Blood Rose (28 page)

child victims. Those who survived told me about a beautiful lady, with hair and eyes like moonbeams, who they could not resist.”

He heard Serena’s sharp gasp behind him. “You…you were the one to destroy her.”

“I was the one who found her. The choice of whether she would live or die was mine. I went with my father and Ashcroft to her crypt. I told myself that she was no longer human…”

In his mind, he was back in that night…

He had walked past the other stone coffins, swinging the crowbar so it struck his legs. The rhythmic pain convinced him he was not dreaming. His lantern threw light into the gloom. Quick, relentless, his heart had hammered in his chest. He planted the edge of the iron bar at the join of the lid and coffin.

Stone scraped stone as the lid slid away. The crowbar struck the stone floor with a clang as he dropped it—a loud, endless sound that seared his brain and rang in his ears.

With his hands against the cold lid, Jonathon shoved on it, pushing it aside as much as he needed. The lantern threw golden light down into the box. Light that touched Lilianne’s golden hair and pale lashes, that slanted across perfect lips, rich and red.

He’d held the stake to her chest, but she slumbered on. As his father and Ashcroft had walked forward, boots thudding the cold stone floor, Jonathon had pressed the point of the stake just below Lilianne’s breast—into the pretty white dress she’d been buried in. He had lifted the hammer—

He couldn’t bring it down.

Swallowing hard, Jonathon spoke again. “She looked at me. With sheer, mad terror at first.

She knew who I was. I saw it in her eyes. I saw recognition. Then love. And hope—the certainty I had come to rescue her. In that instant I believed that vampires did not really lose their souls.

Whatever happened to create them, they were still human inside. But I thought of what she would do because she could not help it. Of children who would be bitten. My father, Ashcroft, some of the other old men of the Society were waiting, the excitement of the kill in
their
souls. Sometimes afterward, I wondered who the real demons were.”

He dropped to the bed by the pillows, far away from Serena. He let his head lower to his open hands. “I did it. God help me, I did it. I was looking down upon her and her eyes changed—they became red and demonic. I knew I had to kill her or she would kill me, and I drove the stake into her. I destroyed her out of fear. That’s what I’ve hated myself for, all these years. That moment of fear, that moment when I lost courage. I will never let that happen again.”

The bed creaked. Dimly, Jonathon saw the shimmer of Serena’s wrapper as she crossed the room to the fireplace. “Is that what the Society wanted you to do to me? Were you supposed to kill me when I changed on my birthday?”

Hell and perdition, she knew. Jonathon couldn’t deny that was what his father had planned to do to her, but he vowed, “I would never harm you; I will never let you be harmed. No one will hurt you, Serena. Not Lukos, not the Society, no one.” He wanted to go to her, to touch her, but such pain radiated from her darkened gray eyes, he knew he didn’t have the right.

“Does Althea know what I was?”

He hesitated. Finally he nodded. She was entitled to the truth. “Yes. It was Ashcroft’s plan to bring you under the control of the Society.”

Serena bit her lip. “So she was never my friend.”

“Serena—” At a loss for words, he said, “I don’t believe that.”

She shrugged as though she didn’t care, the way he would when he was deeply hurt. “And you know who my mother is.”

“No, I do not know anything about your parents. Many of my father’s journals are lost. I was not lying when I told you that.”

She picked up the fireplace poker and jabbed the logs. Sparks flew up. “Did you know that my Blood Rose ©Sharon Page 2007 Email: [email protected] 117

mother is the vampire? Did you know that much?”

The truth would drive the wedge further between them, but he could not bring himself to lie.

He gave a grim nod. He didn’t approach her; he leaned against the carved wood bedpost as she prodded the fire. “I wanted to find a way to keep you from changing.”

She placed the poker back with deliberate care and turned to face him. “And have you found a way to keep me from changing?”

Damn, she would probably slap his face, but it was a risk he had to take. Three strides brought him in front of her, and he clasped her hand in his. His hands were huge compared to hers, but she possessed greater strength than anyone he had ever known. “No, love.”

“So, on All Hallow’s Eve, I will be a vampire.” She pulled her hand from his, and Jonathon felt the crushing weight of failure.

