by Juliet Lyons
Strong arms lift me from the damp floor.
Even before I catch a glimpse of russet hair and see blue eyes as cold and hard as diamonds, I know it isn’t Vincent. Whoever this is smells of malt whiskey and woodsmoke; his body is hard as stone as he flings me over a broad shoulder like a sack of flour. Ronin.
“Hold tight, girlie,” he says in a gruff voice as I’m whipped from the room. On the way up the stone stairwell, I catch a whiff of a familiar scent—the aroma of linen and aftershave mixed with something salty—like tears. But it quickly dissipates as I’m bundled out into the cool night air and set down on wobbling legs.
The streets sway about my ears. I feel as though I’m standing on a ship’s deck and not on solid ground. I barely even realize I’ve fallen backward until I’m staring up at the stars, Ronin’s powerful arms catching me mid-stumble.
“Oh, look,” I say deliriously, attempting to point to the sky. “I think I see Sagittarius.”
* * *
Vincent
There is no time to check on Mila as I pass by her and Ronin on the stairs, though her pulse, strong and fierce and beating through her veins like a drum, leaves me light-headed with relief. I clutch the black-handled machete, holding it aloft as I land in the dusty cellar. I’ve never been more ready to end the life of this psychopath.
The stench of gasoline in the room makes me sick to my stomach, as does the scent of Mila’s blood, a sweet iron tang lacing the air. A dim glow radiates from a gas lamp on the floor, illuminating the fallen shape of David Moreau. I lift the machete high above my head and leap forward, swinging it in an arc toward his lolling head.
The blade strikes the floor with a twang.
David Moreau’s laughter echoes off the walls. “So, it turns out you have friends in the vampire world after all. Can’t say I’m not disappointed to lose our lovely Mila. But don’t worry. I’ll catch up with her soon enough.”
I step closer, pointing the machete at his face as he lifts a curved blade of his own.
He motions to my blade with his. “Touché. Isn’t that what we used to say in France?”
I stare into his eyes, trying to read him while at the same time searching for any resemblance to Adrienne. Aside from the dark hair and golden skin tone, there is little to mark them as relatives.
“What’s Adrienne to you?” I demand.
His eyes narrow. “Sister. Witness to her murder that night you sent her over the cliff.”
I flinch and he uses the momentary distraction to his advantage, swinging the crescent of the scythe sideways at my neck. I just manage to duck in time, air whistling above my head as the blade makes its vicious journey. With a burst of adrenaline, I leap through the air to the opposite side of the cell.
“No one was there that night,” I hiss, inching sideways to cover the exit at the bottom of the stairs. There is no way I’ll be letting him escape a second time.
He smiles, a ghoulish, tight grin, revealing sharp white fangs. “That’s what you think.”
“I loved her.”
“You killed her! But I didn’t come here to hear your pathetic excuses. Memory can be a curious thing, especially with lives as long as ours. Given enough time, any truth can be twisted to ease the conscience.”
“How will you twist the truth in the years to come, Moreau?” I spit venomously. “To justify murdering those innocent girls?”
His jaw clenches. “I’m not as sanctimonious as you, Ferrer. I won’t have to justify anything. My innocence died the night I discovered what you are. Do you know what happened to my family after Adrienne died?”
I shake my head, never taking my eyes from his beady, black eyes, fingers flexing on the handle of the machete as I wait for a slip in his concentration.
“My father stopped working. He spent his days drinking instead. Two of the younger children died of malnourishment, and I was labeled a nutcase for telling the truth about what I saw that night.”
A brief flicker of guilt sparks in my gut, but then I remember the dead women—violated and torn, left to rot on the street like animals—and my resolve hardens to steel. I need to say or do something to distract him, or I will never get out of here alive.
“Fine,” I say, deciding to lie through my teeth. “I’ll admit it. I threw Adrienne off the cliff because she refused to become like me. I drained her dry once she was dead.”
Moreau stares, impassive. “Please, you’ll have to do better than that.”
