wedding day,” he said. “Granted, it isn’t the sort of wedding day I’d planned for us, but that cannot be helped, Cass. The other reason is that I want to makelove to you. But it won’t be safe after dark. You know what happens to me after the sun sets—you’ve
seen
it. I lose my powers during the day, so then we might chance it . . . or once I’ve fed. Oh, I don’t know . . . Clive believes Moldovia is the answer. He believes that if there is help to be had, we shall find it there. It is a dreadfully long journey over land and sea, and there are no guarantees. At the very least it is a place to start. I cannot hope to help us without the knowledge and tools to do so. I will not settle for this—for either myself or for you. If needs must, I will go to the ends of the earth to find a way out of this nightmare, Cass. I
swear
to you.”
Cassandra pulled him close. “My . . . ‘powers,’ if you can call them that, fade with the dawn as well,” she murmured. “I grow weak with lethargy.”
“We cannot go back,” he said, cupping her face in his hand. “The man who shot me will be found, and Clive will surely think that I have killed him when he sees where and the way he died. And there’s something else . . .”
“What?”
“I fed from him
in wolf form
. I did not know such a thing was possible. It has never happened before. My condition is changing, Cass. Either that, or I am just now realizing the scope of it. Other . . . peculiarities might surface. I do not know what will be, and while I want you with me so I can protect you . . . I may be putting you in graver danger than either of us could possibly imagine.”
She seized him, clinging to him with all her strength. “Don’t leave me, Jon!” she cried. “My God, don’t leave me!”
“I will never leave you,” he said with passion, lacing hisfingers through her hair. “But you wanted to know what is happening. Now you do. Better now, before we wed, than afterward. I will not deceive you.”
Cassandra said no more. Sadly, she watched him lean back toward the window, scanning the blackness for some sign of a bat. He seemed so like himself in some ways, like the Jon she knew. She watched the flickering light from the coach lamps play upon the mahogany-colored hair waving about his broad brow, about his earlobes. She saw it shimmer in those silver-gray eyes like dancing mercury, and watched it collect in the thumbprint cleft in his chin. The heady scent of pine seeped in through the closed coach windows. She inhaled deeply, praying that the soothing scent would chase the fever racing through her veins, the insatiable lust for blood that, contrary to Jon’s belief, was growing stronger in her, not fading as he had hoped. It was best that he didn’t know. The scent of his blood overpowered the rest. It had replaced his natural scent, though she remembered leather and lime laced with musk—clean, of the earth and the wood. She would never forget, though all she could smell now was the enticing aroma of blood, thick and dark and mysterious, wafting toward her from his wound, albeit bound. She tried to steel herself against the lure of it—against the lust. If fighting these terrible urges would keep them at bay, she would fight with her dying breath. It was a place to begin, and she was resolved.
An hour later, they stood over the anvil across the Scottish border at Gretna Green, and they spoke their vows, declared their desire to wed before the blacksmith and his wife. Jon decided to stay the night in one of the little cottages provided for the newlyweds, just in case. Though hehad thus far seen no sign of Sebastian, he took no comfort in it. He sensed the creature’s nearness, smelled the corrupt stench of death that flagged his presence. If there were to be a confrontation, let it be now. Let it be here, before the creature guessed their plans and followed them farther. Besides, the horses needed rest and tending. He could smell their
seen
it. I lose my powers during the day, so then we might chance it . . . or once I’ve fed. Oh, I don’t know . . . Clive believes Moldovia is the answer. He believes that if there is help to be had, we shall find it there. It is a dreadfully long journey over land and sea, and there are no guarantees. At the very least it is a place to start. I cannot hope to help us without the knowledge and tools to do so. I will not settle for this—for either myself or for you. If needs must, I will go to the ends of the earth to find a way out of this nightmare, Cass. I
swear
to you.”
Cassandra pulled him close. “My . . . ‘powers,’ if you can call them that, fade with the dawn as well,” she murmured. “I grow weak with lethargy.”
“We cannot go back,” he said, cupping her face in his hand. “The man who shot me will be found, and Clive will surely think that I have killed him when he sees where and the way he died. And there’s something else . . .”
“What?”
“I fed from him
in wolf form
. I did not know such a thing was possible. It has never happened before. My condition is changing, Cass. Either that, or I am just now realizing the scope of it. Other . . . peculiarities might surface. I do not know what will be, and while I want you with me so I can protect you . . . I may be putting you in graver danger than either of us could possibly imagine.”
She seized him, clinging to him with all her strength. “Don’t leave me, Jon!” she cried. “My God, don’t leave me!”
“I will never leave you,” he said with passion, lacing hisfingers through her hair. “But you wanted to know what is happening. Now you do. Better now, before we wed, than afterward. I will not deceive you.”
Cassandra said no more. Sadly, she watched him lean back toward the window, scanning the blackness for some sign of a bat. He seemed so like himself in some ways, like the Jon she knew. She watched the flickering light from the coach lamps play upon the mahogany-colored hair waving about his broad brow, about his earlobes. She saw it shimmer in those silver-gray eyes like dancing mercury, and watched it collect in the thumbprint cleft in his chin. The heady scent of pine seeped in through the closed coach windows. She inhaled deeply, praying that the soothing scent would chase the fever racing through her veins, the insatiable lust for blood that, contrary to Jon’s belief, was growing stronger in her, not fading as he had hoped. It was best that he didn’t know. The scent of his blood overpowered the rest. It had replaced his natural scent, though she remembered leather and lime laced with musk—clean, of the earth and the wood. She would never forget, though all she could smell now was the enticing aroma of blood, thick and dark and mysterious, wafting toward her from his wound, albeit bound. She tried to steel herself against the lure of it—against the lust. If fighting these terrible urges would keep them at bay, she would fight with her dying breath. It was a place to begin, and she was resolved.
An hour later, they stood over the anvil across the Scottish border at Gretna Green, and they spoke their vows, declared their desire to wed before the blacksmith and his wife. Jon decided to stay the night in one of the little cottages provided for the newlyweds, just in case. Though hehad thus far seen no sign of Sebastian, he took no comfort in it. He sensed the creature’s nearness, smelled the corrupt stench of death that flagged his presence. If there were to be a confrontation, let it be now. Let it be here, before the creature guessed their plans and followed them farther. Besides, the horses needed rest and tending. He could smell their
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