“I said I’d call.”
“I didn’t think you meant—”
“I’m outside, on the terrace.”
Where the hell was that? She’d just have to go out the front door and walk around the house until she found it.
“There’s a French window,” Saloman said from the phone, as if he’d read her thoughts, “behind the closed curtains. Just keep talking. No one will think it strange that you choose to take a call in private.”
He was right, of course. Mumbling something, still holding the phone to her ear although he’d already rung off, she changed direction and slipped behind the red velvet curtain. The French door was open a crack, and she slipped easily out into the cool darkness, closing it firmly behind her.
The long northern evening had almost turned into night. Rain pattered on the canvas awning that covered the terrace and its few wooden tables and chairs. Beyond stretched a well-kept garden, rising outward and upward into the black, misty hills. In spite of herself, the beauty of her surroundings distracted her, and she was almost startled when a shadow detached itself from the wall of the house.
She caught her breath and moved to meet it. Her heart hammered in her breast; her stomach twisted in familiar pain and longing at the sight of him. A hundred questions tried to burst from her lips at once, but as soon as he was close enough, Saloman simply took her in his arms and kissed her.
Saloman’s kisses were like a drug. And she’d been deprived of them for so long that surely she wouldn’t have been human if she hadn’t thrown her arms up around his neck and kissed him back.
The phone fell from her fingers to the ground with a dull thud. Elizabeth didn’t care. His mouth delved deep, his tongue exciting hers to dance while his palms pressed on her back, drawing her closer in to his body. His full-on erection pressed into her abdomen, making her gasp into his mouth with triumph and longing. She seized his head between her hands, smoothing his soft hair, relearning the contours of his cool, distinctive face with her fingertips. She opened her mouth wider under the force of his kiss, welcoming the ferocity of his hunger because it matched her own.
She pressed against him, licking at his sharp, wicked teeth, sucking on his tongue, kissing him as if she could absorb him into herself. Between her thighs pooled warm, lustful wetness.
“Saloman,” she whispered against his lips, and went back to kissing him. “I’ve missed you so much.”
“So I see.” He took back her mouth, more slowly now, but with a deliberate sensuality that devastated her.
“Oh, God,” she said, trying to get a grasp on reality before she slid back into the haze of no return when sex, raw, exciting, and blissful, would be her only option. “What are you doing here, Saloman?”
“I’m kissing you. Caressing you.” His hand slid around to close over her breast and a low moan escaped her.
“Why?” She gasped. “Did you come for Josh? Why do so many people think you’re Adam Simon?”
Saloman paused, although he didn’t release her. “I came for lots of reasons. To meet Dante, and Josh; to take what is mine; to kiss you again.” Suiting the action to the word, he grew bolder, sliding his hand inside her dress to feel the aching, tender peak of her nipple. At the same time, he moved his groin against her, letting her feel the shape and hardness of his erection. Releasing her mouth, he added, “And they think I’m Adam Simon because I am. At least, I stole his papers to become him. The real Adam died as a baby around the time a man of my appearance might have been born.”
Clutching his silk cravat for support, she stared into his face uncomprehendingly. “Why?”
“I needed to be someone. The way to power in this age is wealth. And so I am amassing it. Legally.”
“So quickly?”
“It helped to have some stashed away. Gold is very valuable these days.”
It shouldn’t have hurt. She hadn’t expected anything else. “So you haven’t given it up. You still want to rule the whole world, not just the vampires.”
“I never pretended anything else.”
She pulled away from him, and yet was perversely sorry when he let her. Pushing her fingers through her hair, she tugged, and most of it tumbled loose around her neck and shoulders.
“Bugger,” she muttered, seizing it and rolling it back up under the elastic ribbon. Saloman bent and picked up her fallen phone, reminding her of another question. “Since when do you have a mobile phone?”
“Since Dmitriu gave me one. He’s right. They are very useful.”
Dmitriu, the enigmatic vampire who had caused her to awaken Saloman, Saloman’s own “child,” one of the only two vampires he was known to have created. “Is he here too?” she asked.
