Angels and Hunters (Stoker Sisters 2)

by Kailin Gow

  A single tear fell and splattered on his cheek.

  His fingers slackened around her wrist and she knew she was losing him. Her blood wasn’t enough. Her love wasn’t enough. Yet she knew in her heart that she couldn’t let him go.

  “Forgive me, Keegan,” she whispered. “I know you’ll hate becoming a vampire and I know I risk having you hate me for all eternity for having turned you, but…”

  She looked up into the night sky, her gazed fixed upon the exact spot where her sister had disappeared. Alexis had fought against Skars, though she could have escaped and saved herself. No doubt she wanted to help Keegan. No doubt she wanted to see him live as well.

  “I must do this, right, Alexis?”

  Sadie closed her eyes, visions of Keegan’s joyful smile instantly coming to her. Her fangs emerged, ready to take a bite. “Forgive me.” With all the love in her heart, Sadie sank her fangs into his neck and sucked of his blood until little was left.

  ***********

  The Stoker Sisters Series

  continues in

  Book 3

  Sister of the Strigois

  Fall 2011

  EXCERPT FROM

  dark beginnings

  Phantom Diaries Beginnings

  kailin gow

  Prologue

  Paris 1859

  Just weeks after her eighteenth birthday, Veronique was finally allowed a bit of freedom. As the horses slowed their pace and trotted up to a charming and elegant townhouse, she stared out the carriage with excitement and anticipation of the adventure to come.

  Paris, she thought. If there ever was a city alive and vibrant, it was Paris.

  “Mademoiselle Veronique.” A tall, thin and exceptionally well-dressed woman stepped out with true regal finesse and glided down the steps to greet her. “How wonderful it is to finally meet you.”

  With a helping hand from the driver, Veronique got out of the carriage and quickly straightened her skirts before facing her new chaperone. “It’s my pleasure to meet you, Madame Fourquin. My father has told me so much about you.”

  As elegant and beautiful as she was, the sunlight revealed a little more of Madame’s age. Little lines were evident in the corners of her eyes and deep creases surrounded her smile. Maturity had been a strong point for Veronique’s father. He’d been adamant in his desire to see her well versed in etiquette and fine manners and Madame Fourquin was deemed perfect for the task.

  “And how is Monsieur Dumouchel?”

  While the driver tended to Veronique’s bags, Madame Fourquin led Veronique to the door of the impressive townhouse.

  “Quite busy,” Veronique said. “Work on that opera house is proving to be a larger task than anyone had anticipated. They’ve been besieged by a number of delays and Papa is going to be in town for more weeks than he’d originally planned.

  “A more lengthy stay in Paris is never an unpleasant ordeal.” Madame Fourquin smiled and patted Veronique’s arm.

  “I totally agree, but Father has a different view on the matter. Work is work, whether it’s in Paris or Devonshire it doesn’t really matter much to him.”

  The interior of the townhouse was just as elegant as the exterior promised. Fine woodwork, intricate details and luxurious fabrics were the mainstay. The furnishings were all small and delicate. The boudoir, a fanciful burst of dusty pink with plenty of lace, was touched by Madame’s feminine hand.

  The foyer, grounded with heavy wood furniture was topped off with a whimsy of white and yellow fabrics that brightened the room.

  “What a magnificent home you have, Madame Fourquin.”

  “I do love to keep an immaculate residence. I hope you’ll be vigilant in maintaining your quarters tidy.”

  “Of course.”

  Madame Fourquin led the way up the stairs and turned to the third door on her right. “Your room has an exceptional view of the gardens, but also overlooks the street below.”

  The large room was more than Veronique had expected. Decorated almost exclusively in white, the room was elegant while still retaining a youthful charm. A thick tapestry hung on the far wall, depicting a summer’s day picnic while the other wall boasted a whimsical charcoal caricature. “How creative and unique,” Veronique said as she approached the sketch. “Wherever did you find such a piece of art?”

