My Lord Eternity (Immortal Rogues)

by Alexandra Ivy

  “It was you,” she stated in flat tones.

  He arched an arrogant brow. “Me?”

  “You are the one who killed Molly and those other women.”

  “Ah, but I cannot take full credit, my dear,” he drawled in a taunting fashion. “There would have been no need for such senseless slaughter if you had not proven so lacking in trust. I had hoped for a far more peaceful means of acquiring the Medallion.”

  She gave a fierce shake of her head. She had never desired anything but happiness for those women. It had been this horrid fiend who had harmed them.

  “No, I do not believe you. You are a monster.”

  The eyes abruptly glittered with a spark of anger. Clearly he did not like having the truth spoken so bluntly.

  “There is no need for insults,” he spat out in warning. “Indeed, I would suggest you take great care in how you address me. Your position at the moment is precarious at best.”

  Jocelyn had no need of the warning. Every instinct within her screamed with alarm. Never had she faced such menace. Such tangible evil.

  Still, she forced herself to meet that malignant gaze without flinching.

  “You cannot force me to give you the Medallion.”

  His thin lips twisted with annoyance at her daring claim. “No. Someday Nefri will pay for that bit of impertinence. But there are other means of acquiring what I desire.”

  Jocelyn swallowed the lump in her throat. She did not like the sound of that. Not the tiniest bit.

  “Other means?”

  “I have devoted my life to the finer arts of torture, my dear.” His eyes narrowed as her face paled at the unspoken threat. “As much as I might admire your spirit, there is little hope you will be capable of denying what I wish. At least not for long. You are, after all, a mere mortal.”

  She could not halt her instinctive step backward. Torture? {rd.nspokenDear heavens. Did she possess enough courage? Could she face pain and maintain her honor?

  With a wrenching effort she banished the heavy sense of doom that threatened to shroud her. She could not allow herself to give in to despair.

  “I may be a mortal, but Lucien is not. He will never allow you to harm me,” she forced herself to retort boldly.

  Without warning the man gave a dark laugh. The harsh sound sent a distinct chill down her spine.

  “I did warn you that he was otherwise occupied. He will not be able to join us, I fear. At least for the next century or so.”

  Her hands fell to her sides at his mocking words. “What have you done to him?”

  A smug expression descended upon his countenance. “During the course of my studies I have discovered several forbidden powers of the vampires. It was, of course, difficult to choose which would be the best for Lucien. He had to be punished for daring to interfere, and for causing me to remain in this stinking pit of a city while he protected you. I decided at last to be a trifle exotic. I called forth a spell that has been banned for centuries. No doubt it will be quite a shock for poor Lucien.”

  “No.” She regarded the vile man in horror. She knew nothing of vampire spells or what they might do, but she realized that Lucien was in terrible danger. The thought was enough to make her stomach tighten in agonizing knots. “Is he injured?”

  The man briefly closed his eyes, as if sending out his thoughts through the darkness.

  “He lives for now,” he retorted in indifferent tones. “But the mist wraith holds him in his clutches. It will not be long.”

  She barely prevented herself from launching herself at the smirking Vicar Fallow as her heart squeezed with grief. No. She could not bear for Lucien to die. It would be far worse than losing her own life. In truth, she did not know if she could bear the loss. She had to remain hopeful that he could somehow escape. It was that or go mad.

  “You are a beast,” she spat out in disgusted tones.

  “Perhaps.” He moved forward, his countenance cold with determination. “Now, I weary of your attempts to keep me distracted long enough for your rescue. A worthy ploy, but the night is passing. I am certain you understand my desire to be at our destination before dawn.”

  She barely noted his easy ability to read her pathetic ruse. Instead, she struggled with the implication that he was about to force her away from her home and any hope of salvation.

  “What destination?”

  His hand reached out to clutch her arm. She gasped as an icy pain flared through her muscles to the very bone.

  “You will soon discover.”

  “No. I . . . I will scream.”

