One Bite Per Night

by Brooklyn Ann

  Loki bounded into the room with a meow and pounced on the bed. He sniffed Lydia warily, turned his tail up, and hopped on Angelica’s lap. Cats know we are different.

  “Well, the prospect of you recoiling in terror would be one’s first logical assumption,” the duchess said drily, stroking the cat’s midnight fur. “There’s also the fact that it is against our laws for mortals to know of our kind.”

  Our kind. Lydia spoke her next revelation aloud. “Now I am no longer a mortal.” Insane laughter threatened to escape. She’d spent the London Season surrounded by vampires and had been oblivious. The world spun on its axis. “What does that mean? What am I exactly?”

  Angelica took her hand and squeezed it comfortingly. “You are a vampire. Like us, you will never age, and you now possess the strength of ten men. You can also run faster than the eye can see. It is quite diverting.” Her eyes glittered with life. “And you may develop new powers, perhaps telepathy…or even flight.”

  “Can you fly?” Lydia asked in wonder.

  “No, but Ian can.” With a mischievous smile, Angelica pointed at a shoe lying on the carpet near the door. “Watch this.”

  Slowly, the shoe rose up in the air and floated toward them. The cat purred and watched impassively. Just as the shoe was about to reach the bed, it dropped suddenly, thudding on the carpet at Angelica’s feet. The cat’s ears twitched as if in disappointment.

  “Not very impressive, I know, though it is quite an amusing trick at Lady Pemberly’s séances.” The duchess chuckled. “Power grows with age.”

  “What is the price of such power?” Lydia asked bitterly.

  Angelica sighed. “Well, I’m certain you’re aware that you must drink blood to survive. And you cannot go out in the day. The sun will burn you to cinders if you do.”

  A pang of despair struck Lydia at those words. No more idyllic days at the lake, with the sun on her back, casting her fishing line into sparkling water. And what about her painting? There would be no more sunrises.

  Fighting back sadness, she focused on the matter at hand. “What else can destroy us?”

  Angelica smiled in admiration for her courage. “Fire, extreme damage to the heart, and I suppose decapitation would do it. We can also starve to death, though I hear that could take decades, maybe even centuries for the old ones.”

  “Centuries?” Lydia’s stomach tilted queasily.

  “That’s enough on such dreadful topics.” The duchess picked up her cat and shifted off the bed. “Let’s get you out of that filthy dress and go downstairs for a glass of wine while we await the gentlemen’s return.”

  Once garbed in a light blue muslin gown, Lydia followed the duchess down the stairs, amazed at how bright everything was. The details of the gleaming wood furnishing, the damask wallpaper, and rich oil paintings stood out in stark relief as if it were daylight. The gas lamps on the main floor, however, were almost painfully bright.

  “I know it’s overwhelming,” Angelica commented as she fetched a decanter from the sideboard. “You’ll grow accustomed to your heightened senses, I promise.”

  Lydia wasn’t so certain. The smell of the wine lay thick on her tongue, and her bare feet tingled as they sank into the plush Aubusson carpet. The smooth coolness of the glass was such a novelty that Lydia nearly dropped it. Her hand moved in a blur as she caught the stem between two fingers. Only two drops of crimson liquid flew out in hypnotic arcs to bead on the carpet. Lydia watched, transfixed as they slowly bled into the weave.

  “Yet another reason I selected burgundy carpet.” The duchess raised her glass in a toast. “To your new life, Lydia.”

  The clink of the glasses pealed like heavenly bells. And the wine, good heavens! Its full-bodied sweetness danced across her tongue, though it was like water compared to the blood she’d drunk earlier. The enormity of her situation pressed upon her like an iron shroud. Lydia sank into a nearby chair and took a deeper drink.

  “Be careful, or you will get a dreadful bellyache,” the duchess cautioned as Loki wended his way around her skirts.

  Lydia blinked up at her. “Why?”

  “We cannot digest food or drink very well.” Angelica shook her head and took a miniscule sip. “Except for water. For some reason we can drink that by the bucketful.”

