The Trelayne Inheritance

by Colleen Shannon

  Angel went back to her mare, vowing to search high and low for a key into that tunnel.

  For some reason she couldn’t define, she knew that if the Killer won its ancient battle with Max, Angel lost.

  And Max died.

  The desolation she felt at that thought was so great she knew she’d risk anything, even her own death, to save him. Melding with him that night had increased the bond she felt with him, but it had also concomitantly exacerbated her fear.

  What if, when she plumbed the secrets of that cave, she learned Max was the one with the crooked tooth?

  Such a simple thing as a huge key should have been easy to find. It was much too large and unwieldy for Alexander to keep on his person. That it remained illusive despite her thorough search was all the more proof she needed of its importance.

  Over the next few days before the usual ball, Angel spent as much time poking about the Hall as she could disguise with subtle excuses. To the maid who found her rattling through drawers in the study she said, “I need some stationary.” The maid supplied it from a bureau, along with pen, and wax.

  To Alexander, who found her pulling drawers from the long cases against the laboratory wall and searching behind them, she said, “I misplaced a blood sample.” He gallantly offered to help her look.

  When every drawer had been pulled out, every cabinet ransacked, she pushed her bedragggled hair out of her face with a dusty hand. “I must have accidentally swept it into the trash.”

  She turned to find him reading her notes.

  “You find no similarity so far between various types?”

  She longed to answer, Yes, between yours and Max’s. She shook her head.

  He asked far too casually, “And have you compared your own to the others? Purely in the interests of science, you understand.”

  Angel stared at him. “No.”

  “Would you object if I do so?”

  Yes. But how could she refuse the man who paid her salary as his lab assistant?

  Angel sat still for the prod and poke, but after he took three samples she protested, “I need a few pints left for such inessential things as breathing.”

  He had the grace to look embarrassed. But it did not escape her notice that he bundled up the samples as if they were precious–and took them with him. “I’ll compare them later if you don’t mind. Sometimes scientific advancements rest on pure happenstance.”

  As she watched him leave, she cynically reflected that sometimes they rested on careful planning. It was now apparent to Angel that, for some peculiar reason, both Max and Alexander prized her blood, and not just to drink. They wanted to study it. As if it were the key to the battle between them.

  How?

  That night, as Angel tossed and turned in her bed, castigating her own skills as a detective, she heard the voices again. Muffled, secretive, far below her feet. Audible only because her hearing had become incredibly sensitive of late. There was another conference this night behind that wall that she’d not been able to breach.

  If so, she should be able to search the master quarters undetected.

  Throwing on a night robe, Angel didn’t even bother with slippers. She eased into the master suite on silent feet. The sitting room between the bedrooms was dark. Quiet. But her eyes adjusted very quickly, and she was able to search Sarina’s bureau without lighting the lamps. She found only the usual feminine toiletries, except…she pulled out a box of wrapped candy.

  Turkish delight. A delicacy lately the rage in high society. She unwrapped a piece and sampled it, almost gagging as she spit it out, for she immediately recognized the taste. Cloyingly sweet, yet a tinge of salt, too. Thick. Angel lit a gas lamp and wasn’t surprised to find the delight blood red.

  Either Sarina was a vampire, which was hardly surprising since she was wedded to one, or she kept her husband’s candy in her own bureau. Angel searched Alexander’s bureau, but she found no similar box. However, she did find her own blood samples. She was tempted, mightily tempted, to take them back, but she knew if she did, he’d suspect her. Would she be able to sneak into the lab and fetch substitutes before she was caught?

  “I wouldn’t try it if I were you. You’ve not yet learned the subterfuge any self-respecting vampire must master.”

  She jumped and would have dropped the glass plates if Max hadn’t steadied her. He looked down at them, back at her, and she knew he’d already read her mind and figured out they were her own. She half expected him to grab them, but he didn’t.

