Demon of Mine

by Ranae Rose

  We have your wife… the words cut through his half-formed daydreams of reunion. …and intend to hold her until due payment is rendered in the sum of ten thousand pounds. For a moment he stared down at the note, marveling at the first sentence as if it were some new, unfathomably obscene phrase he’d never heard before. Then his mind began to work again, and rage gripped him. He read on, committing every violent promise and twisted requirement to memory. Finally, he knew what had happened to Elsie. It almost felt worse than ignorance.

  He pushed the door open, storming inside. That someone had dared to steal his wife away to exploit for ransom… He ground his teeth, regretting that they were short and blunt, as they always were during the daytime. He would have preferred wicked points, fangs that could pierce and tear, drawing blood. He’d never felt more like using his immortal strength to rip someone apart. For once, he relished the thought of becoming the demon he was reputed to be.

  A maid wielding a broom leapt out of his way as he rounded a corner, crushing the ransom note in one fist while he took long, angry strides. The ten thousand pounds was nothing, of course. He would gladly give up the world for Elsie, if that was what it took to get her back. But the kidnapper who’d written the letter – the twisted fool who’d come up with the entire plan – didn’t know him at all. He’d sooner die than render payment and then lounge around his house, pulling out his hair and twiddling his thumbs as he waited for the kidnapper to make good on his end of the bargain. No, he would not leave it to the criminal to decide whether or not to mutilate and burn Elsie anyway after taking the money. He would find her himself and bring her safely home – after he destroyed the fool who’d taken her.

  A particularly strong odor met his nostrils as he passed by the kitchen door. Normally he would have been indifferent to the aroma of roasting meat, but today the cook had let it begin to burn. The smell of searing flesh, animal or no, made his stomach turn. He could remember the stench of charred human all too well – among his memories of the night he’d saved Elsie from the house fire, the stink of it all was most vivid. He’d managed to rescue her then, had dragged her out of the flames’ reach. Now a stranger dared to threaten to reduce her to ashes. Such an end would be kind in comparison to what he’d do to the bastard when he caught him. With thoughts of revenge fueling him, he left the stink of burning flesh behind, hurrying down a corridor and emerging into the large open area that spread out from the foyer. He turned toward the sitting room. Maybe someone would be waiting for him there with news.

  “Damon.” Lucinda rose from the sofa when he entered, her silken skirts rustling. “We’ve been waiting for you.”

  ‘We’ apparently included Lucinda and the maid by her side, a red-haired young woman who rose to stand beside Lucy, looking every bit as tense as she did.

  Damon tightened his fist, squeezing the ransom note into a hard ball. “Do you have news?”

  Lucinda nodded. “We must speak somewhere private.”

  “Tell me now, and may privacy be damned.” There was no time for secrecy. Let the servants gossip. What did it matter?

  Lucinda glided forward and laid a hand on his arm. “It will be well worth every second if you come with me to the library, I promise. I believe I know where Elsie is.”

  Though it hadn’t beaten since he was sixteen, his heart leapt in his chest.

  “I know more than just her location. Come.” She pulled gently on his arm.

  Damon glanced askance at the maid who stood a few scant feet from his sister. The girl was staring at him, her blue gaze bold and unabashed. Anger boiled in the pit of his stomach as he looked at her pale, unflinching face. How dare she watch and listen so shamelessly, as if his misery were a private drama and she the only person in the audience? “You are dismissed,” he said curtly.

  “She will come with us to the library,” Lucinda said, lowering her voice. “She’s the one who found Elsie. Damon, she knows about us.”

  He spared the maid another glance, this one incredulous. “She knows?” He sighed, too anxious to contemplate what would have been a shocking revelation, under normal circumstances. “Very well. Let us go to the library. Quickly.”

  “Damon.”

  Damon turned toward the sound of the familiar voice and found himself a few scant yards from his mother, who had appeared in the sitting room doorway. Her appearance was perfect, from her pristine, unwrinkled gown to her elegantly arranged hair, but there was an unusual look in her eyes – a hint of something – could it be pity? Damon balked at the notion, sure that if she felt sorry for anyone, it was him, not Elsie. He deserved his sorrow for being foolish enough to abandon his wife with a killer on the loose. Elsie, however, was innocent – a victim of his carelessness. “Yes, mother?”

