by Lisa Kessler
Her prison.
Under the protection of the sun, he couldn’t harm her.
That knowledge didn’t stop her fingers from wandering up to cover her throat. Without approaching the main house, she followed the path to the stable and her secret hessian bag hidden behind the saddles.
“Marguerite!”
A small shriek escaped her. Marguerite spun around, and Callia’s bright smile calmed the sudden rush of adrenaline.
“Cousin, you frightened me.”
“You never came home last night.” Callia followed her inside the tack room, lowering her voice. “You should see the library. He ripped apart leather books, smashed his fine Austrian furniture. The room looks like a wild animal tore through everything.”
Callia was two years younger than Marguerite, and worked in the kitchen. Since their Master had become a creature of the night, he paid her little mind, and for that, Marguerite was thankful. If he discovered Callia was her kin he would not hesitate to use her as a weapon.
“I will not be returning.”
Callia’s smile faded. “Where will you go?” She clasped her hands in front of her. “Who will tie your corsets?”
Marguerite set her stolen treasures aside and cupped her cousin’s face in her hands, staring into her eyes. Callia was the only one who knew of Marguerite’s activities among the wealthy gentlemen of Paris. “You stay in the kitchen.
Stay far from Antoine. Promise me.”
She nodded. “I promise.”
Marguerite attempted a smile, her heart growing heavy.
“I will come back for you. You have my word. We will leave this place once I have enough gold pieces.” She kissed her forehead. “We will live like queens across the ocean in the new world.”
Callia stepped back with a grin. “You can be the queen. I will be a princess, and have my choice of handsome princes.”
Marguerite laughed and pulled the purse strings of her satchel tight. “Any prince would be lucky to have you, sweet Callia.” She tucked the satchel inside the bodice of her dress, and handed the dress she’d been using to attend the parties to her younger cousin. “This is yours now.”
Callia clutched it to her chest, but stopped herself.
“What will you wear to the fancy balls?”
Marguerite thought of the dresses waiting for her back at Kane’s home and smiled. “Do not worry for me, just remember your promise.”
“I will stay in the kitchen.” She rolled her eyes. “But only until you come for me.”
“Very soon, Callia.” She brushed a kiss to each cheek.
“Au revoir.”
Her heart raced as she left Antoine’s house behind her.
A tear spilled down her cheek. One way or another, she would be free of him. She would take Callia with her across the ocean to the new world so they could start over.
She couldn’t let her attraction to Kane weaken her resolve.
Chapter Six
Kane kept his steps measured, making his way down the hallway toward Rita’s door while he fumbled with the buttons on the cuffs of his white shirt. Her scent had enticed him since the moment he lifted the stone from the floor of his bedroom. Knowing she hadn’t run from him during the day lifted his spirit.
And the knowledge that she rested just down the hall tempted him until he could wait no longer. He had to see her.
She didn’t respond to his gentle knock on her door. He knew he should walk away and finish dressing for the opera.
Instead, he opened her door and stepped inside. Her golden hair framed her head on the pillow like spun gold.
Sensing his presence, her eyes fluttered open.
Kane’s heart stuttered in his chest with the overwhelming desire to wake to her beautiful face every night. He managed to keep his distance from her and cleared his throat, bottling up the strange emotions filling his chest.
“I am grateful to see you again, Rita.”
Her gaze ran up his body until she met his eyes. “Do you ever button your shirt?”
Her drowsy smile undid what little control he’d gained.
Against his better judgment, he approached her bedside.
“My lack of proper dress bothers you.”
“I did not say that.” She shifted, sitting up. “Gerard brought me beautiful gowns today.”
Kane glanced at the bureau and back at her. “I hoped you might accompany me to the opera tonight.”
She started to nod, but suddenly closed her eyes, wincing.
He heard her pulse racing. Kane reached to take her hand, and she clenched it tightly. “He is searching for me. He could be anywhere.”
She took another deep, slow breath before opening her eyes.
“Can you keep him out of your mind?”
“Yes.” She didn’t release her hold on his hand. “I forgot to guard my thoughts. His rage and hate…” She shuddered, looking down at their joined hands. “I never should have come here.”
“I will not allow him to touch you, Rita.” He lifted her chin, shaking his head. “You are safe here.”
“It is not my safety I worry for. Maybe we should stay here.” She slipped her hand free of his.
“Rita…” Kane tucked a lock of her hair behind her ear.
“Do not allow him to make you his prisoner anymore.”
Her gaze searched his for a moment, and finally, her jaw set and the fiery spirit that had first attracted him returned to her eyes. “I should dress.” She turned, dropping her feet to the floor. “Can you send someone to lace my corset?”
“Of course.” Kane rose from the bed and crossed to the door. Turning back, he leaned against the doorframe.
“Gerard has prepared dinner for you. I will return soon.”
She nodded with a playful grin. “Do not forget to button your shirt. You will have the fine ladies of Paris fainting in the streets.”
“I am grateful you can bear the sight of my body without wilting away.” He fiddled with the infuriating button at the bottom of the shirt.
Rita laughed, the sound warming him from the inside out. “I know treasure when I see it.”
