Dawn Thompson (6 page)

In the east wing, set off to the left behind the staircase, a door fitted with green baise over the panels marked the entrance to the servants’ quarters. Avoiding that, she turned right and proceeded to put her head in various rooms along the hall, one more elegant than the next from what she could tell with naught but candlelight to recommend them to her scrutiny. Before she came to the end of the corridor, she’d identified the library, study, sitting room, salon, parlor, and drawing room. The dining parlor, morning and drawing rooms, and the breakfast room were off the east wing opposite the servants’ quarters, which made sense, since the servants wouldn’t have far to go to serve the meals—especially useful since there were only two servants in residence.

Restless and bored with her solitary explorations, Cassandra was about to return to her chamber when another door on the right side of the staircase caught her eye as she made her approach. This one was not lined with green baise, and she tugged it open and stood in a little foyer on the brink of an archway that led to a narrow staircase hewn of stone. Her breath caught in her throat as she started to descend. A faint flicker of light showing below flared in the pitch blackness, casting tall shadows on the wall. She blew out her candle and flattened herself against the wall in a little alcove set back from the landing where the staircase turned before continuing downward. Voices funneled up the stairwell, and a scraping sound that set her teeth on edge. She was trapped. She dared not climb back up without the candle to light her way, and she certainly couldn’t climb down and be caught out. Holding her breath, she hugged the shadows and waited. Oh, why had she blown out that candle?

It seemed like an eternity before she caught sight of
the figures who cast the shadows: Jon and Bates. Her heart leapt again. She should try to creep back the way she’d come. But it was no use. The echo of their footfalls ringing on the stone underfoot was carrying toward her.
Please don’t let me swoon, not here—not now!
she prayed, as a sudden light-headed feeling came over her.

“Ain’t nobody goin’ ta disturb ya down here, sir,” Bates was saying. “The missus never comes below; the rheumatism in her knees prevents her.”

“I’m sorry for her rheumatism but glad that she will not frequent this part of the Abbey,” Jon said. “I shall be going abroad soon, but until I do, I shall depend upon you to see to it that I am not . . . disturbed when I am down here—neither by Miss Cassandra nor Grace, nor you, either. When I am closeted here it is as if I am not at home—to
anyone
. Is that clear?”

“Y-yes, sir.”

“I cannot stress that enough. It is a great responsibility, Bates. I have to be at ease that you are clear upon it. I know it is much to ask, but your efforts shan’t go unrewarded.”

“Yes, sir. I am so sorry to hear that you will be leaving us. Will it be a long absence this time, then?”

“I . . . am not certain. We shall talk before I leave. I will outline your duties, and provide for your wages in my absence.”

They had reached a turn in the staircase, were coming into view, albeit in brief glimpses. Cassandra shrank back farther into the shadows. She could see them, so they could see her if she wasn’t careful.

“What of the lass, sir?” Bates was saying.

“I will be taking Miss Cassandra with me,” Jon replied, taking note of the butler’s raised eyebrow. “All proprieties will be met, Bates, I assure you, but until we leave she
must be kept safe from danger. I cannot stress enough that you must keep the doors locked night and day, and admit no one except the vicar, should he come by. Open the door to no one else.”

“Yes, sir. You just leave all that ta me and the missus. I’ve already put a bee in her bonnet. You have naught ta fear over that.”

“Shhh . . .” Jon whispered.

Cassandra’s heart leaped in her throat. He sensed her presence. Of course he would; his senses were heightened as well. How foolish of her to think she could hide from him. She held her breath. They said no more that she could hear. It seemed an eternity before Bates passed her by. He hadn’t seen her lurking there, so maybe, just maybe . . . But no. Bates reached the upper landing and passed through the door. It had no sooner banged shut than a hand reached into the shadows and closed around her wrist. Cassandra uttered a strangled gasp as Jon reeled her out of the deep dark of the recessed alcove and into his arms.

“What are you doing down here?” Jon said. “You are supposed to be safe in your chamber.” How could he impress upon her the importance of adhering to his directives without frightening her half out of her wits? Maybe it would be best if he did alarm her.

“I . . . I couldn’t sleep,” she said. “I thought I’d browse about . . . become accustomed to the Abbey while no one was abroad.”

