His eyes flashed. “I’ll show you that you cannot play with people’s lives this way, Simona!”
“If you think I’m evil,” she purred, “you should meet Ileana Zpda. She will stop at nothing until Alba is dead.” She lowered her voice even more. “The woman knows where Alba is.”
Dimitri’s stomach dropped. “How?”
“In looking for you, I inadvertently found Alba and informed Ileana.”
A scalding fury heated Dimitri’s blood. He hurled his razor against the wall.
“Don’t you miss what we had in Bucharest?” Simona pressed herself against him, but he flung her away. “Tell me you didn’t like the warmth of my body beside you.”
It was true that Simona had shown Dimitri carnal pleasures in bed, overcoming his inexperience, aiding the pain he felt over losing Alba. But their physical relationship had been short-lived. Once he’d come to his senses, he knew their brief intimacy was a mistake. He also knew he would never stop loving Alba.
“After you left me in Bucharest, I returned to the countryside with my tail between my legs,” Simona explained. “I couldn’t stomach the fact that you should have loved me but didn’t, so I drowned myself in the Olt River. According to Romanian folklore, you know what happens to someone who commits suicide, don’t you?”
“They become a vampire,” Dimitri murmured.
She nodded. “Now we have more in common than ever. Perhaps it is our destiny to live the same existence.”
“I may not live at all if the amulet drives Alba to kill me.”
“You are immortal,” Simona reminded him with a frown.
“We’ll see about that,” he replied. “A stake through the heart can stop both of us in our tracks.”
Simona gave a shudder. “Time will tell if you and Alba will meet the fate of the amulet. In the meantime, think of the story surrounding its prophecy, Dimitri. You’d have to become lovers to set the curse into motion.”
“That’s why I will avoid making love to Alba at all costs.”
“Can you?” Simona teased, stroking the tip of her breast with her fingertip. “You always were a tiger in bed . . .”
“You disgust me,” Dimitri bellowed.
“And you always know the right things to say.” She laughed. “Well, I have another surprise for you.”
“To hell with your surprises!”
She pulled the bulk of her hair seductively over one shoulder. “Oh, you’ll want to hear the details of this one. If you dare become Alba’s lover, you will destroy her yourself.”
“What are you talking about?” He ground his back teeth together.
She stepped forward and clutched his arm. Then her touch grazed lower, to his shaft. She began to rub it slowly, entrancingly, causing an involuntary arousal.
Snapping to his senses, Dimitri shoved her hand away.
“You are a Szgamy Gypsy, remember?” Her eyes blazed. “Our band is tied to Vlad the Impaler. That means we, as Szgamys, have the capability of becoming mulo vampires when we cross over,” she said.
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“Mulos crave blood, but we can also drain the energy from our victims in a special way. I’m a mulo, and because you drank from me last night, your sexual appetite will increase substantially. With that comes the danger of exhausting your human partner to the point of illness—or even death—through your lovemaking. Don’t you see, Dimitri? You and I can make love with no problem. But Alba . . . She is still human. She will become the victim of your sexual hunger in bed.”
“You are as just as wicked as Ileana Zpda!”
“Sticks and stones, Dimitri.” She sneered.
He turned to go but she blocked his way.
“You’ll destroy Alba if you make love to her, Dimitri, so you really should avoid it. I suggest you wait for her to drive a stake through your heart just before she kills herself.” She threw her head back in eerie laughter.
“Don’t go near her!” he thundered.
“I hate the idea of you bedding Alba, but the thought of you destroying her makes up for it. Of course, if none of this happens as quickly as I prefer, I will turn Alba into a vampire myself.”
“You viper. I have the mind to drive a stake through your heart!” He glanced around for something sharp enough to do the job.
She dropped her smile and took a step back. “I’ll go. But first, a word of advice, since you are so tenderly new at being a vampire.”
“Don’t ever pair the words ‘tender’ and ‘vampire.’” Dimitri growled.
“Right now you can’t help but take your victims quickly, hungrily. Eventually you will learn to hypnotize your victims so that they will remember nothing of the encounter.”
