Marcellus had been carefully watching all of this, confusion etched into his handsome face. “What on earth are you all talking about? Fiction? French? I am speaking French—what other language would I be speaking?”
Perfect English, actually. With the slightest edge of a French accent.
“It doesn’t matter, darling,” Veronique said, patting his arm. “All is well.”
“No, all is not well!” I literally shouted this. “And you all need to get a serious grip or I’m going to go ballistic. Nobody is eliminating Thierry. And, you—” I pointed at the werewolf, who now had a wooden stake in his hand. “Put that down right now.”
“This is what we do to those who cannot follow the rules,” he explained.
“Put it down or I will have you spayed and neutered. I swear I will.”
“She protects me at every turn,” Thierry said with wry amusement. “Even after I’ve attacked an innocent.”
“Fictional innocent,” I said. “Not a real one. There’s a difference and you knew it.”
He shook his head. “The spell is rendering me unable to know the difference between right and wrong. All that will soon exist is the thirst, and then Sebastien will fully have his revenge. You are in grave danger anywhere near me, Sarah. You all are.”
“Damn spell.” I rubbed my forehead and paced back and forth. Thank God I hadn’t taken the passageway back to the mansion and left Thierry to the fate of a werewolf with a wooden stake. “Why did Melanie have to put that blood in your drink? Do werewolves always follow orders to the letter?”
Marcellus nodded. “The well-paid ones do.”
Francois was the second werewolf I’d met tonight, but there was one very big difference between him and Melanie that had just occurred to me.
I stopped pacing and turned to face Marcellus, his face lit from the flickering lanterns set into the stone walls. “Do all werewolves smell like wet dog to a vampire?”
“Yes,” he said. “Some more than others, but there is always that barest scent to discern what they are.”
I took a big whiff. Yes, wet dog—just a hint, but it was definitely there. “Melanie didn’t smell like Francois.”
“Which means what, darling?” Veronique asked.
“Which means she was lying to me. She’s not a werewolf.”
“What difference does it make?” Thierry growled.
Maybe nothing. Maybe everything. I sorted through it before I answered him.
“I think it might make a big difference if she’s actually a witch. I mean, she seemed to have some psychic ability. That could be witchy, right? Maybe she was the one who put the spell on the blood to begin with at Sebastien’s command.”
“This is all quite fascinating.” Marcellus watched us discuss this as if he were watching a tennis match. “But I really don’t understand a word of it. And it’s not because we’re not speaking French, because we absolutely are.”
And he really seemed to believe it.
“Again, I must ask,” Veronique said as she walked around Thierry’s chair, her stiletto heels sinking into the dirt floor, “what difference does it make, other than exposing her as a liar? The spell is still on Thierry and it’s making him exceedingly unpleasant.”
She was right, I was guessing. Wild-leap guessing, actually. Besides, at this very moment, Melanie being a werewolf or a witch didn’t make any difference at all.
“You can fight the spell,” I told Thierry firmly, touching his shoulder. “I know you can.”
He looked down at my hand on him. “When I chose my victim outside, it wasn’t because I knew he was fictional. It was because I needed his blood. That he ended up not actually existing was incidental at that point. My first intention was to harm him.”
I shook my head. “You’re not thinking straight right now.”
“His blood tasted like ashes. Not satisfying at all. It was then I knew he wasn’t human.”
“Didn’t you already satisfy your thirst with Jacob?” Veronique said, her voice soft.
Thierry’s black eyes flicked to her. “Pardon me?”
“Jacob is dead. Someone fed on him and then broke his neck, likely so he wouldn’t be able to identify who did it.”
“And you think I did.”
“That room is what led us to the passageway here. And here you are as well.” There was no hiding the accusation in her voice.
“No way,” I said, feeling sicker to my stomach with every second that passed. “Thierry didn’t kill Jacob.”
“He’s already shown his murderous intentions. If Francois hadn’t stopped him—”
“He would have stopped on his own.”
“You don’t know that.”
I hissed out a breath of frustration. “I do know that.”
“I found another passageway to this place,” Thierry said. “But it wasn’t in a room that also contained Jacob.”
More than one passageway here. That meant there might be more than one passageway back.
But I only knew of the one for sure. I really hoped it hadn’t closed up yet.
“It would be rather lovely,” Marcellus said, “if someone might spend just a moment explaining all of this to me.”
Thierry was watching me very closely, so closely I felt the heat of his gaze on the side of my face. I turned to see his incredulous expression, as if my words constantly surprised him.
“You believe that I would have stopped,” he said.
“I do,” I replied firmly.
“But Veronique doesn’t.”
“No.” She sighed. “I have seen too much, my darling. There is a spell on you—a powerful spell, it would seem. You are a danger now, even more so than you usually are. Everyone acknowledges this except Sarah, but she is a mere fledgling. She doesn’t understand.”
“Enough, both of you,” I snapped. “All I care about right now is getting back to the mansion so we can find Sebastien and get him to break this spell. And if the witch who cast it in the first place is still lingering around pretending to be a werewolf, all the better!”
