by Multiple
“So you’re going to go to Hartcastle straight away then?”
He knew of the county coaches to places like Hartcastle; one wouldn’t be leaving this late in the day.
He noticed right off Beth seemed to hesitate, but then she said firmly, “I’m going to Lady Ariel’s for a few days, until my post starts.”
“Oh, you’ve heard from her then,” he muttered.
Beth wanted to swat Adam into motion. He asked too many probing questions she had to lie to answer and she was a terrible liar. Immediately, she sought to avoid the question of Ariel, because while she’d sent a note, Ariel hadn’t replied with a hearty, “Yes, come stay with me.” The problem was what she could remember of last seeing Ariel was that her lady-friend had been very upset.
“If we hurry, we can both say goodbyes to step uncle Westfield, and thank him for all he’s done for us,” Beth said, effectively sidestepping Adam’s question about Ariel. “I’ve got a carriage coming now, Adam. We must hurry.”
Adam blinked at her, shoving a hand through his bedraggled hair. He really looked poor with red-rimmed eyes and a shallow complexion. “Right, I’ll go pack,” he said, turning. “It won’t take long.”
“Can you bring down my two trunks then, Adam?”
Beth watched Adam lift a hand to her request as he loped up the stairs. Just as soon as he was out of sight, she slumped, wringing her hands together. “Why hasn’t Ariel responded?”
Her entire and quickly-concocted plan rested on her friend helping her. If she couldn’t stay at Ariel’s then she was doomed. While she had enough money saved to rent a room, just the fact she’d do such a thing would ruin her. No ladies school would take her then.
Beth began to pace the foyer. “You knew it was late and she might not respond.” She took a deep breath. She and Ariel had planned to go to the Lancaster’s spring ball this evening. It had been in their plans for a long while, because the ball was being touted as one of the best balls of the season. “And I know Madame Whiting of Hartcastle Ladies Academy will be there.”
Beth knew Madame Whiting would have her charges at their first ball this evening, showing off the effect her school had polished in them. It was the very reason she was going to attend the ball herself. She was going to ask the Duchess of Hartcastle, her well-thought-of acquaintance, to recommend her to Madame Whiting for a position.
“It will work. I know it will,” Beth said, vowing success by the strength of her words.
Chapter Sixteen
Trinity moved like a malevolent shadow scoured along the edges of the wall. He was certain if it weren’t for the smells of piss, stale ale, and the heavy body odors of old fuckings in the brothel, the five vampires in the room beyond would have smelled him coming. Even with the rank and heavy odors, he was surprised they didn’t.
He’d been looking for a whore and his dissatisfaction of not finding the right one had sent him through three brothels before the one he now crouched in. It seemed he couldn’t find the exact shadings of pale skin, black hair, and voluptuousness that stroked his cock. So there he was in the fourth den of flesh and what had he stumbled upon, but the most unusual meeting of Cull and Mongrel. The two were near bitter rivals in the flesh trade, and it was very unusual to see them meeting together without a fight.
Trinity stayed in the shadows beyond the partially open door with his superior senses tracking each vampire’s movements and speech.
“He said, clear as you want to hear, that he couldn’t smell the vampire that’s been killing those bitches.” Trinity tilted his head with interest to Cull’s remarks.
“Fuck them, dirty Blacknall, not smelling us would be grand.” Trinity’s eyes drew to slits at Mongrel’s words. The whore-keeper vampire was a slab of fat. Trinity always imagined Mongrel was angry at being turned in such a corpulent state, compared to all the beautiful vampires about.
“What I want to know, Mongrel,” Cull spat, leaning toward Mongrel with bared fangs, “How’d any blood get the secret? We swore a vow between us no one else would know. And I ain’t told.”
Growling started between the two leaders, in addition their broods, and Mongrel lashed out gutturally. “I didn’t give anyone the wolfsbane!”
Trinity seeped back against the wall with the word, “Wolfsbane,” on his lips.
