The Vampire Who Loved Me

by Teresa Medeiros

  Prowling behind her, he closed his hands over her shoulders. “What do you say, love? Why don’t you give the brat back to my brother so you and I can finally be alone?”

  Valentine glanced down at Eloisa, a petulant frown wrinkling her brow. “Oh, I don’t know. I was rather hoping we could keep her. If you’d let me turn her, she could be our very own little daughter. Strangers on the street would stop to admire and adore her, which would only make it all the more thrilling when she sank her little fangs into their throats.”

  Julian grimaced. “What an appalling idea! Who wants to be saddled with a sniveling brat for all eternity?”

  She sighed. “I suppose you’re right. We’d never be able to keep a nurse. I guess I could give her up,” she said grudgingly. “But only on one condition.”

  Julian inclined his head to nuzzle her ear. “Anything for you, my love.”

  Her voice softened to a dangerous purr. “I want you to kill Prunella.”

  Julian’s face went completely blank for the exact amount of time it took Portia’s heart to start beating again, then he shrugged as if Valentine had asked for an inexpensive bottle of perfume bought from a street vendor or a bouquet of posies filched from someone’s garden. “Very well. If I agree to kill Portia, will you give the brat back to her doting papa?”

  “Only if you’ll seal our bargain with a kiss.”

  He smiled. “It would be my pleasure.”

  As Julian turned Valentine in his arms and lowered his mouth to hers, Portia thought she might very well spare him the trouble of killing her. Judging from the pain lancing through her heart, she was already dying. All that remained now was to lie down on the ballroom floor and wait for the undertaker to arrive.

  The kiss seemed to go on for an eternity and when Julian drew away from Valentine, Portia recognized the enraptured look on her face only too well.

  “There. Are you satisfied?” he asked her.

  “No, but I have the feeling that I will be very soon.”

  “Oh, I can promise you that.” He gave her snow white cheek one last lingering caress before turning back to the ballroom. “Come here, Portia,” he commanded, crooking one arrogant finger at her just as he had done in Adrian’s library.

  She stood frozen on the steps, finding it impossible to even contemplate putting herself at the mercy of this cruel, cutting stranger. But as her gaze fell on Eloisa, she edged forward.

  “Don’t,” Adrian said hoarsely. “I won’t let you do it.”

  “Don’t dawdle, darling,” Julian said. “I can remember a time when you would have gladly run into my arms, bleating like a lovestruck lamb.”

  Her gaze still fixed on the tender innocence of Ellie’s sleeping face, Portia climbed another step, her feet feeling as if they were mired in quicksand.

  Julian rolled his eyes. “She’s always been a hopeless romantic. Perhaps she just needs to be wooed with some tender words and courtly verse.” He folded his arms over his chest, looking directly at her for the very first time since entering the ballroom. “What is it my favorite poet once wrote? ‘She walks in beauty like the night of cloudless climes and starry skies…’”

  As she gazed into the fathomless depths of his sparkling dark eyes, Portia’s heart swelled with emotion. She climbed the next step without hesitation, then the next. Still gazing into his eyes, she drew the scarf from her throat and let it drift from her fingers. Despite the tears blurring her vision, her voice rang out clear and true. “‘And all that’s best of dark and bright meet in her aspect and her eyes.’”

  Then she was at the top of the stairs and Julian was holding out his hand to her. She went to him, trusting her heart and her life into his hands just as she had done all those years before in the crypt.

  He enfolded her in his arms, slipping them around her waist from behind. His body was already burning with fever, so hot she feared they might both go up in flames. He inclined his head, the very tips of his fangs grazing the softness of her throat.

  “I’m prepared to carry out my end of the bargain,” he informed Valentine, his voice a smoky growl in Portia’s ear. “I expect you to do the same.”

  She blew out a beleaguered sigh. “If you insist.” She surveyed the men watching helplessly from the ballroom floor below. Her gaze finally settled on Wilbury. “Send the old man.”

  With more haste than Portia would have thought possible, Wilbury leapt over Cuthbert’s prostrate form and came dashing up the stairs. Before Valentine could even retrieve her sapphire necklace from the child’s clutches, he had snatched Eloisa out of her arms and gone scampering back down the steps.

