My Lord Vampire

“Very much.”

He smiled gently. “Good.”

“I ... I was just about to have tea. Would you care to join me?” she asked impulsively.

As if sensing she was not nearly as comfortable in his presence as she would have him believe, Gideon regarded her with a searching gaze.

“Am I welcome?”

She grimaced at his blunt words. Common sense might warn her she was treading into dangerous waters, but the desire to be with this gentleman was proving to be far more powerful. Whatever his secrets, she could not shake the sensation that he would never hurt her.

“That is what I am attempting to decide,” she confessed bluntly.

His lips twitched. “Very well.”

Together they turned to head back to the house, Simone walking at his side while she kept a covert watch on the towering form. They had reached the open door when she noticed the undeniable amusement that was etched upon the handsome features.

“What do you find so amusing?” she demanded.

“You keep glancing at me as if you expect me to suddenly sprout horns and a tail.”

Her lips thinned. “Will you?”

He lifted a dark brow. “I possess enough manners to keep them hidden during tea.”

It was an absurd conversation. Still, Simone could not make herself laugh at her foolishness. Not yet.

“It is not pleasant to fear I am losing my wits,” she muttered.

Without warning he reached out to grasp her shoulders and turned her to face his sympathetic smile.

“There is no danger of that, I assure you.”

She grimaced. “I wish I could be certain.”

“Trust me,” he urged softly.

A shower of hot sparks flared through her at the feel of his warm hands upon her bare skin. The knowledge that she so readily responded to his merest touch only deepened the scowl marring her brow.

“Why do people keep saying that?”

Leaving the town house in the traditional manner, Gideon swiftly rounded the high hedge and made his way to the back garden.

Tea had been rather a stiff affair, with Simone clearly uneasy at having him near. More than once he had longed to pull her into his arms and confess all. Anything had to be better than the thick wall of suspicion that suddenly lay between them.

Thankfully, he had retained enough logic to hold the impetuous words.

Not only would the truth expose him long before he was prepared to move upon Tristan, but it might very well frighten her into sudden flight. No mortal would easily accept the presence of a vampire in her midst, not even one who had been sent to protect her. And if she ran, he might not reach her before Tristan managed to capture her.

The thought of the renegade vampire tightened Gideon’s features as he slid through the shadows of the garden. It had been the unmistakable sense of a vampire slipping through the web that surrounded Simone’s home that had brought him hurrying to the town house.

It could not be Tristan, of course.

After giving in to his bloodlust the vampire could no longer bear the light of day. But there had been two other traitors that had escaped with Tristan and while he had yet to catch sight of them, he could not be certain that either of them had not suddenly turned their attention to Simone. If they had not yet given in to the desire for human blood they would be as free as himself to walk the streets during the day.

And whether working for Tristan, or scheming behind his back to gain full control of the Medallion, they would be a danger he could not dismiss.

In a distant corner he came to a halt and waited for the thin lad to wiggle out of the bush and offer him a cheeky smile.

“’Ello, guv.”

“Have you been here all day?” he demanded in abrupt tones.

The urchin who sported ears and a nose far too large for his thin countenance gave a shake of his head.

“No, sir. I followed the lady when she went shopping and then to the lending library.”

“When did she return home?”

“I reakon it be about a couple of hours ago.”

Gideon allowed his gaze to roam over the garden, carefully scrutinizing the few places that could hide a careful stalker.

“What occurred after she returned?”

The lad shrugged. “She came to the garden.”

“Alone?”

“For a time.” The boy lifted a grimy finger to rub the end of his nose. “Then a queer old bird appeared in the garden. Gave me quite a fright, she did. One minute she wasn’t there and the next she was.”

Gideon frowned.

Although vampires could easily shape-shift when filled with the power of bloodlust, they would not be able to leave their lair at this hour.

Not unless it had been ...

His hands clenched at his side as he peered sharply at the lad. “Tell me of this woman.”

The boy gave his nose another rub. “Looked to be a gypsy to me. She had on one of them bright skirts and her hair hanging about her face.”

“A gypsy?” he murmured, recalling Simone’s explanation that she had been given the Medallion by an old gypsy woman.

“Never seen one afore, but that’s what she seemed to be.”

“Nefri,” he breathed.

“Beg pardon, guv?”

Not surprisingly the boy sent him a baffled gaze. No mortal had ever heard the name of the greatest of all vampires. Even among vampires she was more legend than fellow companion. Always a recluse she had been one of the few to maintain the ancient arts when others had fallen into the lure of power that could easily be acquired by human blood. For centuries at a time she would disappear, hidden in secrecy as she studied the old texts and delved into the magic that had been long forgotten.

It was how she had discovered the Medallion and the power to create the Veil.

“I speak to myself,” he said with an impatient wave of his hand. He did not know why Nefri would have sought Simone out, or what she had said, but he at least knew that she would never harm the mortal woman. He only wished that he could have the opportunity to speak with the vampire. Perhaps she could give him some answer as how to ease the wariness that held Simone. “You have seen nothing of the silver-haired gentleman?”

“Well ...”

The boy appeared oddly uncertain and Gideon gave a lift of his brows.

“What is it?”

“Queer thing,” he grudgingly replied. “I was leaving here last evening and I spotted one of the maids down the street speaking with a gent in a cape. Couldn’t see his hair in the dark, but I would swear it was the same bloke. Gave me the shivers just looking at him.”

Gideon was on instant alert. The vampire could easily compel one of the servants to harm Simone if he desired, although it would hardly be his style. Tristan preferred to inflict his own pain.

“Which maid?”

“I think her name be Daisy.”

The memory of a fresh-faced girl who was often at Simone’s side rose to Gideon’s mind. He would make sure he had a word with the maid, just to ascertain she had not been put beneath Tristan’s power.

“Let me know if she meets with this man again.”

The boy offered a mocking salute. “Righto.”

Reaching beneath his jacket, Gideon pulled out a small bag filled with coins.

“Here.” He dropped the money into the boy’s outstretched hand. “Maintain your guard.”

With a grin the boy gave a twist of his hand and the bag disappeared up his sleeve.

“Easiest blunt I ever made. Or stole, for that matter.”

“And if you see the gypsy again send for me immediately.”

Surprisingly the smile faded at his command, as if the boy feared he meant to harm the old woman.

“She seems harmless enough to me.”

Gideon did not even bother attempting to smother his sudden chuckle at the innocent words.

The urchin had no notion he had been in the presence of the oldest, most powerful vampire ever to walk the world.

“Never allow appearances to deceive you,” he warned.

“She’s dangerous?”

“More dangerous than you will ever know.”

With a nod of his head Gideon turned to leave the garden through the mews. There was still the faintest trace of Nefri’s presence, but Gideon did not attempt to follow the trail.

If the vampire wished to speak with him, she would seek his company.

Until then he would have to do the best he could to ensure that disaster did not occur.

A pity he did not feel nearly so confident in his ability as he had before leaving the Veil.

With a last glance toward the town house, Gideon disappeared into the short alley.

Chapter 9

Gideon waited two days before he at last sought out Simone.

He hoped that the time apart would give her the opportunity to still her fears and perhaps even come to terms with her suspicion that he was far more than just another London dandy.

Surprisingly he had discovered it more than a little difficult to keep himself from seeking out her companionship.

He found himself brooding upon whether she was taking proper care of herself, if Tristan was even now intending to harm her, and, absurdly, if she was entertaining other gentlemen while he stewed alone in his chambers.

The realization he was behaving more like a foolish human than a sophisticated vampire did not soothe his ruffled emotions.

Was he a victim of his own passions? If so, he had only to step from his home to discover a woman anxious to become his lover. Even without the use of Compulsion. But he did not make the slightest effort to do so.

It was not passions that troubled him, he at last conceded.

But passion for one particular woman. And the oddest desire to have her near where he could be certain she was safe at every moment.

Weakness, he fiercely chastised himself.

A weakness that he should sear from his soul before it could destroy him.

The proud thought made him smile.

He feared that it was already far too late.

The weakness would not be dismissed no matter how he might try. It had become as much a part of him as his arms or legs.

At last accepting that he could no longer resist the unmistakable tug of Simone, Gideon attired himself in a black coat and breeches and called for his carriage.

He tried to tell himself he was being absurd, but the need to see her was nearly unbearable as he rattled closer and closer to her town house. In truth, a decided chill of unease was settled in the pit of his stomach by the time he had walked up the stairs and was greeted by the butler.

“Good day, Bartson. I am here to see Lady Gilbert,” he said in abrupt tones.

That unease only deepened when the butler gave a regretful shake of his head.

“I fear, sir, that Lady Gilbert is still making her morning visits.”

Gideon glanced toward the clock set upon an ebony-and ivory-inlaid table. “At this hour?”

“I am certain she will not be long. If you will step into the front parlor I will let her know you are waiting the moment she returns.”

Feeling far too restless to meekly await Simone, Gideon nevertheless forced himself to give a nod of his head. What good would it be to dash about London in search of the stubborn woman? She could be anywhere, from Mayfair to Bond Street.

Far better to wait here.

“Very well.”

At his grudging acceptance Bartson led him up the stairs to the front parlor. He entered the large room, but did not even glance toward the numerous chairs and sofas scattered over the carpet.

“Shall I have tea served?” the servant demanded.

“No, I thank you.”

“There is brandy on the side table. Just ring if you need anything.”

“Yes, I will,” Gideon promised, pacing toward the large window that overlooked the street.

Behind him he heard the door being softly closed, and he at last allowed his growing anxiety to mar his countenance. He could not pinpoint the source of his concern, he only knew that he would not be at ease until Simone had entered the town house and he had reassured himself that all was well.

Minutes passed with the tick of the white marble clock that Simone had assured him had been personally designed by Robert Adam. Not that the name meant anything to him, but she seemed to take pride in the possession.

Gideon maintained his vigil by the window, watching countless carriages pass by without slowing. And all the while the sense that Simone was in danger continued to grow.

Where was she?

Why did his awareness of her feel muffled and tight, as if she were being forced farther and farther away?

On razor edge Gideon nearly jumped out of his polished boots when a small rock suddenly struck the window he was staring out of.

“What the devil?” he muttered, his gaze scanning the bushes to discover the filthy urchin huddled in the shadows. With a swift movement he had thrust the window open and leaned out to regard the boy with a narrowed gaze. “What is it?”

“Lady Gilbert, sir,” the youth called back.

Those shivers of unease hardened to cold fear. The urchin would not have returned to the house without Simone unless something had occurred.

“Do not move. I will be down in a moment,” he commanded. Swinging the window shut he turned and hurried from the room. With a fluid speed he was down the stairs and out of the house. The lad joined him at the front gate. “What has happened?” he demanded the moment the boy halted.

The usual hard sophistication the urchin liked to adopt was decidedly absent as he roughly rubbed the end of his nose.

“I was following her ladyship’s carriage just as you commanded, sir.”

“Yes?” Gideon retorted impatiently.

“Well, she was visiting some nob, but when she came out to get into her carriage she was nabbed by some toughs and thrown into a hack.”

“Damn. I will kill him.” Gideon clenched his fists as a fiery fury raced through him, not for a moment believing anyone but Tristan was responsible for Simone’s kidnapping. “Was she harmed?”

“Roughed up a bit.” A rather sickly smile curved the thin lips. “She gave ’em quite a struggle.”

“Yes, I can imagine,” Gideon said in dry tones. Simone would never go quietly. “Do you know where they took her?”

“Yes, sir. I followed the hack.”

Gideon gripped the lad’s shoulder. “Good boy. Show me.” Still keeping ahold of the urchin, Gideon steered him toward his waiting carriage. “What direction?”

“St. Giles.”

“Weldon,” he called to the waiting coachman. “To St. Giles.”

“Yes, sir.”

Waving the groom to remain perched beside the coachman, Gideon opened the coach door and waited for the boy to scramble onto the leather seat. He was quick to join him and, closing the door, they were swiftly on their way.

Heavy silence descended as Gideon attempted to thrust aside the fear that made his stomach clench into painful knots. He could not afford to have his thoughts clouded by emotions, he reminded himself sternly. If Tristan had ordered his servants to take Simone to his hidden lair, then he would be at his most dangerous. Calm, cold logic would be needed to best him.

Staring out the window, the boy gave a sudden shout. “This be the street, sir.”

Gideon gave a rap on the top of the carriage and without waiting for it to halt he shoved the door open.

“Stay here,” he commanded as the urchin made a move to follow him.

The boy stuck out his lower lip in stubborn defiance. “You can’t be going alone. That gang was a rough lot.”

Knowing that the boy’s pride in his ability to face any danger would never let him accept staying behind, Gideon sent him a steady gaze.

“I need you here,” he commanded in stern tones. “Once Lady Gilbert is free you are to take her away with all speed. Is that understood?”

“I ...” Trapped by the charge laid upon him, the urchin gave a reluctant nod. “Yes, sir.”

Certain he would be obeyed, Gideon moved down the narrow street, ignoring the various harlots and street vendors that called out to him. He waited until he had slipped into a dank, trash littered alley before he slipped his hand beneath his jacket to remove the dagger. Although he continued to hope that Tristan would eventually turn himself over to the Great Council, he knew that at the moment he would kill him without remorse.

And if he had harmed Simone in any way ... well, he offered no bets that the renegade would ever have to worry over the Great Council again.

The fact that he had just chosen the life of a human, whether she held the Medallion or not, over that of a vampire barely made a ripple in his cold fury.

Simone was all that mattered.

All that mattered.

Pausing until he could pinpoint her presence within the dark, abandoned brewery at the end of the alley, Gideon slipped forward. Oddly there was no sense of Tristan, but he did not lower his guard. With as much stealth as possible he pushed at the door nearly falling from its hinges.

The interior was dark, with the thick stench of mold and rotting straw. He eased into the shadows, pressing close to the wall as he scanned for danger.

It took only a moment for him to discover Simone tied to a post in a far corner. Her mouth was gagged and her hands wrenched behind her back and fastened with a thick rope. Even from a distance he could feel the terror that rolled from her in fierce waves.

Vowing to ensure that Tristan paid dearly for every bruise and scrape, Gideon moved silently forward.

“Simone,” he whispered in the heavy silence. “Do not fear. I will soon have you free.”

Strangely she gave a violent shake of her head, her terror only deepening.

Gideon grimly moved onward, not allowing himself to hesitate. Bloody hell, she surely could not believe that he was responsible for her kidnapping? Or that he would harm her in any manner?

Her head was still shaking as he circled the post and, using the dagger, began to cut through the ropes that bound her. Once he had her free he gently removed the gag and regarded her with a somber gaze.

“Listen to me carefully,” he said in low tones. “My servants are just down the alley. I want you to run as fast as you are able out the door and to the carriage. Do not look back or hesitate. Now, run.”

He gave her a firm shove, but with the stubborn perversity that was so much a part of her, she dug in her heels and turned to face him with a desperate gaze.

“No. Gideon, there are ...”

“Run,” he growled.

“You must come with me.”

“Damn.” Grabbing her arm he roughly hauled her to the door and shoved her through. Just as swiftly he closed the door in her face. “Now go,” he ordered through the heavy wood.

A shuffling from behind him had Gideon suddenly whirling about to discover four shabbily attired men leaving the shadows and walking toward him. With deliberate movements he shifted away from the door, silently praying that Simone had the sense to flee to the carriage. There were more dangers than Tristan’s henchmen in such a neighborhood.

Holding his dagger before him, Gideon narrowed his gaze. Even in the dim light he could see the blank emptiness in the men’s eyes. The Inscrollment that held them had destroyed their minds, but that only increased their threat. They would perform whatever Tristan had commanded them to do without fear and without halting until they were dead.