He had vowed never to fall in love after Lilianne, but he’d fallen impossibly hard for Serena, and he was going to lose her.

Jonathon watched Serena run across his room. “Even if you change,” he whispered as she disappeared out the door, “I will never stop loving you. I will do anything to protect you.”

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Serena stopped at the foot of the stairs and blinked back tears. Had Drake perished in the fire?

If he hadn’t, would he come for her tonight?

Moonlight spilled through the windows, scattering silver-blue squares over the gleaming hardwood floor. Serena felt the draw of the night. She walked over to the corridor window and pressed her palms to the cool panes of glass.

She was afraid. She hated to admit it, but she was. Afraid to face losing Drake. And too hurt to face Althea, now that she knew their friendship was a lie. She should have suspected it from the first. A countess wishing to be friends with her?

Turning from the window, she hurried down the corridor to the red drawing room as though pursued by demons. Smoothing her skirts, she pushed the gilt door open.

“There she is!” Althea cried. The countess relaxed on a chaise of red silk and gilt. “Bastien, please pour a sherry for Miss Lark.”

Jonathon and Lord Brookshire were in a muted conversation by the fireplace, though both had offered quick bows when she walked in. She felt warmth on her neck and half-turned. Jonathon’s intense dark gaze rested on her back. Was he speaking about her? Or just watching her?

Mr. de Wynter brought the sherry, exquisite in his evening dress. His naughty smiles full of secret promises and scandalous innuendoes were so like Drake’s.

Shakily, Serena lifted the sherry to her lips, but she couldn’t swallow. Drake. She called out to him in her thoughts.

As though in answer, the footman rapped, then opened the door. With the fixed gaze of the proper servant—directed at some point on the opposite wall—he announced, “Milord, milady, Lord Ashcroft.”

Startled, Serena stepped back, and sherry splattered her pristine glove. Jonathon left the mantelpiece and prowled toward her, and a sense of safety washed over her as he stood by her side.

She drank in his presence, his delicious masculine scent. Impulsively, she rested her hand on his forearm—formed of solid, steely muscle beneath the finest tailored coat—as elderly Lord Ashcroft entered.

She managed a curtsy and rose to Ashcroft’s curt nod. “Miss Lark.” Stooped and scrawny, the man who wished to kill her rested heavily on his cane. But his eyes—clear, blue, and bright as though they belonged to a young man—stayed on her a long time. Long enough that she caught her breath, that she glanced to Jonathon.

Then she stopped. Jonathon was a famous, noble vampire hunter. He risked his life every night to save the innocent. Lord Ashcroft had been like a father to him. Jonathon had hoped to find a way to stop her change. If he couldn’t, would Jonathon truly turn his back on his calling to spare her?

Shuddering, Serena retreated from Jonathon and Ashcroft with a murmured apology. Her head was reeling. Holding her sherry, she fled to the bookshelf and pretended to study the titles. What did Ashcroft think of as he looked at her? Was he envisioning her laid out on a table, with her chest opened up, and her flesh pinned down?

Was Jonathon thinking that he would have to stake her when she transformed?

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Could she survive this night—behave as though all was normal, have dinner with all of them, knowing they wanted her dead?

“Miss Lark.”

She jerked around to face Ashcroft. Was he going to stake her here? She almost giggled at the absurdity—she doubted Lord Ashcroft could drive a stake in her heart without expiring himself.

Instead of a stake, he held out a book. She realized he had carried it tucked beneath his arm. A thick volume, one that reminded her of the hundreds she’d read for the Society.

“This is for you, Miss Lark. It is imperative that you and Lady Brookshire try your hand at deciphering parts of this book.”

“What is it, Ashcroft?” Confident, lush, Althea’s voice rose from the chaise.

Serena felt a prickle along the back of her neck, and she glanced up. Jonathon had returned to stand near the fireplace, but he was listening, a brandy cradled in his palm, his dark brows drawn together. A predatory gleam touched his eye as he watched her.

Ashcroft bowed toward Althea. “A prophecy book.”

