Love Charms (150 page)

"
Tell
me about your best whore," Trinity's voice spat, unrelenting, into Cull's
twisted features.

Cull snarled and
hissed, but then Trinity started to become angry, his eyes slanting yellow and
Cull immediately became more subdued.

"Killed,"
Cull spat, glaring.

"How?"
Trinity bared his fangs. Cull wouldn't meet his threatening gaze and became
more submissive. "How?" His growl was fierce again with his fangs
punching longer.

"It's not
my blame," Cull whined. Trinity shook him with increasing strength.
"All right," Cull gasped. "Torn apart," he choked. Then he
added, "Like the others."

Trinity asked,
enunciating each word with his fangs bared, "Do you have a renegade beast
in your territory, Cull?"

"Not a
vampire blood," Cull barked. "No vampire rips its food apart!"

Trinity
stretched his neck one way, then the other, as though realigning a kink. He let
the mangy vampire drop.

"Shit,"
Cull cussed, barely catching his fall in a half crouch.

Trinity strode
several paces away with his back to Cull. He lifted his nostrils to the night
air. Rotting food and stenches from the sewer filled the air. The east side had
such a decaying fragrance.

"I thought
the woman just killed was a high society chit." Trinity didn't turn to
look at Cull who answered his question quickly enough.

"It was my
slut. She was just dressed to meet a titled gent. Same as the others … all
whores."

"All
yours?" Trinity asked, and he turned to face Cull. He saw Cull was groping
around on the damp cobblestones for the scattered coins and pound notes.

Cull looked up
at him sideways with a half sneer. "Not all, Blacknall, some's the
Mongrel's, some's independent."

 Trinity nodded.
He lowered to a crouch with his forearms balanced on his bent knees as he let
his eyes glow yellow with predatory tints.

"Where was
the last one murdered?"

"Murdered?"
Cull hissed. "That's human kink."

"You said
it wasn't a blood," Trinity hissed back.

Cull didn't
dissent further, he just gave Trinity the location and Trinity left Cull alive.
Nevertheless, his last words and final threat to him were, "Your house
better be in order, Cull. There are worse punishments for a blood than
death." In times past, Trinity had told Cull about several abhorrent ones
the Blacknall brothers were not above inflicting.

Trinity found
the spot within minutes. The carnage had taken place in a small park between
King Street and Row Street. The corpse was gone, of course, but the area on the
grass was still bloody enough to attract two mongrel dogs which he scattered
with his presence as he strode into the park. His long hair was damp and his
gaze was sharp as he scented the air. It took him moments to analyze the blood
scent as he crouched and surveyed the area.

"Cull was
right," he muttered. "No vampire would let all this blood fall to
waste." He touched his finger to a smear of the old blood. He held it to
his nose to sniff and lifted it to his tongue to taste.

The victim was
young and opium sour. His hand lowered as he tilted his head to the side,
slowly evaluating the blood like a connoisseur. Suddenly, his gaze jerked to
the left and it latched onto a footprint in the soft dirt. "She was
chased," he growled.
Hunted.

He rose,
following the trail more by the taste of her blood than by sight. The
footprints came from the far side of the park, and halfway across he found the
scent of the foul beast that hunted her. It was a very weak scent, just a boot
print and not blood. A barely perceptible tendril and it came from the west.
Uptown.

"Interesting,"
he uttered, rising again to follow the wavering scent west.

With difficulty
— losing the scent, and then after barely finding it again — he
followed it to a crumbling mansion in a section of London that housed the
blue-blood nobles of old money and long lineage. He couldn't say if the one
carrying the odd, wavering scent from the possible animalistic murderer had
entered the mansion or just stalked its circumference.

Then it came to
him, on tendrils of wind suddenly moving the fog to swirl apart, an instant
rise of awareness. There was a fear-laden hunt occurring somewhere. At the same
moment, his attention rose toward an awareness of predator stalking prey. He
could feel all three of his brothers' attentions turning sharply to the west …
following his own. He sensed the hunt in the wind and his brothers sensed it
through him. Their connection was not of words, but more intentions, and he
tried but failed to hold them back from following him as he tracked the newest
evidence he perceived in the west.

The lethal
monster was hunting again.

