Grave Sins

by Jenna Maclaine

  “So?” I asked, nodding across the room to where my elderly aunt was flirting shamelessly with Jacques Aubert and my new husband.

  “I was hoping to thank you for all your help by being able to mend things between you and your aunt,” Marrakesh said.

  “That bad?”

  The queen shrugged. “She is afraid of your power, but I think you already knew that.”

  I nodded.

  “She’s a complex woman, your aunt. She harbors a great deal of jealousy.”

  I frowned. “About what?”

  “The fact that your mother, as the eldest, was supposed to be the Macgregor Witch, but instead she married your father and moved to England.”

  “But Aunt Maggie loves being the Macgregor Witch,” I argued.

  “That is true also. I think you of all people, though, know what it’s like to wonder what your life would have been like if things had turned out as they should have, instead of as they did.”

  “I do. I wouldn’t change anything, but the thought does creep up from time to time.”

  “Your aunt feels much the same way. She’s also jealous of you, of your magic, even though it frightens her. She wonders what it would be like to wield such power, and there is a part of her that resents the fact that you were chosen to bear it.”

  “Because I’m a vampire,” I stated.

  “Because you were so young when it was given to you, and she doesn’t think you had to sacrifice anything for such an enormous gift.”

  “I gave up my life,” I protested. “I sacrificed everything I knew to save those I loved.”

  “She sees only that you are young and beautiful and powerful, and you will still be that way when she is long in her grave.”

  “How do I make her understand?” I asked.

  “You don’t,” the queen said. “Cin, for all I’ve just told you, your aunt loves you. One thing you’ll learn when you live as long as we do is that people rarely change. If you’re going to have someone in your life, for however long you have them, you can only love them for who they are. Take the good with the bad and love them for all of it. If you expect people to be who you want them to be, and not who they truly are, then you’re going to be disappointed time and again. Maggie is your aunt and her problems are hers. They were not caused by you, and they are not yours to fix. Enjoy the time that you have together and don’t worry about the things you cannot change.”

  For several moments I stared across the room at my aunt, thinking about what Marrakesh had said. It was not the answer I had hoped for, but we had all come through this ordeal unscathed—even Clarissa, who had survived the past few weeks on butchers’ blood, would soon regain her health—and I wouldn’t mar the joy of this night by wishing for things that would never be.

  I looked back at the queen. “I’m glad I met you,” I told her.

  She smiled. “I’m glad I met you, too. I want to thank you for believing in my innocence. If it hadn’t been for you, I’d probably be locked up in Castle Tara and Bel would be well on her way to sitting on my throne.”

  I shuddered at the thought, very glad that the Falcon had left port on the morning tide. I didn’t envy Christian Sinclair his trip home.

  “If you’ll excuse me,” I said, “I think I need to go speak with my aunt.”

  I’d almost made it across the room to Maggie when I was intercepted by Khalid and Hashim. I smiled at them uncomfortably, feeling rather guilty that I’d been so sure that Khalid was responsible for the attacks on the queen.

  “We wanted to thank you for everything you’ve done for our queen,” Khalid said.

  “There’s no need,” I replied. “I believe I owe you an apology for suspecting you of treason.”

  Khalid shook his head. “You were only protecting Marrakesh, and we respect that. I would have faulted you if you hadn’t suspected us.”

  As soon as was polite I excused myself from the twins and made my way to Maggie’s side.

  “I’m glad you came, Aunt Maggie,” I said.

  “Would I miss my niece’s wedding?” she asked, the champagne having put quite a glow in her cheeks. “A bit odd, if you ask me, but if that’s the way you people do things … I’m just happy to see you settled.”

  My life was the farthest thing from “settled,” but I thanked her anyway.

  Maggie put her hand on mine. “I want you to know that I won’t be making any more attempts to bind your powers.”

  I cocked my head to one side. “Why the sudden change of heart?” I asked.