“Where is your master?” he demanded as he slowly backed from their steady advance.

“You have come,” one of the servants intoned.

“Halt or I will hurt you,” Gideon warned, fluidly moving so that he could keep his gaze on the four as they spread out as if to surround him.

“You have come,” another moaned.

Gideon was forced to take another step back, cursing the short dagger he held. Although the magic of the blade would kill a vampire, ironically it was no more than just another dagger to a human. He would be far better served with a sword.

If they attacked ...

But oddly they didn’t.

Gideon had taken two more steps backward before that realization struck.

Why were they not striking?

Surely Tristan would have commanded them to attack anyone who attempted to release the woman he had captured? Even if they could not slay a vampire.

Or was his intention something else?

Something more sinister?

Carefully watching the men shuffling toward him, Gideon coldly considered their deliberate movements. There was no rush to harm him, but they did seem to be intentionally herding him toward the back of the brewery. Step by slow step.

Deciding that what was behind him might very well be more dangerous than the scoundrels before him, Gideon gracefully whirled about, his heightened eyesight probing the dark shadows of the corner.

For long, tense moments he could detect nothing more ominous than the scurry of an occasional rat and the bones of some animal long dead. But just as he could feel the ruffians beginning to close in upon him he caught the faintest shimmer of power that had been woven in the shadows.

A mind snare, he recognized in icy shock.

It was a spell that had been forbidden by the Great Council centuries ago. Hardly surprising. It was a nasty surprise for any vampire who might wander unwittingly into one. Once caught there was no escape from the deadly sleep that would force the poor victim to simply waste away.

A shiver of revulsion raced through him.

Now it all became clear.

Why Simone had been kidnapped and then so easily allowed to escape. Why the henchmen did not attack, and instead attempted to push him toward this dark corner.

Tristan had deliberately sought a means to rid himself of Gideon, using Simone as bait. And rather than facing him in an honorable fashion he had sunk to means beyond all shame.

Feeling rough hands pushing at his back, Gideon effortlessly stepped to one side and brought up his dagger to slice at the nearest servant. He managed to cut the man’s upper arm, but he did not even blink as he continued to grasp for Gideon. Another set of hands caught his arm and Gideon heaved him aside. His momentary distraction, however, left him open to attack from the other side and he barely had time to turn as a third villain threw himself directly into his midsection and knocked him to the ground.

Gideon’s head hit the flagstone with a dull thud, and for a moment he was dazed. He thrust out with the dagger, managing to split open the stomach of the man who leaned over him, but his head exploded in pain once again as one of the men swung a cudgel to his right temple.

With blood pouring down his face, Gideon struggled to regain his footing. Although he was far more powerful than the humans, he was weakened by the blow to his head and hampered by the nearby snare that threatened his very existence.

Gaining his knees he reached out to efficiently hamstring the scoundrel with the cudgel, but a sharp pain in his side warned him that one of the two men still standing had drawn his own dagger. The stinging blade continued to rein blows upon him as the other man attempted to drag him closer to the snare.

Gideon growled in fury, fighting back the blackness that threatened to overcome him. He swung out with his blade, but without warning the man pulling at his arm suddenly crumpled at his side. He blinked through the blood running into his eyes, his heart freezing as he watched Simone swinging a lead pipe with frenzied strength. Moving around him she continued to swing until with a loud crack it connected with the remaining villain’s head and he tumbled forward with a low grunt.

For a moment shock and pain held him silent as he regarded the slender warrior with golden curls and deadly pipe, then with a low, rumbling laugh he collapsed onto the hard stone floor.

Shaking from head to toe, Simone sank on her knees beside Gideon.

Even in the shadows she could see the dark blood flowing through his jacket from the half dozen stab wounds. Even worse, his face was nearly unrecognizable as a large lump swelled until he could not open his right eye. There was a deep gash on his forehead that still bled and another she discovered as her hands brushed through the thick ebony hair at the back of his head.

It was a wonder he was still alive, she acknowledged with a grim pain that bore a hole straight through her heart. With such a loss of blood combined with the horrid blows to his head, a lesser man would have been ready for his grave.

“Hold on, Gideon,” she pleaded softly, unaware that tears ran unchecked down her cheeks.

Preparing to rise and go in search of help, Simone nearly swooned with relief when a scuffling noise at the doorway was followed by the familiar forms of Gideon’s coachman and a groom.

“Lady Gilbert?” the coachman called hesitantly.

“Over here, and please hurry,” she said in impatient tones, forcing her wobbly knees to hold her as she pressed herself upright. “Mr. Ravel has been hurt.”

Sparing a speculative gaze at the four men in varying stages of unconsciousness, the coachman swiftly joined Simone, followed closely by the groom.

“Bloody hell,” the coachman choked out at the sight of his master so badly wounded, only to give a sudden cough. “Pardon me, my lady.”

She waved aside his discomfort. “We must get him to the carriage.”

“Yes, at once.”

With a motion to the groom, the older man bent to drape one of Gideon’s arms over his shoulders then, waiting for his companion to do the same, they carefully hauled the barely conscious man upright.

It was a struggle to lead Gideon out of the building and down the alley, but with a great deal of grunting and an occasional muffled curse the two servants managed to half drag their master the length of the street and load him into the carriage. Trailing behind, Simone still clenched her thick pipe, silently praying, and at the same time keeping careful watch for any hidden ruffians.

She would not be caught unaware again, she told herself with a shudder at the memory of being roughly captured by the strange villains. Even now her stomach threatened to heave at the feeling of being utterly helpless as she was being tied to the post with no notion of what was to happen to her.

Worse even than those nights her sister would come and drag her from her bed ...

Simone gave a sharp shake of her head as she climbed into the carriage behind Gideon. Now was not the time for such thoughts.

Somehow she had to ensure that Gideon did not die.

Sinking onto the floor of the carriage she regarded the man sprawled upon the carriage seat.

“We must get him to a doctor,” she said to the two servants who both hovered in the doorway with matching frowns of concern.

“No,” Gideon abruptly moaned. “Take me home.”

Simone raised herself to her knees to glare down at him. “Do not be a fool. You are badly injured.”

He reached up to grasp her wrist, the black eyes glittering between his thick lashes.

“Simone, I wish to go home.”

“You need a doctor... .”

“Gads, must you always argue with me?” he demanded with a weak smile.

Allowing her gaze to lower to the shredded jacket, Simone noted that most of the blood had already begun to dry. Perhaps the wounds had not been as severe as she had first feared.

In any event, she could always send for a doctor once they reached Mayfair.

“Very well,” she grudgingly conceded. “But if you die on me ...”

“I will not die, that I can promise you,” he retorted in darkly certain tones. “Now, can we please be on our way?”

Needing no further prompting the coachman and groom hurriedly shut the door and scrambled into their positions. With a crack of the whip they were bowling away from the dank streets of St. Giles and threading their way to the more respectable neighborhoods.

Simone grasped the edge of the seat as she continued to kneel over Gideon, barely resisting the urge to trace the battered features of his countenance.

The swelling of his eye appeared to be lessening but she knew that the pain must be near unbearable. No one could endure being stabbed and beaten with such savagery and not be in utter agony, regardless of his annoyingly male determination to be brave.

Unable to do anything for the wounds, she reached out to squeeze his fingers, hoping to at least distract him from his pain.

“How did you find me?” she asked softly.

He grimaced as he turned his head so he could meet her worried gaze.

“I was at your home when the lad came to tell me that you had been taken. He was quick-witted enough to follow the hack so I would know where to search.”

Simone briefly recalled a grimy-faced lad that had been hovering outside the brewery when she had dashed out to find a weapon to use upon those madmen attacking Gideon. At the time she had barely noted him, but now she realized that the pointed face and overlarge ears had seemed vaguely familiar. As if she had seen him in the streets more than once.

She gave a faint shake of her head. “But how did he know who I am or where I live?”

“It seems that all of London knows of the ‘Wicked Temptress,’” he attempted to tease in light tones.

Simone was not so readily convinced that the lad just happened to know who she was, nor that he would risk himself being connected with the villains by going to her house.

Indeed, she was beginning to suspect that the boy was in the employ of Gideon Ravel and was being paid to follow her.

“Mmmm.”

His lips twitched at her knowing glance, but it was swiftly followed by a grimace as the carriage hit a stray stone.

“Are you hurt?”

“A few scratches and bruises, but nothing that will not heal. I was more frightened than anything,” she wryly admitted.

“Not nearly frightened enough, obviously.” The dark gaze suddenly glittered. “When I am recovered we will have a long discussion concerning your foolish behavior. I told you to escape.”

She gave a loud sniff, not about to admit that she would have as soon stabbed herself in the heart as to have left him to the mercy of the scoundrels.

Such a confession would reveal far more than she was ready to admit even to herself.

“You do not give me commands, Mr. Ravel,” she told him pertly.

His fingers abruptly squeezed her own with surprising strength. “I will not allow you to be harmed. No matter what the cost.”

Her heart gave an odd shudder at his fierce words, but she managed to keep herself from behaving like one of those foolish chits that simpered and purred at every man who cast a glance in their direction.

“Who were those men?” she demanded.

“Wretched souls who have fallen into the power of Mr. Soltern.”

“They were ...” She shivered as she recalled the blank, slack-jawed men who had treated her more as a piece of trash they had picked up off the street than a lady. “I do not know. It was almost as if they were ill.”

“Their minds have been destroyed beyond hope.”

“Destroyed?” Her breath caught in her throat. “How?”

There was a moment’s pause before he at last answered, “Fear.”

That was not what he had been about to say, but she was not at all certain that she desired to know the truth.

If Mr. Soltern could do that to men toughened by the harsh streets of London, what could he possibly do to her?

“Why did they not simply take my necklace if that is what they wanted? I could not have halted them.”

“I do not believe it was the necklace they desired.”

“Then, what? Money?”

“Perhaps,” he replied.

It was a perfectly reasonable deduction, but Simone found herself recalling how easily she managed to slip from the ruffians once Gideon had arrived. They had not so much as called out when she had been bundled out of the door.

“No, not money,” she said slowly. “Once you entered the building they made no effort to hold me captive. They were only interested in you.”

“Perhaps because I was the one holding the dagger,” he suggested in dry tones.

“It was more than that, they were seeking to harm you,” she reasoned out loud, her brow furrowed as she recalled the manner the villains had surrounded Gideon. Then suddenly her eyes widened as the truth at last struck her. “That was why I was captured. To lure you to that building. Mr. Soltern wanted you... .”

“There is little use in dwelling upon Mr. Soltern’s motives,” he firmly interrupted. “We are safe.”

Simone shivered as she regarded his poor, battered countenance. He had come so horridly close to death.

“Until he decides to try again.”

“We shall take greater precautions from now on.” The carriage rattled to a halt and he offered her a strained smile. “Ah, I believe we have arrived. My coachman will see you home.”

She offered him a frown of outrage at his presumption. “Do not be daft. I am not leaving you.”

“Simone.” He gave her fingers a warning squeeze. “Wicked temptress or not, you cannot be seen entering a bachelor’s establishment without so much as a maid to give you countenance.”

She gave an impatient click of her tongue. “You are injured.”

“Society will not care.”

“Well, I care,” she announced in stern tones. “Now, hush so the servants can help you inside.”

The dark gaze narrowed at her commanding tone, but at that moment the door was pulled open and Simone hurried out of the carriage so that the servants could help Gideon to the house.

She was not about to leave his side until she was absolutely certain he was properly attended to.

It took surprisingly little effort to negotiate Gideon from the carriage and into the house. In fact, he barely allowed either of the servants to do more than help keep him steady, and Simone gave a disbelieving shake of her head.

She would have sworn he was a breath away from dying when they had been in the brewery. It seemed amazing he was still conscious, let alone walking.

Entering the foyer, Simone halted as the servants continued up the stairs with Gideon. She knew that he would probably balk at having her present when they undressed him and put him to bed, although she would readily have done the task herself if only to assure herself that his wounds were not as grievous as she had feared.

Impatiently pacing the floor, she waited until she had seen the housekeeper hurrying by with hot water and bandages before she slowly made her way upstairs. Once in the upper corridor she patiently secreted herself behind a large urn until the housekeeper once again appeared, leaving the chamber at the end of the hall, followed closely by the coachman and groom.

Although she was shockingly indifferent to her reputation at the moment, she did not want to wrangle with worried servants over whether or not Gideon was fit to receive her. She was all too aware of how a devoted staff could cluck and stew over their employers.

With silent steps she moved down the corridor to push open the door and slip into the large bedchamber.

For a moment she was halted by the magnificent splendor of the room. With a wide Venetian window that overlooked the garden and walls hung with red and gold embossed leather, it seemed to glow like a jewel in the late afternoon sunlight. Across the room was a black marble chimneypiece and in the very center a gilded, four-poster bed with a red and gold canopy stood in barbaric beauty.

It was exotic, passionate and not at all what she had expected from Gideon.

Gideon.

With a shake of her head at her absurd distraction, Simone hurried toward the bed to discover that he was neatly tucked in the center of the mattress with several pillows stacked behind his head.

“How are you?” she demanded, perching as bold as a tart at the edge of the bed. “Has a doctor been sent for?”

His lips curved with a smile at her anxious tone, and, startling her, he reached out to lightly stroke her cheek with his long, pale fingers.

“I assure you that will not be necessary, my dearest. I will soon be completely recovered.”

Her heart warmed at the feel of his tender caress, but she was not about to let arrogant male pride send him to his grave.

“Men,” she muttered in annoyance, reaching up to twitch aside the cover so that she could make her own decision upon whether a doctor was in need. “You realize even the slightest wound can become infected. I will decide ... oh.”

Her words stuttered to an abrupt halt as her gaze moved over the smooth, firmly muscled chest that bore no more than angry red welts where he had been stabbed. In shock she lifted her head to study the cut upon his temple more closely, realizing that it too had faded to a thin scar, while the swelling was nearly gone. He might have been attacked weeks, perhaps months ago.

“I did warn you,” he at last broke the stunned silence.

“But ... this is impossible.”

His fingers moved to trace her unsteady lips. “You should really stop using that word, Simone. There are very few things that are impossible.”

“Someday you are going to tell me the truth,” she whispered in broken tones.

“Someday.” The dark eyes probed deep into her own, glittering with an emotion that threatened to steal her very soul. “For now, I need to hold you in my arms and know you are safe.”

Simone trembled. To be held in his arms. It was what she wanted more than anything in the world. No, not just wanted. What she desperately needed deep within her.

Somehow, without her even being aware of what was occurring, he had managed to become a necessary part of her world. Every day seemed dull until he appeared. Every night was filled with dreams of being close to him. And despite all the fears and shadows that surrounded him she could not bear the thought that he might someday walk away from her.

But while she might have been foolish enough to allow him into her heart, she still possessed enough common sense to realize that giving in to the passions he had stirred was beyond self-indulgent.

She was supposed to be an experienced widow well versed in the arts of love.

It would take only moments to discover she was a fraud.

Ignoring the regret that viciously stabbed through her, Simone gave a slow shake of her head.

“Gideon, I ...”

His fingers pressed to her lips as he sensed her reluctant refusal.

“I just wish to hold you, Simone,” he said softly. “I need to feel you close.”

She hesitated, well aware it was a bad notion in more than one way, but in the end she could as soon have halted the sun from rising as to deny his urgent plea.

“Yes,” she whispered, readily settling upon the cover.

With a low groan he reached out to wrap his arms about her and tugged her close. Simone gloried in the feel of his long, hard body as it pressed against her own. Even with the cover between them she could feel the comforting heat reach out to surround her. She breathed deeply of the faint scent of spice that clung to his skin.