Guilt seized him every time he took someone’s life, so he forced himself to listen to her.
“Try out your powers of persuasion tonight, Dimitri,” she said. “After you hypnotize your victim, feed where you won’t be seen. But heed this warning: you will come back to me.”
Simona crumbled the candle into a cloud of dust. Then, morphing into a small bat, she disappeared through the open bathroom window.
Simona was the vilest creature ever to plague Dimitri’s life and he vowed to have his revenge on her. But at the moment, all he could think of was his hunger for blood. He quickly changed his clothes, then twirled in circles while holding his opera cloak away from his body. In no time, he evaporated into an ominous, bluish mist—a mist insubstantial enough to seep up the chimney chute.
Dimitri soared through the sky like a nimble bird. It was extraordinary how every sight and sound was magnified at this altitude. But soon his senses became painfully exaggerated. His ears pounded and his heartbeat boomed. He felt crazed. Heady. Omnipotent.
His heart ached for Alba, and all he wanted was to change the past—to go back to the time before the curses snared them in their nets. Before he allowed them to be separated.
He transported himself over Mayfair and Chelsea Harbour, to the less prestigious neighborhood of Bloomsbury. Hidden away, Dimitri changed back to human form. As he began to search the gaslit streets for any vagrant who’d been cast aside by society, he spotted an outcast slumped in a deserted back alley. Catatonic, the drunken hobo lay next to a rubbish bin.
Steam from McGroder’s Pub wafted into the narrow dead end. Dimitri shook the vagrant.
The degenerate’s eyes opened only to slide closed again. Deciding that it was no use trying to hypnotize him, Dimitri went about feeding.
As Simona described, he took his victim by storm, consuming the man’s blood in an uncontrolled frenzy. Once he was finished drinking and the hobo was lifeless, guilt seized him. He morphed back into a ball of mist as his thoughts turned to Alba. She would be terrified if she learned of the encounter. She would be even more frightened to know that Simona had told Ileana where she was. Therefore, he should tell her nothing. That way she might allow him to be close by if either of the venomous witches paid her a visit.
Still, getting close to Alba meant that the sweet scent of her blood and the warmth of her flesh would madden him—and drive him insane. Dimitri had known about mulo vampires, but he’d blocked their existence out of his mind. Now he remembered that their unstoppable powers were the stuff that frightened Gypsy children around the campfire.
As he left the alley in search of Alba’s dormitory, he wondered, Can I protect Alba and prevent myself from consuming her at the same time?
Chapter Six
The conversation Teddy and his father shared circled around the Rollingsworth dining room in a dull drone. Tuning it out, Alba looked up at the crystal chandelier that canopied the dining table. She became mesmerized by the way the gaslights caught the facets of the cut glass. Her thoughts wandered to Dimitri.
How did he find me after all these years?
Where does he live?
Should I ask Teddy if he’s been in contact with Dimitri?
No, she decided. She shouldn’t let Teddy know that s
he was curious about her former love. After all, her pulse hadn’t yet slowed under the memory of Dimitri’s black-fringed stare—and Teddy might notice.
The sound of the kitchen door burst her daydream bubble. A servant appeared with a tray of unappealing beef Wellington, and the evening seemed a total loss. That is, until Harold Rollingsworth raised a topic that caught Alba’s attention.
“Two more unfortunates were murdered in Whitechapel last night,” the middle-aged barrister said. “The first woman was a prostitute by the name of Elizabeth Stride. A hawker discovered her body at Dutfield’s Yard a few hours after midnight.” He sat back in his chair, folding his hands over his protruding belly. “The second was another prosser by the name of Catherine Eddowes.”
Alba gripped her napkin and glanced at Teddy. Aside from the substantial belly, Teddy resembled his father in every way. Both men sported reddish blond hair and the same solemn gray eyes. And each possessed a gentle demeanor. In fact, the two men were so alike that it seemed natural for Teddy to follow in his father’s footsteps at Crown Court.
“Poor sods.” Teddy shook his head. “Robbed of all dignity.”
