She only wished to crawl beneath her covers and pretend she was far away from London and the Marquis DeRosa.
Much to her surprise, Juliet managed to slip into a deep sleep, although it was marred with nightmares of being trapped in a small cellar while something—or someone—crept toward the door.
If she were a practicing witch, she might have attempted to discover the deeper meaning of her vivid dream and the choking fear that had seemed far too real. But with no genuine power beyond her ability to sense magic, she was willing to dismiss the vague premonition when Levet’s voice echoed through her head.
“Juliet,” the gargoyle called. “Sacre bleu, wake up.”
“Levet?” Sitting up, Juliet glanced around the empty room, her father’s demon blood giving her the ability to see no matter how dark it might be. “Levet, where are you?”
“I am speaking to you through your mind.”
She frowned, lifting a hand to her temple. “I wish you would not. It is making me dizzy.”
“Non, do not sever our bond. I need you, ma belle.”
“Now?”
“Oui. I am in trouble.”
Juliet’s heart missed a beat at the unmistakable edge of panic in the gargoyle’s voice.
“Dear God, are you hurt?”
“For now only my pride is injured, but I sense the future of my health is not at all certain. In truth, ma belle, it appears to be particularly dire.”
Barely realizing she was moving, Juliet crawled from the bed and headed for the smaller of the two armoires. Her fey blood demanded that she occasionally escape the confines of the city and surround herself with nature. She always kept several sets of loose smocks and pants that were more fitting for a stable boy than a young lady of society. Perfect for her long afternoons in the woods.
“Where are you?”
“I am not entirely certain.”
“Levet, you are not being excessively helpful,” she said, swiftly exchanging her night shift for the pants and smock, as well as a pair of boys’ boots. “I need to know where to begin my search if you desire to be rescued.”
“And you think that has not occurred to me?” Levet barked. “Had I known I was to be attacked and held hostage I would have been clever enough to leave a trail of bread crumbs for you to follow.”
Juliet moved to the dresser and began pinning her thick curls on top of her head.
“Do you wish my assistance or not?”
“Of course I do.”
“Then tell me what happened.”
“After you left me alone to entertain myself I decided to visit the docks.”
“Why in heaven’s name would you...?” Juliet bit off her words as realization struck. “The pixies. Really, Levet.”
“I am a gargoyle, not a saint. And you were the one to tempt me with the promise of pixies.”
Juliet stiffened at the ludicrous accusation. “I did no such thing.”
“Juliet, something is coming,” Levet hissed, his fear potent enough to spill through her. “Please, ma petite, I need you.”
There was a painful wrench, and abruptly her connection to the gargoyle was severed.
“Damn.”
Pausing only long enough to shove a knit hat over her curls, she clambered out her window and jumped the short distance to the nearby tree.
She might not possess Justin’s terrifying magic or Victor’s icy power, but she was willing to do whatever necessary to rescue her one true friend.
No matter what the danger.
The estate of the Marquis DeRosa was less than a half-hour ride from London, but it provided all the space and privacy a vampire craved.
Built of white stone, it was designed along pure, classical lines with massive marble columns and tall windows that overlooked the manicured lawn and distant lake.
It was not the first manor house built on that precise spot. Victor had, after all, owned the property for several hundred years. But like all the others before, it was constructed as much for security as for luxury.
The vast grounds were guarded during the evening by his clan brothers, while the daylight hours were protected by poisonous Bguli demons who could defeat all but the most powerful enemies. The house itself was wrapped in hexes to keep out unwelcome intruders, including any overly forward humans.
Not that the elaborate defenses were actually necessary.
Only a demon or mortal anxious to seek his grave would be stupid enough to invade Victor’s lair.
Not without invitation.
Sprawled in a massive wooden chair that had once belonged to a Roman general who had the misfortune to kill a human under clan protection, Victor surveyed the various guests who filled his elegant salon.
There was a combination of demons. Vampires, imps, several lovely nymphs, and a handful of human chattel, all of whom were extraordinarily beautiful, and all eager to capture Victor’s brooding attention.
A pity he had no interest in the half-naked bodies that were deliberately poised on the chaise longues and large pillows tossed across the carpet. The tasty feast might be perfectly calculated to sate a hungry vampire, but Victor felt nothing more than cold apathy.
Waving away the silver-haired nymph attired in a thin gauze gown who knelt at his feet with her head tilted in silent invitation, he ruefully accepted that his once varied and exotic taste had now been reduced to one particular female.
A female whom he was still no closer to having in his bed.
His slender fingers were tapping a restless tattoo on the scrolled arm of the chair, his body aching for Miss Juliet Lawrence, when the far doors were thrust open to reveal a tall vampire with a halo of brown curls and large brown eyes.
Most people were deceived by the air of youth and innocence that clung to Uriel even after two centuries, but not Victor. Although the vampire would never possess Victor’s own power, Uriel was a brutal killer when necessary and loyal beyond reason.
Which was precisely why Victor had demanded the demon maintain a constant guard on Juliet since she’d first captured his fancy.
