After Midnight

by Teresa Medeiros

  “Ah, that’s more like it!” Duvalier said, his full lips curving in a smile. “I’d rather have you snarling at me like a mad dog than cowering in the corner like a whipped pup.”

  Clenching his teeth against a fresh round of chills, Julian choked out, “The only one mad around here, Victor, is you.”

  Duvalier eased back the hood of his cloak to re veal the glossy sweep of his long black hair. Lifting his shoulders in a Gallic shrug, he said, “I fear that madness, like so many things, is in the eye of the beholder.” His French accent had only deepened in his years away from England, softening his consonants to a throaty purr. “Some might even consider it a gift, just like immortality.”

  “I consider both a curse,” Julian spat.

  “That’s why I’m so much stronger than you. So much more powerful. I’ve spent the last five years embracing what I am while you’ve spent the last five years running from it.”

  “From where I stood, the only one running was you.”

  Duvalier’s smile no longer quite reached his eyes. “I have only myself to blame for that. It seems I underestimated your brother’s persistence. I thought he would be forced to destroy you and that, in turn, would destroy him.”

  “What you underestimated was his love for me and his determination to hunt you to the ends of the earth.”

  “If he truly loved you, he would accept you for what you are, would he not?” Sighing, Duvalier shook his head. “I almost pity you. You’re not willing to be a vampire, but you’re not a man, either. Tell me, what are you thinking about when you’re with a woman? Are you thinking about the scent of her skin, the softness of her breasts, the pleasure she can give you with her hands, her mouth, that sweet little nest between her legs? Or are you listening for the beat of her heart beneath yours as you enter her, the irresistible whisper of her blood rushing through her veins when you make her come?”

  Julian groaned as a cramp of raw hunger knifed through him. Doubling over, he crumpled to his side.

  Duvalier knelt next to him, his voice soft yet relentless. “You’re a man who adores women, are you not? Yet in all these years, you’ve never allowed yourself a virgin. Why is that? Do you think you’re unworthy to defile such a treasure? Or are you afraid the scent of the blood of her innocence might drive you mad? Are you afraid you might awaken bathed in it with no memory of how the girl with the slack mouth and unseeing eyes came to be lying next to you?”

  Julian clapped his hands over his ears, biting back a whimper.

  Duvalier stroked his hair, his touch almost gentle. “Poor sad boy. I made you, you know. When you were playing at vampire hunter with your brother and his new whore, did it never occur to you that I could break you as well?”

  Julian lay utterly still, afraid to think, afraid to feel, afraid to hope, as Duvalier slipped a key into one manacle and then the other. The iron bracelets fell away, freeing his arms from the weight of the chains.

  Julian gave Duvalier just enough time to rise to his feet before lunging for his throat, fangs bared. As Duvalier danced easily out of his reach, Julian lurched forward a few steps, then went crashing to one knee. Even without the chains, the burden of the crucifix etched on his chest coupled with starvation had left him too weak to fight. He was too weak to do anything now but feed. And soon he would only have the strength to die.

  Duvalier clucked in sympathy. “Perhaps it’s time I showed you that even a monster like me is capable of mercy.”

  Drawing up the hood of his cloak to protect him from the sunlight, he ducked out the door. He reappeared a few seconds later carrying a squirming bundle wrapped in burlap.

  Julian licked his parched lips. Perhaps Duvalier had brought him a sheep or some other animal to sustain him. The bastard was just sadistic enough to keep him alive, if only to prolong his torture.

  As Duvalier set his burden on its feet and jerked away the burlap, Julian’s helpless anticipation turned to horror.

  Portia stood there, her hands bound in front of her and a silk gag stuffed between her beautiful lips. Her hair tumbled around her shoulders in wild disarray and grimy tear tracks stained her cheeks. The blue-striped muslin of her gown was ripped and stained in several places, as if she’d put up a valiant struggle against Duvalier’s machinations.

  When she saw him, she let out a muffled cry, hope flaring in her terrified eyes. She had no way of knowing she was facing her doom.

  Although it took the last ounce of his strength, Julian managed to stagger to his feet. “No!” he rasped. “I won’t let you kill her the way you killed Eloisa!”