All the horror and wretched sense of helplessness slowly faded away as she laid her head upon his chest and listened to the steady beat of his heart.

“Ah, my Simone, this is where you belong,” he said in satisfied tones.

Simone closed her eyes as she battled sudden tears.

She had never truly belonged anywhere.

Not with her father, nor her sister and certainly not in that extravagant London town house.

But for the moment she did feel as if she belonged in Gideon’s arms.

“Yes.”

Chapter 10

Death arrived in Devonshire without warning.

In the sleepy village near the coast the neighbors abruptly began locking their doors at night and eying one another with suspicion. Those forced to leave their homes at night began carrying their firearms and closely watching the shadows for sign of the killer.

There was no explanation for the young women who were being found in their beds with their blood drained from their bodies. Not unless one was willing to believe the unbelievable.

It was all enough to make the most daring of souls begin to peer over their shoulders.

In the small inn next to the town green the local blacksmith and ferryman huddled in a far corner as they enjoyed a pint of ale. There was no one else in the public room excepting the inn keep who morosely watched the empty door. No one wished to leave their homes without dire necessity.

“I be telling you it’s the work of a vampire,” the ferryman announced in knowing tones as he took a deep sip of the dark ale.

“Get on with you. Are you daft?” the blacksmith growled, his wide, well worn features tight with worry. “T’ain’t no such thing as vampires.”

“Then how do you explain four young maidens all found in their beds with nary a drop of blood left between them?”

The blacksmith shivered in spite of himself. He was considered a brawny man who had never backed away from a fight, and more often than not was called in when the magistrate was in need of a bit of muscle. These peculiar murders, however, had unnerved even him.

How did one fight a shadow that moved through locked doors and could kill without a sound?

“A madman,” he retorted in forceful tones that were meant to convince himself as well as the man seated across the scarred table. “And my bet is upon old Fedmor. I always said as how he wasn’t right in the head.”

“Fedmor?” The ferryman gave a scoffing laugh. “The poor sod is so in his cups most nights he couldn’t find his way to the door. How could he creep about murdering poor innocents without so much as a squeak?”

The blacksmith shifted uneasily. “Then Dalmer. Everyone knows that he’s queer in the head.”

“And how did he take their blood with only two holes in their necks?”

“Blimey, how am I to know what a madman can do?”

The ferryman suddenly leaned forward, his pale eyes glittering with fearful intensity.

“I’m telling you that we have a vampire on the loose in the neighborhood and I for one intend to take my gels to Salisbury for a nice long visit with their aunt.” He gave a shake of his head. “Won’t have them becoming fodder for some demon from hell.”

The blacksmith took a deep drink of his ale, refusing to give in to the panic that was swiftly turning the villagers into babbling idiots. So far he had halted several young boys who were intent on stoning a feeble old woman, and the father of one of the murdered girls from attacking the vicar.

“Dicked in the nob, you are. Vampires.” He gave a loud humph. “Next you’ll be telling me we have witches dancing about the maypole.”

The ferryman abruptly rose to his feet, his expression one of contempt.

“Stay and die if you like. For me, better a month of Aunt Celia’s sharp tongue than dying in me own bed.”

Not far from the inn Tristan stroked the hair of the aging servant who knelt at his feet.

It had taken several days to discover the tart, ill-tempered woman who had once been the housekeeper for Lady Gilbert. Not surprisingly, the various relatives who had been landed with the tartar after the Gilbert household had been closed down had done their best to send her as far away as possible.

At last he had managed to track her down to a crumbling cottage near the coast, where she bullied the local children and terrified the vicar.

Putting aside his delight in feasting upon the local maidens, he at last slipped into the cottage and confronted the elderly servant.

Within moments his Inscrollment spell had put an end to her bitter tongue, and she was crawling upon her knees in an effort to please him.

It had still been an effort to at last discover the information that he had sought. Lady Gilbert had been even more clever and treacherous than he thought possible. Indeed, if it had not been for the small miniature that the housekeeper had stolen from the estate to remind her of her mistress, he might never have realized the scandalous ruse.

Now he allowed a pleased smile to touch his lips as the older woman gazed at him with mindless adoration.

“I have pleased you?” she demanded in anxious tones.

He fingered the tiny portrait with his pale fingers. “Oh yes, you have pleased me very much.”

“I only desire to serve you.”

“Yes, now I believe my work here is done.”

“You are leaving?”

“Yes.”

She abruptly clutched at the hem of his coat, threatening to wrinkle the superfine fabric.

“Take me with you.”

Tristan batted her hands away in annoyance. Really, humans were so tediously weak.

“That is not possible.”

Tears openly ran down the wrinkled cheeks as she clutched her hands together.

“No, you cannot leave me. Please.”

He slipped the miniature carefully into his pocket before allowing the heat to begin coursing through his blood. He could not leave witnesses to his questioning, despite the fact he had little taste for bitter old women.

He could feel his fangs grow as he thrust his fingers into her hair and jerked her upward.

“Do not fear,” he mocked as her eyes widened. “I have a gift for you before I leave.”

“What ...”

Her words came to an abrupt end as Tristan lowered his head and sank his teeth into her neck. Just for a moment her feet kicked in agony, her moans filling the dark, dank cottage. Then just as abruptly she went utterly limp and Tristan tossed her onto the dirt floor.

Removing a dainty lace handkerchief he dabbed at his wet lips. He had what he had been searching for, he acknowledged as the power surged through his body.

Soon Lady Gilbert would be anxious to hand over her Medallion.

And he would be feasting upon her blood.

A pity he had been forced to destroy Gideon before he could appreciate the sight of his lover being drained of her life.

Sending away his valet who had been hovering over him like a mother hen since he had been carried home from the brewery, Gideon set about tying his cravat.

Although it had only been a few hours since the attack, there was no trace of the wounds that had been inflicted by Tristan’s servants. His countenance was once again smooth and his chest unmarred by scars.

Still, the horror of discovering Simone at the mercy of those villains remained firmly seared upon his heart.

A fine shiver raced through his body.

If anything had happened to her ...

“Very nice, Gideon,” a rich female voice applauded from the center of the room. “But then, you always were a handsome gentleman.”

With a sinuous motion Gideon had pulled the dagger from beneath his coat and whirled to confront the intruder. He froze at the sight of the shabby, gray-haired gypsy who stood regarding him with a mysterious smile.

“Nefri,” he breathed, instinctively bowing low in respect. Even from a distance he could feel the power that radiated from her small, bent form and the relentless intelligence that burned in the dark eyes.

“Stop that nonsense,” she commanded with a hint of amusement in her tone. Waiting until he had straightened she waved a gnarled hand in the direction of a nearby chair. “Sit down so I do not need to strain my neck to look you in the eye.”

Obediently lowering himself into the chair, Gideon regarded her with a faint frown. Even though she was using her powers to alter her appearance, he realized that she would not have revealed herself if the need were not dire.

“What has occurred?” he demanded. “Is it Tristan?”

The old gypsy’s lips thinned at the mention of the renegade. “That is one vampire who could use a good strapping,” she said in short tones. “He could never be satisfied with what he possessed. Like a child, he always desired what he could not have.”

Gideon recalled the deadly mind snare that had been set to trap him.

“He is rather more dangerous than a child.”

Nefri gave a slow nod, her expression becoming somber. “Yes, I suppose he is, at that.”

“Has he left London?” Gideon demanded, knowing that Nefri would be keeping careful guard on all the traitors.

“For a time. However, he returned before dusk far more dangerous than when he left.”

Gideon stilled at the undoubted warning. More dangerous? He had already murdered helpless innocents, had Simone kidnapped and had set a trap for him that had been forbidden for centuries.

How could he possibly be more dangerous?

His features unconsciously tightened with determination. Whatever surprises Tristan had devised, he would not be allowed to harm Simone. Nor to get his greedy hands upon the Medallion. No matter what Gideon had to do to halt him.

“Then I will seek him out and destroy him,” he said in even tones.

Nefri regarded him steadily. “He will not allow you to find him until he is prepared. And you must recall that at the moment his powers are greater than your own.”

Gideon grimaced with impatience. “I cannot simply wait until he attempts to harm Si ... Lady Gilbert once again.”

A sudden smile touched the lips of the older woman at Gideon’s revealing slip of the tongue. A smile that was more than a bit worrisome.

“She is a dear child, is she not?” she demanded in sweetly innocent tones. “But so fragile with the burdens she carries. She needs a strong gentleman she can depend upon when she is forced to confront Tristan.”

Although he sensed he was being ruthlessly maneuvered, Gideon did not hesitate in his response.

“I will be at her side.”

Surprisingly, Nefri gave a slow shake of her head. “No, I fear you will not.”

Gideon stiffened in annoyance. Did the powerful vampire believe that he would fail Simone when she needed him the most? Or that he perhaps feared to face Tristan?

It was unconscionable.

“What do you mean?” he rasped sharply.

“She will not turn to you for assistance if she does not trust you.”

With a jerk Gideon was on his feet. Damnation. Nefri had managed to strike at him where he was most vulnerable. Simone did not yet trust him. Even when she had lain in his arms through the long night he had felt the barriers that she kept between them. There were still too many secrets, too many reasons to remain wary of one another.

“I have done all in my power to win her trust,” he said defensively.

Nefri gave a slow shake of her head. “You have not yet told her the truth of yourself.”

He shoved his fingers through the long hair that he had not yet tied back.

“If I tell her the truth she will be more terrified of me than ever. You know as well as I do how mortals react to the mere mention of vampires. Most do not believe we exist, and those who do consider us monsters.”

“Until there is truth between you there can be no trust,” she retorted with unshakable logic.

Gideon turned about as his stomach twisted in dread. As much as he disliked the wariness he could sense within Simone, it was far preferable to watching her flee from him in disgust.

She would never understand, he told himself as pain lanced through his heart. The myth of vampires being savage beasts who preyed upon hapless humans was too deeply ingrained. And the very fact that Tristan was ravaging his way through St. Giles would only add to her fear.

If he confessed, he would lose her forever.

He sucked in a sharp breath. He could not bear the loss.

“It is impossible,” he said in tortured tones.

“I thought you once said that very little is impossible, Gideon,” Nefri lightly teased.

Caught off guard by the realization that the woman had somehow heard the words he had spoken to Simone only last evening, Gideon spun about to confront her, only to discover the room was once again empty.

He released his breath with a loud hiss.

Since coming to London he had hoped that Nefri would seek him out. Not only because she was a legend among vampires, but because he had presumed she could help him to discover some means of luring Tristan back to the Veil without forcing him into a battle.

Now he wished that she had never appeared.

It was obvious she was warning him that he must confess the truth to Simone. And that without her trust he would somehow fail.

The mere thought made a shudder race through his body.

There was a discreet knock on the door before a footman stepped into the room.

“Sir, your carriage is waiting to take you to the boot maker.”

Gideon clenched his hands at his sides. Nefri had claimed that Tristan was once again in London. He could not put off the evil hour, no matter how much he might wish to. There was no telling when the desperate traitor might strike.

“There has been a change in my schedule,” he said briskly. “Inform the coachman that we will be calling upon Lady Gilbert this morning.”

“Very good, sir.” With a bow the footman turned to leave the room.

Once alone Gideon reached for a ribbon to tie back his hair.

Only weeks ago he would have scoffed at the mere thought of feeling uneasy at confronting a mortal. He was a vampire. A gentleman far above lesser humans. What did he care if a woman was frightened or horrified by his presence?

His arrogance, however, had been thoroughly punctured by a golden-haired temptress who had managed to capture his heart in a manner he had never before experienced.

He could not lose her, not now.

With a final tug upon his cuffs, Gideon forced himself to leave his chambers.

It was time that Simone discover that the gentleman she had shared a bed with last evening was a creature out of her worst nightmare.

With a practiced skill Simone lightly sketched the outline of a walking dress with a hint of military crispness in the tailored skirt and square neckline.

Putting aside the last of the material she had neatly folded and stacked on the table in the back drawing room, Daisy moved behind Simone and heaved a sigh of appreciation.

“Oh, my lady, ’tis perfect for the dark blue satin,” she said.

“Yes, with a touch of gold braiding upon the bodice and sleeves,” Simone replied absently, her pencil still moving over the sketchpad.

“It will be lovely.”

Simone had to agree. Although she had returned from Gideon’s determined to sleep the day through, she had discovered herself far too restless to seek her bed.

Dear heavens, how could she possibly sleep, no matter how weary she might be?

It had been bad enough to be roughly kidnapped by those mindless creatures, and then to fear that Gideon had been murdered before her very eyes. But to have been at his side and watch as his wounds had healed ...

It should have been terrifying.

She should have fled from his home and refused to ever see him again.

After all, she could no longer deny that Gideon was something other than human.

Instead she had remained, locked in his arms and inwardly wishing that she had the right to remain there for an eternity.

Never had she felt so safe, so utterly at peace.

And it was only the knowledge that her reputation would be in utter ruins if she did not slip away before the servants stirred that had at last sent her scurrying to her own home.

Her fingers trembled and she hastily set aside the pad and pencil.

What was happening to her?

Had Gideon bewitched her? Was she under some mysterious spell that took away all logic and left her vulnerable to emotions she had thought buried long ago?

Her thoughts were still in chaos when the butler stepped into the room and offered a bow.

“Pardon me, my lady, but Mr. Ravel has called.”

Simone shakily rose to her feet, briefly considering having him sent away before she dismissed the absurd notion. Gideon had proved time and time again that he would not be halted if he wished to see her.

Besides, if she were to be perfectly honest with herself she could not deny that a part of her wished to be with Gideon. No matter what the mystery that surrounded him, no matter if she felt as if she were going mad.

He had entangled himself in her heart, and she very much feared that she would never be free of her feelings for him.

“Thank you.” She somehow forced a smile to her stiff lips. The staff had already developed a great fondness for the gentleman turning her world upside down. There was no use in upsetting them. “Put him in the front salon and tell him I shall be along in a moment.”

“Yes, my lady.”

Simone briefly glanced down at the deep jade walking gown she had chosen after her bath. It was a lovely gown with an enticing bodice that had stirred more than one admirer to heated glances and indecent proposals.

She wryly wondered if she had chosen the gown knowing that Gideon was bound to put in an appearance.

With a shake of her head at her foolishness, Simone squared her shoulders and forced herself to calmly make her way to the front salon. She might as well try and touch the stars as to comprehend her reactions to Mr. Gideon Ravel.

Entering the large room drenched in morning sunlight, Simone was surprised to find Gideon pacing the carpet as he awaited her arrival.

For a moment she regarded him in silence, drinking in the elegant beauty of his pale features and the chiseled perfection of his male form. With supple grace he moved across the carpet then, no doubt sensing her presence, he turned to regard her with a glittering gaze.

“Good morning, Simone.”

Stepping farther into the room she forced herself to assume a casual manner. She would not gape at him as if she were some moonstruck schoolgirl. Even if she did feel like one.

“This is a surprise,” she said smoothly. “I did not expect you this morning.”

Accustomed to his arrogant self-assurance she was rather startled by the unmistakable nerve that pulsed at the corner of his jaw.

“I must speak with you.”

“Very well. Will you have a seat?”

“Not here,” he said abruptly. “My carriage is outside. Will you join me for a drive?”

Realizing that something urgent was troubling Gideon, Simone did not even hesitate.

“Of course.”

Holding out his arm, Gideon led Simone to the foyer in silence. She swiftly collected a parasol and her gloves before allowing him to steer her out of the house and down the stairs.