“Dmitriu? No, he’s back in Hungary.”
“Do you have . . . support here?”
“Do you? Are there vampire hunters skulking behind the garden shed?”
“You know there aren’t. You’d smell them at fifty paces.”
“More.” He held out the phone to her. She considered asking how he found out her number, but in the end there were too many more important issues, so she simply took it and dropped it back into her bag. “I am alone,” he said.
“It makes no difference, does it? I can’t warn anyone against you. They wouldn’t believe me. I can just picture the senator’s face.”
“Our genial host,” Saloman observed. “Very interesting man, but I certainly wouldn’t trust him farther than Josh could throw him with one hand tied behind his back.”
“He wants you on his side.”
“I know he does. I don’t suppose you do?”
Elizabeth frowned. “What?”
“Want me on your side,” he said patiently. “Or by your side. On top of you, perhaps. Inside you, definitely.”
“Saloman!” She had to stop him before her desire got the better of her and she hurled herself at him. She didn’t know whether to run, or to seize him up against the wall and impale herself on him. Pride forbade the former; and fortunately, the remains of her common sense prevented the latter.
His mouth twisted at her half-angry, half-anguished cry. “I’ll take that as a no.”
She stared at him, her lust fading slowly back to the old, painful longing, barely understanding yet that she’d refused him again. His dark, knowing eyes bored into hers as if he could see her soul and all its conflicts. The bastard had always known exactly what he did to her. Except the love. He hadn’t guessed that until she told him, thus casting and losing all her chances in one throw. It had won her a night of joy and a lifetime of sorrow.
“God, I hate self-pity,” she said bitterly, and saw his lips curve into a smile, just as the French door moved with a creak, releasing a surge of talk and music from the drawing room, and Nicola Devon stepped out onto the terrace.
“Darling,” she said at once, going right up to Saloman and taking his arm to reach up and kiss him briefly on the mouth. “We’re about to play some poker. Are you in?”
Nicola’s attention was all on him, but Saloman must have seen what her simple act did to Elizabeth. It seemed to be a day for those cartoon lightbulbs, for the belated discovery of things that should have been obvious from the start. Nicola was here as Saloman’s partner, as Elizabeth was here as Josh’s. But that familiarity, that kiss, told her everything else. He didn’t even look surprised, just accepted it as his due. Because they were lovers.
It felt like a knife in her heart, twisting and twisting.
Chapter Five
She’d already fled the unbearable scene, and was back inside the house before she realized that what she wanted to do was run to the hills, away from everyone. Smiling, making some inane comment to the revelers and poker players who caught her eye as she passed through the drawing room, she escaped from there too. Only halfway up the staircase did she freeze in midstep, remembering that she should protect Nicola, not run away like a betrayed teenager.
Only, how the hell did she do that? Oh, Nicola, you really sho
uld dump this guy—he’s a vampire.
Perhaps she knew and didn’t care. Shit, perhaps she was one too. I’d have felt that, sensed it. . . . Wouldn’t I? Or am I too busy wallowing in my own stupid emotions to see what’s under my nose? Again?
More slowly, Elizabeth continued upstairs. No, Nicola wasn’t a vampire, and if Saloman wanted to drink from her, there was nothing Elizabeth could do to prevent it. She doubted he would kill anyone here and risk the Adam Simon identity he’d taken such trouble to build.
The hunters had to be told about Simon. If nothing else, it would make it easier to track him. And yet if she told them now, if local hunters arrived here to eliminate him. . . . They would probably fail, as the Hungarian hunters already had, but in any case she didn’t think she could bear being the one to betray him.
Voices broke into her chaotic thoughts. With relief, she recognized Josh’s among them, coming from behind a door on the first-floor landing, and remembered the antiques evaluations. She’d promised to be there, to see Josh’s sword. Aside from her very real curiosity, it was probably also just what she needed, something else to think about for an hour. Maybe then she’d know what to do about Nicola and Saloman and Dante. And the sword itself, if it was truly Saloman’s.
