Continuing on my quest, I found my way to another row of shelves, eager to keep my mind occupied rather than focus on what was lurking in the outer hall. I didn’t know if it was still out there, and I wasn’t feeling brave enough to find out.
Hopefully, whatever was out there would grow as bored as I was and leave. Until then, I’d make the most of my time.
I walked by a grouping of old leather-bound scrapbooks and slowed my pace. Some of them looked a great deal like the one Dana and Bram had been so fixated on back in the main library.
I drew one off the shelf and opened it, only to find the journal wasn’t written in English or Latin. The two languages I knew. Like the journal Bram and Dana had been going through when I’d first wandered off on my own, this one was written in German.
The handwriting looked to me to be the same as that in the journal Bram had been translating for Dana. Could it be that this one had been one of his mother’s as well?
Had I inadvertently stumbled upon the others he’d mentioned possessing?
The compulsion to make contact with them caught me off guard. It didn’t feel like the push was my own.
Swallowing hard, I glanced around, worried the dark power I’d felt in the hall had managed to find its way inside the vault. Though I wasn’t sure why it would want me to look through reference material about the supernatural. It pretty much just seemed to want to kill me, not tutor me or anything.
The push to examine the scrapbooks didn’t feel evil, per se. It just felt insistent. The urge to touch them remained.
Still, I resisted, unsure I trusted the external push.
I was doing a great job of impulse control right up until Eunice appeared out of nowhere, scampering down the spine of one of the scrapbooks.
“Hello again,” I said in a hushed voice so as not to frighten him.
Just because he was no longer among the living didn’t mean I needed to be rude.
He vanished, leaving me staring at the spine of the scrapbook he’d been on. It was marked with the year 1888. I nearly continued down the aisle, but the smell of Jack filled the air once more. Between that and Eunice, the message was clear. There was something that required my attention here, and Jack was the person pushing me to investigate, not the dark entity from the hall.
Since I wasn’t born in 1888, I didn’t think that something was about me. Whatever it was, it warranted an appearance from a spirit-spider and Jack lingering nearby—out of sight.
Giving in, I removed the scrapbook from the shelf and carried it back to one of the tables near the front portion of the vault, using caution to avoid getting any of my blood on it.
The lighting in the area wasn’t stellar, but it would work. Setting the scrapbook on the table, I put my bloodied finger to my side and used my avocado-patterned skirt as something of a makeshift bandage. It wasn’t ideal, but neither was bleeding all over historic information. Then again, I was standing in a vault owned by a vampire, so maybe he’d have preferred blood to be smeared on everything.
With the utmost care, I used my uninjured hand to open the scrapbook, being mindful of pages, fearing that time had left them fragile. I wasn’t wrong. They were stiff at first, and I felt as if I might do damage if I didn’t maintain a light touch. It smelled of old paper, but it was a scent I found appealing, being an avid reader myself.
With one hand, I flipped the pages, being cautious as I went. The fourteen-inch-wide pages were filled with so many clippings, notes, photos, and more that at first it was somewhat overwhelming. While I was confused as to why Jack would want me to see the contents, I wasn’t deterred. If he thought it was important enough to send in a backup spirit-spider, then I owed him my attention.
As I came to newspaper clippings from London circa 1888, I found myself riveted. One of the headlines read “A Whitechapel Horror.” Like everyone, I’d heard of Jack the Ripper and I knew that had been his stomping ground. I’d been fuzzy on the exact year his spree had occurred but had known it was the late 1800s.
If memory served, five deaths had been linked to him. And if I was remembering correctly, the dead women were often referred to as the canonical five. What I didn’t know was why the Van Helsing vaults held records on The Ripper’s heinous acts at all. I’d been led to believe the vaults consisted of supernatural-related material only. That was why Maria had thought Bram might have information about my birth—seeing as how I was anything but human.
My brow furrowed at the implication that Jack the Ripper was a supernatural. The more I thought on it, the more it made sense. Even with forensic science being in its infancy back then, authorities had come up empty-handed as to The Ripper’s identity.
“No wonder why if he was more than human,” I whispered, as if I might disturb someone else.
I remembered reading about advancements in modern forensic testing and how investigators today thought they knew The Ripper’s real identity. My gut told me if The Ripper really was a supernatural, then humans only knew what people in places of power wanted them to know—nothing more and certainly not the truth.
And if I was right, someone’s name was being besmirched in the cover-up.
There was nothing like a conspiracy theory to keep my attention off the dark entity in the hall.
A quick glance down at my skirt told me the cut from the sword was still bleeding. Maybe the cut wasn’t as small as I’d first thought.
At least the blood wasn’t on the scrapbook’s original articles and photos. I kept going, turning pages painstakingly slowly with one hand. I flipped another page and gasped.
“No way,” I whispered, unwilling to trust my own eyes. Surely the low lighting combined with blood loss was causing me to see things.
There was a photo alongside various newspaper clippings on The Ripper. In the photo was Bram and several other men. They were slightly grainy but there was no mistaking Bram. He was dressed as men did in those days, making him look even more dashing than he did already.