  Adrian was waiting at the foot of the stairs to gather his daughter into his arms. She roused just long enough to give him a drowsy smile before resting her head on his shoulder. He squeezed his eyes shut and buried his lips in her tousled curls for a long moment before raising his anguished gaze to Portia.

  She smiled down at him through her tears, wishing he could know what was in her heart at that moment.

  Then Julian’s implacable hand was urging her head to the side, giving him unfettered access to the vulnerable curve of her throat. As his fangs descended, Valentine devoured them both with her gaze, her own fangs sharp and bright against her blood red lips, her fingers curled into talons.

  Portia closed her eyes, praying that her faith had not been misplaced. Just as his fangs were on the verge of piercing her skin, Julian abruptly lifted his head to look at Valentine. “Why don’t you do it?”

  “Really?” Her eyes glowing with delight, she clapped her bejeweled hands. “I thought you didn’t like to share.”

  “For you, I’m willing to make an exception. Here. She’s all yours.” He shoved her into Valentine’s arms just as Duvalier had once shoved her into his own arms.

  Valentine seized her, her hands brutal where Julian’s had been achingly tender. Grabbing a handful of the hair tied at the nape of her neck, she yanked Portia’s head to the side, so intent upon devouring her prey that she never even saw Julian slip around behind her.

  One second Valentine was hissing in Portia’s ear, the next she was letting out a furious wail as Julian’s fangs sank deep into her own throat. Her limbs went rigid, sending Portia sprawling to her knees on the slick marble.

  As Julian truly unleashed the beast within him for both the first and last time, Portia wanted to hide her face in her hands, but all she could do was gape in astonishment. His wrath was majestic, his power of destruction both terrible and irresistible. There wasn’t even a trace of passion or desire in the act, only savagery and violence. He sucked what had passed for life right out of Valentine, seeking his own soul with a ravenous hunger that would no longer be denied.

  As she stopped fighting, going limp in his embrace, his head snapped back as if he’d been struck by a jolt of lightning. Portia knew she would never forget the look on his face at that moment. It was both agony and rapture, despair and joy, death followed by the miraculous flush of new life. He gasped, his chest shuddering as his starved lungs demanded their first real breath in nearly a decade.

  Portia slowly rose, so mesmerized by the sight that she wasn’t even aware that all of the French windows had flown open or that men were streaming into the ballroom through every archway and door.

  She might have remained oblivious if Wallingford’s booming shout hadn’t penetrated her daze. “Unhand that woman, you monster! See! I told you you’d find him here with that Cuthbert fellow. First he burns his brother’s house to the ground and now this! Give me that bloody pistol, man, before it’s too late!”

  At the exact moment Valentine crumbled to dust in Julian’s arms, a pistol shot rang out.

  A pall of silence fell over the ballroom. Julian glanced down at his black shirt. An even darker stain was blossoming across the front of it. He touched his hand to the stain, then held it up in front of his eyes, blinking in wonder at the blood dripping from his fingers.

  “Well, I’ll be damned,” he whispered, slo
wly lifting his eyes to meet Portia’s. A heart-wrenching smile broke across his face. “Or maybe I won’t.”

  As his knees crumpled, Portia launched herself across the landing with an anguished cry, breaking his fall with her arms. They sank to the floor together, Julian’s head cradled in her lap.

  Chaos erupted on the ballroom floor below but for Portia there was nothing but this moment, this man. She pressed her hand to his chest, gazing at the blood welling between her fingers in helpless horror.

  She shifted her gaze to his face, astonished by the changes that had taken place there. There were fresh crinkles around his eyes and the lines that bracketed his mouth had deepened. A few stray threads of silver streaked the dark hair at his temples. Those unmistakable signs of mortality only made him more beautiful in her eyes.

  Her breath caught on a sob. “Damn you, Julian Kane! If you try to die on me now, Valentine’s wrath will be nothing compared to mine. Why, I’ll let them…I’ll let them read Byron at your funeral!”

