Born to Bite Bundle

by Hannah Howell

  She awoke some time later when she was tossed to the floor by the wild rocking of the ship. The room was in complete darkness. Terrified, she could hardly stand because of the violent pitching of the ship. The cabin door burst open and she could tell from the dim light in the hallway that her father stood there.

  “Gráinne!” he called frantically. “Are you there?”

  “Papa?! What’s happening?” She reached for her father and he held tightly to her hand.

  “There’s a storm. We’re taking on water. We must get above deck.”

  Panic set in, for she glimpsed the abject fear on her father’s face. Quickly, she followed him out of the cabin. The ship rolled to one side and they were both flung against the wall. Icy-cold water rushed through the corridor as high as their waists. She and her father desperately fought their way against the surging sea, struggling to get above deck. Gráinne could barely move her legs and she was so terribly cold.

  “Phillip!” No one could hear her cries above the din of the waves and the screams of the other passengers. Great sobs racked her body, but still she screamed for him. “Phillip! Phillip!”

  Gráinne knew then she was going to die. Here in the cold, dark sea. Alone. Without him. If only Phillip had changed her. She had been so willing. She wanted to be with him at any price and was willing to pay it. If only he had listened to her, she would not be in this terrible situation. If only he had made her immortal then, she would not be dying now. . . . “Phillip!”

  “Phillip! Phillip!”

  Grace lurched up in her bed, gasping for air. Her frantic cries for Phillip had awakened her. Shivering uncontrollably with the bedclothes twisted around her legs, she could barely move. Filled with panic, she took deep breaths. She could still feel the icy water filling her lungs, but the air felt so good now. Air, she needed air.

  Overcome with fear and sadness, tears sprang to her eyes and she sobbed in the darkness of her room. Sobbed for herself, sobbed for wanting to be with Phillip. The pain and loss were unbearable. Had she died in her dream? What was happening to her? Why was she having these torturous dreams? It had to stop. It had to. She simply could not endure any more.

  She reached out and lit the lamp on her bedside table. Although she tried to resist the need, she could not help but look at the clock. Quarter past five. Grace shook her head. Why did she always wake at this time? What did any of it mean? She rose and straightened the bedclothes, which she had so entangled. Craving warmth, she reached for her thick robe. She folded her arms across her chest and she stood still, struggling against the magnetic force that pulled her to the window.

  She could not keep doing this to herself. She would not go and look for him again. Perhaps once she was married to Reginald and no longer in this house, the dreams about Gráinne and Phillip would finally cease to torment her.

  Perhaps if she spoke to Lord Radcliffe about it, she wouldn’t have the dreams anymore.

  Last night he said he shared the same dreams. He knew details of those dreams that were impossible for anyone to know. Unless he had read her dream journal. She crossed the room to her desk and unlocked the small drawer that held the journal. The leather-bound volume was still in its place. She knew she would not be able to bring herself to write about the drowning she experienced in her most recent dream. She shivered at the memory.

  There was no possible way Lord Radcliffe could be reading her journal.

  Then how did he know? How had he called her Gráinne? Could it be possible for them to be dreaming the same dreams? Her head hurt from trying to sort it all out. She had asked herself all these questions before she finally fell asleep last night and had no answers then either. She locked her journal back in the drawer and returned the key to its secret hiding spot, inside the locket her father had given her, which she placed in her jewelry box.

  She turned to stare at the window. Would he be there, as he was yesterday morning? What would she do if he was there? What would she do if he wasn’t? She longed desperately to see him. Needed to ask him countless questions. But she also feared the answers.

  Unable to resist the temptation any longer, she made her way across the room and stood beside the window. With a shaking hand she pulled back the rose toile curtain. It had been raining during the night and the pane was spotted with droplets of water. Her eyes scanned the dark garden and her heart began to race.

  And there he was, waiting for her beside the garden wall. His tall figure loomed above the shadows. His eyes sought hers through the misty predawn light and again, he held out his hand to her. Beckoning her to join him.

  With a deliberate slowness, Grace nodded to him before letting the curtain fall back into place. Acting on pure instinct, she rushed silently about her room, dressing as quickly and warmly as she could. As he had said last night, he did not know when they would get a chance to be alone again. She needed to speak with him. She needed answers or she would lose her mind if the dreams continued. Maybe together they could make sense of what was happening to them.

  Once she was dressed in her warmest gown, her wool pelisse and hat, and sturdy walking boots, she scribbled a quick note to Mary, explaining that she had gone for an early morning walk and would return soon. She raced to the window again. Lifting the curtain she could see that the shadows had begun to disappear as the sun rose behind a thick blanket of gray clouds and mist. Lord Radcliffe smiled when he saw her and she could not help but smile back at him. As fearful as she was, something drew her to him and she could not stay away. She nodded to let him know she was coming.

  As she left her bedroom, she realized there would be hell to pay with Mary later if she discovered what she was doing. She had no choice but to see Lord Radcliffe. Tiptoeing silently along the corridor, she prayed Mary would not hear her leaving. Grace moved like a wraith through the quiet house. Sounds from the kitchen alerted her that the servants were up and readying the fires. She slipped into the parlor and out the side door unnoticed. The patio was slick with rain, which was beginning to fall again. The sky had lightened but the heavy mist shrouded the garden, as she made her way to where she had seen Lord Radcliffe standing.