When she knocked lightly, the voices stopped immediately. Poking her head around the door, she saw six male heads all turned toward her. Although Josh grinned and at once stood up to welcome her, she could have sworn some of the other faces had expressed annoyance or even . . . anxiety.
Senator Dante’s, however, was not one of those.
“Just in time!” he said jovially. “Come in and see my goblet. What do you think?”
They were seated at a round table—which would probably have been better for poker than the small occasional tables they were setting up downstairs in the big drawing room—in the center of which stood a gold goblet encrusted with gleaming stones and jewels.
“It’s beautiful,” Elizabeth said with awe. “It looks Anglo-Saxon.”
“It is,” Dante said modestly. “I bought it from a private collector. Apparently it was used in medieval times as a communion chalice, and really did turn wine into the blood of Christ.”
In front of Dante, Josh’s eyebrows flew up in comical disparagement.
Dante clapped him on the shoulder as the others made way for Elizabeth to join the proceedings. “Josh here doesn’t believe a word of it,” he said tolerantly.
“Well, I’d quite like to know how one identifies Christ’s blood from anyone else’s,” Elizabeth remarked.
“I suspect that part of the story was assumption,” Dante allowed. “At Holy Communion, Christ’s blood would be expected.”
Elizabeth looked closely at the cup. “But you believe the rest of the story?”
“I don’t disbelieve it.” He smiled as she cast a quick glance at him. “You find that odd?”
“Forgive me, it’s none of my business,” Elizabeth said lightly. Perhaps she was suffering from too many shocks this evening, but she decided to speak bluntly to her host. “I just find it strange that so distinguished a man as yourself—famous, I would add, for your Christian principles—is so interested in, and so open to, magical superstitions.”
“It’s not strange at all,” Dante argued, although he didn’t appear to be remotely upset. “I’m a spiritual man.” Reaching out, he picked up the goblet and placed it in a box one of the antiquarians lifted from the floor onto the table. “Okay, Josh, bring on the sword!”
Josh shrugged and sauntered across the room toward the wall, where an untidy bundle lay. He picked it up as though it were a lot heavier than it looked and, as everyone made space, he dumped his burden on the table and began to unwrap it.
The wrapping was an old and musty woolen coat, an incongruous setting for the treasure that lay within. As Josh opened up the garment, careful not to touch the gleaming object thus revealed, Elizabeth gasped.
The sword was big, far larger and longer than the modern rapier she used in fencing lessons. Its ornate hilt was carved from shining gold and silver intertwined, forming an intricate pattern that looked like interlocking letter “S”s. A large, bloodred ruby embellished the very top of the hilt. The blade was clean, almost new-looking. Certainly there was nothing to show that the weapon had ever been used in anger. Or if it had, it had been very well cleaned and cared for afterward.
Like Elizabeth, every occupant in the room gazed at the object in stunned silence. Even Dante seemed overwhelmed by it. Josh, more inured to the sight, gave a lopsided smile as he scanned his companions.
“Yeah, it still gets me that way too,” he remarked. “And I was brought up with it in the house.”
“May I?” Dante asked reverently.
Josh waved one hand in permission, though he made no effort to touch the sword himself, even to push it nearer the senator.
“This,” Dante said, gripping the hilt in both hands and raising it with obvious effort, “is the most beautiful piece I’ve ever seen.”
Without taking his gaze from the sword, he held it up in front of his face, then let the sword fall back a little until the flat of the blade just touched his forehead. Elizabeth could understand that—she often got the urge to touch old objects, as if they could somehow bring her closer to the past, but Dante made it look almost religious. Then he passed the sword to Bill, who also stood to receive it.
“So what do you think?” Josh asked. “How old is it? Do you know where or who it came from originally? What’s it worth?” He cast a quick grin at Dante. “Though I’m not selling.”
