His Ruthless Bite | Historical Paranormal Romance: Vampires (Scandals With Bite Book 4)
Read His Ruthless Bite | Historical Paranormal Romance: Vampires (Scandals With Bite Book 4) Online
Authors: Brooklyn Ann
HIS
Ruthless
BITE
Brooklyn Ann
Copyright © 2016 by Brooklyn Ann
Cover design by Brooklyn Ann
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems— except in the form of limited quotations or reviews— without permission in writing from the author.
The characters and events are fictitious and are used fictitiously. Any similarities to any real persons, living or dead, are coincidental and not intended by the author.
Published by Broken Angels, an imprint by Brooklyn Smith
http://brooklynann.blogspot.com
Dedicated to Karen Ann
(06-11-62 ~ 02-14-09)
One
London, 1824
The vellum note shook in Lenore’s trembling fingers, blurring the letters.
Not that it mattered, as she’d read the missive twice. Rafael Villar, the interim Lord Vampire of London, requested her presence.
When his carriage arrived to fetch her, it took every vestige of her will to leave the comfortable townhouse Lord Villar had leased for her, and accept his driver’s aid into the ornate conveyance.
Her shivering increased as the carriage rolled down the cobblestone street, despite the warmth of her fur-lined cloak. She tried to remind herself that Lord Villar had always been kind to her, even more so since she’d saved his reign— and likely his life— by reporting his former second in command’s treachery to the Elders.
Yet the prospect of facing the stern, surly Spaniard whose authority held supreme power over her fate turned her blood to ice.
The shivers turned to full-fledged tremors when the carriage drew to a stop in front of the gargantuan Elizabethan manor.
“It will be all right,” the driver said as he opened the door and beheld her pallor. “You’ve done His Lordship a great service. His summons can only mean he wishes to reward you further.”
She ran a nervous tongue across her fangs and nodded as he helped her alight.
The last time she’d been to Burnrath House was when Lord Villar had held a party in her honor for aiding him. He’d presented her with a deed to a cozy townhouse so she no longer had to spend her days sleeping in the crypts.
She suspected this visit would be less festive. Villar was not a man given to social niceties or casual meetings. Since he’d already expressed his gratitude, he’d only call her to him to issue a command or a reprimand.
Her breath constricted in her lungs as her heart began to pound. The tremble in her hands spread throughout her limbs. Another attack threatened. Lenore closed her eyes and focused on breathing slow and deep while she focused on things that made her happy. Hot tea… a warm fireplace… a kitten’s purr. By the time the butler took her cloak, Lenore had a tenuous grasp of control.
The interim Lord Vampire of London awaited her in his study, his scarred face grave. His newly Changed wife leaned against the desk beside him, offering Lenore a reassuring smile.
“Thank you for answering my summons so promptly, Lenore.” Lord Villar’s voice was rife with forced gentleness. “How are you this evening?”
“Uneasy,” she answered honestly.
His scars pulled taut as he smiled, though his amber eyes remained dark with… pity? “I understand.” Reaching into his pocket, he withdrew his cigar case.
Lenore watched with rapt awe as he lit the cigar with a hand that had once been so crippled from burns that his entire left arm had been paralyzed. But then Cassandra, formerly his mortal prisoner and now his bride, had performed a miracle and repaired it. She was now the first vampire physician in London.
“I’ve received a letter from the Lord of Rochester.” Rafael gave her an expectant look, as if she should know what this had to do with her.
Lenore’s attention snapped from Rafael’s hand, her eyes darting up to meet his face, though her mind conjured the image of another, more potent, visage.
Only last autumn, Rochester had found her stumbling within the boundaries of his territory, broken from multiple assaults, starved, and so weak she had collapsed before him. He’d revived her with his own blood and aided her in making the most important journey of her life.
She’d thanked Rochester profusely for his kindness.
He’d laughed coldly.
“Oh, I would not say I am helping you out of kindness. You will owe me a favor for this, Lenore, as will Lord Villar. And I always collect my debts
.”
Lenore’s breath left her body as those past words slammed her back into the present.
“He has called in the debt I owe him,” she whispered.
Rafael blinked in surprise. “Actually, he is asking for what
I
owe him for his aid in my battle against Clayton. I hadn’t known that you owed him a price as well.” Blowing out a cloud of blue smoke, he shrugged. “Though now the price he is asking of me makes more sense.”
“What does he want?” Lenore asked through numb lips.
Villar’s low answer was like a thunderclap. “You.”
“Why?” Trepidation gave way to puzzlement. Her encounter with him had been so brief there was no possible way for her to have left much of an impression on him, other than for him to discern that she was among the weakest and most pitiful of Rafael’s people.
Why on earth would he want her?