Alba frowned thoughtfully. “Were the prostitutes mutilated like the first two women?”
“No. And that’s the curious part,” Mr. Rollingsworth said. “Elizabeth Stride’s throat was cut—but there were no other marks on her body. Police seem to think the killer was interrupted.”
“How long after the murder did the hawker find the body?” Alba asked.
“Minutes, apparently. In fact, the blood was so fresh that authorities believe the killer may have been lurking in the shadows while the hawker ran for help.”
“The madman barely got away this time,” Alba murmured.
“He walked a mere twelve minutes to find another victim in Mitre Square,” Harold Rollingsworth went on. “The blood on the knife hadn’t even dried when the Ripper butchered Catherine Eddowes.”
Enthralled, Alba leaned over her plate. “So Scotland Yard believes this is all the work of the same killer?”
“That’s their assumption.” Harold nodded.
“I’d bet money this is the work of a copycat,” Teddy chimed in.
“I don’t think so,” Alba protested. She turned back toward the elder Rollingsworth. “Do the police have a suspect?”
Harold frowned. “They have several, but no arrests have been made. I presume their barrier is lack of evidence.”
“No one saw or heard anything?” she asked.
“Apparently not. The only thing the police have to go on is the assumption that the killer possesses anatomical—even medical—knowledge.”
“Who are these suspects?” she asked.
Teddy put a gentle hand over hers. “Alba, the dinner table is hardly the place to discuss such matters.”
“But this case is precisely what we’ve spent years preparing for,” she said. “This is how my mind works. I piece clues together to form a perfect puzzle. Only then can the real answer stare me in the face.”
“She’s right, my boy,” Harold said to Teddy. “Now that you’re both part of the firm, I suggest you get accustomed to discussions of lurid details among barristers.”
“Part of the firm? Pardon me, sir?” Teddy’s eyes widened.
Harold laughed as he shoved his thumbs into the tiny pockets of his vest. “I intended to save my announcement for dessert, but I suppose now is as good a time as any. I’ve decided that both of you are ready to bring your pupilage to the next level. You’ve passed the Bar Vocational Exam and have shadowed me for six months. Now it’s time you undertook some real courtroom work. The youthful energy and passion for the truth you possess is just what’s needed in the Crowe trial.”
“You mean we will be acting as barristers, along with you?” Alba asked, squeezing Teddy’s arm.
“You’ll be acting as pupil barristers, yes,” Harold replied. “You’ve been sitting in on the trial all along, so you know that all the witnesses have been called—except our number-one suspect, Tabitha Crowe.”
Teddy and Alba nodded enthusiastically.
“Alba, since you are a woman, I want you to question Mrs. Crowe. I have a feeling you will give the procedure just the right touch. Teddy, you will present closing arguments.”
“Thank you, Father,” Teddy cried.
“Yes, thank you, Mr. Rollingsworth,” Alba said. “You won’t regret your decision!”
Teddy turned toward Alba and beamed. “Congratulations to you.”
“Likewise.” She grinned as they embraced.
“You know, Alba”—Harold’s voice developed a more serious tone—“if you step into the role of London’s first female barrister, you will have many eyes upon you. Are you certain you can withstand the pressure?”
Alba smiled. “I can think of no challenge I’d relish more.”
“That’s what I like to hear,” he said. “Now, if you both do well, you may go on to share chambers with me.”
Teddy reached for Alba’s hand. She looked into his gray eyes where she recognized the adoration he’d always held for her. Her heart warmed.
“Teddy, my boy. Having your own career means you’ll be in fine position to take a wife and carry on the Rollingsworth bloodline.” Harold Rollingsworth’s eyes twinkled as they flitted to Alba. She blushed in return. Oddly, Teddy didn’t smile or respond.
Dessert wasn’t served a moment too soon. A butler poured steaming coffee from an ornate silver carafe while a maid sliced a delectable apple tart dusted with confectioner’s sugar. Alba, suddenly famished, consumed two of them with zest.
