There were only a handful of vampires left in England. They did not like to interbreed, and so their species teetered on the edge of extinction, a fact that most other inhabitants of this planet should be eternally grateful for. Sir Thomas had lived alone in his Cornwall castle for the last four hundred years, occasionally stepping out to meddle in parliamentary or paranormal affairs. He was the last in his family line – one of the oldest and most powerful vampire clans in all of Europe – and from all the gossip I heard on the Bran grapevine, it seemed as if his line was destined to die with him. Sir Thomas had so far refused every offer of marriage from the other vampiric families.
“Cole Erikson, as I live and breathe.” Gillespie took two steps across the room, extending a hand towards me. My whole body surged with the desire to take that hand and kiss it. I stepped towards him, my legs moving of their own accord, my strides long and desperate. In a second I had closed the gap between us.
Power radiated from him like heat, palpable. It clung to my skin, sinking into me. I tried to keep my hands firmly at my sides, but my right arm rose and extended, the fingers brushing his. His skin was cold, waxy, like a corpse after embalming. He felt like what he was – the walking dead. Inside I squirmed with disgust, outside I basked in his radiance.
“At your service,” I gave him a look that was half grin, half grimace. I tried to make my words sound as though they were a threat, but they came out as an excited squeak.
This was what it meant to be controlled by a vampire? How would I ever be able to fight him? How would I ever disobey any of his orders? If he ordered me to kill Ryan right now, I could not resist. My mind reeled as I struggled against the intensity of Gillespie’s will, the power he wielded so easily.
What hope did I have against four hundred years of violent disdain for life?
“You have been a very naughty Bran, running away from your master like that.” Gillespie said, his cold fingers wrapping around mine. “I thought you were trying to escape me.”
“No, I would never.” I whispered. “It was … Morchard. He—”
Gillespie held his fingers to his lips. “You do not have to talk to me about Morchard. What a snivelling, useless man. If he wasn’t O negative – the most distasteful of blood types – I would have drained him dry already.”
“You killed his son, though.” I choked, the words tasting like glue on my tongue. My ring surged so hot, I gasped, yanking my hand away. Ryan glared at me.
Gillespie gave me a chilling smile. “That kind of backtalk may have flown with Morchard, but I will not be spoken to that way by a Bran. As for your little accusation, I will not even dignify it with an answer. As if an immortal would stoop to such a low act over the whereabouts of a slave that wasn’t even his yet? You think highly of yourself, Cole. You would do well to practice some humility, now that you are my property.”
Anger seethed within me, battling against Gillespie’s power. He wanted humility? From the son of a Bran he killed in cold blood?
“You—” I tried to say, but my throat closed up. I choked for air, clawing at my throat
“Gentlemen.” Ryan’s calm voice broke through the torment. He tried to prise my hands from my throat. “Let us discuss this like civilised men.”
Sir Thomas frowned, but he stepped back. My throat opened again.
“Unlikely,” I growled. The word earned me a swift surge in agony as Gillespie’s power flared.
Ryan frowned at me. He settled into his chair, and gestured to the couches. Sir Thomas sat opposite him, but as I made a move to sit on the other couch, he held up his hand. I stopped in my tracks, my limbs glued in place.
“Cole is my servant. He will not sit with us like an equal.”
“He is also a guest in my home,” Ryan replied. “So if I wish him to sit, he will sit.”
Gillespie looked as if he was going to protest, but his eyes flicked back to the large painting above the fire. He wanted to remain on Ryan’s good side, for I was able to move again and sit without pain.
“You said you had something to discuss with me?” Gillespie directed his question at Ryan, although his eyes burned into mine.
“I do. I was wondering if—”
“Where is Belinda?” I growled. Ryan glared at me. But I was done being polite, even if it earned me another surge of pain.
“Belinda?”
