Weddings From Hell

by Jeaniene Frost

  “Promise me you’ll leave,” she whispered. “Just this once, do what I ask of you and run.”

  The tightness in his throat returned, but he ignored it. He didn’t want to leave her. Didn’t know if it was safe, but she would be in more danger with him there. “Only if you promise to chase me as soon as you can.”

  Violet’s head lifted. An expression of wonder softened her lovely, round face. Tears shone in her eyes. “I’ll chase you.”

  He kissed her. “I’ll make sure you catch me.”

  And that was all he could allow himself to give her for now.

  Chapter 7

  Letting Payen go took all the trust Violet had and then some. She trusted him with her very life, but trusting him to allow himself to love her was another story.

  She loved him, but after his sudden departure five years ago she was reluctant to trust him with her heart again. Knowing him, he’d run somewhere she couldn’t follow, and claim it was for her own good.

  His belongings were packed and already sent on to London where he would board a ship for the continent. Once it was safe, Henry, Eliza, and Violet would leave as well, dodging the scandal Violet had brought down upon them. Payen would come for her in Italy. Eliza was sure to disapprove, but Violet had to follow her heart.

  They said their good-byes in the library, where the french doors opened onto the garden. They had no close neighbors, but the seclusion of the garden would help ensure that no one happened to see Payen leap into the sky like a giant bat—that was how rumors got started.

  “I don’t like running like a coward,” Payen said. “I want to stay and fight.”

  Henry clapped him on the shoulder. “I know you want to protect us, my friend, but we’ve agreed that it’s safer for all of us if you go. Neither Eliza nor I want to see anything happen to you, and I know how you would feel should anything happen to either of us.” His gaze skipped to Violet. “Or someone else.”

  Violet blushed under the knowing stare of both her guardians, but most of all she blushed because Payen was looking at her the way she had always wanted him to—like a woman he didn’t want to leave.

  “Stay away from Villiers,” Payen warned her—as though she hadn’t planned to do just that. “He may think you know where I am and use you to get to me.”

  Violet swallowed. Before she wouldn’t have thought Rupert capable of such underhandedness, but his visit earlier had shown her a man different from the one she thought she had known.

  And it made her wonder—had he or someone close to him known of her connection to Payen before this? Was Payen the reason Rupert proposed to her in the first place? How ironic that would be, since spite against Payen was the reason she’d accepted Rupert’s suit.

  “Are you certain it’s safer with you gone?” Even though it had been her idea, she was having second thoughts.

  Payen took one of her cold hands in his much larger warm one. “Yes. Villiers and the Order would most certainly use you against me if I remained.”

  “I thought you said there wasn’t much of the Order left.”

  “I’ve heard there are still little pockets here and there across Europe. But all it takes is one person to rekindle interest in the old ways, the old beliefs. One person to say they’ve found a Templar vampire and then all Hell breaks loose.”

  “What do they want from you?”

  “Revenge. Power. Revenge for the Templars interfering centuries ago, and the power they believe is their right.”

  Violet watched as something darkened Payen’s sherry eyes. His face tightened as his head came up, turned toward the door. She followed his gaze. The doorway, which had been empty, now had a figure standing at its threshold. Several figures actually, but it was the one up front that caught her attention.

  “Rupert.” Damnit. They hadn’t been fast enough.

  Her former fiancé smiled coolly. “Going somewhere, Carr?”

  Payen shrugged, appearing nonchalant, but the hand that kept Violet at his side was anything but relaxed. “I did what I came to do.”

  “Ah yes.” The younger man pressed his hands together as he placed one booted foot inside the door. “You ruined my wedding.”

  “Happy to have done it,” came the smooth, taunting reply. “Violet deserves better than your kind.”

  Rupert laughed. “I’m not sure the vicar would agree with you.”

  Payen held his gaze. His face was void of emotion—Violet had never seen him so shut down, so empty. “The Vicar knows only his own ignorance. True evil often wears a human face.”

