Bite at First Sight

by Brooklyn Ann

  Suddenly, the clatter of horseshoes on cobblestone reached her ears. A carriage at last! The sound came from one street over. Cassandra gripped her valise and ran with every vestige of strength she could muster.

  But it wasn’t enough. She rounded the corner just in time to see the carriage’s rear wheels disappear into the fog.

  Cassandra threw down her heavy baggage and sank to her knees, panting in exhaustion. Had this night anything but misfortune to bestow upon her?

  It was then that she realized she hadn’t any money with which to pay for a ride. A harsh, bitter laugh like the sound of a crow escaped her lips.

  “My, my,” a soft, male voice remarked amiably. “You are a queer one.”

  Cassandra’s face flushed in humiliation at being caught so out of sorts. She scrambled to her feet and frantically dusted off her gown. Perhaps this gentleman would offer her aid if she could convince him she wasn’t cracked.

  Just as she was about to curtsy, she glanced up at the stranger. Mortification turned to terror as he stepped out into the meager light of the gas lamp.

  Clayton bared his fangs.

  He laughed at her cry of dismay. “Well, Lady Rosslyn, how fortuitous to encounter you here. Is Villar nearby?” Before she could open her mouth, Clayton shook his head and grinned. “Do not bother with a pretty fabrication. I can sense that he is not.”

  She turned to run, but another vampire materialized before her, blocking her escape.

  “Ooh, she’s a pretty one, by Jove.” He reached for her with thick, sausage-like fingers.

  Clayton pulled her back. “She’s not for you, Hamish.”

  “Aw, but I could have a bit o’ fun with her,” Hamish grumbled petulantly.

  Clayton sighed in exaggerated weariness. “What makes you think I’d give you another plaything after you allowed the last one to slip away?”

  Cassandra’s horror escalated at the exchange. Good Lord, what sorts of monsters are they? Do they make a habit of kidnapping women regularly?

  “But this one’s nothing but a frail human female! What can she do?”

  She gasped at the implication. Had these vampires been responsible for Lenore’s disappearance? If they were, the vampire had escaped…so where was she now?

  The thought broke as another vampire slunk out of the fog with such a sickening leer that Cassandra unconsciously shrank back against Clayton.

  There was something off about those two vampires. Something alien and unfamiliar.

  Cassandra blinked as she realized why. These vampires had not been in attendance when Rafe had presented her to his people. She was certain of that. Her exceptional memory had never failed her.

  That meeting had been mandatory for all of his people to attend. Which meant that these two hulking blood-drinkers were not Rafe’s people. They must be the rogues that he and Anthony had been hunting. Rogues who were working with Clayton and doubtless had been responsible for Lenore’s disappearance. Was the poor vampire even alive?

  “Tell me, Lady Rosslyn.” Clayton trailed his fingers down her arm. “How did you come to be out here alone in the perilous night? Did you escape Villar?”

  Cringing at his loathsome touch, she nodded, unable to see a benefit in lying. “He intended to kill me.”

  “Well, at least he is at last doing something right,” her captor remarked agreeably. Then his voice darkened. “Unfortunately, I cannot have that at this point.”

  The oafish one called Hamish strode forward, his porcine nose practically wriggling. “What are you going to do with her, my lord?”

  The other one remained still and continued to stare, as if he were striving to perceive how she would appear without skin.

  Clayton gripped her shoulders with bruising force. “We will take her to the warehouse and call a meeting. I must make an example of her. As the new Lord of London, I will show my subjects what happens to those who endanger my people.”

  “I have not endangered anyone!” Cassandra protested. Where in God’s name did this accursed lout get such a ludicrous idea?

  The vampire paid her no heed and tugged her forward. The rogues followed behind. Dread filled her every pore. She never should have left Rafe. With him, death would have been far more merciful.

  Her heart cried out for him as she was dragged along. Did he even know she was gone? Or was he still in the library with Anthony and Elizabeth, discussing battle plans? Somehow, she doubted that very much…not if he truly had put some manner of preternatural Mark on her.

