by Lydia Dare
Life would be so much easier if he had fewer scruples, or perhaps if he had the ability to block out the feelings of the whore who was to be his meal. But to his dismay, when he took from a woman and allowed a bond to be created between them, when he sealed his mouth over her skin and drank her in, he took in too many harmful emotions along with her lifegiving blood. Despair coursed through Alec in those moments, so he avoided unfamiliar chits at all costs.
At least at his club in London, the Cyprians were accustomed to his idiosyncrasies. The women at Brysi would let him drink his fill in exchange for pleasure and coin. They no longer expected more than he was able to give, and they didn’t need to be enchanted. He hated usurping a woman’s free will, which is what he would be doing if he spent any more time inside The Knight’s Arms with his traveling companions.
He’d lost track of the Hadley twins almost as soon as they’d entered the establishment. They’d set their sights on two pretty little wenches who seemed determined to fight over which one of them would get to tup the one with the scar. What was alluring about having been branded by a vampyre, Alec had no idea. Yet something apparently was.
Bexley had settled at a table with local fellows involved in what appeared to be faro. Radbourne had somehow disappeared. And Alec was bored out of his mind.
As his foot hit the top step, a gentle wind came up to brush the hair from his forehead, and along with it came the scent of apple blossoms. Apple blossoms? Why did that scent seem so familiar? He racked his brain, trying to remember where he’d last smelled that delightful aroma.
Just thinking about it made his mouth water.
Then he heard her giggle.
Alec spun around quickly and looked into the darkness.
His excellent vision didn’t let him down. He saw the back of a nearby coach that was stopped outside a tiny bookstore.
And standing in its shadows was a lass. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, though he didn’t need to do so.
He wouldn’t mistake Sorcha for anything. That was her scent. That was her lovely hair piled atop her head. That was her… touching Radbourne? By God, she was! Alec was across the street in the blink of an eye. He stood behind the coach and listened, hoping to hear their conversation for a moment before ripping the mutt’s limbs from his body, simply because he had let Sorcha touch him.
Alec froze in place.
“It is a sad day when gentlemen must resort to eavesdropping, is it not, Miss Ferguson?” he heard Radbourne ask Sorcha.
“Eavesdroppin’? That’s a terrible practice. One I never indulge in unless I absolutely have ta ken somethin’ that no one will tell me about.” Alec heard her giggle and felt a grin tip the corners of his own mouth.
“There are things that people refuse to discuss with you?”
Radbourne asked. “Such as?”
“Such as what it’s like ta kiss a Lycan,” Sorcha said quietly, her voice barely more than a whisper.
“What a travesty.” Radbourne’s voice deepened. “Shall I show you?”
That was it. That was all Alec could possibly take. He couldn’t stand on the opposite side of the coach and let Radbourne introduce Sorcha to passion. And he had no doubt this would be her introduction. He strode quickly around the coach and stopped in his tracks. The pair of them stood there laughing at him.
“It’s ill-mannered to eavesdrop, MacQuarrie,” Radbourne said. A good six feet of space separated the Lycan and Sorcha. Thank God.
“What’s even more ill-mannered is to have her out in the dead of night without a chaperone,” Alec clarified. He took Sorcha’s elbow and turned her to face him. “What the devil do you think you’re doing, Sorch?” he asked. “Your reputation will be in shreds if one word of this gets out.” He opened the door of the coach and made a motion to usher her inside. But a foot fell out of the door instead. A man’s foot. Which was solidly attached to a leg. What the hell?
Radbourne shrugged. “He’s a big man. I’m afraid it was nearly impossible to fit his body in such a small space without folding him.”
Sorcha giggled. “Looks as though he’s come unfolded.”
“That much is obvious,” Radbourne said, a chuckle behind his words.
“Who is that?” Alec ground out.
“He’s no’ dead,” Sorcha said, almost as though she was put out by his questions.
“I’m well aware of that,” Alec ground out. “I can hear his heart beating.”
“She knows what you are?” Radbourne asked, his voice incredulous.
“I ken everythin’,” Sorcha said. Then she immediately bit her lip at the scathing glance Alec sent her. “Well, I ken a lot.” Then she clarified again. “I ken enough. Just barely enough.”