“He is a danger!” Francois insisted. “A danger to us all!”
“No, he isn’t,” I told him.
“Yes, actually I am.” With a snap Thierry easily broke free from his restraints and stood up. “And I strongly suggest that each and every one of you—fictional or not—start running as fast as you can.”
Chapter 13
Twice tonight Thierry had told me to run from him. I took him seriously both times.
Marcellus grabbed Veronique’s arm and ushered her up the stone stairway ahead of him. Francois was right behind them. Now that Thierry was freed from his restraints, the werewolf had lost all of his stake-carrying bravado.
I found my feet weren’t working.
“Thierry—”
“Ten seconds, Sarah.” Thierry’s jaw was tight, his hands fisted at his sides. “And then I fear I won’t be able to protect you any longer. Ten, nine, eight . . .”
The countdown worked like a charm.
I was out of there.
I took the steps two at a time to get back to the main level. The werewolf was already racing out the front door.
“Save yourselves!” he hollered.
“Come with us, Sarah!” Veronique beckoned to me as Marcellus pulled her out the front door.
“I’ll catch up with you,” I promised.
“He’s dangerous,” she said. “Please don’t underestimate him. I’ve seen him at his darkest and it was still nothing like what I saw in his eyes downstairs. He is dangerous and what happens to us here is real. Please remember that!”
With her words echoing in my mind, I took a left out the front doors and emerged on the street. I ran back toward the tavern. If I could get to the passageway . . .
My heart wrenched at the thought. What
would I do? Abandon both of them here in Vampireland?
Veronique hadn’t been the only one to see something scary in Thierry’s eyes. Something dangerous. Something deadly. I saw it, too, and it had made my blood turn to ice.
The spell had him tightly in its grip.
Was it unforgivably naive to believe he could still fight something like that?
Maybe he wasn’t Thierry anymore. He was a vampire with no control who needed to feed.
It was my worst fear come to life.
I focused on putting one foot in front of the other as I headed back in the direction of the tavern. Marcellus’s villa was the better part of a half mile away, so it wasn’t a quick sprint. My feet ached and I had more than one blister by now.
Then someone stepped into my path on the cobblestone road a block from my target location.
“Sarah Dearly.” Stefan the vampire hunter stood directly beneath a lantern, which lit up his handsome face. “You left far too soon.”
“Oh, hi. Nice to see you again,” I lied.
He scanned the area. “Where is Veronique?”
“Not with me anymore. Obviously.” I glanced around. “Where are your friends?”
“Also not with me. It seems to be just the two of us now. Let us talk.”
“About?”
“About what I can do to win Veronique back.”
Was he for real?
Oh, wait. He wasn’t. That explained a lot.
I tried to give him a patient smile. “Obviously she has you tied up in knots, but you could do so much better. I saw a barmaid in the tavern who was seriously giving you the eye.”
“Greta?” He raised an eyebrow. “I have had her before. Every man in this town has.”
“Okay, well, maybe she isn’t your soul mate, but my point is that neither is Veronique. And listen, I’d love to chat a little longer, but I have to see a witchy werewolf about a blood spell.”
I tried to sidestep him, but he blocked me.
“Not yet.” He frowned deeply. “Are you trying to tell me I’ve been a fool?”
He was a good-looking guy with a tender heart, but I couldn’t forget he was a card-carrying vampire hunter. I needed to tread softly on this dangerous ground.
“Oh, no. Not a fool. You’re a romantic. A really fantastic, lovely romantic who probably writes poetry in his spare time.”
“I do. I write poetry for Veronique.” He raised his face toward the sliver of moon in the jet-black sky and lifted his hand. “Her hair the black of a raven’s wing / her lips so red they make me sing . . . Shall I go on?”
I repressed a grimace. “Um, no. But thank you for sharing. That was really lovely.”
He drew in a quivery breath. “She is my life.”
“No, she’s not.”
“That she would turn her back on me to return to that man who casts her aside at his whim . . . It infuriates me.”
How was I supposed to get away from him? This dude was seriously obsessed. But I could only blame Veronique for that. It was how she wrote him.
“I have heard he’s a little fickle. But when you’ve lived that long . . . well, maybe . . . Oh, I don’t care. Listen, Stefan, all I’m saying is you could do better and I’m sure you will. I think you have about forty-five more chapters left to find happiness. And if she ends up writing that spin-off she was talking about, I know things are finally going to go your way.”
What was I babbling about? I was giving romance advice to someone who didn’t even exist.
Stefan pulled his stake from the sheath on his belt.
Now that looked like it existed.
He held it up to the moonlight. “A gift from my father on his deathbed. He slayed over a hundred vampires with this. He didn’t trust wood—only silver.”
I took an automatic step back from him. “I’m more of a platinum fan myself.”
His gaze moved from the sharp tip of his weapon to me. “Are you a fledgling, Sarah, or are you a full vampire?”
“I mean, I like to consider myself a full vampire, but technically speaking, I’m a fledgling.”
