“Let us hope the house is not destroyed.”
“I had the walls throughout the basement reinforced, as well as a water pump installed, in the case of an unexpected fire,” Raoul assured his companion. “Besides, Fredrick assures me that he has not caused an explosion for several weeks.”
“Have you warned the staff that Fredrick will be creating havoc on a regular schedule?”
“They are aware that Fredrick is to be a welcome guest whenever he chooses.” Raoul deliberately paused. “As are you.”
Ian jerked in surprise. “Me?”
Raoul clapped his friend on the shoulder, his smile sly. “Who better to teach the boys the importance of mathematics?”
“What makes you think I will not fleece them of the few coins they possess?” the one-time gambler groused.
“Because you are no more immune to the charm of those boys than Fredrick.”
Ian’s lips twisted as he realized Raoul would not be fooled. “Or you.”
“Or me,” Raoul readily agreed.
Lifting his glass, Ian sipped the expensive champagne. “It would seem your work here is done.”
Raoul sighed, pretending a resignation he was far from feeling.
“That was my thought as well. Unfortunately, Sarah has decided that such a fine school should not be solely for the benefit of boys. She is busy planning a similar school for young girls.”
Ian snorted. “Yes, Mercy has already demanded that I donate an inordinate sum of money to the cause.”
Raoul chuckled, easily able to imagine the sweet, soft-spoken Mercy receiving whatever she desired. All of London knew she had Ian wrapped around her little finger.
“Wives can be quite persuasive,” he murmured.
“In the best possible way.”
“Oh, yes.” Raoul shivered as he recalled his morning spent in the arms of Sarah. Marriage, he was discovering, suited him to perfection. “Who would have suspected when Dunnington left his legacy, it would end with the three of us wed?”
“I shouldn’t be at all surprised if the wily old fox had planned it from the beginning.”
“Not even Dunnington could have suspected that our journeys into the past would influence our futures.”
Ian shrugged. “Who can say?”
“Who indeed,” Raoul agreed, raising his glass in a toast to the man who had been willing to devote his life to offering young boys a future that would never have been possible without him. “To Dunnington.”
Ian readily raised his own glass in tribute. “Dunnington.”
“Speaking of the future, should you not be making plans to travel to France?” a familiar voice demanded.
Both men turned to discover Fredrick standing beside them, his handsome countenance marred by a streak of soot on his cheek, his pearl-gray coat covered in dust.
“Sarah has insisted that we leave at the end of the month,” Raoul admitted, offering his companion a fond smile. “Are you in a hurry to be rid of me?”
Fredrick’s silver eyes danced with amusement. “I am more interested in enjoying watching someone besides myself being plagued with the endless duties of overseeing an estate.”
Raoul grimaced. His elevation to the Comte de Suriant had been officially approved last month, but he had done his best to ignore the inevitable journey.
It was not that he dreaded the responsibilities of his new position, or his introduction to French society, although he did regret the knowledge it would interfere with the time he could devote to Sarah and the boys.
No, it was more a need to prepare himself for meeting the family he had never known existed.
Hardly surprising. Having been raised with the belief that Lord Merriot was his father, his opinion of families was not particularly pleasant.
It was taking a great deal of effort to gather the courage necessary to accept complete strangers into his life, and his heart. If not for Sarah’s steady presence, he might never have conceded to his aunt’s growingly insistent invitations.
Not that he was alone in his confused emotions toward his family, he ruefully acknowledged, studying Fredrick’s resigned expression.
“Can I presume that your father has been pestering you to return to Wessex?”
Fredrick sighed. “He is convinced that I might kill myself in my workshop before I have an opportunity to inherit.”
“Shocking,” Ian drawled. “Wherever did he come by such an absurd notion?”
Accustomed to Ian’s teasing, Fredrick quirked a honey-gold brow. “The odds of me putting an end to my existence with one of my inventions are considerably less than you having your throat slit during one of your visits to the docks.”
