Love Bites UK (Mammoth Book Of Vampire Romance2)

by Telep, Trisha

  He needed more than herbs and potions. He needed her! But it was unfair to take his very real frustration out on this boy.

  “Where is Gwyltha now?”

  The lad shrugged. “Who knows? The Timeless go where they please. She told me to prepare the herbs and potions for you. Took me a while. There are no fresh herbs this time of year.”

  Justin barely heard the end of the boy’s speech. One word caught his ear. “What do you mean ‘Timeless’?”

  The question obviously bothered the boy, which piqued Justin’s curiosity even more. “How is she ‘Timeless’?”

  The lad looked away as he emptied his basket. “That’s what we call ones like her. Who come and go.”

  “She doesn’t live in your village?” Now there was a hope!

  “She lives where she goes. Best not to ask too closely where she is.” He made her sound like a sneak thief or a vagrant. The lad finished unloading his basket, tied the lid shut and left, steadfastly resisting all Justin’s attempts to learn anything more about Gwyltha.

  By Hades, she couldn’t just disappear like that. And if she really had, why send him enough supplies to cure the entire garrison and half the town?

  He resolved to spend as much time as he could spare the next day asking through the town for more information.

  Early next morning the Legate announced that the entire legion was confined to camp. Trying to ignore the gossip that announcement kindled, Justin spent his time taking care of his patients, dismissing a couple of malingerers and taking in three more stricken with the current sickness. At least those he could cure easily, thanks to Gwyltha.

  It all rather defied reason. If she’d only seen him as a casual bed companion, why send him the very generous gift of remedy?

  His pointless and useless musings were rudely interrupted by the arrival of one of the tribunes bearing orders from the Legate. Justin was to ready the camp hospital for action. Additional supplies were unlikely to be forthcoming and could he manage on what he had? Since he was obviously going to have to, Justin agreed, asking how many men he should take. He was told to take as many as necessary.

  He then asked how many men under Justin’s care would be fit to march in the morning. Since the tribune’s voice was better suited to the parade ground than a friendly conversation, the news would be around the hospital and out of the door before he returned to his office.

  Not that Justin had time to waste worrying about that. He and Marcus and two orderlies spent the rest of the day packing the hospital wagons.

  That night Justin slept badly. It wasn’t the prospect of battle that bothered him. It was dreams of Gwyltha that disturbed his rest.

  “They are fools,” Gwyltha said, standing at the sacred oak beside her mentor, Vorniax. “Even united with the other tribes, what chance do they have against Rome?”

  “They are driven by a need to show the Romans they are not a contented subject people.” At her exasperated frown, Vorniax went on: “We will outlive the Romans and many more invaders. Mortals won’t. They need to make themselves heard.”

  That Gwyltha understood but still saw the fruitlessness of it. “They fight by different rules.” They learned that in the south when the first Caesar came. “What chance do they have against a fortified camp? The town will surely suffer.”

  “They will lure them out, I think. These petty attacks and skirmishes are to stir their anger. An outpost or two burned to the ground and they will come. The tribes will be ready for them.”

  Being ready to fight was not the same as being fully prepared for battle but that she kept to herself. Was her judgment clouded by the lasting memory of one particular Roman surgeon whose name echoed in her mind just as the taste of his blood and the memory of his hands on her flesh refused to fade? “They want me to come as healer.”

  Vorniax nodded. “You will?”

  How could she refuse her people, even if they were rash and foolish? If she were right there would be wounded aplenty.

  The Legion waited three days, long enough that anticipation faded to boredom. Then, just as Justin began to contemplate unpacking needed items from the wagons, came the news another patrol had been attacked, followed only hours later by a runner bringing word that an outpost to the north had been sacked. Within minutes, the order to prepare to march was given and they left camp before dawn on a wet and dismal morning.

