Blood Wicked

by Sharon Page

  The winged demon lunged again. Its claws reflected daylight. The streaming light didn’t bother the creature, but Heath collapsed against the wall. His legs no longer wanted to stay upright.

  Claws swooped for him, and Heath threw his body to the side, grabbed a crate, and jammed it upward as the beast’s hand came down. Wood splintered. The hand lifted with the crate hanging off it. Enraged, the creature slammed the box against the brick wall. It exploded into shards.

  Heath jumped to the metal post. Tried to rip it out of the ground. But what would have been easy at midnight didn’t happen now. The post resisted him.

  He threw another crate at the beast, and this one shattered against the demon’s black, scaly chest. Again it laughed as the splintered box dropped to its feet.

  He couldn’t defeat it.

  Hating the show of cowardice, he turned on his heel. It was his plan to run for another building, in hopes he could find a weapon, but his legs wobbled and failed.

  He heard the sound of a wing rising through air behind him, and he dove. But he was too late. Pain raked down his back as the claws dug in. His cloak tore, his shirt parted. The smell of his blood flooded his senses, and agony screamed from his bleeding back.

  The cobbles came up fast, slamming into his knees.

  The creature appeared to be amusing itself by watching him try to scramble to his feet.

  He was going to be destroyed here. Torn to pieces as he grew too weak to heal.

  He would never see Vivienne again. Agonizing loss speared him. He didn’t want to lose her. Weeks ago, he would have welcomed his destruction. He would no longer be a curse that could go off and destroy mankind. Now he was clawing his way along the sidewalk, fighting for his life. All because he couldn’t bear to lose Vivienne.

  Vivienne blinked. The room was pitch dark. Heavens, what was the time? There was no sound. No popping of the fire in the grate, no clatter of the maids and their coal buckets or ewers.

  She was alone in the bed.

  She slid out of bed, groped her way through blackness toward the drapes, and walked right into their enveloping softness. Desperately she tugged at them. She needed light.

  The heavy velvet slid aside and sunlight spilled into her room. Her bedchamber overlooked a modest garden. Green leaves shimmered in the sunlight, and here and there she spotted spring flowers in bloom. It was lovely.

  But why was the house so still?

  Apparently, even the servants were vampires, or they were forced to sleep in the daytime to be available for their master all night. She pulled on her robe and hurried to Sarah’s room.

  Sarah was sleeping, a bundle beneath a thick counterpane. Then Vivienne froze. Julian was seated in the corner. He slowly got to his feet and bowed to her. “I was watching over her. To ensure she was safe. The other vampires should be asleep now.”

  She bit her lip, then decided to trust him. “Thank you, Julian.”

  He yawned and slowly retreated, closing the door. Vivienne kissed Sarah’s curls.

  She trusted Heath. But she also knew she could not simply accept that a man would keep them safe. She had to think, and plan, and act.

  She must talk to Lord Dimitri. He was obviously a vampire of importance. What could he tell her about succubi? She would have to wait until dusk to find out.

  There was no point in trying to leave the house. She had nowhere to go. But just because she was trapped didn’t mean she could not try to answer questions herself.

  She left her room and padded down the hallway, then the stairs, as silently as she could. Last night, she had seen a room filled with books; it had to be the library. But when she reached it, the doorknob rattled in her hand and wouldn’t turn. The library was locked? A hairpin slid easily into the lock, but wouldn’t turn it—

  “Ah, Miss Dare, you are awake. I thought the daylight would rouse you.”

  Vivienne almost jumped out of her skin. Even before she spun around, she recognized the autocratic baritone. “Lord Dimitri. But—but how can you be awake?”

  “I do not need sleep, little one. What is it you wanted from my library? I have the keys. It would be much quicker than you attempting to thwart my locks.”

  Did danger lurk behind his silky smooth voice? Some men stoked their rage with their very calm. She wished Heath was with her; she would feel safe with him. Wishing for a man at her side was something she had never done.

  The door swung open. “Now, Miss Dare, what do you want?”

