Blood Fire (19 page)
“No! I—” She didn’t know what to do anymore. “Won’t he still hunt for me?”
“Will he? Or has he been pursuing you because he believed you might be carrying his heir?”
That made her freeze with surprise. She had never thought that without the baby involved, he might just let her go. He had told her bluntly he would never love her. If he’d intended to lock her away in a castle and leave her there, wouldn’t he stop hunting for her? . . .
“But my daughter deserves to have love, not just to be schooled in magic powers—”
“The family who will raise her will treat her like their own child. They have desperately wanted their own baby, but could never have one. They will shower her with love, even as they teach her to live with her powers. She has gone to a good home.”
Octavia shivered. She knew what Mrs. Darkwell was saying: Because of her magical powers, she must face spending the rest of her life alone. But she—she couldn’t. “My daughter should be with me,” she cried. “I don’t want to give her away as though she is an inconvenience. She is my child. I want to care for her, I want to love her, and I want no one to do it but me. She is my
family.
”
family.
”
“You are doing this for your protection and hers. You are free to leave Sutcliffe, to completely disappear. I could find a man who is destined to be your true soul mate. He could become your lover and protect you. Sutcliffe would not look for you. You could even make Sutcliffe believe you are dead, and then you would be completely free, as you wanted to be. But, Lady Sutcliffe, you cannot survive alone. You require love and pleasure to live. It is part of your magic powers.”
Octavia shook her head. “I could disappear with my daughter! Either way, my husband will have to think his child is dead.” She didn’t think he would care about losing her, but it would break his heart to think his daughter was gone.
But if her daughter had magic powers, too, Sutcliffe’s solution would be to keep her a prisoner, too. She could not let that happen.
“I am a mother now, and I
choose
to be one.” This time she yanked the pages from Mrs. Darkwell’s hands. On the desk she smoothed the singed pages of the ledger. There had to be some clue here . . . a payment made to a name . . . to the family who wanted to take her child—
choose
to be one.” This time she yanked the pages from Mrs. Darkwell’s hands. On the desk she smoothed the singed pages of the ledger. There had to be some clue here . . . a payment made to a name . . . to the family who wanted to take her child—
Mrs. Darkwell walked up behind her. “Octavia, your daughter will grow up in a happy family,” she said softly. “You must understand this is the only way she can be safe.”
“It’s not her fault that creatures want to murder me.”
“But she will pay the price for your choices. You must think of her, Octavia. To want to keep the babe is selfishness. You have powers you do not understand and which you cannot control. You need to be taught, and you are not ready to be the mother of a child. Your daughter will be raised as the child of this couple. She will have a dowry at her disposal when she is older—I have taken care of all of this. She will have a bright future. Do not steal that from her.”
Steal it from her. Was she being selfish? How she longed to see her baby. She had been so exhausted after the birth she could now barely remember what her daughter looked like.
But would she be hurting her baby? Would the monsters who wanted to kill her be able to get to her and the baby?
Mrs. Darkwell guided her to a chair and pressed her to sit in it. Her legs ached, and she hurt when she sat, but she slumped onto the seat. She wrapped her arms around her chest. This would be for the best. In her heart, she knew it. In her soul, she wanted to deny it.
The best thing for her daughter would be if she stayed out of the poor child’s life and never saw her again.
She wanted to cry, but she hurt too much even for tears. Her stomach contracted on a sharp, vicious pain, as if she’d been punched. Her arms ached to cradle her baby.
It would never happen. It could never happen.
Hands smoothed her hair back and cradled her cheeks, and she looked up into Mrs. Darkwell’s strange black eyes. “You are doing the wisest thing,” the woman said.
“Wh-who is she going to live with? What are their names? Where do they live?”
“You must not concern yourself with that. They will bestow much love on the baby.”
“But what kind of people are they, that they can teach my daughter magic? Are they witches or demons?”
“They are not demons—they do have the power of witchcraft. For that reason, they have made English society believe they are members of the country gentry. They appear to be only thirty years of age, though they have been on earth for a very long time.”
“Will my daughter ever know of me?”
“I believe it is best if she does not. Now that you are no longer pregnant, it is time for you to find the gentleman intended to be your soul mate. We will teach you to control your powers. You will find the appropriate man—and then you will have a future filled with love.”
She shook her head. “I don’t want another man. I simply . . . don’t.”
“Do you love Lord Sutcliffe? I am afraid, my dear, he will never come to love you. He will never be able to accept what you are. I suspect, like his father, he will die very young. There is tragedy in his family—his father took his own life. You would be alone. If you leave him now, if you make him believe you are dead, he has a chance to survive.”
“I don’t understand—”
“My dear, your powers hurt mortal men. If Lord Sutcliffe is your lover, each time you make love together, your powers take a little of his . . . strength away. You will drain the life out of him. You need an immortal man as your lover. You deserve happiness. I can find you a gentleman who you will love, and who will love you in return. This is what I do—I help young ladies like you, ladies with special powers. I help them find love.”
She pulled away from Mrs. Darkwell. “How can I kill Sutcliffe? I think that’s a lie! How can it be possible?”
“My dear, how can you start fires with your thoughts and move objects with your mind? Aren’t those things impossible?”
