by Barb Hendee
He’d just raised his hand to knock when a feeling hit him that there was something wrong up here in the guest wing.
He turned and looked down the wide hallway. It felt…empty.
Ivory, he flashed on instinct.
No one answered, and he felt nothing. Moving into action, he strode rapidly down to Wade’s door and knocked. “Wade?”
No one answered, and he opened the door. The room was empty. He went to Ivory’s next. It was empty.
Before taking any action, he decided he had to check one more place, and he headed back downstairs, toward the garage.
Once Wade was settled behind the wheel and Ivory was in the passenger seat, he put the keys into the ignition, but he didn’t start the engine. Now that they were locked away in the car, he had a feeling that neither one of them was in a hurry to get back to the mansion.
“Thank you,” she said, “for doing this. I haven’t had… I feel like I haven’t had real company in a long time. You’re good company.”
Everything she said was a mystery, and it pulled at his heart at the same time. She made no secret of the fact that she was miserable with Christian, but she wouldn’t tell him why.
He had at least ten specific questions that he’d planned to ask her, but they all vanished from his mind.
“If you don’t like working with him,” he said, “just leave. Come back to the church with me, even if he won’t come himself.”
“I can’t.”
“Sure you can.”
She studied him through her slanted green eyes. “You wouldn’t want me there, and you sure as hell don’t want him there.” Her voice trembled slightly. “You should take your friends and just get out of here, as far from us as you can.”
“No.”
She leaned her head back. “Wade, you don’t understand. You don’t know him.”
“Then make me understand.”
“I wouldn’t know what to say.”
“Don’t say anything. Just think about him and let me inside your head.”
She turned. “What?”
“I’m serious. Think back to when he turned you or whenever you want. I can see your memories. I can live them just like you did.”
She didn’t believe him. He could see it in her face. Apparently, he and Eleisha had stumbled upon this ability by accident, and none of the elders seemed to understand it. But he didn’t tell Ivory that once he’d locked on to a memory, he could keep her moving down a chronological path for as long as he wanted, and in spite of a flash of guilt, he wasn’t about to stop or turn back now.
“If I show you Christian,” she said slowly, “if I show you what he’s like beneath that smile, will you take your friends and run?”
“If I think it’s necessary.”
“You will.”
They were both quiet for a moment, and then she said, “What do I do?”
He reached over and grasped her fingers gently. “Just think back.”
As he tangled his thoughts into hers again, he thought he heard muffled screaming on the edge of his awareness.
The interior of the car vanished, and he latched on to the first memory that surfaced in her mind.
chapter eleven
TWO DAYS OUTSIDE OF BOSTON HARBOR, 1826 IVORY
Ivory was screaming into Christian’s hand.
She’d been fighting off men since she was fifteen, but this was different. For a slender man, the strength in his hands was unbelievable, and although panic hit her when he pinned her to the bed, what he did next went beyond her fears.
He drove his teeth into her throat, ripping at her skin and drinking her blood. The pain was blinding. She bucked wildly to pitch him off, but he didn’t seem to notice.
I’m going to die, she thought, still screaming into his palm covering her mouth.
He drank and drank…and it seemed to go on forever. She could hear her heartbeat slowing almost to a stop in her ears, and he pulled his teeth out. A dull sense of relief came when at least the ripping and drinking ceased. Though her throat still hurt, she had only a few seconds left to live, and at least she wouldn’t die in so much pain.
But he wasn’t done yet.
Sitting up, he put his wrist into his mouth and tore it open down through the veins.
A horror she didn’t think possible filled her when she saw the bloody wrist coming toward her mouth. Too weak to fight, she tried turning her head and saying, “No,” but his wrist kept coming, and he pressed it between her teeth.
“Drink,” he whispered in her ear. “You’ll thank me later.”
His blood began to run down her throat, and she didn’t remember any more.
When she opened her eyes again, she was still lying on the bed in his cabin. She couldn’t feel the pain in her throat now. She couldn’t feel anything at all.
Christian was sitting in a chair reading a newspaper, but when she tried to move, he looked over at her. “Finally,” he said, sounding annoyed. “I was beginning to think you’d never wake up.”
A flash of hatred hit her as bits and pieces started coming back. She touched her throat, but it felt whole. “What did you do to me?”
“Made you immortal. You owe me.”
Her hatred only grew as she glanced at the door. She was getting out of here, away from him, and she’d find a way to keep him away from her if she had to hire a bodyguard. She didn’t want to think about the things he’d done to her on this bed…and about how she hadn’t been able to stop him.
But then, as he stared at her, she felt something touch the edges of her mind, and his eyes narrowed, almost as if he knew what she was thinking.
“Maybe I shouldn’t have used the word ‘immortal,’” he said. “The sun will kill you, and you’ll starve unless I teach you how to hunt, how to feed, how to develop your own power. You’ll die without me.”
He continued staring at her, and an unwanted sensation began to make her tremble.
Fear.