“Don’t feign innocence. It ill befits you. You’re the only one who had the opportunity and the power to take her.” My finger flared with pain, and my throat started to close again. I wouldn’t be able to say any more. I’d have to rely on Ryan for the rest. I stared at him desperately, clutching my throat again.
Gillespie turned to Ryan. “What is he talking about?”
“Belinda is … she’s very dear to Cole.” Ryan said. “Yesterday evening she was taken from the grounds by a murder of ravens—”
“—unkindness.” I croaked.
“Sorry, an unkindness of ravens. There must have been at least a hundred of them, and they picked her up and carried her over the wall. As you’re aware, we have protective spells around the property, and the only way we figure those birds breached that wall was if they weren’t Bran, but real ravens who were being controlled by someone.”
Simon entered, carrying a tray with two glasses of Scotch. Ryan handed one to Sir Thomas and took the other for himself. No one offered me a thing.
“I see,” Gillespie sipped his drink. “And you assume that because I have the ability to control a hundred ravens, that I must have trained them to fly over your garden wall and pluck Cole’s little girlfriend … for what? I don’t understand what my motivation would be.”
“So you didn’t have anything to do with it?”
“I do not have this woman,” Gillespie set his drink down. “And frankly, I am offended by the suggestion, especially coming from my own slave. Why do you allow him to accuse me like this?”
“Because I saw it with my own eyes. No one is accusing, we’re just trying to get a full picture of the situation. Do you have any idea who else might be responsible?” Ryan asked, shooting me a look that clearly said I needed to calm down.
“I lack an intimate knowledge of the Crookshollow paranormal elite, but I do know that your friend Victor Morchard has ample reason to loathe this particular Bran.” Sir Thomas addressed me. “Wasn’t it your job to guard Harry Morchard on his journey home to Crookshollow? Perhaps Morchard feels your girlfriend’s death will avenge that of his son. After all, that was all your fault.”
“Don’t hang that death on my shoulders,” I snarled. I already have enough guilt. “I’m not the one who took his life.”
Ryan cut in. “It’s unlikely Morchard was the one who took Belinda. Breaking through our shields requires powerful magic. He is utterly human.”
Sir Thomas sniffed. “Yes, that I am painfully aware of. It was such a tedium having to negotiate for a Bran with a human, as though we were equals. I’m glad the transaction is concluded. I have other, much more pleasant tasks to continue with here in Crookshollow. Nevertheless, Morchard has the most to gain by taking Cole’s woman, so I suggest you start your search there. I tire of this subject. Speak now about the reason you brought me here?”
I had not tired of the subject, but of course, I had no say. “I’d like to buy Cole from you,” Ryan said. “I’ve taken a liking to him while he has been living at Raynard Hall. I’d like him for myself.”
“You should not have been hiding him here. He was not your property.”
“I didn’t see it as hiding. Cole was being mistreated at Morchard’s castle. I merely offered him a safe place until he could be united with you, his rightful owner.”
I bristled to hear those words from Ryan’s mouth, but I held my tongue. He was just trying to help me.
“I only just acquired this Bran. Why would I want to sell him?”
“Will you think about it? I am prepared to offer you a hundred thousand pounds.”
“A fine sum, but I�
��m afraid he is not for sale.”
I baulked. Had Gillespie not heard Ryan correctly? He could buy three Bran for that price, and still have enough money left over for a fine mahogany coffin stuffed with emeralds.
Ryan hesitated, then glanced up at the wall behind him. “I see you have been eyeing that painting. It’s a recent piece, inspired by a hike my fiancé and I took through the woods. Can you see the graveyard in the background? That’s the old Witches’ Cemetery, on the outskirts of Crookshollow.”
“It is a beautiful piece.” Gillespie’s eyes flickered over the painting. He licked the top of his lip hungrily. I remembered Ryan saying he was a collector of his work. “How much will you accept for it?”
“It is not for sale,” Ryan said. “It is my fiancée’s favourite painting of mine. It will never be exhibited, and I will not part with it for any price. That is, unless you wish me to swap it for Cole.”