So soon …

Chapter Two

"You cannot
hide from him forever, Beth," Lord Adam Winslow announced as he lounged
informally on the window seat in his sister's small sitting room.

Said sister
muttered at him, as she tried to tie her wavy, long black hair on top of her
head with a velvet ribbon the exact emerald coloring of the ball gown she wore.
"He doesn't stalk you," she replied with an accusatory tone.

Adam sighed. She
was right; their stepbrother, Lord Fanton Rothschild, had always been very
strange, however about three years ago he'd turned strangeness into a new life
style. Fanton didn't even seem to look the same. It was as though he'd gotten
better looking with perpetually glossy hair and shiny eyes. Before, he'd been
pimpled and fallow-looking. Back then he'd sweated profusely and had something
he'd called a moustache on his upper lip, and that Adam called a few sorry hairs.

"Even his
moustache is thick and glistens now," Adam muttered under his breath.
Fanton had been secretive and slimy, now he was secretive and feral. Adam
didn't know how his stepbrother had gone from a sappy pervert to a handsome
deviant. But he had. One thing stayed the same though, unfortunately. That was
Fanton's unhealthy interest in his stepsister, Lady Elizabeth Winslow.
Beth.

"Adam, it
is not that bad." Beth's voice was soft as she turned to him with her hair
ribbon secured. "I'm supposed to be looking for a husband." Her
declaration placed her small hands on her generously rounded hips. "So
going out every night—"

"Until
dawn," he interrupted, pinning her with an accusatory look.

She smiled at
him, her ivory skin looking fragile against her midnight black hair. He worried
about the fact she had to sleep during the day because she forced herself to
stay away from her home every night … all night. She lost sunlight hours trying
to keep the forced schedule she imposed on herself. Not seeing enough daylight
for her health.

"I'm just
so glad you see his manipulative and strange ways. Unlike—"

"Our step
uncle Westfield," Adam interjected.

Beth, used to
his interjecting ways, continued on, "Yes, our step uncle to whom we owe
everything, but does not see it. Without you, Adam, I would think I was going
mad."

"You are
not," Adam responded strongly, coming off the window seat in a lanky
stand. Unlike Fanton, who was bull-chested these days, he was simply
leanly-muscled and thin. Adam reached Beth's side as he clasped her hand.
"I see it," he said, looking down into her glistening multi-colored
eyes. Beth had the most unique eyes. One was dark blue and the other was hazel
green against her long black eyelashes. "I just wish there was something I
could do about it," he finished with an edge in his voice.

"No,
no," Beth whispered, squeezing his hand. "Promise me," she
implored, "Promise that you will go about the University and leave Fanton
alone."

"
If
he hurts you …" Adam warned with a tight voice.

"He
won't," Beth soothed, and then she said quickly, "All these years
since our mother married his father, after our father died when we were just
children, he has never really hurt me in all that time."

"He just
better not," he retorted stubbornly, making Beth smile for some odd girl's
reason he would never fathom as she patted his cheek several times.

"You are so
good to me, little brother," she said with fondness, and then with another
girl’s character trait, she changed the conversation as quickly as one could
click their fingers. "So say you will come to church with me this Sunday.
I've found a new one that has a rector who is said to give the most amazing
sermons."

Adam hedged, but
he knew there wasn't much he could deny Beth. Then, before he spoke, a
barely-perceived knock sounded on the sitting room door. They both turned to
look toward the door, puzzled. No one in their step uncle's crumbling mansion
came to their doors and knocked.

Beth was the
first to recover, calling, "Come in." She glanced at Adam with a
furrowed brow, and then at the door. He suddenly realized Beth thought the
person behind the knocking could be Fanton. He stood taller and he took a step
in front of Beth. A second later, they both relaxed when the aged butler
Spindle appeared, out of breath.

"There is a
Lady Ariel Raleigh arrived, Lady Winslow, and she awaits you in the main
foyer." Adam knew both he and Beth wondered how the elderly Spindle made
it up the long, twisting staircase at all to warn of the momentous event.

He also knew
Lady Ariel was Beth's only friend and since they had no female relatives to
chaperon Beth into society, Lady Ariel and her aunt took charity upon Beth to
escort her on the rounds. Without their good graces, Beth would be out of the
social events.