  “I wanted you to know that your father has hired a detective. He’s the best London has to offer.”

  “I know.” Damon held his tongue, resisting the urge to say that he hardly trusted a single man to find his wife. His father was probably more concerned with whoever had forced their way into his house than Elsie. A broken window had been discovered on the first floor, where the person who’d killed the footman and abducted Elsie had apparently entered.

  “We will render justice, Damon. You needn’t fear that we will allow the killer to escape punishment.”

  “It is my hope that Elsie is not dead, and my intention to bring her back alive.” He didn’t mention the letter – time was too precious to waste explaining the situation to his mother, who wouldn’t be any help. He stared at her, willing her to leave so that he could rush to the secrecy of the library with Lucinda and the housemaid.

  “Of course.”

  An awkward moment of silence stretched between them, causing Damon to fear that he might spontaneously combust with impatience if his mother didn’t leave. Every second that ticked by was a moment wasted.

  “I don’t know if it helps,” his mother said, opening her hand to reveal a small object, “but I found this among the glass shards in the corridor where the window was broken.”

  Damon peered down at her palm, a hint of curiosity diluting his anger. A small scrap of red fabric stood in stark contrast to his mother’s porcelain skin. He touched it lightly, letting the expensive silk glide across his fingertips. “Perhaps it’s a scrap from the kidnapper’s clothing.” A strange bit of material to be torn from a man’s ensemble – a bit of a particularly fine kerchief, perhaps? It didn’t matter. Lucinda knew the abductor’s identity. “Thank you for showing me, mother.”

  “Do you want it?”

  “No. I’ll remember its appearance well enough.”

  “Very well.” She closed her hand, hiding the crimson scrap. “See that you’re mindful of your own safety. Don’t do anything rash.”

  He said nothing as she turned and glided down the hall. His own safety was the furthest thing from his mind, but he wasn’t about to ignite an argument. “Come,” he said, resting a hand on Lucinda’s arm as soon as his mother had disappeared. “To the library.”

  Normally, the slightly musty smell of books soothed Damon. As he stepped into the library, it set him on edge. Elsie’s absence was a wound that nothing, save her return, could heal, least of all the scent of aging pages. He turned wordlessly to Lucinda as the maid pulled the door shut, affording them the privacy necessary to speak freely.

  Lucinda cut mercifully to the chase. “Jenny was out for a Sunday walk when she spotted someone she thought was suspicious and gave chase. She ended at a townhouse in a rather shabby part of the city, where she is convinced that Elsie is being held. After listening to her story, I am quite disposed to believe her.”

  “Someone suspicious? Who?” Damon clenched his fist even more tightly around the letter, crushing it, his ire fueled by the sudden promise of Elsie’s captor’s name.

  “Véronique Renard.”

  It had been years since Damon had actually seen Véronique Renard, who he’d only met once, but that didn’t matter. Stories tumbled through his mind
; disgusting tales that had made him hate her just for being a Renard. The infamous family had made Paris their own private hell – the city’s crime rate would practically be cut in half if it weren’t for its immortal residents, among whom the Renards were the most prominent. “You’re sure?” He thought of the scrap of red silk – it could easily have come from a fine lady’s dress.

  “I saw her with my own eyes.” The maid – Jenny, Lucinda had called her – stepped forward, her pale eyes shining with solemn conviction. As if she’d been waiting for an opportunity to enter the conversation, she spilled her secrets in a rush. “She has a partner – a man, an Englishman, though I don’t know his name. I heard them arguing about the three murders; the ones where the victims’ hearts were cut out. Véronique was responsible for those. She said she killed those people to lure you away from Elsie.”

  A sharp pain twisted through Damon’s chest as Jenny delivered the blow so matter-of-factly. He’d acted like a fool, walking into the trap like an ignorant animal to slaughter. What a poor husband he’d been. Elsie deserved better. “Did you see Elsie?”

