Let the Night Begin (15 page)

He sat up, swinging his long legs over the side of the sofa. Slightly rumpled, and devilishly appealing, he let his hands hang between his knees. “You're right. I don't trust you, but I came to Scotland regardless. I've done all I can to help you find your nephew despite the fact that you refuse to be honest with me. I've asked for your trust and you refused me, whilst demanding my own.” He rose to his feet, an angry flush coloring the bold jut of his cheekbones. “So if you're tired of my ‘sulking,' give me a fucking reason not to.”

“How can you ask me to trust you after all you've done to me?” Even as the words left her mouth, she wanted to yank them back, she felt so awful having said them.

“Not this shit again.” Harsh laughter contorted his face. “I thought you might make an effort, Liv. After all, it's been thirty years.”

He was right. She should make the effort, and if circumstances weren't what they were, maybe she would.

She studied the tips of her shoes. “Sometimes it feels like thirty days.”

“If your life has been so awful, why haven't you ended it?”

Horror jerked her gaze to his. “You mean kill myself?”

He shrugged. “It would end your suffering. You have suffered greatly, have you not?”

The mockery in his tone was lost in the truth of his words. If her life had been so awful, why hadn't she put an end to it? James was almost grown now. He didn't need her. His father's family would make certain he was looked after. So why did she continue on if she hated what she was so much?

Because if she killed herself, she would never see Reign again. And that awful truth lodged in her throat like a piece of dry bread.

How could she have these feelings and betray him like she was going to? There was little chance of them finding James before the meeting with the kidnappers. Two nights, that's all the time they had. Just two nights before Reign realized that he should never have thought of trusting her.

“What?” he taunted. “No biting retort?”

Wearily, she gave her head a shake. “None. Happy?”

“I haven't been happy since our wedding day.”

Olivia turned away from the brutal honesty in his pale gaze. “Don't say things like that.”

“Why not?” She could feel him moving closer. “You think I ruined only your life that night? I ruined my own as well.”

Oh God. She closed her eyes.
Give me strength
. “I don't want to hear this.”

Solid heat met the chill of her back. She could just let herself go and sag into his arms, let his
warmth and strength envelope her. She went rigid instead, her muscles trembling with the effort as he leaned in over her shoulder, tickling her ear with his breath.

“It might have saved us both years of misery if you had only stayed, Liv. You would have forgiven me. I would have made sure you forgave me.”

Olivia shivered. He would have, she knew that. Her body hummed with tension as he stroked his long fingers down her arm.

“I would have done everything in my power to make you happy.”

She knew that too. The shiver turned to trembling as he wrapped his arms around her, bringing her back against the full length of him. His jaw scratched hers as his lips touched the side of her neck, where the blood rushed and pulsed with need.

“But you ran away.” His tongue traced tiny circles on her throat. “I would have welcomed you back at anytime, but you stayed away. I would have begged you to come back if I'd thought it would work.”

Sighing, Olivia leaned back against him, her body so ecstatic to feel his again that it would allow him almost anything. Reign's hold on her tightened, and her eyes snapped open at the roughness of it.

“So if you want to blame someone for your misery, my darling wife, blame yourself.”

She struggled against his hold and he let her go easily, as though he'd never really been holding her at all. Heart pounding in shame and anger, Olivia whirled on him, fists clenched.

Reign arched a dark brow. “Going to hit me because I'm right? Go ahead then, Liv. Hit me. I'll still be right.”

That was all the invitation she needed. Olivia swung, but he knew it was coming and he caught her fist in one large hand. Using the momentum of her body against her, he hauled her against him, this time so that they were chest to chest, belly to belly.

They stared at each other, bodies tight and humming like strings, color high, breath shallow.

“Christ, I want you.” His voice was a rough rumble that snaked down her spine, tightening her nipples and swirling liquid heat between her thighs. “How can I be so angry and want you at the same time?”

“I don't know,” she answered honestly. “How can you?”

He laughed, his breath a warm brush against her cheek.

There was no humor in his eyes, only something raw and vulnerable that made Olivia's stomach flutter.

“And you want me too, admit it.”

“Yes.” There was no point to denying it, even if she wanted to. “I do.”

