Love Bites UK (Mammoth Book Of Vampire Romance2)

by Telep, Trisha

  “I only did what all vampiros do – feed.”

  “You caused fear and death to create the emotion you needed to be able to drink that blood.” Loathing cut through the night like a guillotine.

  Death? But Edmund had only ever brought her great pleasure in exchange for a few drops of her blood. A horrified shudder shook Sarah to the bone.

  “What of it?” The newcomer sounded genuinely startled.

  “Not in my town.”

  Sarah nodded mute agreement for the first time.

  “So let me leave.”

  “No. I rule Texas and I make the laws here. For this, you die.”

  Just like that? In the middle of the night, Don Rafael would announce sentence of death? What of a trial and witnesses, in case he was wrong?

  Her skin was an icy shell somewhere miles away from her flesh. Sarah reached behind her for the french door’s latch.

  “But I did nothing I couldn’t do anywhere else! Even if you don’t approve of it, I swear I won’t bother you again if you’ll let me return to New Orleans.” Terror rippled through the captive’s voice.

  Somebody spat into the street.

  “Such behaviour may be common in that cesspool. Here, your life is already forfeit.”

  Dear Lord, Don Rafael truly did mean to execute the fellow. And she couldn’t work the door latch while seated so that she could escape back into the ballroom. She rose stealthily to her feet and slithered along the wall to the exit. Slowly, carefully, she fumbled behind her skirts for the handle – and found herself looking back down into the alley again. She froze, afraid to move lest she be seen.

  “Don Rafael—” Michaels began.

  The big Spaniard caught the newcomer’s head between his hands and twisted it sharply to one side. A sharp crack reverberated through the narrow street and the three Texans jumped back. The body of Michaels crumpled, dissolving into dust before it reached the muddy ground. His garments closed over the wisps like a shroud.

  Sarah crumpled onto the balcony floor and knuckled her fist into her mouth lest she scream. Edmund would die like that someday. Edmund, oh dear heavens, Edmund . . .

  “God rest his soul,” Don Rafael said finally. “I’ll have a mass said for him tomorrow.”

  “Neatly done, sir, to break his neck like that,” the Indian commented.

  Sarah leaned her head back against the rough plaster wall and considered a thousand reasons why her stomach should hurl its contents through her throat. It certainly wanted to. It might even do so violently enough to have the results land on those arrogant brutes below.

  “Do you think anyone noticed, sir?” St Just asked.

  “No scent anywhere near except prosaicos,” Don Rafael responded as casually as if they discussed a flower garden’s spacing. “And we’d have seen or heard a mortal. Let us return home now so we can remove his scent.”

  “Excellent idea, sir,” the others agreed.

  Boot heels drumming along the boardwalk told of their departure but brought her little comfort.

  Oh, sweet Mother of God, what would they have done if they’d found her? Killed her?

  And what would the penalty be if they found Edmund here? Kill him for entering Texas without being one of the haughty Don Rafael’s chosen few?

  Darkness washed through her skull, more solid than the hotel behind her. By selecting this rendezvous, she’d summoned her beloved to his death. He’d known it, too – how could he not? – which was why he’d questioned her choice.

  She couldn’t risk his life; she couldn’t. Perhaps if she wasn’t at the ball when the clocks struck midnight, he’d leave, thinking she’d changed her mind. He’d be safe. She’d be alone – but he’d be alive.

  It would have to be comfort enough through all the lonely years ahead.

  She drew herself up and turned for the window, ignoring the slow tear trickling down her cheek.

  Austin, 31 December 1867

  The orchestra struck the quadrille’s final chord and Sarah politely curtseyed to her partner, automatically removing herself far away from his clumsy feet. “Thank you for a most enjoyable dance, sir.”

  After all, Lieutenant Merrill had only stepped on her toes once and he hadn’t ripped her flounce – this time.

  “It was entirely my pleasure, Miss Calvert.” The young officer drew himself up, his lean cheeks flushed with enthusiasm. “May I have the next dance, the midnight waltz?”

