Angels and Hunters (Stoker Sisters 2) (21 page)

“Life as a Strigoi is more suited to your temperament than you realize, my delicious Alexis. Your lack of scruples and your capacity to be so cold-hearted are exactly the qualities I look for in new recruits. You have that, and all nicely wrapped up in a rather attractive package that appeals to me.”

“You're wrong.”

“Come with me and find out what it is to live without pain, without heartache, without jealousy or envy. Come find the pride in who and what you are, the joy of hunting, feeding, living. My men will all lose their hearts to you, my princess. Yet you’ll be mine.”

Alexis struggled against his hold, but to no avail. For the time being she would have to succumb to his wish and wait for the right opportunity when she could be free again.

************

Staring down at Keegan, Sadie willed him to regain consciousness. She’d never realized his immortality was so fragile, that his immortality only gave him everlasting life, but was not strong enough to stave off death should a mortal wound come to him.

She knew she had to save him. Biting into her wrist, she drew a narrow but steady stream of blood. When she brought her wrist to Keegan’s lips, she urged him to drink of her blood.

His lips refuse to cooperate.

“Please, Keegan, drink. Drink and stay with me.”

He swallowed a few drops, but his eyes remained closed. He drank with increasing hunger, but still his body remained limp.

“Good,” she whispered. “Don’t stop, Keegan.” As she spoke, she ran her fingers through his hair, encouraged by the strength she suddenly felt building up inside him. Tears fill her eyes as her longing to have him live became urgent, almost desperate. She needed him, she realized. “I love you, Keegan. I love you so much it hurts. Don’t leave me now.”

Though his eyes remained closed, his fingers wrapped around her hand.

“I know you're a hunter and I shouldn’t love you so, but my heart doesn’t care what you're called. All it knows is the wonderful upstanding man you are. All it knows is how you make me feel, just by looking at me. Say a word and I’m yours, Keegan. Love me and I’ll be yours forever. Stay with me… Stay with me now.”

His hand tightened around hers and his eyes opened for a brief moment, a moment filled with questions, doubt and accusations.

“I know I don’t deserve you. I’m everything you’ve fought against for so long. I’ve taken so much blood from so many humans, drank to nourish myself, taken what was not mine to take. But I can’t help what I feel for you… and I can’t help keep hoping you feel something for me too.”

A single tear fell and splattered on his cheek.

His fingers slackened around her wrist and she knew she was losing him. Her blood wasn’t enough. Her love wasn’t enough. Yet she knew in her heart that she couldn’t let him go.

“Forgive me, Keegan,” she whispered. “I know you’ll hate becoming a vampire and I know I risk having you hate me for all eternity for having turned you, but…”

She looked up into the night sky, her gazed fixed upon the exact spot where her sister had disappeared. Alexis had fought against Skars, though she could have escaped and saved herself. No doubt she wanted to help Keegan. No doubt she wanted to see him live as well.

“I must do this, right, Alexis?”

Sadie closed her eyes, visions of Keegan’s joyful smile instantly coming to her. Her fangs emerged, ready to take a bite. “Forgive me.” With all the love in her heart, Sadie sank her fangs into his neck and sucked of his blood until little was left.

***********

The Stoker Sisters Series

continues in

Book 3

Sister of the Strigois

Fall 2011

EXCERPT FROM

dark beginnings

Phantom Diaries Beginnings

kailin gow

Prologue

Paris 1859

J
ust weeks after her eighteenth birthday, Veronique was finally allowed a bit of freedom.  As the horses slowed their pace and trotted up to a charming and elegant townhouse, she stared out the carriage with excitement and anticipation of the adventure to come.

Paris, she thought. If there ever was a city alive and vibrant, it was Paris.

“Mademoiselle Veronique.” A tall, thin and exceptionally well-dressed woman stepped out with true regal finesse and glided down the steps to greet her. “How wonderful it is to finally meet you.”

With a helping hand from the driver, Veronique got out of the carriage and quickly straightened her skirts before facing her new chaperone. “It’s my pleasure to meet you, Madame Fourquin. My father has told me so much about you.”

As elegant and beautiful as she was, the sunlight revealed a little more of Madame’s age. Little lines were evident in the corners of her eyes and deep creases surrounded her smile.  Maturity had been a strong point for Veronique’s father. He’d been adamant in his desire to see her well versed in etiquette and fine manners and Madame Fourquin was deemed perfect for the task.

“And how is Monsieur Dumouchel?” 

While the driver tended to Veronique’s bags, Madame Fourquin led Veronique to the door of the impressive townhouse.

“Quite busy,” Veronique said. “Work on that opera house is proving to be a larger task than anyone had anticipated. They’ve been besieged by a number of delays and Papa is going to be in town for more weeks than he’d originally planned.

