by Nancy Morse
With one arm wound tightly about her waist supporting her weight, he bent her over backwards, exposing the column of her throat. His mouth went first to her exposed breast, to the engorged nipple that strained up at him.
“That’s right, luv,” she crooned. “Ya do that so good. The best I ever had. Oh!” she exclaimed when his teeth nipped her too hard. “Yer a hungry little devil, ain’t ya?”
“More than you can know,” came his deep-throated response.
His mouth moved slowly from her breast, licking the salty flesh that led to her throat and pausing to linger at the pulsing on the side of her neck. He could feel the blood coursing through the artery that pumped just beneath his lips, hear the rhythm of it , smell the sweet scent of it beneath the repugnant odor of her unwashed body. He was deaf to her fabricated moans of pleasure. All that mattered was the hunger, so bad now that it was a palpable pain.
The smile she gave him when she thought she’d found her mark froze upon her face. Her eyes flared wide and disbelieving when his mouth clamped on her throat and the animal fangs pierced the skin. Her body writhed and her legs shook violently, but he would not release his iron hold. He had to drink, not just to satisfy the terrible age-old hunger, but to convince himself that he was indeed as vile a creature as Prudence Hightower asserted him to be and that he’d been right to cast her away to save her from the evil that was himself. Most often, he drank like a man wandering too long in the desert, in great, breathtaking gulps, as if the means to his salvation lay in the very last drop of blood. But tonight he hesitated, and in that moment of hesitation, he was lost.
He lifted his head to take a breath and chanced to look into the whore’s eyes. He froze. By the light of a random moonbeam he could see that her eyes were blue. Another pair of blue eyes loomed into his consciousness, staggering him with the memory. Visions of Prudence came back to him, each one as sharp as a knife, the burnished gold of her hair, her smiling eyes, the somber grays and browns of her dresses, the flush of embarrassment that turned her cheeks rose-red. Suddenly, he was no longer thirsting for blood. The few drops he had taken from the whore sat now like wet poison upon his tongue.
The woman was in a deep swoon, hanging like lead across his arms. He dropped her to the ground where the low-lying fog swallowed her up. Wiping the blood from his lips with the back of his hand, he stepped over her prostrate body and stumbled out of the alley.
What was happening to him? He’d never before left a victim alive. It wasn’t that he was concerned that she would tell others what had happened to her—who would be crazy enough to believe it? At best, it would be assumed she’d been the target of a vicious footpad. At worst, she would be dismissed as a madwoman.
The fresh infusion of blood that he needed to strengthen him would have to wait. His face grew paler as he made his way through the streets. A shriek of laughter from a darkened corner spilled into the night. His thoughts turned back to Edmund de Vere. Where was he hiding? From the music master he had learned the location of the pewterer’s shop and living quarters. When he’d gone there, a sign on the front door read “Closed”, with no further explanation, and the rooms de Vere leased above the shop had been vacant, the bed unslept in. The odor of garlic hung heavy in the air. What a fool the pewterer was to think a garland of garlic was protection against a force as powerful as him.
The alchemist had said to be on the alert for fire, but the night air carried no such scent to his nostrils. In a few hours it would be dawn. Frustration tore at him. A great, mournful howl pierced the night. Windows were thrown open and frightened residents poked their heads out. But there was no sign of a wolf anywhere on the street below, only the solitary figure of a man in a dark cloak hurrying through the fog.
He arrived home and took the stone steps two at a time. He was about to enter, but stopped. Tacked to the front door was a note, its edges fluttering in a faint breeze.
What you seek can be found at the distillery.
Nicolae leaned closer and sniffed the paper upon which the note was written. His nose wrinkled in distaste and his lips curled into a snarl at the scent of lead, the kind used in pewter ware.
He swiped the note from the door with a savage gesture. With untamed grace and speed he headed in the direction of the distillery.