Once at the tilbury, Gideon lifted her onto the leather seat and took his place beside her, taking the reins from the coachman.

“I will drive myself,” he informed the waiting servants. “You may return home.”

With a practiced crack of the whip, Gideon had the grays in motion, and Simone waited with rising impatience as they crawled through the heavy London traffic. She did not know what had occurred, but she did not miss the tension that gripped her companion.

Reluctantly waiting until they had managed to make their way toward the edge of town, she at last gave in to the anxiety that was beginning to form in the pit of her stomach.

“Has something occurred?” she demanded as they turned onto the side path that led to the meadow where they had so recently shared their picnic.

He paused before giving a small nod of his head. “I had a visit from a mutual friend this morning.”

Her heart gave an uncomfortable leap. “Mr. Soltern?”

“No. An old gypsy woman.”

“Oh.” Simone considered his revelation. She had already discovered that the gypsy was acquainted with Gideon, but she had never sensed anything to fear in the old woman. In fact, she had always been oddly at peace when she was in her company. “What did she desire?”

“She has commanded that I tell you the truth of myself,” he said in abrupt tones.

Simone stilled, not at all certain she was prepared to hear the truth. Once he spoke the words she realized that there would be no going back to the way her life had been before.

“She commanded you?” she asked, desperate to keep the conversation from coming to its inevitable conclusion.

“When Nefri speaks a wise ... gentleman listens.”

“Nefri? That is her name?”

“Yes.”

“And she has some authority over you?”

Gideon gave a strained chuckle. “Over all of us. She is not only powerful, she is a scholar of the ancient arts.”

“You ... you are a gypsy?” she demanded, even as she knew that she was being a fool.

“No.” Bringing the horses to a halt, Gideon vaulted to the ground and tied off the reins. Then, rounding the tilbury he helped her to alight. “Shall we take a stroll?”

Hesitating for a moment, Simone at last gave a reluctant nod of her head. Clearly Gideon was determined that she would hear his confession whether she wished to or not.

“Very well.”

Pulling her arm through his own he led her across the lovely meadow, his features tight with inner emotion.

“This is very difficult,” he at last admitted in low tones. “I do not wish to frighten you.”

“Then perhaps it would be best to keep your secrets for now,” Simone cowardly urged.

He flashed her a wry smile, as if perfectly aware of her unease. “No, it is too important that you trust me,” he said, slowly coming to a halt and grasping her shoulders so that she was forced to face him. “Simone, you must have guessed by now that I am not a mortal.”

She was shaking her head even before he finished, her stomach churning with fear.

“No, Gideon, I ...”

“I am a vampire.” He overrode her desperate words with a firm tone.

“What?” The world jerked to a halt as she regarded him in shock. He was mad. Or she was. “No. There is no such thing.”

His fingers tightened upon her shoulders as if sensing how close she was to fleeing in anguish.

“They are very real, although we left the world of humans nearly two centuries ago. Now we live in peace behind the Veil. Or at least we did until three renegades fled to London with the intention of destroying our world.”

Simone could barely comprehend his words.

A vampire.

They were the stuff of gothic novels and children’s nightmares. Horrifying monsters that sucked the blood of the unwary and lived in the shadows.

They were not handsome, elegant gentlemen who lived in London and stole the hearts of susceptible women.

“No,” she whispered in denial.

The dark eyes softened with regret as he regarded her barely restrained panic.

“Simone, there is no reason to fear me. I will not harm you.”

She shook her head at his calming words. “I do not believe you. You must be out of your wits.”

“Listen to me,” he urged softly. “The old gypsy is in fact the most powerful of vampires. Long ago she used an ancient artifact to produce the Veil. When the renegades escaped they came in search of the artifact to bring an end to the Veil and to use the power for their own glory. I was sent to halt them.”

Pressing a hand to her stomach she attempted to catch her elusive breath. It helped to assure herself that this was all a terrible dream and that soon she would awaken to discover she was safely tucked in her bed.

“Mr. Soltern?” she demanded in oddly thick tones.

He gave a slow nod of his head. “Yes, he is one of the traitors.”

Which, of course, meant that he was also a vampire. Simone shuddered in horror. The man had been in her home. He had touched her.

“And the artifact?”

“It was a Medallion that Nefri wisely divided and offered to three mortal women. She bound them with a spell that ensures that they cannot be taken by force, only freely given.”

Simone’s hand lifted to the gold amulet that lay against her skin.

“My necklace.”

“Yes.”

A heavy silence descended as Simone’s thoughts whirled through her head too swiftly to follow. It was all so impossible. Vampires and Medallions and strange veils. That did not even include gypsies and traitors.

No sane woman would believe it for a moment.

“You are a vampire,” she said in dull tones, as if saying the words would somehow waken her from the wretched dream.

“I fear so.”

“And yet you walk in the daylight.”

He grimaced at her accusation. “Unlike Tristan I have not taken of human life. The curse of the sun does not affect me.”

Against her will her hand shifted to cover her neck.

Tristan had taken human life? He had murdered helpless innocents?

Dear heavens, did he intend her to be a victim?

Was that why Gideon had warned her to beware?

Suddenly it was too much for Simone to accept.

Reasonable, sane women did not believe in vampires. Not even when she had seen a picture of Gideon that had been painted three hundred years before, or when he managed to heal wounds that should have put him in his grave.

And she was a reasonable, sane woman, she assured herself.

She was not mad.

“This is not happening,” she whispered in broken tones.

“Simone,” he frowned with obvious concern. “Are you ill?”

“I wish to return home.”

“But ...”

“Please, Gideon,” she pleaded, feeling as if she might shatter to pieces at any moment. “I must have time to consider what you have told me.”

He regarded her for a long moment. “What will you do?”

“I do not know.” She reluctantly forced herself to meet the dark, compelling gaze. “I truly do not know.”

Chapter 11

Tristan waited in the shadows as the frumpy maid neared.

His patience had been severely strained over the past few days.

When he had returned to London he had presumed it would be a simple matter to encounter Lady Gilbert and confront her with his ultimatum. After all, she was always gadding from one social function to another.

But strangely the usually flamboyant widow had cloistered herself in her home and refused to receive even her most devoted admirers.

The gossip had, of course, already started to twitter through town. The less vicious of the Ton implied that she was nursing a heart broken by Mr. Ravel, while others were convinced that she was attempting to conceal the fact that she was carrying his bastard.

Tristan was indifferent to her reason for retreating from society. His only concern was ensuring she realized the danger she faced if she did not give him what he desired.

After dawdling to speak with a local charwoman, the maid at last continued down the street and with silent steps Tristan moved forward to block her path.

“Ah, my lovely damsel in distress,” he murmured with a lethal smile. “I do hope you have recovered from your trying experience?”

Giving a small squeak at his abrupt appearance, the maid took a hasty step backward before realizing he was the gentleman who had saved her only a fortnight before.

“Oh, yes sir.”

“Good. I should hate to think those wretched men had harmed you.”

“Only thanks to you, sir.”

“It is always my pleasure to be of help to a lovely maiden,” he answered smoothly.

As expected the woman’s eyes widened with pleasure. With her plain features and hair more like straw than silk, he did not doubt he was the first gentleman ever to give her such a compliment.

“Lovely? Me?”

“But of course.” Glancing down at the basket she carried in her hands, he lifted a silver brow. “Are you returning to Lady Gilbert’s?”

“Yes, sir,” she readily admitted, unaware that he was carefully steering her in the direction he desired. “I fear she is feeling rather poorly and I nipped out to get a few of those pastries my ma bakes. They are favorites of her ladyship.”

“How very thoughtful of you.”

“I do not like seeing her so blue deviled.”

“No, indeed.” Tristan tapped his chin with a thoughtful finger, pretending a concern for the woman he intended to destroy. “I have missed seeing her about as well. Is she ill?”

“A lingering pain in her head.”

“Ah, how tedious for her.”

“’Tis most unusual. She has always been blessed with a steady constitution. Not at all like most ladies who are forever swooning and taking to their beds.”

“She will no doubt be up and about before long.” Tristan reached beneath his jacket to pull out a small package he had wrapped in paper. “In the meantime I wonder if you will give her this trifling gift that I purchased for her?”

Annoyingly the maid hesitated as she regarded him with a faint frown.

“Would you not rather give it to her yerself ?”

He resisted the urge to knock her to the ground for her impertinence.

“It might be several days before I am able to see her again. I hope this will brighten her spirits.”

With clear reluctance the maid took the package he offered. “Very well.”

“Do not delay in giving it to her,” he commanded in stern tones. “I am certain it will help to make her forget all about the pain in her head.”

“Yes, I will, sir.”

He once again flashed his cold smile. “Then be off before those pastries lose their warmth.”

Dipping her head the maid scurried past him and headed directly for the large house at the end of the block. Tristan watched her disappear with a surge of satisfaction.

“Soon, my lady,” he whispered into the darkness. “Soon you will be in my power and I will sink my teeth deep into you.”

Seated at the window seat, Simone stared into the darkness of her garden as she absently shredded a dainty lace handkerchief.

It was the third handkerchief she had destroyed in as many nights.

Not that the destruction was making her feel any better, she acknowledged as she tossed the tattered lace aside. Nor had pacing the floor of her bedchamber for hours on end. Nor even the appalling concoction that had tasted suspiciously of rotting fish that her cook had insisted she drink to help her sleep.

But even as she told herself she was being a fool for virtually making herself a prisoner in her own home, she could not bring herself to step out of her chambers.

How could she possibly face others and pretend that nothing was the matter?

How could she face Gideon?

Or, heaven forbid, Mr. Soltern?

Of its own accord her hand raised to her neck. She still shuddered at the mere memory of Gideon’s stark confession.

A vampire?

It was insanity.

Beyond insanity.

And yet, had she not already realized that he was not human? Had she not witnessed his powers?

The light knock upon the door was a welcome distraction, and turning from the window she cleared her worried expression.

“Enter,” she called softly, not at all surprised when her maid pushed open the door and crossed the carpet toward her. Poor Daisy had not bothered to hide her growing concern at Simone’s uncharacteristic bout of brooding. She had, indeed, taken to arriving in the bedchamber with innumerable treats in the hopes of lifting her mistress’s heavy mood. “Daisy, you should be abed.”

The kindly maid held out a small basket that offered a most tempting aroma. “I have brought you some of those pastries that you like.”

Simone smiled at the young woman who was regarding her with an anxious gaze.

“Thank you. That was very kind of you.”

“You must eat something, my lady.”

Simone could not halt her faint grimace. Even the thought of food was enough to make her stomach heave in an alarming fashion.

“Yes, I will,” she hedged. “Perhaps later.”

Daisy gave a disapproving shake of her head, easily able to detect the manner Simone’s skin had tightened over the fine bones of her face and the dark circles beneath her eyes.

“’Tisn’t good for you to remain in this room and brood. No gentleman is worth becoming ill over.”

Simone widened her eyes in surprise at the chiding words. “What makes you believe that I am brooding over a gentleman?”

A knowing expression touched the round face. “If a woman is cast down it can always be blamed upon a gentleman. A right lot of trouble they are.”

A near hysterical laugh threatened as Simone thought of Gideon. She could only wish she was annoyed with him because he devoted his time to the gaming tables or had taken a mistress. Those were at least failings she could comprehend.

As it was ...

She trembled as she instinctively gathered her light robe closer to her body. “True enough. They are trouble I have no need of at the moment.”

“Well, as to that, I must say that life would be a good deal duller without them about,” Daisy reluctantly conceded. “They do have their uses.”

At the moment Simone would be hard pressed to think of one. Unless she were to count turning her life into chaos and ensuring that she would never again have a decent night’s rest.

“I think that I shall go to bed now, Daisy,” she said, knowing the maid would remain to prod her into eating the pastries if she did not send her on her way.

The servant turned to leave, then abruptly turned back to regard Simone with an embarrassed expression.

“Oh, I nearly forgot.”

“What is it?”

The maid reached into the pocket of her apron to remove a small package.

“A gentleman halted me in the street and requested that I give you this gift.”

Simone felt a chill run down her spine as she reluctantly accepted the gift.

“What gentleman?”

Daisy gave a restless shrug. “A rather queer sort, although he did once save my life.”

The sense of premonition only deepened at the maid’s obvious unease.

“What ... what did he look like?”

“A large man with cold eyes and long silver hair.”

“Mr. Soltern,” Simone whispered in horror.

“He seemed quite anxious that you receive this gift as soon as possible.”

Simone shivered, longing to toss the package through the window. It was, in fact, what she had done with the priceless bracelet that he had given to her.

Common sense, however, held her hand. Gideon had warned that Mr. Soltern would do whatever necessary to get his hands upon her necklace. She had to discover if he was plotting against her.

“That will be all, Daisy.”

The maid dropped a ready curtsy. “Good night, my lady. Just ring if you need me.”

“Yes, yes I will.”

Waiting until the servant had left the room and firmly closed the door behind her, Simone crossed toward the candle she had left burning on the table beside her bed. Then, sinking onto the side of the mattress she forced her stiff fingers to undo the string tied about the package and peeled back the heavy paper.

A note fluttered onto her lap, but Simone paid it no heed as her heart froze at the sight of the miniature painting that had been revealed.

She recognized it immediately, of course.

It was a portrait her sister had commissioned only weeks before Lord Gilbert’s death.

There was no mistaking the glorious golden curls and petulant features, nor the deep rose gown that had possessed golden threads through the bodice.

There was also no mistaking the fact that the portrait had been left in Devonshire since her sister had been quite determined to have a new portrait commissioned with a London artist.

Simone struggled to breathe.

Somehow Mr. Soltern had learned the truth of her past.

A past that was supposed to be buried along with her sister.

Dropping the miniature upon the bed, Simone reached for the note to read the brief message that she was now expecting.

If you do not wish London to know of Sally Jenkins then come to the brewery tonight. Bring the Medallion.

Tristan

Numb with shock, Simone discovered herself rising to her feet and pulling off the robe so that she could don a plain black gown.

What choice did she have, a voice whispered in the back of her mind?

She could not possibly allow him to reveal the truth. Her entire life would be at an end. Dear Lord, she might very well be hauled off to the gallows.

As she dressed, however, her initial flare of horror began to recede and she forced herself to consider what she was about to do.

It was one thing to face a man intent on extortion.

It was quite another to face a desperate vampire who was willing to murder without remorse.

A ball of ice formed in her stomach at the thought of making her way alone to the brewery and facing Mr. Soltern.

She had always considered herself a courageous and even bold woman. Certainly she could be impulsive. But not even her nerve was equal to this task.

So what was she to do?

Allow Mr. Soltern to destroy her life? Flee London and hope to hide herself in a small village where no one would know her?

But surely the vampire would follow her wherever she would go?

Pacing the floor for nearly an hour, Simone at last came to the inevitable conclusion.

She had to go to Gideon.

No matter how often over the past few days she might have told herself that he must either be a monster or a madman, she knew deep within her that he was the only person in the entire world that she truly trusted.

She might not be able to explain why, but with him she felt safe and cared for in a manner she had never experienced before.

Gideon made her believe that she belonged with him, down to her very soul.

Not giving herself time to consider what she was about to do, Simone silently slipped from her room and made her way to the back stairs.

The night was swiftly passing, she realized with a flare of fear, and there was no telling what Mr. Soltern would do if she failed to show at the brewery.

Remaining in the shadows as much as possible she hurried past the rows of elegant town houses, dodging drunken dandies and the occasional servant as she made her way to Gideon’s home. Once there she made her way to the garden and slipped through the narrow door that led to the kitchen.