“She knows what I am too,” Radbourne said casually as he leaned against the coach.
“She knows enough to get herself in heaps of trouble,” Alec countered. Would his entire holiday be spent removing Sorcha from sticky situations? Evidently it would. He inhaled deeply and faced Radbourne. “Your services are no longer needed. You may go.” He raised an eyebrow at the Lycan. “And I trust that you value your skin enough that you will not tell anyone of this impromptu encounter.”
Radbourne pushed away from the coach with a groan.
“What encounter?”
“Exactly,” Alec returned.
He could almost hear the words in Sorcha’s mouth before she spit them out. “What if I tell someone? What then?”
Infuriating little witch. Alec had no idea what to do with her. “Then one of us could be forced to marry you. Or see you ruined.”
“And since I was with you first…” Radbourne said.
Sorcha’s eyes grew wide. “It’s that simple? Truly? Ta catch a beast of my very own, I simply have ta let him compromise me?” She put her hands on her hips and tossed Radbourne a saucy grin. “Then consider yerself compromised, Lord Radbourne. Shall we race for Gretna?”
Alec’s mouth fell open. Damn if she wouldn’t kill him, which wasn’t an easy task as he was already dead. But then amusement broke across her features and she laughed until she had to wipe tears from her eyes. Thank God, she’d been teasing. Still it left him ill-humored.
“I’d like to know why this is so amusing to you,” Alec said, sounding like an old spinster aunt to his own ears. He would have a soft spot for old spinster aunts from this day forward. The poor dears must be the most put-upon souls in the land.
When Sorcha had caught her breath, she said, “Because I have an unconscious groom in the carriage. And I have a Lycan scoundrel who couldn’t be considered a scoundrel at all, or at least not with me, because I had him carry a body and ruined any chance he’d find me enchanting. And I have a vampyre who’s playin’ nursemaid.” She wiped at her eyes again. “Ta me, that’s quite amusin’.”
“Who’s to say you ruined any chance with me, Miss Ferguson?”
“Oh, ye may call me Sorcha, Lord Radbourne,” she said with a breezy wave of her hand.
“He may do no such thing!” Alec growled.
“In that case, Sorcha,” Radbourne drawled, “do call me Archer.”
No, Alec had no choice. He would have to murder the Lycan right here, right now. “Absolutely not! There are some lines that should not be crossed.”
Sorcha narrowed her eyes at him. “Why no’? Ye seem ta be crossin’ one or more of them at this very moment, Alec.”
“Who else would protect the Lycans of the world from you, Sorcha?”
An infuriating smile lit her lips. “Does he look like he needs protectin’ from me?” She turned to Radbourne. “Do ye fear me at all, Archer?”
Alec bristled at the use of the man’s Christian name.
“Not a bit,” Radbourne replied smoothly.
“Oh, you should fear her,” Alec said. He shook his head in dismay. God, he already feared her. “You may go, Radbourne. I’ll see her back to the castle.”
“Is that what you want, Sorcha?” the Lycan asked, and Alec was certain that
was just to needle him.
“Well, I assume my plans for the night have been thwarted by my nursemaid,” she said, flicking her wrist in a most annoyed manner at Alec.
“We will discuss your plans,” Alec bit out, “as soon as we’re alone.”
She put her hands on those hips again, and he had an absurd wish that his hands were holding her hips instead.
“Oh, ye can feel certain we will discuss it, Alec.”
Blast and damn. He was trying to save her virtue. Why on earth did she have to look so annoyed with him? She’d called him her nursemaid, for God’s sake. Well, he might as well play the part.
Alec scowled in Radbourne’s direction until the blasted Lycan tipped his head in farewell. “Until tomorrow, sweetheart,” the wolfling said and then he started off toward The Knight’s Arms.
Tomorrow was several hours off, and Alec would have to make sure Sorcha had regained some sense before her eyes landed again on the Lycan or his younger brothers.
“Well, I hope ye’re satisfied.” Sorcha folded her arms across her chest. “It wasna easy gettin’ all the way ta Folkestone alone.”