  Duvalier’s smile was as tender as a lover’s. “Oh, I’m not going to kill her. You are.”

  Sneering with triumph, Duvalier hurled Portia straight into Julian’s arms. With his senses heightened by starvation, he could smell her fear, hear every rhythmic nuance of the blood pumping its way through her racing heart. As she pressed her trembling body against him, his body reacted with a lust as keen as any he had ever known.

  “No,” he whispered, already feeling his fangs lengthening, sharpening.

  “When I caught this jeune fille sneaking out of her bedchamber window last night, she begged me to take her to you. So I have. As I said, I am not without mercy.” Sweeping his cloak around, Duvalier turned to go.

  Swallowing the last bitter dregs of his pride, Julian cried out, “Don’t do this, Victor! Please! I’m begging you!”

  Duvalier shrugged as if his words were only an afterthought. “If you don’t want to kill her, you could always wait until that precious moment when her heart is beating its last and suck the soul right out of her. Then she would be one of us and you could enjoy the pleasure of her company for all eternity.” He lingered just long enough to give Julian one last smile. “It’s your choice.”

  Then the door closed, the turn of the key in the padlock echoing with grim finality.

  When Adrian and Caroline slipped out one of the French windows in the breakfast room, seeking to avoid the prying eyes of the servants, they found Vivienne and Larkin on the terrace waiting for them.

  Vivienne was wearing a pretty little bonnet and a forest green cloak, while Larkin sported a pearl-handled pistol and a resolute expression.

  “You can’t be serious,” Adrian said, folding his arms over his chest and surveying them through narrowed eyes.

  Caroline stepped in front of him, glaring at her sister. “If you think for one minute that I’m going to allow you to accompany us, young lady, then that silly little bonnet of yours must be constricting your brain.”

  Vivienne drew herself up with a regal sniff. “And why shouldn’t I accompany you? Portia is my sister, too.”

  Having just been defeated by the same argument, Adrian was enjoying Caroline’s discomfiture more than he knew he ought to be. “She has a valid point, darling.”

  Caroline turned her glare on him. “Who asked you?”

  Remembering that she was armed, he lifted his hands in a gesture of surrender and backed away, exchanging a wary look with Larkin.

  The two sisters stood toe-to-toe, neither showing any sign of budging.

  “Portia may already be in trouble,” Caroline said. “I won’t stand by and let you put yourself in danger as well. I haven’t the time nor the inclination to rescue the both of you.”

  “I’m not asking for your permission,” Vivienne retorted. “You’re my sister, not my mother.”

  Larkin was possessed by a sudden coughing fit, forcing Adrian to clap him on the back.

  After a moment of stunned silence, Caroline breathed, “Why, you ungrateful little brat! After everything I’ve done for you, everything I’ve sacrificed, how could you—”

  Vivienne started talking right over her. “No one ever forced you to play the role of mother or martyr. If you weren’t so proud and so pigheaded, you might have been able to ask for a helping hand every now and then. All you had to do was say, ‘Vivienne, would you mind putting the bow in Portia’s hair today?’ or ‘Vivienne, w
hy don’t you run down to the market and pick us out a nice—”

  “—might have but you were probably too busy sitting in front of the mirror combing your long golden curls or practicing dotting your i’s with ridiculous little hearts or trying on all the beautiful gowns that Mama had made for me!”

  Vivienne gasped. “Why, you jealous cow! I might have borrowed your gowns for a time, but at least I never accidentally left your favorite doll sitting too close to the fire, singing off all of her long golden curls!”

  Caroline leaned forward until her nose was almost touching Vivienne’s, a nasty smile curving her lips. “Who said it was an accident?”

  As they each launched into a new tirade, detailing each other’s failings for the past two decades, Adrian tapped Larkin on the shoulder and jerked his head toward the woods.

  They had nearly made it to the edge of the underbrush when Caroline’s head suddenly whipped around. “Just where do you two think you’re going?”

  Adrian sighed. “To find Portia and Julian, we hope.”