Beyond him, Bill touched the upright sword to his forehead, just as Dante had done. To Elizabeth, it looked uncomfortably like worship. In fact, as Bill passed the weapon to the man beside him, it struck her that they were performing some bizarre ritual, and a tingle of unease passed down her spine.
“Old,” Bill said vaguely. “Impossible to date accurately. This work on the hilt looks almost Byzantine, and yet not quite. I would say it’s even older than that, and yet the carving is so fine. . . .”
“And the value?” Dante asked.
Bill shrugged. “Priceless.” Then, presumably since Dante looked slightly annoyed, he added more carefully, “If Josh agrees to sell, he could ask any reasonable price. Its value is simply whatever it’s worth to the individuals concerned.”
Josh, watching it progress around the table, said dryly, “So basically, you know no more about it than I do?”
“It’s definitely the one in the book,” said the man who held it now.
“What book?” Elizabeth and Josh asked together.
The man touched it reverently to his forehead while Dante said, “One we saw in a private library. Your turn, Josh.” His voice was clipped, as if not quite pleased.
“I’ll pass,” Josh said quickly, pushing his chair back.
“Do you want to hold it, Elizabeth?” Dante asked.
“Sure.” Elizabeth stood up, reaching across Josh, who made a quick movement as if to prevent her, then shrugged with a half-embarrassed smile.
“It’s heavy,” warned the man who offered it to her.
Elizabeth nodded and wrapped both hands around the beautiful hilt, heaving it upright. Instantly, a thrill shot up her arm, excitement she could never suppress at actually touching something so old and so incredibly beautiful.
And yet the tingling didn’t fade as it should. Instead, it galloped through her whole body like an electric shock. The force of it jerked her backward and she fell, knocking over her chair. Her hands around the hilt seemed to burn and yet she couldn’t open her fingers. Josh’s anxious face swam in front of hers, flanked by Dante’s and Bill’s. The noise of their questions grew momentarily louder, as if they were yelling in her ear.
“Elizabeth, what is it?”
“Are you hurt?”
“What’s wrong?”
“Are you ill?”
And then they blended and faded into a different noise, the cry of a th
ousand voices, scraping metal, and screaming horses. A blur of motion filled her eyes. There was only blood and a hand she knew all too well, wielding the sword in front of her. Another face swam before her, dark and beautiful and terrifying in its familiarity.
I am Saloman. Give me my sword.
Elizabeth cried out. The sword seemed to be wrenched from her fingers, and Josh was saying her name over and over.
He held both her hands, anxiety and guilt almost splitting his pale, handsome face. Behind him, Dante held the sword, but was looking at her with a bright, piercing gaze that went far beyond inquisitive or even speculative. In her shock, she imagined he wanted to consume her.
Josh was opening her tightly closed fist, and at his indrawn breath she glanced down at her red, blistering palm. No wonder it hurt like hell, she thought vaguely.
“Too far, Dante,” Josh said, and she’d never heard him speak like that before—icy, harsh, full of barely suppressed rage. “Much too fucking far.” He put his arm around her waist, urging her onto her trembling feet. “Out of my way,” he snarled at someone, and then as they made their stumbling way across the room: “Open the door.
“I’m sorry, Elizabeth,” he ground out as they began to climb the stairs. “I never thought he would do that, not to you.”
Neither did I. Ungrateful bastard. I awakened him, too. . . .
Elizabeth shook herself, shooting a quick glance at Josh to make sure she hadn’t spoken aloud. Too late, it came to her that they were blaming different people.
“Come on, I’ll dress your hands, and then I’ll take you to the hospital.”
Elizabeth frowned. “I have to talk to you, Josh.”
“In here,” he said, opening her bedroom door, and not releasing her until she sat on the bed. “I’ll get some water.”
“No, wait.” She grabbed his hands to stop him from rising. “Josh, you have to listen to me.” She closed her eyes to shut out his anxiety and her own. I’ve come to take back what is mine. “That sword, your sword, belongs to Saloman, the vampire I told you about in Edinburgh.”
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