The Trelayne Inheritance

by Colleen Shannon

  The hand pulled back, startled, for something it had never encountered before stood between it and the coach.

  The night stared back, but not with vampire eyes.

  Two green orbs pierced the darkness, searing into glowing red. Pale green, slanted, and most strange of all–unafraid.

  The hand curled into a defensive claw, instinctively alarmed.

  What adversary was this? Not human. Not vampire. Yet another creature so comfortable in the night that it had approached undetected.

  The hand paused and then darted forward, reaching to close into a fist.

  The green eyes seared through the mist, forming into the grimace of an enormous wolf. The wolf leaped to meet the hand, claws bared, slashing repeatedly. The mist scattered into a million harmless droplets. They sprinkled, like rain, down upon the ground.

  For an instant, limned against a full moon, the wolf stood triumphant as the coach rattled away. But drop by drop, the mist began collecting again, diaphanous this time. Stealthy. A thin skein of menace with no form or substance and thus impossible to fight.

  “Who are you?” came the harsh demand from the mist surrounding the wolf in a noisome cloud.

  A feral growl answered. For a moment, the mist hung motionless while the red eyes debated a strength and hatred almost as strong as their own.

  The wolf clawed in every direction. This time the mist parted, a silver sigh upon the wind. Dancing tendrils of the netherworld that even the wolf’s strength could not combat.

  Then, as the wolf fought harder still, the haze thickened around the creature’s nostrils and mouth. The wolf coughed and wheezed. Choking. The wolf shook its head, but the mist was in its throat. Growing to mucus as it filled the creature’s nostrils, throat and mouth.

  The glowing green eyes began to dim. The wolf staggered, shaking its head one last time.

  Green eyes met menacing red, and then…a searing splash that was cold yet hot. The mist was diluted, swept aside, harmless droplets defeated by its only enemy–water like itself.

  But a pure water against which it had no defense. Swept into a million particles, the mist dissipated with what might have been a hoarse scream of pain. The acrid stench of death, something old and evil and full of hatred, however, lingered.

  The wolf collapsed, panting. The great head lifted and clear green eyes looked up at Max Britton.

  His fangs still bared, his golden head of hair gleaming under the full moon, he looked magnificent in a red cape. He held a large, empty glass bottle that he tossed carelessly aside. “I’d offer you my hand, Miss Holmes, if I can be assured you won’t bite it off.”

  Shelly the werewolf stood, careful to move several safe steps away, and shook herself. The droplets didn’t hit him. “Holy water, I presume?”

  He nodded gravely. “Does it burn you, too?”

  “Slightly. But it’s much more pleasant than choking.” Shelly licked a paw clean. “And Angel?” Shelly looked around for the coach.

  “Gone.”

  The one word so simple, yet so full of pain. He turned aside from her gaze.

  It was an odd feeling, sympathy for a vampire, but Shelly took the impulse matter of factly, as she did most things. “Would you care to talk about it?” She sat on her haunches.

  He turned back to look at her, and now a smile played about his mouth. His fangs retreated fully, and he was just another ungodly handsome man–with ungodly skills.

  “All we need is a tea table and scones and we shall be quite cozy. Though I should love to see my parlor maid’s expression at her guest’s request for repast–meat. Rare.”

  “Oh, I prefer it raw these days.” If she expected to disconcert him, she failed.

  His smile deepened. “I knew you were a redoubtable…creature the first time I saw you. Forgive me if I seem a bit overset, but it’s not every day, you see, that I share my deepest, darkest secrets with a werewolf.”

  “It’s not every day I invite them from a vampire half the district believes to be the Beefsteak Killer. But given you just saved my life, I admit a bit of partiality toward you.”

  “And what do you believe?”

  “I admit I suspected you at first, but no longer. Please, this conversation is most interesting, but I prefer to conduct it as human. Merely to invite your confidence, you understand.”

