Bite at First Sight

by Brooklyn Ann

  She placed a hand on the vampire’s sleeve, fighting back a wicked tremor at the minute touch. “I’m afraid I am coming down with a most dreadful headache. May we please go home, Rafael?”

  He gave her a surprised look at her intimate use of his name, but nodded curtly.

  Sir Patrick clucked sympathetically. “I’ll order your carriage brought around.”

  Once they were ensconced in the carriage, Rafael said, “I did not need you to rescue me, Countess.” He regarded her sternly. “And as for your earlier defense of my value to you, are you aware that those men thought you were referring to my—”

  “Your cock?” Cassandra supplied helpfully, praying she wasn’t blushing. “Yes, that was my intention.”

  He blinked in surprise and she felt a thrill of satisfaction that she was able to shock him.

  Before he could scold her, she spoke again. “Wakley was attacked by vampires, wasn’t he?”

  Rafael nodded. “The previous Lord’s third-in-command had seen Wakley repeatedly visiting St. Pancras cemetery at night and suspected him of being a hunter. He and the vampires who rest there knocked Wakley unconscious and set his house on fire, planning to kill him.”

  “Why didn’t they just drain his blood?”

  He sighed impatiently. “Because it is forbidden to kill mortals that way. It must look like an accident.”

  She frowned. “But what they did was no accident.”

  “Precisely.”

  “Is that why you saved Wakley?”

  Rafael shrugged. “That and it didn’t take too much investigation to learn that the man was innocent of any crimes against our kind. I only wish I could have arrived in time to stop them.”

  “What happened to the vampires responsible?”

  “Ian jailed them for six months and made a decree that only the Lord of the city would handle matters with suspicious mortals from thenceforth.” A dry laugh escaped his lips. “Which is how the damn fool ended up with a wife.”

  Cassandra blinked, curious as to what her friend really did to become the Duchess of Burnrath. “How—”

  “It’s a blasted long story.” He looked out the window, pointedly not wanting to elaborate.

  She settled back against the carriage squabs, sighing in disappointment. It had been such a fascinating conversation, and so…companionable.

  The cold silence became unbearable. Cassandra broke it once more. “Don Villar, thank you so much for bringing me to the party. I know it was not an enjoyable experience for you.”

  “It was more tolerable than others.” The scars on his face were tight.

  “Yes, I can imagine. I myself do not care much for balls and musicales, though dinner parties with my colleagues are events I much enjoy. The intellectually stimulating conversations, the sharing of new discoveries…” She sighed in bliss. “About that auction…”

  His brows drew together. “Don’t push your luck, Countess.” Rafael leaned forward until his knees nearly touched hers. “However, I have decided to bargain with you in regard to your other request.”

  “Oh?” Her traitorous body quivered at his proximity.

  Rafael’s voice was low and provocative as he answered slowly. “I will let you study me…in exchange for one thing.”

  Her breath caught. “And that would be?”

  His burning gaze swept her with tangible intensity. “I want a kiss. One for each study.”

  Her heart lodged in her throat and her knees turned to water. Surely she could not have heard him correctly. “You want me to kiss you?”

  “It is a human need I never quite outgrew.” His black hair fell in a heavy sheaf, hiding the scarred half of his face. “Even the hardiest prostitutes are reluctant to provide me with that service, so I shall ask you.”

  Cassandra’s mind and emotions roiled. How could he sound so cold, mentioning prostitutes even as he was speaking of the need for her kiss? And how could any woman be reluctant to do so? Were they frightened of his scars? The ones on his face were not even that prominent. Only a slight furrow of roughness along his temple and left cheek. She didn’t find them frightening. They made him appear powerful, a survivor.

  With predatory grace, Rafael leaned forward, placing a hand on each side of her hips. He moved closer until his face was inches from hers. “You did say you’d be willing to bargain anything, Countess.”

