Blood Deep (10 page)

Miranda could feel this boy’s heartbeat—not through her fingertips, but in her soul. His pulse sped, then slowed, working erratically as the power surged through her.

What did everyone around her see? Could they guess what she was doing? Could they sense that she had a power that no one, not even she, could understand?

The boy’s heartbeat began to settle in the steady, fast patter 76 /
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of a small child’s. He would live. She was certain of it—so certain that the heat began to fade in her. The thrumming that filled her senses and screamed in her ears began to blissfully subside.

She saw the boy’s lashes flicker. His eyes were going to open.

Gulping in a breath—it felt as though she didn’t breathe while the power surged through her—she turned to Will’s mother.

“Did you send this boy to pick a gentleman’s pocket?” she asked softly.

The mother flushed. Beneath her tattered straw hat, she gave a surly, sly look. “We’ve got to eat.”

“But he’s just a child, and that thievery almost cost him his life.”

Resentment simmered behind the woman’s eyes.

Will’s eyes opened. Wide, clear blue, and darting about in fear and confusion.

“Oh, me wee lad.” His mother gathered him up and held him tight, and her straw hat tipped to the side. Tears ran down her pale cheeks.

Miranda didn’t doubt that Will willingly did his thieving.

He probably felt the responsibility already for his family. She dug out some coins she’d slipped into a small pocket in her pelisse. She had only moments. She heard angry protests behind her. Mr. Ryder must be pushing his way through the crowd, and within moments he’d have her. Panicked, she looked around, but the circle had tightened as she performed her miracle, and already the story was spreading from mouth to eager ear—a boy had been dead and some unknown woman had brought him back to life.

Will was crying along with his mother now; he’d have pain, but that would fade soon. She put the money in his hand.

Strong arms grasped her shoulders and pulled her back. She cried out, but the sound was swallowed by the crowd, and the firm hand dragged her into the crush of people.

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“Got you, you soft-hearted twit,” Mr. Ryder growled by her ear.

“Better that than a monster,” she gasped.

He was dragging her through the crowd again. She realized he held a pistol, which was making the sea of bodies open for him.

“That pistol is drawing more attention than my miracle,”

she snapped at him.

The look of raw fury he gave her made her quiver. He yanked her along and she could see the gleam of lamps now, between the people, which meant he’d have her free of the crowd in an instant.

She could try to run. Would he shoot her? Or worse, would he try to kill her and hit someone else?

Roughly, he shoved her through the sparser grouping of people, toward the carriages that still flowed in and out of the yard. The story was spreading like wildfire. She heard the word
witch
muttered, then laughter and denials.

“You see,” Ryder snarled. “I’ll be more merciful than they will.”

“I doubt that.” How infuriating to have magic power yet be so powerless now. At least she’d saved Will. If that was her last act in life, it was worth it.

The pistol drove into her side. “Hurry toward the stables, Miss Bond.”

Miss Bond.
He was going to blow her away with his pistol, but he still adhered to good manners. She choked on the hysterical laugh that bubbled up.

The hum was behind them now. Then she heard a man shout, “Where did she go?”

And the babble rose again.

Mr. Ryder shoved her forward and she stumbled against the stone wall of the stable. The tang of manure came to her nose, making her gag. The low whinny of horses filled her ears, and she filled her lungs and screamed.

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No one came. No one shouted or called out to find out what was wrong. A woman’s screams weren’t unusual, weren’t enough to bring the stablehands out to the rescue.

Ryder’s hand clamped over her mouth. The leather tasted of dirt and sweat, and was smooth from holding reins. The pressure crushed her lips against her teeth and she tasted the coppery warmth of her own blood.

He spun on his heel. She felt weightless for a moment, then the stone wall of the stable slammed hard into her back. Tears sprang instantly. Her breath exhaled into his hand. More blood.

She had to swallow hard to take it down, it welled so fast.

“You think you saved that boy, don’t you?” he rasped by her ear. “You brought him back from the dead. That’s what you think, isn’t it? That’s not what you’re doing. You don’t have any bloody idea how you’re cursing the people you think you save.”