Ian shrugged. Unlike many gentlemen, Ian made a habit of personally inspecting every detail of his investments, whether it was the crew hired for his fleet of ships or the workers in a brick factory. Nothing was too small to escape his attention.
“I happen to prefer ruffians to aristocrats, not including present company,” Ian retorted, his gaze shifting to Raoul. “And speaking of ruffians, I warn you that I intend to use all my powers of persuasion to lure Nico from your employ.”
Raoul frowned. He did not doubt for a moment that Nico would be of tremendous service to Ian. Not only did he have contacts among the criminal underworld, but there was not a rumor in London that did not reach his ears.
Unfortunately for Ian, Raoul had no intention of losing such useful skills. Not when he did not yet know who was friend or foe in France.
“You possess your own cutthroat for a valet, and I doubt that Reaver would be pleased to be replaced.”
“Nico’s talents are wasted as a mere valet,” Ian argued. “He could make me a fortune…”
“Do not even think about it, mon ami,” Raoul smoothly interrupted. “Nico stays with me.”
Ian assumed a wounded expression. “Rather selfish of you, Raoul. There are some of us who do not possess the benefits of a title and vast estates to keep their coffers full. We must rely on our wits to survive.” His eyes narrowed as both Raoul and Fredrick tilted back their heads to laugh at his ludicrous words. “What is so amusing?”
Fredrick was the first to regain his composure. “Your investments have earned you more wealth in the past year than my father’s estate has earned in the past decade,” he retorted. “It is nothing less than indecent that one man should hoarde such a fortune.”
“Hoarde?” Ian gave a regretful shake of his head. “My wife donates to every charity in London. I shall be lucky to keep a quid.”
As one, the friends turned to regard the three women who were busy charming those noblemen who were foolish enough to stray across their paths. Raoul did not doubt that they would manage to extort a fortune for the school by the end of the day.
“Yes.” Fredrick chuckled. “I begin to wonder if we made a mistake by allowing those three to become such close friends.”
Ian heaved a sigh of mock resignation. “As if we had a choice in the matter.”
Raoul’s gaze lingered on Sarah, his heart bursting with happiness as he watched her move confidently among the most elite of London society, her dark, sultry beauty attracting the noblemen like bees to honey.
Whatever her misgivings had been of becoming the Comtesse de Suriant, she had proven to be a favorite among society. The blue bloods were no more immune to her charm than Raoul.
“No,” he murmured softly, “there was never a choice.”
“Thank God,” Ian added, his attention centered on Mercy as she bent to speak with one of the young lads.
“And Dunnington,” Fredrick added. “Without his legacy, none of this would have been possible.”
Raoul’s gaze shifted to the house that once again was filled with the sounds of laughter. Without warning, a shaft of spring sunlight glinted off the upstairs window, almost as if the old tutor was assuring Raoul he was pleased with what he had accomplished.
A smile curved his lips.
The past had at last been laid t
o rest, offering all three men the opportunity to concentrate on the future.
A future that offered something none of them had ever thought possible.
A family…
And for a taste of something different,
please turn the page for an exciting sneak peek of
DARKNESS UNLEASHED,
the latest novel in Alexandra Ivy’s
Guardian of Eternity series,
coming December 2009!
Prologue
Jagr knew he was creating panic in Viper’s exclusive nightclub. The elegant establishment with its crystal chandeliers and red velvet upholstery catered to the more civilized members of the demon world. Jagr was anything but civilized.
He was a six-foot-three vampire who had once been a Visigoth Chief. But it wasn’t his pale gold hair that had been braided to fall nearly to his waist, or the ice-blue eyes that missed nothing that sent creatures with any claim to intelligence scurrying from his path. It wasn’t even the leather duster that flared about his hard body.
No, it was the cold perfection of his stark features, and the hint of feral fury that smoldered about him.
Three hundred years of relentless torture had stripped away any hint of civility.
