My Lord Eternity (Immortal Rogues)

by Alexandra Ivy

  With a shake of her head she was pulling from his grasp. “I cannot. Not tonight.”

  He frowned in concern. “You are in danger. The traitors will do whatever they must to gain command of the Medallion.”

  “Please, Lucien.” She held up a hand that visibly trembled. “I can bear no more.”

  She spoke the truth. Even from a distance he could sens she Medae she was holding on by a fragile thread. If he pressed any further, she might shatter beneath the strain and panic. He could not allow her to lose her reason. Not when he had no notion what she might do.

  “I am sorry,” he said in low tones. “My last desire was to have you hurt by me.”

  She pressed her hands to her bosom, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. “We will talk in the morning.”

  “Yes.” He gave a slow nod. “Good night, my dove.”

  “Good night.”

  Lucien watched in silence as she unsteadily made her way from the room. His hands clenched at his sides as he battled his instinctive urge to keep her close to him. He did not want her out of his sight. Not when she was so clearly upset.

  What if she bolted during the night?

  What if she decided that he was crazed and called for help from Bow Street?

  What if she decided to rid herself of the troublesome Medallion and bring an end to her danger?

  What if . . .

  The potential for disaster swirled through his mind, but he made no move to follow Jocelyn. She had promised that they would speak in the morning, and he had to trust her. He owed her that at least.

  Instead, he moved to pour himself a measure of the fine brandy. The past half hour had proven to be the most difficult he had ever endured. Not only the realization that he had deeply wounded Jocelyn, but the knowledge that he might have irretrievably destroyed any hope of a future.

  With a jerky motion he sipped the smoky spirit, his features stark. Great Nefri. When had he started considering a future with Jocelyn?

  Was it when she had confessed her painful rift from her parents? When she had taken him to meet the young maidens she had helped to leave the streets? When he had witnessed her kindness to the poor children in the warehouse? When his lips had first touched her own?

  Perhaps it had been the moment he had first entered the house and caught sight of those proud, wounded blue eyes of hers.

  Whenever it had occurred, he was a fool.

  He had come here to protect her. And more important, to ensure that the traitors did not lay claim to the Medallion.

  Those should be his only thoughts until Amadeus was returned behind the Veil and Jocelyn was safe. Everything else would be a distraction that might very well prove to be disastrous.

  For all vampires.

  Polishing off the last of the brandy, he set the glass aside and moved to extinguish the candles. He had no need of light to keep careful watch through the night, and he knew that Meg would remain awake until she was certain that both he and Jocelyn had sought their beds. She was a servant from the old school, and no one could convince her that a nobly born person could possibly recall locking the door or properly putting out the fires.

  Moving silently into the hall, he crossed to climb the narrow stairs that would lead to the small garret. He had discovered that his window offered a fine view of the streets, and it was the most reasonable spot to keep guard over the household. And it also allowed him to give some rest to his earthly form.

  With his wits distracted by thoughts of Jocelyn, he had reached the door to his chamber, when he belatedly realized there was a faint scent in the air that could come from only one source.

  Instantly on the alert, Lucien slipped the dagger from ben sggeer peath his coat and held it firmly in his hand. A vampire was near. And he could think of only one vampire who would be awaiting him in the garret.

  With caution he pushed the door to his rooms open and stepped within. Although the narrow chamber was cloaked in darkness, his sight was easily able to penetrate the shadows. His brows tugged together as he realized that there was nothing to be seen.

  “Amadeus,” he growled in low tones, moving farther into the room. “I know that you are here. Show yourself.”

  A faint shimmer of mist suddenly appeared in a distant corner, and Lucien carefully hid the dagger behind his back. He did not trust the traitor. If Amadeus had become desperate, Lucien did not doubt for a moment Amadeus would do whatever necessary to rid himself of Lucien’s unwelcome presence.

  “Show your black soul,” he commanded roughly, watching the mist advance.

