At first the blood trickled out of the corners of his mouth and ran down his face to pool in his hair. Tears welled up in her eyes. Was she too late? But then, his chest rose as he took a shuddering breath. A current passed between them.
His eyes snapped open and his fangs pierced the tender flesh of her wrist. She sighed in relief even though her heart felt as if it would be tugged out of her breast as he began to suck her blood in long, greedy pulls. “I love you.”
The edges of her vision tinged with black and white spots flashing before her eyes, and finally Ian released her. Though he still had an alarming pallor, the deathly cast of gray had abandoned his flesh. He might live. Triumphant relief surged within her being that the hunter hadn’t murdered her love.
The hunter… Angelica peered over at the mutilated corpse on the stone floor. Its glassy, dead eyes stared at her in eternal accusation.
I killed him. The world tilted, began to spin. I killed a man. Her body trembled in shock as dizziness overtook her. Angelica’s muscles turned to water and she pitched forward. Just before blackness closed over her, Ian’s strong arms enfolded her and she heard one last word from his beautiful voice.
“Angel.”
***
Ian’s heart constricted as Angelica’s blood coursed through his veins, a heart-rending sacrifice. She’d been willing to die for him.
When he saw the vampire hunter poised over him with her standing nearby, he was ready to die to be spared the agony of his wife’s apparent betrayal. He’d thought she hired the hunter to kill him. As the stake plunged deep into his heart, the pain was so agonizing that he lost consciousness and greeted death and oblivion with open arms.
Then he awoke to the sweet, unforgettable taste of his Angel’s blood flowing down his throat, quickening his body and healing his wound.
“I love you,” she’d whispered achingly before fainting across his chest.
Ian extracted her wrist from his mouth and bit his lip to place a healing kiss upon the wound. He carefully rolled Angelica off his body, laying her reverently on the cool marble, and sat up to take stock of his injuries. She’d stuffed her dress into his wound, he realized. Ian shook his head in wonder as his wife’s heroic efforts to save his life struck him anew. He pulled out the fabric before the bones and flesh could knit around it. He tied the muslin around his torso, wincing at the combination of pain and the tingling of healing that rushed through his immortal body. Yet still, he needed more.
Slowly, he eased her on her back and rolled off the slab, his face contorting in agony as his chest seemed to rip apart.
With impossible slowness, he dragged his body to the crumpled form of the hunter. The man was dead, but the blood would still be warm. Ian swallowed with revulsion at what he had to do; then he plunged his fangs into the man’s neck, draining the corpse dry of what sustenance he could gather.
When he had taken all he could, he looked at the gaping cut on the man’s throat and the rest of the shallow wounds covering his face and neck. The top of one ear had been sliced clean off. It was obvious that his wife had fought like a demon for him, and his heart ached anew at the pain he had heaped upon her.
He looked at the corpse one more time, and his eyes widened as recognition speared him. The vampire hunter was no amateur. He was none other than Ben Flannigan, the bane of the vampire world, who had more than a dozen kills to his name. The man had become such a threat that the Elders had lifted their ban on killing humans and put a price on his head. And his tiny, mortal wife had been the one to take him down.
As the blood revitalized and healed him further, he was able to return to his bride much quicker. Though he could ill afford it, Ian bit his finger. Gently Ian coaxed Angelica’s lips to part, giving her a meager amount of his power back. Her color improved, but still she did not awaken.
“God, I have been such a fool,” Ian whispered.
For the first time in centuries, tears burned his eyes. He should have known she did not marry him with the intention to expose and destroy him with her writings, or even to become rich and titled. He now remembered what she had said when she’d announced her willingness to wed him and her confessions of her attempts to escape the match.
“I was not going to marry you at all! I have been doing everything I can to avoid it and I was going to run away!”
“And just where were you planning to run to?” he’d accused.
“I was going to use the money I made from my stories to rent a flat somewhere in the city, and support myself with short stories until I finished a novel. I heard the lady who wrote Pride and Prejudice made one hundred forty pounds.”
“That would not be enough to buy your pretty gowns.”
“Gowns can go to the devil! Besides, they are not sensible garb for an author, I should say.”
She had been so irritating but so magnificent in her rebellious pride and naivety.
He held her closer, kissing her brow as he remembered her words the first night they’d made love.
“If I had known it would be like this, I would have insisted you marry me the very night of the Cavendish ball!”
“Oh God, I hurt her so unbearably,” he whispered. “I hurt her and yet she still loves me! And she risked her life to save mine. What have I done?”
He stroked her pale cheek with his thumb, willing her to open those dark gypsy eyes he loved so much. He needed her impish gaze, her light laughter and intoxicating touch. He needed everything about her. She’d made him feel more alive than when he was human.
Needing her kiss as much as he needed blood to survive, he pressed his lips to hers. “I beg of you, wake. Please, my precious Angel,” he prayed as he held her in his arms. “Wake so I can tell you how sorry I am, and how much I love you. God, I love you.” He couldn’t say the words enough. “I love you. I love you.” He repeated the litany over and over again until exhaustion overcame him and he fell asleep, still clinging to her with a vow never to let her go again.