It was more luck than skill that allowed her to slip silently past the servants who were indulging in a late night dinner and to the back stairs. Thankfully she already knew the way to Gideon’s chambers, and with a hasty prayer that she was not about to make a dreadful mistake she hurried down the corridor and pushed open the door to his chambers.

The room was bathed in shadows, but Simone sensed that Gideon was awaiting her as she cautiously inched her way through the darkness. It was in the thick tension she could feel in the air, and the unmistakable sensation of his dark gaze resting upon her.

She stumbled to an uncertain halt, and at that moment a candle flared to life.

Standing beside the vast bed, Gideon was attired in his brocade robe. With an elegant movement he set the candle on a table and moved to take her chilled hands in his own.

“Simone.”

“Gideon, I ...” She briefly faltered, staring at the starkly handsome features that appeared oddly unfamiliar in the flickering candlelight.

As if sensing her wavering nerve, Gideon gently squeezed her hands, a frown marring his brow as he felt the shudder that raced through her body.

“Simone, what has happened?”

“I received a note from Mr. Soltern,” she admitted bluntly.

He stilled as his dark gaze narrowed. “What did it say?”

“He demanded that I bring my amulet to the brewery.”

“Simone, you cannot allow him to have the Medallion,” he said in commanding tones.

She abruptly pulled her hands free and turned from that unnerving gaze. She could not think clearly when he was so near.

“It is not so simple.”

“What do you mean?” As she remained silent she heard him step forward and felt the warmth of his hands as he gently stroked them over her shoulders. “Simone?”

She closed her eyes, knowing that the moment had arrived when she must confess the truth. That knowledge, unfortunately, did not make the task any more pleasant.

“You have already surmised that I possess secrets,” she said in low tones. “Secrets that I cannot allow others to know.”

“Tristan has discovered those secrets?”

“Yes.” A sob caught in her throat. “I do not know how, but ...”

He gently squeezed her shoulders, his breath touching her cheek as he leaned close to her.

“It cannot be so bad, Simone.”

“Oh yes. It is very, very bad.”

“Tell me, Simone,” he urged softly.

Taking a deep breath, Simone slowly turned. Meeting his steady gaze was perhaps the hardest thing she had ever done. She could not bear to think that the esteem he held her in was about to be destroyed. Perhaps forever.

“I am not Simone.”

Not surprisingly he regarded her with wary puzzlement. “What?”

“I am Sally Jenkins.” The words threatened to stick in her throat and she balled her hands at her sides to keep herself from breaking down completely. “Simone was my half sister, although she would never have acknowledged our connection. I was a bastard, you see.”

Oddly there was none of the shock she had expected to see upon his handsome countenance as he gave a slow nod of his head.

“Your father?”

“Lord Hadwell of Devonshire.”

“And your mother?”

“A mere governess of Simone’s. She died when I was born.”

Without warning his hand reached up to lightly touch her near-white cheek.

“I am sorry.”

His obvious sympathy when she had expected anger and recrimination was nearly her undoing and she was forced to bat back the threatening tears.

“It was not so bad while my father lived. He insisted that I be given a home with him and even a measure of schooling with Simone’s new governess.”

He grimaced as he accurately surmised how her presence in the Hadwell home had been received by Lady Hadwell.

“Which no doubt did nothing to endear you to his wife or daughter.”

She could not prevent her shudder at the memory of those wretched years she had spent at the mercy of Lady Hadwell and Simone. No words could express just how evil and vindictive they had been.

“They hated me,” she at last said with simple honesty. “Lady Hadwell called me a disgraceful slut and Simone did everything possible to make my life a misery. Even the servants thought my presence an embarrassment to the household. Only my father ever showed me a hint of kindness.”

The fingers cupped her cheek. “My poor dear.”

Her eyes darkened as she was forced back to those days she had hoped never to recall.

“It only became worse once my father died. I was commanded to become Simone’s maid.”

His features hardened with anger. “I suppose they hoped to humiliate you.”

“Yes.” She gave a humorless laugh. They had more than humiliated her. They had stolen every hope she had harbored for a future untainted by their spite. “And when Simone wed Lord Gilbert I was taken to that horrid house where I was not allowed to speak to anyone but my sister.”

“Bloody hell,” he muttered beneath his breath. “Why did you remain?”

“I had no choice. Simone ensured none of the other servants would help me. And the few occasions I did attempt to flee she made certain I was properly punished.”

“What did she do?”

Simone paused. Never before had she revealed what she had endured at her sister’s hands. It was astonishingly difficult to force the words past her stiff lips.

“She beat me,” she at last managed to admit in harsh tones. “Of course, she beat me for every mistake I made, whether they were real or imagined. But the last occasion ... an infection set in and I nearly died. In truth, I prayed to die.”

His fingers tightened upon her cheek as his gaze darkened to a smoldering ebony.

“Would Lord Gilbert not come to your aid?”

“He was past eighty when they wed and he rarely left his chambers. The only reason Simone wed him was because he was extraordinarily wealthy.”

“And close to death?”

“Precisely.” Simone’s stomach clenched as she recalled her sister’s callous anger when the elderly gentleman continued to cling to life day after day. An anger that she regularly vented on her hapless sister. “She hated living in isolation at the estate and less than six months after his funeral she was packed and prepared to travel to London. She was not about to waste an entire year on mourning a gentleman she barely tolerated.”

“And you came with her?”

“Yes, she was determined that I would witness her grand debut.”

“What happened?”

Simone again hesitated. The trip to London was still a vague fog in her mind. Perhaps because she had no desire to truly ponder what had led to her outrageous charade. Or the undoubted sins that lay heavy on her soul.

She unconsciously wet her dry lips, intensely aware of the dark gaze that watched her every expression.

“We had been upon the road for two days when we were set upon by bandits. They had followed us from the posting inn where we had stayed the night before.”

He sucked in a sharp breath at her words. “You were injured?”

“I suffered a blow to the head that knocked me unconscious when we attempted to flee the villains and the carriage overturned in a ditch. When I awoke ...” Her words broke off and she abruptly buried her face in her hands.

All the horror she had felt when she had managed to drag herself from the carriage rushed back like a physical blow. How many nights had she lain awake recalling the bloody bodies that had been scattered across the road? Even now, months later, it did not seem quite real. More like a persistent nightmare that would not be dismissed.

Moving to place his arms about her, Gideon surrounded her in warm comfort.

“What was it, Simone?”

The strength that he offered her allowed her to slowly raise her head and confront the ghastly memories.

“I ... I climbed out of the carriage to discover that Simone had been shot along with all the servants. Even her dog had been killed.”

“Oh, my sweet,” he breathed softly, “you must have been terrified.”

“It was horrible. I kept going from body to body hoping that I was mistaken. I could not believe they were all dead.”

He ran a comforting hand down her back, his eyes filled with compassion.

“At least you survived.”

“Yes.” More than once she had wondered what fickle fate had kept her from being among the bodies on the road. Was it nothing more than blind luck, or had there been some other purpose? A reason she had been spared? “The bandits must have thought I was already dead.”

“Thank goodness. They obviously did not intend to leave behind witnesses.”

A bleak expression settled upon her pale features. “No. They were very thorough. I lost everyone that I knew in the world on that day.”

Chapter 12

Brushing his cheek over Simone’s satin hair, Gideon fought back the violent regret that he could not lay his hands upon those who would dare to harm this woman.

The bandits he could punish at his leisure, but her deeper wounds came from the family that should have loved and cared for her.

To think her own sister would beat her, and treat her with such malicious hatred ...

Bloody hell. It was a testament to her will that she had survived such a brutal and lonely life. And that she had somehow managed to keep her indomitable spirit intact.

“It must have been terrifying to find yourself alone,” he said softly, wishing to bring her painful memories to a halt and yet realizing that he must have her complete honesty if he were to protect her from Tristan.

A shiver raced through her body. “I did not know what to do or where to go. I suppose I must have been in shock, but at last I realized I was covered in blood from the bodies.” She swallowed heavily. “Absurdly I began ripping off my clothes before I realized that Simone had refused to allow me to bring more than my one gown and a night rail. There was nothing left to do but unpack her trunk and pull on one of her gowns. Do you know, even with her lying there dead I felt terrified at touching her belongings? She would have whipped me unconscious if she had known what I was doing.”

His hands tightened on her back, feeling the rough welts that marred her skin even through the material of her gown. His fury rose like bile as he battled to keep his voice calm.

“You were at last rescued?”

She gave a slow nod of her head, keeping her lashes lowered as if unable to meet his gaze.

“Yes, it was several hours later when a coach finally came by and halted to assist me.”

“You must have been in a panic by then.”

“I believe I must have been out of my mind,” she confessed in uneven tones. “That is the only means to explain what happened next.”

Pulling back, Gideon gently but firmly tilted her chin upward. Peering deep into her troubled eyes he offered her an encouraging smile.

“You can confide in me, my dear.”

She reached out her tongue to wet her lips as she struggled for the courage to continue. Sensitive to her every emotion Gideon silently filled her with his own strength.

“It was a kindly merchant and his wife,” she at last continued, her voice so low that only a vampire could have heard her words. “And when they found me alive and in such fine clothing they presumed that I was Lady Gilbert because of the crest upon the carriage.”

“I see,” he murmured, already suspecting where her story would lead.

“At the time I did not care what they thought as long as I was safe from the bandits.”

“Perfectly understandable.”

Her eyes grew distant as she was once again caught by her memories.

“They took me to their home and arranged to have the bodies returned to the estate to be buried. When they asked me the names of the servants who had been murdered, I said ...”

“That the woman was Sally Jenkins, your stepsister?”

“Yes.” Her eyes closed as if she feared to watch his reaction to her declaration of guilt. “I knew that no one would bother to even open the coffin for a wretched bastard who was disliked by all. My sister would be buried in an unmarked grave and no one would know she was dead.”

“And you would become Simone?”

She gave a reluctant nod of her head as she forced her lashes to lift.

“It is horrid, I know, but the merchant was treating me as if I were a true lady, not some pathetic creature who could expect no more than disdain for having been born.” Perhaps unconsciously her hand lifted to grasp his arm, as if seeking to assure him of her sincerity. “Besides which, I had no money and nowhere to go as Sally Jenkins. I would have been forced to the streets unless I could discover a position, which would have been impossible without a reference. More than likely I would have landed in the nearest brothel if I hoped to survive.”

His brows drew together at the mere thought of this fragile creature being passed among indifferent males as they took their pleasure with her.

“Never,” he retorted, his voice harsh.

She smiled sadly at his obvious outrage. “Some would say it would have been the more admirable choice. Instead I allowed the merchant to continue to believe I was Lady Gilbert and when he offered his carriage to take me to London, I accepted.”

For what he knew of humans, he realized that her choice had been astonishingly bold. Surely most maidens would have been far too terrified to travel to a strange city under the guise of a noblewoman?

“A rather daring adventure. What if you were recognized?” he demanded.

“Actually, London was the perfect choice,” she confessed with a grimace. “Neither Simone nor I had ever visited the city.”

“But surely there are those who knew your sister?”

She gave a lift of one shoulder. “Very few. We were raised quietly in Devonshire, and after the wedding to Lord Gilbert Simone became as trapped as myself at the estate. Lord Gilbert was too ill to entertain or to travel and Simone thought herself too far above the local neighbors to associate with them. Only the servants and villagers would have known her by sight and they would never leave Devonshire. And in truth, Simone and I look a great deal alike. I believe that was one of the reasons she hated me with such passion. Every time she looked at me she could see herself and she detested the knowledge that a mere bastard could resemble her so closely.”

“Yes, I can imagine,” he said dryly, unable to accept that Simone could ever have been as lovely as this woman. Such a black soul would surely have marred any beauty. “Still, it was a risk to boldly act the part of your sister.”

She gave a short, unsteady laugh. “I have discovered that people see what they wish to see.”

Gideon’s own lips twitched in reluctant amusement. He was quite familiar with the gullibility of humans. Not one had questioned his arrival in London, nor his claim of being connected to European royalty. As long as he looked and acted the part the Ton was satisfied.

“True enough.”

“But now ...”

Her eyes darkened as she regarded him with desperation. Gideon was abruptly recalled to the reason she had sought him out in the first place.

“Now Tristan has discovered the truth?”

She gave a slow nod of her head. “I do not know how, but he managed to discover a miniature that had been painted of Simone only a month before Lord Gilbert died. He also knows of Sally Jenkins.”

“He must have traveled to Devonshire,” he murmured, suddenly realizing why the murders had so abruptly halted.

She bit her lip with enough force to draw a drop of blood. It was a revealing gesture of just how distressed she was.

“If he begins spreading gossip that I am not Lady Gilbert the truth is bound to come out. I will be ruined. Perhaps even thrown in prison.”

Gideon reluctantly stepped from her trembling body. He needed to concentrate on Tristan’s latest gambit. An impossible task when he was close enough to feel the silken heat of Simone surrounding him.

He was far too conscious of the large bed directly behind him, and just how easy it would be to scoop her off her feet and onto the mattress. He did not want to think of the renegade vampire or the danger that surrounded Simone. All he desired was to have her in his arms so that he could reveal the untold depths of his need for her.

With an effort he thrust away the dark desires swirling through his body and turned his thoughts to the traitor who was even now waiting to destroy this woman.

“Nothing will happen to you,” he assured her in firm tones.

“But, unless I give him the necklace ...”

“No,” he interrupted sternly. Although he would do anything for this woman, sacrifice his very soul if necessary, he could not allow the Medallion to fall into Tristan’s hands. Not only would the vampires suffer from his demented lust for power, but every human would soon discover fear that they never dreamed possible. Besides, he knew that the moment she no longer possessed the Medallion to protect her, Tristan would do just as he promised. Simone would be dead before she could even attempt to flee. “You must trust me. Can you do that?”

There was a long, tension-filled silence before Simone at last gave a nod of her head.

“Yes.”

Relief, as sharp as a rapier, flared through him, and without considering his actions, Gideon moved forward to place a soft, lingering kiss upon her lips.

He had waited so long for the barriers to be lowered. And after he had revealed the truth he had very much feared that this moment would never come.

How could she ever trust a gentleman who claimed to be a mythic creature she did not even believe in? Or if she did believe, had been taught to fear?

But there was no mistaking the shimmering certainty in her eyes and Gideon felt the heavy despair that had plagued him for the past three days suddenly being lifted from his heart.

With the hope he could someday teach her to love him as he loved her he knew he could face anyone or anything.

Including Tristan.

Pulling back he ran a hand over the soft satin of her hair.

“Go down to the foyer. I will attire myself and collect the carriage.”

“We are going to the brewery?” she demanded.

“Yes. It is time that Tristan and I settle this once and for all.”

“I—” Her words broke off as she regarded him with obvious fear.

“What is it, Simone?” he demanded, before abruptly grimacing as he realized he had used her sister’s name. “I am sorry. That is simply how I think of you.”

Her lips twisted at the irony of becoming the woman she had once hated.

“It is how I think of myself now. It is as if Sally Jenkins never existed. Odd, is it not?”

“No.” He smiled deep into her troubled eyes. “You have become the woman you longed to be using that name.”

“But it is not mine.”

“You have made it your own,” he argued in tones that defied contradiction.

A renegade flare of amusement lightened her taut features at his arrogant assurance.

“I fear others would not share your sentiment.”

He shrugged his unconcern. “What do we care for others?”

She reached up to gently touch his cheek, sending a flare of searing heat through him.

“Gideon, you must promise me that you will be careful.”

The husky concern in her voice made him tumble into love with her all over again. No one had ever felt the need to worry over his safety. He was, after all, immortal. Not to mention far too arrogant for anyone to believe he was in any way vulnerable.