Adam saw Beth's
worried gaze shifting to the window and he saw, as she did, it was already
dusk. "She cannot be here," Beth exclaimed. "It is too early and
I've told her never to come inside for me." At this exclamation, she
grasped her shimmering silk skirts, lifting them to step forward with a hurried
march toward the door. As she passed Spindle, she asked, with fear inflicting
her voice, "Lord Fanton hasn't risen yet, has he?"

"I am not
certain, my lady," Spindle called after them, as by then Adam decided he'd
best follow Beth. Adam knew Spindle's uncertainty meant Fanton might well be
awake, moving about his suites on the lower floor of their infirmed, step
uncle's crumbling mansion. But Fanton never came out of those suites until
after dusk had fallen into night.

And Beth was
gone. Always.

"I could
strangle Ariel for this," Beth muttered, looking back at him as she
rounded the dark wood banister. "She simply will not listen to me and stay
away from him," she continued to mutter, stopping at the top of the stairs
to gather her skirts higher. Adam stepped beside her and clasped her elbow to
steady her. She gave him a grateful glance, and then they began to step down
the long, winding staircase that led into the foyer.

Adam knew for
the longest time — well over a year now — Beth had been able to
keep the fact she had a stepbrother a secret. Until ten weeks ago, though
Fanton had never done it before, he began attending society functions. It
wasn't that Fanton stayed closeted in the mansion as a hermit to society. It
was just in the evenings past Fanton usually attended more bawdy events across
London. He ran with a crowd of indulgent and rowdy young lords. They attended
what higher society deemed as unseemly events: boxing, gambling, whore house
parties, and many more sordid affairs.

"Lord
Fanton never cared for genteel parties before," Beth expelled as though
reading his ongoing thoughts. "Nor titled young ladies like Lady
Ariel," she continued on a sharp note. "But they've met now. Lord
Fanton has forced his strange seductions upon her." Beth stopped halfway
down the staircase and he could tell she dreaded going further.

"We will
both talk to her," he said, offering what support he could.

"I should
have brought my shawl," Beth muttered.

Adam thought she
looked lovely as usual. She would say, as women were wont to do, that she was
too plump or just barely pretty, not beautiful. However, he knew men turned to
look at the ampleness of her bosom and the sincerity of her laughter. For all
that, Beth thought she was average. She was a very sweet girl.

"All right
then," Beth announced, seeming to gather her resolve, and then she began
to step down the stairs once again.

Adam watched
Fanton looking up at them as they came into view. Fanton's gaze latched onto
Beth with a serpentine look of gloating, while he slowly walked around Lady
Ariel. Lady Ariel's creamy shoulders were bare in a sparkling, lavender-colored
ball gown, while Fanton's hand lingered about her waist. Fanton whispered
something to her, which made her blush and laugh. However, Fanton's
slate-colored gaze stayed drilled onto Beth, sweeping her cleavage as she
hurried down the stairs.

"Lady
Ariel, you should not be here!" Beth exclaimed. Adam knew his sister
wouldn't sound as harsh were she not so upset.

Adam stepped
beside Beth when they reached the marbled floor and he saw Lady Ariel's pretty
mouth turn into a pout as her body leaned closer to Fanton's stocky but strong
figure.

"Your
stepbrother, Lord Rothschild, invited me inside," Lady Ariel informed them
with an edge to her voice. "Lady Beth, he has invited both of us to a
glass of sherry before our events." Lady Ariel smiled a pretty offering to
Fanton, who rounded her figure again. Like a wolf circling its prey, Adam
thought.

"A harmless
invitation, really," Lady Ariel continued with a dipping of her eyelashes.
"And I might convince him to attend the Valtimer's ball with us."

Beth blanched.
She could hardly revile Fanton to his face. He would make her pay dearly if she
tried. Fanton's stalking gaze told her he had her pinned just where he wanted
her, and the impossible red glints in his irises strobed once, then
disappeared. For the thousandth time, Beth wondered why no one else could see
the red glints when they appeared, not even Adam, as she forcibly quelled the
trembling trying to overtake her body.

"Come,
Beth, my sweet pigeon. Come drink sherry with us," Fanton drawled with a
heavy-lidded gaze that made her wish for a stout coat to cover her bare
shoulders away from his leer. Fanton was not as a brother should be to a sister,
and he never had been.