Most likely not, especially for a lass who didn’t have the power of enchantment the way he did. “Well, what does that tell you, Sorch? That perhaps you should have stayed at Castle Hythe like you were supposed to?”
Her dark locks bounced as she shook her head. “If somethin’ is worth havin’, it’s worth workin’ for.”
She sounded just like her father. Always a man of business, even though a gentleman. Alec sighed. How could one reason with Sorcha? How could one get her to see the danger she’d put herself in? He’d probably have a better idea if he had a sister of his own. As it was, he had no clue. “Well, you’ll have to work on it some other time. I’m taking you back.”
Sorcha sighed and reached for the carriage door. “I’m pretty sure Johnny is out for the night.”
Alec pushed on the door to keep her from opening it. “Sit up in the box with me, and we can continue our conversation.” Perhaps inspiration would strike him before they reached Castle Hythe.
Chapter Five
Sorcha settled into the coachman’s box and waited for Alec to assume the place beside her. Why was he being so difficult? She wasn’t anything to him, not really. Friends, neighbors. Nothing more. Was it simply that he didn’t wish anyone else to find the happiness that had eluded him?
Well, that wasn’t terribly charitable of him.
Or was this just the way of vampyres? Did they enjoy ruining everyone else’s plans? She hadn’t known Lord Kettering when he was a vampyre. And she’d only briefly met Lord Blodswell when he was still a vampyre, though the man had seemed most agreeable even in that state. Of course, since then, both gentlemen had found their true loves, the women for whom their hearts beat once more, and been restored to the men they had once been, albeit in a time period much later than when they were born.
Alec slid into the spot beside her, and she couldn’t help glancing at his profile. She could tell that he was unhappy with this new life of his. He frowned more than he used to, and the warmness that had once exuded from him had been replaced by cold, vacant emptiness. Sorcha folded her hands in her lap. They drove past The Knight’s Arms and the merriment within, headed straight for the darkness past Folkestone.
She wished that Alec could find the same peace Kettering and Blodswell had discovered, that he could be transformed back to the man she’d once known. But that was never to be. His true love, Cait, loved another. Poor Alec was doomed to spend an eternity without the one woman he’d always assumed he’d love, marry, and have children with.
Thinking of him that way made it much more difficult to be annoyed with him. Could she do something, anything, to make him smile the way he once had? Something that might return the old twinkle in his eye?
“You are completely out of control.” His irritated voice bit into her thoughts.
Sorcha’s head snapped up to meet his gaze, but he wasn’t looking at her. His eyes were trained on the road before them. She wasn’t out of control. She knew exactly what she was doing. So her plan hadn’t gone as… well, planned. She wasn’t out of control, and it wasn’t very nice of him to say so. “Ye have become quite opinionated since ye’ve become a vampyre, Alec.”
“I thought I was a nursemaid,” he grumbled.
“Aye, that too,” she agreed. “I think I liked ye better before.”
He scoffed. “Aye, me too.”
Well then why was he behaving this way? He was in control of himself, after all. “I doona ken why ye have appointed yerself my protector.”
“Perhaps because you need one and I’m around.”
Sorcha rolled her eyes.
“I can’t believe, Sorch,” he continued, “that Seamus Ferguson would be happy with you chasing after men of their ilk.”
Men of their ilk? Sorcha somehow managed not to snort.
“Ye mean Lycans, do ye no’? They are noble beasts. No’ ‘men of their ilk.’”
Finally, he shifted his midnight gaze to her and she almost shivered from the intensity of it. “I’m barely keeping my temper at bay. Don’t provoke me.”
“Or what?” she muttered to herself. But she knew he had heard her because he clenched his jaw even tighter and a muscle twitched right beside his eye. “Doona pretend that this is about me, Alec. We both ken better.”
“I beg your pardon,” he growled.
Sorcha sighed and shifted away from him on the bench.
“We both ken this is about Cait, no’ me. But she doesna need or want protection, and neither do I.”
Alec’s frown deepened as he returned his eyes to the road before them. He was quiet for the longest time before he finally made a sound. “Cait’s lost,” he said quietly. “I know that. But you don’t have to be.”