  His library was even larger than Heath’s. And as Heath had done, Dimitri lit candles so she could see. The walls soared two stories tall, and each shelf was crammed with books. “I want to know what I am. I want to know why someone is hurting Sarah to force me to seduce men.”

  “You won’t find answers to those questions in books, love. But I could help you. For a price.” White teeth flashed confidently, the smile of a gentleman who knew how handsome he was.

  “I won’t sleep with you.”

  “Most women are not unwilling.”

  “I am not most women.” Yet, he hadn’t said “all” women, she noticed.

  His black eyes glittered with amusement. “You enjoyed yourself last night. And I could make it very, very good for you. Miss Dare, I could make you climax so hard, you would not stop screaming until dusk.”

  If Heath had said those words, she would have melted. But, of course, Heath was never going to say them to her now.

  Her heart gave a foolish pang.

  Dimitri cocked his handsome head. As though he’d heard the sharp little tug in her heart. “But I suspect you don’t want me to fuck you most deliciously because you love Heath.”

  “I don’t!” A fierce blush flew at once to her cheeks.

  “He cannot love you in return—”

  “I know that. I am not in love. Love is a fantasy for very foolish women. And I assure you, I have far more sense than that. But I am not willing to trade my body for your answers. I’ve decided if I go to a man’s bed, it’s because I want him.”

  “I admire you, Miss Dare. There are very few women who would wound me so harshly.”

  That worried her, until she saw his lips quirk into a smile again.

  “It isn’t just because of his curse that Heath can’t love you, Vivienne.” Dimitri walked to her and his hand cupped her cheek.

  She was going to move away, but stopped. “Then why not? Are you saying he can’t because of what I am?”

  “Hades. If anything, he will love you more because of who you are. You are courageous, loyal, strong, devoted, sensual. But Heath cannot love you because a man needs a whole heart to give it to a woman. And Blackmoor’s heart was fractured long ago. Only he can mend it, and he won’t allow himself to do that.”

  “But why wouldn’t he?” If he was going to live forever, wouldn’t he want to let his heart heal?

  “Because he killed his wife. And his daughter.”

  She could not believe it. But she remembered Heath’s words. The curse was payment for my wife’s death. “What happened to them?” She pushed Dimitri’s hand away. “How did he kill them?”

  “That is something he will have to tell you, but in his heart, he carries the weight of guilt, regret, and loss. Why would you think he didn’t try to break his curse? He didn’t want to. He wants the punishment. He wants to ensure that if he falls in love again, he can never have the woman he yearns for. You are his hair-shirt, love, and he’s happy with that.”

  Dimitri turned away and sauntered toward the shelves.

  “That’s madness,” she said to his back. “I do not believe Heath is a murderer.”

  “No, he isn’t a murderer. But Heath was a husband and a father. What if he failed to protect his family? You have only known him for how long—three days? But I believe you could tell me exactly how Heath would feel if he caused an accident that stole his family from him.”

  She could.

  “You want to know what you are.” His voice was so soft and gentle, it wrappe
d around her like an embrace. “You must be very confused and frightened. I want to ease your fears, Vivienne.”

  His voice seemed to draw her closer. Capture her. She crossed her arms over her chest. “All I—I know is what Heath has shown me.” She hadn’t wanted her voice to sound so shaky and afraid. “I do not understand how I could be a demon and not know it. I never meant to … to hurt anyone.”

  “Heath is wrong about you.”

  “You mean I’m not a succubus?” She felt a swift jolt of relief.

  But Dimitri’s eyes seemed to grow larger. He looked like he wanted to devour her whole. She stepped back.

  “No, you have nothing to fear. I wouldn’t betray Heath in such a pedestrian way. But you, my dear, are not a normal succubus.”

  “A normal succubus. What in heaven’s name does that mean?”

  “Who was your father, Vivienne?”

  “Why should that matter? I don’t know. My mother never told me. I assumed she didn’t know. I should think I am the child of some rough London stevedore or butcher who forced himself on my mother in the stews. Now tell me what you meant!”