  “I’ve had no change of heart,” she said, leveling that iron gaze on me. “There’s darkness in your magic, niece, don’t think I didn’t feel that last night. I still say your power isn’t natural, but then, the things you fight against aren’t natural, either. I think you need your magic just as it is in order to do the things that you do.”

  That, I knew, was the best I would get from her. I hugged her and she stiffened in my arms for a moment before relaxing and patting me on the back.

  “Thank you, Aunt Maggie,” I said.

  Someone had moved a piano into the Presence Chamber, and Aubert was finally coerced into playing for us. Justine was drawn to the instrument like a moth to the flame and before long her voice rang out in accompaniment to Aubert’s music.

  Michael came up behind me and kissed the back of my neck.

  “Oh, I almost forgot,” Maggie said as she opened her reticule. “Drummond asked me to give this to you. He said you’d know what it meant.”

  Michael looked on as I unfolded the piece of paper. There were two phrases written on it:

  Macmillan Parties, Privateer

  Saint Claire, templar vampire

  “Oh, my God,” Michael whispered.

  “What does it mean?” I asked. Macmillan Parties, Privateer, was the official name of the Blood Cross line, but I didn’t understand what it had to do with the second phrase.

  “It’s an anagram,” Michael said. “You know that Sinclair is a bastardization of the original French Saint Claire, right? Well, if you rearrange all the letters in Macmillan Parties, Privateer, what you end up with is Saint Claire, templar vampire.”

  I choked on my champagne. “Are you telling me that Christian Sinclair is actually The Templar himself?”

  Michael grinned. “That’s what I’m telling you.”

  I shook my head, remembering how much I’d pitied Bel when I had thought that she’d been taken in by some rogue pretending to be The Templar. All this time she’d been married to him! Come to think of it, that the man was a former monk certainly explained a lot. Still, you’d think even a monk would learn a thing or two about women in five hundred years, now, wouldn’t you?

  Aubert struck up a waltz and Michael grinned down at me. Even now, more than ten years after its debut in London, the waltz was still considered vulgar by many people.

  “My beautiful wife, may I have this dance?”

  “Why, certainly, husband,” I replied and looped the train of my gown over my arm before he swept me into the waltz. “Do you think we’ll scandalize my aunt and all the older vampires with such dancing?”

  “Oh, I do hope so,” Michael murmured, pulling me closer. “Where do you want to go for your wedding trip, mo ghraidh?”

  “Will you take me home to Ravenworth?” I asked. “I want to sleep with you in my own bed.”

  “Ah, one of my favorite places in the world—the bed where we made love for the first time,” he said, smiling down at me with a rakish grin. “How could I refuse such a request?”

  “I promise it’ll be much better than the first time,” I said. “You won’t have to kill me afterward.”

  Michael’s face grew serious and he whispered in my ear as he spun me around the room. “You know, I may be nothing more than a crusty old vampire, but I hear tell of a strange new invention called a steamship that can get us all the way to London in only two days!”

  I laughed and laid my head on his shoulder. “That sounds lovely,�
� I sighed.

  Read on for an excerpt

  from Jenna Maclaine’s next book

  MORTAL SINS

  Coming soon from St. Martin’s Paperbacks

  Le Havre, France, 1864

  The House of the Crescent Moon was a brothel where the blood whores plied their trade. For a few coins a vampire could get a quick meal. For a few more, you could buy an evening’s entertainment. I had no need for the latter, but it was nice, on occasion, to drink from a willing donor—someone who wasn’t a rapist, cutthroat, or thief who had the misfortune to accost the wrong woman, namely me, in a dark alley. Buying blood certainly didn’t carry with it the same thrill as hunting in the aforementioned dark alleys, but the drinking was undeniably more pleasant. Instead of a rank, filthy alley, tonight I was reclining on a chaise longue in a private parlor that was sumptuously decorated in silks and satins of varying shades of blue. The young man whose blood I had purchased was no ruffian smelling of sweat and gin. He was beautiful, blond, and shirtless—and perfectly willing to let me sink my teeth into any vein of my choosing. Yes, quite a departure from my usual fare.

