My Lord Immortality

by Debbie Raleigh

  Sebastian regarded him steadily, forcing himself to put aside his fear for Amelia and even his lingering fury at being so ruthlessly attacked. This was a vampire. A brother.

  "And then what? Drake, you are not unintelligent, Nefri and the other vampires will never allow you to gain command of the Medallion."

  A snarl twisted the handsome features. "They will have no choice."

  "No." Sebastian gave a slow shake of his head. "You fight a losing battle. Still, it is not too late to give up this madness and return to the Veil."

  "I am no eunuch." He stepped back, his arrogance shimmering in the air about him. "You may be satisfied with your cold bed and dusty books, but I am destined for far greater rewards."

  There was a sudden chill in the breeze before Drake was abruptly shape-shifting into a dark shadow that disappeared down the lane in the blink of an eye.

  Sebastian made no effort to follow the renegade. He knew where to find his lair, if the time became necessary. Instead he remained standing at the edge of the garden with a frown upon his brow.

  There was something he was missing, he realized with a pang of aggravation at his unusual lack of perception. Drake was always overly confident and certain of his powers. Even behind the Veil. But whatever his arrogance, he was not without some sense.

  Why was he willing to risk utter destruction when he must know that there would be others who hastened to stop him? He could not battle every vampire. Not even with the Medallion.

  So what did he know that Sebastian didn't?

  And what did it have to do with his mysterious companion?

  And how dangerous was it not knowing the answer to those questions?

  Seven

  Drake paced the cramped cottage with quick, restless steps. He was furious. More than furious.

  He was no dupe, he told himself savagely. Nor was he a fool.

  When he had left the Veil it was clearly understood that it would be his task to retrieve the Medallion. As well as to put a stop to Sebastian, or any of the other vampires, if they should stand in his path.

  To have this sudden interference was unbearable. And more than a bit suspicious.

  If the plans had changed he should have been consulted. He would not be left dangling as bait while the prize was snatched from beneath his very nose.

  Oh no, he would not tolerate such blatant interference.

  He turned about and abruptly froze. The approaching sense of the vampire was filling the dark, dank air and Drake swiftly smoothed his hands over his fine emerald jacket. It was about bloody time, he seethed. He had been waiting at this hideous cottage for near three hours.

  Holding himself steady, he watched the fog thicken and swirl beneath the door, shimmering in the darkness with an evil glow of its own.

  "At last..." he began to complain, only to have his words roughly choked off as the fog reached out to wrap about his neck. For long, agonizing moments he was held in its ruthless grip, his feet actually leaving the dusty floor before at last he was tossed disdainfully against a wall.

  "Never," the fog rasped, "never summon me in such a manner again."

  With painful movements, Drake forced himself back to his feet, his fury now mixed with fear. How he longed to put an end to this vampire, he seethed with black hatred. A slow, torturous end.

  "I had to speak with you," he said in a tone roughened by his aching throat.

  The fog stirred the dust restlessly upon the floor. "You risked exposing my presence to Nefri, you dolt. Not to mention alerting the Great Council that I have discovered a means of traveling through the Veil undetected."

  Drake clenched his hands at his side. Dolt? No one called him a dolt.

  "It would not have been necessary had you not lied to me."

  The words seemed to ring in the air for a nerve-wracking moment before the fog shifted in a foreboding manner.

  "Lied? You have become overly bold, Drake. Take care I am not forced to teach you a rather unpleasant lesson in humility."

  In spite of himself, Drake felt himself pressing closer to the moldy wall.

  "Did you attempt to destroy Sebastian?"

  "You must be confused. I do not answer to you."

  "I believe I have earned the right to some explanation. You requested that I leave the Veil to retrieve the Medallion. You also specifically warned me that it would be my duty to ensure that Sebastian did not pose a problem. Have you altered your plans?"