Ignoring the assorted demons that tumbled over chairs and tables in an effort to avoid his long strides, Jagr concentrated on the two Ravens guarding the door to the back office. The hushed air of sophistication was giving him a rash.
He was a vampire who preferred the solitude of his lair hidden beneath the streets of Chicago, surrounded by his vast library, secure in the knowledge that not a human, beast, or demon possessed the ability to enter.
Not that he was the total recluse that his vampire brothers assumed.
No matter how powerful or skilled or intelligent he might be, he knew that his survival depended on understanding the ever-changing technology of the modern world. And beyond that was the necessity of being able to blend in with society.
Even a recluse had to feed.
Tucked in the very back of his lair was a plasma TV with every channel known to humankind, and the sort of nondescript clothing that allowed him to cruise through the seedier neighborhoods without causing a riot.
The most lethal hunters knew how to camouflage when on the prowl.
But this place…
He’d rather be staked than mince and prance around like a jackass.
Damn Styx. The ancient vampire had known that only a royal command could force him to enter a crowded nightclub. Jagr made no secret of his disdain for the companionship of others.
Which begged the question of why the Anasso would choose such a setting to meet.
In a mood foul enough to fill the vast club with an icy chill, Jagr ignored the two Ravens who stood on sentry duty near the back office, and lifting his hand, allowed his power to blow the heavy oak door off its hinges.
The looming Ravens growled in warning, dropping their heavy capes, which hid the numerous swords, daggers, and guns attached to various parts of their bodies.
Jagr’s step never faltered. Styx wouldn’t let his pet vampires hurt an invited guest. At least not until he had what he needed from Jagr.
And even if Styx didn’t call off the guards…well hell, he’d been waiting centuries to be taken out in battle. It was a warrior’s destiny.
There was a low murmur from inside the room, and the two Ravens grudgingly allowed him to pass with nothing more painful than a heated glare.
Stepping over the shattered door, Jagr paused to cast a wary glance about the pale blue and ivory room. As expected, Styx (a towering Aztec who was the current king of vampires), was consuming more than his fair share of space behind a heavy walnut desk, his bronzed features unreadable. Viper (clan chief of Chicago, who, with his silver hair and dark eyes, looked more like an angel than a lethal warrior), was standing at his shoulder.
“Jagr.” Styx leaned back in the leather chair, his fingers steepled beneath his chin. “Thank you for coming so promptly.”
Jagr narrowed his frigid gaze. “Did I have a choice?”
“Careful, Jagr,” Viper warned. “This is your Anasso.”
Jagr curled his lips, but he was wise enough to keep his angry words to himself. Even presuming he could match Styx’s renowned power, he would be dead before ever leaving the club if he challenged the Anasso.
“What do you want?” he growled.
“I have a task for you.”
Jagr clenched his teeth. For the past century, he’d managed to keep away from the clan who called him brother, never bothering others and expecting the same in return. Since he’d been foolish enough to allow Cezar to enter his lair, it seemed he couldn’t get rid of the damn vampires.
“What sort of task?” he demanded, his tone making clear that he didn’t appreciate playing the role of toady.
Styx smiled as he waved a slender hand toward a nearby sofa. It was a smile that sent a chill of alarm down Jagr’s spine.
“Have a seat, my friend,” the Anasso drawled. “This might take a while.”
For an insane moment, Jagr considered refusing the order. Before being turned into a vampire, he had been a leader of thousands. While he had no memory of those days, he had retained all his arrogance. Not to mention his issue with authority.
Thankfully, he had also kept the larger portion of his intelligence.
“Very well, Anasso, I have rushed to obey your royal command.” He lowered his hard bulk onto a delicate brocade sofa, inwardly swearing to kill the designer if it broke. “What do you demand of your dutiful subject?”
Viper growled deep in his throat, the air tingling with his power. Jagr never blinked, although his muscles coiled in preparation.
