Bond of Fire

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Authors: Diane Whiteside
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every other man had found irresistible.
    “Do you have a personal fortune greater than mine? I also have monies flowing in from the marquis’s inventions. We could live very, very well anywhere you like.”
    “No.” The refusal was as emphatic as a mine’s detonation. He pushed her away from him by the shoulders before stepping back.
    For an instant, she thought she saw grief and a ravaging loneliness pass through his eyes. But his words erased the impression.
    “There can be nothing more between us, ever, madame. If you wish a husband—or a lover—look elsewhere.”
    Jealousy gripped her. Lover? Did he have someone else? Ah yes, of course!
    “You’re returning to that Spanish woman! All I’ve been to you was a momentary diversion, a way to make her jealous while she played so freely with other men at court.”
    Almost gibbering with rage, she swung for him. But his hand shot up and caught hers, just before it reached his cheek. “Do not try that again.”
    She glared at him, chin high. “Brute! You deserve the hatred of every woman for treating me so.”
    He inclined his head, his expression completely unreadable.
    She sniffed and yanked at her hand, praying her sheet would maintain her decency with its one-handed fastening. It was bad enough to know one had been used to make a Spanish woman jealous. But for a Frenchwoman to appear maladroit would be truly appalling.
    He finally released her, white marks on her wrist from his fingers’ grasp. She refused to rub them, knowing she’d be bruised for days to come. Terrified she’d nurse the marks and long for their maker.
    His eyes lingered on them for a moment, a bitter curve to his mouth. He bowed again and turned to leave, his shoes striking with a cold finality on the wood parquet.
    “I will tell the king about your vampiro friends!” Hélène flung after him.
    He glanced over his shoulder, one hand on the doorknob.
    “I pray that you will have a surgeon close at hand if so, madame.” His face was utterly, chillingly serious. “Death will come all too quickly in that event.”
    The door closed softly and finally behind him.
    Hélène collapsed onto the bed in tears, where her maid found her a few minutes later.
    “Madame? Madame, what is wrong?”
    Hélène drew herself up, determined to set one thing right according to rational and scientific principles. She had to tell the authorities about the vampiros .
    “I need to report…”
    Her throat tightened.
    What? She hadn’t said anything of note yet. A small voice whispered that Monsieur Perez had instructed her not to mention anything about last night’s attack.
    Even so, she had a duty as a citizen.
    “Madame, what are you trying to say?”
    “I…need.” Mon Dieu , every word was an effort. “To…”
    She clutched at her throat, completely unable to breathe.
    “Madame?” Her maid shook her. “Madame!”
    Hélène’s vision grayed, and her heart pounded in her chest. Her maid’s screeches were coming from farther and farther away.
    Report…Report…
    She was dying. If she told anyone, her own body would strangle her.
    Damn Monsieur Perez. If she never saw the man again, it would be too soon. If she never saw another vampiro again, it would definitely be too soon.
    “Talking isn’t worth dying for.”
    “Madame? Ah, thank God!” Her maid dropped to her knees beside the bed, weeping and kissing her rosary.
    Hélène managed to pat her on the shoulder before closing her eyes.
    Jean-Marie’s face swam before her.
    Oh no. Oh no, no, no.
    If the Lord was very good to her, he’d send her someone else to dream about.
    Maybe.

F OUR
    PARIS, 6 OCTOBER 1789
    Jean-Marie slammed his fist against the mansion’s front door. There was a kitchen door somewhere, but he couldn’t remember exactly. He sure as hell was not about to enter Rodrigo’s house through a window. He barked with laughter at the thought of how fast he’d be caught and punished.
    Assuming Rodrigo was still alive and well,

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