Fear like she’d like never known—not even when he’d pinned her to the bed—began welling up inside her, and somehow, she knew with absolute certainty that she would die an agonizing death without him. She had to stay with him to remain safe.
The thought made her ill, but she was terrified to leave him.
He smiled.
“Good,” he said. “You must be hungry. Time for your first lesson.”
After they’d both changed their clothes, he took her up on deck, toward the aft of the ship, where the lighting was limited. All her instincts kept screaming at her to run, but the continually welling fear never left her…that without him something far worse would happen.
“You won’t be able to hunt on your own at first,” he said quietly. “I’ll have to lend you my gift until yours is strong enough.”
She had no idea what he was saying, but she was far too numb to ask.
The people they walked past felt different to her now. She could almost smell the warmth coming off their skin. She could sense the blood pounding in the veins of their throats.
She was hungry, and Christian seemed to know what to do.
Following him to the very back of the ship, she stopped at the sight of a middle-aged couple, both with British accents, having what appeared to be a polite argument.
“You always say ‘just a few hands,’ and then you sneak into the cabin at three o’clock in the morning,” the woman said. “I wish just once you’d come to bed with me at a halfway decent hour.”
“Oh, come on, old girl,” the man said, his tone more lighthearted than his expression. “There’s little enough to do on this ship, and you know I’ve not lost more than a few pounds. Don’t begrudge me what few amusements I have.”
Christian saw Ivory watching them.
“Him,” she said suddenly, not even knowing what was about to happen. “He likes to gamble.”
Raising his eyebrows, Christian waited until the woman finally huffed and walked away. Then he looked directly at the man. “I’m bringing
him over,” he whispered. “Lure him to the shadows of the wall, and then I’ll show you what to do.”
But Ivory moved forward on her own, intercepting the man, as if she already knew what to do. She smiled.
“Sorry, but I overheard some of that,” she said. “Are you still looking for amusement?”
His eyes widened, and he seemed more than surprised by her pretty face and the muslin gown she wore. She looked nothing like a prostitute.
“I need some amusement, too,” she went on, “and your wife could change her mind at any minute and come back.” She motioned to a darkened passage just behind them. “Shall we risk it?”
The most satisfying sensation suddenly began building inside her, flowing outward, drifting toward the man. It wafted through him. The excitement of the moment, the prospect of either quick, heated sex with a lovely young woman or a divorce if his wife came back and caught them seemed to fill the air and make it crackle.
He breathed quickly and grasped her hand, pulling her into the passage.
Christian had the good sense to hang back, but to her shock she heard his voice in her head. Feed from his wrist. Don’t kill him.
“Wait,” Ivory whispered once she had the man hidden in the shadows. “Let me do this.”
She took his hand and brought it to her mouth, kissing it softly. The aura of all or nothing inside her increased, and his eyes began to glaze over. Without thinking, she bit down on his wrist and began drinking his blood.
The act wasn’t revolting. It didn’t even seem wrong. His blood tasted good.
Then Christian was beside her, kneeling down, and she felt him inside her head again. Take just enough. Keep track of his heartbeat.
Memories from the man’s mind began flowing into her…many polite arguments with his wife…hiding his gambling losses…drinking brandy alone out of fear she’d find out just how much he’d lost.
Stop now.
She stopped, pulling her teeth out.
Reach inside my head with your thoughts.
She did, and she could feel Christian inside the man’s mind, blurring his memories, letting him remember everything up to the moment his wife walked away, and then nothing until he woke up here in the darkened hall with his wrist bleeding.
Ivory trembled with an unwanted feeling of accomplishment. She knew on some level that she’d just done far better at this than was expected for a first attempt. She could feel it in Christian’s thoughts.
“Come,” Christian said, but his voice was cold, almost disgusted.
His tone surprised her. She thought she’d done so well. When she stood up and followed him, in spite of herself, she couldn’t help asking, “What’s wrong?”
Walking down the deck, he said, “That is your gift? To titillate some man to the point of almost hoping his wife will catch you?”
“It worked, didn’t it?”
“It’s coarse and vulgar.” He stopped walking and looked down at her. “But then again, you are coarse and vulgar. You’ll need a great deal of work to be ready for what I have in mind.”
Ivory couldn’t believe how much his words hurt. She’d never cared a whit what anyone thought of her. But no one had ever called her vulgar before. Could it be true? He kept his eyes on her face a little longer, and the terrible fear of being without him swelled up again.
“A great deal of work,” he repeated, “and you’ll do whatever I say, won’t you?”
“Yes,” she whispered. “I’ll do whatever you say.”
The evening they landed in Boston Harbor, Christian arranged for lavish rooms at the Concord Hotel, and she wondered how long their money would hold out if he planned to continue this style of living. Her instincts had always warned her to make the money last as long as possible, as she never knew when she might be able to set up the next game.
