Bite at First Sight (26 page)

As he pulled her into his arms, he prayed to every god he’d ever heard of that she’d survive to see tomorrow’s dawn.

5 November 1823, Guy Fawkes Night

Cassandra’s heart pounded in anxiety the moment she awoke. Nightfall had come far too soon, and with it, a war between more than a hundred vampires for control of London.

Rafe pulled her into his arms for a devouring kiss, as if he wished to brand her memory with his touch. “I must prepare my people for battle,
Querida
. Elizabeth will be in soon to attend you.”

The moment Rafe left the bedchamber, Elizabeth marched in with a man’s shirt and trousers.

“You cannot run in a lady’s finery,” she explained in a tone that brooked no argument.

After Cassandra dressed, they met Lydia downstairs. Also garbed in trousers, Lady Deveril gave them a cheerful wave while perusing an array of pistols, swords, and rapiers spread out on the dining room table as she sorted through a case of holsters.

At the sight of the weapons Cassandra’s stomach churned with fresh anxiety. What if she fumbled in loading her gun and it misfired? What if she accidentally shot someone on their side? She gnawed her lower lip.

If she could even hit one of the enemy vampires she’d be lucky. She’d seen how fast vampires could move. A pistol was a pitiful weapon compared to their sharp fangs, lightning speed, and brute strength. Added to the futility was the fact that if she didn’t shoot a vampire in the heart, little damage would be done.

“Here.” Lydia held out a belt and holstered pistol. “This one should fit you.”

After they were armed, Cassandra barely had time to force down a quick breakfast and pack her supplies while the vampires took turns leaving the house to feed.

The journey to the meeting place passed in a blur of mounting panic. Cassandra could do nothing except huddle in Rafe’s arms and pray for his safety.

When they met with his people and allies, she was tucked safely on the sidelines as Rafe roared out commands in rapid fire. Battle cries reverberated through the stone chamber.

Before they filed outside, Rafe pulled her in his arms and addressed his people. “This woman is not only the most miraculous healer to walk the earth, but also the love of my life. Do everything in your power to see that she remains unharmed.”

Cassandra held her chin high, refusing to show fear as she walked between the four vampires Rafe had chosen to be her honor guard.

Lydia stalked quietly at her right, pistol held securely at her hip. Anthony strode at her left, equally armed and ready to fire. The vampires leading and flanking her were unfamiliar, though trusted by Rafe. They certainly appeared formidable.

Biting her lip, she grasped the butt of her own pistol strapped to her hip, her palms sweating despite the chilly November air. She wasn’t made for killing, much less wounding.

Her other hand patted the satchel containing her medical supplies. The bandages, lancets, syringes, and scalpel were light enough. The ice-packed vials of vampire blood, donated by every vampire who stood with Rafe, contributed to most of the heaviness. However, the satchel was a comforting weight, far lighter on her conscience than the heft of the gun. She prayed she wouldn’t need to use it.

Her purpose was to heal, not to harm.

No matter how this battle ended, the wounded would need tending. Rafe had told her that very few would die…at least during the fighting, yet many would be injured. Already, her physician’s mind railed at the waste of it all.

Her gaze moved up the line to take in Rafe, marching in the vanguard with Vincent and Elizabeth. All three carried swords as well as pistols. The Lord of Blackpool joined them, along with the Lord of Rochester and their respective retinues.

Gradually, other vampires swelled their ranks as they neared the Wilderness region of Vauxhall Pleasure Gardens. Two vampires pulled a wagon clanking with the weight of iron chains intended for the inevitable prisoners.

However, Cassandra knew that if Rafe’s side won, Clayton would not be taken alive.

Fireworks lit the night far to the east, echoed by faint jubilant shouts as the mortal populace celebrated Guy Fawkes Night, oblivious to the battle that would occur within a stone’s throw of their revels.

By the time Rafe’s army reached the edge of the designated battleground—a large clearing surrounded by walnut trees—their force was nearly a hundred strong. Lydia and Anthony pressed closer to Cassandra, holding their weapons at the ready.

