Blood Fire (15 page)

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Authors: Sharon Page

Tags: #Romance

BOOK: Blood Fire
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The girl stepped forward. “I’m Ophelia. Yes, named for that Ophelia, the mad one. I have been here the longest, for it’s impossible for me to marry. You’re the newest, the one who is
enceinte
.”
Mrs. Darkwell had made it clear the girls were not to visit each other’s rooms after bedtime. In fact, whenever the residents of the house were together, either Mrs. Darkwell or her housekeeper, a thin woman named Pratt, was always there.
Since they were all hiding, or had nowhere else to go, they obeyed the rules.
Ophelia must know the rules. But Octavia saw such a look of sadness in the girl’s dark eyes, she knew why Ophelia had come. She must want a friend. She must want to talk.
“Come here, and we can talk.” Octavia scuttled over to the side and held open the covers. Ophelia had bare feet and must be cold. But to her surprise, the girl sank down to the floor and burst into tears.
Confused, Octavia leapt out of bed, feet hitting floorboards she knew would be chilly. Her rounded, taut stomach made it hard to move decorously, but she rushed to Ophelia’s side. She began to put her arm around the girl’s shoulder.
As though seared with fire, the girl moved away before Octavia could touch her. “You mustn’t touch me. Go back to your bed. I can’t be nearer to you than three feet. That way, if I forget to be vigilant, I won’t hurt you.”
Octavia frowned. “That can’t be so.”
“It’s my power—my
curse,
” Ophelia hissed. She wrapped her thin arms around her chest. “If I touch anyone, I make them very, very sick, or I cause them to die.”
Once she never would have believed such a thing. But she was a witch, and sex made her healthy, so she could believe anything now. “You truly cannot touch anyone ever?”
Ophelia bowed her head as if this were her fault. It was obvious she feared her power—and with such a terrible one, how could she not? This power must have left her alone and isolated. “So I cannot hug you?”
“No.” Ophelia kicked the air with her bare foot. “You go back to your bed. I will sit at the end of it. That way there is no chance I will hurt you.”
Octavia hesitated. She wanted to comfort the young woman but there was nothing she could do. She went to her bed, but she stripped the counterpane off and left it in a pile at the bottom of the mattress. Then she sat on her bed and waved toward the foot of it. Slowly, Ophelia went there and perched on the very end. But she did wrap herself in the comforter.
“How did you find out this is your power?” Octavia asked.
“How do you think? I killed my parents and almost destroyed my brother and sisters. I almost killed a young man who wanted to marry me simply when he kissed me. I began to see that someone died after I touched him or her, but I didn’t want to believe it was really true. It seemed
insane
. Then Mrs. Darkwell found me and told me it was true.”
“She brought you here to protect you?”
“She brought me here to protect everyone else
from
me. I overheard her speaking, and she said you are very powerful, but you don’t hurt people.”
“No, but I am afraid sometimes that I could.”
“I know I can,” Ophelia said glumly.
Octavia’s heart ached for the girl. “Could Mrs. Darkwell teach you how to control it?”
“No. I shouldn’t even have come to you. I’m forbidden from going near anyone else. It’s why I cannot marry, so of course there is no hope that I will ever leave here.”
“What do you mean? Why can’t you leave if you cannot marry?”
“I can’t marry, so it doesn’t matter. Mrs. Darkwell would never let me. She would be protecting me, too, as well as any poor man I married. If I hurt someone else—one more person—I couldn’t stand it. I couldn’t live with myself. I would kill myself.”
“But, my dear, what does being married have to do with whether you leave? This can’t be a home for unmarried girls—I have a husband.”
“You do? I heard Mrs. Darkwell call you Lady Octavia, as though you were not married.”
“Well, I am. My husband is Lord Sutcliffe—” She spoke his name without thinking. Should she have revealed so much?
“Mrs. Darkwell is like a matchmaker,” Ophelia explained. “Normal young ladies have matchmakers to engineer marriages with the most eligible gentlemen of Society. Mrs. Darkwell is a matchmaker for girls like us—girls who are not normal, who are vampires or werewolves, or witches, or who are like me. But my powers are so deadly she does not believe she can find someone for me.”
“She never told me she was a matchmaker.” Why did this bit of information make her feel so nervous? It did not matter to her; she was already married. But she wished Ophelia were not trapped. After all, she had run away to escape imprisonment.
But what did this mean for her? Octavia had believed she could leave any time she wished. But with satyrs, vampires, and other monsters chasing her, she was too afraid to go.
Ophelia sighed. “I wish . . . I wish I could be normal. I wish I could go to dances. If only I
could
marry, I’d be willing to live in the middle of nowhere, even in some crumbling old castle, but at least I wouldn’t feel like a prisoner.”
Octavia winced. The very thing she had escaped was Ophelia’s idea of perfection. To change the subject, she asked, “Does Mrs. Darkwell ever care if her charges fall in love, or are these just arranged marriages?”
“They are arranged, but Mrs. Darkwell believes that she finds our soul mates. The men we should love. She says that even if the marriages don’t start with love, it always blossoms. No girl can resist her true soul mate, she says.”
What was Sutcliffe to her? Hardly a soul mate, as he didn’t seem to care what was in her soul. Since she was a witch, did she even have a soul? “How would she know who our soul mates are?”
Ophelia’s eyes opened wide. “That, she claims, is her special power.”
 
