“It was,” he agreed. “It was everything I hoped it would be.” He nuzzled her neck and drew her closer. “I thought I lost you, Alba. That was the worst feeling in the world.”
As she lay enveloped in his arms, Alba’s blood coursed through her veins like a mighty river. It was as though she possessed ten times the blood content she’d had before Dimitri bit her, and her brain began to pound with an unfamiliar urgency. She became desperately parched, thirsty beyond control. Her fangs descended—and she hardly recognized her thoughts and behavior. Wild-eyed, she gripped Dimitri’s hand.
He rose up on his elbow and looked down on her. “I know what you’re going through. You are thirsty—and you feel you’ll die without blood.”
“Yes,” Alba hissed. “I don’t want you to see me like this!”
“Don’t worry. I went through the very same thing.”
“I’m afraid, Dimitri.”
“Don’t be. You will hate yourself if you feed on a stranger and you’re unable to stop. I will let you drink from me again.”
As the flickering candlelight mingled with the glow of the moon, his fingernails grew. He reached up and sliced open the skin above his left nipple. A thick stream of blood poured forth. Alba lunged for it, but he stopped her.
“You must understand something,” he said firmly. “If you consume my blood consciously, you will become the same kind of vampire as I.”
“The same kind of vampire?”
“Remember I’m a mulo—the strongest, most sensual kind of vampire there is. Besides my lust drive, you shall inherit my visions.”
“I’ll have premonitions?”
“No. You will see events as they are happening at a different location. But I must warn you, Alba: if you envision something terrible, you may be powerless to stop it.”
“I don’t care,” she said, famished. “I need blood.”
Relinquishing her arm, he nodded. She leaned forward and pressed her open mouth to his muscled chest. Then she drank from the cut he’d made. The taste was tremendous. Indescribable. It reminded her of something sour and sweet, tangy yet sharply coppery—and the energy it supplied her with made her feel invincible.
As she drank Dimitri’s blood, it fueled her need for sex, as he warned it would.
His lips curled as he caught a glimpse of her insatiability. Without saying a word, she rose on her haunches and straddled his narrow torso. As she looked down on him, she loved the way his glossy eyes twinkled in the candlelight like stars.
“I want to make love again,” she said quietly.
She traced the jut of his hip bones before she trailed her fingers along his handsome face. Cradling his chin in her hands, she lowered her mouth to his for a red-hot kiss. He parted his lips and received her tongue, moaning against the brush of it. Sitting over his hips, Alba felt his erection bob behind her. Smiling, she pulled away and reached backward to find the bulge of his sac between his legs. She fondled it while he pressed her breasts together and brought them to his mouth. Alba slithered her hands up his towering penis as his tongue circled her tawny nipples. Once he’d gathered one of her hardened buds between his lips, she swayed her backside against his prick, causing it to grow to a new height. Then she quickly slid her hand up and down the length of his shaft.
Dimitri squeezed his eyes shut, grunting with desire. As she stimulated him, he uttered, “You drive me to insanity.”
“I can tell,” she said playfully.
“That feels like heaven,” he murmured.
She rubbed the tip of his penis with her thumb and his eyes flashed open devilishly.
“Now I want you to sit on it.”
Already ripe, Alba did as he asked. Gone was the trepidation that came with virginity. She wanted him to be pleasured and she wanted to feel him inside her again. His cock fit inside her like a thick hinge in a tight groove. Dimitri grasped her small waist and lifted her body up and down over his penis. The action lifted his sex to the brink of ejaculation.
“Make yourself peak before I do,” he whispered.
“How do I do that?” she asked.
“Constrict your muscles around me while I suck on your breasts.”
Leaning forward from the waist, she offered her breasts to him. He took their points in his mouth greedily, hungrily. Meanwhile, she hunkered down over his sex, pressing her center into its bulk. Wiggling and gyrating caused her folds to flutter—and as Dimitri’s tongue swirled over her buds, she climaxed for the fourth time that night.