Twenty-seven
Angelica was having the most wonderful dream. It began to fade as consciousness beckoned her senses and she fought to stay within the dream’s dark folds. She could feel Ian holding her, his voice echoed through her body, saying over and over again, “I love you.”
Happiness infused every cell of her being at his words. She didn’t want to wake up. She wanted to stay in the dream and continue to hear him say it for the rest of eternity. “I love you… I love you.”
Her treacherous eyes opened and she gasped with wonder as she beheld her beloved’s sleeping face. The pallor of death had vanished, and his breathing was steady. Ian was alive! She looked down at his chest. He’d used her dress to make a bandage and, thank God, the wound was no longer bleeding.
He held her in his arms, just like in the dream. A line between his brows said that he would be very irate if made to let her go. But Angelica had no intention of leaving the safe haven of Ian’s embrace. She sighed happily and snuggled against him, mindful of his wound and breathed in his long-missed scent.
“Angel, are you awake?” he whispered, his voice cracking with worry.
She tilted her head to look into his bright silver eyes, joy filling her soul that he was alive and didn’t hate her. “Yes.”
He squeezed her tighter, though his features were wracked with pain. “Thank God. I was afraid I was going to lose you.”
His words made her wonder if her dream had been real, but she was too afraid to ask. Instead she whispered, “I thought I was going to lose you.”
He chuckled weakly. “With the heroic efforts of my avenging Angel to defend my life? I should say not.”
Angelica met his gaze, a playful smile upon her lips. “Well, actually, Loki saved you. He woke me up and led me here just as that horrible man—” She sobered immediately as the memory of the gruesome fight overtook her. “How is your wound?”
&
nbsp; “I am healing,” he said evasively.
She frowned. “Really, how bad is it? How close did you come to… to…” She broke off, unable to say the words aloud.
“I came very close,” Ian answered levelly. “The damage to my heart was quite severe. If you hadn’t immediately given me your blood, I would have perished.”
Gently, Angelica lifted the bandage to reveal his chest. The wound had shrunk to half its size and the bleeding was reduced to an intermittent trickle. Though heartened at the speed with which he was healing, she didn’t want to take any chances and pressed the crumpled ruin of her dress tightly against the hole.
Ian covered her hand with his. “Careful, or the wound will heal around the cloth.” Shaking his head slightly, he added, “Angel, I don’t deserve your tender nursing.”
At his gentle words, a lump formed in her throat which was already raw from screaming. “Don’t you dare say such an awful thing! If I had published that book, there would have been swarms of hunters after you. I know that now,” she choked, sick with guilt. “You could have been killed and it would have been entirely my fault! I didn’t realize the danger. Oh, Ian, I am so sorry. I never meant for you to be hurt. Please forgive me.”
“No, Angel. Don’t say that. The fault is mine. I never should have burned your book. You didn’t intend to ruin me with your writing. It is I who should be demanding your forgiveness.” With excruciating gentleness, he cupped her chin, his thumb stroking the line of her jaw.
She couldn’t stop her tears. “Does that mean you are not angry with me anymore?”
“Yes. I was a fool.” The naked pain etched on his features was almost too much to bear.
“Ian, does that mean you won’t leave me now, like you did with your other wives?” Long forgotten hope rekindled.
His brows creased in confusion. “Other wives? What other wives?”
“The night of our first ball I heard you talking to Rafe.” Her voice shook in agony at the memory. “Y-you told him you’d leave me and return as your own heir fifty years later… as usual.”
Ian shook his head. “It is usual for me to leave the city and return as my heir every half century, but I assure you I have never had a wife. You are the first, the only.” He kissed her tenderly. “I’ll never let you go, Angel. What can I do to atone for the pain I caused you?”
Warm, exquisite relief flooded her at his words. She swallowed and took a deep breath. It was now or never.
Angelica chose her words carefully. “I love you, Ian. Please, make me like you and take me with you wherever you go.” When he didn’t immediately protest, she continued. “When we married, I had believed that you were going to Change me and keep me by your side forever. I was heartbroken when I overheard your conversation with your second.” She stopped as a choking sob escaped her lips.
Ian enfolded her in his arms. “Hush, darling, don’t cry.”
She pulled away from him, determined to pour out the rest of her explanation. “I never meant to ruin you with my vampire story. I wanted to write a story that showed vampires can be heroes, and…” She drew a ragged breath and dared to speak the long-secret wish. “And perhaps give you the idea that it would be possible for us to have a happy life together.” She fell silent and looked down at her hands, fighting back tears.
The silence seemed to draw out for an eternity. Then he smiled. “How would a trip to Paris sound to a new vampire, my love?”
Fresh tears welled up in Angelica’s eyes, but this time they were tears of joy. “Oh, Ian, do you truly mean it? When?”
Ian gathered her into his arms. “As soon as the Elders approve my petition to Change you. That could take anywhere from mere days to a few weeks.”
“Wonderful!” She clasped her hands in joy. “May we get out of this horrid place? I am cold and quite famished.”
Ian shook his head. “I am afraid we are trapped here until sunset.” Frowning, he added, “And you had better close the mausoleum door before the afternoon light makes its way to me.”
