by Kit Tunstall
“Johanna,” he whispered. Tears welled in his eyes. “Barty. Please, let me hold him.”
The note of pleading in the man’s tone gratified Nicholas, but he wasn’t finished torturing Tremont yet. “I really must tell you something else first.” He leaned closer, dropping his voice an octave. “As evil as you are, I would never have murdered an infant to punish you. She killed your son for naught.”
A keening wail broke from the man, as surely as his spirit broke right then, but Nicholas was beyond seeing the man’s surrender. He had learned several things under the cruel tutelage of Koss, including how to create an eternal slave. He wanted to relish in Tremont’s suffering every day for the rest of his life. With luck, that would span millennia.
1831, England (Vallsade Manor)
With a savage shout, Nicholas plunged the sword through his brother’s throat, pinning him to the stone steps. He saw William’s eyes widen with surprise before they grew dim as he passed from the world forever.
To ensure he did the job properly, Nicholas severed the head with one clean swipe and impaled it on the sword. He tossed aside the sword, separating the head and body by several feet.
Then he rushed up the stairs to the chamber he shared with Erin. In his heart, he knew Koss had killed her, but had to make sure. Perhaps she wasn’t completely dead. Maybe he could still save her, although it had been more than a day since her murder.
When he found his wife, laid peacefully across the bed and cuddling the body of their daughter against her chest—slightly above the gaping cut in her abdomen where William had cut out the baby—his cry of agony rebounded throughout Vallsade Manor.
Chapter Fifteen
Emily awoke with the sound of Nicholas’s suffering still echoing in her ears. The images of the dreams whirled through her mind, and she lay absolutely still, struggling to comprehend all she had learned about him through his memories.
When she finally found the ability to move, she turned her head to look at him. He watched her with a brooding expression, not attempting to evade meeting her eyes, but there was a tinge of red in his cheeks, as if their shared intimacy embarrassed him. She licked her lips, wondering what she should say, if anything.
He put his finger to her lips before she could part them. “You know my secrets now.”
She shook her head, pulling away from his fingers. “Not all of them.”
His lips twisted. “What is it you want to know? Do you want an account of every atrocity I committed for nearly three centuries, punishing the world and myself for your death? Do you want to hear how I lived without hope, how I loathed happiness in any form, going so far as to destroy it each chance I got?” He lunged toward her, settling on top of her and pinning her to the bed with her wrists above her head. “Do you want me to tell you about the women I raped and murdered? About the debauched acts I committed?” He shook her less than gently. “Well, do you, Emily? Do you want to know how evil I am?”
She shook her head, disconcerted to realize she found his proximity more arousing than she found his anger frightening. “I don’t need the details. I know very well you aren’t a saint.”
He scowled. “Of course you do. Poor, innocent Emily subjected to whatever I choose to do to you. You’re another of my victims, aren’t you?” he asked bitterly.
She held her silence, not certain what he wanted from her. If she agreed with him, she risked provoking his anger further and having it directed at her specifically. However, that thought didn’t frighten her as much as it might have once. What she found most alarming was the thought of his tenuous control slipping, making him unable to function at all. They couldn’t afford for him to fall apart while they were still in danger.
She knew why he was attacking her. She was a target for his conflicting emotions, a way to deal with his grief and the discomfort of her having seen so much of the real him. The question was, how did she respond to his lashing out at her? Was it better to counter his statements or ignore them and pretend they didn’t hurt?
“You’re so quiet. Do I frighten you?”
She didn’t respond while struggling to hide her fear.
Nicholas released one of her wrists to caress her breast through the cotton pajama top. “Or maybe you aren’t afraid. Maybe you like me being in control.” He lowered his mouth to her cheek, and when he spoke, his lips brushed against her skin. “Maybe you want to pretend you don’t want me so you can live with yourself after we have sex. You can convince yourself I forced you into this, too.”