Just then comes the echo of heavy footfalls on the ceiling above us. Heart in my mouth, I seize my chance and dive at Moreau, landing on his chest and knocking us both to the ground. I cling to him, one hand clamped around the back of his neck and the other clutching the weapon, but he is quick to react. He presses himself tight against me, rendering the blade useless as I stab at empty air. After one of the hollow thrusts, he manages to haul me over, switching our positions so that I’m pinned to floor beneath him. My fangs pop out as I snarl in anger, a vein in my forehead pulsing like a jackhammer. Every muscle in my body is tense as I hold him off.
My teeth are clenched so tight I prick my lip, a droplet of blood falling onto my tongue. The iron tang gives me an idea—a way of gaining the upper hand. If he loved Adrienne as much as he claims to, the image of her in my life essence should be enough of a diversion to destroy him. Without another thought, I lunge for his throat, sinking my fangs into the waxy column of his neck and trying hard not to gag as his bitter blood hits the back of my throat.
He wails as he tries to fight the vision, his fangs gnashing together like a rabid dog as he thrashes around on top of me, and then comes the moment I was hoping for—a brief pause as Adrienne’s face appears in his mind. It’s enough to roll him over and raise the machete high above my head.
But before I bring it down on his neck, I hear scuffling on the stairs. I lose concentration as Lee Davies of all people appears from the shadows holding a similar machete to the one in my hand. Moreau spots his chance. Blood snaking into the white collar of his shirt, he flings me across the room and into the wall.
Lee rushes toward him, weapon raised, only to be flung back like a rag doll. Moreau comes at me fast, the silver crescent of the scythe glinting in the lamp’s flame like sunlight. I leap to my feet and block his weapon with mine, the clash of metal vibrating like a hammer striking iron. I spit out the mouthful of his vile blood as we strike again, metal on metal. My teeth are gritted, every bit of strength in my body going into the blade.
“The next time I capture your beloved, I won’t be so much of a gentleman,” he hisses, face contorted with rage. “I wonder how she’ll taste when I’m inside her.”
Though I try not to listen to his goading words, I lose my footing, stumbling back a few paces. Moreau’s mocking laughter fills the cellar as a blade slices through the air.
I brace myself for impact. Eyes closed, I think of Mila—her smile, her infectious laugh, and the future we’ll never have.
But despite the sound of metal hitting bone, a warm, wet liquid splattering my face and clothes, I remain conscious, standing, alive.
A hand shakes my shoulder as a voice at my ear says, “Vince,” and then more desperately, “Vincent!”
I open my eyes to find Lee’s anxious face staring up at me. For a wild second, I wonder if I blacked out or Lee died too, and we’re both headed for the afterlife.
“He’s dead,” Lee cries shrilly. “Look.”
I follow his wide-eyed gaze to a lumpy shadow on the ground. There, no more than a fizzing sack of dusty old clothes, are the remains of David Moreau.
“I killed him,” Lee says, a hint of pride creeping into his excited voice. “He was so busy trying to murder you, he didn’t notice me creep up on him.”
Blinking, I stare between the rapidly decomposing body and Lee’s shiny face and back again. Then I fling my arms around my friend, pu
lling him into a fierce embrace.
Lee pats my back awkwardly. “Guess there’s a new badass in town, eh? Watch out, ladies. London’s answer to John McClane is coming to a police station near you. Fuck you, Mr. UPS. How many vampires has that wife-robbing bastard killed, eh?”
“Lee, I love you.”
He steps back, frowning. “Steady on, Vince. We did the man hug. Let’s not get carried away.”
I chuckle. “You can forget I said that.”
Lee grins. “Already have.”
I kick at the clothes on the ground, sending a dust plume mushrooming up into the gloomy air. About a meter away from the rotten body is a hollow-eyed skull, the jaws frozen in an eternal scream. I shift my gaze to the stairs, knowing that when I walk out of this room, I leave the past behind once and for all. For years I’ve felt chained by memories, racked with guilt. Perhaps I’ve known subconsciously that this final showdown with Adrienne’s brother was always going to happen, that I’ve been spinning toward it on a direct collision course for all these years.