“I can’t be awake. Not
awake.
”
Matthew let his head fall back against the pillow as he let out a howl of frustration. His cock arched like an over-tightened bow. Hard, heavy with blood, it curved up from his crotch, bowed toward his navel, and dribbled fluid. It had been so close to release, it hurt.
His hands were free, though he could still feel the tickling sensation around his wrists, from his dream about ropes. Something had stopped his erotic dream in its tracks, leaving him rock hard and aroused to the point where he was panting like hissing steam.
He didn’t want to have to take care of his erection himself.
He wanted to finish the dream.
Footsteps sounded softly in his dark room. “Wake up, Sutcliffe.”
Recognizing De Wynter’s soft drawl, Matthew growled, “I am awake, damn it, though I’m trying to recapture one of the most sensual dreams I’ve ever had.”
Why had Octavia stopped in mid-dream? Did it mean she had gone to another man instead of him? Or something worse—she had been attacked?
He scrambled out of bed and grabbed his small clothes. They didn’t fit well, given how erect and swollen his cock was, but he pulled them up over his hips, wincing.
“What are you doing?” De Wynter asked. “It’s only four o’clock in the morning.”
“I was having a visit from my wife and was interrupted. Since she’s come to me every night, I fear it means she’s in danger. I intend to start riding now and keep riding until we reach London.”
“It’s close to dawn,” De Wynter said slowly. “I was hoping to sleep today and ride when it grew dark again.”
“I have to get there. You’re free to stay and rest and catch up to me later.”
The vampire slayer shook his head. “You’re my friend and on a search to find your missing wife. I would be remiss not to be at your side. If she is in danger, it may be a beast that you are unable to fight, Sutcliffe.”
God, he’d thought of that but had pushed the thought away. His heart clenched hard. Pain shot from it, through his gut. His blood felt like ice.
“It might not be that. Perhaps she was awoken by something else. Althea—my brother’s wife—has a hard time sleeping when she is pregnant.”
“I pray it is only that,” Matthew muttered. He was going to ask why De Wynter had come to his room, but he could guess the answer. His friend was afraid that Octavia was going to drain his soul and kill him. The truth was—he didn’t care. He was willing to risk death to have Octavia.
Deep inside, a voice whispered,
If you feel that way, it means you’ve fallen in love with her
.
The thought brought guilt—for his brother, who would never have love. And even if Matthew did love her, he had driven her away.
When he found her, he had to make her understand he intended to protect her. Whether she liked it or not.
 
London
Three months later, November
 
He couldn’t find her.
He had searched London for three unbearable, terrifying months. Matthew was losing his mind. In Brookshire’s office, in the headquarters of the Royal Society, he paced, dragging his hands through his hair. “My wife must be near the time to give birth and I cannot find her or Mrs. Smith anywhere in London.”
It was as if the woman could use magic to keep hidden.
At least he believed Octavia was still alive. Each night she came to him in erotic dreams. When he woke up, he couldn’t remember any clues as to where she was. And when he slept, he couldn’t bring enough conscious will with him to ask where she was or ask for any clues.
But the fact she visited him for nocturnal carnal play meant she must be alive.
“I still do not know why she was being hunted by the satyr.” He stopped in front of Brookshire’s desk and faced the earl. “If you know why, will you not tell me? Damnation, I have a feeling every vampire slayer in this damned building knows the truth, but none of you will tell me.”
The blond earl looked haunted. He ground the lit end of his cheroot onto a porcelain dish. “Hades, Sutcliffe, we are doing everything we can. As is the Royal Society. What point in worrying—”
“I want the truth, Brookshire. For three months, I’ve asked for it. Each time, you’ve reassured me that we are going to find my wife. I have to admit, I let you keep the truth from me because I needed your help. But I refuse to be kept in the dark any longer. Why is my wife being hunted?”
“Your wife, as a succubus, also possesses magical power. The power to start fires, for example.”
Start fires? He remembered the way the fire had exploded in the fireplace in his bedchamber. Hell, that had been Octavia’s power.
“A woman with strong power is a threat to men,” Brookshire continued. “For that reason, the male vampires, werewolves and satyrs are hunting her—”
“I think we owe him the truth, brother.”
Matthew turned. Bastien de Wynter lounged in the doorway. “We know the truth and we have to tell him. She is his wife, after all.”
Slamming his fists on the desk, Matthew growled at Brookshire. “Damn it, tell me. What is the blasted truth?”
“There are six extremely powerful women amongst the preternatural creatures,” the earl said softly. “Six who are capable of combining their powers. They can actually change into one, all-powerful female and in that form could rule the world, enslaving all men.”
“And you are going to tell me my wife is one of those women.”
“Yes.”
“Then why has this never happened before?”
“Because men have destroyed these women before it could happen. The vampiress Esmeralda is one of them. With her escape, for the first time in the history of humankind, all six women could actually join together at once.”
“My wife—I could not envision her doing this.”
Brookshire sighed heavily. “She may not have a choice. Esmeralda will be determined to do this and she will try to force it on your wife. That is why the male beings are determined to stop it.”
 
It was night, and while many of the
ton
had left London to spend Christmas at country estates, some remained in London. When Matthew went to bed, Octavia would come to him as soon as his head touched his pillow. All he had to do was go to sleep, and he was with her. But that was a luxury he could not have tonight.
Instead of going to sleep and having a night of unbelievable pleasure with Octavia, he was attending a hot, crowded ball.
He hated balls.
He was determined to question Octavia’s friends. Like a hunter pursuing prey, he’d singled out the young women who had been her companions and had peppered them with questions. The only one who appeared to know anything was her bosom bow, Miss Eliza Compton. He believed Miss Compton was hiding something from him.
He stood amongst the crowd entering the foyer of the Duke of Glencairn’s Park Lane home. This was the first social event of the duke’s he had attended in a long time that wasn’t an orgy, that wasn’t being held in the duke’s rented townhouse.

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