“What is it between us, Liv?” He released her
clenched fist and cupped her cheek tenderly with that same hand. “Why do I only feel alive when I'm with you?”

He couldn't have robbed her of breath any quicker if he'd choked her. Oh, she knew then that she was so much more than a mere responsibility to him. “I…”

And then his mouth was on hers and he kissed her with a desperation matched only by her own. His lips, his tongue, his teeth were ruthless against hers and she was equally aggressive in return. The taste of him filled her, rich and salty, with an underlying spice so exotic it made her head swim.

It was his blood. And she wanted more of it. Grasping his lip with her teeth, she suckled gently as her fangs ached to extend and sink into him like she truly wanted.

Reign groaned against her mouth, pulling her tighter against him. Their breathing quickened, became more shallow as the heady taste of him filled her mouth, filled her with such strength and longing that she wanted to weep with joy. She loved the feel of him, the smell of him, the taste.

She wanted to bite him, and she wanted to feel his fangs in her as well.

And that awareness hit her like a slamming door. She released his lip, and pushed him away, licking the last traces of him from her own mouth.

He watched her, his eyes heavy with desire and hunger, his mouth red. “What is it?”

She could hardly tell him the truth, because as much as she wanted it, she was still afraid of it. Her ears picked up a soft and distant sound, and she grasped at that instead. “Someone's coming.”

Reign pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped at his mouth. He wasn't bleeding anymore that she could see, and when the knock on the door finally came, he looked perfectly normal, except that he hid the lower half of his body behind the sofa.

“Come in,” he called.

The door opened and Watson stepped inside. Olivia liked the fair-haired man. He never seemed to pass judgment upon her as Clarke did, but this time his blue gaze passed shrewdly between her and Reign. She couldn't tell what his thoughts were, but it was bad enough that he knew something lingered between them.

“Please excuse the interruption, but a telegram from Mr. Clarke just arrived. I thought that given the hour it might be of some importance.”

Reign came forward, hand outstretched. “You were right to bring it to me. Thank you, Watson. You can retire now.”

The butler sketched a small bow. “Of course. Good night, sir. Madam.”

Olivia watched him leave before returning her attention to Reign. He was reading the telegram with a grim expression.

“What is it? Is it something about James?”

He looked up, and for a moment she thought
he was going to say something biting. That's when she knew the telegram had nothing to do with her nephew, but rather contained news that affected Reign deeply.

“It's about Maison Rouge, isn't it?” she asked, her heart filling with unease. “There's been another murder?”

He nodded. “Yes, goddamn it. Clarke asks that I return and do something about the situation. Madeline, the mistress of Maison Rouge is not handling this well.”

“She couldn't be expected to.” Olivia knew how awful she felt with James missing, she couldn't imagine knowing that one, let alone two people she cared about had been murdered.

But she knew how she would feel if she learned that the people who wanted Reign had hurt him. Or worse, killed him. God, just the thought felt like claws ripping at her soul. Panic seized her, and this time it had nothing to do with James and everything to do with the man in front of her.

“You should go,” she said, her voice more steady than she would have dared hope.

He looked surprised at her words. She was too, if she was honest with herself. It was an awful feeling, knowing the risk she was taking with James's safety at that moment, but all she knew was that she could not betray Reign, nor could she tell him the truth.

She could not bear to have him hate her.

“What about James?” His gaze narrowed. “You cannot meet the kidnappers on your own.”

“I can. Probably there will be nothing more than another note waiting for me. Like you said, they like having me in their power.”

“Liv, these people are dangerous.”

She tightened her jaw. “So am I. Go to London, Reign. Do what you can for those poor women. Maybe you are right and none of this is a coincidence. I will handle things here.”

He watched her strangely, as though seeing through her bravado, to the heart of her desperation. “No. I'm not going to leave you. For all we know that's what they want. I'll telegraph Clarke details of what we've discovered here. He can look into the murders. Until I know for sure that there is something sinister afoot, I will stay here.”

“Until you know? Reign, two girls have been killed!”