  His hand grabbed hers and pulled her to him. Without a word she followed him through the garden gate and into the narrow alleyway behind the townhouse. They scurried along the cobblestones to where his warm and waiting carriage stood at the end of the alley. He helped her up and was beside her in an instant as the driver urged the horses into motion.

  Alone with him now, she suddenly realized how reckless her behavior was. Not a soul knew where she was. Even she didn’t know where she was going. She had just run off with a complete stranger! Slowly she faced him. When she looked in his eyes, she knew he was not a complete stranger at all.

  “I did not know if you would come with me today,” he whispered.

  She sensed how relieved he felt that she had come with him. “I did not think I would either.”

  “Why did you change your mind?” He took her gloved hand in his.

  “I need to know what is happening to me. To us. Can you tell me?” she asked.

  “I can try.” He squeezed her hand. And oddly enough, this reassured her.

  As the carriage made its way through the rainy London streets, she had no need to ask where they were going. She was not in any danger. She rested her head against the leather seat and closed her eyes with a sigh.

  “You are even more beautiful than I remember, Grace.”

  Her eyes flew open at the sound of his voice. She found him staring at her, his hand still holding hers. No one had ever called her beautiful before. She could pass as pretty perhaps, but not beautiful. Her cheeks warmed and her heart skipped a beat.

  “What do you remember, then?” she asked him, full of wonder.

  “Your hair is a softer red now, more of an auburn, and not the fiery red that Gráinne possessed. Your facial structure is similar to hers.” He lifted his other hand to caress her cheek. His touch sent a spark of desire through her.
“Same translucent skin, same high cheekbones. But it’s your eyes that are so striking. You have the most incredible blue eyes, exactly the same shade as Gráinne’s. I recognized them the moment I saw you.”

  Grace held her breath. If what he said was true, she had been this other person, this Irish girl Gráinne, in another life. She could almost believe it because it explained so much. It was what she had suspected all along and written about in her dream journal. She had been this other woman. But what worried her more than anything was Lord Radcliffe. He was exactly the same.

  “But you have not changed,” she began slowly. Fear trickled up her spine. “You are still the same person, are you not?”

  He said nothing. But he did not deny it. He stared at her, the dark pools of his eyes drawing her in. He leaned closer, as if to kiss her. His lips were so close.

  She whispered, “You have not changed at all, yet I have. You look exactly the same. If we are dreaming of a past life, wouldn’t you have changed too? As I have?”

  “You are right. I have not changed.” His sensuous lips hovered close to hers. She longed for him to kiss her.

  She barely breathed. “Why?”

  His mouth sought hers then, his lips searing hot. He possessed her mouth so completely that all thought, all desire to speak, was obliterated at his touch. Her tongue met his and she lost herself in his hot and hungry kiss. She brought her arms up around his shoulders, feeling the strength of his muscles through the material of his black cape.

  She was lost to him then. There was no resistance, no regrets. Unlike last night, she was completely willing to follow him to the ends of the earth. What had changed? She did not know. She only knew she needed him. And wanted him with a desire she could not fight.

  When the carriage stopped, he finally released her with great reluctance on both their parts. Very gently, he carried her from the carriage, through the pouring rain, and up the steps into his townhouse. If there were servants in his house, she did not see them. While clinging to him, she had brief impressions of a dark and elegant residence. He continued right up the main staircase and along a dimly lit hallway before opening the double doors of a grand bedroom.

  The luxurious room was shrouded in shadows. The thick, burgundy velvet drapes hanging at the windows allowed not a ray of light into the room. A fire blazed in the hearth and a few candles flickered in sconces on the walls. It could have been midnight in his chamber and not dawn. In a smooth movement he placed her gently in the middle of a very large bed draped with more velvet curtains. She watched him remove his hat and cape.

  He was so handsome it almost hurt to look at him. His black hair, pale skin, and dark brown eyes, his beautiful smile, his lush lips, his perfect teeth, his straight nose. It was all too much. He came to her side and divested her of her coat and hat as well. He bent over her feet and unlaced her black boots, tossing them to the floor. He looked as if he were about to devour her.

  And she was going to let him.

  Yes, she would have to face the wrath of Mary and the disappointment of Lord Grayson later. But for now . . . For now, she simply did not care. The questions, the dreams. Everything could wait until later. All that mattered was the two of them in this room, in this bed. For the first time in her life, Grace felt as if she were really alive.

  She began to unfasten the buttons that lined the front of her green plaid gown, lifting her eyes to his as she did so. He watched her in fascination and a thrill went through her, knowing that she excited him. She stilled her trembling fingers and focused on shrugging out of her gown. When she was down to her corset and chemise, he slowly began to remove his white shirt, the rest of his clothes following quickly. They could not disrobe fast enough. In a matter of seconds they were both naked in his massive bed. He covered her body with his and she clung to him.