  “Not without us you’re not!” Grabbing Vivienne by her gloved hand, Caroline dragged her sister off the terrace and toward the woods. “Aren’t men the most impossible creatures? You spend one night in their beds and they think that just because they gave you a few hours of unspeakable pleasure, they can spend the rest of their lives deciding what’s best for you.”

  Vivienne nodded in agreement. “They’re absolutely insufferable. Why, Alastair refused to let me come today until I agreed to wear a pair of his boots!” She lifted her hem to display the ungainly things. “I had to put on half a dozen pairs of stockings just to keep them on. Now my feet feel like great ugly slabs of ham.”

  “You poor lamb,” Caroline crooned, linking her arm through Vivienne’s. “As soon as we find Portia and Julian, we’ll give your feet a good soaking in front of the fire.”

  As they passed the men, still chattering like magpies, Adrian and Larkin exchanged a disbelieving glance.

  “It appears they’ve found a common enemy,” Larkin murmured.

  “Yes,” Adrian agreed, blowing out a beleaguered sigh. “Us.”

  As they trudged over hill and dale, waded through chill streams, and ducked beneath the low hanging eaves of shallow caves, searching all of Adrian and Julian’s boyhood haunts, Caroline almost wished she had borrowed a pair of Adrian’s boots. The soles of her own boots were worn so thin she could feel the bite of every rock and root.

  She would have collapsed into an exhausted heap more than once, but each time she stumbled, Adrian’s hand was there to bear her up. Each time her strength faltered, the sight of his determined face would goad her into continuing.

  He was handing her over a fallen log with a steep and rocky crevasse below it when he murmured, “Unspeakable pleasure, eh?”

  Caroline lowered her head to hide her smile. “You needn’t look so satisfied with yourself. I suppose it was all rather…tolerable.”

  “Only tolerable?” He gave her hand a tug, giving her no choice but to stumble against him. With the softness of her breasts crushed against his chest, he gazed down at her, his eyes smoky with promise. “Then it seems I’ll have no choice but to redouble my efforts tonight.”

  Tonight, when Portia and Julian were safe. Tonight, when they were curled up in Adrian’s cozy bed, making plans for their wedding and laughing at the fright their silly siblings had given them. Gazing into his eyes, Caroline could see how badly they both wanted to believe in that future.

  But as the day waned, so did their hopes. The sun vanished behind a veil of clouds and a light rain began to fall, hastening the descent of twilight. Vivienne’s sprightly little bonnet began to droop. When it collapsed altogether, she tugged it off and tossed it away in disgust, drawing the hood of her cloak up over her hair.

  They emerged from the shadows of the forest to find themselves in a large clearing. A squat building sat in the middle of it, its ancient stones weathered and encrusted with lichen. A stone an gel stood guard over its entrance, his stern face warning them that this was no haven for the weary traveler.

  “What is this place?” Caroline whispered, unsettled by the unnatural hush.

  “The Kane family crypt,” Adrian murmured in reply.

  She shivered, thinking it was no wonder that the voices of the living seemed so unwelcome here.

  Adrian picked his way over the blanket of crushed and sodden leaves, cautiously approaching the crypt. The rest of them trailed behind, their reluctance palpable. But once he reached the crypt door, he simply stood gazing down at the ornate iron handle.

  “What is it?” Larkin asked, drawing Vivienne closer.

  Adrian lifted his head. All Caroline could think was that he must have had that exact same expression when he stood outside that gambling hell with Eloisa’s body inside and watched it burn. “The crypt door has never been padlocked from the outside before. You don’t usually have to worry about its occupants escaping.”

  Caroline felt the tiny hairs at her nape prickle with dread.

  “Stand back,” Adrian commanded, drawing the pistol from the waistband of his trousers.

  As he backed away several paces, the rest of them followed suit.

  He took aim and pulled the trigger, shattering the padlock with a single shot. The pistol’s sharp report echoed through the clearing. As the smoke rising like mist from its barrel slowly cleared, the crypt door came creaking open.

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Julian came staggering through the crypt door, bearing Portia like a child in his arms. Her head hung limp over his arm, her sooty curls spilling nearly to his hip. Her eyes were closed, her skin deathly pale—so pale that there could be no mistaking the twin gashes marring the ashen perfection of her throat.