  “No.”

  “Did they speak of her?”

  “Yes, a little.”

  “What have they done to her?”

  “I don’t know.” Jenny displayed her hands in a plaintive gesture. “Véronique and her partner…they mostly bickered. They spoke of the murders, and of the man killing his own brother, and something about a letter.”

  Damon slowly unfurled his fist, revealing the mangled ransom note. “I’ve received the letter.” He thrust the wrinkled piece of parchment toward his sister, suddenly eager to be rid of it. The maid sidled up to Lucinda’s elbow, craning her neck to read along with her. Lucinda gave no sign of having noticed, let alone annoyance. They both finished at about the same time and looked up with wide-eyes. Jenny was nearly pale enough to be a vampire herself. “Where did you get this?” Lucinda asked.

  “It was tacked to the door at the servants’ entrance around the back of the house. It was there when I arrived just a few minutes ago.”

  Lucinda laid a hand on Damon’s arm. “Ten thousand pounds is not an impossible sum. I’m sure father will agree. I know he and mother were shocked by the marriage, but they are not cruel. As mother just said, father has already hired a detective to search for Elsie and—”

  “The sum does not matter. I will not hand over the ransom and leave Elsie to Véronique and her accomplice’s mercy. You know about the Renards’ reign of terror in Paris. Fairness is not in their nature, nor is honesty.”

  “I was only trying to think of Elsie’s safety, but I suppose you’re right.” Lucinda glanced to the side as she spoke, as if she were interested in the view the large widow at the end of the room afforded.

  Damon knew better. “You were not thinking of Elsie’s safety. You were thinking of mine.”

  Lucinda met his eyes again. “I know you intend to charge to the rescue as soon as I give you the address, but think of the—”

  “Of course I do! She’s my wife. And she’s your sister. How could you? I’d thought better of you, Lucy.”

  “I am not pleased that she’s been taken. She is my sister, but you are my brother. Confronting the kidnappers will be dangerous for both of you.” She lifted her chin and gave him a level look. “I’m not ashamed to admit that I loathe the thought of losing you both.”

  Damon ground his teeth, craving the darkness that would transform them and give him the strength to exact the revenge he could almost taste. “I assure you, I will never again be pleasant company if my wife is murdered. You’re wasting your time if you think you can convince me to render payment and wait around for Véronique to spare Elsie’s life.”

  “I thought you’d say as much. If that is your decision, then I will of course go with you.”

  “That will not be necessary. I—”

  “You’re wasting your time if you think you can convince me to stay behind.” She shot him a self-satisfied half-smirk.

  Damon raked a hand through his hair and gave in with an exasperated sigh. “Fine.” He wasn’t going to waste valuable time arguing. If Lucinda wanted to accompany him, then so be it. “Let us depart, then. What is the address?”

  “Don’t you think it would be wisest to wait until sunset?”

  “No. I see no reason not to leave this very minute. Now don’t toy with me – tell me the address.”

  “I will, if you’ll only hear me out for one minute.” She plunged on before he could object or agree. “You wouldn’t put Elsie’s fate in human hands, would you?” She answered for him. “Of course you wouldn’t. But as long as the sun shines, you and I are little better than mortals. It would be foolishness not to wait for nighttime, when we are stronger and faster – much more capable of succeeding in the task we are about to undertake. I know you are anxious to rescue your wife, as any good husband would be, but you mustn’t let your eagerness cloud your judgment.”

  “I would believe you Lucy, if our enemies were not every bit as immortal as we are. They too will be weakened by the daylight and will hold no advantages over us. We are strengthened by the night, but so are they.”

  Lucinda fixed him with an imploring gaze. “What of healing? Our bodies cannot repair themselves during the daytime. Any injuries we – or Elsie – sustain will have to be endured until nightfall. We both know how much easier it is to kill a vampire during the daytime because of this. Think of Elsie. Suppose they harm her. Wouldn’t you rather it be done after the sun sets, when her body will be able to resist?”