  More mysteries were now solved. “Ah, that is why you all eat like birds. I had thought it was an affectation of the aristocracy.”

  Angelica’s laughter tinkled like chimes. “So that was why you tried to do the same. You made Lord Deveril worry excessively when your appetite seemed to diminish.”

  The mention of Vincent made Lydia’s breath catch. A thousand questions lodged in her throat. Before they could tumble from her lips, the front door opened, and she could feel his presence like a thundercloud over her heart. As multiple footsteps sounded on the wood floor, she could smell him, an intoxicating scent of stormy Cornish seas. She also smelled the duke’s musky cologne…and something else, something exotic and spicy.

  The duke entered the drawing room and gave her a respectful bow. Lydia had eyes only for Vincent as he came in behind His Grace. Impossibly, he was even more beautiful, moving in sinuous grace like a stalking panther. The strands of his hair gleamed in a thousand brilliant shades of gold and silver in the gaslight. His eyes glowed like forbidden jewels. And his skin, how could she not have realized before how perfect and luminous it was?

  “How are you feeling, Lydia?” His voice rumbled within her being, touching places she’d thought unreachable.

  Taking a shaking breath, she reached for his hand, gazing up into his fathomless blue eyes. “I am much better.” She bit her lip, jumping in surprise as her new fangs grazed the tender flesh. “Thank you for saving my life.”

  Before Vincent could reply, another voice, heavily accented and full of venom, cut in. “You had better be grateful, señorita, for he may very well die for his actions.”

  Rafael Villar stepped out from behind Vincent’s tall form. A bitter sneer puckered the scars on the left side of his face—scars that Lydia now knew came from the sun’s deadly rays. The cat flattened his ears and hissed before bounding away. Villar scowled.

  Then his words sank in. “What are you saying?” Lydia reeled from the Spaniard’s words. Vincent could die because he Changed her?

  The Spaniard arched a sardonic brow and shifted his piercing amber gaze to Angelica. “You have not informed her?”

  Angelica lifted her chin imperiously. “She has only just been Changed. I assumed you would all be gentlemen and give Lydia some time to adjust to her new circumstances.”

  “There is little time for manners when one of our laws has been broken, Your Grace,” Rafael said irritably.

  A low growl rumbled in Lydia’s throat at his hostility toward those she cared about. She bared her newly formed fangs.

  The Spaniard laughed. “You think to challenge me, youngling?”

  The duke coughed awkwardly. “We need to have a meeting and discuss this matter at once. I recommend you ladies find a comfortable means of diversion in the meantime.”

  “Bollocks!” Angelica’s voice broke the air. “I shall be included in this meeting whether you like it or not.”

  “And I as well,” Lydia added with a confidence she didn’t feel.

  “You cannot,” three firm male voices echoed in unison.

  “Your control is not sufficient to handle the severity of this discussion,” the duke said without rancor.

  Vincent nodded, expressionless. “I promise I’ll inform you of our decision.”

  “Just as you’ve informed me of everything else?” Lydia’s fists clenched at her sides as an unfamiliar fury threatened to overtake her. “I refuse to be subjected to any more secrets.”

  Angelica placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Unfortunately, they are right. Your control is weak, as you are still adjusting t
o the Change. Things could become unpleasant if you grow upset. That is why I shall attend this discussion. Lord Deveril may keep secrets from you. However, I shall not.” She ignored the glares and mutters of protest from the men and gave Lydia a reassuring smile. “In the meantime, it would do you good to have some time alone. I recommend a walk through the rear garden. The lilacs are just beginning to bloom.”

  Lydia sighed in defeat at the duchess’s logic. The way she’d growled at Rafe’s unfamiliar scent and her primal urge to tear out his throat did indicate that an argumentative environment could cause her to go unhinged.

  “Very well, though I insist on being apprised of everything when your meeting is concluded.” She imitated a cool British clip and fixed them all with what she hoped was an intimidating stare.

  Ian and Vincent bowed respectfully, while Rafael continued to scowl. Lydia made haste toward the French doors, then paused and growled at the intimidating Spaniard once more for good measure.