  There was no response, and an odd premonition sent a trickle of ice down his spine. Amadeus possessed the power of mist-walking, but there was something wrong. This mist was thickening as it approached, and darkening to charcoal color.

  Lucien slowly backed away, remaining before the door to ensure whatever was within the mist was not allowed to leave the chamber. He could not let this threat reach Jocelyn. No matter what he had to do.

  Coming to a halt, Lucien held the dagger before him. The mist began to spread, becoming a wall of thick fog. He sought to peer through the heavy shroud, but it was impossible. That sense of impending doom deepened as the mist neared, and Lucien fought the urge to rush back through the door.

  Whatever this was, he must somehow halt it.

  Jocelyn must be kept safe.

  That was all that mattered.

  Like a thick, icy blanket, the fog slipped about him, and Lucien discovered himself firmly trapped. The dagger fell from his hand as the chill cut straight to his heart and a moan of pain was wrenched from his throat.

  Bloody hell.

  It was a mist wraith. A spell that had once been in the command of the vampires but had been banished from the world centuries before. It was far too dangerous to all vampires.

  At the moment it merely held him in its tentacles. Once it had gained command of him, however, it would feed upon his spirit until he was nothing more than an empty shell.

  Lucien closed his eyes and battled to fight the panic that threatened to overwhelm him. To struggle would only hasten his demise. The creature would feast upon his heightened emotions. Only by remaining calm could he hope to discover a means of escape.

  Calm . . . Great Nefri.

  Chapter 11

  Jocelyn paced the cramped quarters of her bedchamber with uneven steps. Perhaps absurdly, she had hoped that being away from the disturbing presence of Lucien would ease her troubled heart.

  Instead, it had only darkened her already black mood.

  Vampires? Magical Medallions? Old gypsies who weren’t gypsies at all?

  It was enough to drive any poor maiden mad.

  But while her mind reeled with the effort to accept that vampires were not simply creatures of the imagination but real and living beneath her roof, in her mind it was Lucien’s betrayal that lingered.

  vggeerlacDear heavens, she had shared dinner with him, laughed with him, played games with him . . . shared passion with him.

  She had opened her past and revealed all the betrayal she had endured. She had opened her heart.

  And she had given her trust.

  And that was what hurt the most.

  She closed her eyes and sucked in a shaky breath. What was the matter with her?

  A man was in her home, claiming to be a mythological vampire. There was a deranged killer out on the streets, attempting to force her to hand over a Medallion that supposedly held the fate of the vampires. A Medallion that was altering her in a manner she could not even comprehend.

  And all she could think of was her disappointment that Lucien was not the gentleman she had thought him to be.

  Her near-hysterical laugh echoed through the room, and she pressed her hands to her face. Perhaps she was going mad. It would certainly be the preferable explanation for the horrid day.

  Preferable certainly to the thought that the man she loved was a vampire.

  Reaching the narrow window, she pressed her cheek to
the cool pane and closed her eyes. She should be thinking of what she intended to do. All too soon it would be morning, and she would be forced to face Lucien once again. She needed to consider whether she intended to demand that he leave her home or to accept his claim that he must be near to protect her.

  At the moment neither option seemed bearable.

  Having him near and yet knowing deep within that everything about him had been a lie was bound to be painful. Then again, if there were a traitorous vampire stalking her, did she truly desire to face him on her own?

  She heaved a sigh, wishing only to lie upon the narrow bed and put all of her troubles behind her. Come the morning, she might even manage to convince herself that this was all no more than a ghastly nightmare.

  “Miss Kingly.”

  The muffled sound of her name being called had Jocelyn abruptly opening her eyes. Dazed by the unexpected intrusion into her thoughts, she scanned the empty garden. There was nothing to be seen for a moment, and then, unbelievably, the slender shape of a young lad stepped from behind a bush.

  “Thomas,” she breathed as she hurriedly fumbled with the latch and threw up the sash. “What is it?”