Beth saw Ariel's
gaze sharpen because of Fanton's illicitly inflected words, just as Fanton
added, "No need for you to stay, little brother." Fanton stopped his
circuitous route around Ariel with his hand too intimately holding her waist.

Beth wanted to
snatch that hand away and shout at him to leave her only friend alone. Instead,
she nodded her head with forced but demure manners, saying, "A glass of
sherry would be welcome, my lord. Adam, please do not let us keep you from your
friends."

Adam's handsome
face and buff gray eyes unveiled a stubborn look Beth had seen quite often. She
balanced on a fine line between Adam and Fanton. Adam wanted to defend her,
while Fanton could easily crush him.

"I'm in the
mood to dance tonight," Adam said, then he bowed to Ariel, straightened,
and he held out his arm. "Please, let me escort you to the sherry, Lady
Ariel."

Oh no
,
Beth thought, trying to keep the distress she felt from her features. It was a
very bad thing for Adam to try to come between Fanton and what he'd set his
sights on. Beth knew Adam was trying to help her, by perhaps trying to court
Ariel's attentions away from their stepbrother Fanton, whose eyes blazed
darkly.

Ariel appeared
instantly flattered. Adam was fit, tall, and handsome … any woman's desire. So,
enticed, Ariel glided forward in her lavender silk gown with lace
embellishments. She took Adam's arm with a delighted laugh, leaving Fanton's
hand to fall free from her waist as the couple relocated to the parlor.

Belatedly, Beth
thought to move. To flee from Fanton's reach. However, she'd delayed a bit too
long and as she tried to follow Adam and Ariel, a dauntless hand grasped her
forearm, stopping her.

"You'll
do," Fanton drawled, tugging her off balance and up against his hard body
clad in impeccable black and white evening attire. "You will always do, my
shy, plump pet."

Beth's gaze
darted to Fanton's blackened hunter’s gaze and she thought to protest, loudly.
But his musty breath slid tendrils across her face, and a moment later she
swayed toward him.

Fanton gazed
down his stepsister's ample cleavage. It appeared to him as if her big tits
wanted to leap from the gown she was wearing. Quicker than a man could see, he
reached forward and squeezed one of her fat breasts, and then he dropped his
hand to the indent of her waist. Too late, Beth's hand lifted to brush across
where he'd groped, but his hand was long gone.

There was
always Beth, so malleable
, he thought. Yet she was a feast he dared only
nibble at. Not because they were related, as they weren't related in any
biblical sense, and not because they were a contrived family. That was a lie.
No
,
he thought, looking down at Beth's face as she pushed with weakened resolve
against his chest trying to escape his strength. The reason he didn't devour
her was that Lady Beth Winslow, his stepsister, looked very much like the one
portrait he had of his mother.

"Yet,"
he uttered, closing his other hand to squeeze Beth's waist between both his
large hands. "My mother would
never
act as slutty as you do."
Beth whimpered at the cruel clutch of his hands and her warm breath fanned his
face. "But that other one, your friend," he drawled, looking up
toward the parlor doors, then back down at his slutty sister swaying before
him. "She looks nothing like Mother." That one was all blond with her
tits barely covered like his sister's.

"You do it
to
tempt
men," Fanton bit out as Beth clawed at the front of his
black evening jacket. "Worse than whores in the streets." His voice
lowered into a hissing sound.

"Lord
Fanton? Beth? Are you coming for sherry?" Adam's voice called from within
the parlor.

Fanton sneered,
releasing Beth and she stumbled backward several paces. He adjusted his facial
features into as pleasant as he could arrange them. Then he looked over at
Adam, who had appeared at the parlor entrance, as he said, "Our sister
wants to monopolize me, little brother. I will tear her away though."

"Come on,
Beth," Adam called.

Beth's
multi-colored eyes blinked and she looked quite confused as Fanton sneered and
walked past her toward Adam, and then around him into the parlor. He arrived in
the parlor alone with the blond slut for a brief moment, and she instantly
dipped her bare cleavage at him with a whore's tempting gaze fluttering his
way. How quickly she forgot her other admirer, Fanton thought. He was intrigued
because she was a high society piece and not a lower east-end whore.