“Perhaps you should see to your guests, Viper,” Styx smoothly commanded. “Jagr’s…dramatic entrance has disrupted your charming entertainment, and attracted more attention than I desire.”
“I will not be far.” Viper flashed Jagr a warning glare before disappearing through the busted door.
“Is he auditioning for a place among your Ravens?” Jagr mocked.
Pinpricks of pain bit into his skin as Styx released a small thread of his power.
“So long as you remain in Chicago, Viper is your clan chief. Do not make the mistake of forgetting his position.”
Jagr shrugged. He wasn’t indifferent to the debt and loyalty owed to Viper. The truth was he was in a pissy mood, and being stuck in the chichi nightclub where there wasn’t a damned thing to kill beyond a bunch of dew fairies wasn’t helping.
“I can hardly forget when I am forever being commanded to involve myself in affairs that do not concern me, and more importantly, do not interest me.”
“What does interest you, Jagr?” He held Styx’s searching gaze with a flat stare. At last the king grimaced. “Like it or not, you offered your sword when Viper accepted you into his clan.”
He didn’t like it, but he couldn’t argue. Being taken into a clan was the only means of survival amongst the vampires.
“What would you have of me?”
Styx rose to his feet to round the desk, perching on a corner. The wood groaned beneath his considerable weight, but didn’t crack. Jagr could only assume Viper had all the furniture reinforced.
Smart vampire.
“What do you know of my mate?” Styx abruptly demanded.
Jagr stilled. “Is this a trap?”
A wry smile touched the Anasso’s mouth. “I’m not a subtle vampire, Jagr. Unlike the previous Anasso, I have no talent for manipulating and deceiving others. If there comes a day when I feel the need to challenge you, it will be done face-to-face.”
“Then why are you asking me about your mate?”
“When I first met Darcy, she knew nothing of her heritage. She had been fostered by humans from the time she was a babe, and it wasn’t until Salvatore Giuliani, the current king of the Weres, arrived in Chicago that we discovered she was a pureblood who had been genetically altered.”
>
Jagr flicked a brow upward. That was a little tidbit that the king had kept secret.
“Genetically altered?”
“The Weres are increasingly desperate to produce healthy offspring. The pureblood females have lost their ability to control their shifts during the full moon, which makes it all but impossible to carry a litter to full term. The Weres altered Darcy and her sisters so they would be incapable of shifting.”
Jagr folded his arms over his chest. He didn’t give a damn about the worthless dogs.
“I presume you will tell me why you have summoned me, before the sun rises?”
Styx narrowed his golden eyes. “That entirely depends on your cooperation, my brother. I can make this meeting last as long as I desire.”
Jagr’s lips twitched. The one thing he respected was power. “Please continue.”
“Darcy’s mother gave birth to a litter of four daughters, all genetically altered, and all stolen from the Weres shortly after their births.”
“Why were they stolen?”
“That remains a mystery Salvatore has never fully explained.” There was an edge in the Anasso’s voice that warned he wasn’t pleased by the lack of information. “What we do know is that one of Darcy’s sisters was discovered in St. Louis, being held captive by an imp named Culligan.”
“He’s fortunate that she’s incapable of shifting. A pureblood could rip out the throat of an imp.”
“From what Salvatore could discover, the imp managed to get his hands on Regan when she was just a child, and kept her locked in a cage coated with silver. That is, when he wasn’t torturing her for a quick buck.”
Torture.
The Dutch masterpieces hanging on the walls crashed to the floor at Jagr’s flare of fury.
“Do you wish the Were rescued?”
Styx grimaced. “Salvatore already freed her from Culligan, although the damned imp managed to slip away before Salvatore could eat him for dinner.”
Jagr’s brief flare of hope that the night wasn’t a total waste was brought to a sharp end. Slaughtering bastards who tormented the weak was one of his few pleasures.
“If the woman was rescued, then why do you need me?”
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