Rafael took a sheet of parchment from the desk. “According to his letter, he says he could use more vampires with your loyalty.”
“He wants me to move to Rochester only for that?” She couldn’t conceal her suspicion.
The vampire’s lips thinned in a grim line. “I’m certain he has other motives. However, he has given me his solemn oath that he means you no harm.”
“You would relinquish me to Ruthless Rochester?” Her fear returned as she spoke the moniker that Rochester’s own people had dubbed him.
Lord Villar spread his arms in a helpless gesture. “With the terms of my bargain with him, I’m afraid I have no choice. I promised him anything short of my lands or my bride. Without his aid, I would have lost both.” He reached out his left hand and patted her awkwardly on the shoulder. Lenore couldn’t help but flinch. “I will keep in contact with you regularly, and if he does do anything less than honorable, I will do everything in my power to bring you back to London.”
“Thank you, my lord,” she replied, not in the least assured. “When shall I be leaving?”
“At the end of the week. Cassandra and I will personally escort you.”
It took all of her effort to bow in obeisance and not flee from the room.
Lord Villar gave her another pitying look that set her teeth on edge. “Do you have any questions?”
“No.” The word came out harsher than she intended. Softening her tone, she struggled to appear calm. “That is, I need a night to absorb… all of this. May we speak on the morrow? I would like to go home now.”
Lord Villar inclined his head. “Of course.”
Cassandra’s gaze fell heavily on Lenore. “May I see you home?”
Lenore wanted to refuse, only wanting to flee and hide under her bedcovers. Instead she managed a reluctant nod.
The lord’s wife remained silent until they were safely ensconced in the carriage. Then she placed her hand over Lenore’s. “How are you, really? Have the, ah, bad dreams, melancholy, and the… anxious episodes abated at all?”
Lenore suppressed a bitter smile. She was speaking with the physician, not the Lady.
“They
were
, until your husband gave me his news.” Lenore sighed and softened her tone. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to sound churlish. I know I can never repay you for all that you and Lord Villar did for me after…” She broke off before memories of shackles, starvation, and assaults drowned her.
Cassandra shook her head. “Nonsense. We are in
your
debt. Besides, I haven’t done enough.” Remorse and frustration laced her voice as her fists clenched in her skirts, wrinkling the expensive fabric. “I know nothing of healing wounds on the inside.”
“Yes, but you and Dr. Wakley introduced me to Dr. Elliotson.” Lenore insisted. “And
that
has helped me more than you can fathom.”
After months of attempting to treat Lenore for the trauma she’d endured when held captive, Cassandra consulted her mortal colleague, who then recommended Lenore to Dr. John Elliotson, a physician who specialized in a new treatment technique called mesmerism.
Lenore was astonished to witness a human utilizing an ability she’d thought only vampires possessed. Just like a blood drinker, Elliotson put mortals into trances. Though rather than to feed from them, he coaxed people to pour out their heartache and willed them to feel at ease when they regained their senses.
Even with such a unique talent for a mortal, Lenore was not surprised when Elliotson was unable to mesmerize her. And she was intrigued at the idea of using her own preternatural powers to heal people, rather than take from them. Lenore became Elliotson’s student, assisting him in treating poor women from London’s East End— the only place where he could find willing patients for his unconventional treatment.
Helping others had given her a purpose and a distraction from her own inner turmoil. Now that she was going to Rochester, her work would end. What purpose would she have now? How would she keep her nightmares— or were they day-mares— at bay?
“I need to see Elliotson.” Lenore couldn’t keep the urgency from her voice. “I need to say goodbye.”
Cassandra glanced over her shoulder as if she feared Lord Villar was following the carriage. Finally, she nodded. “Very well. I
would
like to speak to him further about his stethoscopes.”
Lenore called out to the driver, “To Whitechapel.”
“Whitechapel?” Cassandra gasped. “But he lives near Marlborough!”
“Yes, but he usually comes by the factories on Wednesdays to check on his patients.”
Cassandra abraded her lip with her fangs, a bad habit for a new vampire. “Well, it is a less than desirable destination for two women alone. However, given our…
attributes
, I believe we should be safe enough.”
As the carriage slowed to a stop on Whitechapel Road, the driver sniffed in disgust at the sight of the ramshackle hovels and stark brick factories spitting out plumes of coal dust.
“Mind yerselves, ladies,” he grumbled as he withdrew his pistol. “The master will have me hide if aught happens to ye.”
Cassandra bared her fangs. “We’re not frail human debutantes, James.”
Lenore inclined her head in agreement as they alighted from the vehicle.
A group of women gathered in the square outside of an imposing factory. They stared raptly at a young man sitting on a large crate. Despite his finer clothes and imposing mutton chop whiskers, John Elliotson’s casual demeanor and slight height put them at ease.