Excited by the fact that Alba had reached her own pinnacle, Dimitri ground his pelvis in the air. Holding her hips captive over his, he created a fantastic friction. She watched his face convulse with desire just before he shot his cream into her. Smiling, Alba slumped forward and gathered his head to her chest.
“Listen,” she coaxed. “Listen to the wild beat of my heart.”
He nodded. “It’s the rhythm of something supernatural.”
Bathed in perspiration and struggling to breathe, Alba rocked off Dimitri. He pulled the coverlet over both of them before he bundled her in his arms. He kissed her temple. “We will enjoy endless nights like this . . . forever.”
Alba closed her eyes but her mind sped. Although the room was dimly lit and she was physically exhausted, she wasn’t sleepy.
In my other life, I would have been fast asleep by now. Since Dimitri didn’t seem groggy, they talked for hours, pledging their love, planning their next move.
“What time do you think it is?” she finally asked.
“Maybe two or three o’clock in the morning.” He paused. “Before the sun rises, we must prepare for our deep sleep.”
Alba muttered a lazy response as she clung to Dimitri. This was bliss—and she didn’t want anything to interrupt it.
“We’ll have to leave this city,” Dimitri said quietly.
“Yes,” she replied. But she wouldn’t be sorry to abandon a profession she wasn’t suited for—and she certainly wasn’t going to miss the horrible business of Jack the Ripper.
The candle flickered out. Alba heard Dimitri’s steady breathing beside her in the dark, yet she knew he was awake. She willed her eyes to close again. That’s when she had the vision. A man, tall and elegantly dressed in a dark suit and a top hat, was moving through the dense London fog. He held a Gladstone bag—and as he plowed through the shadows, his hand curled around the handle of the knife hidden beneath his coat.
Jack the Ripper!
Alba gulped against the visualization. Heart pounding, she strained to see the man’s face, but she couldn’t. However, she did witness the killer pass the Bloomsbury Library—a library located dangerously close to the dormitory she shared with the Tuttlebaums.
He is coming for one of the girls.
“Dimitri!” she shrieked, shooting upright.
He sat up too. “What is it?”
“I have to go. The Whitechapel Murderer is going to kill again!”
“The Whitechapel Murderer? But Teddy and Jochen are in prison . . .”
“It’s not Teddy or Jochen. The Ripper is prowling the streets of Bloomsbury and he’s about to kill another woman . . . I saw it!”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes! He’s nearing the dormitory.”
“Christ!” Dimitri’s face went ashen. “Hurry and dress. I’m coming with you.”
Chapter Thirty-One
As Alba soared through the frosty night, she felt like screaming. She wanted to warn Mrs. T., Edith, Ella, Elaine, Evelyn, Eugenia, Ellen, and Edwina, but she had no means of doing so.
While barges sounded in the distance, she and Dimitri streamed over the curves of Tottenham Court Road. Much to Alba’s relief, there wasn’t a soul in sight as they neared Bloomsbury. They touched down on the empty street of the dormitory and morphed into human form. Although Alba saw nothing amiss, the sense that something was wrong still churned her stomach.
Creeping closer to the dormitory with Dimitri by her side, she noticed that the fron
t door stood ajar. How unusual.
Then Alba spotted a dark figure lying on the ground near the open door. Partially shrouded in shadow and partially illuminated by a street lamp, the figure remained still. An eerie silence filled the air while Dimitri knelt beside the body. When he nudged the figure onto its back by its shoulder, Alba’s eyes grew wide. It was a young bobby, his navy blue and silver uniform awash with blood.
“His throat’s been cut,” murmured Dimitri.
Alarm prickled her spine and she hugged her arms around her body. “The Ripper is near,” she said. “I can feel him.”
Dimitri stood and reached for her hand. “This bobby was probably stationed here in hopes of catching me when I escaped from Newgate.”
She nodded numbly. “We must check on the Tuttlebaums.”
Dimitri gave her a brief kiss and dropped her hand. “You stay here—I bet the murderer is inside.”
He vanished into the building before she could protest. Now that she was alone, her heart slammed against her ribs in a panicked rhythm. She stole a look at the dead police officer while her thoughts flew to Teddy and Jochen. If they weren’t Jack the Ripper, who was?
