musky, lathered sweat. Jasper would see to that at the coaching inn, where he would spend the night. And, God help him, Jon needed to feed. This was only the first lap of their journey. They still had miles to go before they reached the estuary at Blyth in Northumbria, where they would book passage on a ship that would carry them east, beyond Denmark to the Baltic Sea and the easternmost Polish border, where they would begin their overland journey.
More than anything else, Jon longed to scoop his bride up in his arms and set her down upon the bed. He longed to lie down beside her, to taste her honeyed sweetness, but already the bloodlust had begun, and he was having second thoughts about the wisdom of consummation. It wasn’t meadowsweet and lilies of the valley wafting toward him from her skin, from her sun-painted hair; it was the pungent lure of blood that sent shivers down his spine, that hardened his sex and quickened his heartbeat until it thundered to the same rhythm as her own. Instead, he carried her over the threshold, laid her down on the bed, and stepped back out into the moonlit darkness, warning her to stay.
Half hidden in the clouds, the moon shone down, silvering the pines at the edge of the clearing behind the cottage. There wasn’t a breath of a breeze. All was so still, the land around him seemed like a painting. He raised his head and shut his eyes, calling upon his heightened senseof smell to show him some creature. Human quarry wasn’t likely in such a remote setting—a deer perhaps? There should be plenty of roe deer in the Scottish forest, but curiously there was nothing. Not even the twitter of a bird sounded in the night. The bloodlust was unbearable. He had to feed soon. He couldn’t go near Cassandra again until he had, and even then . . .
He breathed in the pine-scented air deeply, and his quicksilver eyes snapped open wide. Chills snaked down his spine. Hackles raised, he prowled toward the edge of the wood, drawn like a magnet, one shuddering step after another. A flapping sound in the uppermost branches drew his eyes. Something black descended, fluttering, expanding. It took form before his eyes.
Sebastian!
All his fleeting hopes that they had escaped the creature withered and died as Jon faced the tall, cloaked figure circling him in the moonlight. The vampire seemed to float, his motion mesmerizing. He must not look into its eyes; that was what had doomed him in the first place. Instead, Jon fixed his gaze a little to the right of those compelling eyes and fought their magnetic pull, his breath suspended, teeth gritted, cold sweat running down his face for the labor.
The emaciated figure seemed surreal. The latest London togs hung on that cadaverlike frame the way a child playing dress-up might appear draped in her mother’s clothes. The creature floated closer.
No!
Jon would not look into those eyes. They dominated the face, glowed red in the moonlight. All Jon could think of was Cassandra, unaware in the cottage behind, awaiting his return. What if she were to disobey his directive and come looking for him? What would happen to her if he were to succumbto the predator circling him for the kill in this lonely Scottish clearing?
It was cooler in the higher elevations, and Jon was wearing his greatcoat. Reaching into his pocket, his fingers closed around the pocket pistol he’d carried since they left the Abbey. Without a silver bullet, how much good it would do against such a creature he had no idea, but he had no other weapon to employ. He drew and cocked it, provoking a burst of blood-chilling laughter from the vampire.
“You think to use
that
against me?” Sebastian tittered. He swept his arms wide. “Do your worst! The noise will bring the girl, and I will have you both. Go ahead! Fire!”
Jon’s finger caressed the trigger. Dared he chance it? He wasn’t given time to decide. Like lightning the vampire rushed him, and though he didn’t even see or feel the contact,
More than anything else, Jon longed to scoop his bride up in his arms and set her down upon the bed. He longed to lie down beside her, to taste her honeyed sweetness, but already the bloodlust had begun, and he was having second thoughts about the wisdom of consummation. It wasn’t meadowsweet and lilies of the valley wafting toward him from her skin, from her sun-painted hair; it was the pungent lure of blood that sent shivers down his spine, that hardened his sex and quickened his heartbeat until it thundered to the same rhythm as her own. Instead, he carried her over the threshold, laid her down on the bed, and stepped back out into the moonlit darkness, warning her to stay.
Half hidden in the clouds, the moon shone down, silvering the pines at the edge of the clearing behind the cottage. There wasn’t a breath of a breeze. All was so still, the land around him seemed like a painting. He raised his head and shut his eyes, calling upon his heightened senseof smell to show him some creature. Human quarry wasn’t likely in such a remote setting—a deer perhaps? There should be plenty of roe deer in the Scottish forest, but curiously there was nothing. Not even the twitter of a bird sounded in the night. The bloodlust was unbearable. He had to feed soon. He couldn’t go near Cassandra again until he had, and even then . . .
He breathed in the pine-scented air deeply, and his quicksilver eyes snapped open wide. Chills snaked down his spine. Hackles raised, he prowled toward the edge of the wood, drawn like a magnet, one shuddering step after another. A flapping sound in the uppermost branches drew his eyes. Something black descended, fluttering, expanding. It took form before his eyes.
Sebastian!
All his fleeting hopes that they had escaped the creature withered and died as Jon faced the tall, cloaked figure circling him in the moonlight. The vampire seemed to float, his motion mesmerizing. He must not look into its eyes; that was what had doomed him in the first place. Instead, Jon fixed his gaze a little to the right of those compelling eyes and fought their magnetic pull, his breath suspended, teeth gritted, cold sweat running down his face for the labor.
The emaciated figure seemed surreal. The latest London togs hung on that cadaverlike frame the way a child playing dress-up might appear draped in her mother’s clothes. The creature floated closer.
No!
Jon would not look into those eyes. They dominated the face, glowed red in the moonlight. All Jon could think of was Cassandra, unaware in the cottage behind, awaiting his return. What if she were to disobey his directive and come looking for him? What would happen to her if he were to succumbto the predator circling him for the kill in this lonely Scottish clearing?
It was cooler in the higher elevations, and Jon was wearing his greatcoat. Reaching into his pocket, his fingers closed around the pocket pistol he’d carried since they left the Abbey. Without a silver bullet, how much good it would do against such a creature he had no idea, but he had no other weapon to employ. He drew and cocked it, provoking a burst of blood-chilling laughter from the vampire.
“You think to use
that
against me?” Sebastian tittered. He swept his arms wide. “Do your worst! The noise will bring the girl, and I will have you both. Go ahead! Fire!”
Jon’s finger caressed the trigger. Dared he chance it? He wasn’t given time to decide. Like lightning the vampire rushed him, and though he didn’t even see or feel the contact,
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