“A more lengthy stay in Paris is never an unpleasant ordeal.” Madame Fourquin smiled and patted Veronique’s arm.

“I totally agree, but Father has a different view on the matter. Work is work, whether it’s in Paris or Devonshire it doesn’t really matter much to him.”

The interior of the townhouse was just as elegant as the exterior promised. Fine woodwork, intricate details and luxurious fabrics were the mainstay. The furnishings were all small and delicate. The boudoir, a fanciful burst of dusty pink with plenty of lace, was touched by Madame’s feminine hand.

The foyer, grounded with heavy wood furniture was topped off with a whimsy of white and yellow fabrics that brightened the room.

“What a magnificent home you have, Madame Fourquin.”

“I do love to keep an immaculate residence. I hope you’ll be vigilant in maintaining your quarters tidy.”

“Of course.”

Madame Fourquin led the way up the stairs and turned to the third door on her right. “Your room has an exceptional view of the gardens, but also overlooks the street below.”

The large room was more than Veronique had expected. Decorated almost exclusively in white, the room was elegant while still retaining a youthful charm. A thick tapestry hung on the far wall, depicting a summer’s day picnic while the other wall boasted a whimsical charcoal caricature. “How creative and unique,” Veronique said as she approached the sketch.  “Wherever did you find such a piece of art?”

“I do enjoy encouraging new talent in Paris. This was done by a young man who I found to have much promise.”

Veronique approached the framed sketched and read the scribbled signature. “Monet?”

“Yes, dear. He certainly is impressive to watch as he works.” Madame Fourquin walked to the large armoire that would house Veronique’s wardrobe. “As you can see, you’ll have plenty of storage space.

Veronique nodded, pleased with her new living space.

The two large windows took up much of the remaining walls, letting in a breathtaking amount of sunlight and fresh air. Glancing down at the small garden, Veronique knew where she’d be spending many late afternoons, reading or tending to her needlepoint.

“This street is relatively quiet so you shouldn’t be bothered by passersby.”

Veronique headed for the other window and looked down. The driver was still pulling out her valises, but he’d been interrupted by two young men who seemed engrossed in a deep conversation with him.

Madame Fourquin came to stand beside her. “The young Aragon men,” she said with a touch of surprise.

“Really?” Veronique said. She’d heard the name before, often associated with great wealth and power. She’d never imagined they could be so young and attractive. Though one was fair and elegant while the other was dark and raw, they both carried themselves with an air of unflappable confidence.

“I do hope you’ll be comfortable here.” Madame Fourquin seemed eager to change the subject. 

“I’ve no doubt I will.” Veronique couldn’t take her eyes off the two young men. How wonderful indeed it was going to be living in Paris.

****************

On hearing the feminine voice Martin Aragon looked up to catch a glimpse of the young woman by the window and was immediately enchanted. Though she demurely turned away and returned her attention to Madame Fourquin the moment he raised his glance to her, he was mesmerized by the exquisite beauty of this young woman. Her dark hair was pinned up in an innocent chignon that displayed her lack of refinement, but added to her allure; naïve and unrefined. Martin was instantly drawn to the spark he caught in her eye as she conversed with Madame Fourquin.

“Just my type,” Philippe challenged as he followed the direction of Martin’s gaze.

“She’s nothing like your type. Even from here you can clearly see she lacks the haughty air you so admire in your women.”

“I take great offense at that, Martin. My love of women far exceeds their lineage. Why just last week I spent an enjoyable time with a lovely milkmaid who was a minx and a half.”

Martin chuckled. He knew his cousin far more than he should. A womanizer of the worst kind, Philippe had left a thick and deep trail of broken hearts across Paris and back. Few young women trusted him, though unfortunately, few could resist him.

“Don’t look at me like that, cousin. You and I both know you are far from innocent when it comes to the hearts of young women. Though I can claim a small handful of conquests, I far from deserve the title of rake that you’ve acquired.”

“Touché.” Martin smirked as his eyes played over the delicate features of the young woman’s face. She was lovely in the most enchanting and beguiling of ways. The many women he’d known in his young life paled in comparison to her fresh beauty.

“If I remember correctly you're the Aragon with the reputation for mischief and heartache.” Philippe slapped his gloves across his hand repeatedly as he eyed the young woman above.

Martin yawned to show how bored he was with the conversation. His reputation was far exaggerated and the trail of heartache he’d left behind was greatly due to the young women he’d met. They failed to truly see him as he was and insisted he was more angelic than he ever could be. Despite his warnings to the contrary, they never believed him and ultimately learned the hard way.