Blood Secret

by Sharon Page

  “Greystone, what in hell are you doing?” the prince grumbled. “You are going to spare a dragon?”

  He didn’t answer. His answer was supposed to be no.

  The prince’s gleaming eyes narrowed. “You know the punishment.”

  Sinjin glowered. The prince was a powerful being. Reputedly he had fought battles on high snow-covered peaks of the Carpathian Mountains, five hundred years before. He had protected his small principality from the Turks, from other Europeans, from his neighbors. Reputedly the prince had made a pact with a strong evil being to acquire his power—some said Lucifer, some spoke of a powerful warlock, some claimed he sold his soul to an ancient vampire. He gained immortality, and the price was to become a dragon slayer for eternity.

  But then, given that the prince had lost his family to dragons, just as Sinjin had, Sinjin imagined the prince had not considered it a “price” to become a slayer.

  “I won’t kill her,” Sinjin growled, “until I have my nephew.”

  “Your nephew is a dragon, Greystone.”

  “And I had your word you would not touch him, as long as I removed the dragon clan of Drago for you. The father is dead. I will deal with the son and the other children. As I promised to do, in return for my nephew’s safety.”

  The prince, who was thought in England to be a prince of a small principality near Transylvania, curled his lip. “I sense you do not want to hurt this female.”

  Sinjin flattened his lips and knew his eyes were cold and glittering, betraying no emotion. “I know what the females are capable of. I have seen female dragons fight and destroy mortals. I have no sentiment here.”

  The prince cocked his head, his silvery eyes filled with disbelief. “Do you not?”

  “No.”

  The prince stepped closer. Sinjin flinched as his vampire sire’s hand gently stroked along the line of his hip through his trousers.

  “Remember what is at stake, Greystone,” the prince hissed. “I should have ordered the slaying of your young nephew. If you disobey your orders to kill this clan—including Lady Lucy Drake—I will judge you unfit to care appropriately for a half-dragon like your nephew. The boy will have to be destroyed.”

  “Yes, you bastard.” Sinjin wanted to rip the prince apart. But the old, powerful vampire would be too strong for him. He would be the one torn to pieces instead. “I understand exactly what you are saying. To protect my nephew, I will do what I vowed to do. And that includes slaying the entire Drake family.”

  The prince’s hand slid down and cupped his buttocks. Sinjin gripped the bastard’s wrist and yanked his palm away, but the prince grinned. “I worry about you. About your heart—”

  “Don’t,” Sinjin snarled. “Have I not proved, time and again, that I am the most heartless killer you have?”

  Lucy cornered Creadmore in the gallery. He carried a candle aloft, and with Father’s hounds following him, sniffing at his heels, he was rattling the doors to ensure they were locked. Most peers did not bring their hunting dogs to their London homes, but Father had been unique. He liked to have his animals with him at all times. Since his death, the hounds were subdued and sorrowful. They slunk around the house with their tails drooped and heads hanging.

  She knew how they felt. With Father dead, Jack had been able to run amok with his gaming, and now the weight of fear, of possible poverty, of horror of the kidnapping of Greystone’s nephew was pushing down on her head.

  Before she said a word, Creadmore stopped, turned, and swung the light in her direction. “Lady Lucy!” he exclaimed. “I did not expect you home yet. Certainly not in the middle of the night.”

  Bother. She had forgotten about her lie—that she was visiting a friend and would be away from the house for a fortnight. She decided to give some of the truth. It would make the further lying she would have to do sound more convincing.

  “I lied about that,” she said. “I was not with a friend. I was trying to find my brother—and I did, only to find he has gone somewhere else.” Facing Creadmore squarely, she went on, “I learned my father took a child he believed to be a dragon. I think my brother might have gone to this child. I want to know where Father placed this boy. You must know this, Creadmore.”

  The butler lifted the candle and the glow blinded her. But only for a moment—after all, she could breathe fire, so she could look into flame. Her sight swiftly adjusted.