  The low laugh sent a chill down Drake's spine. "Do you mean, have I chosen to retrieve the Medallion without your incompetent assistance?"

  Drake silently added the insult to the list of others, reassuring himself that his sweet revenge would come the moment he held the Medallion.

  As long as he gained command of the artifact. At the moment that was all that was important.

  "Yes."

  "It is a temptation, I must admit," the vampire drawled. "I chose what I thought to be three ruthless hunters and was rewarded with cowardly fools."

  "I am no coward," Drake snapped.

  "Ah, then you have retrieved the amulet?"

  "Not as yet, but I will have it in my hands within a few days."

  The vampire gave a disgusted grunt. "The same promise made by both Amadeus and Tristan before they were destroyed."

  Drake shrugged off the words. He did not desire to be compared with such fools.

  "I will not fail."

  "That remains to be seen."

  He hardened his features in grim determination, "You have not answered my question. Do you seek to retrieve the Medallion for yourself?"

  The fog shifted, but even as Drake stiffened in fear, it deliberately settled in the center of the room.

  "If that was my desire, then the Medallion would be mine."

  Drake cautiously released the breath he had unconsciously sucked in. "Then why did you attack Sebastian?"

  "You try your luck, Drake. My actions are not your concern."

  "I have put myself at considerable risk for you."

  "With the promise of great power as a reward," the fog hissed in return.

  Drake tilted his chin, although he was careful to keep himself firmly against the wall.

  "Only if you do not decide to withhold the rewards."

  That horrid, rasping laugh once again echoed through the cottage, sending the few remaining rats scurrying into the night.

  "Do not fear, Drake. You shall be suitably rewarded for your efforts. My only interest in Sebastian was to lure Nefri from her lair. A scheme that worked to perfection, I might add."

  Drake frowned. He did not like to recall that Nefri might be near. He could not possibly hope to match the ancient vampire's powers. Perhaps not even with the Medallion in hand.

  "Nefri?" he muttered.

  "Yes. Surely you have not forgotten that she continues to lurk near the maidens who hold the Medallion?"

  He shifted uneasily. "Of course I have not forgotten. You promised she would not interfere."

  "And she will not, as long as you do not ruin all with your childish fits of hysteria."

  Hysteria? The vampire went too far. Drake narrowed his gaze. "Perhaps if you would warn me of your intentions ..."

  In the blink of an eye the fog was once again striking out, clenching about Drake's throat until it threatened to crush it.

  "Enough." The voice was frozen steel. "I will decide what you will or will not be told. Do not make the mistake of questioning me again."

  Drake struggled to remain conscious, well aware that he had pressed the vampire too far. Damn. He did not doubt the elder would dispose of him without a flicker of remorse.

  "No, I understand. I will not question you again," he choked out in desperation.

  The crushing grip remained. "And Drake, my patience wears thin. Retrieve the Medallion or you will wish that you could be simply destroyed."

  "I... I will have it."

  "Cats, cats, cats."

  William was nearly bouncing up and down as the th
in, rather dour-faced housekeeper shifted the large box from the counter and placed it upon the floor.

  "Yes. Now sit down before you stomp 'em to bits," the woman muttered, although there was no missing the pleased glint in the pale blue eyes.

  Standing on the far side of the kitchen, Amelia smiled. After a morning devoted to listening to William's disgruntled sighs and watching him wander through the house with restless frustration, she had realized she must do something to distract him.

  The poor boy simply could not understand her insistence that he not visit the children in the stews, nor why he could not even stroll through the market. It was little wonder that he chafed at her restrictions.

  At last, in desperation, she had made the bold decision to bring him to Sebastian's home to visit the kittens. She knew that was one certain way to distract him for at least an hour. And perhaps it would make him somewhat more content for the rest of the day.

  And, of course, a tiny voice whispered in the back of her mind, she was not being entirely selfless. If she were being perfectly honest with herself this was precisely where she desired to be.