He ceased the battle with the button, all his attention focused on her. “As do I.”
The urge to lay her back on the bed and explore every exquisite curve of her body burned through him. Sadly, his thirst demanded his attention, and Rita was far too tempting to risk being close to her.
He forced himself to take a step back. “I will return soon.”
Kane stopped at the front door and buttoned half of the shirt before leaving his house. Outside, the streets of Paris bustled with activity. Gas lamps lined the alleyways, and clomping hoof beats and creaking carriages echoed through the city, drowning the conversations brewing around him.
Usually, Kane took his time while hunting. Time was something he had in endless supply. He’d never given it much value.
But last night, all of that had changed. He hadn’t wanted the evening with Rita to end, and now that he was granted one more night with her, he didn’t want to spend it hunting.
Instead of wandering the streets and restaurants, he moved quickly through the shadows toward the darker alleyways of Paris, where cheap wine flowed freely, and fists and daggers decided disputes.
Behind one of the inns, a woman screamed. Almost immediately, the sound was muffled, but he didn’t have any trouble locating the couple. He found the woman pressed against the back wall. Her attacker had his hand over her mouth while his other hand fumbled with her skirt, pulling it up.
“Hold still, trollop. I know how to handle women like you.” He ran his dirty hand up her thigh.
Kane moved closer, and the woman met his eyes over her attacker’s shoulder. He pressed a finger to his lips, signaling her silence as he moved closer.
The man slid his hand down from her mouth, squeezing her throat. “Now you mind your manners, and we can finish here in no time.”
“Who told you that a woman prefers to be finished qui
ckly?”
The man jumped, looking back over his shoulder with a grunt. “This is none of your concern. Move along.”
Kane approached the man. “Let her go.”
“I paid her. Go find your own whore.”
“Please.” The woman gasped. “Help me.”
Kane gripped the man’s shoulder and pulled him back, careful to keep his strength measured. It would be so simple to crush the man’s collarbone.
He glanced at the woman. “Go home.”
She wiped her eyes and ran, her boots clicking against the cobblestoned street.
Once she rounded the corner, Kane shoved the man up against the wall and without hesitation, buried his fangs into his neck. The man struggled for a moment and started to scream. The sound vanished the moment Kane crushed his windpipe.
He drank, forced to witness the man’s memories and sick conquests. At least this piece of human filth would never harm another woman. When the heartbeat fluttered and finally stopped, Kane cut his fingertip and healed the puncture wounds on the man’s neck. Satisfied, he released his dinner, allowing the body to crumple to the ground.
Marguerite finished her potatoes and roasted duck, and sipped the red wine. “Dinner was delicious, Gerard. Merci.”
He shifted his coat and moved to clear the table. “I only delivered the food. My wife is the cook.”
“Please tell her I savored every bite.” She enjoyed the way Gerard’s face flushed with pride. “She is a goddess in the kitchen.”
“Thank you, Mademoiselle Rousseau.” Gerard tipped his head as he turned to exit. “I am a lucky man indeed.”
“That he is.”
Marguerite gasped, finding Kane standing behind her chair. “I did not hear you come in.”
He leaned close to her ear. “Forgive me.”
He straightened and offered her his hand. He wore black pants; his white shirt was buttoned except for the collar, and his black frock coat opened to reveal a tailored, burgundy vest. Even without the high collar, tie, and top hat, Kane stood before her more stunning than any gentleman she’d ever seen.
She took his hand and stood. Taking a step back, she inspected her gown, smoothing it. The ivory dress with red trim accented her fair skin. With her hair pinned up, her curls barely brushed her bare shoulders. Happy with her turnout for the evening, she lifted her chin, meeting his eyes.
“You are a vision, Le Voleur D’or.” He lifted her hand to press a kiss to her knuckles.
“You have confused me with someone else. I am Marguerite Rousseau.”
He lowered her hand slowly with a sensual glimmer in his eyes that said he knew exactly who she was. Her pulse jumped.
She reached for her shawl and took his arm. In her mind, she kept reciting her prayer, blocking Antoine’s voice and wondering about Callia and the others who were still trapped serving the monster.
Tomorrow she would take the rest of her stolen trinkets to the marketplace to sell. It would still take a few days to find buyers for all of it. She prayed Callia would keep her word and stay busy in the kitchen, far from Antoine.
“You are quiet.”
Kane’s voice jarred her from her thoughts. She glanced up at him, surprised to find concern in his eyes. He made it difficult to remember he was…not like her.
“Did someone die tonight while Gerard fed me roasted duck and potatoes?”
His expression sobered, his jaw set. “Yes. And Paris will not miss him.”
“You speak as if killing means nothing to you, and yet last night, you tried to convince me you are not a monster like Antoine.”
He clenched his jaw, his gold-tipped cane clicking the cobblestones beside him. “I feed on those who do not deserve the gift of life. Animals who believe they can take what they wish without care for the well-being of others.”
“So you appoint yourself to judge their fate.”
Kane sighed and stopped walking. She turned to glance up at him, and he reached to cup her cheek. “For tonight, can we forget our differences?”