  “And what will that accomplish?” Suddenly his face was far too close. His eyes seemed to sear into her very soul. “Lucien will not hear you, and any mortal that happens to rush to your rescue will be swiftly put to death. Do you truly desire another murder upon your hands?”

  “They are not upon my hands, they are upon yours,” she dared to say.

  “It is your decision. Do you come along quietly or do you desire to call for your housekeeper? I would no doubt find her a tasty morsel.”

  The thought of Meg halted the scream that threatened to rip from her throat. No matter what her terror, she could not risk the innocent woman. Poor Meg had {Poocreasacrificed enough to stand beside her. Jocelyn would not allow her to be harmed any further.

  “I will come.”

  “I knew I could depend upon you.” A thin white hand lifted to lightly stroke her hair, the oddly feverish eyes studying her as if she were a peculiar animal. “Such a remarkable young maiden. I intend to enjoy exploring you.”

  The caress was a repulsive mockery of Lucien’s soft touch, and without even thinking she abruptly turned her head to spit in the vampire’s face.

  “You are contemptible.”

  The hand tightened in her hair, forcing her head back until her neck was readily exposed. Her breath caught as she watched the narrow face approach, the moonlight glinting on the fangs that could suddenly be seen. This was it. She possessed no defense for the teeth that were poised to sink deep into her neck.

  She sent up a prayer as she prepared for the inevitable death, then, without warning, she was abruptly set free.

  The vampire regarded her with a twisted sneer. “Ah, you tempt me to forget the Medallion and slay you here and now. But I have plans for you, my beauty. Plans that I will not allow to be disrupted. Come.”

  His fingers dug into her arm and she was being roughly hauled toward the shadows. Suddenly realizing that she was not about to be murdered in her garden, she stumbled forward. She should no doubt be terrified that her death was not to be a swift, mindless affair. The horrid man had threatened to torture her without mercy. And to kill anyone who attempted to interfere.

  But oddly a numb fog had descended within her heart.

  She could feel no pain, no terror, and no thought of what was to come.

  Instead, the vision of an elegant bronze countenance with tender golden eyes filled her mind. It was almost as if he were reaching out to offer the strength she so desperately needed.

  Warmed by the vision, she kept it firmly in her thoughts as she was roughly hauled into the vampire’s arms and then tossed into the dark confines of a carriage. Landing upon her knees, she gritted her teeth.

  “Lucien,” she softly whispered.

  Lucien had known the moment Jocelyn had encountered Amadeus. It had not been a sense of the vampire, but, rather, the maiden’s sudden terror that had reached even through the thick mist that surrounded him and pierced his heart.

  At first he had struggled mindlessly to free himself from the clutches of the mist wraith. He had to halt Amadeus. He had to save Jocelyn before the desperate traitor could harm her. But even as he had struggled he realized that he was only ensuring that he would never survive long enough to reach her.

  With a grim effort he had forced himself to calm his frantic fear. He would not be able to help Jocelyn if he did not survive his encounter with the wraith. Until then he could only hope to calm her fears a
nd send out what strength he could to bolster her courage.

  Ignoring the pain that wrenched his body, Lucien forced the image of Jocelyn into his mind. Then, slowing his rapid breath, he sent his thoughts outward. It took but a moment before he could sense Jocelyn, and he silently called her name.

  “Jocelyn.”

  “Lucien,” she whispered, clearly unaware that he was more than a figment of her dazed fear.

  “Jocelyn, I am here.” He paused for a moment, allowing her time to accept that {o aer da he was truly able to speak with her. “What has occurred?”

  “I . . . I am with Vicar Fallow. He has forced me into a carriage and we are leaving the city.”

  Lucien’s heart twisted with agony. Even then she was being taken farther from him. Great Nefri, he had to win his way free swiftly if he was to rescue her.

  “Has he harmed you?”

  “No.”

  He briefly closed his eyes in relief. “Be strong, my dove. I will come for you.”