  “Monsters always say that.” Rupert shook his head. “You know, before you showed up, I had no idea about the history of the Silver Palm? I owe you a great debt in regards to my education. If you hadn’t spouted off as you had, I would have assumed you and Violet had been lovers and nothing more. Imagine my surprise when I told several friends in the Order what you had said.”

  For the first time a frown creased Payen’s brow. He blamed himself for this, that was obvious. “I would imagine they were more than eager to ‘educate’ you.”

  “Oh they were. They were.” Rupert chuckled. “I almost didn’t believe the fantastic tale they told me. In fact, I came here to discuss it with you last evening—and then I saw you leaving Violet’s bedroom.” He shot a condemning glance at her, but it was the surprise on Eliza’s face that cut more. “I saw you fly, and I knew then that my brothers had been right.”

  Payen’s jaw tightened. Violet could almost hear him cursing himself for being so careless. She wrapped her fingers around the tight fist he held clenched at his side and squeezed. He spared her the briefest of glances, but the warmth there was all she needed.

  “What do you want, Villiers?” It was Henry who asked. Stern, brave Henry.

  Rupert kept his attention on Payen. “The Blood Grail. Where is it?”

  So that was it, Payen realized as he tried putting Violet’s body behind his. They wanted the chalice of eternal life—a cup imbued with the essence of Lilith, demoness and the mother of all vampires. He could only suppose that Villiers wished a taste of immortality for himself.

  “I have no idea.” That was only half a lie. He knew the Grail to be in the possession of the men who stole it from the Templars on the fateful October day more than six hundred years earlier, but beyond that he knew nothing except that it was safe. His friend Father Molyneux, a young French priest, had been chosen by the few remaining Templars to watch over the vampires and the Grail, though the young man knew little more than he had to. He wasn’t about to tell this little miscreant who those men—vampires—were.

  “Well then,” Villiers began, lifting a pistol. “I shall just have to take you instead, Mr. Carr.”

  Payen laughed out loud. “You think so, little man?”

  Villiers scowled. “I have silver bullets in this pistol.” He nodded at the men behind him. “Go.”

  Payen tensed but the men didn’t come for him. They went for Eliza and Henry instead, and when Payen moved to help them, the barrel of Villiers’ pistol drifted to point at Violet. Two men came to take her as well. He could smell her fear as they flanked her.

  They all had pistols—pistols trained on him, his friends, and on Violet. Being shot would hurt him, but even he wasn’t fast enough to save the other three. At least one of them would die.

  God help him, he would save Violet if he could, sacrificing his friends to do it.

  A shot rang out. Payen jerked to the left and felt the hot metal whiz past his ear. He could tell from the smell of it exactly what it was. Silver shot. Villiers hadn’t lied. Silver could be fatal to a vampire if it pierced the right organ—like the brain or the heart.

  Villliers was grinning. “Consider that a warning shot. Will you come peacefully, Carr? Or do I have to get the nets?” Behind him was a man holding what appeared to be a large sheet of silver mesh.

  Jesus Christ.

  “We don’t want to hurt Lord and Lady Wolfram, or Miss Wynston-Jones,” Villiers s
aid. “But we will if you don’t cooperate.”

  “Good lord, man!” Henry cried. “What the devil are you doing? You’ll be hanged for this!”

  And for a moment there was a flicker of indecision in Villiers’ eyes. “Not if they don’t catch me, my lord. What do you say, vampire?”

  Payen glanced at his friends. Eliza and Henry were pale, pistols aimed at their temples. Violet watched him with eyes as big as saucers, begging him not to give in.

  It was for her and her safety that he turned back to Villiers with a sigh of defeat. “I’ll come willingly.”

  “No!” Violet cried. She reached for him, but Payen side-stepped her hands. His heart was heavy with an ache he couldn’t name, but he knew he was doing the right thing. This would ensure that Violet was safe once and for all. Once they were out of the house he could attempt his escape—he would kill Villiers for certain—but he couldn’t risk any more harm coming to those he loved.