  The march was hell, even to hardened soldiers. The few survivors would never forget it. It wasn’t just the weather – they’d been trained to ignore cold, heat or damp. But the fog that came down a few hours beyond Eboracum didn’t improve things, blocking sight and muffling sound so even the creak of armour and the thud of marching steps were quieted. In the gloom and mist it wasn’t hard to imagine lurking natives behind every ghostly tree and rock.

  Arriving at the sacked outpost revived spirits, or rather rekindled a desire to show the damned Brigantes who ruled here now.

  Marcus seemed caught up in the general belligerence. Justin couldn’t help wondering if Gwyltha was out there. Somewhere.

  What would he do if he encountered her? What could he do? He was Roman and sworn to his Emperor.

  They camped for the night near the destroyed outpost. It was a quiet night but the entire legion awoke to shock and horror. The posted sentries had all had their throats cut.

  A declaration of war if ever there was one.

  The fog had lifted slightly. Nothing could have dampened the desire for battle that rippled through the lines then. The order was given and, at double pace, they headed towards a cluster of villages to the north where intelligence claimed there was a gathering of neighbouring tribes.

  After two days’ march they found them. Or rather the tribes found the legion. Earlier, scouts had reported there was a massed gathering ahead. The legion halted, while more scouts were sent forward to assess the ground. Then the line was attacked from behind. Waiting by his wagons in the rear, Justin watched the Brigantes, and what had to be Picts, pour out of the mist and take out several ranks to the rear before the order was give to reassemble in formation.

  Seeing the carnage before his eyes, Justin gave orders to Marcus and the others to pull the wagons back and set up a dressing station. The first wounded arrived before they’d had time to heat water to prepare their instruments.

  Justin lost track of time, measured it only by injuries treated and the wounded brought in. The sounds of battle increased as the day wore on, then eased. Were the Brigantes withdrawing? Justin finished stitching up a particularly nasty knife wound and went outside to call for more hot water.

  He’d gone no more than two paces when the arrow caught him in the throat.

  7

  Gwyltha was watching from a distance. Her vampire sight allowing her to see far more than any mortal ever could.

  She, like Vorniax, understood far more than the tribes did. Their protest was useless, but she’d protect and help as best she could. There would be need of healing once the battle was over. If not long before.

  The initial surprise attack went well. The tribes had the advantage, knowing the ground and not marching in formation. The ranged troops on the rise were only a small part of the united force.

  Her eyes scanned the battlefield. At the rear she spied the supply wagons, and what had to be the hospital, complete with their surgeon. Sweet goddesses. Her body remembered and her deathless heart ached for him. Was this the price of immortality? To feel the pain of loss forever.

  Any sort of enduring love was impossible, poised as they were on opposite sides of a battle that would only bring the tribes a fleeting victory – if that.

  Her eyes glimpsed an image that burned into her brain.

  Justin! Struck by an arrow and down on the ground!

  Throwing caution to the winds, she ran, faster than mortal eyes could register. Through the battle and the fighting, she sped to the back of the line, to see Justin carried into the hospital tent.

  His life was fading, his slowing he
art was like a drum beating his own retreat from life.

  “No!” The cry came out aloud. The cluster of Romans around him turned and stared. One, lying wounded on a pallet, reached for his sword.

  She ignored every single one of them and strode over to where Justin poured out his lifeblood, a black-feathered arrow embedded in his throat.

  Marcus at least recognized her. “Madam! You are the hunter!”

  She nodded in acknowledgment. “Justin is dying.” It wasn’t a question.

  Marcus nodded. “I’ve tried to take out the arrow but it made him bleed more. He’s choking on his own blood and his lungs are collapsing.”

  “I will take him.”

  “Eh! No, madam! Impossible!”

  But she had him in her arms. “One less for you to bury.”

  “He can’t leave like that!” one of the assistants said.

  “He’s not deserting, you fools! He’s dying. Let me have him.” Not that she was about to give them any choice. “You have witnesses enough that he was struck. Get busy with the wounded you can heal.”

