Blood Fire (24 page)
So small, so delicate, and so innocent.
His brother had been fair haired.
In the baby’s pretty features, he could see Octavia, and the baby’s coloring obviously came from her mother.
What kind of father could he be to her? Hell, unless Octavia fell in love with him, he would be a dead one.
Their carriage rumbled through the gate of the inn’s courtyard.
Octavia shared a look with him. “We’re back, and nothing has attacked us. Could it really be this easy? Are we safe?”
Probably from everything but him. “I don’t know. You go up to bed. I want to look around first, ensure all is well, then I’ll come up.” He walked Octavia into the inn. It touched his heart how carefully she cradled the baby, and how she kept giving loving kisses to the tiny head.
Once she had gone up the stairs, he borrowed a pen and paper from the innkeeper. The scent of the man’s blood—rich, spicy, strong—was driving him mad. He kept his face turned away to hide his fangs. Damn, it felt as if he could smell every drop of blood in the inn.
It was haunting him.
After dipping quill in ink, he quickly scrawled a note to De Wynter to let him know he and Octavia had found the baby. He handed the message to a servant, along with two shillings to find De Wynter and give him the note. No doubt his friend expected Matthew would want a private night with his wife. The servant’s blood smelled sweet, like strawberry jam, or honey, making Matthew think of him as a potential dessert after the stronger blood of the inn keeper. The young man strode off to take his message to De Wynter, and Matthew got out of the inn, shoving out through the door into the dark yard.
He had to get away from people and the smell of their blood.
Outside, he drew in a breath of cool air. The night sounds were magnified. Intense.
Then he smelled skin—the warm, intoxicating smell of human skin.
A maid came out to dump a bucket of kitchen waste. Moonlight made her pale neck glow like a beacon. The tang of blood flooded his senses. He wanted to hunt down the maid. Wanted to sink his fangs into her pretty neck—
No. No, he wouldn’t do it. He wasn’t going to be a beast, like the one that had attacked his brother.
Pure agony went through his jaw, vibrating through his skull.
He ran in the opposite direction, long strides putting yard after yard between him and temptation. He would not feed from the woman. He wouldn’t hurt her or kill her.
He stopped at a stone wall, one surrounding a farm field. Perfect.
Matthew slammed his head against it. Lights burst in front of his eyes, but as a vampire, he could endure a great deal of pain. He pounded his head against stone until his fangs retreated and until the gnawing, agonizing hunger receded.
More pounding was needed, he thought, just to make sure.
And like added torture, he suddenly remembered the afternoon he had hunted his brother Gregory to the dark cave in which he slept. He had gone with a stake, a blade for removing his brother’s head, with silver balls for his pistol, with garlic.
Caught in his day sleep, Gregory had been unable to fight him. But his brother could show the agony of death on his face. He’d seen it. He’d also seen Gregory’s shock at Matthew’s betrayal, then his brother’s desperate and panicked fury when he’d realized Matthew was going to destroy him.
He had done that to his brother.
But he was a coward—he should kill himself, but he couldn’t do it. He was just as selfish and arrogant as he had been when he had freed Esmeralda.
He staggered away from the wall. His own blood dripped from a cut in his head. He could smell his own blood without feeling the pain of hunger.
He’d conquered it. He’d fought the primal urge of a vampire to take blood. Now he could go to Octavia.
But soon, the hunger was going to come back. He wouldn’t be able to stop it.
He couldn’t go on like this—he either had to get his freedom from being a vampire, or he had to destroy himself. He couldn’t take Gregory’s undead life and spare his own.
It was better his daughter never knew him than that she knew him as a monstrous beast.
Then glass shattered upstairs, and he heard a scream. He was halfway up the stairs when he heard an explosion, then smoke began to pour out of Octavia’s room.
15
Fangs by the Dozen
H
is heart jumped into his throat, wedging in there like a cannonball. “Octavia!” Matthew hollered her name, racing up the stairs so fast he crashed into a man in a nightshirt and cap at the top of the landing. He pushed the man toward the stair, shouted, “Get out. The place is on fire. Get the hell out!”
is heart jumped into his throat, wedging in there like a cannonball. “Octavia!” Matthew hollered her name, racing up the stairs so fast he crashed into a man in a nightshirt and cap at the top of the landing. He pushed the man toward the stair, shouted, “Get out. The place is on fire. Get the hell out!”
The man screamed and stuttered, “W-who’s there?”
Suddenly, Matthew realized he had run at a vampire’s speed, so quickly the mortal man hadn’t seen him.
Other people streamed out of their rooms, shouting and crying and clamoring for answers, and the man in the cap frantically claimed a ghost had shoved him to the stairs.
Matthew leapt over the people in the hallway and reached the open door of Octavia’s room.
Don’t think. Just get in there; get them. Don’t think they might already be gone—
Don’t think. Just get in there; get them. Don’t think they might already be gone—
He kicked in the door and stood on the threshold, his brain flooding with panic.