  A broken cry tore from Caroline’s lips. As Vivienne’s knees buckled, Larkin sank to the leaves with her, wrapping his arms around her to muffle her sobs against his chest.

  His face even more beautiful and terrible than the face of the angel guarding the tomb, Adrian reached inside his cloak and drew out a wooden stake.

  He started forward, but Caroline grabbed his arm, staying him. “No, Adrian,” she whispered fiercely, digging her fingernails into his sleeve. “Look at her chest. She’s alive!”

  Although the movement was nearly imperceptible, Portia’s chest was rising and falling in an even rhythm.

  Julian lurched toward them, the tears streaming down his face mingling with the rain. Caroline gasped, not realizing until that moment that he looked even closer to death than Portia. His eyes were hollow, his cheeks sunken, his skin as pale as parchment. His teeth looked ghastly white against the blue of his lips.

  His voice was little more than a hoarse croak. “I only took what I needed to survive.” He gazed down into Portia’s face with wrenching tenderness. “I wouldn’t have done that if the stubborn little fool hadn’t insisted. I tried to warn her that it was too dangerous, that I didn’t trust myself to stop before it was too late, but she wouldn’t listen.”

  As he stumbled to his knees, still cradling Portia to his chest, they all rushed forward. Larkin gently removed Portia from Julian’s arms with Vivienne’s help while Adrian lowered Julian across his lap.

  “I didn’t ever want you to see me like this again,” Julian bit off through his chattering teeth. He clutched at Adrian, his body wracked with uncontrollable tremors. “I didn’t want anyone to s-s-see what Victor did to me. To know what a terrible m-m-monster I am.”

  “You’re no monster.” Adrian gently stroked Julian’s sweat-drenched hair away from his face, his own hand trembling. “If you were, Portia would be dead right now.”

  Julian blinked up at him. “If I’m not a monster, then what am I?”

  “You’re what you always have been and what you always will be.” Adrian rested his brow against Julian’s and closed his eyes, but not before Caroline could see the tears shining in them. “My brother.”

  “How is he?” Caroline whispered
, standing in the doorway of the south tower several hours later.

  Adrian was sprawled in a chair beside the bed in shirt-sleeves and trousers, his long legs stretched out in front of him and his chin pillowed on his palm. Although his eyes were hooded with exhaustion, the candlelight revealed that they’d lost none of their vigilant glitter.

  He had insisted upon carrying Julian up those five flights of stairs himself and installing him in his own bed. Dawn was fast approaching and the tower’s heavy velvet drapes had all been drawn to ensure that there would be no risk of a single ray of sunlight stealing into the room.

  “He’s resting well,” Adrian said as Caroline drew near the bed. He gazed fondly down at his brother’s sleeping visage. “He should be back to nagging me about my crooked cravats and beating me at chess in no time at all.”

  Julian’s lips had lost their blue tinge and a hint of color was slowly returning to his cheeks. Caroline averted her eyes from the goblet resting on the table next to the bed, knowing she didn’t have to ask if it contained red wine.

  “How is Portia?” Adrian asked.

  “Positively insufferable,” Caroline assured him. “She keeps demanding fresh glasses of water and kidney pie and gloating because she and Dr. Polidori were right all along about the existence of vampires. Vivienne insisted on taking charge of her for a little while, and I didn’t dare refuse.” She grimaced down at the tattered hem of Eloisa’s gown. “Besides, I can’t wait to get out of this gown and ring for a steaming bath.”

  “Are you sure you don’t want me to summon Dr. Kidwell to examine her? I can deal with a few awkward questions if I have to. Especially with Alastair by my side. The local authorities would probably be quite impressed with a London constable.”

  “No, thank you,” she replied with a shudder. “The doctor would probably just want to bleed her.”

  Adrian hesitated. “Has Portia talked about what happened in that crypt?”

  Caroline shook her head before saying softly, “I don’t believe she ever will.” She studied Julian’s handsome face, thinking how boyish and innocent it looked in repose. “She worships the ground he walks on. She would have done anything for him.”