***
Prudence crawled painfully awake out of unconsciousness. She tried to lift her hands to massage the pounding at her temples with her fingers, but found she could not. She opened her eyes to darkness all around her and gasped at the feel of rope binding her wrists to the sides of the cot upon which she lay. Her fingers clenched and her wrists curled in a futile attempt to loosen the bonds. Her head felt like lead when she lifted it and peered down the length of her body. Through the darkness the outline of her legs showed beneath the musty woolen blanket that covered her. The air she breathed was dry and dusty at the back of her throat, and when she opened her mouth to speak only the barest semblance of a moan emerged. What was happening to her? Where was she? Why did the air all around her reek of juniper berries and the pungent smell of grain spirit?
She tried to focus her thoughts on the last thing she remembered, but her mind was clouded. It was like trying to maneuver through the London fog, with each footstep not knowing what the next would bring, like a blind person feeling her way through the darkness. And then, as if emerging from the shroud of fog, Nicolae’s handsome face came to her troubled mind, green eyes blazing at her through patches of moonlight. With an onrush of pain, the cold, callous words that had issued from his sensual mouth came back to her. Her friendship meant nothing to him. Tears welled and spilled from the corners of her eyes. Oh, how she hated him.
Another intrusive memory jarred her consciousness. It was of standing alone on the slate footpath feeling utterly humiliated. And then what? There seemed to be something more, but she could not visualize it. Something hovered on the periphery of her consciousness, hidden in shadow. Someone was speaking to her, but who?
“I see you’re awake.”
Yes, that was the voice she’d heard. She opened her eyes and turned her head toward the voice that spoke now, and blinked.
Edmund. Oh God.
The sight of him brought on a tidal wave of distressful flashes of something she dared not remember.
By the light of the single candle he carried he looked distant and shadowy. She blinked harder to clear her vision of the cobwebs that prevented her from focusing on him. Was that a smile on his face? No, it was not a smile at all, but a sneer, a contemptuous, scornful uplifting of his lips that looked even more hideous above the dancing flame. Her face turned bone white.
In an excruciating rush it all came back to her—his odd behavior in the carriage, the vial of liquid that he insisted she drink, the bitter taste of it upon her tongue, the sudden collapse into unconsciousness. And then, nothing, until a few moments ago.
Her head spun, and her voice, husky and weak, sounded like a stranger’s to her ears. “Wh…what have you done to me?”
“Only what was necessary,” came his emotionless reply.
“Necessary? For what?” She tried to rise, but her bound wrists forced her back down onto the moth-eaten cot. “Why am I tied like this?” Her stomach seized and she thought she would be sick, but with each breath she took her strength grew and her temper rose. “Answer me, Edmund!”
He approached and looked down at her. “What better way to trap a rat than to bait the trap?”
Realization shot through her. He was referring to Nicolae.
“What has he done to you that you hate him so?” she questioned.
“To me? Nothing personally. To my ancestor who had the blood drained from his body, now, that’s a different story.”
Pru stared at him, dumbfounded. “Then you know what he is?”
“A vampire? Oh yes. My family has known for centuries about the creatures. We have sworn to destroy them wherever we find them. This particular sadistic creature has been a thorn in my side. I’ve be
en hunting him for a long time. But I grow weary of this hunt. It’s time to put an end to it when he gets here.”
Pru sank back onto the cot. “We parted under very bad terms. He won’t come.”
“Perhaps not. In which case, I’m sorry to say, dear Prudence, you will be just another unfortunate woman to disappear off the streets of London without any trace.”
A chill careened down her spine. “You would kill me?”
He gave a negligent shrug. “A small price to pay for ridding the world of evil.”
“Now who is the sadistic creature?”
“I have an oath to fulfill,” he said. “I do what I must.”
“Even if it means killing innocents?”
“Do you think he differentiates?”
“He has no choice,” she argued. “He cannot help what he is. But you, Edmund, you do have a choice. You can control your actions. You’re not a killer.”
