses with just her frock and shawl; her whole being was on fire with the sultry memory of his love.

Which area would they search first here? They would probably do just as she was doing, begin with the third-floor bedrooms, and then the attic, whose access was a narrow flight of stairs recessed beside the east wing oriel. There were no draperies at either window—east or west—and already the alcove was steeped in shadow. Any moment it would be black as tar in that hallway,
and those stairs would be invisible. Without a candle, she would be groping blind in the dark. Maybe she should explore the attic now, while there was still enough light to do so.

Cora had to keep reminding herself that somewhere a vampire was hiding in the Abbey, biding its time until darkness fell, when it would regain all its strength robbed by the dawn. Her ears pricked to detect any sound, she inched along the corridor on tiptoe, her heart hammering in her breast, echoing in her ears, the ragged beat of it rising in her throat. She tried to swallow her fear down, but it wouldn’t budge, and she began to tremble. She always trusted her instincts. They had never betrayed her in the past, and they were screaming danger now.

Between the storm and the hour, the light was almost gone. She had nearly reached the attic stairs when a darker shadow alongside the alcove loomed up before her, the shadowy silhouette of a man. Her heart nearly stopped. Chills raced up and down her spine, dousing the fire her memory of Joss’s embrace had ignited. Why didn’t the person move? She backed down the corridor a few yards. Why didn’t he follow? Cautiously, she crept nearer the alcove again. Still the figure made no advance. He was holding something in his hand. A broom? No . . . a halberd! She reached out, pulled her hand back, then reached out again and touched it. Cold metal met her fingers. It chilled her to the marrow. As if she were touching live coals, she patted the chest of the specter and nearly laughed aloud. A rush of relief left her lungs instead. This was a suit of armor, not a man at all, and she gripped the halberd and leaned against it, calling back her composure.

Her breathing had just begun to even when suddenly there was a sound. She jerked around to face another figure. This one wasn’t armor-clad; it was tall and portly and real, emerging from behind the attic stairs. Cora opened her mouth to scream, but a thick, foul-smelling hand clamped over her mouth, and another encircled her waist to pull her against his bulk. Frantically she struggled to free the halberd for use, but her trembling fingers failed her and it crashed to the floor, grazing her ankle as it landed. Its sharp edge sliced into her flesh, drawing blood, and she bit down on her trembling lower lip and the pain along with it.

The figure jerked her closer. “You had best pray that no one heard that,” he growled in her ear. She had her back to him, but she didn’t need to see his face for recognition. It was Clive Clement, and the last remnants of daylight had just given way to night.

Joss didn’t bother to knock; bursting into the master suite, he stormed through the rooms calling Cora at the top of his voice, but she didn’t answer. Denying the obvious, he stalked through the rooms again, then sank down on the edge of the bed, raking both hands through his hair as if to order his runaway brain. A surge of déjà vu washed over him. She was gone
again
. Would the woman never stay put? Now there were more than vampires to search for; Cora was abroad in a house full of unspeakable dangers. It was going to be a long night.

The impression of her exquisite body remained in the feather bed. Joss ran his hand over it absently. His silver-gray brocade dressing gown lay in a heap at his feet. He snatched it up and held it to his nose, inhaling the delicate scent of roses and lemon verbena—her
scent, heady and evocative. Tossing it down, he surged to his feet and went to the window. The draperies hadn’t been drawn, and he gazed out onto the snow-covered tor. The howls of near and distant wolves rode the wind. Above the noise, one lone wolf’s howl drowned out the rest: Milosh, calling the Brotherhood from the rooftop, just as he’d done the night before. They were gathering. It was begun.

Joss quit the chamber without a backward glance and went in search of the Gypsy. He found Milosh locking all access to the second-floor tunnel, something he himself should have thought of straightaway, and would have done if his brain wasn’t so hopelessly fogged with love.

“Cora is gone,” he blurted, breathless from the climb. “We must find her before whatever Parker let in does.”

“I have the scent of the intruder,” Milosh said. “It is not Sebastian. That hellish creature’s stench is embedded in my nostrils and my memory since time out of mind. Believe me, I would know if he were lurking nearby. Which leaves one of the passengers in the coach or someone he has corrupted in the village. Either way, whatever it is in this house is his creature, you can count upon it. We must find and destroy it.”

“Where have you searched already? There is no use going over the same spaces twice.”

“I went to the rooftop to call to the others, then came here straightaway to make the tunnel secure.”

“How many others can we expect?”