It was the truth. Was it possible she had to escape Sutcliffe to protect him, not just her own freedom? “Why are you doing this? Why do you care whether I have a lover? Why do you care about making matches for women with powers?”
“It is how I survive in this world,” Mrs. Darkwell said dryly. “Pleasing the duke who is my patron keeps me alive. Otherwise I would be poor, I would be cast out, and I would die. It makes me happy to see women find love. You would be in danger out in the world. If I had not brought you here, you would have been murdered by now. Now I must find your soul mate—a man who loves you—to look after you.”
“No!” Octavia shouted. She didn’t want anyone to “protect” her: to control her, imprison her, keep her from finding her child. Suddenly the fire exploded in the fireplace. The windows burst, and glass shattered into the room.
Mrs. Darkwell ran behind her desk. She swiftly pressed hard on the wallpapered wall, and a panel sprung open. Octavia could not see what she was doing, but when the woman turned back to the windows, she held up a crossbow.
But there was no foe. Octavia’s heart pounded, her chest was heaving with fast breaths, and she was shaking with despair and anger. She was doing this.
Fire leapt out of the fireplace and caught on the rug. A line of flame rushed across the patterned carpet toward the wall, propelled by the wind coming through the windows.
This wasn’t an attack by monsters. She was doing this, and she couldn’t stop it.
“Get out,” she screamed to Mrs. Darkwell. “Get out before I hurt you.”
Or would the woman just shoot her with the weapon? Octavia kept her gaze fastened on it, until she coughed on smoke. Mrs. Darkwell stared over Octavia’s shoulder, horrified, and Octavia turned.
The whole wall was on fire, and the wood door was a panel of blazing flame.
“The other girls,” Octavia cried.
She had spent her nights locked in her room, reading books on spells, trying to learn how to control her magic. She had to try now. Holding up her hands she shouted, “Quench the fire. Make the flames disappear.”
The drapes exploded into flame, and the fire leapt from one to another. The chair cushions were burning. Thick smoke was filling the room, and there was no more wind coming in the window.
Octavia snatched up the ledger pages and ran to the flaming door. She folded the pages and stuffed them in the bodice of her dress.
Let me through the door without injury,
she commanded by thought, though without much hope after her lack of success with the last demand.
she commanded by thought, though without much hope after her lack of success with the last demand.
But the door crumpled before her, falling like ash. The fire leapt out into the hallway beyond. Octavia covered her head, and she ran. Servants ran toward her: panicked-looking footmen, maids who were screaming and clutching their skirts, even the burly cook was running.
“The girls.” Octavia pointed to the stairs. “We must get the girls to safety.”
Fire was already licking at the banister. It caught on draperies on the landing and set those ablaze. She could hear female voices shouting.
She closed her eyes and sent a spell over the other girls.
There is a fire, but you must be calm. You must get out of the house. Get out your windows. Go to the back stairs and get out.
There is a fire, but you must be calm. You must get out of the house. Get out your windows. Go to the back stairs and get out.
The servants were rushing up the stairs. She looked back: A door in the corridor opened, and Mrs. Darkwell stumbled out. There had been a secret door. Now, her face pale with shock, the woman was rushing toward the stairs.
Octavia lifted her hems and charged up the stairs. This was her fault. She had to ensure everyone was safe.
Even if she died in the attempt.
He hungered for blood, and he had been chained to a bed for a week.
Matthew roared in frustration, as he did most nights, jerking in fury at the shackles around his wrists. If he could get his hands free, he would grab a stake and end his owned damned existence.
Scratching sounded at the thick, oak door. The six demonesses lurked on the other side. Their seductive laughter rippled around the peeling wood, but the sound was muffled because the door fit tightly. They sang to him, songs that would have tempted him to them, but the magical cuffs around his wrists and ankles kept him bound to the bed.
The women wanted to take his blood, even though he was a vampire now.
Esmeralda had left him here. Apparently she didn’t trust him, didn’t believe he was really willing to help her.
Or maybe she was trying to force him to grow accustomed to what he was.
On the first night after she had turned him, she had brought him a young boy of about ten. It was sickening: He was expected to drink from the child. He had fought with her to save the boy. The child had escaped; he had almost ended up destroyed. Esmeralda had kept him chained but had forced him to stand out on the balcony in sunlight. He had howled in pain as his flesh burned on his body, but he had relished death. He was willing to die.
She wasn’t going to let him. She had dragged him back, chained him up. Slowly, his body had healed.
Then the craving for blood had begun.
Each night she had brought him an innocent victim. Each time he had saved the victim and had been punished for it. But as his hunger grew and he got weaker, it was harder to resist the scent of blood. Right now, he could smell the demonesses’ blood, and it made him aroused, erect. It was making him writhe on the bed in agony and need.
“Let us in,” the demonesses chanted. “We will feed you. You can drink from us. And then you can fuck us in any way you wish. All of us. All together . . .”
It was as if he could hear their voices in his head. Some magic kept them on the other side of the door. There was some kind of spell infused in the door that meant they couldn’t open it. To let them into the room, he had to open the door and invite them in.
Matthew lay back on the bed.
That would never happen. He would never give in to them—but he would also never drink from an innocent victim. He had to escape. Esmeralda wanted to break him. She’d said she wanted to turn him into her lover, then use him to find Octavia. If he refused, she would destroy him.
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