But astonishingly he discovered he very much liked the thought of this woman fussing over him.

He turned his head to press his lips to the palm of her tiny hand.

“I am always careful.”

Her lips thinned at his adamant words. “You may have forgotten the last occasion we were at the brewery, but I assure you that I have not.”

He gave a brief nod of his head at her direct hit. He had stumbled into the brewery blind on the last occasion. This time he would be prepared.

“I will be on guard, I assure you.”

Her fingers tightened upon his cheek as her brows knit together.

“I do not believe I could bear anything to happen to you.”

He lifted his own hand to cover her chilled fingers. “Nothing is going to happen. I will not allow it. Not now that I have discovered you.”

Their gazes entwined as a thick, poignant silence filled the air. Through the bonds that had been woven between them Gideon could feel her pulsing emotions. Fear. Bewilderment. The pain from wounds that had not yet healed. And, through it all was a steady strand of unwavering love that connected her to him as firmly as if they were bound by chains.

“Gideon,” she whispered softly.

He stilled, decidedly awed by the sense of fierce satisfaction that filled his heart. She might not yet have admitted to herself that she belonged to him, but he no longer doubted. It shimmered within her with an unmistakable glow.

Taking her fingers he once again pressed a soft kiss to her palm. He wished to be done with Tristan so that he could concentrate fully on this wonderful, maddening woman.

“We will discuss this later,” he promised in husky tones. “For now, go down to the foyer and await me.”

With a reluctant nod of her head she turned to slip from the room. Gideon paused, forcing himself to take a steadying breath.

For all of his confidence in assuring Simone that all would be well, he was not so foolish as to underestimate Tristan.

Not only did he have the powers of his bloodlust, but he had proven he was willing to use any means, even those forbidden, to achieve his goal. Such desperation made him more dangerous than ever.

That unfamiliar sense of fear returned.

Not for himself. At least not in the physical sense.

But fear that he might fail.

He could not allow that to happen.

If he did ... the woman he loved would die.

The dark, stench-filled streets of the Rookery seemed uncommonly quiet as they pulled the carriage to a halt.

In the distance the sounds of the gin houses and calls of the prostitutes echoed eerily, but nothing stirred among the decrepit buildings that pressed close to the brewery.

Seated beside Gideon, Simone gave a violent shiver as she peered into the shadows.

“I am afraid,” she said softly, not at all embarrassed to admit her building panic.

Reaching out a hand he covered her fists clenched in her lap with a comforting warmth.

“I will not allow Tristan to harm you.”

She turned her head to regard him with a troubled gaze. “He is a vampire.”

“Yes, and because he has taken human life he is extremely powerful.”

Her stomach quivered in horror, for the moment she could not think of the poor victims Tristan had murdered; her concern was only for Gideon and the risk he was about to take.

“More powerful than you?”

“In some regards,” he admitted, then, shifting his hand from her own, he reached beneath his coat to remove a small dagger. “I do, however, have a weapon he fears above all others.”

Simone was not overly impressed with the dagger. It hardly appeared to be a weapon suitable of disposing of a vampire.

“What will it do?” she demanded in puzzlement.

There was a pause before his elegant features abruptly tightened with distaste.

“It will kill him.”

Simone was swift to sense the reluctance in his words. Whatever Tristan had done, he was a vampire and it was obvious that Gideon would take no pleasure in his death.

“You do not wish to use it?” she asked gently.

“No.” His gaze shifted to the shabby brewery, a frown marring his brow. “Killing another vampire is like killing a father or brother. I would prefer he return behind the Veil.”

“Do you think that likely?”

“No.” There was a pause before he abruptly turned to leap from the carriage. Rounding the horses he helped her to alight. “We must wait no longer.”

She grasped his arm in a firm grip. “You will remember to be careful?”

He gazed down at her with dark, unreadable eyes. “Yes, but I will have a promise from you before we enter.”

There was an edge to his voice that warned her she was not going to like what he was about to demand.

“What is that?”

“If anything happens to me, you are to flee as swiftly as you are able and seek out my cousins. They will protect you.”

“I ...” She swallowed heavily, unable to even consider the possibility that Gideon might be harmed. “Very well.”

“Your promise, Simone,” he demanded, easily seeing through her attempt to avoid a direct pledge. “You cannot battle Tristan. If he cannot possess the Medallion he will destroy you.”

She bit her lip, disliking the thought of running out and leaving Gideon. She had waited her entire life to find someone who made her content to be herself. Someone who did not judge her upon who she was, or care if she possessed unblemished bloodlines. Someone who could love her as Lady Gilbert or Sally Jenkins.

Still, she knew he was right.

If he was overtaken by Tristan, she could not possibly face the vampire alone. And while she might not care if she lived or died if Gideon was taken from her, she could not allow the Medallion to fall into the traitor’s hands.

She owed Gideon that much.

“I promise,” she reluctantly conceded.

“Thank you.” Taking her hand he pulled her into the shadows. “This way.”

Unable to match Gideon’s silent tread, Simone stumbled behind him, coming to a startled halt as he paused before the open door.

Turning, he bent close to her ear. “Tristan is inside. Remember your promise.”

Simone battled her rising panic as she gave a slow nod of her head. For all that she had endured in her life, she knew that nothing could prepare her for this. She could only hope that she was strong enough.

Gripping his hand tightly she walked at his side as they entered the brewery, when there was a sudden flare of light as Tristan lit a lantern. Like Gideon she had already sensed the presence of the vampire, and had no doubt he was well aware of their arrival.

Attired in a bloodred coat and gray pantaloons the vampire might have been just another flamboyant dandy if not for the gaunt hollowness of his countenance and lethal glitter in his eyes. Even in the flickering light there was something unearthly about his presence.

The cold smell of him filled the air, but not completely enough to disguise the wretched stench of a rotting corpse. Simone shuddered, a tangible sense of danger crawling over her skin.

Seeming to flow to the center of the large room, the vampire regarded Simone with a mocking smile.

“Ah, the delicious Lady Gilbert, at last,” he purred softly. “And, of course, the ever faithful Gideon.”

Gideon gave a slight incline of his head. “Tristan.”

“I must say that I am rather surprised at you, Simone,” the vampire continued, his awful gaze taking a slow survey of her tense form. “I did not believe you would be willing to confess your rather sordid secret to anyone. You did tell him of your little secret, did you not?”

Attempting to disguise her raging fear, Simone tilted her chin to a defiant angle.

“Yes.”

Tristan’s lips twisted with ugly amusement, as if fully aware of her inner panic.

“Pretending to be your dead sister, very naughty,” he chided. “How do you think the Ton will react when they discover you are no more than a common bastard masquerading as one of your betters?”

Feeling Gideon softly squeeze her fingers in encouragement, Simone shockingly realized that the threat no longer had the power to terrify her. She could face anything, she acknowledged in amazement, even exposure and the inevitable condemnation from society, as long as Gideon was at her side.

“I no longer care,” she said in proud tones.

The vampire briefly faltered as his eyes narrowed. “Liar. You will do anything not to be exposed.”

She managed to meet his gaze without flinching. “I have already confessed the truth to the one person who matters.”

Gideon pulled her closer as Tristan angrily stepped closer, his hands clenched at his sides.

“Do not be a fool, Simone. I will have the Medallion.”

With a smooth step Gideon was moving to stand between her and the advancing vampire.

“No, I think not, Tristan.”

Peering around Gideon’s large form, Simone watched as Tristan swiftly regained command of his temper and returned to his image of mocking nonchalance.

“I am weary of your interference,” the vampire drawled, waving a thin hand in dismissal. “Once I have dealt with Lady Gilbert, I will ensure you are properly punished.”

“You already failed once to be rid of me,” Gideon retorted without the slightest trace of fear.

Without warning the vampire gave a short laugh. “Did you enjoy my little surprise?”

“It convinced me that you must be halted—even if it means I must kill you.”

“Fah, what a pathetic wretch you have become, Gideon,” Tristan taunted even as his lean form tensed to strike. “Soon this mortal woman will have a leash about your neck so that she can prance you about town like a lapdog. Do you have no pride left?”

Ignoring the deliberate attempt to goad his temper, Gideon faced his adversary squarely.

“Will you return to the Veil?”

“Never,” Tristan spat in disgust.

“Then it appears we have nothing left to discuss.”

Tristan shrugged, his smile intact as he watched Gideon slowly move toward him.

“You know, I did hope to leave you alive long enough to watch as I enjoyed the blood of your lover. But perhaps once I have you in my command, little Sally will realize she has no choice but to give me the Medallion.”

“It is over, Tristan,” Gideon warned.

“For you.”

With a movement too swift for Simone to follow Tristan struck out, knocking Gideon to the ground. She cried out, but even as she stepped forward, Gideon was back on his feet with the dagger firmly in his hand.

The two slowly began to circle one another, both warily waiting for the other to strike. Simone pressed a hand to her mouth, anxious not to distract Gideon for even a moment.

They continued to circle, then without warning Tristan simply vanished in a wisp of fog, just as abruptly appearing behind Gideon and slamming his hands into the back of his head.

Gideon staggered but swiftly turned to face the vampire.

Tristan flowed backward, careful to avoid the dagger, his lips pulled into a vicious smile.

“What is it you want, Gideon?” he demanded. “A share in the power?”

“I have no desire for power, Tristan. I only wish to protect the Veil.”

The mist again swallowed Tristan and to her horror, Simone watched as a deep cut appeared on Gideon’s cheek.

“Show yourself, you coward,” Gideon snapped, suddenly shifting as the mist gathered behind him and more blood began to pour from a cut on his back.

“Join me, Gideon,” a disembodied voice whispered. “Together we could rule the world.”

“Your thirst for power has driven you mad,” Gideon retorted, fluidly turning to watch as Tristan again reappeared. “You would sacrifice us all for your own glory.”

“But of course.” The vampire laughed in a scornful manner. “My glory is all that concerns me.”

“It will not be allowed,” Gideon warned, his hand clenched tight upon the dagger in his hand.

Across the room Simone could feel his sharp emotions. As much as he might detest what the vampire had become in his frenzy for power, he still wavered in using the dagger. He could as easily have plunged the weapon in his own heart.

No doubt aware of Gideon’s reluctance, Tristan gave a dismissive wave of his hand.

“There is no one who can halt me. Not even Nefri.”

Gideon surged forward, but as swiftly as he moved he was not quick enough. In the blink of an eye, Tristan was gone and suddenly Simone felt the deadly cold clutch of his fingers as they clutched about her neck. Shock held her still as Tristan tightened his grip and she felt the air being squeezed from her body.

“No,” Gideon cried.

“Tell her to give me the Medallion, Gideon,” he warned in icy tones. Simone desperately sought to breathe, her eyes wide with fright even as she gave a faint shake of her head.

“Let her go,” Gideon commanded, his face set in lines of deadly determination.

“Only after she has given me what I desire.”

“Tristan ...”

“She is dying. I can feel her life slipping away. Now tell her to give me the Medallion,” Tristan growled, giving Simone a shake.

“No.”

Fighting the darkness that threatened to consume her, Simone watched Gideon abruptly straighten. Behind her Tristan tensed, prepared to battle a sudden attack. But just as Simone realized that Gideon would never reach her before Tristan could snap her neck, there was a blur of movement and a shocked gasp of disbelief from behind her.

The hand about her neck fell away and stumbling to her knees, Simone shifted about to see Tristan lying on the hard floor with the dagger deeply plunged into his heart.

Still panting with the effort of trying to breathe through her bruised throat, Simone felt Gideon come to kneel beside her. Her gaze, however, remained upon the body next to her.

In horror she watched a shimmering glow outline the long form, flickering in the dim light, then appallingly the body began to turn to ash. Her eyes widened as Tristan simply crumbled onto the floor until there was nothing left but the faintest trace of darkness upon the stone.

A comforting arm encircled her trembling body and Gideon pressed a kiss to her temple.

“It is done.”

Chapter 13

For a moment Gideon simply held on to Simone, allowing the warmth of her to seep into his chilled heart.

He had not realized how difficult it would be to kill Tristan. Not even when he had known that his own life was held in the balance could he force himself to plunge the dagger into the traitor. To bring the life of a vampire to an end went against every moral he possessed.

It was not until Tristan had dared to threaten Simone that his revulsion had been thrust aside and he had reacted without even thinking.

Now, however, reaction was setting in and he shivered in disgust.

Not only at having killed, but the knowledge that he had very nearly waited too long.

One more moment and Simone would be dead.

And he would have been entirely to blame.

His arms tightened about her, his lips unable to stop stroking the satin skin of her temple. He had to reassure himself that she was alive and in his embrace where she belonged.

“Simone, are you harmed?” he demanded in rasping tones.

He felt her shiver as she leaned against him. “Nothing that will not heal.”

“Damnation,” he cursed his weakness at the sound of her strained voice. It was obvious her throat had been injured. “I was terrified Tristan would kill you before I could reach you. I had no choice but to throw the dagger and hope for the best.”

Her fingers rose to touch the amulet that lay upon her skin. “He was too determined to have the Medallion,” she husked.

Gideon gave a slow nod of his head. He was well aware that it had been Tristan’s obsession for the Medallion that had made him hesitate in striking Simone down.

He could only thank Nefri that he had paused.

“Yes. It was his downfall. That and his confidence that I would not choose to destroy him. I very nearly waited too long.”

Easily able to sense his inner turmoil, Simone raised her hand to gently lay it against his cheek.

“Gideon, do not.”

His lips thinned. “I allowed him to hurt you.”

“You attempted to give him an opportunity to save himself,” she argued in soft, but ruthless tones. “Had you simply killed him without remorse or regret you would be no better than he.”

Her words, of course, made sense, but he was not yet prepared to accept what he had done.

“He had become crazed with his lust for the Medallion.”

Simone slowly turned her head to regard the darkened stones. “What happened to him?”

With reluctance, Gideon reached out to retrieve the dagger that lay on the ground.

“The power of the blade destroyed his soul.”

Her breath caught. “His soul?”

“It is as if he never existed. A horrible fate for any vampire.”

As if at last truly comprehending just how final a death Tristan had suffered, Simone regarded him with sad eyes.

“I am sorry, Gideon.”

“As am I.” He briefly thought of his arrogant certainty when he had arrived in London. He had never thought that Tristan would prove so relentless. It had seemed a simple matter to convince him of the error of his ways, and to escort him to the Great Council. “I did not believe it would come to this.”

There was a faint pause as Simone studied his tortured expression.

“Why were you sent to face him?” she at last demanded. “Surely there were others more capable?”

His pride was ridiculously pricked by her abrupt question. Did she feel as if he had somehow failed her?

“More capable?”

“I presume that vampires can be as different from one another as humans are. There must have been another who would not have been so reluctant to face Tristan.”

He frowned at her perception, for the first time actually pondering the reason he had been called before the Great Council. It was true that there were those who would have been quite anxious to punish the renegades. Some far more talented in the arts of battle than he.

“I do not know,” he slowly confessed. “At the time I was told I had been chosen I presumed that it was because I was intelligent and always logical. Now ...”

“What is it?”

A niggling unease settled in the pit of his stomach. He knew that he must be overlooking something. Some vague sense that there was more to this than he could put his finger upon.

“It does not make sense,” he muttered in annoyance for his uncommon stupidity. “As you say, there were others that surely would have been far more capable of facing Tristan.”

Her expression abruptly melted as she gazed deep into his eyes. “Whatever the reason, I owe them a debt of gratitude. I would not have desired anyone but you to protect me.”

Gideon readily allowed himself to be distracted, and slipping the dagger beneath his coat he firmly returned his arms about her delicious form.