  The urchin stepped forward into a shaft of moonlight to reveal a heavy bandage around his hand. “There was trouble at the warehouse. I need your help.”

  “Dear heavens. Do not move,” she commanded in urgent tones. “I will be down in a moment.”

  “Please, you must hurry,” he called.

  There was no need for his urging as she hastily turned to rush from her chamber and down the narrow flight of stairs. Poor Thomas. He always seemed so swaggeringly confident. So invincible. So very wise. It was quite easy to forget he was just a little boy. And now he had been harmed. It was insupportable.

  She moved to the back of the house and used the kitchen door to lead her into the garden. She nearly tumbled over her skirts in her haste, until at last she gave a hiss of impatience and hauled them well above her ankles to rid herself of their annoying tendency to cling.

  Only when she had actually left the house and entered the dark shadows of the night did she take note of the odd chill in the air. Only moments before she had been smothering in the unusual summer hea {al he dark t; now she could not ignore the prickles that raced over her skin.

  It was very strange, but she did not allow herself to be distracted. Thomas was in need of her help and she could not fret over a sudden coldness in the air.

  Coming to a halt beside the waiting lad, she gently took his arm in her hands.

  “Oh, Thomas, what has occurred?”

  He gave a faint sniff as he attempted to be brave. “A horrid man forced his way into the warehouse. I could not halt him, Miss Kingly. I am sorry.”

  Jocelyn caught her breath in horror. Was it the traitorous vampire that Lucien had warned her of? Had he concluded that slaying poor prostitutes was not as desirable as harming innocent children? The thought was enough to make her heart stop in fear.

  “No, Thomas, you should not even have attempted such a thing,” she said in appalled tones. “I cannot see to your injuries here. We must go inside.”

  Without warning he pulled his arm from her grasp, his grimy face set in lines of determination.

  “No.”

  “Thomas, do not be stubborn. You must have those wounds cleaned or they will fester.”

  “Not yet.” His eyes appeared feverishly bright in the silver moonlight. “The man is still at the warehouse.”

  “What?” she breathed in shock.

  “He has Annie.”

  “No.” Her eyes widened in disbelief. “Is she harmed?”

  “No, but the bugger has threatened to kill her.” Jocelyn struggled to think through the sudden cloud of terror that filled her mind. Not an easy task with the image of the tiny, fragile child in the hands of a bloodthirsty monster burning before her eyes.

  Every instinct urged her to rush to the warehouse and save the little girl. It was her nature to attempt to protect those who depended upon her.

  Only that sternly practical part of her nature that had saved her upon so many occasions kept her feet from mindlessly fleeing down the street. She could not face this monster on her own. Regardless if he were merely crazed or a vampire, she needed help.

  “We must go to Mr. Ryan,” she abruptly decided. Surely he was the logical choice. He was the only one in the position to put a final end to this villain. “He will be able to take this monster away.”

  Thomas gave a violent shake of his head, his expression fearful. “No, you cannot. The man said as you was to come alone.”

  Jocelyn froze at the unexpected words. She had presumed that Thomas had come to her because he realized she would be willing to help. It had never entered her mind that the man had actually sent the lad to fetch her.

  The chill in the air thickened, making her shudder with the sense of impending doom.

  “What do you mean?” she demanded in cautious tones.

  Thomas seemed to hesitate before he swallowed heavily. “He sent me to fetch you. He said you were to come alone and to bring the necklace.”

  “My necklace?”

  “That is what he said. We must hurry.”

  The necklace. So that was it. She gave an unconscious shake of her head. Lucien had been right. He had warned her the traitors would do whatever necessary to gain command of her Medallion. Now they had revealed precisely how desperate they had become.

  She may not desire to {notce t believe in vampires or magical Medallions, but she was left with no choice. She had to save Annie. No matter who or what might be threatening her.