  “You must tell me where this boy-dragon is, Creadmore,” she insisted. “I know my father took the child without permission of his guardian.”

  “How do you know this, Lady Lucy?”

  That she did not want to reveal. “You are not supposed to question me. I want an answer.”

  The butler sadly shook his head. “And I cannot give you one. The late earl swore me to secrecy.” He turned away. The dogs whined, then followed him as he headed away down the gallery.

  This was ridiculous. Fear made the hairs on her neck rise. Why was there such secrecy? Had Father done something wrong ... ?

  Impulsively, she ran after Creadmore and sprinted around him. She breathed heavily, as her chest tried to expand against her stays to draw in air. “I need to know. I want to know why my father essentially kidnapped a child. I must find out where that child is!”

  The butler shook his head. “Your father would wish you to remain in ignorance.”

  “That is not your choice to make!” This had never happened before. Planting her fists on her hips, she warned, “I could dismiss you.”

  “I am afraid you cannot, my lady. Only your brother can do that.”

  She balked at having Creadmore point out how powerless she was, as a woman. “Then you should be afraid of me because I am a dragon.”

  “A gentle one.” A kind smile touched the servant’s lips. “You have never killed. I do not believe you would start with me. Honor your father’s wishes. He did not want you to know.”

  A fierce sigh of frustration escaped her. “Father is gone. And he stole a child! Creadmore, I am determined to make it right. Tell me what has happened with this boy.”

  “Your father was ashamed of taking this child, it is true. He admitted as much to me. But I could see he was greatly worried and he told me he had no other choice. It was to protect our clan.”

  “From what?”

  The butler slowly shook his head. “That he did not confide in me.”

  “And you simply accepted what he said—without rhyme or reason?” She flushed. Of course Creadmore would. He was a servant. He would not have questioned her father. Or would he? She knew her father allowed Creadmore latitude to speak and question that no other servant was given.

  “Lady Lucy, the late earl was a kindly gentleman. He would never have taken a child away from its family without good reason. He did tell me he believed the child was in imminent danger from dragon slayers.”

  “Where did he hide the boy?”

  “My lady, I gave my solemn word I would not say.”

  The Drago clan members had several homes. Her family alone had three. “Scotland,” she said quickly. “Did Father take the boy to our home there?” She knew the butler could not openly tell her, but he might reveal the truth by betraying it.

  He stood, looking impassive. He held the candle below his face, which gave an eerie glow to his sharp chin and pronounced cheekbones, and left his eyes as wells of shadow.

  “Near Gretna—the estate near there?”

  Nothing.

  “The moors,” she said. “Our home in Dartmoor.”

  Creadmore’s face did not change but the candle wobbled slightly. Of course her father would take the child there. It was secluded. The house stood on a small piece of firm ground but was almost completely surrounded by the notorious peat bogs of the Dartmoor moors. Thus the house was quite safe. Dartmoor was a good place for shape-shifters to hide. It abounded with legends: ghosts who rode headless horses over the open moor, murdered brides who haunted churches, cursed white doves who were a premonition of death if they fle
w into your house, evil sprites who threw grown men into rivers. A wealth of myth made the people accept strange occurrences and merely take them in stride. In truth, the moors were filled with undead beings and shape-shifters that took refuge in a place that was mostly desolate and empty.

  Though she was now certain her father had taken the child to their Dartmoor house—because of Creadmore’s candle wobble—she did not want to make it obvious she had guessed. She frowned, hoping she did not look as if she was quivering in anticipation. “Father did not like the moors, though. He wouldn’t have taken a child there. He would have taken a child to Hampshire—he loved the countryside there.”

  An almost imperceptible softening of the butler’s expression revealed relief. He thought she had not noticed his slip. She rubbed her chin as though musing deeply.

  “I cannot say,” he responded quickly.

  “I will have to go to each one and search. I will start with Hampshire.”

  “Do not search, Lady Lucy. The child is being kept in secrecy because of the threat of the dragon slayers.”