  I looked at the young man again as he silently ran his fingers through my long, curling, blood-red hair. He was undeniably lovely, but I knew that I could never grow accustomed to drinking from a blood whore on a regular basis. Many vampires do, but, to me, it was rather like feeding a tiger in a cage. The tiger would live, it might even thrive, but it would always miss the hunt. Sometimes, however, a change of pace was nice, and the vampire brothels were convenient.

  The blood whores actually commanded quite a lucrative trade. Even in the smallest cities, vampire brothels were on a par with the most exclusive houses of prostitution in Paris or London. Vampires, as a rule, had expensive tastes and were willing to pay for the luxuries these houses provided. The men and women who served in such places were the most beautiful creatures that money could buy. And why wouldn’t they be? If selling your body was your chosen profession, you couldn’t find a better place to do it. The houses were magnificently well-appointed, the money they made was ten times better than what they could have earned in even the best human brothels, and the clientele was … well, suffice it to say that there were humans who would pay a high price for the pleasures to be found in a vampire’s bed.

  Thoughts of such passions made me turn my attention from the human to the vampire lounging on a sofa across the parlor. I watched as his sensual lips moved against the lovely, pale throat of a buxom brunette, searching for the perfect spot to strike. She clung to him, her head thrown back, and when his teeth slid into her flesh, she clutched his dark blond hair and let out a moan of pleasure. I felt a twinge of jealousy at the sight. He was my husband, after all.

  Let her enjoy it while she can, I thought.

  As if he sensed my gaze on him, Michael looked up at me. His need for blood almost quenched, there was now lust in his eyes. And it was directed at me. He pulled back from the brunette’s neck and a trail of crimson blood flowed down her white skin. Never taking his gaze from me, Michael caught the trickle of blood on his tongue and licked his way up the side of her throat in one long stroke. A shudder ran through me as I imagined taking him back to the hotel and letting him fulfill the promise that was evident in that one smoldering look.

  “Come to me,” I said to the human.

  The young man sat up, and I rolled onto my back, stretching out across the velvet-upholstered chaise. He leaned over me, and I admired the way the muscles in his arms and shoulders tightened as he moved closer, exposing his neck. I stared into his chocolate-brown eyes until I felt the familiar click in my head that meant he was now under my control. You could certainly drink without bespelling a human, but I didn’t want him to feel the pain of my bite, only the pleasure. When you took someone’s blood, you made a mental connection with them, sharing their thoughts and feelings. It could be horrifying, pleasant, or downright erotic, depending on who you were drinking from and to what degree you allowed that connection. I thought of it as a door inside my head and I controlled how far I opened it. Considering the caliber of men whose blood I generally took, I usually kept that door firmly closed. When I was a young vampire, I’d learned very quickly that I didn’t want to know what went on inside their minds. Tonight, though, was different, and I thought it only polite to allow this human to experience some measure of the satisfaction I felt in taking his blood. I opened the door in my head, wanting him to feel what I felt as his hot blood poured down my throat and filled me with life. I was not prepared for the reciprocating feelings and images I received from him.

  Hot pleasure rolled over me in waves, and I was aware of him moving between my legs, pushing against me. As I drank from him, I closed my eyes and was overwhelmed with flashes of what he was thinking. He was imagining me on top of him, moving down his naked body with the cat-like grace of a vampire, parting his legs and sinking my teeth into his femoral artery. I quickly severed the connection, pulling away from him as he threw back his head and shuddered in rapture against me. I let out a shaky breath as he looked down at me with glazed eyes.

  “Buy me for the night,” he pleaded. “Let me make love to you.”

  Suddenly his weight was pulled from me, and Michael was standing between us. His blue eyes glittered and his sharp cheekbones seemed even more pronounced when he clenched his jaw that way. I smiled up at him, my body humming with excitement at the predatory look on his face.

  “Sorry, boy,” my husband said sharply as he held his hand out to me. “The lass has other plans tonight.”

