Bite at First Sight (18 page)

“My lord?” Elizabeth’s voice came from far away, as if obscured by thick fog.

Rafe focused his attention back on his new third-in-command. It was difficult, for the Mark between him and Cassandra was pulsing with searing pain. She was hurting. He longed to go to her, but he did not know what he could say.

“I’m sorry. What did you say?”

“I said, you do not intend to kill her, do you?” Elizabeth repeated, eyeing him warily.

He slammed his fist on the table, sending the chess pieces airborne before they clattered to the floor. “No, of course not! I have written letters to every vampire I call friend, asking them to Change her.” Crushing defeat wrenched his soul at his next admission. “Thus far, every reply has been a refusal. But I can’t kill her. I don’t know what to do.”

Rafe buried his face in his hands. The confession was crippling. He was supposed to be a leader, keeping order among his people, punishing the wicked, and protecting the innocents from harm. Now everything was slipping from his control.

“Have you told her this?” the vampire prodded. “Does she know that instead of preparing to kill her, you are doing everything in your power to see her live?”

Rafe’s head jerked up and he stared at her with dawning horror. No, he hadn’t told Cassandra anything of the sort. His pride had restrained him from revealing his legion of failures. What if she believed that he would truly—? He couldn’t finish the thought.

Elizabeth mistook his expression for one of outrage. “I apologize if I was insolent, my lord. I only say this because she appeared to be awfully distraught by your confession…and so terribly pale, as if she were facing the specter of Death himself.”

“No, Elizabeth. You are not at all insolent. You are wise.” Laboriously, as if the weight of all of his problems threatened to crush him, Rafe rose from his seat. “I, however, am a fool. Excuse me while I look in on her.”

As he slowly made his way up the stairs, Rafe racked his mind about how to assure Cassandra. He must make it clear to her that he had no intention of killing her; that much was certain. But other than that, what could he say? What if no vampire agreed to Change her? What then? If he refused to kill her, the Elders would likely send an enforcer to do the deed, then arrest him and possibly execute him.

Perhaps they could run away together… Rafe dashed away that tiny seed of hope before it could take root. He would be declared rogue then. He may even be hunted down, with a price on his head for disobeying an edict from the Elders. And with his scars and foreign looks, he would be easy to find.

Rafe’s shoulders slumped in defeat. If Cassandra could not be Changed, he would have to send her away for her own safety. Somewhere far away where she would be less likely to be noticed by other vampires…somewhere on the other side of the world, safe from the Elders’ immediate influence. He’d likely be punished for allowing her escape, but it would be worth it to know she lived.

The Americas would likely be the best option. He had not been to that vast and untamed land since he was an infant five centuries ago. The vampires there would sense his Mark on Cassandra, but they wouldn’t recognize his identity. Plenty of vampires Marked their mortal descendants out of sentimentality, so they would leave her alone and not think anything of it.

The thought of never seeing her again made Rafe’s heart contort in agony. He loved her; he knew that now. He loved her intelligence, her boundless inquisitiveness, and her formidable determination in the pursuit of miracles. He loved how she never saw him as a crippled aberration or an object of pity. He loved the way she came into his arms like someone arriving home.

Because he loved her, he would have to let her go if it became necessary. For her to die would be more than he could bear.

Still, Rafe clung to a faint wisp of hope that she could be Changed, that the Elders would give him more time…that they could be together…that she could somehow love him too.

His lips twisted in self-mockery. Doubtless she would laugh if she knew how he felt. No woman in her right mind could love a monster that had cruelly abducted her and put her life in danger. But she didn’t loathe him, and for that incredible gift, he would move heaven and earth to see her safe.

Rafe paused with his hand on the doorknob. The hand Cassandra had restored to him with her medical magic.
Dios
, his debt to her was insurmountable.

He opened the door. “
Querida
, we must talk.”

There was no answer.

“
Querida
?” He stepped into the room. His gaze lit on the rainbow mess of gowns strewn across the bed and darted to the gaping empty wardrobe.

Though her Mark still screamed with pain, it was drawing farther and farther away.

She was gone.

Rafe’s heart clenched in agony as icy terror coursed through his veins.

She truly had believed he would kill her. Bitter regret flooded his mind, thick enough to choke on. Why hadn’t he told her the truth? Because of his foolish pride, she was out in the cold London night, placing herself in danger from Clayton and his allies or even a human cutthroat.

Biting back a roar of impotent fury, he rang for Cassandra’s housekeeper.

“Yes, my lord?” Mrs. Smythe inquired timidly.

“Lady Rosslyn had a fit of pique, I’m afraid,” he said as civilly as possible. “Please see that these gowns are put back properly…and see that someone dusts her laboratory.”

Mrs. Smythe bowed, not bothering to hide her perplexed frown. “Yes,
Don
Villar.”

Refusing to indulge her curiosity, Rafe left the room and strode down the stairs to inform Anthony and Elizabeth of Cassandra’s flight. His fists clenched at his sides as he cursed this disaster and silently vowed that he would see her safely returned home tonight.

* * *

Cassandra hefted her valise over her other shoulder. Her arms and back muscles continued to scream in protest from lugging its pendulous weight for seven blocks. She stared down the expanse of Marlborough Street, the light of the gas lamps obscured by the thick night fog. There was still no sign of a hackney or any other mode of transportation.

Too late, she realized that this would not be the best location to find a ride. The little season had not yet begun and Marlborough Street was all but deserted, most of its aristocratic residents still tucked away in their country estates.

Go
back
, that meddlesome, unreasonable inner voice pleaded yet again.

But she couldn’t. Rafe would kill her! But her words held even less conviction than her previous utterance.

What if he didn’t intend to kill her? What if he had another plan in mind? Cassandra shook her head, refusing to indulge in such whimsical thinking. He had made the rules governing her situation quite clear.

Yet some wayward part of her continued to cry out for Rafe with every step that took her away from him. It cried out to see his tender smile, to hear him call her “
Querida
” in that gentle tone, to feel his sensuous kiss, to experience the furious storm of his lovemaking once more.

With an aching sigh, she plodded forward.

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.

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?