The men with him were tall but none quite as much as he was. Finding Bram in an old photograph in a scrapbook in the Van Helsing vaults wasn’t exactly earth-shattering. What had caused my breath to catch was one of the men with him in the photo.
Jack.
I bent, peering at the picture more, as if that might change the results. It didn’t. The man next to Bram was still Jack. The very spirit I’d befriended months ago. The one I’d poured my heart and soul out to, and the one I’d missed horribly since coming to Grimm Cove.
As I tried to come to terms with the knowledge that Jack knew Bram well enough to be photographed with him, another thought hit me. The photo wasn’t recent. That meant Jack was far older than he appeared to be. I knew he hadn’t passed away that long ago. Whatever type of supernatural he was, it had given him longevity when he’d been alive.
“Jack, I don’t understand.” I glanced around the room, his scent faint but there. “Why not just tell me all of this? Why not tell me you knew Dana’s father? And if that wasn’t something you thought you could share, why not tell me what kind of supernatural you are, erm, were? Did you not trust me?”
No knocks came but I did feel something.
Large, invisible arms wrapping around me, giving me the one thing that I needed most right now.
A hug.
I teared up and closed my eyes. Jack began to rock me back and forth slightly, his arms around me tight. At least I hoped it was him. I guess it was entirely possible that the owner of the disembodied voice could have had a change of heart and wanted to hug out our differences, but I wasn’t counting on it.
The more I thought about that scenario coming to pass, the more I hoped it would. The world would be a much better place if people just stopped to discuss what was upsetting them in a calm manner. If that didn’t work, hugging always seemed to do the trick.
There was a loud thumping behind me on the door to the vault, causing me to jolt and drop the page I’d been holding open to examine. The door burst open wi
th a force that left a gust of wind pushing in at me.
Chapter Twenty-One
Marcy
The next I knew, I was being yanked against what felt like a wall of muscle. It happened so fast that even if I’d wanted to scream, there wouldn’t have been time.
I drew in the scent of currants, apples, and vanilla.
The smell of Bram.
It was him.
Not the dark entity from the hall.
Before I could utter a word, I was being spun around gently yet with a sense of urgency hanging in the air. Fear that wasn’t my own consumed me, confusing my senses, making them launch into overdrive.
The bombardment of emotion continued, leaving heat rushing through me and my knees giving out. One second I was upright and the next I knew, powerful arms were under me, catching me in mid-motion and lifting me as if I was light as a feather. I knew for a fact I was anything but.
I was vaguely aware of Bram talking to me, but I missed what he said. Everything around me swirled, and I grabbed for whatever I could to help ground myself. My hands connected with the soft material of his shirt that did nothing to hide the chiseled form beneath it.
“Where are you injured?” he asked, his accented voice sliding over me like silk.
As my brain struggled to help my body navigate its way through the emotion-chummed waters surrounding it, I caught a flash of movement out of the corner of my eye.
At first, I thought it might be the creepy thing from the hallway. When I saw a bushy tail, I knew better. Burgess darted into the vault, and the door slammed shut behind him. He did a flying leap onto the table behind me. He scored a direct hit to the scrapbook I’d been lost in, before he jumped off the table and hurried away.
Worried that he might have damaged the book, I reached for it with no genuine success from my spot in Bram’s arms. All I managed to do was brush it with my fingertips.
Bram jerked me tighter to him, still holding me off the ground. “Leave it.”
“But he might have torn the pages, or—”
“It is unimportant.” His green gaze bore straight into me. I realized then that his eyes had flecks of black in them now. Had they been there before?
Since the scrapbook contained information about his past and his connection to Jack, I begged to differ.
It was anything but unimportant.
It had a great deal of value. In addition, Bram held answers to so many questions I wasn’t sure where to start. Emotions that weren’t my own kept beating at my natural psychic defenses, making forty years of hard-fought control seem as if it had been nothing but a colossal waste of time. Those feelings merged with my own, leaving me drowning in a swirling sea of fear, concern, confusion, and desire.
It was a heady mix, to say the least.
More than I was equipped to deal with at the moment. That was saying something, because all my life had been one giant exercise in how to cope with just about anything thrown at me.
Then again, until now, I’d never had an alpha male vampire holding me as his emotions slammed through me. I had to admit, that if it wasn’t for the overwhelming amount of concern he was radiating, I kind of liked the experience. At least the part with the desire, because deep down, I was acutely aware that the sexual need I was experiencing wasn’t all mine.
As it so happened, the lion’s share of it seemed to come from him.
His expression was one of alarm, yet in a reserved manner. Nothing about the way he was staring at me showed he wanted me in a carnal way, yet everything I was sensing from him said otherwise.
I didn’t mean to do it. Hell, I still wasn’t entirely sure how it even happened, but one second he was looking down at me with his worry-filled expression and the next, I was grabbing the back of his neck, lifting my upper body more, and going right for his mouth with mine.
The man had barely spoken to me since I’d met him, and he was the father of one of my best friends, not to mention a vampire. None of that discouraged me as my lips encountered his.