The evening proved enjoyable after all. As it came to a close, she bid good night to her generous host and climbed into a hansom with Teddy. They journeyed back to Bloomsbury, chattering on excitedly.
“I’ve never seen my father more proud than he was tonight,” Teddy informed her amid the glow of the gaslights. “Proud of you, that is.”
Alba flung him a dubious glance. “Your father is proud of both of us.”
Teddy shook his head. She had to admit that he was extremely handsome in a straight-backed, honorable kind of way. With his fashionable sideburns and square jaw, he could make any number of girls pay attention. And his easygoing temperament made him a prized suitor. At the moment, however, his eyes took on a strange, haunted aura.
“I suppose I shouldn’t hang on Father’s every word,” he said.
“If it’s not too bold to say, you seemed unusually quiet when your father suggested you marry soon.”
“It wasn’t his mention of marriage that bothered me.”
“What was it?”
“It was his suggestion that I carry on the Rollingsworth bloodline.”
“Don’t you want children, Teddy?”
He sucked in a breath. “I do, but I’m not Harold Rollingsworth’s real son.”
Alba put a hand to her mouth. “You’re . . . adopted? You never told me.”
Nodding, he reached for her hand. “My adoption is something I don’t like to speak of. Nor does my father.”
“Go on,” she said compassionately.
He hesitated. “My parents decided to offer a home to an unnatural child when my mother was declared barren.”
“I would never have guessed you were adopted since you and your father look so much alike.”
“I suppose that was the whole idea.” Teddy smiled and the haunted look disappeared. “Presumably, my red hair helped me out of the ‘baby factory,’ as it’s known in the East End.”
Alba knew of this “factory”—a place one would never frequent unless one was forced to go there. It was a means to an end for prostitutes or for young mothers who found themselves precariously with child.
“I’m so sorry.” She squeezed his hand. “But from what I can see, Mr. Rollingsworth loves you just as much as he would any child of his own.”
Teddy nodded.
“Did you know your adoptive mother?”
“No,” Teddy said.
“Madeline Rollingsworth died shortly after she brought me home. But my father raised me lovingly. He’s a wonderful man.”
They traveled the rest of the way in silence. The hansom stopped in front of Alba’s building and Teddy hurried to help her out. She opened her handbag and fished for her key. Meanwhile, he cleared his throat.
She looked up. “What is it, Teddy?”
“I meant to ask you something the last time I took you home, but I lost my nerve. Even when Edith went inside.”
“You can ask me anything,” Alba said gently.
“Well, I’m curious . . . as to how you actually feel about me.”
She cupped his cheek with the palm of her hand. “I consider you the dearest man in the world.”
His expression darkened. “I’d hoped you’d say something more passionate.” He took a step toward her. “Alba, it’s my wish that someday you will be my wife.”
She looked up at him, trying to digest what he had just said.
“It would be a smart match, the two of us,” he went on.
Her brow puckered and she didn’t reply.
“Alba, would it be acceptable if I kissed you?”
She swallowed and smiled tremulously. “Of course.”
Teddy shifted toward her. In a stiff motion, his arms encircled her waist and he gathered her close. Tall enough to give the illusion that his head was scraping the night clouds, he bent in and clamped his mouth over hers. During the lengthy kiss, he neither moved, moaned, nor twitched. Alba stood rigidly as well. The embrace made her feel as if someone had erased a beautiful love sonnet from a piece of paper. She felt blank.
He drew back and stared into her eyes. “That was very pleasant, wasn’t it?”
“Oh, yes.” She smoothed a strand of flyaway hair. “Most pleasant.”
“I hope one day you will look at me as you did Drake Griffin. I saw your expression when you spotted him at the party.”
Guilt and frustration churned her stomach. Could she ever view another man with the same desire she’d felt for Dimitri? And was it fair to withhold the truth from Teddy? “I haven’t been completely honest with you, Teddy. Drake’s real name is Dimitri Grigorescu. He is someone I knew in Romania. In fact, we were very much in love in our adolescence. I was shocked to see him again.”
Snow White and the Vampire (The Cursed Princes) Page 5