  “But my father made peace with the dragon slayers a year ago. He would not fear they would attack this boy—” She stopped. Father had made an agreement of peace with the dragon slayers a year ago. He had told her and her siblings about it, though he had warned them to still be watchful and careful. And a year ago, Father had taken the duke’s nephew—

  Did it mean the duke was involved with the dragon slayers? Could he be one?

  No, that was impossible.

  He would never have made a proposition to her and have taken her to bed. He would have ... killed her. It was what he was supposed to do... .

  But then, her family held his nephew.

  No, Greystone could not be a dragon slayer. They were all mortal men. Father had told her that. And the duke had revealed he was a vampire.

  But she stood in the gallery, with Creadmore watching her intently, as her mind tried to make sense of all these threads of thought. It couldn’t be a coincidence that Father took the duke’s nephew, and at the same time, he negotiated peace with the dragon slayers... .

  But if Father had taken the boy to ensure there was peace with the slayers, that meant her father had been holding the boy as a ... a hostage. It was like holding him for ransom. And it meant Father must have never intended to let the boy go home.

  She couldn’t believe that! Not even peace was worth doing such a thing to a child.

  Now, she knew where the boy was. Lucy was certain he was at their house on the moors. To fetch him meant days of travel ... with the duke. Who might be a dragon slayer. It sounded impossible. Slayers wanted to rid the world of demons and shifters. They would never have a vampire amongst them.

  She didn’t know what the truth was. But she had to find out.

  And she had to survive days of travel with a gentleman who might want to kill her.

  Town was not dark anymore—and most certainly not in Mayfair. Street flares burned every few yards to light the streets. A sea of carriages rolled down the street equipped with so many lights, they appeared to be streams of white ribbons, rumbling down the road. Houses glowed. Servants carried lamps and torches.

  It was human nature, after all, to want to ward off the dark.

  Sinjin had retreated to shadow—the small, protective stretch of it between streetlamps. He stepped out when he spotted Lady Lucy hurrying down to his carriage.

  Her eyes were wide and he smelled fear and uncertainty rolling off her.

  Hell, had she guessed what he was?

  But she came to him and met his gaze. “I know where your nephew is—” She stopped and sucked in a deep breath. “I am sure of it. But it will be a long trip. It will take us days. I must pack a trunk.”

  “We will start tonight as soon as you are ready. Do you need anything from my house?”

  She shook her head. “It might take me an hour or two to prepare my trunks.”

  He tried to search her thoughts, but nothing came to him. Did that mean she no longer trusted him? That she was suspicious of him? He lifted her hand to his lips and gave a gentle kiss to her fingers. “I will wait.”

  9

  Carriage Pleasures

  Only a very foolish woman would ask a man, when she was alone in a carriage with him and had no hope of summoning help in time, if he planned to kill her.

  Lucy wanted to believe she was not a complete idiot. So she kept the question locked inside her.

  The carriage was hot and confining. The lamps burned within. By the time she had packed a trunk for travel, and she’d done it as hastily as she could, the time had ticked toward two o’clock. Mount Street was still crowded with carriages, and it would be until just before dawn, when the ton finally left the balls, suppers, and routs, and returned home. But even amidst the crowd, she was alone with the duke in the carriage. If she screamed no one would hear her.

  It would take days to reach Dartmoor.

  If the duke was a dragon slayer, she was quite certain he would not kill her until he retrieved his nephew. Until then, she would be safe. It gave her time to find out the truth.

  What would she do if Greystone was a slayer?

  Slayers killed dragons—throughout history, dragon slayers had killed hundreds of her kind. Could she fight him? Should she even try fighting? Or should she try to escape, return to her home, and tell the other members of the Drago clan, so they could pursue him?

  Enough members of her clan could kill him.

  But she ... could she do such a thing to a man who had kissed her over and over in his carriage?

  If he planned to kill dragons, didn’t she have to? Her first loyalty must be to her kind.