The gaze that met hers was calm and resolute. “In eighteen-forty, two girls were shot to death by men jealous of their other clients. Another was robbed on her way to visit her mother, and stabbed when she wouldn't hand over her reticule. People are fragile, Liv. They die. I don't like it, but right now I have no reason to return to London except to comfort an employee and old friend, and give financial support to the families.”

“And is that not reason enough?” She couldn't believe he could be so cold.

The muscle in the side of his jaw ticked. “Not when it means abandoning my wife, no.”

All Olivia could do was watch him turn away and go to his desk. He sat down and began composing his reply to Clarke, and she stood there like an idiot, silent and watching. Why, when she finally wanted him gone, would he not leave? It was for his own safety, damn it! Why did he have to play her hero now? Why did he have to go and say such awful, wonderful things, and put her above all others?

And why did she have to love him so much for it?

I
t was the vampire's curse to be shunned by daylight. When Eve hid the children of Lilith and the fallen angel Sammael from God's sight, did she know that she was cursing them to an eternity of darkness? And when the Almighty had deemed that those hidden should remain so, had He meant to punish or protect those who would have been hated and hunted for being powerful and different?

Reign refused to believe he was damned simply because he was vampire. Yes, he lived off the blood of Christ's children, but he was not a murderer. He was not cruel and he allowed his conscience to dictate his behavior. His soul was his own, and when he died—and someday he would—he was not worried for his eternal rest.

But he'd gladly shave some years off the rest of immortality for the chance to find out where the older Dashbrooke went during the day. Since that was impossible for him to do, he had Watson follow the portly Englishman instead. Of course,
the portly Englishman had chosen to stay at home today.

The symbol on the ring he'd found at Dashbrooke's home haunted him. He needed to know about the connection between the two men. Needed to discover what his father had been part of and…

He tried not to think about his father. A bitter man six centuries dead did not deserve to wield such power.

Nevertheless, Pierre Gauvin lingered in the back of his son's mind as Reign and Olivia arrived at the public meeting room in New Town where the Friends of the Glorious Unseen were offering their latest lecture, titled: “Revered, not Feared: Dispelling the Myth and Superstitious Belief that Vampires are Inherently Evil & Soulless Creatures.”

“I should have worn black,” Olivia remarked, smoothing the skirts of her dark green evening gown. “And made myself look a little more like a blood-starved fiend. What do you think?”

“I like that dress,” Reign replied, slouching in the corner of the carriage seat. “It displays a lot of breast.”

She chuckled and he smiled, far too pleased with himself for having amused her. He liked it so much better when there was ease and comfort between them.

“It is unfortunate that we missed the lecture on the mating habits of vampires,” she remarked, still smiling. “You might have learned something.”

Reign laughed. “How would you have fared sitting through two hours of how the male is the dominant of the species.”

She scowled at him. “That's not true.”

“Of course not,” he replied with false accord.

“Perhaps we should volunteer to say a few words, show off our fangs and assure everyone that we are peaceful creatures,” she suggested with the same light mockery in her voice.

“Easier to do now that we've fed,” he replied. “I don't think we'd appear very peaceful amongst all those humans when the hunger comes upon us.” His gaze drifted to the rise of her breasts, magnificently displayed by the neckline of her gown. He'd gladly let Olivia nibble on him, if she'd let him nibble on her. But that was unlikely to happen. He'd traumatized her when he turned her. She wouldn't let him bite her any more than a woman who had been raped would make love to her attacker.

If he could change one thing in his life, it would be his wedding night. He'd even pray if he thought it would do him any good.

Olivia had been acting strangely lately—more so than usual. Whatever she had weighing on her mind, it plagued her. She looked tired—weary even, as though something was draining the strength from her, her very life. He couldn't force her confidence, and she wasn't about to offer it, so he could only suppose that he was part of her dilemma. He wished he could feel badly about that, but he really
couldn't. If she was conflicted, that meant she still felt something for him, whether she admitted it or not, and he'd cut out his own tongue before he'd feel badly for that.

What did she have planned for him, his sneaky little wife?

The carriage came to a stop and the door opened. Reign stepped out, and offered his hand to Olivia. Her gloved fingers were strong and light in his. He didn't have to worry about hurting her because she wasn't some dainty human. She was his match in every way a woman could be. His equal.