For a long time, everyone stood as still as a pride of hunting lions, scenting the air for the approaching enemy.

“They’re coming,” Lydia whispered.

Cassandra fought back a shiver. Moments later, she could hear the enemy as well.

Like sinister locusts, Clayton and his vampires emerged from the fog several yards away, steadily approaching like an ominous tide. Rafe’s people moved forward to meet them.

As if by some unheard signal, both factions halted, about thirty meters apart. Clayton and Rafe faced each other with blazing eyes and shining fangs.

The host surrounding Clayton was equally armed with rapiers and pistols. Two of the rogues flanked him, each bearing wicked scythes.

Clayton surveyed Rafe’s forces with an insolent smirk. “Are you ready to find out if there is a hell for our kind? I have always been curious.”

Rafe yawned. “Get on with it, Edmondson. We do not want to be standing here until dawn.”

The vampire stiffened, eyes narrowing with malice. “Very well. I, Clayton Edmondson, hereby accuse Rafael Villar of treason. Before all blood drinkers present, I declare myself the new Lord of London and challenge Villar and his followers to battle.” Eyeing Rafe’s people, he addressed them with a sickly sweet smile. “Any of you who wishes to renounce this traitor is welcome to cross the lines and fight at my side. Those who do not will forfeit their immunity at battle’s end and suffer my punishment.”

“I, Rafael Villar, deny your accusation of treason. In fact, I accuse
you
of being the traitor. Therefore, I accept your challenge.” Rafe’s voice reverberated with power and authority. “All vampires who return to my side shall be pardoned.”

Four vampires immediately left Clayton’s lines and crossed to Rafe’s. The first gave Elizabeth a broad smile, which she returned. Cassandra nodded at the exchange.

So
that
had been how Elizabeth had been receiving her information on the enemy’s doings.

“Bloody turncoats!” Clayton roared at them. “I’ll have your heads when this is over!”

Rafe cut off his tirade with a bored shrug. “Is this current location and time acceptable to resolve the conflict?”

Clayton’s lips twisted as if tasting something sour. “It is indeed.”

“Then let us see our battlefield secure from mortal eyes.”

Rafe and Clayton turned from each other and signaled their vampires at the rear. Like points on a compass, ten vampires from each side fanned out to guard the perimeter of trees from prying humans.

Cassandra fought the urge to shake her head in bemusement. The irony was almost too much to bear. To fight against each other, they first had to work together.

Another heart-stopping silence ensued as the two armies stared at each other with unchecked hostility.

The vampire in front of her curled his fingers over the hilt of his sword, armed and ready to draw blood.

Belatedly, she realized her gun was still in its holster. With shaking hands, she drew the deadly weapon, praying once more she would not have to pull the trigger.

Rafe let out a roar that shook the earth like thunder.

The other vampires echoed his cry with such force that Cassandra nearly dropped her pistol. Everyone except her guard charged forward. Her heart lodged in her throat as the two armies met with a clash of steel, fangs, fists, and gunfire.

For an interminable time, she could only stand there frozen as a startled doe while chaos erupted all around her.

The vampires moved so quickly that her vision swam in a blur of black and crimson. Her senses numbed at the noise and carnage, her mind at first unable to make sense of it all. Gunshots echoed all around, indiscernible from the sound of the fireworks.

One of Clayton’s vampires charged at them with a snarl. Lydia lifted her pistol and fired, dropping him like a stone.

Cassandra swallowed and shakily raised her own gun to fire at another. She clipped him on the shoulder. The vampire grasped his arm and hissed in pain, but did not slow until Anthony put a bullet in his head.

Vincent was locked in sword combat with another vampire, their blades clashing in graceful, deadly arcs. With a flick of his wrist, the Lord Vampire of Cornwall disarmed his opponent and lifted the tip of his sword to the center of her chest.

“Yield or die,” he told her.

She sank to her knees. “I yield.”

Vincent nodded to the Cornish vampires behind his back. They retrieved chains from the wagon and shackled her to a tree. Two remained to guard her at sword point.