  She studied his lips, her mouth going dry at the sight of the wicked arches and sensuous curves. For over a year, she’d dreamed of being in his arms, tracing the faint ridged scars on his cheek as his mouth claimed hers.

  “Yes,” she said breathlessly, frightened at the deep well of desire within her soul. Had he read her mind? Was that why he was asking this? Was he toying with her?

  Something fiery and primitive flickered in his eyes. “We have a bargain, then?”

  Cassandra nodded and reached up to touch his face. He drew back and seized her hand and shook it as if she had sold him a piece of property, not her… She couldn’t finish the thought.

  He inclined his head respectfully and released her, leaning back against his seat. “We may begin tomorrow night if that is acceptable to you.”

  “That will be”—she struggled to breathe—“most adequate.”

  Thankfully, the carriage stopped, temporarily halting the perplexing situation.

  Rafael gave her a long, penetrating look that made her shiver as he led her back into the house. “Now I must see about procuring my own supper. Until later, Countess.”

  As the door closed behind him, Cassandra released a long sigh that did little to quell the rapid thudding of her heart.

  Six

  5 October 1823

  Tension charged the air the moment Rafael entered Lady Rosslyn’s laboratory for her first experiment. The fingers of his bad hand twitched as if aware of her presence. His stomach felt as if a leaden weight rolled around within. This had been a terrible idea. When she looked up from whatever gadget she was tinkering with, he opened his mouth to call the whole thing off.

  “Brilliant. You’re precisely on time,” she said with a businesslike smile, picking up a horrifically sharp instrument. “I would like to start by collecting a specimen of your blood.”

  Rafe clenched his teeth. Damn her irrepressible courage. How could she face him so coolly, wielding what was surely a torture device? He couldn’t allow her to have the upper hand.

  He strained to return her smile. “Very well. How shall we proceed?”

  Lady Rosslyn gestured to a chair at her right. “If you would sit over there and, ah, roll up your shirtsleeves, I w-would be most obliged.”

  Had that been a tremor in her voice? Rafe sat and studied her closer. Her hands shook as she placed the needle, a cloth, and two small squares of glass on a tray. The objects rattled on the tray as she carried it toward him. So she was nervous after all.

  He frowned. Suddenly her trepidation didn’t please him as much. She planned to stick him with that instrument, so it would be more comforting if she was confident about it.

  Forcing a smile, he attempted to joke. “I say, Countess, I am unaccustomed to having my blood drawn.”

  Her eyes narrowed and her lip curled in anger. “Please do not call me that. It’s only a courtesy title, a silly one at that…and I get the feeling you mock me with it.”

  Rafe blinked in surprise at her sudden shift in demeanor. A twinge of guilt gnawed in his gut. Perhaps he had mocked her a little. “What shall I call you then?”

  “Well, as I cannot legally be addressed as ‘Doctor,’ Cassandra will have to do.” Bitterness laced her voice.

  “Cassandra…” For the first time since he’d performed the Marking ritual, Rafe tasted her name on his tongue and found it to be as rich as ever.

  She shivered once more, so he decided to put her at ease before she came near him with th
at needle. “What made you want to become a doctor anyway?”

  With the impressive amount of knowledge she’d displayed at the dinner party the previous evening, she must have harbored her ambition for some time.

  Cassandra blinked at his inquiry, wide green eyes full of suspicion.

  When Rafe continued to look on with polite interest, she sighed. “I’ve always been fascinated with how things work. I had a cuckoo clock when I was a little girl. One day it quit working and I opened it up to see what was inside.”

  Rafe chuckled and shook his head in admiration. “You disassembled an entire clock when you were but a child?”

  Cassandra nodded, a nostalgic smile playing across her lush lips…lips he would soon claim. “As you can imagine, the mass of gears and cogs was quite overwhelming. I asked my father for a book on clocks. He was skeptical at first. I studied for months until I was able to understand how the devices function.” Bending down in front of him, she took his hand and continued her story. “My clock had a worn gear. Papa took the gear to the clockmaker and had a new one made. I installed it myself and repaired the clock.”