Her eyes searched his for any sign of malice, but only honesty reflected back at her. It would be easy to trust him.
She needed to remain strong. Callia depended on her. But her traitorous lips whispered, “Just for tonight.”
He leaned closer, and she tilted her chin to meet his lips, caressing, tasting, until her heart pounded in her chest. He straightened, his gaze locked on hers. His voice sounded deep, strained. “We should stop before we miss the opera.”
Marguerite nodded, although her knees felt wobbly, like a newborn foal. How could an undead creature inspire so much heated desire inside of her?
They passed the next two streets in silence. She wondered what Kane might be thinking, but she didn’t trust herself to inquire. Her body hungered for his touch, yearning until she forgot her responsibilities. The last thing she needed was to find herself in his arms again. Callia depended on her to escape to the new world.
In the distance, the tall columns of the Salle Favart opera house loomed, and her concerns gave way to excitement.
She’d never been inside. Crowds of wealthy Parisians bustled at the entrance. Kane guided her around carriages and toward the doors.
A man shoved his way in front of them.
All the color drained from her face. “Antoine.”
Instantly, Kane stood in front of her, blocking the vampire. “I do not believe we have met.” He offered his hand. “I am Kane Bordeaux.”
Antoine glared at his hand. “I do not care who you are.”
Marguerite fought the urge to run. Where could she go?
He would always find her.
“Are you attending the opera tonight?” Kane’s voice remained calm, and he lowered his hand.
“No. I came to retrieve my property.” Antoine reached to grab her, but Kane caught his wrist and twisted until it snapped.
Antoine winced and jumped back, clutching his broken arm.
“Mademoiselle Rousseau is no one’s property.” Kane took her hand and brought her forward to his side, his eyes narrowed at Antoine. “You will heal this time. If you ever touch her again, you will not be so lucky.”
He pushed past Antoine, and Marguerite followed without looking back.
Once they reached their seats in the first balcony, he took her hands, staring into her eyes. “Are you all right?”
She nodded, although her stomach sickened with dread.
“Yes, but I fear what he might do next. Antoine has a vicious temper.”
“I am sorry I could not end his worthless existence tonight, but I suspect that is why he approached us in such a public place.” His thumbs brushed over her knuckles in a reassuring caress that calmed her frazzled nerves. “He knew there would be witnesses.”
“I hope your confidence is not ill-placed.”
Before he could reply, the overture filled the theater. The gas lamps dimmed until the stage became the focal point of light, demanding her attention. Marguerite tightened her grip on Kane’s hand as Giulietta Borghese stepped to center stage and opened her mouth. The coloratura melody mimicked a bugle’s call, but the high notes shimmered like they’d fallen from heaven’s choir.
She’d never heard anything so joyous and beautiful.
And when Mécène Marié de l’Isle took to the stage singing “Ah! mes amis,” the entire theater burst into applause for the tenor. She never wanted it to end. All of the glorious costumes and music made it easy to forget the man sitting beside her was no man at all, that a monster wanted to claim her as a possession, or that her last living relative relied on her to gain passage to the new world.
At the final curtain, she shot to her feet, clapping.
“Bravo! Bravo!”
Kane stood beside her, applauding.
When the curtain fell, she turned toward him with a smile. “This was an amazing night.”
His eyes sparkled. “The night is not over yet.”
Chapter Seven
He kept his sense
s alert when they left the opera house, scanning for any sign of Antoine. Satisfied the coward had moved on, he clasped Rita’s hand. “There is an inn not far from here. Would you honor me with a dance?”
She squeezed his hand and nodded. “I would love to.”
Kane led her down the narrow alleyways, chastising himself. Each second he spent with Rita made her more precious to him. This path led to madness. Her mortality would drive him crazy with worry. Seeing Antoine threaten her tonight had tested his control, and he had wanted to rip the vampire’s heart from his chest in front of hundreds of people.
He needed her to be safe.
Once he finished Antoine, how would he be able to let her go? He knew she longed to sell her treasures and vanish across the sea. His chest tightened at the thought.
“You seem far away.”
Her bright blue eyes gazed up at him, and he struggled to reign in the emotions he had no idea how to control.
“Forgive me. At times it is difficult for me to remember that for tonight, our differences do not exist.”
A curl teased her throat, making him ache to touch her.
“Perhaps dancing will help you forget.”
“Perhaps.” He lifted her hand to his lips, intoxicated by the scent of her skin.
They turned the corner, and he opened the door of the inn. Music swelled around them. Kane guided her inside.
Marguerite kept her hand in his and he moved through the patrons toward the cramped dance floor. When she turned toward him, his arm moved around her waist, drawing her close to him.
Where she should always be.
He silenced the thought and forced himself to live in the moment. Their bodies moved as one in a lively waltz.
Seeing her smile and hearing her laughter while they turned in dizzying circles cast a spell over him.
Finally, Rita looked up at him, her skin glowing with color. “I need air.”
He nodded and led her toward a shadowed table, but she shook her head.
“No, I need air.” She gestured toward her corset.
Damn Parisian fashion.