Cursing? She stared at him. Could it be true? She’d just thought they would live—she’d never thought beyond that.

But Ryder belonged to the Royal Society, and they must know more about her than she did.

Ryder leaned closer, until she could see the silvery sheen of moonlight cross his blue eyes. “You’re a virgin, aren’t you? A baron’s daughter and a treasure in your world. A shame to kill you. But you’ve got to be stopped.”

The pistol was underneath her heart, and his hand was still clamped over her mouth. He’d shoot her, tear her apart, splatter most of her against the stone wall, and steal her final scream with his hand.

A black shape materialized behind Mr. Ryder. Moonlight rippled over dark fur, flashed on teeth as a jaw opened wide.

Long, curved fangs drove into Mr. Ryder’s throat, and the wolf pulled back, dragging the vampire slayer off her. Ryder clawed at the animal’s snout and punched it with the pistol.

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Wild panic was in his eyes. The wolf was a huge beast, as black as night.

She should run back to the inn’s yard. She should cry for help.

She should cry for the magistrate. She should save Mr. Ryder’s life—

Bang!

With a burst of smoke, a deafening roar, the pistol fired. She gasped. The pistol’s muzzle was right against the wolf’s throat.

Blood spurted, but the animal did not drop. It did not even loosen its grip. It reared up, dragging Mr. Ryder, then flung him to the side. He screamed as he flew, then landed with a thud in a muddy puddle.

A flash of light dazzled her—it was like watching small diamonds being thrown in the air. Then Lukos stood there, fangs long and red with blood, his eyes ablaze, reflecting light like silver coins.

Lukos caught her in his arms and she didn’t fight. His chest was broad and solid as he drew her to him and held her tight.

His hands were big, his splayed fingers a shield for her back.

She didn’t even care that he had his other huge hand under her bottom.

His embrace felt so protective. She’d rather be with Lukos than with Mr. Ryder.

Lukos swept her into his arms, balanced her there easily, and began to run. “Where are we going?” she demanded. He’d returned because he’d fed. She guessed that. She didn’t want to know. Her stomach turned somersaults inside her.

“The carriage,” he growled. “Then the hell away from here.”

His long strides were taking them around the inn on the side away from the yard, through the black shadows cast by the trees.

“Who in hell was he?” Lukos demanded.

“A vampire slayer.”

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They were nearing the yard. The clop of hooves grew louder, along with the babble of voices. Had people forgotten about her and the man with the pistol?

“Most slayers don’t attack innocent maidens.” He lowered her to her feet. “Can you walk?”

“Y-yes,” she said shakily. “I saved a child’s life. I brought him back from the dead. He saw me do it and thinks I’m a demon he should destroy.”

She heard voices—a group of women gossiping about the fallen child and the mysterious lady who had helped, who had been dragged away by some gentleman with a pistol.

They certainly hadn’t forgotten.

“That’s what you did when you touched Zayan—you tried to return mortal life to him?” He flashed a brief grin. “A naïve hope, love.” His arm on her elbow urged her forward.

The carriage was rumbling toward her. Where was Zayan?

Already inside?

“Why naïve?” she argued. Why was she trying to cross swords with Lukos? Why did she feel such a need to understand that she was willing to fight with a being who had transformed from wolf to man in front of her eyes? “You are without souls; you are the undead. I thought—”

“Our souls are not lost. They are not in limbo; they cannot be returned. Lucifer owns my soul, and I sold it willingly.”

Why?
But men were willing to sell their souls—for power, for wealth, for sex, for revenge. . . . Miranda raced after Lukos and realized that he wasn’t holding her arm anymore, yet she was willingly pursuing him. “Am I a demon? You are one, so you should know, shouldn’t you?” Why was she doing this?

How could she trust his answer? But she couldn’t stop herself.

“Do you feel it in me? Am I evil?”

The wind snapped his long black hair around his face, and his cloak whipped about like large wings. “You are powerful, my lady. That is all I can sense about you.”

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My lady.
“Is that the truth? I can’t trust what you say.”

“Then why ask?” he growled. He took a long, loping stride, leaving her as the carriage rumbled to a stop. He sent magic to fling the door open wide. He turned back to her.