  “I quite like talking to canines. Women, however…”

  “Have better uses. I know. A common refrain from those of the male persuasion. Vampire, werewolf, or man.” Shelly retreated to the bushes and transformed, her rear paws turning into feet, her forefeet into arms. The transformation was so quick and easy, a matter of will for her now, that she was dressed and facing him before three minutes had passed. She finished with an arch look, “It’s somewhat reassuring to know that vampires take the basic human virtues and flaws into eternity with them. Lust. Envy. Jealousy….Love.”

  His gaze flickered, a brief tinge of redness staining the green, but that was his only indication that she’d struck past his barriers. “Ah, finally you are wrong about something. Most vampires have no concept of love. They only know possession. Power.”

  “You are not most vampires. You, my dear Earl of Trelayne, are a Watch Bearer.”

  This time, his fangs showed as he automatically pulled out his watch, as if she’d purloined not only his secret but proof of his voluntary mantle of sorrow. He flipped it open and a strange blue glow was emitted. It was snuffed out when he closed it with a snap and put it back.

  She had to admire how quickly his composure returned.

  “The crest, I assume?”

  She nodded gravely. “It took many hours at the Bodlien library for me to track down a most obscure illustrated manuscript, written many years ago by a Monk from Transylvania.”

  “And what did your little investigation reveal?”

  “Oh, only that you became a vampire willingly, not because you had no morals, but because you had too many. A contradiction many would find reprehensible, no doubt, but one I find intriguing.” A smile played about her generous mouth. “The concept of revenge and justice are ones that, shall we say, get to the meat of the matter for a werewolf.”

  “And what revenge do you think I seek? You cannot tell me that was splashed in your pretty book.”

  “No, that will take more extensive digging. In your own quarters.” How was that for a challenge direct? But to get his help, she had to prove she was not in the common way and could be a formidable ally. Which meant he had to respect her.

  This time, when his fangs appeared, he made no effort to retract them. In fact, in one bound he was standing over her, his finely crafted, noble hand about her finely crafted, but proudly plebeian throat. “In one way I am very much a vampire. Proprietary about things that belong to me.”

  She met his eyes, her own taking on a surreal glow. She let her voice lower to a gruff purr. “And I am proprietary about innocent young girls, half vampire through no fault of their own save an accident of birth, being used and abused.”

  The hand retracted, as did the fangs. The man looked back for a moment, genuinely wounded at the accusation. “I have not abused Angel.”

  “Then I apprehend when she left here she was as…intact as when she arrived?”

  Tell tale color splashing his cheekbones was answer enough without his wince of guilt. “She begged for it.”

  “Of course she did. Because of the wine. Or more accurately, the blood in the wine.”

  “Long ago, I would have found your summary dismissal of my own skills insulting, but for now, a more cogent point needs answering--If you knew her wine was poisoned, why didn’t you stop it?”

  “I only found out after the fact, when I saw the tray in the kitchen. Why do you think I came here? I knew if she’d had that foul concoction that her own blood would be…stirred.”

  “And why didn’t you burst in to save her if you are the heroine of innocent young girls? You intervened once before.”

  Ruefully she had t
o admit she played a dangerous game. He was undoubtedly astute as a mere mortal. As a vampire who hunted other vampires, he’d become resourceful and shrewd even beyond her capabilities. They’d danced around another enough. It was time for the bald truth. “Because she has to face what she is to overcome it.” As do you.

  As do I…

  Shelly sighed softly. She’d become so comfortable in her rough, hairy skin that she wasn’t certain she wanted to overcome it any more. But she wished a better fate for Angel, and for Max. She had her own suspicions as to why he was doing blood research too.

  She looked him straight in the eye. “Killing the Beefsteak Killer may cost you Angel.”

  “I did not bring her here, or use her as a pawn. In fact, I did my best when I first met her to get her to leave. As for last night…We had an interlude, nothing more. I lay with her to make her mine and fully human--”

  “Ah, so you are a protector of young innocents, too.”

  “..but I did not know she’d had the tainted wine. I fear she is firmly under Alexander’s spell by now. She does not trust me, even after…” He bit back the rest.

  “Are you so certain it is Alexander?”