  “I would rather she not be harmed at all, which is why I’m so anxious to go to her.” He turned on his heel, refusing to look at Lucinda, if for no other reason than because she was right. “Sunset is still hours away…” He glared at the window, hating it for the bright light it admitted. Resisting the urge to run out into the streets and blindly search every nook and cranny of the city for Elsie had been difficult enough. Now that he knew he could go directly to her, it was almost impossible to remain still long enough to listen to Lucinda and Jenny explain what they had learned.

  “I know,” Lucinda said, settling a hand on Damon’s shoulder, “but we shall use the time wisely. We shall prepare for tonight’s mission.”

  Jenny interrupted by clearing her throat, which was just as well, for Damon had run out of reasonable arguments. “Yes?” he asked, more sharply than he had a right to, considering that it was thanks to the maid that Elsie had been found in the first place.

  “Begging your pardon sir, but there’s one thing you should know. The man who’s aiding Véronique is not immortal. At least, I don’t think he is. He spoke as if he were human.”

  Strange that Véronique should choose a mere mortal for an ally. Strange, but fortuitous. “Lucy, are you sure you still want to come? It seems I would not be outnumbered, were I to go alone.”

  “Of course I’m sure.” She stepped between him and the window and fixed him with a stubborn look he knew well.

  “Then the two of us will go together, and Elsie shall be back here before midnight – I swear it.”

  Chapter 20

  The herbal tea must have been losing its effectiveness, for Elsie woke, for the first time since her abduction, from a dream. Before, her sleep had been deep and devoid of fantasy. This time she’d dreamt of Damon, so vividly that she could still feel the silk of his hair between her fingers. Real as it seemed, the empty ache in her core let her know it had only been an illusion. She relished the phantom sensations as long as she could, squeezing every bit of life from the memories before they evaporated like fog beneath sudden sunlight. When they were gone she forced her heavy eyelids open, only to be greeted by the dark inside of the sack that had been pulled over her head.

  At least she’d been able to wake. The last thing she remembered was the shock of seeing Lord Griffith and her failure to convince him to release her. Who knew how much time had passed since then? She might not be waking up each time between doses. She ha
d no way of knowing, which meant she had no idea how much time she had left. The ransom letter’s strict timeframes and harsh threats were burned into her memory. Closing her eyes, she fought to clear the mental fog from her mind. Her headache was gone – did that mean it was nighttime? – but her head throbbed anyway with fatigue, blurring her thoughts if she let them wonder. It was a sound that brought her to full, incredulous consciousness.

  She sat up straight, automatically testing her bonds, which were still as tight as ever. The sounds were low and rhythmic, almost steady. They seemed to be emanating from what she’d come to think of as ‘the next room’ – the place where Griffith was apparently fond of sleeping and Véronique seemed to like harassing him. By the sound of it, they’d finally stopped bickering. Instead of reprimands and defenses, there were passionate groans, accompanied by creaking floorboards. Elsie’s eyes bulged, despite the fact that she couldn’t see anything. Véronique and Griffith were…rutting? ‘Making love’ didn’t quite seem the right term, though the act certainly added a whole new facet to their unlikely partnership. Elsie sat for a moment in stunned silence before it occurred to her: if she was ever going to attempt to escape, now was the time. She was bound hand and foot, but there was a window. If she could manage to stand, she might be able to throw herself through the glass, chains and all.

  ****

  “Only a couple more blocks and we’ll be there,” Jenny said, puffing as she jogged to keep up with Damon and Lucinda’s quick strides. The maid had stubbornly insisted upon accompanying them, convinced they would need her guidance to find the place where Elsie was being held captive. She gave excellent directions, leading them down darkened, winding streets with confidence. Still, her thoroughly human speed, or rather lack thereof, slowed them. Damon forced himself to maintain a pace the poor girl could keep up with, though every restrained step added fuel to his burning ire.

  “There it is.” Jenny stopped on a street corner, breathing deeply as she pointed to a townhouse at the end of a row. Of relatively low quality in the first place and in poor repair, it hardly seemed an ideal headquarters for a high-stakes kidnapping operation. Perhaps that was its appeal – Damon never would have looked at the lackluster house and guessed its purpose.