The occupants of the room nearly started a fight, which was irony upon itself, because they were all dead with little blood to shed. However, the humanity of a man never quite left. The terror of being harmed was always present.
Trinity thought about wolfsbane. It was obvious the lower caste had discovered a monumental instrument. He needed to decide whether to back away without being seen or to confront the lawless bastards. They were like corrupt adolescents, always needing to be monitored, because they could never come up with the right thing to do. What he and his brothers could not get through their thick skulls was that humans could and would kill vampires, if they became blatantly aware of their existence.
Trinity eased backward, turning, while keeping to the shadows as he left the hallway and reached the stairs. Use of wolfsbane was a powerful concealment. If he’d not see Mongrel lumbering up the stairs, he’d not have smelled the five vampire conspirators. That was shocking.
“They’d not smelled me either,” Trinity muttered beneath his breath.
He brushed away the advance of an emancipated blonde whore. It looked as if all the women in the brothel were opium whores. Trinity strode to the door. He knew this was one of Cull’s establishments and having all the women addicted to opium was just another mark to add to Cull’s growing list of offenses. He shook aside his distaste, knowing he and his brothers could not right all the unnatural evils.
“But if they couldn’t smell us coming …” Trinity sneered. He was going to take the information of wolfsbane to Baptiste. His brother would soon know how to use it.
***
Cull squeezed Mongrel’s obese neck with both hands. The fat vampire’s weight worked against him in a brawl. Yet Cull knew he had to make his own deception look good or Mongrel would find out he was the one that let out the secret of wolfsbane. For money of course. Lots of it.
It’d happened by mistake … or luck, maybe he thought of it that way. There weren’t many real vampires in high society circles. At least most of the bloods knew better than to turn nobles. But there were a few, and he was the unfortunate nob that turned one of them. Lord Fanton Rothschild. Fuck, that’d been one big mistake at the time he’d thought of as an opportunity. Now that noble fucking vampire that he’d sired was going to get him killed by the Blacknalls or Mongrel’s brood, unless he lied his ratty little ass off.
“You did it!” he yelled at Mongrel. “You did it! Say it.”
Clawed fingers grabbed him from behind and he let them pull him off Mongrel, while he snarled and spat, putting on a good show of confusing who to blame.
Mongrel coughed and sputtered. “If it weren’t you, then it was one of them.”
Cull allowed Mongrel’s new tactic, shaking free from the two of Mongrel’s blood, until everyone in the room stood hissing at each other. A standoff, just what he needed. Confusion.
Later, the only agreement they’d come to was to not tear each other apart. Just yet. Mongrel had left vowing if one of his brood had slipped the secret out, he would find them and stake them.
Cull looked at his blood, Quint, who glared back at him. “Better not be you,” Cull spat. “Now get out of my sight.” Quint snarled, but turned and left the room.
Cull walked to the window, looking out into London’s dank night, and then he slammed a fist through the wall next to the window, rattling it as pain shot up his arm. “Damn, Rothschild, I’m going to have to kill you to get out of this,” he swore.
He knew the question of who let out the secret of the wolfsbane would die down. It was going to be known eventually, but with all the talk about it, and Blacknall’s visits, he’d just realized Rothschild had to be the one mutilating all the w
hores. Something Trinity Blacknall had said about not being able to smell him.
“Fuck,” Cull growled.
The thing about Lord Fanton Rothschild was he was perverted even before he became a vampire. That’s how he’d turned Rothschild in the first place, after a knife fight and a fuck gone badly between Lord Rothschild and one of his more ballsy whores. God rest her ornery soul.
There’d been screaming galore that night. It was one of his high-end whorehouses, which catered to young and brash nobles. Nobles that had plenty of money but not much conscience. It was his main whorehouse, and of course, he’d been there that night. When the screaming started, he’d had to stop it quick. There’d been other nobles in the house.