But Cait wasn’t lost. She was happier than she’d ever been. Though Sorcha couldn’t bring herself to say those words to Alec. No matter how infuriating she found his sudden overprotectiveness, she could never purposely hurt him worse than he already had been. Doing so would be cruel, and she’d always adored him. He was kind and honorable. Intelligent and admirable. Not to mention, the most handsome man in all of Edinburgh.
She’d been just as surprised as Alec when Cait had married Eynsford. Of course, all of Edinburgh had been surprised by their sudden wedding. Sorcha, along with the rest of the city, had been convinced Cait would eventually accept Alec’s proposal, and they’d be the prettiest couple in all of Scotland. Wealthy and powerful too.
Even so, if she’d been listening carefully to Cait, Sorcha wouldn’t have been surprised. Cait was clairvoyant, and she had declared most fervently on more than one occasion that Mr. MacQuarrie wasn’t in her future. But Sorcha had always suspected that Cait would eventually give in to the handsome Scot. After all, who would say no to Alec? And who could keep saying it?
“Is it so hard ta believe I might ken what’s best for me?”
No one else thought she did, but she thought it wise not to admit that.
“Those… men,” he bit out, “aren’t for you, Sorch.”
She sighed.
“Is it so hard to believe I might want what’s best for you? That I might know what that is. And that it might not be what you want?” He flicked the ribbons harder, pushing the team of bays along the road at a faster clip. “Though why you would want one of those beasts I have no idea.”
Because they were loyal, spirited, and lived life to the fullest, at least if they were anything like the other Lycans of her acquaintance. And Alec’s acquaintance. “Are ye still angry Lord Benjamin dinna tell ye the truth of his circumstances?”
*
The truth of his circumstances? That his oldest and dearest friend was a drooling beast of a man who sought the moon like it was part of him? That he was not the man he’d portrayed himself to be and had kept that fact a secret from Alec since they were twelve years old? He had every reason to be angry about that.
/> He hadn’t realized the truth until after that terrible night when he’d been transformed into the monster he was now.
Once his sense of smell had been enhanced beyond measure, Alec had known upon his first scent of his old friend that Ben was a Lycan. The betrayal was still difficult to accept after all they’d been through together. “This has nothing to do with Ben.”
And it didn’t. Not at all. Ben wasn’t at Castle Hythe or Eynsford Park, trying to lure Sorcha down a dark path not meant for a lady of her sweet innocence. She was as delicate as the flowers she controlled with her thoughts and emotions, not a chit to be toyed with the way Radbourne and his brothers were wont to do.
“Little Rose was born, ye ken?” she said, completely knocking his thoughts off-balance.
What had she said? Little Rose Westfield had been born? Yes, he knew that. It would have been impossible to miss. Ben had sent more than one letter announcing the blessed event. More than one unanswered letter.
“She has the prettiest mop of red hair, just like Elspeth,” Sorcha continued merrily.
He could hear the smile in her voice, and strangely enough, it made him smile too. It had been so long since he’d done so that the smile didn’t quite feel right on his face. “Does the tiny little witch have her mother’s green eyes too?”
“No, silly,” she laughed. “Bairns have blue eyes. Though Benjamin swears they’ll change ta look just like his.”
“They haven’t yet?”
“They’re blue as cornflowers. And gettin’ bluer every day.”
Alec could just imagine the infant witch in his mind’s eye.
His oldest friend’s daughter who must look amazingly similar to her mother. He smiled despite himself.
“Benjamin wanted ye ta be Rose’s godfather. He said he sent ye letters askin’ ye ta do so.”
The smile vanished from Alec’s face and he was glad to see Castle Hythe on the horizon.
“He has brothers who can fill that role.”
“But they’re his brothers. Ye’re his friend. Ye’re the one he wants ta look after Rose’s future.”
“I can’t step foot in church, Sorcha,” he growled, even though he didn’t want to. It wasn’t her fault that he’d been attacked by an enraged vampyre. It wasn’t her fault that his only choice had been to die or become the same sort of monster who had stolen his life. It wasn’t her fault that he couldn’t be little Rose Westfield’s godfather. “Ben should have known better than to ask.”