  “Amazing,” Rafe couldn’t help saying aloud. He’d spent his childhood climbing trees and frolicking in the fields with his cousins. Had she had no one to play with? The thought prompted him to ask, “Were you an only child?”

  She nodded indifferently, and before he was aware of it, she’d pricked the ring finger of his bad hand with the needle.

  He chuckled, watching her place a drop of blood on one of the tiny glass panes and cover it with the other. “Sly wench.”

  How lonely she must have been without even knowing it. Fighting back sympathy, Rafe leaned back in the chair. “What made you go from clocks to medicine?”

  Her delicate face and form seemed to reverberate with a deep chord of pain. “My mother died a year later from dropsy. My father perished soon after from a heart ailment, just as my late husband did. Since then, I’ve been studying the human body and how it functions.” She lifted her chin in determination and took a deep breath. “I may not have been able to save my parents, but perhaps I can save another little girl from becoming an orphan.”

  Rafe stared at her in wonder. Unlike most mortals who crumbled in the face of such misery, she had found inspiration and built her dream from loneliness and tragedy.

  Cassandra blotted his finger with a clean cloth. Rafe could have told her to spare the effort yet he refrained, enjoying her touch. Slowly, she trailed her fingers along his forearm. He knew she was probing, examining, but it felt so good.

  “How did this happen?” she asked suddenly.

  He attempted a stern glare. “You will never give up until you hear the story, will you?”

  “Of course not.” She fixed him with an equally level gaze. “If I do not know the cause of an injury, it will be much more difficult to discern its treatment.”

  Rafe took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Very few knew the tale. But after hearing Cassandra’s heartrending story, he felt that confiding in her would be a fair trade.

  His good fist clenched at his side at the infuriating, humiliating memory. “It was my temper that did it. I was traveling to London. I’d just begun the journey and had taken up residence in a cave outside of San Sebastian for the day before I could catch a ship. Exhausted from traveling, I didn’t wake up soon enough. A vampire hunter nearly staked me in the heart. I killed the man, but there was another one.” Rafe closed his eyes as regret washed over him. “Blind with rage, I chased the other hunter out of the cave and into the sun. I had hold of him and didn’t let go until my face and arm caught flame. I was such a fool.”

  “We all make mistakes.” The compassion in her eyes was enough to undo him. She opened her mouth to say something else, then gasped, suddenly examining the finger she’d recently pricked more closely. “Your finger is healed!”

  He nodded impatiently. “Yes, we heal very quickly most of the time.”

  “How?” she prodded, undaunted.

  “I haven’t the slightest notion.” With her sitting so close that he could feel the heat of her body and smell her intoxicating female scent, he did not care. “I think you’ve done enough tests and observations this evening. It is time for my payment.”

  Her breath hitched and her cheeks flushed crimson, but she did not cringe in revulsion. Instead she moved her stool closer and gave his own words back to him. “Very well. How shall we proceed?”

  Nearly drugged from her beauty and the warmth of her presence, Rafe reminded himself to tread with caution. He did not want to frighten her.

  “Close your eyes,” he whispered roughly.

  Cassandra gave him a suspicious glance before she obeyed. Reverently, he reached forward to caress her hair, wishing he could use both hands. The heady scent of rose petals perfumed the air between them, charging the narrowing chasm with promise. Savoring the softness of her skin, he trailed his fingers across her cheek before moving lower to grasp her chin. His cock hardened immediately.

  Giving her ample time to pull away, Rafe leaned forward and pressed his mouth to hers. At first her lips were stiff and tense, but then they yielded in exquisite supplication. Warm, so warm. Hunger blazed within him, though not for her blood. What he wanted was more of this. He wanted to pull her closer, devour her mouth, and claim her heat as his own.

  A soft moan escaped Cassandra’s lips, making his cock harden further. Rafe pulled away before he lost control, biting back a growl of savage need.