Gillespie gasped.
Holy shit. I shot Ryan a desperate look, but he didn’t meet my eyes. Why was he doing this? Why was he offering that prized painting for my life? It had to be worth much more than £100,000. I’d only known this man for a couple of days, and he and Alex had done so much for me already. And now, he was going to give that amazing painting away, just so I could be free? Alex is going to kill me if that painting gets sold. I can’t let him do this—
Sir Thomas’s eyes fluttered closed. When he spoke again, it seemed as if the words pained him.
“That is a fine idea, Ryan. And I would be happy to comply. But unfortunately, I cannot give up Cole. It is simply not possible.”
“But why?” I burst out. Ryan glared at me again. I knew I was being extremely rude to one of his most generous patrons, as well as a powerful and dangerous vampire, but I didn’t care. This man had brought me like a piece of property, and now he was refusing to give me up.
“Because, my Libby wishes to have you. And if Libby wishes it, then I must comply.”
“And who is Libby?”
“My fiancée,” he said. He turned to Ryan. “Cole is to be my wedding gift to her. And I don’t have enough time to locate another Bran for sale. She’s a Crookshollow native, which is why it was so convenient Morchard had Cole on the market. I was actually going to call in during our visit to invite you and the beautiful Alex to the wedding. It’s in two weeks’ time, on Libby’s family estate.”
“Congratulations,” Ryan extended a hand to shake with Sir Thomas. “I wish you both happiness.”
I wasn’t about to congratulate him. “This woman wants something, and you just give it to her? That doesn’t sound at all like the Thomas Gillespie of legend. That sounds rather weak to me.”
If he was offended by my outburst, he didn’t show it. I braced myself for a reprimand, but none came. Instead, Sir Thomas laughed woodenly. “If you think that, then you have never been in love.”
Belinda’s face flashed through my mind. I balled my hands into fists. “Just because you own me, don’t presume to know anything about me.”
Sir Thomas laughed at my anger, making me even more furious. “Morchard did warn me you were trouble. Even with the punishments I have visited upon you, still you insist upon being defiant. My Libby will enjoy breaking you to her will.”
I didn’t like the sound of that. The woman whom Sir Thomas had finally deemed worthy of his hand in marriage would be a formidable mistress, indeed.
“So you have finally decided to settle down?” Ryan asked. “Which family does your wife come from? Forgive me, but I didn’t know there were any vampire families living in Crookshollow.”
“There are not. Libby is not of my kind. She is a human girl.”
Woah.
That was big. Gillespie was marrying a human? He loathed humans. To him, they were nothing but an inconvenient source of nourishment.
Even Ryan looked shocked. Mr Cool leaned back in his chair, sipping his drink, momentarily robbed of a reply. “A human?” He managed to choke out.
“You cannot plan who you fall in love with,” Sir Thomas drained his glass and set it down on the table. “Libby is quite remarkable. At times I even forget her dwindling mortality. Perhaps in time I will persuade her to become an immortal.”
“How did you two meet?”
“A vampire dating app,” Sir Thomas said. I snorted back a laugh. Ryan spluttered as he choked on his drink. “Do not laugh. I was tired of all the noble families parading their daughters in front of me like St Patrick’s Day floats. My steward Rudolpho suggested I try internet dating. It turns out one of the more enterprising younger immortals in America has developed an app for pairing vampires with suitable donors. I made Libby’s acquaintance, and took a fancy to her. Instead of draining her, I decided to make her my wife.”
“That’s lovely,” Ryan set his own empty glass down. Simon swooped in and whisked the glasses away. “Are you certain there is nothing I can do to persuade you to give up Cole? Surely your wife would be content to wait a few days while I search for another suitable Bran—”
“It’s fine,” I interrupted him. “I will go with Sir Thomas.”
