London Calling

by Sorcha Mowbray

  “And you, Jonah?”

  “I am not worthy.” Sadness filled him. “But, I am of no concern. Be ready by the top of the hour.” He strode from the room and headed below the house to the tomb which resided there. Omer would know what to do about Mr. Tinnin.

  “Jonah.” Omer appeared before him the minute he stepped into the ancient’s sleeping chamber.

  “Omer, we have a problem.”

  “Mr. Tinnin.” He inclined his chin. “I know. I’ve heard.”

  “What should we do?”

  “Let me worry about it. For now, concentrate on the person responsible for those zombies.” He adjusted the robe over his shoulders as he stepped out into the dim light. “The woman giving you issues?”

  “Annabelle—er Miss Craig?” He cleared his throat. “Besides trying to kill me, no. She is keeping to her dealings. I did offer to work with her, but she refused. I thought it prudent to offer a hand to her.”

  “I agree. Continue to watch over her. She’s headstrong. It is a strength and also a weakness.”

  “I will. I need her help or Miss Clara’s.”

  “For our dear Jemmy.” The ancient grinned. “I can feel the love she has for Lawson, but this will be a long-fought battle. We must be there to support her. All of us.” He gave Jonah a pointed stare.

  “I agree. We will hunt tonight and prepare tomorrow after we see how this initial meeting goes.”

  “I will apprise you of our findings when we return,” he answered before returning to main floor of the mansion.

  5

  Monsters don’t help humans.

  Period.

  Full stop.

  However, instead of marching her way back to the house, to regroup and figure out their next move. She followed Jonah and his men. What had he called them? No, it’d been whispers on the winds. Dreadfuls—whatever that meant.

  She also didn’t like him. He was too…arrogant. Too full of himself. Could be because he was a vampire, but there was more to it. A predator who stalked his prey.

  Yet for all her bluster, she still found him attractive. Sexy even. She yearned to run her fingers through his silky black hair. Press her lips to his, and find out if they were as soft as they appeared. Offer him her exposed neck, knowing full well what he would do.

  It made no sense. Vampires and humans weren’t friends. They surely wouldn’t be lovers. She shuddered. Not because of the cool, damp air swirling around her. She had a history with his kind and understood exactly what they were capable of. No good could come from her infatuation. She realized it, yet it didn’t stop her.

  Keeping to the shadows, she followed Jonah, and the man she believed he called Ezra, and the other, Emmitt, at a safe distance. Ducking into dark alleys that stank of human waste, she slowed when they stopped. Those who were still out closer to the stroke of midnight than not, moved away from the men, some going so far as walking to the other side of the street. She could not blame them. Individually they were powerful, together they emitted such a wave of supremacy it made one feel unsettled. Moving away, or crossing the lane, wouldn’t elevate those feelings.

  Considering what they were, she understood they didn’t need to sulk or hide. They embraced their inner monster, used it to their advantage as they moved through the fog filled streets of London.

  They stopped again.

  One of the men with Jonah glanced to where she hid, tucked behind a growler waiting in the street for a fare. Neither the driver or the horse paid her any mind, which she was eternally grateful for. She crouched down, tucking herself behind the wheel guard, hoping beyond hope he would see her. Unfortunately, he continued to keep his gaze trained on where she kneeled. How could he even see her? There was no way. She could barely make out the figures of the men through the dankness. He nudged Jonah with his elbow, who in turn glanced over his shoulder, scanning the area.

  If Jonah saw her, he gave no indication; instead he simply shrugged, turning to face the men again. It was the distraction she required. Stepping from behind the growler, she ducked her head down, and strode, moving to an alley across from them. She ignored the passed-out drunkard lying close to her feet, and focused on what was happening across from her.

  It appeared they were arguing. She couldn’t hear them above the clopping of the horses’ hooves and the turning wheels of the carriages on the cobblestone streets.

  Getting any closer to the group would mean revealing herself and she was not ready to do so at this juncture. So, she waited, keeping what she hoped was the element of surprise.