  “If I were fully certain, he’d be dead.”

  “Or you would.” He did not argue, but he showed an indifference to that possible fate that she found chilling. She asked, “Would you like to tell me how the last Earl of Trelayne became a vampire hunter sworn by blood oath to kill the oldest, most evil vampire ever to wander English shores?”

  “I thought you said you knew only about the Watch Bearers.”

  “I’ve an ear for rumors. Rumors most dismiss, but I heed due to bitter experience that only the least likely myth can sometimes explain the unexplainable. For instance, I heard it was decreed that each Earl of Trelayne’s grisly inheritance was to attempt what the previous one failed. I do not know why, or how you undertook this task. Or the rules that govern your role as a Watch Bearer. Would you care to elucidate?”

  “You are the curious, inquiring sort, my dear Miss Holmes. Wonder.”

  And with that, he turned in that graceful, silent way of his and glided around the hedges lining his estate, back toward his house.

  Shelly was left alone to contemplate her strategy. She’d thought her frankness would disarm him, but instead it seemed to have made him more guarded. She’d hoped that, as allies, they’d both have a better chance of catching the killer than individually. She shivered as she recalled that slimy monstrosity that had filled her throat and nostrils.

  It would take both of them at their strongest to defeat something so powerful and without remorse. Shelly disappeared into the darkness, thankful that at least, for the moment, Angel was safe. Her self-appointed role of guardian would be even more challenging now.

  At all costs, Shelly had to be sure the girl drank no more of the tainted wine.

  Angel found the next few days almost unbearable. The slightest sensory impulse brought a flood of memories back-a bright guinea the color of his hair, green grass the color of his eyes, or even the scent of sweat from her mare that recalled the scent of their union. No doubt now he thought the wine had been responsible for her driving need to mate with him, but deep inside she knew that was wrong.

  For once in her life, she’d acted without worry for tomorrow, or fear for today. Because she wanted him. Following as it were, the motto of his family. And regretting it now. His tactics were far more subtle than her uncle’s in using her as a pawn. And far more devastating.

  The motto she’d so loved as a child had been passed down to her mother by a vampire. The bitter irony of the homily didn’t escape her, either. A vampire couldn’t possibly understand the value of a single day when it had an eternity to choose from. What other secrets did he hide?

  Hoping to outrun her demons, Angel reined her mount sharply away from the Hall and struck for the open road. Even the experiments held no appeal for her. Her world had never been stable, but now it was shifting sand under her feet. The knowledge that she was half vampire, that her own mother had been as unnatural as the creatures using her for their own advantage…her stomach roiled. Would she be like them, soon? Ruthless, using anyone and everyone like a toy.

  Finally, for the first time since she bedded him, Angel let her defenses down enough to ask the question that really haunted her. The unanswered question whispered only in her nightmares--had Max killed her mother?

  Blackness descended like a curtain over her eyes. Pulling the mare to a stop, she dismounted and removed the bundle that held her luncheon. Shelly had mysteriously been appearing during most of her repasts in the last few days, distracting her from the wine served with every meal.

  She needn’t have bothered. Angel knew now what gave that wine punch its lovely deep red color, and she wanted no part of it. She restricted herself to the brisk, black tea Sarina had informed her they’d imported from China.

  Angel spread her cold meats, cheeses and fruits out on the blanket. The repast looked appetizing, but it tasted like sawdust in her mouth. She washed it down with Cook’s good, strong tea that was increasingly delicious.

  But the roast beef….Cook had cut a particularly rare piece for her. The red juices tasted like ambrosia in her mouth. Famished suddenly, she wolfed down the roast and left the fruit and cheese. But even when she finished, she was still hungry.

  She stared down at the pink juices on her fingers. For some odd reason, she suddenly had a vision of Max’s neck. The vein pulsing in the hollow of his throat looked so good, smelled so good. How would it taste?