  He should have known that Violet wouldn’t let it end that way. He should have known that love of hers transcended good sense. Should have known she would never sit quietly while he walked away from her, when he swore he wouldn’t.

  He strode quickly toward Villiers. The barrel of the pistol trained on him barely wavered. Oh yes, the Order had chosen well with this one. “What did they promise you?” He asked.

  Villiers smiled. “Money. Power. Everything.”

  “Still won’t get you Violet.”

  For a moment, Villiers pleasure faded. “I can find someone who will make a better wife than a fat vampire fucker.”

  Payen would have ripped his throat out if it hadn’t been for the note of hurt in the young man’s voice. He smiled instead, dimly registering that someone had snapped a shackle onto his wrist. Judging from the heat and fact that it seemed to sap his strength, he’d wager it was silver. “It must kill you knowing I got there before you, and that I’ve had her again since.”

  Villiers’ jaw tightened. “You’ve ruined her. In every way.” He raised the pistol. “Maybe I should just kill you—let her live with the image of your pretty face splattered all over the parlor wall.”

  Payen didn’t fear death, but he didn’t want Violet to see that. “Your superiors wouldn’t like that.”

  “Don’t be so sure. I’ll be the first of the Order to have killed a vampire in centuries. I’m sure your blood would be very useful in our experiments.”

  Their gazes locked. “And you call me a monster.”

  Villiers pulled back the hammer with a look that resigned Payen to his fate. This little boy was too excited, too full of power and fear and his own importance. He was going to pull the trigger.

  And then Payen was knocked off balance. He pitched forward little more than a couple of steps, but it was enough to send him into Villiers. There was a tug on his arm as the man trying to shackle him let go of the irons, and an explosion near his ear as Villiers fired his weapon.

  Eliza screamed and the world stopped. He could smell, taste blood on the air. He had heard the bullet strike flesh, heard a strangled gurgle, and then a body struck the floor in a rustle of skirts. His head turned and he saw her.

  His Violet, lying on the floor, blood gushing from a gaping hole in her throat. Had she tried to push him out of harm’s way?

  Beside him, Villiers gasped in shock, trembling like a fool. It would have been so easy to kill him then, to rip his throat apart with two fingers and watch the life drain from his eyes.

  But it was the life draining from Violet’s eyes that kept him from doing just that. He ran to her, fell to his knees beside her with a howl of rage that shook the entire house. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Villiers and his remaining men escape, and he didn’t care.

  He’d find them later.

  Blood spread out on the floor beneath Violet, soaking through her gown and oozing into her hair. Awful gurgling noises came from her throat as her mouth worked.

  “Don’t talk,” Payen demanded when he realized just what she was trying to do. “Jesus, Vi. Don’t talk.”

  Eliza and Henry were suddenly there beside him; both of them began to weep when they saw the severity of their ward’s wound. There was nothing they could do. Violet was going to die.

  “No,” Payen whispered. That couldn’t happen. A world without Violet would be gray and lifeless, just like the photograph Lady Verge had shown him. There would be no music, no pleasure, no laughter without Violet to bring it. The idea of it, the certainty of never seeing her again, never holding her again, struck him in the chest like a cannon blast.

  And he knew with total certainty, and without shame, that he could not live in a world where there was no Violet. He would not live without her.

  He loved her.

  And that was why, even though Eliza and Henry were right there, he looked into the eyes of the woman he loved and said, “I’m going to chase you, Violet Wynston-Jones.”

  Hazel eyes, dulled with shock, met his, and for a second brightened as his meaning sank in. She nodded—so slightly he would have missed it were he not watching so closely for just such a sign.

  And then, hearing the slowing of her heart and knowing there wasn’t much time left, Payen lowered his head to the wound in her throat, where the silver had tore her flesh, and drank. He didn’t want to cause her further pain, so he took only what he needed as Eliza and Henry cursed and demanded to know what he was doing—had he no respect?