  His kisses melted her as they rained down upon her. He kissed her face, her cheeks, her lips. He moved his head lower to her neck, breathing in deeply and stroking his hot tongue along the length of her throat. She shivered at his touch, aching for more. Inch by inch he made his way across her chest to her breasts, kissing and licking her sensitive nipples.

  Combing her fingers through his thick head of hair, Grace pulled lightly. She wanted him so desperately and his slow, deliberate movements drove her mad as she burned with need for him.

  He made love to her slowly, carefully, as if cherishing each and every second.

  Afterward he wrapped his arms around her, pressing kisses into her hair. She breathed in the scent of him, content and secure.

  “I love you, Grace.”

  “I love you . . .” She paused and gave him a quizzical glance. “I don’t know what to call you.”

  “Call me what’s in your heart.”

  “Phillip. It’s how I think of you.”

  His dark eyes locked on her. “You belong with me.”

  “Yes.” She kissed him on the cheek. She belonged to Phillip and Phillip alone. She loved him and never wanted to be without him again. “Will you tell me now?”

  He hesitated, his expression guarded. “I do not know where to begin.”

  “You have the same dreams as I do?” she questioned.

  “Not quite.”

  “Then how can you possibly know what I have been dreaming?”

  “Because I lived it with you.”

  Grace blinked. “What do you mean?”

  “They are not dreams for me. They are memories. Memories that have been tormenting me for over one hundred years. Beautiful, cherished memories of how much you and I loved each other.”

  Incredulous, Grace could hardly get her mouth to form the word. “Memories?”

  He continued as if she had not spoken. “We loved each other so much, Grace. I told you everything about me and you loved me anyway. I didn’t deserve you and could not believe that you could love . . . someone like me. But I lost you before we could marry, before I could make you mine.”

  “I drowned, didn’t I?”

  Pain wracked his features. Grace placed her hand against his cheek.

  “Yes. Your parents tried to keep us apart. They were taking you to France to place you in a convent. Your ship sank in a terrible storm.”

  “I know,” she whispered in awe. “I had that dream last night. I kept calling for you. . . .”

  “I wished I had died when you died.”

  Grace held her breath. “But you didn’t.”

  “No, I didn’t.”

  “You kept on living.”

  He nodded, not breaking his gaze with her.

  “As you live now?” she whispered.

  “Yes.”

  “How is that possible, Phillip?”

  “I’ve waited and searched for you for a hundred years, Grace.”

  “How is that possible, Phillip?” Her voice rose an octave as she repeated the question.

  “I could only hope that I would find you again. That your soul would find a way back to me in another body. And that I would be able to find you when you did. I’ve lived a century in heartache and grief. Searching for you.”

  “How. Is. That. Possible?” she asked quite deliberately. Fear began to grow within her. His words defied all logic, all reason. She could accept that she had lived another life before. On some level that made sense to her. But what Phillip was suggesting . . . How could he still be living and look exactly the same after one hundred years? It was impossible. Either he was stark raving mad or she was.

  He grabbed her closer to him, pressing his fingers into the naked flesh of her arms. “Look at me.”

  She blinked.

  “Do you believe I love you?”

  “Yes.” There was not a doubt in her mind that this man loved her.

  “And you love me?”

  “Yes, Phillip, I love you.” And she did love him. The power of her love for this man overwhelmed her. He had become the center of her world, her life. She would do anything for him.

  “Then listen to me very carefully, for I
am about to tell you something that may make you hate me.”

  She shook her head. “I could never hate you.”

  “This might change your mind.” The line of his mouth tightened and he looked disgusted with himself.

  “Tell me.” A feeling of dread crept up her spine.

  “Telling you what I am does not negate how I feel about you, Grace. Do not fear me, because I would never hurt you. Never. I promise you.”

  The dream. In her dream. Make me what you are, Gráinne had begged him. Make me what you are. Good heavens, what was he? What was he that he could still be living over one hundred years and not have aged a day? What did Gráinne know that she did not? Her breath came in shallow gasps. “What are you?”

  He grimaced and stared into her eyes, clearly dreading what he was about to say. “Vampire. I’m a vampire.”

  Chapter Six

  Phillip stared at her, watching her blink in confusion. Was she afraid? Did she loathe him for the beast that he was, as she lay naked in bed next to him after he had just made love to her? Now he had confessed that he was a monster.

  “What does that mean?” she questioned.

  “You have never heard of vampires?” he asked, incredulous.

  She shook her head. “Should I have?”

  He shrugged. “I just assumed you knew what they were. What I am.” Had she not read of them? Had her life with Mary Sutton kept her so sheltered?

  “What is a vampire?” she asked, her face puzzled.

  This was worse than if she already knew. Now he would have to explain. “A vampire is a monster.”

  Grace smiled. “Be serious, Phillip.”

  “I am serious.” He kissed her lips as he moved over her, covering her naked body with his once again. “I am a monster.”

  She was an angel. A beautiful angel. Could an angel love a monster? She had before, when she was Gráinne. He could only hope.

  Her delicate brows drew together in a charming way. “What kind of monster?”

  “You have no idea what a vampire is?”