Serena gaped. She had heard a rumor of such a thing from Mortimer, the curator of the Society’s library, but they were kept under lock and key and she had never seen one. Prophecy books were written by monks, by ancient scientists—the volumes locked in the vault were those reputed to be true.

Why would Ashcroft offer her this book? Simply because he couldn’t translate? His lordship must know she had gone willingly with Drake; he must know about the confrontation. She took the book warily.

Althea pushed up from her chair, back arched, belly thrust forward. Both Brookshire and his brother were at her side in a blink to help, but Althea waved them away. She slid over, one hand on her back.

Serena saw Jonathon push his glass onto the mantelpiece and begin to move toward her, but Ashcroft intercepted him. “Let the ladies review the book. They have the greater experience in that arena.” She strained to hear as Ashcroft lowered his voice. “You and I have much to discuss, with All Hallow’s Eve in only four days. You have refused to follow orders, Sommersby—”

“A few more days and I will find an answer,” Jonathon broke in.

“Not in a few days, Sommersby.”

Straining to hear Jonathon and Ashcroft, Serena let go of the prophecy book as Althea pried it from her fingers.

“I will find a way to stop this.” Jonathon lowered his voice. The anguish in his controlled baritone made Serena shiver. “If I had my father’s journals…I don’t understand why he hid them…why he wouldn’t give them to me…”

“Your father was cautious man.” Ashcroft accepted a drink from Lord Brookshire, who had strolled over to join the conversation.

“I wonder…”

“You didn’t destroy Drake Swift. And you failed to slay Lukos.” Ashcroft sipped his drink.

Serena saw Jonathon flinch. “Swift helped us escape. As for Lukos, I shot him directly through the heart with a crossbow, and it merely enraged him.”

“Lukos is not a vampire. Not as you would know one to be.”

Pure fury flashed in Jonathon’s deep brown eyes, turning them the black of a thundercloud.

“Then what in hell is he? I need to know to combat him.”

“And you were not to hunt Lukos.” Ashcroft laid a calming hand on Jonathon’s shoulder.

“Your loyalties have become confused, Sommersby.”

“My duty is to protect innocent people. That is exactly what I am doing. Now tell me what you know about Lukos, Ashcroft, or—”

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Ashcroft swung his cane to collide sharply with Jonathon’s boot. “We shouldn’t distress our charming hostess with an argument. Let us move over there.” He directed Jonathon to cross the room.

Damnation! How could she listen in now?

“Serena?” Althea’s amber-lashed, green eyes narrowed. “Have you been listening to me?

Lukos is mentioned, at least I believe it is this Lukos. The writing is Latin, but there are odd words that I don’t recognize. Words I’ve never seen anywhere before.”

Slowly, Serena turned to the woman she’d once thought was her friend. Althea, of course, did not know she knew the truth. She couldn’t speak of it—it would be foolish to reveal that she knew the Royal Society planned to destroy her.

Althea carefully turned the brittle pages. “We should sit down with this.”

Serena nodded. She took the book from Althea and offered her arm, like a good servant. Like a thoughtful friend. Yet she was alone, friendless, with nowhere to turn.

Once Althea settled on the chaise, she pulled Serena down to sit at her side. “Read this passage. I believe it speaks of Lukos’s rise.”

Serena tried to focus on the medieval text, the Latin words. Her life was at stake—it gave her the push to see the words. She translated quickly, reading in a soft voice. “A rend in the earth shall set him free. And signs shall be sent to his disciples, to those who serve him nobly, and they will know these signs. They will feast in blood in preparation to his rise, until the seventh day before Samhain, when they will fast in honor for the final ascension. Lukos must also fast—”

Althea clutched her arm. “He is supposed to deny himself blood. We can only hope that means he isn’t hunting. Let us see if it speaks of his destruction…prophecy books always speak of destruction…” Althea smiled.

Serena returned it, though her stomach roiled and her lips wavered.

Althea read further. “It says that Lukos’s aim will be to create an army but that he will bear one son, and that son will destroy him.” She set the book down on her lap, and Serena turned away from her shocked gaze. “You must read this.”

She moved the book to her lap. Althea rested her graceful hand on her shoulder, and Serena read. “It speaks of a woman bred to be his mate. Vampire, human, and descendent of a god—