  The thought brought on an idea. Feeling somewhat foolish, Cassandra closed her eyes and focused on Rafe, calling his name silently. Immediately a faint, warm buzz crept into her head. She could almost smell his cigars.

  Shocked, Cassandra gasped and stumbled at the force of her connection with Rafael.

  Clayton jerked her up before she fell.

  “Damn clumsy human,” he snarled and lightly cuffed her on the side of her face.

  She flinched but did not cry out. The stinging pain was completely obliterated by a blooming rose of hope.

  Rafe! she screamed in her mind, focusing her entire being on him.

  Once they reached the wharves, the stink of the Thames grew thick enough to choke on. A third vampire joined them, muttering quietly to the silent, leering one. Fresh dismay sank deeper into her bones, yet she refused to give up.

  As they hauled her into a dilapidated warehouse and Clayton ordered Hamish to fetch the chains, Cassandra’s silent cry grew louder.

  Twenty

  Rafe charged through the cold, wet London streets with Anthony and Elizabeth at his heels. He willed his preternatural senses to locate Cassandra’s Mark. The overwhelming anguish had slightly abated, only to be cut through with abject terror.

  A low growl rumbled from his throat. She was in danger. Madre de Dios, please do not let it be Clayton.

  Though he already knew it was unlikely he’d be that fortunate.

  As if in answer to his prayers, the Mark suddenly opened between them, flooding his senses in a rush of warmth. Rafe felt her calling to him, the words unfocused and indecipherable, yet enough to pinpoint her location. Hope and triumph welled within.

  “This way!” he called to Anthony and Elizabeth. “Toward the river. Apúrese! Corra! Hurry! Run!”

  He continued on, having no time to look back. He would free Cassandra with or without their aid.

  Rafe! Cassandra’s voice screamed in his mind as he felt a sharp burst of pain as if it were his own.

  All of his protective instincts roared through him with savage intensity. How dare anyone try to hurt his woman! They would pay. His fists clenched as he ran faster, heedless of the drenching rain.

  I am coming, Querida! he shouted silently, praying Cassandra could hear him.

  As he reached the wharves, he nearly slipped in the putrid slime that perpetually coated the cobblestones. Anthony and Elizabeth slid to a stop behind him.

  “Can you sense her exact location yet?” Anthony panted, still pale and weak from his blood donations.

  Rafe held up a hand to silence his second and closed his eyes, concentrating. Almost immediately, he heard her voice and detected a faint aroma of rose petals. Rafe! Please, hurry!

  “There!” he shouted, pointing at a ramshackle warehouse a hundred meters away.

  The vampires wasted no time, arriving at the building in a rush of preternatural speed. Rafe kicked open the door with such force that the rotted wood shattered like glass. Fury boiled through every vestige of his being at the sight before him.

  Clayton stood on a raised platform, holding a struggling Cassandra. The raised red weal of a handprint marred her cheek. A rogue vampire approached with an armful of chains with which to lock her up, while a second rogue looked on with a grotesque expression of rapt interest.

  A low growl trickled from Rafe
’s mouth. He could taste Cassandra’s rapid pulse.

  Clayton looked up and smirked, eyes blazing with insolence as he snaked his arm under Cassandra’s chin. “Not another step, Villar, or I will snap your pretty countess’s neck like a matchstick.”

  Rafe inclined his head in mild acceptance of Clayton’s threat. Of course the traitor would attempt to shield himself with an innocent.

  Cassandra’s sea-green eyes met his, wide with fear.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered brokenly.

  His former second-in-command flashed a triumphant smile, oblivious as Rafe reached behind his back and withdrew Anthony’s pistol.

  Before Clayton could react, Rafe lifted the gun, aimed, and pulled the trigger.

  The rafters shook at the deafening sound. Clayton roared in pain, releasing Cassandra as bright red blood bloomed from the bullet hole in his shoulder.

  Rafe shot forward and reclaimed his woman just as Anthony and Elizabeth launched themselves at the two rogues.

  Cassandra hugged him tightly, looking up at him with such joyous relief that his heart clenched.

  He stroked her hair. “Are you all right, Querida?”