He’d landed a punch to the Brighton whore that had found the massacre. Knocked the bitch’s screams right out of her, while he’d stood fighting his rising frenzy over all the spilled blood. Maybe that blood frenzy had taken his usually sharp mind and twisted it. All he knew was he’d walked in on a nobleman with a knife protruding out of his chest and a dead bloody whore at his feet. Something about the class difference between them had propelled him to turn the man before he died.
Cull could say it was because he didn’t want the Bow Street Runners on his ass. But he’d known even then his scheming mind had turned over the idea of having a nobleman in his pocket. So he had bit him and took part of his blood. That’d been the hardest part. Stopping. He’d forced himself to quit. Not many vampires had the strength of will to stop before taking it all. Then he’d made Rothschild taste his blood. It really took only a drop for the torture of turning to strike.
“Fucking nobleman,” Culled cursed, turning back into the room. He’d have to take care of Lord Fanton Rothschild before Blacknall found him. “Such a fucking waste,” he hissed.
***
Trinity entered Blacknall mansion from the roof. He didn’t like anyone predicting which direction he might arrive. Besides, the connections he had with his brothers worked both ways. They knew he was coming. He knew they were there, and he wasn’t certain he wanted to see Church. His elder brother had an unerring way of poking those areas he wanted left alone. Like Beth … whom he’d not stopped thinking about since he’d last seen her. Tasted her. Felt her. That had been a mistake.
It was as if he’d become a weakling. What was she doing? Was she all right? And those thoughts tempted him more beyond reason, and in places he shouldn’t go. Was she happy? Was she upset? Did her breasts look as young, firm, and as big as they’d felt? Trinity shook his head with a rumble curling in his throat. He’d had those soft breasts in his hand and in his mouth for a bit, but not near enough to imprint them on his mind. Only enough to dream …
What would a vampire and human be together? He stalked down the hallway toward the library, hoping to find Baptiste alone in his favorite haunt.
“I’d forever want to taste her and she’d forever be afraid I might,” he answered himself under his breath.
“Actually you could draw blood from her if you gauged when to stop and leave her healthy,” Baptiste announced before he stepped from the opened door of the library. Vampire hearing was acute.
“Make her a feeder?” Trinity hissed, showing his distaste.
“Not for your substance alone, but for both your pleasure. I’ve heard it could enhance pleasure,” Baptiste replied calmly, not the least piqued by Trinity’s quick aversion.
“You’ve heard?” Trinity asked, raising an eyebrow.
“It’s all about our willpower though. Are we strong enough to stop?” Baptiste continued, ignoring Trinity’s inferred insult.
“If those parasites in the lower east-end can stop before killing their feeders,” Trinity said. “We. Could. Stop.”
Baptiste held up his hand with his dark blue eyes turned serious. “That’s not the same, brother. They stop because they are sated. It’s scientifically lucky a vampire will be sated before a human will be killed. Of course much depends on each person’s weight and stature.”
Trinity gave Baptiste a rare half-smile. “Learning many things there, little brother.”
“There you are,” Church’s voice called out, preceding him down the hall.
Trinity grimaced, but stood his ground instead of walking away. He squared his shoulders, preparing for the onslaught of Church’s questions and opinions, so he was surprised when Church said nothing, but slapped a newspaper across his chest.
Reflexively, Trinity grabbed the paper, hearing Church say, “Better read this.”
Trinity didn’t like the tone in Church’s voice. He sounded apocalyptic. Trinity turned the folded paper over and saw the title, which inferred gossip. “You don’t expect me to read or care about this gossip tableau,” he said, nearly scowling with irritation.
“When your name, Lord Trinity Montrose is in it, I do,” Church snapped.
Trinity looked down, quickly finding his title as Marquis Montrose. He read the snippet, and then he flung the paper aside, while cussing sharply.
“This will ruin her,” Church stated flatly.
“I’d tell you to calm down if I knew what it was,” Baptiste interjected grabbing his arm. “Calm down, Trinity.”
Trinity realized his fangs were bared and his eyes were yellowed. No one harms Beth, kept reverberating through his mind.