Something was growling in Octavia’s room. The bed was ablaze, as were the drapes on the window. It took him a minute to see—the room was filled with choking smoke, and his eyes were watering. Even vampires were affected by smoke, and Matthew cursed the frailty.
Then he saw them.
Four wolves stood in a semicircle around the corner of the room farthest from the fire. Crouching in the corner, with their baby hugged to her chest, was Octavia. She held her hand over the baby’s mouth. Trying to keep the smoke out, Matthew guessed. The baby’s fists waved, and she was crying against Octavia’s hand.
She was so tiny, so innocent. Octavia was white with fear, trembling.
The beasts had to be werewolves in their animal form. There were four of them, but Matthew had a pistol with a silver ball, stakes, blades.
He was about to find out how strong a vampire was.
“Leave them alone,” he said softly.
One of the wolves growled loudly, then barked, and leapt around. The beast was in the air in an instant, with teeth aimed at his throat.
Matthew yanked out the pistol and fired.
The wolf fell to the ground. Its body jerked, then it changed back to human form. Blood flowed out, and the naked man twitched twice.
The other wolves had turned from Octavia and the baby and were inching toward him, hackles raised, growling in their throats. With his pistol spent, he pulled out two knives.
The baby started squalling, but in a weak sort of way, as though the poor thing was already suffering from the smoke. Flaming pieces of the bed canopy dropped to the carpet, which was starting to smolder.
He tried to force his thoughts into Octavia’s head.
You and the baby must get out. Start moving toward the door, but behind the wolves.
You and the baby must get out. Start moving toward the door, but behind the wolves.
She was staring at him, and his heart sank. Apparently, he couldn’t speak in her thoughts.
“My lord? Are you in there, my lord? Can we help—?”
It was servants of the inn. “Get out of here!” he roared. “Save yourselves, damn it.” They couldn’t fight werewolves—they would be torn to bits. And any survivors would probably tear him to bits after this, realizing he was not human. What frightened him more was that they might guess Octavia wasn’t a normal countess.
The three wolves launched at him at once. He lashed out with his two knives. Blood sprayed over his shirt, and he’d wounded one in the throat, but not enough—the wolf drove its teeth into his arm. He slashed with one blade and wrenched his arm free, but his forearm was torn open. He could see red flesh, muscle, bone—
Pain lanced him, but he ignored it. He still had a good arm. But he felt a rush of warmth and tingling—the wound was healing.
He punched at the wolves, kicked at them. It was easy to fight them, because he knew they were really human. He couldn’t hurt an animal that just needed to eat, but he could kill men who wanted to assassinate an innocent woman and a baby.
He drove his knife into one werewolf’s throat. It retreated, and then it turned tail and leapt out the window, through the frame of fire created by the burning drapes.
Then, the other two wolves moved back, barking, preparing to lunge again.
God, Octavia was still there. She was pressed back against the wall, her eyes wide with horror.
Run,
he shouted, desperately trying to push his voice into her thoughts.
Take the baby, get to the carriage, and get to safety. You’ve got to get out of this inn—it’s going to burn to the ground. In the carriage, you should be safe.
he shouted, desperately trying to push his voice into her thoughts.
Take the baby, get to the carriage, and get to safety. You’ve got to get out of this inn—it’s going to burn to the ground. In the carriage, you should be safe.
“I—How can I hear you?” she cried. “Oh God, I can’t leave you to die!”
Thank God it had worked. Or could vampires thank the Lord?
I won’t die,
he lied to Octavia, just as one of the wolves leapt at him. Claws swiped, ripping through his coat, his shirt, and leaving four streaks of blood on his chest. He wouldn’t die, but he could be destroyed.
I won’t die,
he lied to Octavia, just as one of the wolves leapt at him. Claws swiped, ripping through his coat, his shirt, and leaving four streaks of blood on his chest. He wouldn’t die, but he could be destroyed.
“No, I can’t let you be hurt. It’s my fault—”
Hugging the baby tight to her chest, she held out her hand. A wolf jumped for his throat, but it sailed over his head, skidded across the wood floor, and slammed into the wall. The second wolf suddenly flew out the window.
How had she—?
Damn, it didn’t matter. Saving his family did. Matthew ran to her. He gathered their baby out of her arms, then gripped her hand. “We’ve got to get away. We’re going to that damned castle of mine. It may sound like a prison to you, but it will make a damned good fortress.”
Matthew found their carriage and dragged it to the entrance to the courtyard of the inn, far from the fire. He ran to the stables. Grooms were bringing out the horses, and it was there he found De Wynter, leading their two mounts outside.
“Where in Hades were you?” Matthew barked. “I was attacked by werewolves.”
The golden-haired vampire grinned. “I know. You appeared to be in control of the situation when I saw you from the hallway. I believe Lady Sutcliffe was quite impressed with the way you raced to her rescue like a knight in gleaming armor.”
“You left me to fight alone so I could impress my wife.” Matthew was sorely tempted to punch De Wynter in the jaw. But he had no time. “Now I have to get her and our child to safety.”
De Wynter nodded. “And I will return to London and the Royal Society, to find a way to help you.”