  Irritably, she turned on him, trying to hide the sudden pounding of her heart at her throat by turning up the collar of her night robe. It had the opposite effect. Max’s green eyes locked on the hollow of her throat with a hunger that made her skin tingle. But somehow, with extreme effort, she kept her gaze away from his own throat and rejoined, “Walking into their quarters, bold as you please, is hardly subtle.”

  “It’s subtle enough if they’re occupied for a goodly time. We seek the same evidence, I expect. Some clue as to where Alexander hides his casket.”

  Angel frowned. “But if he was born here, he already sleeps on the soil of his birth.”

  “If he was not, then he needs a casket. If I find the killer’s resting place, I have but to wait and see who arrives to occupy it.”

  “But the vampires hereabouts don’t seem to be subject to the mythical weaknesses. They go about in daylight--”

  “Only the strongest, and that immunity is dependent upon consistent consumption of Alexander’s punch. But all must occasionally sleep upon the land of their ancestors or they grow weak.”

  “You never drink the punch, yet you go about as you please, whenever you please.”

  A bitter little smile curled his lips. “Concerned? The way you left the other night, I should think my well being was the least of your worries.”

  She nibbled her lip, then stopped when his eyes, beginning to glow in the darkness, followed her movement.

  “Or do you seek my vulnerabilities?”

  She felt him probing her mind again, and she blushed. She’d just been remembering the feel of his skin on hers, the eager thrust into the secret depths of her body she’d opened to no man.

  Or vampire…

  His voice took on a husky note. “Ah, so you do remember. Very well, Angel mine. You opened yourself to me, so I shall show you the same courtesy.”

  He flipped open his watch. The room immediately filled with an eerie blue luminescence that centered around him in a protective glow. When he closed the watch, the blue glow faded, yet if she narrowed her eyes just so, she sensed it around him in an invisible aura.

  “If you lose the watch are you vulnerable then to sunlight?”

  He nodded gravely. “I have shared with you a secret no being on earth knows, of this world or the next.” He waited. Hoping she’d reciprocate by admitting the plates in her hand were her own blood.

  She wanted to believe his protective posture of her was genuine, she truly did. But what if this were another ruse? She seemed surrounded on all sides by people she should be able to trust implicitly–her mother’s brother. Her lover. Yet trust was not a birthright; it had to be earned and then freely given.

  At her long hesitation, he turned away from her, but not before she saw the pain in his gaze. She nibbled her own lip so hard that blood spurted from a cut on the inside of her mouth.

  Nostrils flaring, he whirled and gathered his powerful muscles to leap. He caught himself just in time. They stared, each aware of the bed behind them and the chasm between them. It took only a step to bridge, but that step took more courage than she could muster, and more compassion than he could apparently offer.

  Almost unaware, she licked the inside of her mouth, the tip of her tongue luxuriating in the taste of her own blood. He saw it, felt it, tasted it, through that strange emotional and mental linkage that had become stronger since their coupling. His hands clenched and she felt the supreme effort of will it took for him to master his own driving need t
o taste of her, too.

  Finally he grated out, “What have you been drinking, Angel?”

  “I haven’t touched a drop of wine in a week.”

  “What else?’

  “Nothing but tea and water.”

  He eyed her, then to her shock, he bridged that chasm between them in one step, pulling his own shirt collar down to bare his jugular vein to her. He leaned down to her level, his eyes, those green eyes that were verdant, and alive, filling her own vision. Eden-sent, hell-bent to tempt her. “Prove it.”

  The faint scent of clean male and forbidden delight exuded from him. Both inextricably entwined somehow with who he was, who he’d been, and who he might yet become. And she wanted all of that complex, dangerous being. The tip of her tongue slipped out to dart against his warm skin. He tasted so good, so normal.

  Not dangerous at all.