Lee places a hand on my shoulder. “Come on, there’s a young lady outside that’s probably going nuts by now. Although she looked pretty cozy in the arms of your old lord and master last time I saw her. Good-looking fella, that one.”
The notion of Mila in Ronin’s arms is more than enough to snap me from my reverie. I whip past Lee to the stairs and speed out into the cool night air.
* * *
Mila
For a fourth time, Superintendent Burke tries to convince me to get into a squad car, and for a fourth time, I refuse.
“I’m not leaving him.” My eyes are so blurry from crying I can barely make out Ronin’s face as he props me up.
We’re gathered on a corner, a street over from the house where Moreau imprisoned me.
“I’m afraid we must insist on calling an ambulance, Miss Hart,” Burke says, looking grave.
Ronin cuts him a snarl.
“It can wait,” I mumble. There is no way I am being carted off in an ambulance without knowing Vincent’s fate.
I close my eyes against another bolt of pain and rub at the deep, ugly welts left by the wire ropes around my wrists. The back of my head is throbbing from slamming into the rough wall and my face feels tight and swollen. But with the aid of my new vampire friend, I find if I stand still long enough, I can just about bear it.
“I must look like the Elephant Man,” I mumble into the nook of his arm.
“Not really,” Ronin remarks. “Your hair is better than his. Well, it would be without all the dirt and gasoline.”
I narrow my eyes. “So, you’re the ancient who turned Vincent?”
“One and the same.”
“But aren’t you supposed to hate him?”
He shrugs. “Times are a-changing, Mila. Besides, I was keen to meet the woman who managed to sway Vincent from his pious path.”
“Has he really been that much of a killjoy these past three hundred years?”
Ronin chuckles. “Compared to me, yes.” He looks down at me, copper brows pulled low, eyes like two swirling pools of ice. “Vincent is a good man. I respect him—even if I don’t always understand him.”
“How old are you?” I ask suddenly.
Ronin clucks his tongue. “You should never ask a vampire his age.”
“Are we talking Jesus old?”
He smiles down at me. “Aye, I get why he’s so taken with you. You have a spark.”
“Did you ever meet Genghis Khan?” I ask, ignoring the comment.
“No,” he says, “nor Julius Caesar. But William the Conqueror was a hoot.”
I frown, unsure whether he’s kidding or not. I’m about to ask when the gathered officers burst into sudden exclamations of relief.
I freeze. Through the gaps in the huddle comes a flash of dirty-blond hair. Then the officers part like the Red Sea and I wonder if I’m hallucinating when I see a tall, blond vampire emerge. His suit is ripped and torn, his face splattered with blood and grime. My knees almost buckle beneath me.
“Vincent!” I yell, staggering from Ronin’s grip.
As soon as his eyes land on me, an intense look of relief floods his face. “Mila!”
The pavement continues to feel unsteady under my feet as I struggle toward him. A second before I fall, Vincent’s strong arms loop around my waist, pressing me tightly against his broad chest.
I tilt my head to gaze up into his eyes. They seem even softer after spending the past few minutes staring at Ronin’s ice-blue orbs. “You’re making a habit of this,” I say breathlessly.
He smiles, delicately brushing the hair from my face. “It appears so.”
I open my mouth to ask what happened to Moreau, but the words die in my throat as his lips land on mine. Call it post-traumatic shock, but making out with my hot vampire boyfriend suddenly seems like the best way to deal with the terrifying events of tonight.
I’m enjoying the warm sensation of his tongue sliding over mine when a loud cough kills the moment.
Burke is standing a few feet away, a brow cutting almost vertically into his forehead. “I’m not sure this kind of behavior is entirely appropriate, considering Miss Hart is a recent victim of kidnapping, Inspector Ferrer.”