  A renegade heat flared beneath her cheeks as she recalled her encounter with Sebastian in the garden.

  It had been wicked. And dangerous. Far more dangerous than she ever could have suspected.

  But it had also been the most glorious few moments in her life. And whether it made her a horrible person or not, she could not deny that she could not wait for an-other opportunity to taste passion once again.

  She was perhaps shameless, and bold beyond reproach, but that did not keep her from imagining the feel of his hard arms and seeking lips. Oh yes, she was very anxious to flirt with the wicked peril once again.

  Almost as if her siren's call had lured Sebastian through the large town house, Amelia felt the tingles that warned her of his approach. With little shame, she deliberately shifted until she was near the door. She had known he would come. That he would sense her presence as easily as she sensed his.

  Quite prepared when he at last approached through the shadows, Amelia nevertheless found her breath being caught in her throat as her gaze skimmed over the silver gray coat and burgundy waistcoat. He wore high, glossy boots, and his thick hair was tied at the nape of his neck, as if he had been out riding. Then, compulsively, she was seeking the pale beauty of his countenance, searching for some reaction to her decidedly brash behavior.

  What she discovered made her breath even more elusive. Halting directly at her side, he offered a slow, tantalizing smile.

  "Amelia."

  "Sebastian." A ridiculous bout of nerves had her unnecessarily smoothing the soft folds of her blue gown. "I hope you do not mind our intrusion. William was bored and demanding to be out of the house. I thought the kittens might prove to be an adequate distraction."

  "I do not mind," he murmured, his silver gaze never straying from her face. "Would you care to join me in the library?"

  "Well . . ." She reluctantly turned to regard her brother as he played with the kittens.

  "My housekeeper will keep a careful watch on William," he softly assured her.

  She hesitated another moment, knowing how her brother could fret if she were absent, but then noting his obvious distraction and the way the housekeeper hovered protectively at his side. She slowly turned to offer Sebastian a smile.

  "Very well."

  Reaching out, Sebastian firmly placed her ban upon his arm and led her from the room. In silence they wound their way through the narrow halls in the servants' quarters and up the stairs that would take them to the front of the house.

  Although vibrantly aware of the man at her side, Amelia could not help but note the decided lack of ornaments upon the paneled walls and occasional tables. And she would have to be blind not to see the heavy covers that continued to hide the chairs set in the alcoves.

  A smile twitched at her lips. She wondered if Sebastian even took a moment to notice his surroundings.

  "Why do you smile?" he demanded.

  Tilting her face upward, Amelia met the amused gaze. "I was thinking that only a bachelor could bear to live among dust sheets and barren rooms."

  "I will admit it does not trouble me as long as my library is in order."

  She gave a teasing click of her tongue. "Surely a man needs more in his life than books?"

  The silver eyes abruptly darkened. "I have not believed so for many years."

  Something in that deep, accented voice made her heart make a sudden leap. "And now?"

  His smile widened. "And now a pair of dimples has made me question my simple existence."

  Amelia breathed deeply of his warm, spicy scent, not at all surprised when her head swirled. This gentleman could make any poor, susceptible maiden a bit dizzy.

  "Being distracted by dimples does not seem at all scholarly."

  "No?" His gaze swept over her. "Well, there are all sorts of studies. Not all of them including dusty books."

  She chuckled softly, her fingers tightening upon his arm. "There may be hope for you yet, Mr. St. Ives."

  "Perhaps there is, Miss Hadwell." Slowing his steps, he turned her into the large library. "Here we are."

  Her gaze swept over the beautiful room, lingering on the highly polished tables and the obvious care given to the hundreds of leather bound books.

  "Not a dust sheet in sight," she murmured.

  The silver eyes twinkled. "I could have one fetched if you would like."

  "No, thank you," she retorted with a grimace.

  The slender hand waved toward the pair of leather wing chairs that framed a heavy marble chimney piece. "Will you have a seat?"