Just then, Justina shot out of the front door of the dormitory. The cat passed Alba and scampered into the frigid evening air. Alba’s pulse thrummed as she called its name and chased after it. Moving like lightning, she hurried along the empty, snow-patched street.
Jack the Ripper is near. He has come for me, not the Tuttlebaum girls. Alba felt it in her bones.
She considered turning around and fetching Dimitri, but whoever killed the bobby would surely kill Justina if given the chance. She must pursue the cat on her own. Besides, I’m a vampire now. Dare the murderer go up against my newling powers?
She ran after Justina all the way to Chancery Lane. She was far from the dormitory now, and fright gripped her as she lost sight of the feline in the rolling fog. As she leaned against a gaslight, Alba heard the sound of purring coming from an alley. Summoning all of her courage, she made her way around the corner and into the mouth of the dimly lit passage. Goose bumps prickled her arms. She wasn’t cold; it was her way of bracing herself for what was to come.
Passing behind a darkened bookstore and a tiny meat shop, her eyes darted to the end of the alley. She was grateful to see clearly without her spectacles—a benefit of being a vampire, she presumed.
As she neared the fence that marked the alley’s dead end, she saw the contours of a male silhouette take shape. The ominous figure was clothed in a flowing black cape, tall hat, and dark gloves. A Gladstone bag sat at his feet. Alba gasped. Jack the Ripper held Justina in one hand and a large, gleaming knife pressed to the cat’s abdomen in the other.
Alba moved forward intrepidly. When the killer adjusted the brim of his hat, she realized it was Dr. Ionel Rhessa, the Zpda family’s former physician! Horror and anguish stabbed at her. “Dr. Rhessa! You’re Jack the Ripper?”
“Yes, my lovely Alba.”
Gone were the doctor’s thick spectacles, but Alba still recognized his round gray eyes, ruddy complexion, and mutton-chop sideburns.
“I am so glad our paths have crossed again,” Rhessa said as Justina squirmed in his hand, “though I took steps to assure they would. In order to watch you all the while, I accepted the job as Dimitri Grigorescu’s hansom driver.”
Drummond? My God. Dimitri hadn’t recognized Rhessa in the dark—with a scarf wrapped around his mouth and neck . . . without his spectacles.
Alba remembered the photographs of the Ripper’s mutilated victims, and her throat constricted.
“I know what you’re thinking, Alba. After all, you were always intelligent.”
“What am I thinking?” Her voice quaked. That you’re a heinous monster? That if you don’t release my cat, I’ll kill you?
“You’re thinking that I look considerably different,” he said. “Allow me to explain. When my wretched eyesight put an end to my medical practice, I underwent a cutting-edge operation that corrected my vision. Since then, I’ve been employing new methods of surgery myself.”
“You mean you’ve been experimenting on innocent women?”
“Innocent is hardly the word,” Rhessa said, pressing the knife farther into Justina’s fur. The cat let out a loud meow. “Women are cruel and heartless creatures, like the wife who left me. By using their seductive ways, they steal men’s hearts only to crush them into smithereens.” He paused. “And do you know which kind of women are the worst?”
Alba’s hands formed fists against her skirt as she shook her head.
“Prostitutes. A whore will pretend to love you—then laugh behind your back.”
Alba assumed Rhessa knew this from firsthand experience. She cleared her throat and pushed her shoulders back. “So you were able to experiment on a subject you abhorred?”
“Yes. It was most satisfying.”
Her gut clenched. “I suggest you put Justina and your knife down. We have much to catch up on.”
“No, Alba. I cannot do that.”
Justina squealed in pain and Alba’s knees faltered. “You must turn yourself in to the authorities, Dr. Rhessa,” she said quickly, tears pricking her eyes. “My friend, Theodore Rollingsworth, may go to prison for the murders you committed in Whitechapel!”