The vampires engaging Blackpool and Rochester were not so fortunate. Rochester beheaded his enemy with a merciless stroke, while Blackpool pierced his opponent in the heart with an indifferent shrug at his refusal to surrender. Cassandra shook her head sadly at the waste of life even as she wondered what would become of the prisoners.

A hand suddenly grasped her ankle. The vampire Lydia had shot hissed up at her with bloody fangs.

With a startled shriek, Cassandra took aim at his face and pulled the trigger.

The loud bang temporarily deafened her. Blood and brains splattered all over her trousers. She stumbled, ears ringing as the stench of gunpowder and burned flesh filled her lungs.

Stomach roiling, Cassandra moved back from the mangled vampire only to sink to her knees and vomit. Breakfast had been a terrible idea.

Elizabeth helped her to her feet before kneeling by the downed enemy and plunging her dagger in his chest.

“What are you doing?” Cassandra gasped in horror at such irrational savagery. “He’s dead!”

“No, he isn’t,” Rafe’s third-in-command growled. “I must end his suffering.”

Elizabeth was right. The vampire’s chest continued to move, and a wet, wheezing noise came from the holes in his ravaged face. As Elizabeth began to carve out his heart, Cassandra gagged and averted her gaze.

That was when she noticed that most of the other fallen vampires on both sides remained alive.

Some had broken limbs, twisted at painful angles. Others were missing arms or legs, blood gushing from ruined stumps as they crawled away from the field, their forms illuminated by the fireworks.

Too late she saw one of Clayton’s rogues charging toward her with impossible swiftness. His lips curled back in a hateful snarl as he swung his scythe in a terrifying arc.

As the blade whistled through the air, a gray blur stepped between her and the rogue, shielding her from the strike.

Anthony’s headless body fell to its knees. Blood rained in a torrent, splattering her face and hair. Anthony’s hand grasped at Cassandra shoulder, as if to offer a comforting pat, before sliding away.

He collapsed at her knees. His chest rose once and went still.

The rogue resumed his charge on Cassandra. “Now you die, pretty mortal.”

His triumphant grin dissolved into a gape of surprise when Lydia buried a stake in his heart.

With a wailing cry, Cassandra scrambled to Anthony’s body. Heart contorting in agony, she grasped the hand of the vampire who’d given his life for her and Rafe.

The colorful illuminations in the sky and cheers of the human revelers in the distance provided a sickening contrast to this tragedy.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered, hot tears streaming down her face. “I am so sorry.”

Elizabeth pulled Cassandra away from Anthony’s body. “There is no time to grieve,” she choked, eyes brimming with moisture. “We must get out of the way!”

The fear in her voice made Cassandra glance up. Her heart leaped in her throat at the sight of Rafe and Clayton locked in combat, ringed by snarling vampires on all sides.

More than a third of each vampire’s forces lay on the grass, dead or wounded. Another third had been shunted to the side in chains.

Cassandra’s breath fled at the sight of the combatants.

Every time Clayton swung his sword at Rafe, her heart refused to beat until her lover blocked the blow with a ringing clash of steel. Their booted feet slipped on the bloody grass, adding to their growls of frustration.

This was the final skirmish. Countless lives, including hers, depended on the outcome of the fight.

Her fist clenched at her side, the fingers on her other hand tightening on the gun. If she could shoot Clayton…

A hand clamped down on her shoulder. Cassandra squeaked and turned to face one of the vampires assigned to her guard. He shook his head.

“No interference is allowed at this point. It would be best to avert your eyes until it is over.”

She slumped in despair. She could do nothing to aid Rafe.

Eyeing the agonized faces of the fallen, her soul ached with sympathy. The weight of her satchel suddenly filled her awareness.

There was
plenty
she could do.

Cassandra touched the vampire’s sleeve. “What is your name?”

“Eric, my lady.”

She curtsied awkwardly in her trousers. “Eric, could you cover me while I tend to the wounded?”