I expected him to drop me then and there before putting physical distance between us.
But his lips parted, and the tables turned. He took the lead, his tongue darting into my mouth provocatively. The sensual invasion was most welcome.
I was a little fuzzy on the details because I was still drowning in a sea of emotions, but at some point, the kiss went from still-okay-for-prime-family-viewing to get-a-room.
His tongue was in control of what was happening in my mouth, and mine basically tossed up a white flag of surrender. Not that it would have put up much in the way of a protest or anything.
It took me a moment to realize I was moaning as his tongue mimicked movements that his hips would do soon enough, if the kiss leveled-up any more than it already was.
And dear goddess, I hoped it did.
The urgency in which his tongue circled mine lessened to a degree, making way for teasing. I sucked his lower lip into my mouth lightly before biting it in a sensual way.
Somehow the man succeeded in holding me as he swept an arm out and sent the scrapbook flying off the table. He didn’t appear to care about the book or its contents, but I did, and that was the only reason I put the brakes on what was happening between us.
Stopping the kiss was harder than it should have been, mostly because I didn’t really want it to end. But I needed answers.
Reluctantly, I dragged my lips from his just as he was about to set me on the very table he’d cleared.
A sigh came from him, his lips still close to mine.
The temptation to give in to what I really wanted—him—was there. My lips tingled with the remembered feel of his brushing against them. I wanted that feeling back, but now wasn’t the time. I had too many questions, not to mention there was the whole bad-guy-in-the-hall thing needing to be addressed.
As lust yielded to reason, I tensed, realizing he’d had to go through the very hall with the dark entity to reach me.
“Something’s in the hall,” I blurted. “It’s not friendly. Did it hurt you?”
He continued to stare down at me with a gaze so intense it made me shiver.
“You’re shaking,” he whispered.
“Fear. Adrenaline.” I blushed. “Desire.”
My response caused the start of a smile to appear on his handsome face, only to turn into a frown as he drew in a sharp breath. “You are bleeding.”
“It’s just a scratch,” I said, lifting my hand to show him.
He gasped when he saw the cut. “That is not a scratch!”
I jerked in his arms at his outburst.
The black flecks in his eyes grew larger, to the point there was very little green left at all. He snarled. “Feasting upon his spleen is too kind of a punishment. When I am through with him, he will—”
My fingers were to his lips in record time, shushing him. Red liquid appeared on his mouth, and it was then that I realized which hand I was using—the injured one.
“Sorry,” I said fast, making a move to pull my fingers away.
Bram’s tongue slid out and he licked the palm of my hand, only to do a full-body shudder. He held me tighter to him, to the point I worried I might pop if he squeezed me any more than he already was.
My lips parted, and a small gasp came from me as I caught sight of the top portion of Bram’s deep red dress shirt, which was unbuttoned partially, showing off his alabaster, flawless skin.
If I was left alone with this man much longer, there was a higher-than-average chance I was going to throw caution to the wind and take advantage of him.
To hell with getting answers about how he and Jack were connected.
To hell with him being Dana’s father.
And to hell with the fact he was a vampire.
There was only so much willpower to be had, and I seemed to be in short supply. Evidently, I’d used up most of that when I’d tried my best to resist hugging everyone upon our arrival at the mansion.
Holding back affection really
took a lot out of me. It’s probably why I failed at it so often.
Visions of licking the neck before me swept through my head. I had to force my gaze up more, to his blood-tinged lips. Not that his lips were any less of a temptation. In fact, they were more.
I second-guessed ending the kiss and began entertaining having my way with him.
Did the man have to come in such an alluring package? And what was with him breaking down a door to get to me and literally sweeping me off my feet? Did the man have a handy checklist on how to be a romance-book-worthy hero?
The second he drew my finger into his mouth and sucked on it, any shred of reason and sanity that I had went out the nonexistent vault window.
It was the smell of Jack that brought me back from the edge of no return.
Tensing, I shook my head and pulled my hand back from Bram’s mouth.
His eyes, which were nearly fully black, locked onto my face. His rate of breathing increased. Cocking his head to the side, he stared down at me in a way that was anything but human and natural. It was then I knew Bram wasn’t home upstairs.
His vampire side was.
Reason said I should be worried.
I wasn’t.
Curious? Yes.
Scared? No.
As disturbing as it sounded, it turned me on.
Big time.
Who knew having a guy vamp-out was my kink?
I bit at my inner cheek, my body warming in places it shouldn’t, considering the situation. A breathy sigh fell free from me as I spoke. “Hi, Mr. Dana’s Father.”
Bram didn’t so much as blink as he continued to hold me.
“You can put me down now.”
“I could.” He made no move to set me down. He just kept peering at me, his gaze smoldering. It was the only outward sign of what was happening within him.
I’d never mastered the art of a poker face.
It was obvious he had.
I licked my lower lip and his gaze snapped to the act. The cords in his neck popped, and I realized he was straining.
Spellcasting with a Chance of Spirits: A Paranormal Women's Fiction Romance Novel (Grimm Cove Book 3) Page 21