  What could be harmful in something so natural it called to every feminine impulse in her? The thought scarcely left her before she felt her own teeth sinking into the side of his neck. For one forbidden instant, ambrosia dotted the tip of her tongue, but then he’d jerked her away. So quickly, so powerfully did he move her that one minute they were twined together in the center of the room and the next, standing before a long cheval mirror.

  “Look.”

  She looked. She went so weak at the knees she would have fallen if his grip hadn’t held her up.

  Just visible between her half open lips were fangs. Nascent, pearly white, barely pointed, but fangs nonetheless. “Tell me how to stop it.”

  “Go. Run as far and as fast as you can. Don’t look back, no regrets.” He stepped away. She swayed where she stood, but managed to keep on her feet. No regrets?

  He might as well tell her to close her eyes and wish herself back to America, an innocent in every way. Alone in her slovenly little flat, living a hand to mouth existence. But there she’d been blissfully ignorant of the painful facts she was still grappling to face.

  Most painful of all–somehow she knew if she left him, he’d die facing the killer. Alone, as he’d always been. Leaving her alone for the rest of her life, as she’d always been.

  There had to be a better way.

  “There is no better way,” he said dully. “Your transformation has already gone too far. If you stay here, nothing will stop it.” He watched her expression in the mirror, and somehow she knew that when he looked at her, he saw her mother.

  Would her mother’s fate also be hers? “But blood–if I don’t drink of it--”

  “Somehow they’re getting it into your food or drink. They must have been poisoning your tea.” He gave her a little push. “Go, now, while they’re occupied.”

  She resisted, almost dropping the plates she still held in one hand. She whirled on him, following, at last, her instincts instead of her intellect. Intellect said he was not to be trusted, but instinct warned her to take a chance.

  Perhaps the last chance. For both of them.

  Gravely, Angel held out her hand, offering him the blood samples. “And these? They must be important since both you and Alexander want them so badly.”

  He went very still. His eyes probed hers, past her thoughts, into her mind, into her still guarded but hopeful heart. “What do you think I want to do with them?”

  “I don’t know. But I’m hoping you’ll tell me.”

  “You don’t know and you offer them anyway?”

  Her hand remained outstretched. A plethora of emotions flooded from him to her–joy, relief, and then, strangely, sadness. Despair. As if he knew that this tiny bit of trust would not be enough.

  Still, to her mingled relief and fear, he took them–only to put them back in Alexander’s bureau. “It’s best he not find them missing.” Then, taking her hand, he led her straight to Alexander’s window. Lifting her into his arms, he leaped outside with her, landing lightly and then crossing the grass in that gliding way of his straight to his coachman and carriage lurking in heavy brush cover.

  When they were safely ensconced on the plush squabs, he lifted her hand and kissed it. Turning it over, he trailed kisses from her palm, dabbling with his tongue as he went, and stopped at the blue vein pulsing in her wrist. With the barest flick, he let her feel his own driving need to meld with her in that way, too. Blood to blood, in the way of vampires.

  She closed her eyes and offered herself to him, but with a strangled curse, he pulled away onto his side of the carriage. “I cannot. You are temptation unbearable to me Angel, but the more vampire you become the more dangerous you are to my life and my sacred vow.”

  And no matter how much she asked and pleaded, he would tell her no more. “I’ve shared with you one of my fatal flaws this night. Allow a self-respecting vampire a secret or two.”

  “Where are we going?” Her heart skipped a beat. She hoped, she needed…

  She got something most unexpected.

  “To my laboratory. Where you will give me fresh blood samples and I will show you, my dear little scientist, why your blood may be the key to defeating the Beefsteak Killer. And his key to defeating me.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  Of all the answers she’d expected, this was the least likely. Angel was flabbergasted. How could that be? Her own blood some magical elixir that offered life or death?

  He threw back that golden head and laughed. The hearty laughter of a man who’d once known joy and contentment. Before he became a vampire with a mission.

  “You expected me to say I was taking you to bed, did you not?” He leaned across to her and whispered, “Or hoped I would.”