  “As well as one could be under such circumstances, I suppose,” she said calmly, though he could feel the tremors racking her body.

  Rafe’s eyes narrowed on the welt on her cheek. “He hurt you.”

  “Nonsense, it was a feeble blow.” She shook her head, then flinched as a wet lock of hair slapped her injured flesh.

  A hiss escaped his clenched teeth. As much as he was loath to admit it, she was correct. If Clayton had put any force into the slap, the side of her face would have been shattered beyond recognition. That didn’t stop him from wanting to pound the son of a bitch into the ground like a rail spike. If Rafe weren’t so reluctant to release Cassandra, he would be doing just that. Thankfully, Clayton thus far was in no condition to fight.

  However, Rafe’s new second- and third-in-command were making short work of the remaining rogues. In moments they could arrest Clayton and this whole infuriating business would end. He could have the traitor in chains and exact his wrathful punishment at leisure. The bastard would suffer. Of that Rafe was most certain.

  “Paul, go fetch reinforcements!” Clayton commanded, blood spurting between his fingers from where he grasped his wound. “Now!”

  A third rogue scuttled out from the shadows and out the rear exit before anyone could react. Rafe cursed under his breath. He should have anticipated that.

  The sound of nearing footsteps reached his ears. Rafe and Clayton simultaneously sniffed the air like wolves and locked gazes. Humans were approaching, doubtless to investigate the source of the gunshot.

  “It may be a constable,” Clayton whispered.

  His wound was healing, but he was pale and weak from blood loss. Easy to vanquish…

  Rafe shook his head. Unfortunately, the hijo de puta was most likely correct. Cursing inwardly, he silently commanded Anthony and Elizabeth to withdraw. Clayton did the same with his rogues.

  Rafe gathered Cassandra in his arms and Clayton’s henchmen rushed to their master, holding him up before he could fall.

  As Rafe and his would-be usurper drew apart, they both paused and eyed one another like opposing monarchs across a narrow sea.

  The sound of the approaching humans drew nearer.

  “This is not finished,” Rafe snarled.

  Clayton nodded. “Enjoy the last days of your reign, Villar. Soon there will be a revolution the likes of which our kind has never seen. London shall be mine, and you and your pet countess will pay for your crimes against our people.”

  Rafe laughed humorlessly. “I think you have that reversed, Edmondson.”

  He inclined his head in a mocking half bow and carried Cassandra away without a backward glance as Clayton shrieked insults and mad vows of retribution. Damn the interfering mortals. If not for them, he could have had that traitor’s head on a spike.

  Yet somehow it didn’t matter much, not when Cassandra was once more in his arms. He would deal with Clayton later. After all, he had other matters to address right now.

  How could Cassandra have put herself in danger like this? How could someone with a brilliant mind such as hers be so goddamned foolish? Rafe looked down at the bruise on her cheek.

  A fresh torrent of rage roared through him like an inferno.

  * * *

  Cassandra’s pulse lodged in her throat at the fury in Rafe’s eyes as he carried her out of the warehouse. When he’d rescued her from Clayton, he’d seemed so relieved and concerned for her well-being. Now he looked cold and cruel. Had she imagined his earlier warmth? Was he angry that Clayton had abducted her because he wanted to kill her himself?

  The moral of an old tale came to mind: De piscibus e sartigine in prunas desilentibus. She was just like the fish that leaped from the boiling fat into the burning coals.

  Despite her doomed situation, her traitorous body reveled in the feel of his arms around her and his compelling scent of dark spices and tobacco. She bit back a moan as a frisson of heat pulsed between her thighs.

  No! I will not succumb to this madness again. Before she melted against him, Cassandra made a valiant effort to struggle out of his grip. People had entered the warehouse now; she could hear them. If she made it to them—

  Immediately, Rafe’s arms clamped down like iron. “Don’t even think about it, Querida.”

  Her brows drew together and she emitted an unladylike snort. How could he continue to use that endearment?

  Rafe scowled down at her as Anthony and Elizabeth approached.