With a lift of his brow, he gestured for the vampire to join him, knowing that Uriel would never have abandoned his post without a compelling reason.
Moving through the guests with fluid speed, Uriel fell to his knees before Victor and bent his head.
“Master.”
“Tell me.”
“The female left her home.”
“An odd hour.” He frowned. It was because Juliet’s maid had sent a note to say her mistress would be staying in for the evening that he had reluctantly agreed to this small gathering. His clan deserved a few entertainments even if their chief was preoccupied with a stubborn, unmanageable female. “She was with Hawthorne?”
“No, master, she was alone.”
“Alone?”
“Alone and on foot.”
“Damn.” Victor’s hands clenched the arms of his chair, the wood creaking as it threatened to shatter beneath the pressure. “I trust Johan is following her?”
“Of course.”
He glanced toward the dark windows, judging the hours before sunrise.
“Juliet is impulsive, but she is not a fool. Why would she be traveling the London streets alone?” He returned his attention to his servant. “Did a messenger arrive?”
“No, master. No one approached the house.”
Something perilously close to fury flared through Victor’s cold heart as he flowed to his feet.
Where the devil would Juliet be headed to at such an hour? Although London was no doubt ablaze with parties, she would never attend one without a proper chaperon and certainly not on foot.
So that meant she was either conducting nefarious business or she was meeting a secret lover.
It was the latter thought that triggered his blast of icy power, sending the humans and lesser demons fleeing the room in fear and his brothers falling onto their knees.
“Where is Hawthorne?”
“He is in the Hampton C
ourt gardens, still attempting to lure Yiant out of hiding.”
Uriel’s explanation reminded Victor of yet another mystery nagging at him.
“Have you discovered what has disturbed the sprites?”
“I fear not, master.”
Victor flicked his finger, commanding Uriel to his feet.
“Perhaps my absence from London has allowed my clan to forget that my commands are not mere suggestions,” he said, the frigid force of his voice wrapping around his servant and causing him to flinch in pain. “I do expect to be obeyed.”
“Forgive us, master,” the vampire pleaded, his voice tight with the knowledge Victor could kill him with one blow. “We have sought to discover the truth, but the sprites refuse to speak.”
“Refuse? How very bold of them,” Victor drawled, his gaze skimming over his cringing clansmen. “And how very disappointing that my fine warriors have been bested by a handful of fey.”
“We will discover the truth,” Uriel pledged.
“Yes, you will.” Victor narrowed his gaze, dismissing the trifling annoyance from his mind. He had far more important matters to command his attention. Not the least of which was putting an end to his delicate dance with Miss Juliet Lawrence. He had struggled to be patient, but he would not tolerate having her in danger. And he most certainly would not tolerate her taking a lover. He would kill any man who dared to touch her. “Tonight, however, you will prepare chambers for Miss Lawrence and rid the lair of any undesirable guests before I return.”
There was a brief flicker of surprise before Uriel managed to smooth his expression.
“Yes, master.”
Victor headed across the room, pausing at the doorway. “Ah, and I will need the services of a chef.”
“I...” Uriel blinked, then gave a hasty nod of his head. “Certainly.”
Stepping into the antechamber, Victor pulled a satin cloak over his formal evening attire and glanced toward Madame Andreas, a lushly curved female who hovered with the rest of the humans.
With a tiny cry of pleasure, the blonde rushed forward, sinking into a deep curtsy that called attention to pearly mounds of breasts that overflowed the velvet gown.
“Francine.”
“My lord?” she breathed.
“Hawthorne will be returning to his home within the next few hours. I want you to be waiting for him.”
“Do you have any specific instructions?”
“Ensure that he remains unaware that Miss Lawrence is not in her bed. The more hours you can keep him distracted, the better.”
She daringly lifted her gaze, regarding him with a stark sexual hunger.
“A foolish waste of my talents. Send one of your other females to Hawthorne and I will make you forget the dowdy Miss Lawrence.”
Victor’s expression hardened with unmistakable warning. “Do not speak her name.”
“What is so bloody special about her?” the woman demanded with a petulant jealousy.
“She is mine.”
Chapter Three
Juliet was well aware of the dangers of traveling through London in the middle of the night.
Oh, not the usual dangers.
Any criminal or drunken lout who thought she was easy prey would soon discover the error of their ways, but there were predators that hunted the streets far more lethal than the human variety.
Mages, fey, demons...
All of whom could destroy her with embarrassing ease.
Which was why she had brought along her mother’s amulet, which allowed her to focus the small amount of magic she possessed. In addition, she had grabbed a well-worn crystal that glowed with a soft power. It was the only possession she had from her father and it stirred her imp blood.
The objects would not save her from a full-blooded demon who wanted her dead, but they offered some protection.
Leaving behind the elegant neighborhoods, Juliet silently moved through the shadows, headed toward the cramped, narrow Rosemary Lane and onto Pennington Street, which eventually spilled onto the docks.
Once among the warren of warehouses and quays, Juliet halted, not at all certain where to begin her search.