Should she run?

To what? She glanced back toward the stable and saw the gleam of golden hair—Mr. Ryder had hauled himself out of the mud and was in pursuit.

She bit her lip, hard, and tasted a wash of blood. A foolish thing to do in front of a vampire.

Lukos held out his hand. She took it. He had saved her life.

He had faced a slayer to do it. She was safest with him. Or was she? Or did she just not care what happened to her anymore?

And if what Ryder had said was true—she was damning those she saved—she was no different from a vampire.

She chose Lukos.

But as she jumped up into the carriage. Lukos threw in a powerful ball of purple light and suddenly the interior transformed before her eyes; it changed from a simple carriage into a lavishly sinful space. The seats became larger, and covered in white silk, mounded with ivory pillows. As she stared in astonishment, the purple lights suddenly raced under her skirts. They rushed up her legs as she shrieked in shock, then danced in wild circles between her thighs. Suddenly, the energy surrounded both her wet cunny and the astonishingly sensitive entrance to her derriere.

Lukos jumped into the carriage and slammed the door behind him.

“Stop this—”
Oh goodness,
it felt so incredibly good. She stood there, her hands braced against one of the seats as the magic lights beneath her skirts whirled and spiraled and teased her. Her legs were melting. She had to resist . . . she had to . . .

“Stop—”

But her voice died away. Why stop? She couldn’t remember 82 /
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why. There was Blackthorne . . . whom she had fallen in love with, but she couldn’t have him. She couldn’t marry him when she might be a demon, when her power might truly mean she was cursed—

Lukos was on his knees in front of her. “I saved your life, love, because I’ve felt a desire for you I’ve never felt for anyone before. I realized you were the reason I felt no sexual need when I fed—desire came in the instant I saw you.”

He began to lift her skirts, and she couldn’t stop him. Not with the magic teasing both her throbbing clitoris and her tingling bottom. She was rocking, feeling that same intense pleasure as she had when she’d tried to save Zayan.

“Let me make love to you, my angel,” Lukos growled.

Oh heavens. Heavens. Heavens. She couldn’t answer. She cried out. The lights had delved inside both her cunny and her rump, filling her and stretching her, and she’d burst—simply exploded—in pleasure.

“Good, sweet angel.” Lukos’s voice was hoarse with approval. “You’re coming.”

5

Punishment

Translation of the Prophecy of Lukos
From a manuscript held in the archives of the Royal Society for
the Investigation of Mysterious Phenomena
A rend in the earth shall set him free. Signs shall be sent
to his disciples, to those who serve him nobly. They will
feast in blood in preparation of his rise, until the seventh
day before Samhain, when they will fast in honor of the
final ascension. And once he steps upon the earth, he shall
summon those disciples and they shall stand at his side, an
army of unthinkable power and infinite evil.

He shall find the woman bred to be his mate. Vampyre,
mortal, and descendent of a god. His mate has been created to destroy God’s creation: man. But as he prepares to
launch his army and subject the earth to eternal darkness,
the mate of his soul will bear him a son, and that son shall
bring him to his knees and take his very life.

His army will continue and much blood will be spilled,
and the earth will be plunged into two hundred years of
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darkness, doom, and strife, and then the world will come
to an end—

Something unexpected happened as the woman—Miranda—

came for him. Lukos felt it in his mind. It was as though he had thrown open a large door and had let blinding light fall upon him. He’d opened himself to her. He could feel his thoughts racing into her mind, and hers flooded into his.

He had Miranda’s skirts in his hands—a bunched swath of silk that carried her rosy, innocent, and alluringly feminine scent.

This had never happened to him before. Since the first night he had gone into Lucifer’s labyrinth, he had been able to keep his mind closed to anyone and anything.

He had not even experienced this with Serena Lark, the half-vampire woman who he’d believed was his intended mate.

Another smell came to him—the earthy, rich perfume of Miranda’s juices as she rocked in her climax. It called to him. His desire surged. He yanked up her gown and put his mouth to her damp nether curls, letting her skirts and lacy petticoats fall around his shoulders.