  She watched their body language. Jonah did not look pleased; his shoulders were stiff, while the other man, the one she thought might have noticed her, seemed entirely too…amused.

  Jonah began to walk again, his steps precise, determined even, as he maneuvered down the street. The others, with no sense of urgency, began to follow slowly. She pondered, not for the first time, if perhaps Jonah was the leader of the group of odd men.

  It would explain why she felt a connection with him. She led her own band of misfits. Yes, it had to be connection she felt. At least that was what she told herself.

  A Metropolitan officer came around the corner and hesitated for a moment. With a shake of his head, he bypassed the group. As he passed her, he twirled his wooden truncheon to some unheard melody.

  It grew quieter the closer they got to the outskirts of London, making it harder for her to conceal her footsteps.

  Jonah stopped in front of a vast, imposing house. Gas lights provided ample light from the street to the main door. Kerosene lamps illuminated the interior of the home. Even with the warmth of the soft glow, the house gave off an ominous feeling. It made her shiver. The massive two-story structure was made of stone, and had two immense gables fitted with stained glass lancet windows. A smaller gable dead center led to the front door. Steep, imposing rooflines with elaborate, heavy molding completed the architecture of the mansion.

  Its beauty hadn’t been lost on her. It was a perfect place for a vampire’s lair. Far enough away from the hustle and bustle of London, it didn’t get a lot of carriage or foot traffic. It was the perfect place for Jonah to rest while the sun lit up the sky.

  “If I had known you were curious about my home, Miss Craig, I’d have provided a proper invitation,” Jonah stated softly behind her, startling her.

  “Mr. McRae, how did you…” She turned. Her hand immediately went to the wooden stake at her belt.

  “Vampire,” he reminded her, cocking a brow. “I doubt you are going to need that.” He gestured to her waist where she had already removed the stake.

  “Yes, well.” She tucked the piece of wood back into her belt. “If one does not want to be staked through the heart, one should not sneak up on a hunter.”

  “You are aware the whole ‘to kill a vampire you must stake through the heart and cut off their head’ is an old wives’ tale. I can assure you it does not work,” he replied.

  “Do you have personal experience with this?”

  “Yes. I have. It just stings and not for very long,” he stated, a smirk playing across his lips.

  What she didn’t mention was the fact all her stakes were tipped with silver and blessed by the church. It’d do more than sting when she drove the piece of wood through his heart. It would kill him.

  “Maybe.” He gestured to the house across the way. “Would you care for a cup of tea, Ms. Craig?”

  Not terribly fond of tea, she accepted anyway, but only because it would get her into his home. “Is it not getting late? Soon the sun will rise.” She didn’t want to sound too overeager.

  He reached down, removing a time piece from his pocket. He glanced at the face before tucking it back into his jacket. “Not for some time.”

  He placed his hand on her lower back, the cold from his touch seeping through her clothes, chilling her flesh as he guided her to the walkway. His coldness should repulse her; instead it had the opposite effect on her.

  He leaned down, his l
ips brushing over her ear. “I promise, you will be quite safe in my company,” he whispered.

  She shivered, recalling one of her favorite poems in which the spider invited the fly into its parlor. She hoped, for her sake, she had a better outcome than the fly.

  To be honest, it wasn’t fear that made her shiver, it was desire. Jerking away from him, their gazes clashed. Lust swirled within those grey depths.

  This is dangerous. He is dangerous. She knew this.

  Vampires and humans did not mix.

  It went against the laws of nature.

  It also went against the laws of her nature to be attracted to a monster. This could end up being a horrible decision on her part. Yet, her curiosity got the better of her. In all her years of hunting, she’d never stepped into a vampire’s lair. If she went in, she could glean some knowledge from Jonah that could aid her on future hunts.

  “I am not afraid of you, Mr. McRae,” she announced, before she stormed across the street, and came to a halt feet from the lighted gate.

  Wind brushed across her cheek and then, there he stood, right next to her. “I know,” he replied as his hand wrapped around her elbow to guide her to the entrance of his home.