  “Damn those nosy humans!” Anthony growled. “In another moment, I would have had that bloody rogue—”

  Rafe cut him off. “Leave, both of you!”

  “Where, my lord?” Elizabeth asked timidly.

  “I do not care, as long as you do not return until tomorrow night.”

  A hollow chord of dread echoed through Cassandra’s soul at his words. The last whisper of hope vanished like fog from a windowpane. He truly was going to kill her. Why else would he have ordered them away?

  Anthony took Elizabeth’s elbow and led her off, glancing back over his shoulder at Cassandra. The sympathy in his warm eyes brought a lump to her throat.

  A hackney rolled near and Rafe flagged it down. Cassandra bit her lip, holding back a bitter chuckle. Of course one would come for him when it was convenient. Briefly she contemplated calling to the driver for help, but she dismissed the thought immediately. Rafe would tear him apart.

  After dictating the destination to the driver, Rafe lifted Cassandra into the rickety carriage and sat down, keeping a firm grip on her hand. She shivered. It was all so similar to when he’d first taken her prisoner.

  “Cristo,” he growled. “Your hands are like ice.” He proceeded to rub them roughly, bringing forth more than one kind of warmth.

  “Why should you care about my hands when you are going to kill me soon?” she whispered, trying to pull away.

  Rafe’s hands clamped down on hers. “I am not going to kill you, Querida. The deadline is in nine nights, but I refuse to do it. Not after everything you’ve done for me. Not after…” He shook his head and leaned forward and stared into her eyes as if he were trying to capture her soul. “How could you be so foolish?”

  Her pulse stopped for a moment. She was barely able to utter, “There was a deadline? Then why—”

  “We will discuss that later.” His tone was so harsh, so final that all arguments died in her throat.

  Cassandra slumped back against the bench so hard that her back cried out in protest. She would have a bruise tomorrow. The side of her face where Clayton had hit her emitted a twinge in agreement. Her arms chimed in as well, aching from where both he and Rafe had grabbed her. All right, then she would have several bruises tomorrow
.

  Tomorrow. The magnitude of the word struck her full force, for there would be one for her. Rafe was not going to kill her. Aside from the immediate relief of knowing that simple fact, a multitude of contradictory emotions swept through her with dizzying intensity. Joy at the prospect of returning to her laboratory and being with Rafe warred with her trepidation about countless unknowns.

  If he did not intend to kill her, then what was he going to do?

  Twenty-one

  Rafe paid the driver and lifted Cassandra from the carriage, his countenance still blazing with fury. As he set her down and led her into the house, a heavy weight of foreboding settled in her belly.

  Mrs. Smythe glanced up from dusting a gas lamp, eyes wide with concern as she took in the sight of Cassandra shivering in her sodden clothes.

  “Is there a fire built in our bedchamber?” Rafe all but growled.

  The housekeeper nodded, still eyeing Cassandra. “Yes, Don Villar. Do you require anything else?”

  Rafe shook his head. “You may retire for the night. Remind me tomorrow to double your wages.”

  Mrs. Smythe froze and blinked at him for a moment before curtsying and bustling away.

  Placing a firm hand at the small of her back, Rafe guided Cassandra upstairs. Her knees quaked.

  They entered the bedchamber and she sighed in appreciation at the welcoming warmth of the fire.

  Rafe slammed the door and jerked her into his arms, claiming her lips in a devouring kiss. Her body melted into his embrace of its own volition, as if this was the home she’d been seeking. Cassandra’s legs turned to jelly and she nearly collapsed before he dragged his mouth from hers.

  Eyes still burning with unholy wrath, he drew back and lightly stroked her bruised cheek. “Jesucristo, mujer tonta! Foolish woman! How could you have put yourself in such danger?”

  Before she could answer, he once again pulled her into a fierce embrace and covered her face with kisses. Her breath fled as Rafe clung to her so tightly that she could feel the strong beat of his heart.

  A stream of Spanish words poured from his lips between kisses. They sounded like curses. The dichotomy between his words and actions made what little remained of her common sense reel in confusion. The rest of her reveled in his touch and yearned for more.