The words felt like poison on my tongue. As soon as I had said them I longed to take them back, but I couldn’t. Ryan had already done so much for me, I did not want him further burdened with my freedom. This was the best way, the only way if I wanted to have any chance of saving Belinda. I would be no use to her if I was trying to fight against Sir Thomas’s power. If I was going to go after Morchard, I would need him – or at least his wife – on my side.
“What?” Ryan looked at me in surprise.
Even Gillespie looked shocked. “Just like that? You’re no longer fighting this? I feel as though there must be a catch.”
“No catch. You say I have never been in love before, and that’s not true. Someone I care about very much is being held hostage because of me. I’m not going to endanger her further by incurring your wrath. I will go with you, Sir Thomas. After all, I’m your Bran. You bought me, fair and square. I only ask that you go to Morchard and tell him what you told me, that you did not kill his son.”
“You’re not in any place to make demands of me.”
“It’s not a demand, merely a request, delivered with my own brand of deference. It would benefit you too, if Morchard knew you were not responsible. He will seek revenge on you, as he is on me.”
“I have nothing to fear from a human.”
“No, but your wife does.”
“I will think about it,” Sir Thomas said in a noncommittal way.
“But Cole—” Ryan asked. “What about your freedom? If you go with Sir Thomas, you will still be—”
“Belinda matters more.” And as I said it, I realised that it was true. A lifetime of servitude was nothing if I knew she was safe from Morchard. “Please, Ryan. Go to Morchard, explain what has happened. Get her free, and keep her safe for me.”
He nodded gravely. “You know I will.”
Sir Thomas stood. He shook Ryan’s hand. “Our business is concluded, and my Bran and I shall be going.”
I thought of Alex and the other girls listening in the other room. “Can I just say goodbye to—”
“No. Your first task is to send a message to the Morchards, stating that you have come to me, and therefore all debts between us have been paid.”
He wanted me to go to Morchard? I couldn’t believe it. I looked at him, wondering if he was deliberately giving me this chance to see if I could find out something about Belinda. But his face was hard as stone, impossible to read.
“Very well.” I gave a short bow, and shifted quickly into my raven form. Ryan held the window open for me and I took off, swooping low over the village. I shifted my primaries outward as far as they would go, pouring on speed as I sped towards Morchard Castle. On the street, several people stopped to look up at me. It wasn’t that common to see a raven flying so fast or so low. It didn’t matter anymore. I had been bought and sold. I wasn’t on the run.
As the castle a
ppeared, I braced myself for the pulsing of my ring, ready to correct my flight path at a moment’s notice when the ring pulsed. But the pain never came. Of course, I reminded myself. You don’t belong to Victor anymore. You’re flying back here under orders of your new master.
Unlike Ryan’s, Victor Morchard had no means to create magical barriers around his home, so I flew over the wall with no resistance. I had no idea where Byron had gone, but I knew I’d probably been spotted by one of the other patrolling birds. Sure enough, when I arrived at the roost, Pax was there waiting for me.
“Well look what the cat dragged in,” he said in caw-tongue, his hackles puffed out in front of him like a renaissance man wearing a ruffle.
“It’s nice to see you, too, Pax.” I settled on to the perch beside the roost’s entrance, where I had often slept when it was my home. It felt so odd to be back there, given everything that had happened. Everything looked different – smaller, dirtier, shabbier. Even the grand castle I could see just past Pax’s shoulder looked faded and grubby, not at all the grand prison I’d left three nights ago.
Pax, however, was the same bitter, cruel Bran I’d left behind. He glared at me the way only a raven could. “I thought I killed you.”
“That’s the thing about you, Pax. I now understand what all those girls down in Crooks Crossing were complaining about. You never could finish what you started.”
Pax hopped forward menacingly. “Perhaps it was time I changed that.”
“Chill out. I’m not here to fight you.”
“Interesting. I thought you and your brother might have come to finish off the rest of the family.”
“Byron isn’t here?”
Reaper: A raven paranormal romance (Crookshollow ravens Book 2) Page 4