  I placed my hand in his and let him pull me up from the chaise. When I’d gained my feet, he snaked one strong arm around my waist and pulled me against his body.

  “Tonight and every other night,” I promised.

  He kissed me swiftly. “For eternity, mo ghraidh,” he whispered against my lips.

  As we left the house, I turned my face into the cool breeze, which carried with it the salty scent of the ocean. It was a clear, crisp night, and the Hotel Frascati was a few blocks away. It seemed longer, though, with Michael whispering naughty things in my ear every few minutes. I was strolling along, happily contemplating the rest of my evening, when my vision began to blur and a sharp buzzing sound took up residence in my head.

  “Dear Goddess,” I mumbled, stopping short and pressing the heels of my hands to my eyes.

  “Darling, what’s wrong?” Michael asked.

  “I don’t know,” I replied. “It feels like there’s a nest of bees in my head.”

  I stumbled backward, as if I could somehow get away from the sound.

  Michael grasped my upper arms to steady me. “Is it the blood?” he asked worriedly. “Was he tainted?”

  “I don’t think so,” I replied, shaking my head as I tried to clear the buzzing sound from it. I’d often fed from drunks and several varieties of drug addicts. The aftereffects of taking in tainted blood varied, but you could always tell if a human was … polluted in any way … the minute their blood hit your tongue.

  I pulled away from Michael and staggered off the sidewalk. I had the feeling that if I could keep moving, I could somehow dislodge that horrible sound. Michael plunged into the street after me, catching my arm and pulling me back just before I walked in front of an oncoming carriage. I hadn’t even heard the rumble of the wheels on the cobblestones over the racket that was in my head. As I stood in his arms, facing the opposite side of the street, the sound lessened.

  “I’ll hail a carriage and we’ll drive back to the hotel,” Michael said.

  He put his arm around my shoulders and began to steer me back onto the sidewalk in the direction we’d been headed. The buzzing sound returned, violently. I stopped again and glanced across the street. I grabbed Michael’s hand, looked both ways, and marched across the street.

  Better, I thought. This is better.

  “Michael, what lies in that direction?” I asked, pointing to the darkened row of shops lining the street in front of me. />
  “The harbor is in that direction,” he replied. “Why?”

  I pinched the bridge of my nose between my fingers. “When I performed the summoning spell that brought you to me when we first met … what did it feel like?”

  Michael frowned and then the tension eased from his body as he realized what was happening. “It felt exactly like a nest of bees in my head, and it only stopped when I went in the direction that would take me to you.”

  “I didn’t know what it would feel like,” I said. “I’m so sorry to have put you through this.”

  Michael cupped my face with his hands. “Don’t ever apologize for that. It brought me to you, did it not?”

  I smiled up at him, able to think more clearly now that I knew I wasn’t losing my mind. “I suppose we must go to the harbor,” I said.

  Michael shook his head. “I am not running after some witch powerful enough to do this to you without first knowing where we’re going and why.”

  He was right about that. At this point I’d have run headlong into no telling what sort of danger, just to get this infernal buzzing to stop.

  “Let’s just go have a look,” I suggested. “First we’ll see where the magic wants me to go.”

  A muscled ticced in his jaw, but he finally relented and hailed a carriage to take us to the docks. The harbor was filled with all manner of vessels, from small fishing boats to larger steamships. I appreciated the convenience of the new steamships but, in my opinion, nothing could match the grace and beauty of a sailing vessel. I laid my head on Michael’s shoulder and closed my eyes as I nestled against his chest. He put his arms around me, and we sat in silence as the carriage lumbered along. The buzzing, which had diminished from a dull roar to a soft hum the closer we’d gotten to the harbor, suddenly softened until I could barely hear it at all.

  “Here,” I said, and Michael rapped on the roof of the carriage. The driver brought the conveyance to an abrupt halt, and I peered out the window, taking in the sleek lines and tall masts of the ship that someone’s magic wanted me to board.