But almost immediately upon entering their rooms, he hurried to change his clothes into his best suit.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“Madame Dupuis and two of the Bertram sisters have invited me to a late supper. I’ll get them to introduce me to others of their circle. We have to start somewhere, but we’ll need to move up the social ladder quickly if we want patrons with real money…enough to pay for the show I have in mind.”
“Oh.” She looked to her luggage. “Let me find an evening gown.”
“You?” he said, sounding scornful. “Hardly. Those women might have paid you for a little entertainment on a ship, but you’re not even close to ready for dining in society.”
She stared at him. No one had ever made her feel as small as he did.
But the sickening fear of being without him rose again.
“You’ll stay in this room and wait until I return,” he said. “Do you understand?”
Hating herself, she answered, “I understand.”
He got back late that night, and she’d never seen him so agitated. Nearly rushing through the door, he barked, “Get packed. We’re leaving.”
“What? Why?”
Hadn’t he just been off to dinner to try to get them a few new marks set up?
“Hurry,” he said, still distracted as he grabbed his own bag.
Her head felt clearer than it had since the night he’d changed her, and she felt more like her old self.
“Christian,” she said, “what have you done?”
He stopped with his hand in midair and glanced at her.
“Something I shouldn’t have, but I didn’t have a choice.”
She waited. Although he was in quite a state, at least he was speaking to her as a partner now.
“Madame Dupuis offered to give us an introduction to her second cousin in Georgia,” he said, “a Camille du Blois…apparently the cream of Atlanta society. It’s perfect, Ivory. When we arrive, we can present ourselves however we wish, as longtime professionals. Then we’ll show them what we can do, and the bookings will start flowing in.”
He stopped.
“And?” she asked.
“We have to arrive in style…to look the part. That means the right clothes, the right carriage, and the right hotels.”
Something in his voice made her feel cold. “What have you done?” she repeated. “Did you kill someone?”
“Kill someone? No.” He shook his head abruptly. “But I went home with Clementine Bertram, and I used my gift to get her to open her family safe and give me five thousand dollars.”
Ivory gasped. She still had no idea what he meant when he spoke of “his gift,” but pulling a five-thousand-dollar confidence game was serious.
“I blurred her memory, but once she finds the money gone, she still might make a connection. I’ve never done anything like that before, and I don’t think she’ll make an accusation.” He paused. “I just hope the money’s enough. I’m not accustomed to…paying for things.” As she wondered what that meant, he rambled on. “It’s so much easier to simply have the bills sent on without ever seeing them.”
That was the first time Ivory realized that she knew nothing about him. How old was he? What kind of an existence had he been living where he didn’t pay his own bills?
But then he seemed to notice how closely she was watching him, and he straightened. The fear of being without him swelled up in her throat again, making her want to choke.
“Just get packed,” he ordered.
The carriage journey to Atlanta seemed endless. Being trapped alone in a small space with Christian was bad enough, but as they moved inland, she couldn’t help the panic of leaving the coast behind.
Running games on the ships had been good to her for a long time, and she felt as if she’d just been cut off from everything she knew. Christian had something else in mind for his vision of the game. She didn’t know exactly what yet, but she knew he’d be playing for much higher stakes—and that he viewed her as a necessary tool.
All night, as the wheels rolled onward, he kept at her about her diction, her accent, and her posture, forcing her to practice a detached sm
ile and to say things like, “How lovely to meet you.”
There were only a few phrases he really wanted her to have down, but he made her practice them over and over again. Some nights, she’d get a break from this tedium when he fell into a black mood and would stare out the window into the darkness, murmuring things like, “How could I have fallen into this?”
One night, as they were about halfway through North Carolina, she surprised him by asking, “How did you fall into this? What chased you out of Europe?”
He turned from the window and looked at her through angry eyes. “A great, mad vampire wielding a sword, that’s what.”
As he spoke, she felt the fear rising inside her again.
“Have I told you that there were once a number of us existing in Europe?” he went on. “Leading our happy little lives until one us of lost his reason and started killing the others, coming from the darkness with a sword and slicing off our heads.”
He suddenly seemed to be enjoying this, and Ivory sat frozen. She wanted him to stop. She would have done anything—even practice her diction—to make him stop.
“His name is Julian, and he has no idea you exist,” Christian said softly. “But if you ever try to leave me, I’ll find out where you are, and I’ll tell him.”
The sickening fear inside Ivory kept growing, and she sat there, still frozen, until he finally turned to stare back out the window.
She didn’t try to incite conversation again.
Christian booked them another lavish hotel in Atlanta. Then he hired a tailor and a dressmaker.
Within a week, Ivory was decked in a burgundy silk gown finer than anything she’d ever worn. The tiny slippers and the diamond earrings he’d purchased should have made her glow with pleasure, but they didn’t. They just felt like a costume he’d designed.
He ordered her to sit in front of him at a dressing table while he did her hair himself.
Although she’d learned not to speak to him unless absolutely necessary, she couldn’t help asking, “You know how to do a woman’s hair?”
“Of course,” he answered absently. “I used to do this all the time for…”
“For?”