Levet had said the docks, but they sprawled along the Thames from the medieval London docks to the East and West Indies docks that were still under construction. They were also crowded with sailors and dockhands even at this hour.
How the devil was she supposed to find a tiny gargoyle among the confusion?
Rubbing her nose at the potent stench that clogged the air, Juliet was considering the nearest warehouse when her skin abruptly prickled with warning, a chill wrapping around her.
A dark premonition crawled up her spine and with a gasp she whirled. Her heart lodged in her throat at the sight of the Marquis DeRosa, his raven hair pulled back to reveal the stark beauty of his face and his eyes shimmering pure silver in the moonlight.
“Now what, I wonder, would entice a young and innocent maiden to the docks at this hour?” he mocked softly.
She pressed a hand to her churning stomach, her brows drawing together in annoyance.
“My lord.”
“Victor.”
“I wish you would not sneak up on me.”
The cape swirled around his powerful body as he stepped toward her, reaching out to cup her chin in his slender hand.
“You should be thanking whatever god you pray to that I am the one sneaking up on you. It is beyond foolish to be wandering the streets alone.”
With a shiver, she jerked from his touch.
How could a touch so cold send streaks of fire through her body?
“I am more likely to curse the evil spirit that crossed our paths. What are you doing here?”
“Attempting to keep you from an early grave.”
Her eyes widened. “Did you follow me?”
His aquiline nose wrinkled in delicate distaste. “I can imagine no other reason to bring me to such a repugnant neighborhood.”
Her hands clenched at her sides at his blatant confession. “Why, you...”
A raven brow flicked upward. “Yes?”
“You have no right to spy on me. I am not one of your concubines.”
The silver eyes flashed with a ruthless intent as he framed her face in his hands, his intoxicating scent filling her senses.
“No, never my concubine,” he agreed, lowering his head to stroke his lips down the curve of her cheek, halting to nuzzle the corner of her mouth.
“Halt that,” she breathed, desperately attempting to fight the acute pleasure of his touch.
God almighty, she craved this vampire. She logically comprehended that the beautiful demon would be a lethal addiction for any female stupid enough to fall victim to his seduction. Still, her body ached to be in his arms, the feel of his fangs feeding greedily at her neck as he plunged deep inside her.
Which was far more terrifying than any hidden dangers that lurked among the docks.
Closing her eyes, she poured her thoughts into the amulet hung about her neck, feeling its heat prickle over her skin until Victor abruptly jerked his hands away.
He narrowed his eyes, astonishingly appearing more aroused than offended by her little parlor trick.
“Ah, you enjoy playing rough, little one?”
“I simply want you to go away.”
“Juliet, be assured that hell will freeze over before I allow you to remain here alone,” he said, the cold power of his voice sending the rats scurrying in fear and making the humans glance over their shoulders in unease. They would have no notion of why they were suddenly fidgety, only that they wished they were at a nearby pub. “Tell me why you are roaming these docks.”
Her jaw tightened, but she was not entirely stupid. Beneath Victor’s polished charm was a dangerous edge that warned he would not leave until he was satisfied.
“I am searching for a friend.”
“Friend? Or lover?” he silkily demanded.
She blinked in shock at the abrupt question. “That is no
ne of your concern.”
“Do not pretend ignorance. You have known from our first encounter that I would not tolerate another man in your bed.”
Her heart slammed against her ribs, her mouth dry. “You truly are an arrogant ass.”
“Tell me.” He grasped her shoulders, his eyes glittering with a fierce emotion. “Are you here to meet a lover?”
“No.” Grimly she forced herself to meet his stark, possessive gaze, her chin tilting. “If you must know, I am searching for Levet.”
“Levet?”
“The gargoyle. He is in trouble.”
His fingers eased their grip on her shoulders, but his expression remained hard with warning in the wash of moonlight.
“Bloody hell. You risked your life for a deformed gargoyle who is not even worthy of being a part of his Guild?”
She stiffened. “There happen to be many of us who are unworthy to belong to a Guild or a clan or a coven, my lord. That does not mean we cannot possess friends who care for us.”
“Juliet—“
Victor’s words were brought to a sharp halt as a distinct sizzle flared through the air and then, without warning, Juliet felt herself being hauled to the ground. Victor covered her with his body just as a strike of lightning hit a building on the other side of the quay.
She heard the sound of distant shouts of alarm as humans rushed away from the unexpected shower of brick and glass, but with fluid speed, Victor was on his feet and scooping Juliet in his arms as he headed into the nearest warehouse.
There was the overwhelming stench of damp wool and smoke from the oil lanterns as Victor flowed past the stacked crates to the back of the long room, his movements silent and swift. Halting next to the heavy wooden doors, Victor set her gently on her feet and scanned their surroundings for potential threats.
“Is it pixies?” Juliet demanded, tugging down her loose shirt. Thank God she had possessed the sense to trade her corset and skirts for more suitable garments.
Victor tossed aside his cloak and removed his elegant jacket and waistcoat, carelessly dropping the expensive, but restrictive, clothing on the filthy floor.
“Why would you suspect pixies?” he demanded.
Yours for Eternity Page 12