“Interesting,” Church muttered, as if he were some type of experiment he’d concluded a theory about.
Trinity turned as though he was going to attack Church. One moment Trinity was hissing at Church and the next, he was thrown against the wall with Church’s hand squeezing his neck.
“She means this much to you,” Church demanded.
Trinity lashed his claws outward, raking Church across the neck and chest. Church merely sneered at him pushing him harder against the wall. Trinity knew he’d never beat Church, but that didn’t seem to matter to his fevered thoughts with Beth’s name pounding in them.
Chapter Seventeen
Beth never heard from her friend and she dared not arrive at Ariel’s home without invitation. In desperation, she simply stayed with the rented carriage after she dropped Adam off at the university. She had enough money put aside in her frivolous necessities fund so she negotiated a partial day and night from the carriage driver.
Some foreboding had been with her because she’d worn a ball gown hidden beneath her cloak as though she’d known a predicament was imminent. Adam had never suspected, and now she did need it, so it had been a good idea. She wondered about her hair, but decided she would have plenty of time inside the carriage to fix it for a ball.
“Really, I just have no idea what I’m going to do with all this time,” she said, commiserating with herself. Then an idea formed and she got the driver’s attention, saying, “Take us to Arbor-Cannon Church.”
She would seek solace, something she very much needed to cool her thoughts and help temper the evil she’d been so close to. Perhaps she might find an evening sermon there.
An hour later, she did find a sermon from an inspiring rector whose voice alone filled her with renewed hope. She remembered, as she sat in a pew toward the back of the ornate church, that this rector and his church had been recommended to her. It was the same one she’d told Adam about. “What providence,” she thought, clasping her hands together as she bowed her head in prayer.
One would think she would pray for goodly outcomes to her circumstances, however, that wasn’t what she reverently petitioned for with increasing fervor. Trinity. He was what she supplicated her soul for … Please God, rip him from my thoughts. Take this hellacious need for him from me.
For all this time, he was never far from her thoughts. She could still feel his provocativeness and power pursuing her. She tried so hard not to think about last night. The way he’d touched her. The way she’d allowed him to and even arched her body toward him for more. It was indecent.
“Lady Winslow?”
“Oh,” Beth exclaimed, startled by the man’s voice coming so close to h
er meditations. She clutched a hand to her chest, looking up. She thought for a second it was Trinity. She blinked several times. No, there was a goatee and the hair was blonder and shorter, but the rector standing before her in the aisle was a younger version of Trinity.
“I did not mean to startle you,” he said with a voice of velvet. This was the man whose sermon so inspired her.
She should have been demure before a man of the cloth, but she blurted, “How do you know me?” Even as she asked the question, some remembrances were startling her.
“I know your life must feel in turmoil now,” he said, completely avoiding her question, “However, I want you to know that God can comfort those of us who seek.”
“Thank you, Father.” Beth inhaled slowly, mesmerized by his words and their tone.
“I am Father Christian, my lady. I hoped to also ask after your brother.”
“Adam?” she questioned stupidly. It came to her why Father Christian must know Adam … know her. She gripped the top of the pew in front of her. Was Father Christian a vampire? Everything inside of her screamed he was. Trinity’s blood spoke of it, throbbing in her veins.
“H-He’s fine,” she managed through her shock. A man of God?
“I am glad to hear that, his devotion to you greatly impressed me.”
Beth felt his sincerity; he meant every word. She found it very hard to reconcile how he acted with what he was. Trinity and his brother were opposites, like night and day. Trinity was earthy and raw, where his brother was soulful and compassionate. She realized suddenly that just because Trinity was a vampire didn’t mean his brother was. The thought relaxed her slightly as she looked at his perfect handsomeness, where Trinity was edged and chiseled, but no less handsome.
“I will tell him you asked after him, if you like,” she offered. For some reason, she wanted to keep talking to him and she wished she really could speak to him about everything.
“You must. I would be grateful. Perhaps you can bring him with you here next time; I do pray you will come back.”