  She accepted his arm, wishing he meant more to her than an occasional escort to church or charity work at the Blind Asylum. Texas was a frontier, where people made a fresh start. She should be able to respond to an honourable man’s silent offer of devotion, instead of seeking ways to ignore the inexorable ticking of clocks.

  She spent much of her time teaching at a freedmen’s school, which horrified her aunt but kept her safely isolated from eligible young men. She only acknowledged its other benefit deep in the night when her pillow was utterly sodden with tears: it kept her from returning to Maryland with its flame-bright memories of Edmund.

  Sarah patted her lieutenant’s hand and gave him a variant on her usual answer. “No, thank you, I should return to my aunt. She needs my help for the midnight supper.”

  “Of course.” His mouth twisted but he knew her too well to argue.

  Her aunt’s disgruntled glare tracked them from across the ballroom, even though she was standing between the new governor and Don Rafael. Aunt Mary sent weekly reports on Sarah’s doings to the Calvert patriarch. Only Sarah’s continuing aloofness towards Lieutenant Merrill had kept him from being chased off like every other young man who’d claimed more than two dances with her.

  At least Aunt Mary was keeping Don Rafael away from her. Sarah had spent the past year dodging that top-drawer vampiro’s company and memories of last New Year’s Eve. She loathed him – and prayed he’d never encounter Edmund.

  A group of young officers and their partners accosted her and the lieutenant at the dance floor’s edge, eager to discuss seating for the midnight supper where they’d plot tactics for the horse races tomorrow. Merrill joined in eagerly, soon gesturing with both hands to show exactly how a rival horse could be edged out of a turn. Sarah listened with half an ear, grateful for the enveloping throng, which kept her aunt from seeing her expression.

  A single violin sent a long warbling note over the crowd, calling for dancers to celebrate ancient trees and water rippling under a moonlit sky.

  A beloved whiff of sandalwood drifted past, long lost but never forgotten. Strong fingers clasped Sarah’s elbow and drew her away.

  “If you will excuse us?” a man murmured. It was not a request.

  Edmund? Her heart gave an ecstatic thump and vaulted for the stars, only to fall back into Hell’s lowest depths. If Don Rafael caught a glimpse of him . . .

  Merrill’s startled glance was countered by Edmund’s scorching glare. When Sarah moved silently, subtly closer to the newcomer, Merrill fell back, yielding his claim. Bitter comprehension cut deep grooves beside his mouth before he returned to his friends.

  Edmund swung her onto the dance floor, one hand firmly on her waist, the other grasping hers as if he feared she’d race away from him.

  She gazed up at him, relearning every line of his beloved features under the brilliant gaslight. Every line was harsher, cut more clearly from the underlying bone. He seemed capable of carving through steel. Her fingers ached to tease his lips and teach him once again how to smile, despite the months and miles that had separated them.

  The music swirled around them, sweet and charming like the delights they’d shared so long ago.

  Why had she thought she could stay away from him?

  “I have missed you so much,” she whispered.

  His jaw tightened still further. He swung her past another couple and through a tight turn, sending her blue velvet skirts flaring out like a carillon call for the truth. “Then why the devil didn’t you wait for me last year?”

  “Why didn’t you t
ell me about Don Rafael’s laws?” she countered. “I’d never have asked you to come if I’d known such an arrogant brute ruled here.”

  Terror flashed behind his eyes, dreadful as musket fire.

  “God’s death, Sarah, does he know you’re aware of him?” His arm closed around her waist and he pulled her through the curtains and onto the balcony. A hard kick slammed the french door behind them and left them enclosed in an isolated world, separated by height from the few drunks wandering the main street. The night was brilliantly clear, illuminated by a full moon bright enough to almost touch.

  “No, the man thinks of me only as the silent niece of a scheming hostess.” She shrugged impatiently. What else was there to say after a year of minimal courtesy from the fellow? But she gave Edmund more details, to quiet the eyes raking hers and the hands rubbing restlessly up and down her arms. She needed him to believe her so she could convince her beloved to leave town.