  The duke sprawled in the seat beside her and she glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. She had taken off her bonnet, one she had brought for travel, since a woman could not give an effective sidelong glance with a bonnet narrowing her gaze. She could not watch him surreptitiously while wearing a hat.

  He groaned and gave a long, catlike stretch. He looked like a tawny lion settling in the grass. He caught her gaze and smiled. “Lady Lucy, you are quiet and nervous. What exactly happened with your butler?”

  She gave a startled jerk. She had been lost in thought. Lost in wondering if she should run for her life now, or wait for the lion to pounce. “Nothing.” Which wasn’t a complete lie. All she had done with Creadmore was guess the location of his nephew—nothing more. Now she wished she had told the butler what she was doing. At least someone would know where she was. “I am ... simply anxious. I wish we could arrive there at once and find your nephew.”

  He idly tapped his hand on his thigh. With his head cocked, he surveyed her. “Again, I must thank you. But you are not sure he is there, are you? That’s why you are nervous, isn’t it?”

  She had told Greystone only that she believed his son was at her family’s home in Dartmoor. “Creadmore did not tell me directly. He refused to. I had to guess.”

  “How did you do that?”

  How deep and alluring his voice was. How it tempted her to talk. “We have three houses. I spoke of each one to him and gauged his reaction. He fought the hardest to contain his reaction when I mentioned the Dartmoor house to him. After that, I went to my father’s study. Father kept journals. He did not mention your nephew in them, but early last March, he wrote entries about the Dartmoor house. I didn’t know he had visited there—he kept it a secret from all of us. The only reason I can think he did that is because he took your nephew there.”

  She fiddled with her cloak, drawing it closer around her, pretending her shiver came from cold and not fear. She was sitting in a small, heated carriage with a man who might be planning to kill her. Of course she was afraid.

  Could she be wrong about the duke? How could he have made love to her if he was a dragon slayer?

  He laid his arm along the back of the seat and she tensed, drawing away from him, huddling closer to the side of the carriage.

  “Now you
are scurrying away from me, like a rabbit, not a dragon. What is it, my dear?”

  It was madness—she wanted to ask, bluntly, Are you a dragon slayer? But also she wanted him to kiss her. She wanted his arms around her. How could she want to touch someone whom she thought wanted to kill her? But for some crazy reason, she could not just stop her desires so easily.

  That made her press further against the side of the carriage. Not to protect her from him—to protect her from herself. The moment she had seen Mr. Ferrars hurt another woman, her feelings for him had vanished. Her heart had gone ice-cold. She should feel the same about Greystone. If she didn’t trust him, how could she want him?

  But now, looking at the duke’s mouth, cranked down in concern for her, she thought of kissing it, and then she felt an aching throb between her legs.

  Bother it. She could not stand it. “Are you a dragon slayer?” The dangerous, forbidden, foolish words fell out. “Is that why you didn’t even flinch when you say what I am? Is that why we’ve had peace with the slayers—ever since my father took your nephew?”

  She had to know. Had to, because she wanted to have sex with him. She was willing to risk her own life to go to him, touch him, press her body to his, strip naked and have him.

  He blinked. His brows disappeared beneath the gold locks of his hair. “A dragon slayer? A knight in shining armor, do you mean? A hero? I’m sorry, my love, but no woman who has known me has ever called me that. I’m a rogue.”

  “No.” Her face was hot, her heart racing. “I mean a true dragon slayer. I mean someone who hunts down dragons—like me and my family—and kills them.”

  “I’m a vampire. I wouldn’t hunt and kill any preternatural being.”

  That was what she had thought. But she wasn’t sure she believed him.

  She had thought she loved Allan, then learned he couldn’t be trusted. She would not be foolish enough to trust a man who had openly told her he was a rogue.

  He frowned, his eyes narrowed to slits that reflected the glow from the carriage lamp. “You are saying there are dragon slayers? Men who hunt ... you?”