His.

Her face lifted to the night, she glanced around their surroundings. A few other carriages were pulled up along with theirs and men and women of various ages and social spheres walked past them, up the steps into the meeting rooms. The night was alive with the scent and sound of horses, laughter and conversation, and a frisson of energy that came from a group of like-minded people coming together.

He offered her his arm and she took it. They strolled up the steps together, just another wealthy couple attending an interesting lecture.

“We could be walking into a trap,” Olivia murmured. “This could be exactly what they want.”

Reign had already considered that. “Are you worried?”

Her answering chuckle brushed over him like
a soft caress. “No. Call me a fool, but I am not. You?”

Smiling, he took a second just to enjoy looking at her. “I've called you worse. And, no. I'm not.”

Inside the hall, it soon became apparent that the Friends of the Glorious Unseen were no threat to them whatsoever. The air rung with a feeling of genuine excitement and felicity that was nothing if not positive in nature. There might be a few rotten apples in this organization, but most of those in attendance that evening were far from evil.

Reign and Olivia took seats at the back of the room near the exit—just in case—and waited for the event to begin. They didn't have to wait long. A middle-aged gentleman walked to the front of the room where a podium sat on a raised dais, and welcomed everyone.

“I'm so pleased to see so many eager faces,” the man said with a smile. “It is so very wonderful to know that our glorious friends—those who walk unknown amongst us—have such support in Edinburgh. I'm Walter Allbright, president of the Scotland chapter.” He held up his hand at the thunderous applause that followed that announcement.

Olivia glanced at Reign. “That was the name Haversham gave us.”

Reign's gaze flickered from the older man to her. “Do you want to speak to him?”

She studied the older man carefully. “It wouldn't hurt, but I don't think he'll have much information
for us. I think Haversham gave us Allbright's name as a diversion.”

He had to admit, her perception surprised him. Suspicious little minx. She relied on her instincts almost as much as he did.

What did her instincts tell her about him?

Allbright continued speaking, “I want to welcome you all to the second in our series of lectures and thank you all for the overwhelming response we've received. But you didn't come here tonight to listen to me prattle on. Please join me in welcoming our guest speaker, all the way from London, Mr. George Haversham.”

As polite applause echoed throughout the hall, Reign and Olivia shared an arch look. George Haversham, who claimed to know nothing about the Glorious Friends of the Unseen, was their special guest.

Was the boy particularly stupid, or did he think they were? He had to know that they would discover his lie, especially since they had made a point of asking about the organization.

“Perhaps he wanted us to discover the truth,” he murmured for Olivia's ears alone.

She shot him a dry glance. “I wouldn't give him that much credit.”

Reign inclined his head in acknowledgment of her words. “It certainly lends strength to your theory about Allbright.”

At the front of the hall Haversham thanked the
man for the introduction and took his place at the podium. He looked fresh and confident—not at all a stranger to public speaking.

“Thank you. I'm very grateful for the opportunity to speak to you all this evening. Before I begin I would like to thank all of you who have inquired after my good friend James Burnley. I'm sure James is off having one of his grand adventures and that he will return soon, eager to tell us all about it.”

There were a few murmurs throughout the crowd. Reign reached over and squeezed one of Olivia's hands. To most, Haversham's words sounded like those of a hopeful friend, but to Reign—and undoubtedly to Olivia—they sounded careless and unfeeling.

“I know James would want to be with us tonight, as he shares my passion for our nocturnal friend, the vampire.” Reign rolled his eyes. If Haversham started spouting Byron, or anything remotely like poetry, he was leaving.

Fortunately, the young man avoided poetry—mostly. His words were full of praise and romanticism. He dwelled on the mysterious, making vampires sound like dark heroes—an evolution of the human race, rather than a separate demonic species. Around them, the crowd nodded and murmured in agreement with his statements, their excitement rising as Haversham placed vampires higher and higher on a verbal pedestal.

It was more than a little disturbing. Not that
Reign minded being discussed in such a flattering manner, but it was odd knowing that these people thought so highly of his kind, and coveted his “affliction” for want of a better word, that if he were to walk to the front of the room and offer to turn all who were willing, there would be a line out into the street. And not one of them would think of the consequences, or how their lives would be forever altered.