  “I spend my days with charities or the church, where occasionally we meet. Nothing more. But I saw him . . . kill another vampiro.” An appalled shudder ran through her once again.

  “’Fore God, such knowledge means certain death to prosaicos, Sarah! He’s three centuries older than I am and a deadly killer.” Edmund’s hard fingers grasped her wrist the way he would grip an unruly dog. He turned back towards the ball. “I must take you away from here. Now.”

  Did he mean to haul her through the crowd? Sarah opened her mouth to hurl a set of alternatives at his head. Thinking would be a good start.

  Metal clicked softly and they both froze. Sarah’s heart surged into her throat, too thick to let her draw air.

  The latch turned and the french door opened.

  With his hip, Edmund shoved her into the corner of the balcony and took up station before her. His big body blocked her view of almost everything beyond but, dear God, at what price to him?

  “Good evening, Devereaux,” Don Rafael purred like a tiger flexing his claws. St Just flanked him, cordial as an unsheathed sword. “What a delightful surprise to meet you here.”

  Sarah glanced desperately over the railing, hoping to see a carriage or a pair of horses waiting patiently. But the Indian’s unreadable eyes met hers instead, matched by those of a dozen armed men nearby. For the first time in her life, she lusted for her father’s command of profanity.

  She hissed under her breath and glanced about for another exit.

  Edmund’s counter-attack came in a voice so sweet and reasonable, she might have thought it logical at any other time. “Release her, Perez. She’s an innocent and has nothing to do with what lies between us.”

  “What?” Her instinctive objection died in her throat, strangled by the realization of an older, deadlier duel between them.

  “Why should I? By all vampiro custom, prosaico mouths can only be stopped by death lest they wag too much.” The Spaniard’s dark gaze flicked over her like an executioner’s axe considering the best place to strike. Her stomach surged into a knot but even that didn’t seem small enough to escape him.

  Edmund growled deep in his throat, almost too softly to be heard. He brought logic to bear on them again. “She knows nothing.”

  “Do not stretch the truth too far or it will strangle you.” His enemy tutted. “You know she saw me destroy another of our kind. As for you, my fine-feathered English spy—”

  “Former spy,” Edmund’s correction sliced through the other’s taunt. His rage was all the brighter for how fiercely he kept it leashed. Both of them brandished their anger like weapons, turning the big Texan vampire into a heavy sabre and Edmund into a rapier – quick, lethal and razor sharp with deadly intent.

  “As you wish. It matters little in the long run.” Don Rafael waved the correction off like an emperor dismissing a scullion. “You know the price for coming here, especially when I swore sixty years ago to kill you the next time we met.”

  “I should have let all the Spaniards die when I had the chance, instead of trying to save them, no matter what I’d learned when I guested with the Inquisition,” Edmund said furiously, his hands opening and closing at his sides as if hungering to close around the other’s throat. “God’s blood, Perez, will you never understand honour? Can you not recognize that you have to follow orders even when you don’t believe in them and don’t enjoy the consequences? Especially during a war?”

  Don Rafael, his dark eyes boiling with murder, slammed the slighter man against the wall hard enough to shake plaster dust free. “Never question my honour, English dog!”

  Edmund snarled in his face, fangs fully bared, and kicked him viciously in the knee. His old enemy snapped out a curse and they tumbled into a conflict like a pack of dogs, blood and growls flying faster than blows.

  Sarah surged forwards to help but St Just’s glare warned her off. Sick to the bone, more terrified than she could remember, she retreated to her corner.

  How much of an advantage was three centuries to Don Rafael?

  Something caught her heel and nearly tripped her. Edmund’s knife glittered on the floor almost under her hem. It wasn’t a butcher knife, which she knew how to wield, but perhaps she could accomplish something with it.

  Pretending faintness, she stooped down and slipped the knife into her pocket, careful not to be seen by the preoccupied Frenchman.

  The combatants were taking up more and more of the balcony until St Just was backed against the wall far away from her.

  But Edmund was moving far too slowly. One leg dragged behind him and the wicked gash on his cheek had started bleeding again, badly enough to make his movements apprehensive. Don Rafael, damn him, fought as if he’d barely entered combat – coldly, quickly, unaffected by the blood spurting from his arm.