  She blushed, hoping, indeed, that the darkness hid her embarrassment. She should have known better.

  “That may yet come. If we both work hard enough.”

  “Pray tell, which is the reward and which the task?” she asked tartly. “I’ve never been equated with a laboratory experiment before, and I’m not sure I like it.”

  He laughed louder, his rich chuckles as aristocratic as his fine hands and perfect face and form. Redolent of the nobility that had been both his birthright--and his curse. “Why, that depends upon the level of your own enthusiasm.” He raked her with that sparkling green gaze. “A female such as yourself can be a formidable conquest, even for a vampire. Do you wish me to worship your mind or your body?”

  Angel scowled at his teasing.

  Softly, he kissed her brow. “Angel, you are delicious.” And with that, as the carriage drew to a stop before his mansion, he assisted her down.

  “Does that mean you want to kiss me or eat me?”

  He grinned. “Both.” He led her to his front door, unlocked it and ushered her inside. He lit gas lamps as they went. She expected him to lead her down, but as usual, he did the unexpected.

  He led her up.

  Her heart rate accelerated as they approached his bedchamber, but he walked right past it. Straight to what appeared to be a leaded glass window high on the blank wall at the end of the corridor. Beneath the window was a small parson’s table that held a vase, a clock, and a candelabra.

  Making no effort to hide his movements, he unscrewed the base of the candelabra, revealing a strange knob that somewhat resembled a key. He stuck the knob into the back of the ornate clock, which she could see now was bolted to the table. He turned the knob. There was a metallic clang and…

  …the table swung smoothly away from the wall, revealing a recess with steps leading down.

  He turned to face her, smiling as he saw her stunned expression. “You never would have found it, you know.”

  So, he knew she’d wanted to look. “Why did you show it to me?”

  He cradled her face in his hands. ‘Trust is an illusive gift. If you grab it, it becomes sand in your hands. But if you give it, it’s mortar that survives the ages.’ Angel heard the words so clearly she thought he’d spoken them, but then she realized he was too busy using his mouth for other, more tempting things.

  Like kissing her temple, her brow, her cheek, and then barely
brushing her mouth. He’d used that strange mind meld that was becoming as much a bond between them as the tangible physical link their bodies had instinctively formed.

  Trust me. Such simple little words. So difficult in execution. After the events of the last few weeks, Angel didn’t trust anyone in the district.

  Least of all her own judgment.

  He clouded her mind and seduced her body. Why he was showing her the secret research he’d obviously shared with no one she couldn’t say, but she still wasn’t convinced he didn’t have some baser motivation.

  She pulled away, trying to shield her thoughts from his probing. “I’m going with you into the bowels of your home where no one would hear me scream, am I not?”

  He read her response for what it was: withdrawal. Refusal to trust him. Immediately, his mind closed her out. His expression was blank, but she sensed she’d hurt him. He hesitated, looking between her face and the dark steps. Then he swept a hand before him. “After you.”

  Why he made that choice she didn’t know. She’d scarcely have blamed him if he’d ushered her to the front door. But she proceeded down into the darkness, her eyes adjusting quickly to the black cavity.

  The walls were smooth stone, and she realized the reason the laboratory was so well hidden was that it was not part of the house but carved deeply into the hillside upon which the house stood. The smell of moist earth and strong chemicals assailed her nostrils as they reached the bottom. They faced yet another heavy, barred door.

  He twisted the door handle several times and the bars smoothly slid open. Lighting candles as he went, he led her into his laboratory.

  Angel went still, delighted. Alexander’s lab was serviceable, but this…

  Glass fronted cases held a huge assortment of scientific equipment–protractors, an abacus, scales, various surgical instruments, beakers, innumerable chemicals, burners, funnels.

  And on several spotless tables, the most sophisticated microscopes she’d ever beheld. She looked through one. The optics were so fine that there was not the slightest distortion, even when she turned the instrument to its fullest power. “German?”