  “Lucien, he said that you are trapped by some spell.”

  He grimaced, wishing she did not realize he was not already in pursuit of them. The last thing he desired was for her to lose heart at the thought he would fail her.

  “I fear so,” he grudgingly conceded. “I bumbled into the trap laid for me like the veriest fool.”

  “Are you injured?”

  “Only my pride.”

  “He said . . . he said that it would kill you.”

  “I am not so easy to be rid of,” he swiftly retorted. “As you well know.”

  Even across the distance he could sense a brief flare of rueful humor at his teasing words. Then, just as swiftly, that dark fear returned.

  “You must take care. Do not do anything . . . impulsive.”

  He smiled wryly. She knew him all too well. “I will be careful. It is you who must be on your guard.”

  “I will try.”

  The uncertainty in her voice nearly sent him mad with terror. It was only with an effort that he did not scream out his frustration. Instead, he forced himself to keep himself grimly under control. Until he could manage to reach her, Jocelyn would be forced to keep herself alive.

  “Jocelyn.”

  “Yes?”

  “You must not give him the Medallion. As long as you possess it, he must keep you alive.”

  There was a long pause, during which Lucien could physically feel the panic she barely held in check.

  “I do not believe it will be so simple.”

  Neither did he. He could not forget the twisted, brutal delight that Amadeus took in killing his victims. He might have once been a genuine scholar, but he long ago lost all reason. His obsessive search for some mythical truth had turned him into a monster. A dangerous monster that had learned any number of unpleasant methods of hurting Jocelyn while still keeping her a breath away from death.

  “Just hold on, my dove,” he whispered, forcing the ghastly thoughts from his mind. He could not allow himself to be overcome with dread. Not when cold logic was the only thing that would save the both of them. “I am coming for you.”

  “Please hurry, Lucien.”

  “I will.” Knowing that he must end his contact with Jocelyn and concentrate upon freeing himself, Lucien allowed himself one last moment with the woman who had become a part of his very soul. “Jocelyn, I love you.”

  “I love you too.”

  A sharp welcome warmth flared through his frozen heart. He had not destroyed it all. There was hope left.

  “Then all will be well.”

  Chapter 12

  ~notcestify">

  The pain was near unbearable.

  Battling to remain conscious, Lucien could feel Jocelyn traveling ever farther away.

  He had to escape, he frantically told himself, pressing against the misty tendrils despite the biting wounds the wraith was inflicting. He could not fail. Not on this occasion. Jocelyn depended upon him. And even if it cost him his very soul, he would save her.

  It seemed a more likely prospect with every agonizing moment. The wrenching pain was sapping his strength even as the mist fed upon his spirit. His movements were slowing as the ruthless chill continued to clutch at his body. And worse, without the dagger he had no means of battling the encroaching darkness.

  Then quite unexpectedly there was the sound of loud footsteps upon the stairs.

  “Mr. Valin,” Meg called in her gruff tone.

  “No.” The word came out as a faint groan.

  “Mr. Valin, have you seen Miss Kingly? I cannot find hide nor hair of her.”

  “Return to your rooms,” he managed to croak. “Do not enter.”

  “What?” There was an impatient rap upon the door. “Are you in there?”

  “Go away,” he warned.

  “Not until you tell me what has happened to Miss Kingly.”

  There was a rattle of the doorknob, and Lucien attempted to press his weak form to the wooden panels. He would not have the poor housekeeper made into fodder for the wretched wraith.

  His efforts, however, were for naught as the mist sensed the warmth of a living being within his grasp. Lessening its grasp upon Lucien, it began to slip through the cracks in the door.

  It was all the opportunity that Lucien needed.

  Allowing his battered body to sink to the floor, he fumbled to find the dagger he had dropped. For a horrid moment he thought perhaps it had tumbled out of reach, then his seeking fingers closed around the smooth hilt. Without hesitation he struck out.