  “I do enjoy encouraging new talent in Paris. This was done by a young man who I found to have much promise.”

  Veronique approached the framed sketched and read the scribbled signature. “Monet?”

  “Yes, dear. He certainly is impressive to watch as he works.” Madame Fourquin walked to the large armoire that would house Veronique’s wardrobe. “As you can see, you’ll have plenty of storage space.

  Veronique nodded, pleased with her new living space.

  The two large windows took up much of the remaining walls, letting in a breathtaking amount of sunlight and fresh air. Glancing down at the small garden, Veronique knew where she’d be spending many late afternoons, reading or tending to her needlepoint.

  “This street is relatively quiet so you shouldn’t be bothered by passersby.”

  Veronique headed for the other window and looked down. The driver was still pulling out her valises, but he’d been interrupted by two young men who seemed engrossed in a deep conversation with him.

  Madame Fourquin came to stand beside her. “The young Aragon men,” she said with a touch of surprise.

  “Really?” Veronique said. She’d heard the name before, often associated with great wealth and power. She’d never imagined they could be so young and attractive. Though one was fair and elegant while the other was dark and raw, they both carried themselves with an air of unflappable confidence.

  “I do hope you’ll be comfortable here.” Madame Fourquin seemed eager to change the subject.

  “I’ve no doubt I will.” Veronique couldn’t take her eyes off the two young men. How wonderful indeed it was going to be living in Paris.

  ****************

  On hearing the feminine voice Martin Aragon looked up to catch a glimpse of the young woman by the window and was immediately enchanted. Though she demurely turned away and returned her attention to Madame Fourquin the moment he raised his glance to her, he was mesmerized by the exquisite beauty of this young woman. Her dark hair was pinned up in an innocent chignon that displayed her lack of refinement, but added to her allure; naïve and unrefined. Martin was instantly drawn to the spark he caught in her eye as she conversed with Madame Fourquin.

  “Just my type,” Philippe challenged as he followed the direction of Martin’s gaze.

  “She’s nothing like your type. Even from here you can clearly see she lacks the haughty air you so admire in your women.”

  “I take great offense at that, Martin. My love of women far exceeds their lineage. Why just last week I spent an enjoyable time with a lovely milkmaid who was a minx and a half.”

  Martin chuckled. He knew his cousin far more than he should. A womanizer of the worst kind, Philippe had left a thick and deep trail of broken hearts across Paris and back. Few young women trusted him, though unfortunately, few could resist him.

  “Don’t look at me like that, cousin. You and I both know you are far from innocent when it comes to the hearts of young women. Though I can claim a small handful of conquests, I far from deserve the title of rake that you’ve acquired.”

  “Touché.” Martin smirked as his eyes played over the delicate features of the young woman’s face. She was lovely in the most enchanting and beguiling of ways. The many women he’d known in his young life paled in comparison to her fresh beauty.

  “If I remember correctly you're the Aragon with the reputation for mischief and heartache.” Philippe slapped his gloves across his hand repeatedly as he eyed the young woman above.

  Martin yawned to show how bored he was with the conversation. His reputation was far exaggerated and the trail of heartache he’d left behind was greatly due to the young women he’d met. T
hey failed to truly see him as he was and insisted he was more angelic than he ever could be. Despite his warnings to the contrary, they never believed him and ultimately learned the hard way.

  “What do you say to a small wager?” Philippe asked.

  An intrigued brow rose as Martin waited for him to go on.

  “The first to win the heart of the new mademoiselle in town.”

  Martin glanced up just in time to catch his future conquest walk away. This bet would be too easy to win. “You're on.”

  Chapter 1

  Veronique hummed a sprite tune as she settled into her new room. The excitement of Paris was electric and filled the air, even from this distance. Though kilometers away, she could just smell le Louvre, imagine la Tour Eiffel and taste the fresh baguettes and robust wines.

  Blended with all that was the scent of freedom. This was the first time she’d ever been away from her father’s home. It was frightening, exciting, thrilling and enthralling all at the same time. What would Paris hold for her? What adventures would she now have the freedom to embark upon?