  His grimace of pain deepened. “You know I loathe Byron.”

  “Yes, I do. Which is why I knew exactly what you were going to do when you said he was your favorite poet.”

  He smiled up at her, his eyes drinking in her face. “That’s my clever girl.” He drew in a ragged breath that escaped in a sigh. “This is very disappointing, you know. I was so looking forward to growing old with you.”

  “We are going to grow old together!” Portia said fiercely, her fingers tangling in his shirt. “I’m going to eat too much plum pudding and get as fat as I please and nag you about your smoking. And you’re going to get gray and paunchy and crotchety and demand to know where I’ve hidden your pipe. And we’re both going to dance at our grandchildren’s weddings, even if it mortifies them.”

  Julian lifted a hand to her cheek, stroking it with trembling fingers. “I never should have left you. When I think of all the wasted time…”

  “Then don’t leave me now,” she begged, her tears beginning to fall like rain. “Please…” Her voice breaking, she rested her brow against his.

  “Don’t cry, angel,” he murmured, urging her head up so she could meet his gaze. “You did exactly what you set out to do in that crypt. You saved me.” He pressed his other hand over hers, forcing her to feel each miraculous, shuddering beat of his heart. “Will you weep over my grave when I’m gone?” he asked hoarsely.

  “Every day,” she whispered, struggling to smile through her tears.

  “And if one of your suitors should give you a cat, will you name it after me?”

  She nodded, no longer able to speak at all.

  He gave her the crooked smile she had always loved so well, the sparkle already fading from his eyes. “I had hoped to give you my soul but I’m afraid I may have need of it where I’m going. But don’t worry, Bright Eyes. You’ll always have my heart.”

  Portia buried her face against his breast, letting out a muffled wail of agony as she felt that heart stop beating beneath her hand.

  Twenty-one

  The women were weeping.

  Caroline and Vivienne huddled together on the hard wooden pew with Eloisa perched between them, nibbling on a string of her mother’s pearls. Larkin sat on the other side of Vivienne, squeezing her hand to offer what comfort he could.

  “I never dreamed this day would come, did you?” Caroline asked her sister, dabbing at her pink nose with the monogrammed handkerchief she always carried in her bodice.

  Vivienne shook her head, her big blue eyes misting over with fresh tears. “My only consolation lies in knowing that we can be here for her, to offer guidance and advice and comfort during the difficult days to come.”

  Caroline reached over and patted her hand. “It’s never easy to let go of someone you love.”

  Vivienne nodded. “Especially someone so dear.”

  Growing more restless by the minute, Eloisa wiggled around and climbed to a standing position on the pew. Spitting out the pearls, she studied the somber faces of the grown-ups lining the pews behind her with grave interest.

  Until a man appeared in the doorway at the back of the church, his long, lean form silhouetted by the sunlight.

  Chortling with delight, she held her plump little arms out to him. “Unca Jules!”

  Julian came striding down the long aisle, a grin breaking over his face. He swept Eloisa up into his arms, planting a kiss on her rosy cheek. “Hello, pumpkin. Did you miss your dear old uncle?”

  She nodded, resting her head on his shoulder with a contented sigh.

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake,” Caroline said, rolling her eyes. “She just saw you at breakfast.”

  Julian drew back in mock reproach. “Can I help it if I’m irresistible to the ladies? Once they’ve had a taste of my kisses, they’re never the same.”

  “So I’ve been told,” Caroline replied with a teasing smirk.

  Larkin drew a pocket watch from his waistcoat, frowning down at it. “Aren’t you running a bit late? We were beginning to think you’d run off to the Continent with some opera dancer.”

  “I had to stay and help Wilbury oversee the icing of the cake. In case you’ve forgotten, I owe the old rascal my life.”

  Larkin shook his head. “How could I ever forget? I had no idea what he was up to when he knocked Portia aside on that landing and started pounding on your chest. Turns out it was a trick he learned in battle when he was a young man. Thank God Wallingford had that surgeon on hand. If he hadn’t been able to staunch the bleeding and stitch you back together…” Although he left the thought unfinished, a brief chill seemed to touch the sun-warmed air.