“You could have done that in daylight,” he said. “Here I think you’re safe in your chamber and you are prowling about, blundering into all sorts of peril in the dark in an understaffed house. Who is to come to your rescue if you
trip on that frock—or worse yet, transform into a kitten again—and tumble down these stairs all tangled up in it as I found you earlier, hm?”

“I haven’t blundered into any danger,” she defended, pouting. How charming she was when she pouted, her creamy cheeks splotched with red. He stroked her honey-colored, sun-streaked hair with his eyes. He didn’t dare stroke it with the fingers he’d balled into white-knuckled fists. He was aroused at the sight of her—and something more, something dangerous that had been coming on him since he left the vicarage. Anger was his only defense.

“Oh, no?” He spun her around and propelled her down the stairs. Holding his candlebranch high, he led her to another alcove. A pile of old furniture, rolled carpets and bric-a-brac that had occupied the recessed space lay strewn on the cold stone floor beside it. Cassandra gasped. He watched her gaze flit over the cot that had replaced the collected trappings, and the bucket of dirt beneath.

“In an hour’s time I might be lying upon
that
down here in the dark, Cass,” he said through clenched teeth. “And there I will stay until the sun sets if I cannot bear the sunlight. My symptoms are worsening. It could happen at any time now.” He set down the candlebranch on an old drum table that had also been evicted from the alcove to make room for the cot, and seized her upper arms, pulling her against his hard-muscled chest, against his thumping heart, against his turgid arousal. “Here is your danger,” he said. “
I
am your danger. I have not fed again. I should not even have to until tomorrow night, but the hunger is upon me once again regardless, and there isn’t time for me to do so now and return here to this damnable dungeon before the sun rises should I need to do so—unless I drink from that sweet throat of yours.” He stroked her
with a trembling hand. His lips were only inches away from the vein he felt throbbing at the base of her neck. She gasped, clearly in fright, twisting against the sudden strength that compelled him, a strength he could barely control.

“Don’t!” she cried. “You are scaring me, Jon! My God . . . don’t!”

Putting her from him roughly, Jon staggered back, raking his hair with both hands. “Scaring
you?”
he panted. “You have no . . . idea.
I
had no idea until this moment what I am facing. You must do as I say, Cassandra. Never doubt me. Never question.”

Cassandra’s hands flew to her lips. Were those tears glistening in Jon’s eyes? They triggered her own. All at once he groaned, and she was in his arms, clinging to him, accepting his kiss, until the pressure of his fangs flagged danger. She pulled back, searching his face. His eyes shimmered with a glaze, like those of a cat set to pounce upon its prey. Fangs fully exposed, he loosed a howl like nothing human Cassandra had ever heard and reeled back from her.

“Is that enough danger for you?” he gritted out. “I licked the blood from your fingertips. I have
tasted
you, Cassandra. I will never be satisfied until I do so again. You are in more danger from me than you are from Sebastian—because I love you, because it is all that I can do to keep my hands off you without all the rest. Making matters worse, I cannot let you go for fear he will have you, and if you are to stay with me, we must marry. You
will
. . . marry me as we planned?” he urged.

“Yes, Jon,” she murmured.

He took her in his arms again. “You are compromised,”
he said, “and I am about to run mad. We leave at dawn for Gretna Green, if I can still bear the daylight. Now, I beg you, go. Go to your room and stay there until I come for you. Once the sun has risen, if I do not come it will be because I cannot bear the light of day. In that case, you must stay in your room until I come for you when the sun sets. If that occurs, we shall just have to take our chances driving to Scotland by night. I didn’t want to travel after dark—Sebastian will be abroad after nightfall. He’s out there somewhere, close by. I can smell him, like mildew and decay—like death itself . . . waiting. Either way, you must be ready to leave as soon as I come for you. We will stop at the boardinghouse to collect your things on the way.” And all at once, he let her go.

Cassandra stared, her tears streaming down her face, watching his fangs reach their full measure, watching his glazed-over eyes shimmer with mercurial layers of luminous silver.

“Go!” he cried, stripping off his frock coat. “Run, damn you, Cassandra, while you still can!”