At first he looked as if he were about to object. Then his eyes scanned the writhing, wounded vampires and his mouth compressed in a grim line. “Can you help them?”

“Some, though unfortunately not all,” she answered honestly.

He nodded and gestured for the remainder of her guard to come forth and flank her.

Cassandra knelt before the nearest wounded vampire, a young male with an ugly gash in his chest above his heart. With vampires’ rapid healing abilities, it must have been much worse before she’d gotten to him. He bared his fangs and snarled.

Swallowing her trepidation, she placed a gentle hand on his. “I am going to help you, but you will have to lie still.”

She opened a vial of vampire blood and poured it into the wound. The vampire’s eyes widened as his wound knitted shut.

“I am in your debt, my lady,” he whispered.

Rafe’s yell of pain made her flinch.
I
must
not
look, I mustn’t. I’ll lose my senses.

As Rafe’s battle raged on, Cassandra waged one of her own with the injured vampires. She administered blood, bandaged, and stitched wounds for what seemed an eternity. Some were cooperative patients, while others needed to be drugged and held down. Eric assigned a pair of vampires to aid with that.

The worst were the ones who had to be killed. Thankfully, Eric took care of that heartrending chore for her. Despite that, many looked on her with tear-filled eyes and thanked her profusely.

Giving a dying vampire’s hand a final squeeze, she rose and squared her aching shoulders to move on to the next patient. There were too many wounded for her to manage alone. She needed another doctor or three.

Immediately an idea crept to her mind. A dangerous idea. She surveyed the multitude of injured vampires with determination in her mind and an ache in her soul.
I
must.

She approached the first vampire she’d healed. “I need you to fetch the surgeon Thomas Wakley. I’ve seen you guarding him, so I know you know where he lives.” Holding up a hand to ward off his protest, she rattled off his address. “Please, the lives of your people depend on it!”

The vampire nodded shakily. “Only because I owe you my life will I do this. I pray you know what you are about, my lady.”

With that, he was gone and Cassandra was left to face the bleeding masses and pray that Rafe won the battle—and that her decision to involve Wakley hadn’t cost another life.

* * *

Rafe swung his sword at Clayton with a roar. Again, his enemy blocked the blow. Steel clashed so hard that sparks flew to rival the fireworks in the sky.

They had been fighting for hours. His people had held strong against Clayton’s, though with heavy losses on both sides. Vincent had taken many prisoners, while Rochester mercilessly cut down turncoat London vampires and Clayton’s allies alike. He and his retinue had driven the Lord of Derbyshire’s vampires off shortly after the melee commenced.

Blackpool and his people fought Farnborough’s forces with such savagery that Rafe wondered if some previous personal hostility existed between the two lord vampires.

The most agonizing part of the fighting was the effort it took not to look for Cassandra. The last time he’d turned to check on her, he’d nearly been stabbed in the back by one of Clayton’s people.

A bullet had whizzed past Rafe’s ear and dropped the cowardly sod like a sack of rubbish. He’d turned to see Lydia raising her pistol in a salute. He nodded in thanks and plunged his sword into the craven’s black heart.

By the time he and Clayton faced off, fewer than half of the fighters remained on their feet. Rafe’s lip curled up in disgust while his chest ached with grief and rage. Such senseless waste of innocent lives…all because of a foolish vampire’s mindless greed for power.

As the opposing fighters circled them, Rafe met the traitor’s gaze and vowed to make him pay for all of it.

“This ends now,” he hissed, not bothering to salute Clayton with his sword.

Clayton’s maniacal grin matched the fevered madness in his eyes. “Quite so.”

His foe was a much stronger swordsman than Rafe had anticipated, matching him strike for strike.

Rafe took bitter enjoyment in the battle, relishing every cut he made on Clayton’s traitorous body. As he blocked another blow with his sword, Rafe ducked low and slammed the flat of his blade into Clayton’s kneecap.

The vampire went down with a howl of pain, and Rafe would have ended it there with a thrust to the heart, but someone threw a rock with obscene force and deflected his blade.