  The cool night air sobered her. Her guardian was a vampire. She had fallen in love with a vampire. She had been kissed by a vampire… A vampire had made love to her. She knew she should feel revulsion, yet all she felt was aching desire for him to take her again.

  Twenty-four

  Vincent looked around at the other vampires gathered in Ian’s study, attempting to gauge their emotions. These three were his only hope of ensuring Lydia’s safety.

  Angelica’s eyes were filled with sympathetic worry. Vincent was confident he had an ally in her. However, Ian’s brow was furrowed in disapproval. Would their longtime alliance and newly formed friendship be enough? Rafe’s expression was openly hostile; Vincent hadn’t expected any quarter there.

  Rafe slammed his fist on the desk hard enough to make an ink blotter leap in the air. “You reckless fool. Do you realize what you’ve done? The Elders will have your heart on a platter for this!”

  “Oh, Rafe, I had no idea you cared,” Vincent replied sarcastically.

  The Spaniard growled and leaned forward with deadly menace.

  Ian held up a hand. “There is no sense in arguing. What is done is done.” His voice held more than a hint of compassionate understanding as he cleared his throat and turned to Vincent. “You must file a report with the Elders immediately.”

  Vincent nodded, though his gut churned with dread at the prospect. “I am well aware of that, Your Grace.”

  Ian ran a hand through his hair and continued with a weary sigh. “There will most likely be an inquest, perhaps even a trial. I assure you that I will testify on your behalf.”

  “As will I,” Angelica added fervently, placing her hand on his.

  A strange yet pleasant warmth crept up Vincent’s spine at their support. This was what friendship felt like. He had long since forgotten.

  Rafe continued to glare as he leaned back in his chair and lit a cigar. “There will be no bias in my testimony. I will tell only the truth.”

  The duke raised a brow. “You will have to hear the truth before you can recite it.” Turning to Vincent, he nodded. “Go on. Lord Deveril, explain what happened.”

  Narrowing his eyes against Rafe’s cigar smoke, Vincent sighed and once again told his tale. “Lydia was upset and stormed out of the house. Just as I caught up to her, a thief slit her throat, so I had to Change her or she would have died. I couldn’t let that happen.”

  “What became of the thief?” the Spaniard interrupted.

  Vincent growled. Deadly fury sliced through him at the thought of the bastard who had nearly murdered Lydia. “I killed him.” Though I was too late to protect her.

  “You killed one mortal and Changed another on a public street?” Rafe laughed humorlessly. “The Elders will be delighted to hear that.”

  “I broke the blackguard’s neck,” Vincent countered. “There is no evidence of a preternatural death. He’s hardly the first cutthroat to turn up dead on the streets of London.”

  Ian nodded and fetched a quill and parchment. “You must include all of that in your report. We shall also keep up with the newspapers, and if there is no mention of anything out of the ordinary, we can hope the Elders will be satisfied in that regard.”

  “He broke the law,” Rafe added stubbornly.

  The duke ignored him. “Now we must figure out what to do with Miss Price. She needs to adjust to her new form, gain control of her abilities, and of course learn to hunt.”

  “Then there will be Society to contend with,” Angelica put in. “There are flocks of suitors to deter. We must do so carefully, lest the gossip mill begin churning.”

  Vincent’s stomach twisted further at that thought. All of his work to give Lydia a successful Season was now in shambles…and all of his hope to have her as his willing wife was likely dissolved to dust. He avoided the duchess’s sympathetic gaze and dipped the quill in the inkwell, determined to get the loathsome chore of his report—or rather, confession—over with.

  “There is one thing you could do to mitigate this problem,” Ian said speculatively. “You could marry Miss Price. I am well aware that you are fond of her.”

  A spear of longing pierced his heart. “You’re most likely correct. We have no choice but to announce an engagement.” Not looking up from his parchment, Vincent uttered the bitter truth. “Though my fondness for Lydia doesn’t matter. She hates me now.”