  The vampire-blessed blade easily slid through the misty form, making it cringe backward. Not about to lose his chance, Lucien struck again and again, his ears painfully pierced by the high inhuman screech of the wraith.

  With a last desperate attempt the wraith struck out, knocking Lucien’s head fiercely against the door. Darkness threatened, but with grim determination he held on, striking out with more haste than skill.

  At last there was a high wail and then in the blink of an eye the mist wraith was reluctantly retreating.

  For moments Lucien lay gasping upon the floor. His entire body trembled from the lingering wounds and his last desperate effort to rid himself of the wraith. In the hall he could still hear the calls of Meg but he was unable to move enough to allow her in.

  At last he dragged himself to his knees and sucked in deep, shuddering breaths. There was no time. He had to act. And he had to act swiftly.

  Using the doorknob he forced himself shakily to his feet and then wrenched the door open. The housekeeper tumbled into the room, her round face gray with fear.

  “What the devil is going on up here?” she demanded in weak anger. “There was some sort of smoke coming through the door.”

  “I have no time to explain. I must go after Miss Kingly.”

  “Go after? Where has she gone?”

  “She has been Sh to ekidnapped.”

  There was a loud gasp. “Dear God.”

  “Do not fear, I shall soon have her home,” he swore in low tones.

  Meg regarded him with narrowed eyes, seemingly noticing for the first time his rumpled appearance and unnaturally pale countenance.

  “You do not appear well yourself, Mr. Valin. Perhaps we should call for the authorities.”

  He gave a firm shake of his head. “No. I must do this on my own. But you might wish to have a hot bath and warm supper prepared for when we return.”

  “And a nice bottle of brandy,” she added in firm tones.

  “Yes.” He gave a weak smile before pushing himself from the door and making his way down the steps.

  He paused only long enough to collect the necessary money to rent a mount before he was out of the house and on his way to the nearby stables. He did not allow himself to contemplate what Amadeus might even now be doing to Jocelyn, or even what he would do when he eventually caught up with them. His only concern was catching up to them as swiftly as possible.

  In less than half an hour he had his horse and was on the fain
t trail of the carriage. It came as no surprise when he discovered himself being led out of London and down a narrow trail that appeared rarely used. Amadeus would have shrewdly discovered a place of privacy to attempt to coerce the Medallion from Jocelyn. He would never act in a hasty or impulsive manner.

  Dawn was not far off when at last he turned from the trail and crossed through a heavy copse of trees. Carefully making his way through the underbrush, he abruptly stumbled into a clearing. In the very center was an abandoned castle that had long ago fallen into disrepair. It would have been easy to presume that the ruin was empty, except that someone had quite recently taken the effort to board over the narrow windows.

  And, of course, the unmistakable tingle of awareness that assured Lucien that a vampire was nearby.

  Returning his mount to the cover of the trees, he tied off the reins and carefully turned to make his way to the castle. He was relieved to discover that Amadeus had not thought to bring any of his henchmen to act as guards, and he easily gained entrance through the heavy door.

  With silent steps he made his way through the small vestibule and moved to the nearby steps that led to the cellars below. With dagger in hand he inched his way downward, the sense of both Amadeus and Jocelyn growing stronger with every step.

  At last entering the cellars, he was abruptly halted as a loud scratch echoed through the air and a light bloomed to life. Standing in the center of the room, Amadeus glared at him in undisguised hatred.

  “Lucien,” the vampire rasped, the eyes glittering with a dangerous desperation. “What an unpleasant surprise. I thought you would be nicely disposed of by now.”

  Nonchalantly strolling forward, Lucien cast a covert glance about the clammy chamber. Along one wall were several dusty barrels and a rack that once held wine bottles. Farther away he could see an array of manacles, chains, whips, and more exotic instruments of torture that he could not even begin to name. His stomach tightened as his gaze at last discovered the narrow wooden table in a dark alcove where Jocelyn lay stretched on the surface with her arms tied above her head and her legs tightly bound together.