  Dimitri retreated, sat on the arm of a leather chair. “If your mother was mortal, you could only be a succubus if your father was a demon. If you want to know exactly what you are, you have to find your father.”

  “That’s impossible! I don’t know his name. I have no idea where he lived, or where he came from. How would I find him?”

  “There is a vampire who could help you. He is the historian of our kind. Guidon has recorded the parentage, the ancestry, the life history of every demon who walks the earth today.”

  “I have no idea who he is. How could he know anything about me?”

  “I promise you, Miss Dare, he will know everything about you. Heath went to see him before dawn this morning.”

  “Heath? Why did he go to this vampire historian? Was it—about his brother?” That must be it. It was the reason he would take such a risk.

  Dimitri studied her with a grim expression. “Heath has not returned. The coachman and carriage did. He took Heath safely to his destination. But Heath has not come back.”

  Icy dread rippled through her heart. “It is daylight now! He can’t be outside.” Then real fear took root, as Dimitri merely sat in silence. “You believe he was killed, don’t you?”

  “For vampires, the word is destroyed.”

  She had her answer. Nausea gripped her. “Why would you let him go?”

  In an instant Dimitri appeared at her side. “I did not let him. He chose to go. Even knowing how little time he had left.” His eyes seemed to bore into hers and she flinched. “Do you not understand, Miss Dare? Heath went on this foolish quest to find out how to help you. And he may not be dead. If he found refuge in the dark, he should be able to survive for today.”

  Should. But there were no promises. She had nothing to cling to, except hope.

  Was Heath alive? She prayed, prayed, prayed he was. But he could be injured and in danger. She was the only person here who could go out into the sunshine and find him.

  12

  The door swung open silently, revealing a dingy store packed with books. The smell of musty paper was overpowering. But Vivienne breathed in another scent as she entered the shop. A trace of sandalwood.

  Did it mean Heath had been here?

  The door closed softly behind her.

  “Hello?” she spoke tentatively. The door had opened for her, and whoever had managed to command the door to do his bidding now knew she was here.

  Prickles danced on the nape of her neck as she glanced around. Then, in a small shaft of sunlight that had braved the dirt-covered window, Vivienne spied a length of black thread. It ran along the wall, supported by metal eyelets. The string was connected to a contraption attached at the lower door hinge.

  “So the door didn’t open by magic,” she murmured.

  Footsteps shuffled. Instinctively she moved back, reaching for the knob of the door.

  “Wait,” croaked a raspy voice. “Don’t go. I’ve never had anyone as lovely as you in here. Nor as clever. No one before you has seen my little trick before it was explained.”

  She paused. A small man peeked out from the shelves. He stood only four feet tall. Thin strands of gray hair hung around his ears. Deep wrinkles lined his face. If Drury Lane wished an actor to play a troll, they should speak to this particular man. Yet there was something sweet in his smile, as ugly as he was. And he was looking at her with awe. He leaped up and down in obvious, and very troll-like, excitement. “Tea!” he cried. “I must make tea. Come, come, my dear. Then we shall speak of what it is you want to know.”

  “I don’t have time for tea,” she began, but the man—who must be Guidon—disappeared into the back of the shop.

  He could feel the light warming the floor. It hadn’t reached him yet. Heath tried to move—tried to roll, flop, crawl, even slither. Anything to get into darkness and escape the shafts of deadly gold light, which slanted more and more through a broken window as the sun slowly arced through the sky.

  Nothing worked. His brain sent the signal to his limbs to move, but his body didn’t respond.

  He lay on his stomach. His cloak lay over his back, arms, and legs, but there were jagged tears in it from the demon’s claws.

  The demon was now a pile of dust, sitting in the middle of the floor of this empty room, in this abandoned warehouse.

  The gargoyle-demon had followed him as he’d lurched across the street and stumbled to the boarded-up front window of the warehouse. Heath had ducked at the last minute and the demon’s powerful wing had smashed a hole through one of the wooden boards. It was enough for Heath to fall in through the window.