  “What did this man look like?” she demanded in rasping tones.

  Thomas reached out to tug on her arm in impatience. It was obvious he did not approve of her wary caution.

  “A big man. With a knife. Annie is in terrible danger. Come on.”

  Jocelyn grimly held her ground. No one was more eager to rescue the poor girl than herself. But she was wise enough to realize that she could not do so alone.

  If it was a vampire holding Annie captive, then there was only one person who could be of help.

  “Hold a moment, Thomas. I must fetch Mr. Valin.”

  A surprising flare of fury rippled over the thin countenance. “No. He said alone.”

  Feeling a pang of sympathy at the boy’s desire to be on their way, she gave a faint sigh. No doubt Thomas was blaming himself for not being able to protect the other children.

  “This man is very, very dangerous, Thomas,” she explained in gentle tones. “We cannot face him without the help of Mr. Valin. I will be only a moment.”

  Reaching out to lightly pat his shoulder in a comforting motion, Jocelyn turned on her heel to return to the house. Despite her earlier feelings of betrayal toward Lucien, she could no longer hesitate to turn to him for assistance. Whatever had occurred between them, he was the one person she knew that she could depend upon in times of danger.

  He was the only one she desired at her side.

  She had taken only a step, however, when there was a sudden rush of wind behind her. The sharp breeze nearly knocked her to her knees, and she hurriedly turned to discover Thomas surrounded in mist.

  Unthinkingly she reached out, attempting to reach the boy before he was entirely hidden by the strange fog. But even as she did so, the mist was thinning and Thomas was gone. In his stead stood Vicar Fallow with an unpleasant smile twisting his lips.

  Her heart halted as she gazed at the familiar countenance in disbelief.

  It was not possible. It had been Thomas who had been standing before her. She would know his thin face and oversize ears anywhere. Indeed, she would have sworn on her grandmother’s Bible that it had been her young friend. People did not shift from one form to another.

  People did not, but vampires who possessed the powers of bloodlust might very well, a dark voice whispered in the back of her mind.

  Suddenly she understood her instinctive revulsion toward
the man who had pretended such a kindly interest in her. And the reason that he had so determinedly appeared whenever she happened to leave her home.

  Her heart resumed beating at a frantic pace. So frantic it nearly smothered her. Lucien had done his best to convince her of the truth of his words. And the danger that surrounded her. She simply had not wanted to listen.

  Watching the sudden panic that fluttered over her pale features, Vicar Fallow allowed a cruel chuckle to fill the air.

  “I fear that Lucien is otherwise occupied at the moment, Miss Kingly.”

  “Vicar Fallow,” she breathed, still reeling with disbelief.

  He offered a mocking bow. “At your service.”

  “You . . . you are the traitor.”

  “Traitor?” His f {tor/dieatures seemed to tighten at her insult. “Such an ugly word, my dear. I am a simple scholar.”

  Her hands pressed together. A thick, icy danger cloaked the air, making it difficult to think. She knew she should flee, but stark terror held her captive.

  “You are attempting to steal my amulet,” she blurted out, hoping to distract him long enough that Lucien might notice their presence in the garden and come to rescue her.

  A rather feeble plan, but the only one she possessed.

  He shrugged with indifference at her accusation. “A necessary inconvenience, I fear. My studies must continue, and for that I need the power of the Medallion.”

  “Studies?” She gave a blink of surprise. He had claimed to be a scholar, but it made no sense. He was a ruthless killer, was he not? “What studies?”

  “The search for the truth.”

  “How can the Medallion offer you truth?”

  His smile was edged with cruelty as he took a deliberate step toward her. “I do not believe you would care to know the precise details of my experiments. You have a peculiar fondness for even the lowest vermin that haunt the streets of London.”

  She shuddered at his evil words, but a welcome flare of anger rushed through her, awakening the courage that had briefly deserted her.

  She would not cower before this monster. Not after all the wickedness he had done.