She glared up at him. With a surge of strength, she broke free of his hold and cupped his face in her hands. “You scare me. Is that what you want to hear?” Before he could respond, she pressed on. “There’s a darkness in your soul that you will never overcome completely. That does frighten me, but not like it should. Maybe because I know the same dark compulsions are inside me too. I could say everything that’s happened to me is your fault, but there’s no reason to go down that road again, is there? I can accept what’s been done to me, or I can hide from it, but there isn’t any point in blaming you.” Her brow furrowed. “After all, you were honoring a promise you made to Erin when you changed me.”
His eyes darkened, and he opened his mouth.
Emily interrupted before he could speak. “And I’m not having sex with you. Not like this.” She glared up at him. “If—when—we make love, it will be because I’m ready, not because you’re hurting, and you want to hide from your grief for a while.” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “Make love to me because you want me, not because you want me to hurt, too.”
Nicholas flinched and pulled his face from her hands. He rolled off her and didn’t look at her as he got out of bed. His tone was bland when he said, “Get ready. Brannon will have booked us on the earliest available flight by now.” He padded to the door, pausing to scoop up his clothes from the chair where he had folded them. “I’ll shower in his bathroom to save time.”
The resounding slam of the door behind him made Emily wince. She resisted the urge to run after him and offer comfort. She knew he was in pain, but refused to allow him to take it out on her. Nor would she let his anger and heartache overshadow her first time with him. With a long sigh, she got out of bed and went into the bathroom to shower, hoping they would have both calmed down by the time they spoke again.
* * * * *
Thirty minutes later, Emily left the bedroom and entered the sitting room, clutching the lapels of the robe closed with her hands as she searched the sitting room for Nicholas. She grimaced when her gaze fell on Brannon, who still wore his sunglasses. She rolled her eyes at the affectation before turning to go back into the bedroom.
“Emily?”
She halted in mid-step. “Yeah?”
“Are you looking for Nicholas?”
“No. Yes. Actually, I’m looking for clothing.” She waved a hand at the robe. “I don’t want to wear this to the airport.”
He nodded. “There were some boxes delivered this morning. I guess Nicholas made arrangements last night.” He pointed toward the main door of the suite. “They’re by the entryway table.”
She walked over to the small stack and opened one at random. Lifting the lid revealed a pair of ecru linen trousers. The next box yielded a black silk shirt with a frilly yoke. The next box held underwear, and the last box contained a pair of black slip-on shoes. They were all in her size.
She lifted the stack and turned back to the bedroom. A few feet from the door, she stopped and turned toward him, striving for a casual tone. “Where is Nicholas?”
Brannon shrugged. “He went out. He probably went to see about Father Michael’s burial arrangements or to say goodbye in private. It will be a while before we return to New York.”
She shifted the boxes. “How long is a while?”
“Until we stop Koss. It could take years. Nicholas has begun preparing Vallsade Manor for a long habitation, just in case.”
She grimaced. “Sounds terrific.”
/> He shrugged. “It’s not so bad, although there isn’t much to do out in the middle of nowhere.”
She tilted her head. “Don’t the people nearby find it strange, having Nicholas never age?”
Brannon shook his head. “Nicholas is careful to reside at Vallsade Manor no more than once a generation, and for no longer than fifteen or twenty years. Before he moves away, he always announces the birth of the next in his line. Nicholas is then ‘reborn’, keeping his first and last name, but changing his middle name. That’s how most vampires do it, although it’s gotten tougher since everyone’s lives started getting tracked electronically from the moment they’re born.”
“No one’s ever been suspicious?” she pressed.
He shrugged again. “In the old days, people might have realized what he was, but no one pays much attention now. The village near the castle is a ghost town these days, with economic conditions the way they are.”
She nodded and turned back to the bedroom. Emily paused. “Do you really think it will take years for Koss to act?”