  The streets of Paris were hers to discover and she longed to stroll them at her leisure. Of course, Madame Fourquin would always be at her side.

  Her valise lay open on the bed, filled with the finest garments she had. She ignored how outdated some of the items were and pulled them out to hang in her simply but spacious armoire. Finances had been tight of late and her wardrobe had suffered. Perhaps now in the heart of the world’s fashion capital she would find a few items to refine her look.

  A gentle knock at the door was followed by Madame Fourquin’s entrance. “And how are we settling in?”

  “Everything is perfect. The room is more than large enough and I’ve not even filled half of this armoire.”

  With an attempt at discretion, Madame Fourquin glanced down at the dress still laid out on the bed.

  “Yes, I know.” Veronique shifted uneasily. “It is fearfully outdated.”

  “I’ve a few free hours and a good friend I’d like to visit. Marie Rousell just happens to be one of the finest dressmakers this side of le Louvre.”

  Veronique was instantly excited by the prospect. Only hours into her new residence and Madame Fourquin was already proving to be all that her father had hoped for and more. In dire need of a woman’s presence since the passing of her mother years before, Veronique longed to forge a strong bond with this new woman in her life, and what better way than by planning a new wardrobe?

  Their arrival at the dress shop was loud and boisterous as the older women exchanged a few pleasantries. Quickly brought up to date with each other’s lives, they turned to Veronique.

  “I’ve told Mademoiselle Dumouchel how talented you were, Marie, and here we are.”

  Indeed, she was talented. Veronique placed an order for three simple yet elegant day dresses and two ball gowns. Fascinated by the brilliance of the luxurious fabrics, she couldn’t resist the splurge. She loved the leg of mutton sleeves, sloping shoulders and conical skirt.

  “You’ll be more than prepared to be presented now, Mademoiselle.” Madame Fourquin seemed proud of the purchases made.

  Stepping out of the enchanting boutique, Veronique smiled as a young and dapper man approached them. His hair was fair, with neat curls that framed his face. He looked familiar, but his name escaped her.

  “Madame Fourquin,” he greeted. His hand was quickly extended to her. “What a pleasure to run into you on such a fabulous spring afternoon.”

  “Monsieur Aragon. How handsome and elegant you look.”

  Veronique instantly remembered the young man she’d seen at her window. How incredibly handsome he was at this proximity. His features were elegant yet masculine.

  His eyes shifted to Veronique with a touch of recognition that left her feeling uneasy.

  “Oh, my heavens. You do always leave me forgetting my manners.” Madame Fourquin turned to Veronique. “This beautiful young lady is my new charge. We’ve just spent the last few hours enhancing her wardrobe.”

  He bowed deeply and with reverence, making Veronique chuckle. Never had a man of his standing displayed such manners towards her. When he took her hand and tenderly laid his soft lips over her skin, she was stunned by the effect he had on her.

  “It is my greatest pleasure to meet you, sweet Mademoiselle.” His smile was sincere, yet filled with mischief.

  “Pleased to meet you, Mons…”

  “Ah, ah, ah.” He shook his head and waved a scolding finger at her. “Please, call me Philippe.”

  “Ah, yes, of course.” She smiled demurely and calmly while inside her nerves were shattering. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Philippe.”

  The playful twinkle remained in his eyes as his gaze scanned her face. If he didn’t stop soon, she would surely burst into a shamefully adolescent blush that she would never live down.

  “Have you ladies had time to dine during this shopping spree?”

  “I’m afraid not,” Madame Fourquin replied. The tilt of her head made it evident she’d welcome his invitation.

  “Then may I propose we dine together at André’s Bistro around the corner? I hear they’ve recently acquired a new Bordeaux and I’ve been dying to try it.”

  “That sounds absolutely divine.” Madame Fourquin quickly hooked one hand around Veronique’s arm and slid the other into Philippe’s offered arm. Whether it was her chaperoning instincts that bade her to keep them apart, or simply her desire to monopolize Philippe’s attention, Veronique couldn’t be sure.