  Surely her heartbeat could be heard in Maryland yet her thoughts were entirely clear. Sarah needed to help somehow, some way. For once, she could see the movements of the combatants very precisely, rather than as a whirlwind blur of saloon brawling.

  How did one stop a very old vampiro?

  When they rolled back next to her and Don Rafael was on top, Sarah leaped on him and stabbed him in the side. Somewhere, anywhere, who knew or cared where she struck? She only needed to distract him long enough to save her love.

  She put her full weight – such as she had – behind the stroke. The blade went deep, slicing through wool and hard muscle and softer flesh. Damage, she was doing damage to a man’s body. A fiery shock raced through her skin, more intimate than a handshake or a waltz, and she hesitated for a split second.

  But this was Edmund’s would-be killer, damn him.

  She twisted the knife viciously, with every bit of strength and skill ever learned in a firelit kitchen.

  Don Rafael’s roar was loud enough to be heard across Austin. He broke away from Edmund and yanked the knife out, then stood staring at it. Anger repeatedly chased astonishment through his eyes.

  Edmund staggered onto his feet and shoved her behind him. A few hard shakes of his head sent blood splattering across the balcony from his face.

  St Just lunged for Sarah but his master snapped an arrogant finger under his nose. “Leave her be; the lady has won this bout.”

  Triumph’s wings began to tentatively unfurl inside her heart. She must have greatly injured the far older vampiro to force him to back off so completely. But she and Edmund still needed to escape Texas.

  The Frenchman retreated slowly, clearly unconvinced she could be trusted, while Don Rafael’s men in the street below murmured angrily.

  “My congratulations to both of you.” Don Rafael eyed her, his saturnine features betraying little expression.

  “Thank you. And thank you for the pleasure of serving beside you against Bonaparte.” For the first time, Edmund too relaxed and Sarah allowed herself to rest her head against his shoulder. Perhaps they truly might escape both her father and this frontier.

  The church bells began to ring in the New Year. One. Two . . .

  She shook out her handkerchief and began t
o mop Edmund’s face. He’d lost far too much blood and would need to feed very soon. Back in Maryland, she’d have seen that as an excuse for the delicious lovemaking necessary to infuse her blood with the most emotion possible. But here?

  Don Rafael eyed her, coldly.

  “Devereaux, at what time was your rendezvous with Señorita Calvert scheduled?” Don Rafael rubbed his bloody fingertips together, then pressed his hand back against his bleeding waist. St Just stepped forwards to offer an improvised bandage from his cravat but was impatiently waved off.

  “Midnight, Perez. New Year’s Eve at midnight.” Edmund wrapped his arm around her waist, standing wonderfully close.

  “I wondered who she was watching for last year.” The big landowner stretched slightly and grimaced, hissing when the new movement put a new fresh strain on his wound.

  Sarah pursed her lips and wondered if she’d ever gain any feelings of Christian charity for him. Then his words caught up with her. “What do you mean ‘last year’?” she echoed. “You knew I was looking for somebody, yet you kept us apart?”

  “Do you mean I spent an extra twelvemonth living in hell because you wanted to play God, you pestilential knave?” Edmund demanded furiously.

  “Señor, Señorita Calvert was hardly well enough to travel last year, unlike now,” Don Rafael snapped. “In fact, I suggest you depart immediately before her aunt comes looking – if you want a head start on the troops that female is certain to send after you, claiming you need a Maryland patriarch’s permission even here in Texas.”

  Sarah sighed and grasped Edmund more firmly. At least this time, the army wouldn’t have the advantage of Cassius as a guide.

  Edmund kissed the top of her head, chuckling a little. Silly man, he always enjoyed a good challenge.

  Don Rafael’s eyes travelled over them, as encompassing as a scientist’s spyglass.

  “However, if you’d prefer. . .” He paused. “Since you have won this bout, perhaps you will permit me to assist you?”

  “How?” Edmund asked bluntly.