“You have nothing to worry about.” Rhessa sauntered closer. The heels of his boots smashed the rubbish strewn over the damp cobbles. “I’ve been saving you for my last victim. Once you’re dead, I’ve left a note supplying the details of the East End murders inside this Gladstone bag. The bag also contains hair samples of all my victims—as well as more evidence I took from every crime scene. After these things are found, your friend will be exonerated and I will disappear.”
“Did you sign your name on the note?” Alba challenged.
Rhessa made a low tsking sound. “I already gave them my first name—on one of the letters I sent to the Central News Agency.”
Of course. “Jack” is the English version of “Ionel.”
“But,” he went on, “if I reveal more of my given name, I won’t be able to escape London in peace.”
Rhessa stopped within four feet of her. Alba looked into Justina’s pleading eyes as the scent of the physician’s blood wafted under her nose. She felt empowered. She clenched her fists again, the urge to attack pouring over her like a relentless avalanche.
“Do you take me for a fool, little Alba?”
“I am no longer the Alba you knew.”
“No?”
Alba’s fangs descended, but she hid them. “No. But before I show you how I’ve changed, I want to know why you want to kill me.”
“You are a link to my past. To the darkest time in my life—when my wife deserted me and my son disowned me.”
“Jochen told Dimitri Grigorescu and me that you were dead.”
“Dead to him, he meant.”
Alba forced a hint of gentleness into her voice. “I implore you, put my cat down and drop your knife. We can go to where Dimitri is. He’ll want to thank you for helping him.”
“Dimitri brings us to the real reason I’ve been saving you for my last victim. When you left Romania, you abandoned him and broke his heart. I had high hopes for you, Alba, because you seemed different than most women. But ultimately you deserted the man you loved—just as my wife did.”
Rhessa’s eyes turned to flat stones. “I’m sure Dimitri will be crushed when he hears of your mutilation, but I am beyond caring.”
“That, and the fact that you would have let him hang for your crimes, make you a monster,” she said with derision.
His eyes blazing with anger, Rhessa tossed Justina in the air. Alba let out a cry as she caught the feline in both arms. The doctor grabbed Alba and pressed the knife to her throat. The cold of the metal made her stomach undulate. She had died once already. Would she be dead again a few hours later?
Alba struggled against the deranged killer, the cat teetering in her arms. Justina leapt to the fil
thy ground while Alba elbowed Rhessa in the rib cage. Then she gave him a kick so powerful it flung him against the fence.
A voice beside her made her jerk her head to the side. “I could feed again tonight, but I would never give a maniac immortality.” Dimitri was by her side, and Alba’s heart surged.
After she gave him a nod, Dimitri bared his gleaming fangs and streamed off the ground. As he lunged at the doctor, Rhessa’s eyes filled with the same fear his victims had most likely known in their final moments. In one single crack, Dimitri snapped his neck. Relief poured over Alba and she looked away.
A police whistle rang out in the night. Dimitri grasped her hand and tugged her toward the gate in the fence. She shot a look at the Gladstone bag as it lay on the ground, but there was no time to extract the letter Rhessa spoke of. As Dimitri coaxed her out of the alley, Alba could only hope that the police would find it—because if they did, they would finally have their killer.
The whistle blew again, this time closer.
“Are you ready to leave this place?” Dimitri asked in a hushed tone.
She hesitated at first but then she nodded. Scooping Justina into her arms, she clutched his waist as he drew her to him tightly. With an impassioned kiss from Dimitri on her lips, Alba vanished into the night—leaving London, her cruel stepmother, and her extraordinary encounter with Jack the Ripper behind on the way to an infinitely better place.
Epilogue
Romania
Six months later
The peaks of the Carpathian Mountains shimmered beneath a waning moon. Dimitri and Alba strolled hand in hand to the open meadow beyond Stelian Hall, the summer wind ruffling their hair . . . carrying with it a sweet, floral scent. The meadow was alive with countless white poppies. And because of its natural beauty, it had become Alba’s favorite place since Dimitri purchased Stelian Hall.
The couple settled on a patch of grass near a hollowed-out log. Alba spread out her white dress, adjusted her lace shawl, and curled against Dimitri’s shoulder.
“You look beautiful tonight.” He eyed her with admiration.
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