“No one else will ever be allowed to protect you. You belong to me.”

She arched her brows at his deliberately arrogant tone. “Belong?”

He breathed in her warm scent. “Can you not feel it deep within you?”

Her eyes briefly closed before they opened to regard him with shimmering love.

“Yes.”

Gideon gave a low groan as he pressed his lips to her forehead. The last three days had been the longest in his life as he waited for her to come to him. He’d wanted so desperately to force his way into her home where he could prove to her that his emotions were no different than any other gentleman’s. And that he would devote his life to making her happy.

Only the knowledge that he might very well force her even farther from him had kept him away.

“I thought I had driven you away when I confessed the truth.”

“It was difficult to accept,” she admitted.

“Yes, I know.”

She heaved a faint sigh. “I wanted to convince myself that you were mad and that my feelings for you had been those for a gentleman who did not exist.”

“But you came to me tonight.”

“I realized that there was no one else that I could trust,” she said simply.

He pulled back to study her pale features. It was past time for honesty between the two of them.

“Because of your secrets?” he demanded gently.

“In part. I thought ...” She gave a wry smile. “Rather, I hoped that you would not turn from me in disgust when you learned my true identity.”

He gave an impatient click of his tongue, still amazed that she would think for a moment that he could care about such a trivial matter.

“I would never turn from you,” he assured her. “Certainly not because your mother was not of noble blood. Such things mean nothing to me.”

Her eyes darkened with sudden emotion. “That is only a measure of why I came to you tonight.”

“Tell me why, Simone,” he urged.

“Because I could no longer deny that I had fallen in love with you.”

Sweet, heated pleasure rushed through Gideon as he allowed her words to sink deep within him. He never thought to feel this way, nor to depend upon another to bring him such happiness.

“Oh, my sweet, you fill my heart with joy,” he groaned softly.

Shifting awkwardly on the hard floor to place her arms around his neck she offered him a wry smile.

“I can think of more comfortable surroundings to continue this conversation.”

Gideon gave a rueful chuckle. He had been so enwrapped in Simone he had nearly forgotten the dreadful brewery.

“True enough.” Rising to his feet he carefully helped her to stand, assuring himself that she was not still suffering from her ordeal before slipping her arm through his own and leading her toward the door. Watching her carefully he did not miss her grimace as they moved through the flickering shadows. “What is it?” he demanded in concern.

“That horrible smell.”

Gideon’s features tightened, wishing that he could protect her from the truth.

“It is no doubt Tristan’s servants.”

She lifted her head in surprise. “He killed them?”

“No, but once they became trapped in his power they would no longer be concerned for their own needs. Most starve to death within a few days.”

She shuddered in disgust. “How horrid.”

“Yes.”

They walked in silence out of the brewery and into the alley before she inevitably realized how helpless she could have been in Tristan’s power.

“Dear heavens, why did he not do the same to me? I would no doubt have given him the Medallion without question.”

He placed his arm about her shoulder at the edge of fear in her voice. “Because the Medallion itself protects you. Not even I was able to use Compulsion to sway you to my will, although my talent is far greater than Tristan’s. It caused me no end of annoyance.”

Thankfully his teasing words lightened her dark expression and she flashed him a speaking gaze.

“Then I am not under some mysterious spell?”

Gideon paused to help her into the carriage before taking his own place and urging the horses down the street.

“Only the spell of my irresistible charm,” he assured her with a roguish grin.

She gave a loud sniff at his arrogance. “I would not claim it irresistible.”

He arched a dark brow. “You dare to question the power of my charm? Obviously I shall have to prove to you just how irresistible I can be.”

A smile touched Simone’s lips as they swiftly made their way back toward the more fashionable streets of London.

It was over.

Truly over.

Tristan could no longer threaten her, and most important of all, Gideon was safe.

It seemed unbelievable.

There would be no more glancing over her shoulder in fear that she was being followed, no more nights haunted by dreams of the vampire, no more pacing the floor in fear that Gideon would be taken from her.

Gideon.

Her smile slowly faded as she glanced at the purity of his handsome profile.

She had been so concerned that something might happen to him, that she had never taken the time to consider what would happen once this was all over.

Tristan was dead. There was no more threat to her. And no more reason for him to remain.

Whatever his claims to possess feelings for her, his place was not in London. And she could not go with him to the mysterious Veil.

A hollow emptiness filled her even as she struggled to hold on to her composure.

She would not make this difficult for Gideon, she swore to herself. He had given her too much to make him feel guilty for what he must do.

She would simply live for the moment and accept whatever he could offer.

Distracted by her dark thoughts, Simone paid little heed to their progress through town until the carriage came to a halt and she realized that they were in the mews behind Gideon’s home.

A renegade flare of excitement flared through her as she realized that their time together was to be prolonged.

Whatever he offered, she told herself, ignoring the tiny voice in the back of her mind that chided her scandalous behavior.

“You are very certain of your charms to bring me to your home at such an hour,” she attempted to tease in light tones.

“No.” He turned to regard her with a somber expression. “I just cannot bear to allow you out of my sight. I came far too close to losing you tonight.”

Her heart leaped at his words. “Oh.”

“Will you join me?”

She hesitated only a moment before giving a nod of her head. She might later regret her reckless behavior, but for now she needed to be with Gideon.

“If you wish.”

“With all my heart,” he murmured softly.

For a moment they gazed at one another in silence, then as a sleepy groom slowly shuffled toward the carriage, Gideon swiftly leaped down and moved to swing her to the ground.

In silence they moved toward the darkened house, using the same path she had used earlier to enter the kitchen and up the back stairs. It was not until they were in Gideon’s chamber and he was lighting a candle that her nerves at last made themselves known.

Pacing uneasily toward the window she cleared her throat. “It will soon be morning.”

“We have a few hours yet,” he murmured.

She turned to discover him regarding her with a watchful gaze.

“A few hours for what?” The words burst out before she could halt them.

He slowly smiled as he held out his hand. “Come, Simone.”

Gathering her courage Simone moved toward him, even allowing him to lead her to the large bed so that they could perch upon the edge of the mattress.

Uncertain what was to come next she was startled when he made no motion to touch her beyond stroking a hand softly over her hair.

“What is it, Gideon?” she demanded, wondering if she was supposed to do something.

“You have told me that you love me.”

“Yes.”

His fingers moved to touch her cheek. “Already we share much of each other. You can sense when I am near and what I am feeling.”

Her eyes widened in shock at his words. “How did you know?”

“You are just as deeply branded within me.”

She gave a slow shake of her head. She had barely allowed herself to acknowledge just how aware she was of Gideon. Not only the sense when he was near, but the unmistakable realization that his emotions were irrevocably enwrapped with her own.

“It is so strange. I have never experienced this before.”

He smiled at her wondering tone. “It is a gift known only to vampires.”

“But I am not a vampire,” she ridiculously retorted.

“No, but you wear a powerful artifact of my people. It has already altered you in many ways.”

Simone’s hand instinctively rose to touch the golden amulet. It was true that she had noted the subtle changes in herself. Her heightened senses and even being able to see more clearly in the dark. It was not precisely frightening, but, to actually consider that she was being altered ...

“Good heavens,” she breathed.

“Do not fear,” he gently comforted, those distracting fingers continuing to send pleasurable tingles through her body. “It will not harm you.”

“No, I suppose not.”

He paused before he tilted her chin upward so that she was forced to meet his searching gaze. “Simone?”

“Yes?”

“Do you trust me?” he demanded.

She blinked at the odd question. “You know that I do.”

“Enough to place your future in my hands?”

The very air seemed to thicken with tension as she studied his pale features. Was it possible that he did not intend to leave her? That he would remain in London with her?

It was what she desired more than anything in the world, but she was frightened to allow her hopes to be raised.

“Are ... are you asking me to wed you, Gideon?” she asked in cautious tones.

He frowned, as if he were startled by her question. “Of course I intend to wed you,” he retorted, seemingly unaware that he had just made her dearest dream come true. “But what I ask of you is to join your very soul with my own.”

Simone attempted to think through the cloud of joy that filled her thoughts.

He wanted to marry her.

Her.

Sally Jenkins.

Not Lady Gilbert. Not the “Wicked Temptress.”

But the insignificant daughter of a governess.

It did not seem possible.

But even as she grew dizzy from shocked delight, she realized he was awaiting her response.

What had he said?

Join their souls?

She gave a faint frown as she attempted to consider what he might possibly mean.

“Is that possible?”

“Yes, but it would mean that we are truly a part of one another.” He gently cupped her face in his hands, his dark eyes boring deep into her own. “Our thoughts, our emotions, the very beat of our hearts. We would be bonded for all eternity.”

She carefully considered his words, knowing that this was far more important to Gideon than any marriage ceremony.

The thought of being so closely connected with the man she loved did not frighten her. She very much desired to be one with him. But something in his words made her hesitate.

For all that she had accepted who he was, she could not forget that they were very different. As a vampire he was immortal. What would happen to him when she eventually died?

“Gideon, I do not have an eternity,” she reminded him sadly.

His hands tightened upon her face. “Who is to say? With the Medallion anything is possible.”

She gave a reluctant laugh at his familiar words. “You are very fond of telling me that.”

“Because it is the truth.” His expression softened with a longing that tugged at her heart. “Simone, I wish to have you as my true mate. Will you?”

She could have denied him nothing at that moment. All the love and need she had tried to deny for so long flooded through her as she gave a nod of her head.

“What must I do?”

“Nothing but trust me,” he said in low tones.

She met his gaze squarely. “I do.”

Moving slowly, as if afraid that he might startle her into flight, Gideon lowered his hands so that he could sweep her long curls over her shoulders. Then just as slowly he lowered his head, angling it so that he could approach the bare skin of her neck.

Just for a moment Simone instinctively tensed, unsure what was about to happen. The satin blackness of his hair brushed her chin, the scent of spices filling her senses. Of their own accord her hands raised to grasp his shoulders.

She felt the warm brush of his breath upon her skin, then shockingly the sharp points of his fangs.

Panic threatened to rise as there was the faintest prick upon her neck, but before she could give in to fear a warm rush of sensation relaxed her taut muscles.

There was no pain, just the sense of being enfolded in a comforting embrace. Her head tilted backward, allowing him to gently taste of her blood.

It lasted only a moment before he offered a lingering kiss and pulled away.

He did not speak, however, and holding her bemused gaze he lifted his hand and turning it over he bit the inner skin of his wrist. Blood instantly welled and he lifted it to softly place it against her lips.

Startled, Simone instinctively dipped out her tongue to taste of the wetness staining her lips.

She was not certain what she had expected, but it was not the sudden shock of emotions that tumbled through her. Her head spun as she squeezed her eyes shut, attempting to steady herself against the onslaught.

For long moments she struggled to calm herself. She was dazed and not at all certain she could bear the shimmering sensations that threatened to consume her.

Then slowly the torrent began to subside and she was able to concentrate upon the changes within her.

There was the awareness of Gideon, of course. But it was no longer the vague knowledge that he was near. He was clearly nestled within her mind, as well as the sharp sense of concern that held him tightly gripped as he watched her. More than anything, however, she felt the steady, undeniable beauty of his love.

A smile of wonder curved her lips. “Oh.”

“Simone, are you ... well?” he husked, his hands tightly gripping her own.

“I am ... whole,” she said, still marveling at the knowledge that they were truly bound together. “I did not realize how lonely I have been all my life. Now I am complete.”

“My sweet.” He reached down to delicately touch his lips to her own. “We will be wed according to human custom. I have already procurred a special license.”

“You ... you will not return to the Veil?” she forced herself to ask the question that refused to be dismissed no matter how irrational. Her father had loved her, but he had abandoned her. She could not bear it again.

He easily knew how important his answer was to her. “Perhaps for the occasional visit, but my place now is with you.”

“Yes,” she whispered, boldly leaning forward to claim his mouth with her own.

It was the first time she had ever initiated such an intimate caress and she discovered a heady delight as she felt his instant response. Encouraged by the sudden tension that gripped his body, she daringly raised her arms to twine them about his neck, tugging the ribbon from his hair so that she could thrust her fingers into the satin strands.

Gideon gave a throaty growl as his arms wrapped about her, taking firm command as his tongue urged her lips to open.

Simone readily complied, allowing him to deepen the kiss as his hands ran an impatient path over her back. Urgent pleasure flared through her, making her arch toward his warm body with aching need.

The sensation of his own rising passion swirled through her body, heating her blood and making her heart pound. It was astonishingly erotic to have his emotions pulsing through her, and Simone gave a low groan as she impatiently pressed herself closer.

“Simone.” With a heartfelt moan he reluctantly pulled back to regard her with a tight expression. “I think I should warn you that if you continue in this manner you will never be returned to your bed.”

She allowed a wicked grin to curve her lips. “That was my intention.”

“Wench,” he chided with a glint of amusement. “If you only knew how long I have ached to possess you.”

His teasing words abruptly forced Simone to realize that she had not yet been entirely truthful. She grimaced as she forced herself to pull away from his warm grasp.

After all the lies and charades between them, she had to ensure that when they came together it was in complete honesty.

“I could not give in to my desire no matter how much I might have wished to,” she confessed in low tones. “My charade as a widow would have come to a swift end.”

He stilled as he considered her confession. “Because you are innocent?”

“Yes.”

There was a long pause before Gideon abruptly heaved a deep sigh.

“Ah, my love, you do not know how you torture me.”

She frowned at his odd reaction. She had thought that he would be pleased that no other man had ever known her in an intimate manner.

“Torture?”

His hand rose to cup her chin. “We will wait for our wedding night.”

“But ...”

“It is how you have always dreamed it would be, is it not?” he demanded softly.

It was impossible to lie. Her every thought was now open to him. He already knew that even through all the years of torture and degradation she had dreamed that someday she would be rescued by her knight in shining armor.

More often than not it had been a foolish dream. What knight would possibly desire a bastard without a farthing to her name? She was a drudge without friend or even family who would acknowledge her.

And yet, through it all she had battled to maintain her innocence.

Her dream would not be stolen. And when her knight came she wanted to at least give him the gift of her virginity.

Now she was fiercely proud that she could give her innocence to Gideon.

“Yes,” she at last admitted with a small smile.

Although she could feel the dreadful struggle it took to rein in his smoldering passions, Gideon merely gave an understanding nod of his head.

“Then that is how it will be. You are already mine in all the ways that truly matter.”

Wondering if her heart could burst from sheer happiness, Simone lifted her hand to touch his lips.

“I love you.”

Chapter 14

Late the next morning Gideon was seated beside Simone on the bench in her garden. Rather ruefully he patted the special license that was safely tucked beneath his jacket.

When he had agreed to wait for Simone he had imagined they would be wed within a few days, if not hours, but as he came to study the unexpected vulnerabilities of the woman he loved he realized that she deserved more than a hurried marriage before the vicar.

All her life she had been taught to be ashamed of who she was. And while she still maintained her sister’s name, he was not about to allow her to think he wanted to hide their wedding from the world.

With considerable sacrifice he had ordered his staff to begin preparations for a lavish ceremony in St. George’s Square that would include the entire Ton.

If neither of them were quite whom society presumed them to be it did not matter.

Simone would have her day to shine brightly and he would at last have her at his side.

And just as importantly, a dark voice whispered in the back of his mind, in his bed.

Shifting uncomfortably as his body stirred in anticipation, Gideon choked back a groan of frustration. For all his logic, there was no controlling the endless need he felt for this woman.

Perfectly aware of his scandalous thoughts, Simone glanced up to flash him a wicked smile. The minx was becoming quite adept at driving him mad.