  After that, the beast batted him around like a toy. A gouge into his skin here, a rip of his flesh there. The thing assumed he would be dead eventually, and wanted to draw out the pleasure of killing him. He’d managed to stagger into this big room, at the back of the building, still in darkness. He saw a hook and chain dangling over his head, obviously used for lifting boxes. The chain was slung over a pulley and ran down the wall where it was secured to another hook, and a pile of chain was coiled at the bottom. He dove for the hook on the wall.

  Fortunately the demon wasn’t particularly bright. It followed him. He’d watched it lumber into position beneath the iron hook. Then he’d dredged up one last burst of strength and ripped the chain off the hook. The beast had looked up, only to have its skull crushed.

  Ironic to think he’d managed to defeat a huge demon, but would burn in a shaft of daylight. In maybe an hour, light would land right on him.

  So he did what any man would do in the circumstances. He entertained himself with a good sexual fantasy.

  “Was there a gentleman here earlier today? A tall man with auburn hair?”

  Guidon had lit a small stove and now waited for his kettle to boil, dancing from foot to foot as though he had a fire beneath him. Vivienne felt ready to lose her mind.

  Finally he seemed to hear her question. “Is it Lord Blackmoor of whom you speak? I recognized him at once, of course. That is why all the records are kept with me. I’ve remembered each and every one—every vampire who has walked the face of the earth for thousands of years. And every book ever written by vampires is in here, too.” He tapped the side of his head. “The vampire slayers took all my books, and I have had to write everything again. Millions and millions of words.”

  Vampire slayers? She quivered with fear. “Where did Lord Blackmoor go?”

  “I do not know, madam. He left my shop. It was close to daylight. I assumed he had to return to his coffin as swiftly as he could.”

  “But he didn’t get home.”

  “Then he found shelter.”

  “But what if he didn’t?” This was hopeless. She spun and ran back toward the door. But suddenly the little man was in front of her. He laid a gnarled hand on her sleeve.

  “Wait … Miss Dare, is it not? Lord Blackmoor was a
sking about you—” A whistle came then; that had to be a kettle on a stove. “Tea is ready.”

  “I have to find Lord Blackmoor now.”

  But Guidon shook his head. “If he did not find shelter, then it is too late. There is no point in you running out there without a fortifying cup of tea. Come and sit down.”

  She hesitated. She almost expected the little man to try dragging her. But he watched her, cocked his head to the side. “Does it feel like you have lost him?”

  “W—what do you mean?”

  “Look inside you, Miss Dare, inside your heart. Do you believe you have lost him?”

  She had no idea what he meant. She refused to believe Heath was gone. But that was her heart speaking, and it did not prove anything. “No.”

  The gnomelike vampire nodded. He grasped a chair with a velvet-covered seat and hurried back with it. “This is for you, Miss Dare.”

  Tea came in a heartbeat. He had barely left her before he returned, holding a chipped cup by the saucer beneath it. She took it from her host and took a swift sip. Then she moved to put it on the desk. She must go …

  She swallowed. The flavor was unusual, and it warmed her inside. Then she heard breathing. Slow, steady breathing. She turned swiftly in the chair. But there was no one behind her.

  “A connection between you and Lord Blackmoor. Interesting.” Guidon had perched on a stool at the desk. He opened a book. Dipped a quill in ink. “Your entry,” he said with a frown, “is not complete.”

  Entry? “Are you telling me I heard Lord Blackmoor’s breathing?”

  “Is that what you heard? I knew it was something. But then, you only had a sip of the tea.”

  She stared down into the cup. Could the tea have really let her hear Heath? Perhaps Guidon was lying to her, tricking her. Even poisoning her.

  “I would never do any such thing.” His small hands had gone to his hips, and he was pouting at her.

  He had read her mind. “I—I’m sorry. It’s just that … so much has happened. Heath can’t be out in daylight—”