“Many, Joss,” said the Gypsy. “The Brotherhood thrives everywhere now, after the success of your parents embracing the blood moon ritual. I have been busy these past thirty years. Any and all who are within the sound
of my voice will come to our aid. It ends tonight, this siege.”

Joss nodded. “We’d best be about it then,” he said. “Since you’ve begun here, I’ll take the third floor.” He crossed to a chest alongside the vacant hearth, and opened it. Inside were lengths of rope, hatchets and blades, wooden stakes, mallets, vials of holy water—all manner of tools for destroying vampires.

Milosh took up a rope mesh net, his eyebrow raised in admiration. “Your father’s work, I take it?”

Joss nodded. “He has such chests throughout the Abbey. Take what you need. We both must bear arms here now.”

“Your father has become quite creative these past thirty years,” the Gypsy said. “I am impressed.” He took the net and several blades, then stood aside while Joss chose several implements as well.

Once he’d made his selection, Joss took up a candle, handed one to Milosh and started toward the door, but the Gypsy arrested him with a hand on his arm. “Take care,” he warned. “This shan’t be easy, Joss Hyde-White. Above all, avoid being bitten. These are cunning creatures. We first must find your lady and secure the Abbey, then proceed outside to join the others I have summoned.”

Joss nodded. They stepped into the corridor, and he locked the chamber door. For a moment their gazes met, and a look passed between them that sent shivers down Joss’s spine. More was said in that exchange than any words they might have spoken, and when Joss finally broke eye contact, he felt drained.

Milosh melted into the shadows of the second-floor hallway. There were many chambers to search, and Joss wasted no time bounding toward the back stairs and
climbing to the third floor. The suites there hadn’t been used in years—not since his parents had held hunting parties when he was a lad. He marveled at how the blood moon ritual had freed them to live a fairly normal life. He felt a brief twinge of jealousy that they at least knew how to combat their affliction.

Stalking the third-floor corridors, he visited the chambers in the west wing first, leaving no recess, no crevice unchecked. Nothing untoward presented itself, and he moved to the east wing, a bevy of emotions riddling him. He’d hoped to have found Cora fast; that he hadn’t was driving him mad.

Outside, the howling had risen to a sinister cacophony—bestial voices out of sync; and many, judging by the rhythm. The noise had a pulse beat reminiscent of a death knell. Joss reminded himself that some among the gathering were Brothers, the redeemed, now more wolf than man or vampire—a strange phenomenon to be sure, but welcome allies.

The devil take it! There was no focus while Cora was at risk. Anger, conscience and apprehension were warring in him now, crying for supremacy. His instincts had always been infallible. This time, he could not find balance. He had to find Cora. Without her, nothing had meaning.

Nearing the attic stairs, Joss sighted something on the floor. Moving closer, he saw that a halberd had fallen from its stand beside the suit of armor stationed there. He stooped to pick it up. There was blood on the blade and on the floor. He held his candle higher and discovered drops of blood on the attic stairs.

His thundering heart rising up his throat, Joss blew out the candle. He didn’t need it; his extraordinary vision, like that of the wolf, clearly showed the way. Making
no sound, he mounted the narrow attic stairs, his ears pricked for any nuance of sound trickling down from the attic above.

At first he heard nothing. Then, all at once, there was a sound no ordinary man could have heard and a smell no ordinary man could have smelled. Had he been able before? He couldn’t recall. Were these new gifts manifesting themselves as a matter of course, or had the situation triggered them?
Extraordinary powers,
he mused. He should be grateful for them, but their manifestation was bittersweet. His symptoms were changing. But to what level? How much of a vampire was he? He beat back those thoughts.

Cora’s scent—an explosion of burgeoning roses mingled with the unmistakable scent of her blood—overtook his nostrils. Her muffled cries assailed his ears. Bursting through the attic door, he stood—feet apart, halberd raised, poised to strike he who possessed the other smell attacking his senses: a foul stench of stale blood, rot and decay that screamed Clive Clement, who indeed held Cora in a choke hold, his fangs mere inches from her jugular vein.

Tonight was moon-dark. Recalling that, Joss took a chill that almost made him misstep. He’d been born at the dark of the moon, and ever since, good or bad, all significant occurrences had taken place then. Another chill riddled him as he remembered he’d come upon the coach that fateful night when it all began in moon-darkness. Was this how it would end for him now—for them all, on a night when the only light without was reflected from the shadows in the blood-streaked snow?