  One of the men in the pew behind them leaned forward, no longer satisfied with simply eavesdropping on their conversation. “Ah, Wallingford! I hear he’s gone quite mad, you know. Keeps babbling on and on about some sort of bloodsucking monsters prowling the streets of London. Had to lock the poor bloke away in Bedlam, they did, before he did anyone else any harm.”

  Larkin and Julian exchanged a hard-eyed glance, unable to completely hide their satisfaction.

  The man went on. “He keeps swearing Kane here murdered some poor woman, although there was no trace of a body to be found. Wallingford can’t even get the men who were with him that night to testify on his behalf. They all swear the light was poor and they didn’t see anything until Wallingford jerked that constable’s pistol out of his hand and started firing. I’m afraid he’s going to be locked away for a very long time. But as I see it, he’s lucky he wasn’t hanged for shooting an innocent man.”

  As the fellow settled back in his pew, Julian murmured, “Well, no one’s ever called me that before.”

  He glanced toward the altar at the front of the church, where Adrian and Cuthbert were patiently waiting for his arrival. He hadn’t been able to choose between them, so he’d asked them both to stand up for him on this day.

  Cubby was fidgeting nervously with his cravat while Adrian stood straight and tall, his hands linked at the small of his back. Julian handed Eloisa back to Caroline, giving the child’s curls an affectionate rumple before moving toward the altar.

  Cubby greeted him with a relieved sigh. “Thank heavens you’re here, Jules! I’ve managed to get this blasted thing into a terrible tangle!”

  Julian gently pushed Cubby’s hands out of the way. It only took him two deft twists to work the cravat into a crisp knot. “There. You look quite the gentleman. Your father would be very proud of you.”

  Cuthbert beamed at him. His lip was healed, but a sallow yellow bruise still ringed one eye.

  Julian shook his head ruefully. “Out of all the things I had to do when I was a vampire…”

  Cubby waved away the apology. “You don’t have to say it. Why, I’d let you hit me again if it meant I didn’t have to attend any more of those godawful temperance lectures!”

  Giving his friend one last clap on the shoulder, Julian took his place at Adrian’s side.

  Without looking at him, Adrian asked, “Ha
ve I told you lately how very proud I am of you?”

  Julian slanted him a disbelieving glance. “It wasn’t so long ago that you wanted to put a crossbow bolt through my heart.”

  “I missed, didn’t I?”

  “On purpose?”

  Adrian continued to stare straight ahead, the smile flirting with his lips reminding Julian that even though they would always be brothers, there were still some secrets neither one of them would ever confess.

  “I should have shot you for keeping Wilbury stationed outside of Portia’s bedchamber every night for the past three weeks while our banns were being read.” Julian sighed. “I thought I knew what an eternity was before…”

  “I’m surprised you didn’t try to sneak through her bedchamber window.”

  Julian shot him a glare. “I did. But without wings, it’s not quite as easy as it looks. Especially not with a big fat rosebush planted right beneath her window.” He gave his hip a rub, his flesh stinging from the memory.

  “Aren’t you the one who’s always said that anything worth having is worth waiting for?”

  Julian might not have been inclined to agree with his brother if the door at the back of the church hadn’t swung open at precisely that moment. He caught his breath, an act that was still a miracle to him.

  But not as much of a miracle as the woman in the doorway, the woman who had made his every dream come true.

  He stood in a church, no longer banished from the presence of his family or God. Sunlight streamed through the stained-glass windows, warming his face and glinting off the glossy silk of Portia’s curls and the exquisite Brussels lace of her gown.

  Because of her, he could sleep through the night and rise to greet the dawn. He could turn up his nose at blood pudding and order his beefsteaks charred to the bone. He could sit with his niece in his lap and teach her how to bang out the first few bars of Mozart’s “Requiem” on the piano. The only thing that remained from his lonely years as a vampire was his insatiable hunger for this woman.

  She smiled at him, her bright blue eyes sparkling with love and tenderness. She wore a snow white choker around her throat and a halo of white rosebuds in her hair, making her look like the angel she was.