They had been on the road for hours. His chest had healed, but his clothes were soaked with blood. Matthew was afraid for Octavia and the baby. At first, he had been worried that the poor infant had breathed in a dangerous amount of smoke. But now he felt fairly certain his daughter’s lungs were all right.
They had made sure the fire was under control at the inn before leaving. Octavia had been wracked with guilt, sure she had caused the fire, so Matthew had given the innkeeper a promissory note to help with the repairs and to purchase the carriage.
“A howling baby makes more noise than barking wolves,” he murmured.
“I don’t think so,” Octavia said thoughtfully. “I think it just bothers us more, because we are parents. It drives us to do something.”
She sounded calm, but he saw a tear glitter in her eye. Since they had left the inn, he had held her close. He’d wrapped her and the little baby in one of the fur throws he always kept in the carriage, since she had been forced to flee in her nightdress on a cold November night.
“You’re safe now. I promise,” he whispered.
“It’s not that. I know. You saved our lives, and I am safe—now and always—because I am with you.”
Fleetingly he remembered she was supposed to fall in love with him—if she felt safe, it must mean she was opening her heart. For the first time he didn’t feel afraid of her love, didn’t feel weighted by the responsibility of it. He did, however, feel like a bastard for getting it under false pretenses.
“You saved me, Octavia. The wolves might have overpowered me if you hadn’t magically sent them out of the window. Now, if you know you’re safe, why are you crying?”
Christ, was it over him? Had she noticed that his wounds had healed with surprising speed? “If you are wondering about my wounds—”
“I did it,” she said quickly. “With my magic. I commanded your wounds to heal. It seemed to work.”
He breathed a sigh of relief—he’d healed because he was a vampire, but she hadn’t suspected. He choked on his sigh when she said, “Our baby must be fed. She’s crying with hunger.”
He looked at her helplessly, then at her breasts.
She shook her head. “I don’t know if I can. When the baby was taken away, my milk stopped coming. I don’t know if I can feed my own child,” she whispered. “I don’t know what we are going to do if I can’t.”
“You’re magical, Octavia. Can you use magic to produce the milk for the baby again?”
Tears dropped off her cheeks. Haggard, despairing, she stared helplessly at him, yet he felt a lot more helpless. He was an earl, he was now immortal, but he had no idea what to do to feed their baby.
“I don’t know!” She hiccupped between the words. “My magic never works on me.”
“What do you mean?”
“I cannot do things to myself by magic. I can’t make myself taller, or change the color of my hair, or make my voice different, or anything like that. I can’t make any physical changes to myself. So how could I make the milk come back?”
“Try, love. This magic is for the baby. I believe it will work.”
She gave him a wobbly smile. “All right, I’ll try.”
He watched as she pushed down the blanket, then undid the tie of the neckline of her nightgown. He caught his breath as she exposed her full breast. The baby stopped crying and turned to the nipple. So tiny, yet she knew food was on the offing.
It was the most remarkable and beautiful thing he’d ever seen.
Octavia rubbed the nipple against the baby’s mouth. “Women at Mrs. Darkwell’s told me how to do this, before she was born.”
Speechless with awe, he watched as she tugged their daughter’s lower lip down a bit, and the baby latched onto her nipple.
“Beautiful,” he whispered.
Octavia looked up with a shy smile. “We must think of a name. I feel so guilty that I haven’t given her one. Should we keep the name the family gave her?”
He shook his head. “She is our daughter, and you’ve moved heaven and earth for her. You should name her, Octavia.”
“It should be both of us. A name we both agree on.”
“I think we should name her after her remarkable mother.” She blushed. “That’s sweet, but I want her to have a name of her very own.”
“What name do you like?” he asked.
They debated like that for many minutes, each one telling the other to choose the name, while their daughter drank her fill. Octavia lifted her to her shoulder. “I believe she is now to be burped.”
Matthew took their baby and rested her gently against his shoulder. Her little tummy was remarkably round and full.
“You pat the back,” Octavia instructed.
He did so, and nothing happened. He tried again, more firmly. Suddenly, a huge belch erupted from the tiny baby, and his back was wet and sticky.
“Oh! A towel. The midwives told me one should use a towel or a blanket.”
He grinned ruefully. Still he deserved worse for lying. And their daughter had settled to sleep. “Perhaps we should call her ‘Fountain’?”
“We can’t! What was your mother’s name?”
“No—I won’t use my mother’s name. My mother ended up so unhappy. I don’t want to see my daughter’s smiles and remember my mother’s broken heart and sorrow and anger. I’d like a pretty name for her . . . hmmm, but not one that encourages rakish men.”
She laughed. “Charlotte. I like the name Charlotte.”
“I do too. She is the perfect little Lottie.”
The carriage stopped so swiftly, Octavia almost fell forward. He caught her and drew her back to the seat. He handed Lottie to her. Then he moved to the carriage door. Rage brought his fangs out. Through the windowpane, in the darkness, he saw two men. Both wore black cloaks; both had white-blond hair that spilled over their shoulders.
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