He hesitated. “I’m not certain. He has a history of prolonging the torture, but I can’t imagine him allowing Nicholas to be happy with you for long. Nicholas is preparing for the worst.”
She grimaced as she went into the bedroom, closing the door behind her. While dressing quickly, she mulled over Brannon’s dour assessment. By the time years had passed, there would be no way for her to return home without people realizing she had been gone. They would naturally expect an explanation, if they even wanted to see her. Everyone would have forgotten about her by then, or at least moved on, including her parents and Jeremy.
She wondered if Nicholas also thought it might take years. Had his offer to let her go home been an empty promise to placate her? Was he still manipulating her, even now? What if Koss wasn’t really his enemy, but was instead his ally? Would he stage this elaborate charade to keep her with him?
An image of Tremont’s torn body rose in her mind, followed by the memory of Michael impaled on the sword. Coupled with the dreams she’d had through Nicholas’s eyes, there could be no doubt that Koss truly meant her harm, simply because Nicholas loved her.
For now, her safest course was to remain with Nicholas and his nephew. She only prayed it wouldn’t take years to deal with Koss. She couldn’t tiptoe around Nicholas that long, let alone prevent falling in love with him…if it wasn’t already too late to avoid doing that.
* * * * *
The flight from JFK to Heathrow had been unremarkable, save for the incident with her passport in New York. When they arrived at the counter to check in, Emily realized she didn’t have one. She had pulled Nicholas away to tell him, but he waved aside her concern. She had watched with amazement as he slid his and Brannon’s to the clerk, who had given Emily a puzzled look, but after meeting Nicholas’s eyes, stamped their passports and a Post-It note on the counter before sending them on their way, handing the Post-It to Emily.
She had spent most of the plane ride napping, or at least pretending to. Nicholas had ignored her, and Brannon’s handheld video game held his attention. She had disregarded her hurt feelings and retaliated by pretending neither of them existed.
Now, as they left the huge hanger to hail a cab, she fumbled in her purse for sunglasses when the bright sun seared her eyes and saw Nicholas do the same. Brannon had never removed his.
As she walked, the stiffness in her legs began to dissipate. She hardly noticed the sting of returning circulation as she gazed at the people milling about. A babble of different languages mixed disharmoniously, and her eyes widened when they fell on a man about her age wearing a kilt. She couldn’t help but appreciate his muscular legs. When he winked at her, she blushed and looked away, straight into Nicholas’s eyes.
He looked angry, but didn’t speak when opening the door to a cab and indicating she should slide inside. Emily did so, surprised when Brannon sat beside her, and Nicholas took the front seat. She frowned when he got on the driver’s side, until she remembered they drove on the wrong side of the street in England—although she supposed the residents of the UK didn’t consider it the wrong side.
“Probably not,” Brannon murmured out the side of his mouth. He had his head cocked sideways and didn’t seem to have his eyes on the game, but continued to play.
She glared at him as she leaned closer, keeping her voice low. “Do you always read my thoughts?”
He shrugged. “I try not to, but you don’t have a good shield in place yet. You’ll learn.”
“If I live long enough,” she muttered under her breath, as the driver pulled away from the curb. She would have been reassured if Brannon had offered even a token platitude, but he held his silence. She leaned back against the seat and watched the city of London pass through the window without really seeing anything.
* * * * *
She frowned in confusion when the driver pulled up to a tall red brick and cream stucco townhouse in the heart of Mayfair. From her recollections as Erin, she knew this couldn’t possibly be Vallsade Manor, but had no chance to ask questions as Brannon and Nicholas slid from the cab. Instead, she followed suit, pausing to admire the small section of garden she could see through the wrought iron fence surrounding the property. The flowers had a disorderly appearance that she suspected was carefully designed and maintained. She wanted to ask what the purple blooms were, but they hadn’t waited for her.