  The corner bistro waved them in with the tantalizing aroma of fresh bread, warm soups and strong cheeses. Seated at a small table, Veronique was just as intrigued by the artful hangings on the wall as she was with Philippe’s intent gaze on her.

  “This is…” Veronique didn’t know what description to give the restaurant. Quaint wasn’t quite the word and neither was elegant. Several risqué posters hung on the walls leaving only the word tawdry on her lips.

  “You don’t appreciate this art form?” Philippe asked.

  Veronique bit her lip. “I suppose it’s all just too new to me. Excuse my naiveté, but I would have thought such displays scandalous.”

  “Artists have a variety of ways of depicting life. Some seek out the purity and innocence of their subjects while others dig deeper to find the more sordid and raw aspects of the human race.”

  “While I can appreciate a lovely painting, I know very little about art,” Veronique admitted.

  “Something we’ll see too soon enough,” Madame Fourquin interjected.

  “My father has an extensive collection of works he proudly displays around the estate. Granted his pursuit of such art works is to impress the galleries, not appreciate the works on their merit.”

  “What can I bring you?” A young lady arrived at the table prepared to take the order.

  Her attire reflected the posters and Veronique tried not to be shocked. But the emotion she really tried to keep in check was the biting sense of envy and jealousy she felt. Envy for the young woman who was obviously at ease with her provocative dress and a hint of jealousy for Philippe’s sidelong glance into the woman’s deep cleavage.

  Perhaps the ball gown she’d just ordered was too prim. Biting her lip and glancing once again at the young woman’s dress, she promised herself she’d return to the dressmaker to make the proper adjustments.

  “Does that sound good to you, Veronique?”

  Drawn out of her reverie, Veronique looked at Philippe with no idea of what he spoke.

  “Do you approve of what I ordered?”

  “Of course.” She smiled and wondered what he had indeed ordered.

  A perfectly crisp and hot baguette arrived moments later with a large wedge of soft and creamy cheese. The Bordeaux was perfect, though Veronique had little in the way of experience with fine wines.

  The effect of the scant bit of wine she’d tasted remained with her as they exited the bistro and strolled through the streets of Pa
ris. While Philippe regaled them with stories and tales of his youth, Veronique tried not to giggle like a schoolgirl.

  “As shocking as it may seem, I was once contracted to model for the great Enzo Milano.”

  “Were you truly?” Her eyes wide with innocence, Veronique was impressed and shocked.

  “He’d been commissioned to paint a series of female nudes and he wanted to add a male in the mix.”

  Now undeniably shocked, Veronique gasped and heard it echoed from Madame Fourquin.

  Philippe winked at Veronique and continued to convincingly tell the tale to Madame Fourquin.

  “I was young and wild and wanted nothing more than to contradict my parents. The more they tried to hold me back, the more I wanted to go out and sully my reputation as well as theirs.”

  Veronique smiled and wondered just how much of his tale was true. Looking at him today, it was difficult to believe he could ever conceive doing such a thing. He looked every inch the fine young gentleman and though the touch of mischief was always in his eyes, the true refinement of his upbringing superseded it all.

  “When the paintings were revealed, my father nearly disowned me. My mother fainted and lay in bed for over a week.”

  “I always knew you had a wild streak beneath that aristocratic veneer,” Madame Fourquin said. Her eyes danced with amusement and seemed to silently congratulate his youthful escapade.

  “Believe it or not, it sold for almost twice as much as any of the female nudes. I was asked to pose again, but had to refuse. There was only so much my poor parents could take.”

  Veronique’s gaze remained on his face throughout the telling of the tale. He was enigmatic and charming beyond anything she’d ever known. Though initially shocking, she was mesmerized by his ability to be so refined, yet so untamed. While the docile and innocent young lady in her hoped the story was a complete fabrication, the underlying nymph that sought thrills and excitement fervently hoped it was true.