  Amelia found herself rather reluctant to loosen her hold upon him, but she at least retained enough sense to realize she could not remain gazing up at him like a moonling. Instead, she forced herself to calmly drop her hand and move toward the nearest chair.

  She did halt as she noted the book that had been left on a small table beside one of the chairs. Picking up the heavy tome, she turned to regard Sebastian with a lift of her brows.

  "What are you studying?"

  "At the moment I am pursuing the writings of Epicurus."

  "Ah." She wracked her memory for a moment." 'If you wish to make Pythocles wealthy, don't give him more money; rather, reduce his desires ...'"

  Sebastian did not bother to hide his surprise. "You read the philosophers?"

  She grimaced at his question. "Only under duress," she admitted. "My governess possessed the belief that a young lady should be well read and capable of entering any conversation without embarrassment."

  "A worthy goal, I should think."

  Amelia gave a faint shrug. She had no doubt that poor Miss Lyman had tried her best to instill her own fervent love for learning into her ungrateful student, but Amelia had never possessed the patience. Her restless energy was not suited to hours spent in the classroom.

  "I far preferred to be fishing with William or sneaking into our neighbor's orchard. To be obliged to remain indoors like a proper maiden was sorely testing. I received any number of lectures for slipping from my window when I should have been practicing the pianoforte or perfecting my needlework."

  "Lectures you no doubt ignored," he retorted in dry tones.

  Her dimples flashed. "Upon occasion."

  He gave a reluctant laugh as he moved to lean against one of the endless bookshelves. She watched his fluid movements, fascinated by the easy grace of such a large man. He would no doubt dance the waltz with the same exquisite skill.

  "So you have no interest in musty books?" he demanded with a watchful gaze.

  "To be honest, I have given little thought to studies since my schoolroom days." She wrinkled her nose in limit embarrassment. "I suppose you must think me a frippery maiden?"

  His lips tilted at one corner. "No more than you must think me a dull and tedious fellow." He paused for a moment, his gaze briefly skimming over her mouth. "Still, there can be magic in books, just a
s in the moon."

  Recalling the particular magic they had discovered beneath the moon, Amelia lifted her brows in teasing surprise.

  "Why, Mr. St. Ives. What manner of books do you possess?"

  A wicked glint entered his eyes. "Would you like to see?"

  "Very well."

  She paused only a moment before moving to join him beside the heavy shelves. Her ready agreement had nothing to do with a sudden scholarly interest, but simply the need to learn more of this man who so cap-tivated her.

  "My collection is quite varied." He reached out a slender hand to pluck a thin, rather battered volume from the shelf. "Here is one that you might find of interest."

  "What is it?"

  "A personal journal of an ancient warrior."

  She readily accepted the book, opening it to discover the yellowed, crumbling pages covered with a strange spider web of script she had never seen before.

  "What is this language?"

  "It is a very old, mostly forgotten language of a for-gotten people." His expression was difficult to read as he gently touched the delicate book. "To most, his culture and beliefs would have seemed quite unnatural. But these pages speak of a man much like ourselves. He complains of the cold, the weevils in his bread, and his fear of the upcoming battle. Most of all, however, he speaks of his deep love for his wife and children, who he has been forced to leave behind. He prays every night that he be allowed to see the precious beauty of his daughter's face one last time before he dies."

  Amelia found her heart squeezing in compassion The unknown man was long dead, but listening to Sebastian's soft voice, it was almost as if she could see him within the narrow pages. Alone, scared, and desperately missing his family. He was far more real than any of the characters from history she had been forced to study.

  "How very sad," she murmured, lifting her gaze to meet the watching silver gaze. "And yet..."

  "What?"

  "His story is far more interesting than the books of glorious conquests and great leaders that I have committed to memory. He seems more alive."

  "Yes." His expression was one of satisfaction. As if she managed to please him with her response. "The simple story of a simple man who speaks to all."