“Ah, there’s the rub. You’re right. I’m not a killer. Not of humans, anyway. But you chose a killer over me, didn’t you?”
“Is that what this is all about? Your pride is wounded? I have not chosen anyone. I choose merely to be free.”
“You have changed,” he charged. “You were not so argumentative before you met that fiend. You were quite content to be my wife.”
“No!” she exclaimed. “You’re wrong. I was never content to be your wife. I only thought I would be. He did nothing to me that was not already in my nature yet which I had suppressed for far too long. If you are angry with anyone for the failure of our relationship, Edmund, be angry with me.”
“Oh, I am,” he replied smoothly. “Which is why, after tonight, you will be but a memory to me. A mistake, if you will. As far as that creature goes, if he does not show up, it doesn’t matter, for I know where he lives.”
Pru was afraid, not only for herself, but also for Nicolae, the hunter who was now the hunted. In a voice choked with fear, she asked, “Who told you?”
“Your aunt. I was surprised that she was not out with one of her young lovers when I called at your home the night after the concert. When I mentioned your father’s pupil, the one with the green eyes, she became quite agitated. At first I attributed her behavior to your disappearance, but then I realized it had more to do with that fiend than with you. She positively abhors him, for what reason, I cannot imagine, for she cannot know his true nature, unless, of course, you told her, and I sincerely doubt you did.”
“Of course I didn’t tell her,” Pru replied without masking her disgust.
“On the surface he certainly fits the mold of one of her preferred playthings,” Edmund ventured.
“My aunt is selective in the men she chooses,” Pru said, coming to Vivienne’s defense. “Perhaps she is not attracted to him despite his handsomeness.”
“Oh, come now, Prudence. All of London knows about your aunt’s penchant for young lovers. Why, she is the main topic of conversation at the working men’s club. Although, from what I hear, her extracurricular activities are not limited to men, if you take my meaning.”
“Edmund!”
“I am only repeating the whisperings of others,” he replied innocently.
“I don’t believe it. The worst thing she can be faulted with is not being the best judge of human nature. After all, she likes you well enough.”
He studied his fingernails for a moment, ignoring the barb. “It would be so much more convenient if he were to show up. Two birds with one stone, so to speak.”
“I told you, he won’t come. Not after the way he and I parted.
“Then I shall have to come up with another plan. And now, if you will excuse me, I have to prepare a large shipment of hollow-ware for the colonies.” He turned and walked away, taking the scant light with him.
“Where are you going?” she called after him. She could not keep her growing sense of panic from infiltrating her voice.
“Good-bye, sweet Prudence.”
“If you kill me, it will be on your soul for all time!”
But her words flung into the darkness brought no reply.
A door closed, solid, heavy, irrevocable, plunging her into a pit of terror. Was Edmund coming back to kill her? Did he mean to leave her here to wither away and die? Her thoughts spun out of control, hazy and disjointed one moment, sharpened by fear the next. Rage flood through her. Why had she not seen him for the monster he was? It all made sense now, why he claimed he would not be around much in the evening after they were wed. He would be out hunting vampires instead. And now that he knew where Nicolae lived, he would be laying in wait. If only there was some way she could warn Nicolae of the danger that stalked him. Oh, but why should she care? He was a heartless rogue for the way he had treated her, tossing her friendship away like a piece of rancid meat. Would he even give her death a second thought?
In the whole world, there was only one person who would grieve for her, and that was her papa. At the thought of him hot tears leaked from the corners of her eyes. Poor papa, who had borne so much sorrow and was now more than likely drowning in worry over her disappearance. What would become of him if she were not there to care for him? Aunt Vivienne was growing tired of being a caretaker and would probably return to Paris, and he would die alone in his bed, just as Pru was certain she was destined to die alone on a moth-eaten cot in the darkness.
Breathe, she ordered herself. Slow, ragged breaths of air filled with that strange juniper smell entered her lungs. Now, think. There must be a way out of here. There has to be.