And James, were he here, would be at the front of the line. Not only did Olivia have to worry about getting James back, but once she had him she was going to have to watch him grow old and die—unless she gave him the “dark gift” he so desired. To deny him would earn his contempt, and possibly push him to find another route. Could she accept that, regretting her own change as she did?

“Bram Stoker's portrait of the vampire is not accurate,” Haversham was saying. “He would have you believe all vampires are murderous fiends, twisted and ugly.” Reign had to nod. Whoever Stoker had based Dracula on had been one poor example of their kind. Probably some syphilis-affected aristo who was on his way to becoming Nosferatu—a monstrous strain of vampire.

“In truth,” Haversham went on, “most vampires look no different from you or I when the lust for blood isn't upon them. You might dance with one at a ball, or frequent a pub one of them owns. Why”—Haversham swallowed as his gaze met
Reign's. Smiling coolly, Reign nodded at the young man, who continued, his voice slightly wobbly—“you could be sitting next to one right now.”

Reign stifled a chuckle. It didn't say much about him that he took amusement from intimidating a young man, but he enjoyed it regardless. Had Haversham truly thought they wouldn't discover his lie?

Haversham composed himself and continued to speak for another half hour. Every once in a while he would glance in their direction and Reign would glimpse the excitement in his eyes.

He's going to expose us
. Perhaps he was overly suspicious, but Reign could feel the young man's exhilaration. Buoyed by the crowd and swept away by his own beliefs, he might very well lose all reason and reveal Reign and Olivia as vampires to the entire room. And then what? They could deny it, but if the room closed in on them, all those hearts beating wildly just might send Olivia, a much younger vampire compared to Reign, into a blood lust, and that could prove dangerous.

Haversham was watching them with a wild gleam in his eyes as he delivered his closing remarks. People began raising their hands for questions, and it was obvious Haversham was torn between wanting the attention of his audience and wanting to give them living proof of vampires.

“Let's go.” He took Olivia by the hand and pulled her to her feet.

“Wait!” Haversham cried from the front of the room. No one seemed to notice where his attention was focused, or that his expression was one of near desperation.

Reign did something then that he hadn't done in over four hundred years of trying to blend with humans. He bared his fangs—just a little—in the unmistakable hiss of a predator about to strike. Haversham went white, but he said nothing.

Turning on his heel, Reign tightened his grip on Olivia's hand and pulled her toward the door. Neither of them spoke until they were outside.

Olivia broke the silence. “He was going to tell them all that we're vampires, wasn't he?”

“Yes.” They hurried down the steps toward the street where their carriage sat. “Bloody idiot.”

“He talked about us like we were gods. Do you think he believes all of that?”

Reign shrugged, as he followed her into the coach. Within seconds they were in motion. “People believe in God without proof of His existence. Young Mr. Haversham has been given proof of ours—by someone with firsthand experience.” He didn't have to tell her who he thought that informant was.

“Those fools.” Olivia's voice was soft yet harsh. She ignored his remark, but the stiffness of her posture told him that she had understood—and that she knew he was right. “They have no idea what it is to be a vampire. They're like children believing
in unicorns and mermaids. Nothing they believe is anything like the truth.”

Something inside Reign snapped. The near debacle at the hall had frayed his patience and brought his need to protect Olivia to the surface. Now, all that energy needed to go somewhere and she had just offered him the perfect outlet. “For Christ's sake, how many times do I have to apologize?”

Olivia gulped. “What was that?”

He sat in the corner, every muscle in his body tense and ready to pounce. “I'm sorry I ruined your life. I'm sorry for everything you've endured. I'm sorry we ever met!”

She stared at him, her whiskey eyes wide. “I only meant—”

“I know what you meant.” His jaw tightened. “You've made sure I've known ever since you waltzed back into my life. If I hadn't made you a vampire, your sister would never have died and James would have known his mother. You wouldn't have killed the first person you fed from. You would know what it was like to feel the sun on your face. You'd be sixty now, and maybe even have a couple of grandchildren if not for me.”