  Gagging, Angel got up and ran, knowing, deep inside, that the she hadn’t found the long sought truth about her heritage. It had found her, and it was far more terrifying than anything she’d imagined. Her skin that never tanned, her dislike of bright sunlight, her love of rare meats, her strange ability to see into other people’s minds–she was her mother’s daughter now that she stood on the land that birthed her.

  She was becoming a vampire.

  And she had no idea how to stop it. Had that night with Max accelerated her transition somehow? She’d had no more of the tainted wine, that much she knew. Or was her fate inevitable…Angel ran, and ran, stumbling over dead logs, tripping over piles of detritus until her clothes were ripped and her legs stung with scratches.

  Finally, heaving for breath, exhaustion helped her panic subside. She looked around. She was in a small copse of woods not far from the Hall. She longed to collapse in tears and never get up, for the future that had seemed bleak before now stretched endlessly dark.

  Maybe she should ask Max to take that bright golden hammer that matched his bright golden hair and release her from her misery. But finally, as the sun began to lower in the sky, she realized she had a long walk back to fetch her poor mare, tied to a tree. As she turned to make her way back, her foot struck something metal.

  She looked down. A handle poked up, barely visible beneath a pile of leaves. She brushed the leaves away to reveal a trap door. Curious, glad to find anything to distract her from her thoughts, she tried to open the door. It was locked. From the look of the keyhole, it would require a very large, very ornate key.

  Angel sat back on her haunches, wondering why there was a heavy metal trap door in the middle of nowhere…She looked toward the Hall. The answer was--it wasn’t in the middle of nowhere. This was obviously a tunnel opening.

  Brushing leaves away with her feet as she went, Angel noted a very slight rise in the ground, a minute difference in texture of the earth. Here it felt a bit spongy, there solid. After five feet or so of careful exploration, she looked to see where the tunnel led if she followed a straight trajectory.

  It led to the Hall. The rear of the Hall into a walled garden, not far from the laboratory.

  Swiveling on her heel with a purpose that routed some of her fear, she want back to fetch her mare. Maybe this would help her find the Beefsteak Killer. And maybe if she helped capture the Beefsteak Killer, somehow this terrible sickness
taking over her blood could be stopped, too. For somehow, she didn’t know how, their fates were linked, the three of them: the Earl of Trelayne, an ancient, evil vampire and an American orphan whose biggest crime was a need to learn who she was.

  She’d barely taken two steps before she came face to face with a man in a dark cloak. She froze, a scream caught in her throat, but when he flipped the hood back, she was relieved to see only Gustav.

  “Why be ye here, girl? All alone?” He looked around suspiciously, as if suspecting her of some tryst.

  “I was…enjoying the day.”

  They both looked at the waning sun fast disappearing over the horizon.

  “Alone? Ye got rocks for brains, me girl? Ye know what’s been happening to innocent young ladies what be alone in these parts.”

  Indeed she did. Angel sidled slightly away from him. There was something about this man that made her uneasy. Everyone in this erudite district seemed to have a secret, but she sensed in this head groom a mind far more keen than he let on. She was tempted to try out her new mind reading abilities, but if he were a vampire as she suspected, his skills would doubtless be far stronger than her nascent ones.

  Well aware of that trap door lurking behind her, she decided it was far smarter to play dumb. She simpered, “La, my good man, I’m a colonial. Up to a small scamper through the woods. I but lost track of time. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to get back to my poor mare.”

  Pretending not to feel his suspicious glare following her, she trekked back through the heavy brush, making as much noise as she could. When she was safely in the cover of a leafy canopy of trees, she went very still, trying to teach herself to glide like Max.

  It was surprisingly easy to slip out, soundless, from behind the tree. She could just see Gustav’s dark outline hovering as if he debated following her, then, as she suspected, he pulled a huge key from his cloak, unlocked the trap door and let the earth swallow him up. He tried to close the door quietly, but the clang was like a warning bell to Angel.

  Behind that door vampires met. She was convinced now that the voices she’d heard that night outside the lab had been some sort of conference of the local vampires. As to who led it…she was quite certain that person, no, that unnatural being, had a crooked tooth.