She struggled against the ties that bound her, wincing at the pain of tender flesh rubbed to rawness. There was a chill against her skin, much like when the air strikes moist flesh, and she realized with a start that she was bleeding from her struggles. Blood seeped from the raw wounds at her wrists to stain the cot.
The thought of her own blood turned to tortured thoughts of Nicolae. With every breath she took she prayed he would come, but the part of her mind that retained a semblance of rationality knew he would not. Hope was in vain. Prayers useless. Hot, desperate tears slipped silently from her eyes and trickled down her face, flooding her mouth with salt. She made a little whimper, but the sound was lost amidst the terrified jumble of her thoughts. Staring up into the darkness, tears stinging her eyes, she wished silently to die.
The scurry of little feet threw a new terror into her. Rats were all around her, scuttling here and there in the darkness, dragging their skinny tails along the floor in their search for food. How long before the scent of her blood showed them the way to a tasty meal? How long before they began to gnaw on her flesh? And when she was finally discovered—if indeed she ever was—what would be left but an unrecognizable corpse with bones picked clean of flesh. A tremble such as she had never known went through her, shattering her sanity. She made a strange noise, a lament from a bleak and lonely place that echoed off the walls and bounced back at her. With a great shuddering breath, crying now for herself, she lay there in the sweltering darkness, too battered to care any more what happened to her.
She didn’t notice at first that the scurrying had ceased and the rats surrounding her had all come to a dead halt in their tracks, until a deathly silence infiltrated her numbed mind. Opening her eyes, she strained against the darkness to hear better, but all was silent and still. Had the rats deserted her? A wave a wild relief washed over her.
And then, as if on cue, there was a frantic dashing of little rodent feet this way and that. Running in all directions at once, squeaking in terror, the rats fled. For an instant she was almost sorry to hear them go, for now she was truly and utterly alone.
Or was she?
Through the stillness came a soft padding sound. She shut her eyes tight and trained her senses toward it. Had Edmund returned? No, that was not the tap of boots on the floor. What, then? The footsteps came nearer, then stopped. Into her nostrils came the smell of fur, like that of a wet dog. A bolt of terror shot through her. Had one of the feral dogs that roamed the city fou
nd its way in? It sniffed the air, and from its chest issued a deep, rumbling growl. It was then that she began to scream.
“Prudence! Prudence!”
Not even the sound of her name shouted desperately could staunch her shrieks and cries.
Hands were grabbing at her. The coarse rope snapped like thread and her wrists were freed. With irrational fear clutching at her, she sprang up and tried to run, but those hands held tight, refusing to let go.
“No! No!” she cried. Balling her fists she pounded at him, pummeling him with all the fury and fear and desperation that were in her, but still he would not relinquish his hold.
He held her tight against him, calling her name, softly now, like a mournful chant, over and over again, until it registered upon a remote part of her brain, and then her struggles began to subside. But it was not until she felt his stroking touch at her cheek, cold and familiar, that the realization sank into her, and she collapsed against him, sobbing.
CHAPTER 18
He hugged her to his chest, rocking her until her trembling body grew calmer, stiller, in his embrace. Gradually, the smell of fear receded until only a scent that was unmistakably female drifted into his nostrils, accompanied by the familiar perfume of her blood.
She whimpered a little, and a voice that was soft, almost childlike, spoke against the rough fabric of his shirt. “I was sure you wouldn’t come,” she whispered. “I thought I was going to die.”
“I’m here now,” he said reassuringly, “and you aren’t going to die.”
He lifted her hand and pressed a blood-moistened wrist to his lips. The ambrosia infiltrated his senses like a sugary confection. He could have taken full advantage of the circumstances and satisfied his dark hunger with the sweetest blood he had ever tasted, but a nobler impulse prevailed. He kissed the sanguinary wound and merely licked the blood from his lips.