  He didn’t look at them and he certainly didn’t ask their permission as he lifted his head long enough to bite his own wrist and offer the blood there to Violet. The pulls of her lips were tentative and weak at first, but they grew in strength and suction. He let her drink her fill, until his own head grew light and woozy. He wanted to make sure she had enough.

  Finally, he broke away. With Eliza and Henry watching him in horror, he pulled the cravat from around his neck and wrapped it around Violet’s to help slow the bleeding.

  “My God, man,” Henry’s voice was raw with disbelief. “What have you done?”

  Payen turned weary eyes to his friend. “I hope I just saved the woman I love.”

  Chapter 8

  The wedding was held at eight o’clock two nights later on the deck of a ship bound for France.

  The bride wore violet—the groom’s favorite color—instead of white. And on her finger, the smiling groom placed a ring that had belonged to another Carr bride almost eight centuries earlier—his mother.

  “Do you take this woman to be your wife?” The captain asked.

  Since he had broken his vows to the Templars, Payen decided that it was only right that he take the most important vows of his life with Violet, the woman he had turned into a vampire.

  The woman who wouldn’t let him run away even if he wanted to.

  He grinned at the woman beside him, showing just a hint of fang. “I do.”

  Henry and Eliza bore witness to the ceremony. Neither one had fully forgiven him for making their former ward a vampire and cursing her to a life only at night, but neither could they contain their joy at having her alive once more.

  “I now pronounce you man and wife.”

  Violet practically leapt into his arms, every sweet inch of her. He loved being able to hold her and not worry that she might break. He loved her strength and softness, every hollow and every round curve. He loved her.

  Rupert Villiers had left England the same night of the attack. No one seemed to know for sure where he had gone and for now Payen was all right with that. Eventually, once Violet had settled into her new life, and the two of them together had settled into their new life together, he would start hunting for the little bastard. But he wasn’t going to think about that on his wedding night.

  They shared a light supper with Henry and Eliza and then retired to their cabin. Payen was thankful for the privacy.

  “I couldn’t stand one more minute with Eliza frowning at me.”

  Violet chuckled as she presented him her back. “She’ll be fine. U
nbutton me, will you?”

  He kissed the side of her neck. “With pleasure.”

  “Any regrets?” She asked as his fingers raced down the row of tiny pearl buttons along her spine. He wanted her naked. Now.

  The back of her gown gaping, sagging at her shoulders, he turned her to face him, so that he could look into those big eyes of hers and let her see the truth there. “I regret leaving you five years ago, but I could never regret being with you now.”

  “Are you sure?”

  Sure uncertainty was strange in her. Did she doubt his reasons for changing her? “I regret cutting through Lady Verge’s china plate more.”

  Her eyes widened. “You cut through a plate?”

  “When I heard you were engaged, yes.”

  She chuckled so beautifully that he didn’t mind admitting the embarrassing incident. “I have many regrets in my life, Violet Wynston-Jones Carr, but loving you isn’t one of them.”

  “You love me?”

  His hands came up to cup her cheeks. “Of course I do. And I’m an ass not to have convinced you of it before this. You are the color in my world, Violet. Every night is brighter with you in it.”

  Tears clung to the gold-tipped sable of her lashes as she smiled. “I knew you loved me, but after…what happened,” she still wasn’t able to speak plainly about the attack on them, “I thought you might have done it out of guilt.”

  “I did it for purely selfish reasons,” Payen replied, tugging the gown from her shoulders so that it fell to her feet in a soft silky heap. “To keep you with me for eternity.”

  She wrapped long, strong arms around his neck. “No more running?”

  “Not unless it’s around the bedroom. But I’ll chase you, my love. No matter where you go, I’ll find you.”

  Violet smiled. “And I’ll find you.”

  Payen would have made love to her right there, standing in the middle of the floor on a ship that swayed unevenly beneath their feet, but his wife deserved a bed on her wedding night, and so once he removed the rest of her clothes and his, the bed was where he placed her.