  Angelica let out a choking gasp. “Oh, Vincent, you can’t possibly know that—”

  He cut off her hopeful speculation. “Either way, it doesn’t matter. As Rafe so practically reminded us, I may very well be executed soon.”

  Rafe blew out a cloud of smoke. “What do you plan to do with your unsanctioned youngling in the meantime?”

  Vincent sighed. “For such an unconventional engagement to retain a shred of propriety, she cannot return home with me to my town house.” And Lydia will not take kindly to being under the same roof as the one who ruined her life. He forced his mind back to practical matters and immediately regretted it as another thought came to him. “Oh hell, what am I going to do with Miss Hobson? And the damned painter?”

  “Bloody hell,” Ian ground out. Rising from his seat, he fetched a bottle of brandy from the sideboard and poured four glasses. “Damned if this doesn’t call for a drink.”

  “Sack the chaperone,” Rafe said blandly as he accepted his glass.

  “He can’t do that!” Angelica protested. “Miss Hobson is one of the most well-respected chaperones in the country, and you will have to keep her under your employ, or people will speculate the worst. We’ll just have to devise a way to lessen her involvement with Lydia.”

  Vincent took a sip of the blessedly strong liquor. “Speaking of involvement, Your Grace, I humbly request that yours increases.”

  The duchess peered at him over the rim of her glass. “What do you mean?”

  He eyed her severely. “I mean that aside from being Lydia’s sponsor in Society, I would like for you to be her guide and mentor in her new life as a vampire.”

  Angelica’s sharp gasp made even Rafe jump. “Do you mean you will not? As her Maker, you should be the one in charge of that task.”

  “What would be the point?” Vincent snapped. “I could be dead in mere weeks. Please, Your Grace, I can better face my fate if I know Lydia is in safe hands.”

  “The Elders may sentence her to death as well,” Rafe remarked idly.

  “That’s enough, Rafe.” Ian’s eyes glowed deadly silver. “If Miss Price adjusts well to the Change and obeys our laws, there is every reason to believe that the Elders will allow her to live. She is innocent in this, after all.”

  The duke then turned his full authority on his wife. “Angelica Ashton, as your Lord, I command you to take charge of Lydia Price and instruct her in our ways until Lord Deveril’s fate has been determined.”

  “And after that?” The duchess snatched Rafe’s cigar f
rom his grasp and drew deeply.

  Rafe scowled and crushed it out when she handed it back.

  Ian looked at Vincent while he addressed Angelica. “If he is sentenced to death, I am certain Vincent would prefer for Miss Price to remain in your care—as would I. If he lives, then he should take responsibility for her.” Ian turned back to Angelica and Rafe. “I would have a word alone with Lord Deveril,” he said formally. They exchanged glances and made themselves scarce.

  With an awkwardness Vincent had not seen in him before, the regal duke shifted on his feet and shoved his hands into his pockets. “A little over ten years ago, one of my vampires Changed a mortal without permission. Following protocol, I immediately took him into my custody and reported him to the Elders. They commanded me to execute him…and I obeyed.”

  Vincent stared at him, horrified. “You’ve executed one of your own people? I’d thought the rogue who Changed Maria was the only one.”

  “Yes, I did. It was my duty as Lord, and you should thank God that you have not yet had to face such a loathsome responsibility.” Ian ran a hand through his hair. “Let me assure you that the circumstances were far different from yours. From what I gathered from his Maker, Paul had not adapted well to the Change. Barely past his first century, he’d begun to display signs of madness. Then he came upon a woman, fell for her beauty, and Changed her, just like that.”

  Vincent shook his head at the thought. Madness, indeed. Perhaps not so unlike the Mad Deveril. “What happened to her?”

  “Rosetta took well to the Change. She had no love for her Maker, which was no surprise, since she hardly knew him. Often she sought me out, starved for knowledge. In my report to the Elders, I requested that she be allowed to live and swear fealty to me. The request was granted. She became one of my finest vampires”—a strange smile played across the duke’s lips—“although not the most obedient.”

  “And you executed the one who Changed her.” Vincent took a deep breath and plunged on with the next question. “How did you do it?”