  No one stopped her. Didn’t even try as she walked to the door of the makeshift hospital and ran. Knocking aside Roman and Brigante alike, she took the shortest path into the shelter of the deep woods.

  He still lived, but only just. She had to find Vorniax and get his help. He had been telling her for at least a hundred years to build her own colony. Now was the time to begin. She ran on until she found him.

  “A Roman?” he asked, his eyebrows raised.

  “One who is worthy,” she replied.

  “Bring him in. I will tell you what to do.”

  She laid Justin down at the stone altar and raised her eyes to her mentor. “Is it too late?”

  Vorniax bent over and frowned at Justin. “He lives but not for long. Is this truly what you want?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then bite him and take the last of his life. You must take his life to return it.”

  She leaned over, turning his head away from her. Grimacing at the arrow still imbedded in his throat, she bit into his vein and drank.

  It took what seemed an eternity itself until his heart pumped its last and he lay inert and cooling.

  “Wait,” Vorniax said, “we need to take care of that arrow. He won’t want that in his neck for eternity.” Using both hands he pulled and removed it in a swift tug. “A Pictish one,” he said, looking at the arrow. “Now.” He looked up at her. “If this Roman is truly worthy to become one of the Timeless, open your wrist and let him drink.”

  That took longer. She had to force the first blood down his throat. Was she too late? Vorniax muttered some ancient chant and Justin’s lips moved. Just a soft brush against her skin but it was movement. His mouth fixed on her wrist, like a babe at the breast, and he drank, embracing immortality.

  At Vorniax’s signal she broke the connection. “Has he had enough?”

  Her mentor nodded. “He has. Let him rest. Let the wound heal and then, my dear Gwyltha, you will have the task of explaining to this Roman what you have done to him.”

  It would not be easy but they had eternity ahead of them. That would surely be long enough to explain. Against all reason and expectation, Justin was now hers.

  For ever.

  Blood Feud

  Patti O’Shea

  The stench of death assaulted my senses as I stood on the sidewalk, looking up at the sooty, tan brick facade of the warehouse. White paint obliterated the name of the business that had once used it, but I could make out the words “Trading Company” anyway. Graffiti covered the lower portion of the warehouse, a riot of colour and symbols that meant nothing to me. Deserted roads, broken streetlights, and a full moon obscured by passing clouds made everything seem eerie.

  Of course, it was just as likely that my unease was caused by what awaited me in the building – a demon and a dead vampire, the seventh member of my clan killed this month.

  I glanced over my shoulder. For a moment, I thought about hopping in the Aston Martin DBS I’d left parked at the kerb and racing off. That wasn’t an option because my clan lord had been adamant that I handle this. His insistence puzzled me. Given my past, I thought he’d want to keep me as far away from demons as possible.

  While it continued to bother me, I had to trust my ruler. And I could come up with one strong reason for choosing me – I might be his sole option. Chances were no other enforcer was willing to work with a demon, and if the murderer wasn’t caught tonight, there might be an all-out war by sundown tomorrow.

  It had taken more than 300 years and cost countless lives before a truce had been negotiated between vampires and demons. Prejudice and hatred remained, but the peace had lasted nearly 800 years. Now, the entire thing might unravel before morning. It was my job to make sure that didn’t happen.

  Huffing out a breath, I extended my senses to scan the building. No sign of the demon I was supposed to meet, but they did have the ability to cloak themselves. Walking to the entrance, I opened the door and stepped inside. I gave my eyes a moment to adjust to the darkness. Slowly, things came into view – more graffiti covered the grey cinder-block walls, the dirt was deep enough on the floor to reach the toes of my black ankle boots, and piles of debris were scattered in random locations.

  Since I would probably find my partner-to-be near the body, I scanned for it. With a bead on its location, I headed deeper into the warehouse. It was a large building, partitioned off into smaller spaces, but I took my time. And prepared myself for anything.