  Long lashes lifted to reveal sea-green eyes blinking up at him. “Fascinating…” she whispered.

  Rafe stepped back farther, straightening his spine and willing himself to regain composure. “I believe that is satisfactory payment for now. I will leave you to your experiments.”

  Before she could respond, he left the laboratory, not daring to look at her lest desire overcame him and he hauled her into his arms.

  “Cristo,” he muttered under his breath as he strode down the corridor to his study.

  He’d never imagined that such a chaste kiss would have such a profound effect. Just one touch of Cassandra’s luscious lips, and he was straining against his trousers like an untried lad.

  Rafe sighed and lit a cigar, willing the tobacco and peace and quiet to calm the raging fires of his lust.

  “My lord.” Anthony entered the study, holding an envelope in shaking hands. “You’ve received a missive from the Elders.”

  The harsh chill of winter seemed to enter the room, stealing the breath from Rafe’s lungs despite the merry glow of the fireplace.

  “Give it to me and leave,” he snapped, hating the way his voice cracked.

  Anthony handed him the letter with a bow, as if hiding his reaction to Rafe’s ire.

  Eyeing the Elders’ crest with dread, Rafe sliced open the envelope with a fang. He winced as the sharp edge of the paper cut his lip.

  Lord Villar,

  We commend you for your promptness in informing us of your prisoner and your summary of the circumstances and reasoning behind your decision to take this mortal into your custody. After our deliberation, we have decided that you shall have thirty nights to decide whether to dispense with this female or to submit a petition to bring her into our fold as one of your people.

  We trust you will use your wisdom on this inconvenient matter and anticipate your response as soon as you’ve determined your course of action.

  The letter was signed by all twelve Elders.

  “Cristo.” With his good hand, Rafe crumbled the letter as if the action could destroy its dire edict. Blood trickled into his mouth like an ominous portent.

  * * *

  Clayton Edmondson paced the dusty floor of the abandoned warehouse, eyeing the gathering of vampires before him. Only thirty had deigned to arrive. For now that would have to be enough for his cause. If all went to plan, he wo
uld no longer be second-in-command. No, he would be Lord of London and that disfigured, pathetic excuse for a vampire, Rafael Villar, would be knocked from his throne and vanquished.

  Bile rose in his throat at the thought of the Spanish cur. After decades of kowtowing to the Duke of Burnrath, London’s true Lord, Clayton had only wrangled the position of third-in-command. Despite having only one fully functioning arm, Villar had been named second. The insult had never ceased to rankle, but soon it would be avenged.

  Clayton surveyed his audience, allowing them to build up anticipation. He’d been a skilled orator since his mortal days on the stage. Proper delivery of his lines had never been more crucial.

  Clearing his throat, he gave the assembly one more piercing stare before he began. “Blood drinkers of London, I have gathered you here today to bring attention to a grievous error made by our absent Lord. An error that, as members of this prestigious city, we must rectify if we hope to maintain not only our dignity, but perhaps even our safety.”

  His announcement was greeted with wide eyes and curious murmurs. Clayton hid a smile of triumph. He had them in his palm.

  He cleared his throat. “Though Ian surely meant well, I can no longer ignore the fact that he may well have brought ruin down upon us all when he put the Spaniard, Rafael Villar, in charge during his absence.”

  Most of the vampires nodded in agreement. However, a few exchanged skeptical glances. Clayton paused and straightened his spine. This would be the tricky part.

  “I truly wanted to believe that Villar was a wise choice to lead us. Despite his foreign title, he lived as humbly as the rest of us. I believed he would do a better job looking after the interests of those of our unprivileged standing, which at times the Duke of Burnrath, being a blue blood, could not help but overlook.” Heaving a mournful sigh, he met their gazes. “Tragically, I was wrong. From the moment Villar was declared interim Lord, received his wealth, and moved into the duke’s palace, he has taken his place among the Quality and thus seems to think he’s above the lot of us!”