Angelica cursed herself for her foolishness. The sun would burn Ian if they left the mausoleum. She should have thought of that. Her head swam and her limbs were heavy and weak as she pulled herself from her husband and made her way back up the stairs. The journey seemed to take an eternity.
When she dragged herself back, her husband lifted her into his lap, easing her sore backside from the hard cold stone. “It won’t be as bad as all that, Angel. This is the first uninterrupted time I’ve had with you in a long time. I am certain we can make the best of the situation.”
They talked until sundown, reconciling and laughing at their foolishness. “I’d thought you were sleeping with another,” Angelica said, fighting the ache the thought still invoked.
Ian raised a brow. “When my every waking thought was consumed by you? When you haunt my dreams every day? Never. Who did you think I’d been with?”
Angelica shook her head, wanting the conversation to return to its former coziness. “It’s not important. Were you truly still thinking of me, even when you were angry?”
“Yes, always,” Ian said, pulling her closer and yawning. “Would you mind if we rested awhile? My wounds will heal better with the day sleep.”
They lay back down on the slab. Ian cushioning her from most of the stone surface. It seemed Angelica had barely closed her eyes before Ian woke her.
“We must leave now, Angel.” His eyes glowed with unholy hunger. “I need to feed soon, or you will not be safe around me.”
“How are we going to explain what happened to the servants?” Angelica asked worriedly. “They have likely been searching for me since morning.”
Ian frowned. “You are quite right, I fear. There is little hope of hiding the body, then. We will have to act very carefully.”
***
“But why can’t I be the hero?” Angelica complained as they emerged from the mausoleum, determined to keep up a casual conversation.
Ian shook his head at her temerity. The sight of the vampire hunter’s body had made her flinch and gag as the realization that she had killed a man sank in. Ian had shielded her from the corpse, but she was humiliated, thinking she had acted like a ninny. He thought she’d been unbelievably brave.
Angelica dragged the vampire hunter’s heavy bag behind her. Ian had wanted to carry it, but she refused to let him since she was still worried about his injury. She’d stuffed her blood-soaked dress in the bag, having no notion how she would explain its condition. The servants would just have to put up with the scandalous sight of her wearing nothing but her underclothes. She winced at the sharp gravel poking her feet through the thin fabric of her house slippers. Ian wished he could carry her, but he lacked the strength.
Ian chuckled, looking up at the night sky. “Because there is no way anyone would believe that my tiny duchess could fight like such a lioness, or that a man of my size would be so vulnerable. Besides,” he added with a wink, “a man must protect his pride at all costs.”
She sighed and threw the bag down a dry well. “Very well, I suppose I must allow you to hold on to your tender pride.”
Ian slid the well’s cover back in place, concealing the evidence.
They leaned against each other and staggered toward the back door, both still weak with blood loss. When Ian managed to open the door, he stumbled and almost fell to the floor.
A parlor maid took in their blood-stained clothes and haggard countenances. Angelica’s state of undress appeared to go quite unnoticed. A splintery scream escaped from the maid’s bloodless lips before she collapsed into a dead faint. Her feather duster bounced from the floor and landed comically on her head.
The butler rushed into the room, followed by the other servants. “Your Graces!” he cried. “What happened?”
Ian trembled as he struggled to keep his footing and still support Angelica. “Fetch
the constable,” he commanded Burke. “My wife has been assaulted.”
He handed his duchess off to the housekeeper and her maids, smiling as they cooed and clucked over her like mother hens. Apparently his wasn’t the only heart she’d captured.
“Should I send for a doctor as well?” Burke asked, staring at their bloody clothes, his face lined with worry.
“Most of the blood is the assailant’s,” Ian said impatiently as white spots appeared in his vision. If he didn’t have blood soon… “He is inside the mausoleum, but under no circumstances is he to be moved until the constable is finished with his investigation. I want this horrid affair done and over with as soon as possible.”
He turned toward the stairs and stopped. “On second thought, perhaps a doctor wouldn’t be amiss. Do send for one along with the constable, and please be quick about it.”
Once he reached his bedchamber, Ian summoned his valet and mesmerized him before sinking his fangs into the man’s throat. He’d vowed never to feed from his servants but this was an emergency, for he would collapse if he didn’t get sustenance as soon as possible.
When he had drunk his fill, he released his hold on the valet, noting with remorse that the poor chap was swaying on his feet.
“Are you all right?” Ian asked, afraid he’d taken too much blood. It would undo him if he harmed one under his protection.
“Yes, indeed, Your Grace,” Carson replied, eyes swimming in confusion. “Just a dizzy spell, I am afraid.”
Guilt prickled Ian and he gripped the valet’s shoulders to keep him from falling. “Why don’t you go to bed, Carson, and I shall finish dressing myself.”
“Are you quite certain, Your Grace?” The poor man looked as if he were on the verge of collapsing at Ian’s feet.
Ian nodded. “Yes. I cannot have you falling ill. Take tomorrow off as well, and feel free to ring for anything you need.”
Bite Me, Your Grace Page 23