  There’d been a pattern to the murders – three vampires killed on each of two separate nights at specific time intervals. There was every reason to believe that the demon who’d done it meant to take the lives of two more tonight. With no guarantee that this wasn’t a set-up to make me today’s second victim, I had to be cautious.

  I was strong. Humans didn’t worry me and neither did most vampires. But demons? They scared me. I might not hate them across the board like many of my clan members did, but I didn’t blindly trust them either.

  Yes, my clan lord had assured me that he’d spoken to the demon king himself, but it didn’t mean there was no risk. Maybe the demon ruler was in on it, or maybe the killer was good enough to fool a vampire, either way I wasn’t taking any chances.

  As I neared the body, I slowed even further. Broken crates and pallets offered more places to hide and that had me on edge. Up ahead there was a metal door hanging ajar and I knew I’d reached my destination. I slipped through, not wanting to pull it open any wider, and saw a pair of legs sticking out from behind a mound of refuse. The demon stood about twenty feet away, arms crossed over his chest.

  Six centuries had taught me to hide my reactions and doing so now was instinctive. I didn’t break stride or gasp even though it felt as if all the oxygen had been sucked out of the universe. It didn’t matter. He would have sensed the way my heart sped up, how my pulse tripped when I recognized him. But then I’d felt his pulse surge as well. Leisurely, he lifted his head and looked at me. As his light blue eyes connected with mine, my body had another kind of reaction.

  Every woman should have a demon lover once in her life. Seere had been mine.

  And this left me even more stunned. Had my clan lord known that the demon king was sending Seere? Instantly, I dismissed that. I never would have been allowed within a mile of this place if my ruler had been aware that the demon from my past would be here.

  It didn’t matter that it had been nearly 200 years since I’d last seen Seere, I remembered the way his hands had caressed me, the weight of him over me, the thrust of his body inside mine – and the screaming orgasms. Who could forget a male who made them come so hard they lost all control?

  He’d grown out his dark brown hair until it was long enough to brush across his shoulders and had pulled the top part back, tying it off with what appeared to be a leather thong. I drank in the sight of him, spending a little extra time on the breadth of his chest, the width of his sho
ulders and the muscles of his thighs. My mouth went dry and I had to swallow hard.

  Only Seere could pull off a black duster over faded, torn blue jeans, tennis shoes and a navy T-shirt. On anyone else, it would be ridiculous, but on him it looked perfect.

  Stopping a few feet away, I tucked my hands in the front pockets of my black jeans. If I didn’t, I was afraid I’d reach for him and I’d forfeited any right I had to touch him. Damn, though, he was as gorgeous as ever and I longed to run my fingers over his face, kiss those sexy lips.

  “Isobel.” There was no emotion in his voice and that didn’t bode well. Demons felt things deeply.

  “Prince Seere,” I said, inclining my head slightly.

  He raised his eyebrows. “I never told you that.”

  “Wikipedia. You have a listing there.”

  “You looked me up,” he said and his lips curved. Interesting that he’d spent enough time in this world to know what I was talking about.

  “Curiosity.” But it had been more than that. I’d been hungry for any information about him that I could find. There wasn’t much, but I’d devoured everything I’d come across. I changed the subject.“Do you know who’s responsible for murdering members of my clan?”

  Seere’s smile disappeared. “No, but we want the killer found as badly as you do.”

  “Really? There’s at least one demon who doesn’t agree.”

  He growled and walked away from me before stalking back. Seere still moved with a sinuous grace and that made the ache I felt deepen. He scented my arousal, I knew it by the flare in his eyes and the way the pulse in his carotid artery picked up speed again. Before I could stop it, my fangs began to extend and I turned away to regain my self-command.

  It took longer than I liked. Too many memories of too many nights spent sharing pleasure with Seere, and it didn’t help that he’d allowed me to taste him. Without permission, demon blood was poisonous to vampires, but when we were given the privilege, their blood was ambrosia and no other was nearly as sweet.