She quickened her pace and fell in line behind them. As she walked after Brannon, she glanced up at the second and third stories. Delicate shutters with carved hearts covered the windows, but they didn’t seem like much of a deterrent for Koss. This place couldn’t be safe from Koss. It wasn’t a fortress, like the manor was. Perhaps they were stopping by to visit someone?
Nicholas unlocked the door, removing any doubt that he owned the place. Emily trailed behind them, removing her sunglasses and slipping them into her bag as she walked. She looked up and caught her breath when she entered the foyer. The highly polished hardwood flooring absorbed the click of her shoes’ heels. The vaulted ceilings seemed to go on forever, as did the endless vistas of the white-papered walls. She frowned at the décor of varying shades of white, having expected red and black like his apartment in New York.
The colors blended well to form an elegant design, but the pale shades seared her eyes. She cupped a hand over her brow to shadow her eyes, noticing Nicholas did the same. Brannon seemed unaffected, and she assumed his sunglasses protected him, or maybe he wasn’t sensitive to bright colors, being only half-vampire.
“We’ll freshen up here before heading to Vallsade Manor,” Nicholas said, seeming to be addressing both of them, although he didn’t turn in their direction. “I haven’t yet been in this house, but I viewed it on the Internet before purchasing it. I’m familiar enough with the floor plan to find the rooms. The staircase should be through here…” He trailed off as they left the foyer and entered a sumptuous living room. It contained only the bare bones of necessities—a white sofa, wingchair and tables—but the room still had an elegant air because of the ceramic tiles and arched ceiling. The staircase in the corner was itself an artistic masterpiece of carved blond maple and plush white carpet.
Emily followed behind them, pausing to admire the cherubs carved into the balustrades. When she realized they had reached the second landing, she increased her pace to catch up.
Nicholas stopped before a door and opened it. “Why don’t you take this one, Brannon? It has an open design, and the decorator hasn’t added more than a bed and a dresser. She was waiting for instructions from me.”
Brannon inclined his head and slipped past Nicholas. He closed the door behind himself.
He didn’t look in her direction as he resumed walking. Emily couldn’t help being miffed at his aloof attitude. She shook her head at his continued stubbornness while following him down the carpeted hall. Was he still angry at her for refusing to sleep with him yesterday, or was his coolness motivated by something m
ore?
He paused before another white door and pushed it open. “Here’s your room. There’s an en suite bathroom, of course. There should be plenty of clothing.”
She frowned. “Why? Has some other woman stayed here?” She winced at the whining tone that came from her. She wasn’t covetous, was she? She squirmed, recognizing an emotion that was a kissing cousin of jealousy, if it wasn’t outright envy.
He sighed. “I imagine they have, since I’m not the original owner. However, I have never been in this house before. I bought it as an investment, and I certainly never expected to stay here. It’s been on the market for months. I ordered the clothes yesterday morning, before we left New York. The property management company sent out someone to sign for the delivery. That person was given a list of what arrived and told where to place the packages in each bedroom, as per my instructions.”
“Oh.” She felt very small at that moment, and his visible contempt did nothing to restore her confidence. She turned away from him and entered the room, closing the door behind her. Her eyes widened when he knocked a scant second after the latch clicked against the jamb. She opened the door a few inches and peered out at him. “Yes?”
“We will travel at night. Rest a few hours.” He glanced at the Rolex on his wrist. “We’ll leave around midnight…about ten hours from now.” He hesitated for a moment before turning away.
She nodded and closed the door again, leaning against the wood, wondering if he was on the other side, unable to leave. Was he waiting for her to walk away first? Maybe he had his fingers pressed to the wood this very minute, longing to reach out for her. Emily held her breath, waiting to see if he would knock again. Her heart felt like it sank into her stomach when her keen hearing picked up the sound of his shoes walking across the carpet, away from her room. She rested her forehead against the wood, sighing. Was it his intent to ignore her completely until he was able to get rid of her? After loving her for eight hundred years, could he so easily turn off his emotions?