“So you will leave a body behind when you are slain.”
A chill slithered down my spine. “No reason to get nasty, Stefan. I thought we were having a nice talk.”
“We are. And now you will help me leave a message for Veronique that I can’t be cast aside so easily. She must know that I matter.” A tear slipped down his cheek. “And my love won’t be denied, not by her. Not by anyone. She has taken me for granted for the last time.”
I stumbled back another step and raised my fists. “Don’t come any closer. I might not look it, but I can fight.”
“I would hope that you will. Everyone should fight when their life is in jeopardy.”
Stefan came at me, grabbing the front of my dress and yanking me closer. I punched him in the face and his head snapped to the side. He laughed. “Definitely a fledgling. Veronique is much stronger than you are.”
“Let me try that again.” I punched but met only air this time as he shoved me to the ground. The air was knocked out of my lungs, and I gasped for breath. He loomed over me, but all I could see was that stake. I scrambled to get to my feet, but it was too late. He lunged—
—and then stopped in midair before being yanked backward. Thierry spun the hunter around, glanced at me and then at the stake.
“Who are you?” Stefan sputtered.
“No one you want to know.” Thierry grabbed his head and twisted.
I winced when I heard his neck crack. His body crumpled to the ground in a heap. Before I could register what I’d just witnessed, Stefan’s dead body vanished in a flash of light bright enough that I had to shield my eyes.
Fictional characters didn’t leave corpses.
I stayed on the ground, staring up at Thierry. He didn’t offer me a hand. He just turned that dark look on me.
I scrambled back from him, crab-style. “You just saved my life. That’s a very good sign, don’t you think?”
“I told you to run.”
“I did and I was getting good distance even in these shoes. Unfortunately, I was interrupted.”
“That is unfortunate.”
I pushed myself up to my feet. “Feeling thirsty?”
His eyes narrowed. “You have no idea how thirsty I am right now.”
“Oh, my God!” I cried, waving. “Veronique’s on her way. Hey! Over here!”
When Thierry glanced over his shoulder, I took off at a sprint in the opposite direction.
Thirsty vampires were gullible. I’d use it to my advantage.
Thirsty vampires were also very fast. Especially ones not currently wearing four-inch heels.
Thierry caught up to me and pulled me to a halt, then he hoisted me over his shoulder and began walking away from the tavern. Panic tore through me.
I needed time to figure this out. This was not in my plan at all. “Where are you taking me?”
“Elsewhere. I don’t want Veronique to interrupt us.”
He walked until we reached the edge of this strange little town. Beyond the buildings, shops, and villas, darkness stretched out before us. Since I couldn’t see anything beyond it, I guessed that was where the magic that had created this place ended.
Thierry set me down on my feet next to a stone building with a thatched roof. He easily held me in place with his hand flattened against my upper chest. His gaze slid down my throat.
My heart beat like the wings of a trapped hummingbird.
Every fear I’d had, every whisper of doubt about falling in love with a vampire who lost his mind when he drank blood . . . they were all rising up like smug ghosts to say that they told me so, that this would happen, that he would one day kill me, no matter how much I believed in him.
But that was just it . . . I di
d believe in him. Even now, when there was so much stacked against us.
I’d believe in him till my last breath.
“You’re not going to let this spell beat you, Thierry,” I told him.
“Too late.”
“No, it’s not too late. You’re still talking. You’re still listening to me. You haven’t lost your mind.”
“My mind is very much here. It’s my empathy that has departed. To nearly kill that innocent earlier without blinking an eye—”
“But you didn’t kill him.”
“The intent was there. An intent you lack. I don’t think you’d be able to kill someone face-to-face, even if it was an artificial situation.”
I pressed Stefan’s silver stake against Thierry’s chest. I’d snatched it up earlier, but I guess Thierry hadn’t noticed. The silver burned my hand to hold it, but I gritted my teeth against the pain.
I’d heal quickly. That was, if I lived through this.
He looked down at it.
“How about face-to-face when it’s not an artificial situation?” I asked.
A cold smile curled his lips. “You wouldn’t.”
“Try me.”
He shook his head, but didn’t budge an inch. “So foolish, so naive. But you always have been. You thought you could tame me.” He pressed closer to the tip of the stake. “This is who I really am, Sarah. Don’t you see? For so many years I’ve fought it, until it weighs on me every day. I thought it was right to ignore it, but this is right. When one is thirsty, one must drink. It’s natural.”
I had to stay calm. He wasn’t lost. He was talking way too much to be lost. “This isn’t natural and you know it.”
“It is.”
“No, you just happen to be a total freak of nature, Thierry. You and Sebastien. Normal vampires can control their thirst. They don’t let it control them.”
“The spell has made everything so much simpler.” His gaze lingered on my throat again. “If I hadn’t bitten you earlier this evening, I might be able to stop this, but I can’t.”
“You won’t, you mean.”
His gaze snapped to mine. “Why must you continue to argue about everything I say?”
“Annoying, is it?”
From Fear to Eternity: An Immortality Bites Mystery Page 14