Vincent roared and drove his blade into the miscreant’s throat. No mercy would be shown to those who interfered with this fight. Rafe gave him a nod and met Clayton’s parry.

The Mark between him and Cassandra suddenly pulsed with throbbing grief. Rafe glanced over to see her kneeling beside Anthony’s headless corpse.

His own heart ached at the sight. Anthony had sacrificed his own life force for Rafe only to die because of Clayton’s madness and greed. A howl of fury erupted from Rafe’s throat. The bastard would pay.

Viciously, he struck at his enemy, taking pleasure at the growing lines of exhaustion forming at the corners of Clayton’s eyes and mouth. Soon he would have him.

Rafe slipped in the blood-sodden grass, clenching his teeth as Clayton nicked his shoulder. Hopefully he wouldn’t have to switch to his left hand. He had plans for that later.

“Yield, Villar,” his former second growled, “and I may consider allowing you to leave this field alive.”

Rafe laughed, not only at the ludicrous concept of surrendering to this cur, but at such a ludicrous lie. He laughed so hard that he nearly dropped his sword to clutch his stomach.

“What is so goddamned amusing?” Clayton snarled, eyeing Rafe warily as he attempted to jab him in the neck.

Rafe deflected the blow and answered with all the scorn in his being. “Your limitless capacity for delusion and ridiculous lies. You should have remained on the stage, Edmondson. You’re a bloody mummer, not a leader.”

Gasps and snickers erupted from the vampires on both sides at the announcement of Clayton’s secret past.

Clayton froze, gaping and spluttering in outrage at the mention of his past. “How—”

“Did you think I didn’t know?” Rafe affected a bored tone as he flicked his wrist and knocked the sword from his enemy’s grasp.

As Clayton’s sword skidded across the slick grass, the vampires opposing Rafe stepped back, bowing their heads submissively.

Flinching at their defection, Clayton sighed. “Make it quick.”

Rafe shook his head and tossed his blade to Vincent. “I think not. I’ve been waiting for this for too long.”

Unbelievably, the traitor’s face split into a wide grin. “You think to take me on, cripple?”

“I am no cripple.” He lunged out with his left hand and seized Clayton by the throat, lifting him in the air.

The vampire’s eyes bulged like a toad’s as he struggled and wheezed, “Your arm! But how—”

“I
told
you that Lady Rosslyn is a doctor.” Rafe clenched his wholly healed fingers tighter on the vampire’s windpipe. “You should have listened to me.”

Just as Clayton’s lips began to turn blue, Rafe slammed him on the ground.

Before Clayton could escape, Rafe leaped on him, pinning his legs with his own. Raising his left fist first, he punched the vampire so hard his lip split open. Another blow with his right smashed Clayton’s nose to a bloody pulp.

Unlike in his boxing matches with mortals, he did not hold back his speed or strength.

On and on, Rafe rained down blows, mentally assigning each punch as punishment for one of Clayton’s vile deeds.

This one was for being disrespectful as his second, this one for recruiting William as a spy. This one for turning against him. One for each rogue he allowed in the city, one for Cassandra. Another for Cassandra…and more for all the deaths he caused.

Only when his knuckles began to ache did he stop and remove his weight from the vampire. “Vincent, my sword.”

Clayton sluggishly sat up and spat out a mess of blood and teeth before turning to the side and vomiting. As Rafe raised his sword, the vampire almost looked grateful.

Aching fingers tensing on the sword hilt, Rafe met the traitor’s gaze. “I am sorry it had come to this.”

Just as he drew back to plunge the blade into Clayton’s heart, a wave of terrifying power rumbled through his awareness like thunder.

A bone-crushing, commanding voice roared, “Stop!”

Six of the Elders strode into the clearing, radiating ancient power so potent it stole his breath. One by one, all of the vampires fell to their knees.

Rafe’s sword fell from numb fingers as he too knelt.

Clayton’s swollen eyes gleamed with triumph. Blood bubbled from his torn lips along with a high, strained cackle. “It theemth London ith mine athter all!”