  “Where are the others?” Stepping through into ornate foyer, she paused while he removed his top coat and closed the door, securing it.

  “They are around,” he answered placing his jacket, over his arm. “Would you like me to take your jacket?”

  “I prefer to keep it on.” Her gaze flicked around the open foyer, trying to take in everything she saw without being overly obvious.

  “We are very informal here, Ms. Craig. Especially at this time of night,” he informed her before he strolled down the hallway, heading toward a closed door.

  “Do you even drink tea?” Annabelle trailed behind him.

  “Yes, when the circumstance calls for it.” He paused, bracing himself against the entryway of the kitchen. “I believe you have been greatly misinformed on what you know about vampires. If the mood strikes me, I can both eat and drink without issues. The problem is, I often do not feel the urge to eat or drink. Unless of course it is blood. Then I’m always thirsty.”

  She hadn’t been sure what she expected when he lit the kerosene lamp. The white and black tiled kitchen sent a pang of longing through her. As a child, she and her mother would list the things their fancy home would have. A kitchen like this, with wooden stoves big enough to cook two meals on sat in the middle, an open-hearth fire pit was on her right. He had a sink with running water, and solid butcher blocks. She ran her fingertips along the glossy white enamels.

  Behind her, he placed a kettle on the stove to warm. He then stepped close to her. His chilled breath floated over her neck and she shivered. She opened her mouth to say something, but he grabbed two fine bone china cups out of the cupboard and placed them on a black teakwood tray. The lack of silver didn’t go unnoticed by her. Perhaps there was some truth to everything she’d learned.

  “I have sugar, no cream. Will this be okay, Ms. Craig?” He removed a set of wooden spoons from a drawer under the cupboard where the cups were located. He placed them on the tray, then returned to the stove to fetch the pot.

  “Perfectly fine,” she responded, waving her hand, not caring a whit how he bloody served tea. What she really wanted to see was where he went to sleep during the day.

  “Excellent. After we partake in some tea, perhaps I can be persuaded to give you a tour of my home,” he announced, pouring the now boiling water into a ceramic tea pot.

  “Yes, please.”

  “Sit.” He gestured to the one of the chairs stationed around the work table.

  She eased into the chair, not willing to take her eyes off him for a moment. Though he appeared cultured, had some etiquette, he was still a vampire. Fast, deadly and manipulative. “Would you like me to pour?” He gestured to the pot before he pulled out a chair and sat.

  “That would be lovely,” she replied.

  She had been trained to fight, not be a proper lady who served tea. With her luck the top of the pot would fall off, hit the delicate looking cups and saucers, shattering the entire set.

  He efficiently poured the brew into each of their cups. After adding the sugar, she sipped at the tea. He followed suit and silence filled the room. It was an odd feeling. To be this close to a vampire and not have any urge to kill it didn’t make sense. Elijah would have cleaned her plow for not even thinking about it. Naturally, if he flashed even a hint of his canines at her, she wouldn’t hesitate to remove his head from his body. She had no desire to meet the same fate as her family or her entire neighborhood for that matter.

  Elijah would’ve been bloody mad at her for her feelings of lust toward Jonah. He’d demand she clarify her emotional attachment to an undead being. How could she tell him, if she didn’t understand them herself?

  “Did you know I was following you?” She took another sip of the steaming, sweet tea.

  “Yes,” he answered. “Ezra scented you while you hid behind the growler. Although I’d sensed your arrival mere seconds after we left.” He leaned forward, capturing her gaze. “I detected your heartbeat along with the sweet scent of your blood.”

  He placed his half full tea cup down. His penetrating gaze bore into hers. Did he see her apprehension? Smell her arousal? Hear the rapid beat of her heart?

  “Do you not find it odd, for me the vampire and you the hunter to be sitting down for a conversation over tea?” He tilted his head to the side.

  “Perhaps a little,” she answered.

  “More than a little, I’d say. I am grateful you haven’t attempted to kill me,” he teased.