We break apart guiltily. Vincent flicks Burke an annoyed glance. “It doesn’t matter anymore, Superintendent, because I quit.”
Burke opens his mouth but is cut off by the arrival of Lee Davies. Despite the limp and a line of blood trickling from his nose, he’s smiling broadly and clutching a machete like a trophy of honor.
“David Moreau is dead, if lover boy here didn’t inform you all,” he announces.
Burke remains unimpressed. “Well, I guessed as much when Vincent arrived back al—”
“I killed him,” Davies cuts in. He attempts to spin the machete handle in one hand but drops it instead.
Burke looks between him and Vincent, astonished. “Really?”
Vincent nods before turning back to me. “He’s gone. It’s over, Mila. I’m so sorry for putting you through this. After tonight, you’ll probably never want to see me again.”
I smile, burying my head into the warmth of his neck as he opens his jacket to wrap around me. “Like that’s going to happen.”
“Well, I should be going,” a deep voice says at our ears. “There’s a Miss World contestant back at the club who doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”
I’d forgotten all about Ronin McDermott.
Vincent turns around, still clutching me to him. I’m pretty sure he’s never letting go. Which is fine with me.
“Ronin, thank you for getting Mila out safely.”
He quirks a brow, switching his attention to me. “It was the least I could do after letting her slip past us like that. Mila, it was my pleasure to make your acquaintance.”
Vincent’s grip on me tightens.
“Let me know if you’re ever in need of a job now you’re out of work, Vincent.”
Vincent shakes his head. “Not likely.”
Ronin flashes me a sexy, lopsided grin before completely disappearing. I stare up at Vincent, mouth open. “Did he just go poof?”
Vincent smiles. “Ancients are fast creatures.”
“Was he kidding about the Miss World contestant?”
“I doubt it.”
I poke him playfully in the ribs. “You could get a Miss World contestant, you know?”
He leans down, placing a kiss in my dirty hair. “You are my Miss World.”
I exhale slowly. For the first time in maybe forever, everything feels like it’s going to be okay.
“Mila, there’s something I’ve been meaning to say.”
“Oh?” I mumble, closing my eyes against another wave of dizziness.
With impeccable timing, an ambulance veers around t
he corner, its flashing lights filling the street, picking out the shadows beneath Vincent’s bloodshot eyes.
“Later,” he whispers, watching the vehicle approach. “First, you need treatment.”
I cling tightly to him, my cheek pressed against the hard lines of his chest. “You’ll come with me to the hospital, won’t you?”
“Yes,” he says, hands tangled in my hair. “I’ll never leave you again.”
Chapter 19
Mila
Vincent squeezes my hand as we cross the road to the Royal Opera House in Covent Garden, his palm cool in mine, filling me with giddy excitement.
The weather has been unbearably humid these past few days, and even with the sun sinking below the horizon, only the slightest stir of a breeze cuts through the warm streets.
“It’s a beautiful building,” I murmur, admiring the majestic facade with its white columns and ornate portico. “Are you sure the box is private?”
He smiles, slowing his pace when we reach the pavement to help me up the curb. Although three months have passed since that fateful night in North London, I still suffer the occasional spasm in my lower back. Wearing heels doesn’t help, but tonight is special and I want to look my best. Besides, flats really don’t go with my outfit—an off-the-shoulder, silver brocade dress with a full skirt. I feel like Grace Kelly when she married the prince.
Vincent holds my fingers lightly in his, as if we are about to dance a waltz. “I’m positive. Do you really think I want to share you with anyone?”
I smirk. “Well, no. You’ve shown no signs of that these past few months, now that you mention it.”
Smiling, he says, “Don’t fret. I hear there is an excellent selection of ice cream available at intermission.”
“Well, good,” I tease, “because that’s the only reason I agreed to come.”
As I step up on the curb, he draws me close, and a familiar flame of heat licks the place where our bodies meet.
“I think there’s another reason you agreed to come,” he says, lips hovering over mine.