Her eyes wide and a cry upon her lips, Cassandra stared as Jon yanked back the sleeve of his Egyptian cotton shirt and sank his fangs deeply into the flesh of his forearm. The scent of blood threaded through her nostrils. It hit her like cannon fire. She licked her lips in anticipation, watching the dark red rivulets stream down his arm from the wounds. The sight aroused her, and she took a step nearer.

Howling like a wolf, Jon reeled out of her path, skirted her approach, and staggered toward the alcove, leaving a spotted trail of blood behind on the gray stone floor. Her eyes were riveted to it.

“Run, I say!” he demanded, his voice echoing through the dank lower chamber. “What I have just done will not
deter me for long.” He turned and made a quick lunge toward her. “Go quickly! Lock your chamber door and do not open it until the sun is high!
Go
!”

Tears blurred his image. Snatching up her candle, Cassandra lit it from his and fled up the crudely hewn stairs. His bestial howls echoed in her ears.

Had he frightened her? Jon prayed so. Blood was leaking from his forearm, so he snaked his handkerchief from his waistcoat pocket and bound it tightly. The self-inflicted wound would only slake his hunger temporarily, while pain canceled his desire. Once the shock subsided, the feeding frenzy would come upon him again—surely a hundred times stronger since he had disturbed his blood flow without satisfying his feeding lust.

He began to pace the length of the room. Could she have reached her chamber yet? Would she do as he bade her and lock her door? He could smell her blood. It was all around him—in him—the maddening scent ghosting through his nostrils until he could bear no more. Every instinct in him demanded he follow and beat upon her chamber door until she admitted him. She would—he knew she would. He’d held that sweet flesh in his arms. She wanted him just as he wanted her.

Barely two hours remained before dawn. He would never stand it. The feeding frenzy was too strong. Besides, if he didn’t feed now, when the sun rose he would be twice as lethargic for not having slaked his thirst. There was only one thing he could do; he stripped off his breeches and drawers, then his boots, waistcoat, and shirt, and bolted naked up the staircase, through the door, and out of the house into the star-studded darkness. Another howl spilled from his throat as he sprang into
the air and came to earth in a shimmering streak of silver-tipped black fur and sinew, running on all fours, his jowls plastered with foam.

No, he would never make it to the village on two feet in time to feed and return to the Abbey before dawn, and there was no time to struggle with his frenzied horse, but the dire wolf could easily travel the distance and then some, with plenty of time to spare. In a mad stupor of mindless oblivion, he howled again, and then he raced down the tor toward the cluster of thatched-roof cottages west of the kirk at the bottom of the hill.

The bloodcurdling howl brought Cassandra to the window. Below, in the light of the low-sliding moon, the dire wolf came into view. Fresh tears welled in her eyes. She had sent Jon prowling the night for a victim to feed upon. He would find some lightskirt working the seamy side of the village, he would all but drain her dry. Then Cassandra would be safe . . . for now. He would drag himself back to his alcove in the bowels of Whitebriar Abbey and sleep until dawn if all went well; in the dark until nightfall if it didn’t. But why? How? How was this possible? Not knowing was the worst of it.

This didn’t seem real—none of it seemed real, and yet it was. What made it so bizarre was that they were trying to maintain some semblance of a normal life in the midst of the dark evil that had come upon them.
“You’ve been compromised.
” His words echoed across her mind. What foolishness. Her reputation didn’t even signify now, and yet . . . some semblance of propriety knitted the whole together. Without that ingrained shred of sensibility, there would be madness. It was passing strange.

Cassandra turned away from the window with a shudder;
a squealing sound in the corner of her bedchamber directed her attention there. Candlelight picked out the hunched gray form of the rat that had eluded her earlier. She smelled its blood. Yes! It was one and the same. She would resist the urge to shapeshift this time, now that she knew what that entailed. Instead, she stalked the creature, busily nibbling at crumbs of bread she’d dropped from the fare Bates had provided at the dinner hour. All sensible thoughts fled her mind. Making matters worse, she could still smell Jon’s blood; she had since he sank his fangs into his forearm.

All at once, her fangs started to descend. She was the predator now, with eyes only for her prey, the unsuspecting rat. She licked the drool from her lips, crept along on tiptoe, and pounced.