  “The night is still young, Mr. McRae,” she replied tartly.

  “Indeed, it is. Are you finished?” Jonah gestured to her cup.

  “Yes,” she replied.

  “If you would like, I’d be willing to give you a tour,” he stated, pushing away from the table. “Is there anything in particular you’d like to see?”

  “To be honest Mr. McRae, I have a deep curiosity to see where you rest during the day.”

  He nodded. “Follow me.” He led her out of the kitchen and back into the foyer. They climbed the stairs toward the second-floor landing.

  Annabelle rubbed her hands in anticipation of what she was about to see, as he stooped at the mouth of the hallway. He leaned against the wall, his legs crossed at his ankles and his shoulders supporting his weight. He appeared completely relaxed. She pushed down her growing desires and focused on the research aspect of this visit.

  “I believe you are going to be disappointed. My room is the second one on the right,” he stated. “And there is no coffin.”

  6

  The air changed the minute Miss Craig began to track him. It thickened with expectancy and a thread of arousal—his and hers. The hint of rosewater and lilies along with the sweet tang of her blood stirred emotions in him he’d like to tuck away and not consider, even for a moment. She trailed behind him, not too far, but not so close either. It hadn’t mattered. If he wanted her, he’d have her.

  His gums throbbed.

  His heart kicked in his chest, coming to life after a long slumber. He tried to remember if he’d drunk the elixir earlier, but being around Annabelle drove him to distraction. Never mind. Could be the scent of the hunt. Following those undead things, pursuing them till her scent overwhelmed everything else. He called off Ezra. Mr. Tinnin might not like the idea of his night of debauchery cancelled, but unfortunately, he didn’t have a choice.

  Miss Craig would have been the distraction none of them needed.

  “As you can see the house is just a home,” he said, from where he stood. “We have no trap doors, hidden compartments or leg irons lying about.” Their cages remained at Dr. Brew’s laboratory. It kept their home and duty separate, something Omer insisted upon.

  A crease formed between her brows. “Obviously. The bigger question is, what would I find if I went on my own?” Her bo
ttom lip stuck out in a slight pout and a thread of humor wiggled through him. How intriguing she was. An enigma. She surprised him at every turn, exposing a bit more of her personality.

  Nevertheless, she was trouble. He could tell. Standing in her presence, watching her calculating mind churn, she’d end up stuck between the walls if given half the chance. “A home, Miss Craig. Nothing more. Nothing less.”

  She straightened her shoulders, lifting her chin just so. The haughty expression on anyone else would have annoyed him. On her, he found it enduring. What the bloody hell is wrong with you?

  “If you expect me to believe you don’t have secrets here—”

  He advanced on her, pinning her to the wall. The aroma of her fear laced with heated excitement caramelized into a confectionary delight sure to make one’s teeth ache. Only this one threatened to pull the beast from his invisible chains to wreak havoc amongst the mortal plain. “I do.”

  Jonah glared down at her, determined not to inhale her heady feminine perfume or sink his fingers into her dark, wavy tresses. If he did such now, they’d both regret what would happen next. Her breath hitched. Her pupils dilated, almost engulfing the beautiful shade of her blue irises. The incessant throb of his gums intensified, threatening his sanity—of which he had little left.

  No other woman had affected him so. Admittedly, no other woman had the pleasure of being so close to him, unless they were a three penny upright. Chattel, to feed his hunger once a month.

  “Personal space, Mr. McRae.” She placed her hand against his chest, the heat of which radiated over his sluggish heart, quickening its pace.

  He raised his hand, bracing it just above her head, before leaning in. “My home, Miss Craig,” he snarled. “Is not a museum or a freak show. You don’t get to stare at us as though we’re oddities or something to experiment on.”

  Her soft pants brushed over his bottom lip. Saliva, and the venom used to help turn those who accepted the bite, pooled in his mouth. What would it be like to feed from a Beloved—to have a Beloved? To allow her to partake from him while their bodies were entwined, racing to the pinnacle of their love making?