“Well?” she said in those sultry tones that made his blood heat to a near boiling point.

“Well what?” he demanded as he considered dragging her into his arms and reducing her to his own state of discomfort.

She held up the sketch she had been diligently working on for the past few hours.

“It is my wedding gown.”

Gideon obligingly studied the smooth charcoal lines drawn upon the pad then gave a decisive shake of his head.

“Absolutely not.”

She blinked in surprise at his firm tones. “But it is lovely.”

“It may be lovely but there are far too many buttons.”

“What?”

Taking the sketch pad from her hands he tossed it onto the bench and roughly drew her into his arms.

“I have waited too long for you. I will not devote half the evening attempting to wrestle you out of your gown.”

“Really, Gideon,” she attempted to chastise only to give a laugh as he planted desperate kisses down the length of her neck.

“One ribbon,” he conceded, continuing the fascinating discovery of the satin skin of her throat. “Perhaps two.”

Her hands lifted to clutch at his shoulders, her heart racing in a gratifying manner.

“I see you are to be a tyrant,” she complained in unsteady tones.

“Only when it comes to buttons,” he assured her, his tongue reaching out to lightly taste of her. “I wish to bed my wife without battling folderols.”

“Mmm.” Her head obligingly tipped back to allow him access to the vast amount of skin exposed by her plunging neckline. “Ribbons, then. Definitely ribbons.”

His mouth sought ever lower, pausing over the rapid beat of her heart.

“I knew you would be a sensible wife.”

“How very charming.”

The unexpected sound of a voice in the center of the garden had both Gideon and Simone jerking apart in surprise. With lethal swiftness he was on his feet and facing the intruder.

Only when he noted the old gypsy woman smiling in an oddly contented fashion did he relax his guard.

“Nefri,” he murmured, offering the powerful vampire a bow as he felt Simone rise to her feet to stand beside him.

“Good morning, Gideon, Lady Gilbert.” She moved slowly forward, her numerous bracelets and necklaces jangling with every step. “I see all went well last evening.”

Gideon grimaced, knowing it would take some time to heal the wound of Tristan’s death. For now he still battled the wretched sense of waste.

“No, not well,” he corrected in harsh tones. “Tristan has been destroyed.”

Nefri gave a slow nod of her head, her expression one of regret, but with no surprise at his revelation.

“Unfortunate, but I feared it would come to such a fate.”

“He was obsessed beyond reason,” Gideon agreed.

“Yes.” Nefri paused, a thoughtful air settling about her. “And oddly certain he would succeed.”

Gideon swiftly followed her unspoken implication.

It echoed precisely the unease he had felt last evening.

“Such a thought struck me as well.” His gaze narrowed. “How do Sebastian and Lucien go on?”

Nefri’s smile abruptly returned, more mysterious than ever.

“Well enough.”

“Will they need my assistance?” he demanded, feeling Simone stiffen at his side but knowing he could not allow his friends to suffer even if it meant endangering himself.

Nefri gave a sudden chuckle. “I do not believe they would appreciate interference.”

Considering the two vampires who were every inch as arrogant as he, Gideon gave a wry smile. He would have been offended had either attempted to press their assistance upon him.

“No, I do not suppose they would.”

The vampire tilted her head to one side, eying him in an intent manner.

“I might, however, call upon you later.”

Gideon stilled at her words. Nefri would not seek his help if it were not out of dire need.

“You expect further troubles?”

She paused before giving an irritated shake of her head. “There is more to this than I fully understand at the moment. It is quite vexing.”

“I will, of course, come whenever you have need,” he promised.

“Thank you.” Abruptly turning her head Nefri regarded the silent Simone with a searching gaze. “My dear, you have my gratitude. You have been forced to face great danger to help us.”

Surprisingly Simone flushed with embarrassment at the vampire’s sincere appreciation.

“I am only relieved that it is all over,” she murmured, clearly uncertain how to behave toward the older woman.

“Not truly over, I fear,” Nefri softly warned. “You remain the guardian of the Medallion.”

Simone’s hand rose to touch the amulet at her neck. “Yes.”

Nefri’s smile once again reappeared. “I believe, however, that the gifts you will receive from the artifact will be worth any sacrifice you might be required to make.”

Concerned that the vampire’s words might once again frighten Simone with the thought of wearing the Medallion, Gideon turned his head to discover her watching him with love shining in her eyes.

“It has already given me more than I ever dared hope for.”

“So I can see,” Nefri murmured with obvious amusement. Then, when it became evident that Simone and Gideon were lost in one another, she discreetly waved her hand toward them in a practiced manner. “Be well and happy,” she murmured as she blessed their union and silently disappeared.

It was the loud squeak from the hedges that forced Gideon to turn his fascinated attention from the woman at his side, and abruptly shifting he discovered a young scamp running toward him full speed.

“Cor, did you see her?” the urchin demanded as he skidded to a halt directly before Gideon. “She disappeared. Right before me very eyes.”

“What the devil are you doing here?” Gideon demanded, his hands planted on his hips.

Unrepentant the lad scrubbed the end of his nose as he conjured his most engaging grin.

“Well, you did say as to watch the lady.”

He heard Simone’s sniff of disapproval but his gaze never wavered from the thin, grimy face.

“Not when I am here.”

“Not ever,” Simone intruded, her eyes flashing in a dangerous manner.

“Now, my sweet, they did help me to find you when you had been kidnapped,” he argued in reasonable tones.

“That’s right. And frightened off more than one persistent nob what wanted to try to slip in without alerting the servants,” the lad added in proud tones.

Simone’s eyes widened. “What?”

The urchin shrugged with an air of worldly wisdom. “There are always gents that hope to catch a lady unawares like. Disgusting buggers, if you ask me.”

“Good heavens,” she breathed in shock.

Gideon placed an arm about her shoulders, knowing he would soon be paying a call upon the mysterious nobs. They would soon learn the dangers of even glancing in Simone’s direction.

“So you see, me services are invaluable,” the lad prompted with a cheeky grin.

Gideon could not help but chuckle at the boy’s audacity. “He does make sense, my sweet.”

Simone regarded him with raised brows. “I will not allow young boys to spy upon me. For one thing they could be hurt.”

“Fah. ’Tis a great deal safer here than on the streets,” the boy hurriedly pointed out.

“No,” Simone retorted in firm tones. Then, as the boy’s face crumpled with disappointment she heaved a sigh. “I suppose I could use a page boy,” she reluctantly conceded.

The urchin wrinkled his nose. “A page boy? I would have to stay inside and wear a uniform?”

“Yes,” Gideon told him, his own expression firm. “And no stealing.”

“Cor, you drive a hard bargain, guv,” the lad complained.

“Take it or not,” Gideon retorted in tones that defied argument.

“Can I bring the others?”

Simone stepped forward. “Others? How many others?”

The urchin gave a piercing whistle and without warning half a dozen boys, just as grubby as the first, tumbled from the hedges.

Gideon tilted back his head to laugh with rich amusement. He only halted when Simone sharply thrust her elbow into his side.

“Well, you did ask,” he told her in unsteady tones.

She glared at him in exasperation. “This is all your fault. What are we to do with six boys from the street?”

“We could always send them back to the stews,” he suggested.

She tossed up her hands in defeat. “Oh, go inside and find my housekeeper. Tell her that I said she is to give each of you a bath and feed you.”

There was a loud cheer that utterly disturbed the peace of the garden.

“And mind your manners,” Gideon warned with a look that promised dire retributions if he were not obeyed.

“Right, guv.” The leader of the band of urchins offered a pert salute, then moving forward he eyed Gideon in a knowing manner. “The woman did disappear. I seen it.”

“Unless you wish to be tossed out on your ear, I would suggest you forget what you think you might have seen,” Gideon retorted in smooth tones.

There was a small pause before the lad gave a nod of his head. He was still young enough to accept that there were things in the world that could not be readily explained.

“Me memory has always given me trouble. A terrible thing it is,” the boy retorted, offering Simone an awkward bow before hurrying after the other children into the house.

Turning, he met Simone’s speaking glance.

“I do hope you realize my staff will be in mutiny by the end of the day,” she informed him.

He gathered her in his arms. “What does it matter? We shall soon be wed and we shall have a new staff if we desire.”

“Complete with six page boys?” she said wryly, although she willingly allowed herself to snuggle close to him.

“Six page boys, a vampire and the Guardian of the Medallion. It should be quite an interesting household,” he teased, his hands stroking the satin of her hair.

She gave a small chuckle, her arms rising to wrap about his neck.

“As long as we are together.”

He leaned downward to press his lips to her own.

“For eternity, my sweet.”

Please turn the page for

an exciting sneak peek of

FEAR THE DARKNESS,

the next installment in Alexandra Ivy’s

Guardians of Eternity series,

coming in September 2012!

Prologue

Sylvermyst Prophecy

Flesh of flesh, blood of blood, bound in darkness.

The Alpha and Omega shall be torn asunder

and through the mist reunited.

Pathways that have been hidden will be found

and the veil parted to the faithful.

The Gemini will rise and

chaos shall rule for all eternity.

Chapter 1

The abandoned silver mine in the Mojave Desert wasn’t the first place one would expect to encounter Styx, the current Anasso.

Not only was he the King of all Vampires, but at six foot five of pure muscle with the stark beauty of his Aztec ancestors he was the one of the most powerful demons in the world.

He could command the most luxurious lair in the area with a dozen servants eager to do his bidding.

But he wanted his trip to Nevada to be as discreet as it was brief, so ignoring the protests of his companion, he’d chosen to spend the day waiting for his meeting with the local clan chief in the forgotten caves.

And, if he were honest with himself, it was a relief not to be stuck with the formal ceremony his position demanded. He was a fierce predator, not a damned politician, and the need to play nice gave him a rash.

Besides it was always a pleasure to yank Viper’s chain.

Styx made a brief survey of the empty desert that surrounded them, absently knocking the dust from his leather pants that were tucked into a pair of heavy boots. A black T-shirt was stretched over his massive chest with a tiny amulet threaded on a leather strip wrapped around his thick neck. That was his only jewelry besides the polished turquoise stones that were threaded through the dark, braided hair that hung to the back of his knees.

His dark eyes glowed with power in the thickening dusk as he at last turned toward his companion, barely hiding his smile.

Unlike him, Viper, the clan chief of Chicago, had no love for ‘roughing it.’

Dressed in a black velvet coat that reached his knees with a frilled white satin shirt and black slacks, he looked like he was on his way to the nearest ballroom. An impression only emphasized by his long hair the pale silver of moonlight that was left free to flow down his back and his eyes the startling darkness of midnight.

Styx was raw, savage power.

Viper was an exquisite fallen angel who was no less lethal.

With a pointed glance toward the Las Vegas skyline that glowed like a distant jewel, Viper met Styx’s gaze with a sour grimace.

“The next time you want me to join you on a road trip, Styx, feel free to lose my number.”

Styx arched a dark brow. “I thought everyone loved Vegas?”

“Which was why I agreed to this little excursion.” Viper tugged at his lace cuffs, managing to look immaculate despite his hours in the dusty cavern. “You failed to mention I was going to be staying in a damned mine instead of the penthouse suite at the Bellagio.”

“We’ve stayed in worse places.”

“Worse?” Viper pointed a slender finger toward the rotting boards that did a half-ass job of covering the entrance to the tunnel. “It was filthy, it smelled of bat shit, and the temperature was a few degrees less than the surface of the sun. I’ve visited hell dimensions that I enjoyed more than that godforsaken inferno.”

Styx snorted. The two vampires had been friends for centuries, a remarkable feat considering they were both alphas. But over the past months their bonds had grown even closer as they’d been forced to confront the increasingly dangerous world.

The Dark Lord (or Dark Prince or Master or a hundred other names he’d been called over the centuries) had been effectively banished from this dimension long ago and kept in his prison by the Phoenix, a powerful spirit who was being protected by the vampires. But he refused to take his imprisonment gracefully.

Over the past months he’d become increasingly relentless in his pursuit of smashing through the veils that separated the worlds, not only allowing his return, but giving a free pass to every creature that inhabited the numerous hells.

Only a few days ago the bastard had nearly succeeded.

Using one of the twin babies he’d created to use as a vessel for his grand resurrection, he’d transformed from a formless mist into a young, human-like female. It had been creepy as hell to see the ultimate of all evil looking like a pretty cheerleader.

And even creepier when he (or temporarily she) nearly crashed through the barrier to destroy them all.

Jaelyn (a fellow vampire) had managed to drain the Dark Lord before he could pass through the veil, but Styx knew it was only a temporary reprieve.

Until the Dark Lord was somehow destroyed, there would be no peace.

Which was why he was standing in the middle of the desert with a pissed-off Viper instead of waking in the arms of his beautiful mate.

“You’re becoming as soft as a dew fairy in your old age,” he mocked.

“I didn’t become clan chief to rut in the dirt like some animal.”

“Pathetic.”

Viper glanced toward the distant glow of lights. “Are you at least going to tell me why we couldn’t stay in one of the hundreds of hotels just a few miles away?”

Styx turned to scan the seemingly empty landscape. Not that it was truly empty. At his feet a lizard crawled over a rock oblivious to the owl hunting in silence overhead, or the snake that was coiled only a few feet away. More distantly a coyote was on the trail of a jackrabbit.

The typical sights and sounds of the desert. His only interest, however, was making sure there were no nasty surprises hidden in the shadows.

“I prefer not to attract unwanted attention to our presence in Nevada,” he explained. “Something that would be impossible with you in a casino.”

“All I want is a warm shower, fresh clothes, and a ticket to the Donnie and Marie show.”

“Do I have stupid tattooed on my forehead?” Styx turned to stab his friend with a knowing gaze. “The last time you were in Vegas you nearly bankrupted the Flamingo and ended up banned from returning to the city by the clan chief.”

A reminiscent smile tugged at Viper’s lips. “Can I help it if I happen to have a streak of luck at the craps table? Or that Roke is a humorless prig?”

The distant hum of a motorcycle sliced through the thick night air.

“Speaking of Roke,” he murmured.

Viper muttered a curse as he moved to stand at Styx’s side. “That’s who we’re meeting with?”

“Yes.” Styx narrowed his gaze. “Do you promise to behave?”

“No, but I promise I won’t kill him unless he ...”

“Viper.”

“Shit.” Viper folded his arms over his chest. “This had better be important.”

“Would I have left Darcy if it weren’t?” he demanded, the mere mention of his mate sending a tiny pang of longing through his heart. Over the past months the beautiful female Were had become his very reason for living.

With a throaty roar of power, Roke brought his Turbine to a halt. Then, sliding off the elegant machine, he crossed to stand in front of them.

Dressed in black jeans, a leather jacket and moccasin boots that reached his knees, he was not as tall as Styx, although they shared the same bronzed skin and dark hair. Roke’s, however, had been cut to brush his broad shoulders. His features were lean with the high cheekbones of his Native American bloodlines and a proud nose. His brow was wide and his lips generously full. But it was his eyes that captured and held attention.

Silver in color they were so pale they appeared almost white, the shocking paleness emphasized by the rim of pure black that circled them.

They were eyes that seemed to pierce through a person to lay bare their very souls.

Not always the most comfortable sensation.

Especially for those who didn’t particularly want their souls laid bare.

Which was ... yeah, pretty much everyone.

“Styx.” Offering a low bow, Roke’s movements were liquid smooth as he slowly straightened and with stunning swiftness was hurling a dagger to stick in the ground not an inch from Viper’s expensive leather shoes. “Viper.”

Viper growled, giving a wave of his hand to dislodge the dirt around Roke’s feet. All vampires could manipulate the soil, a necessary skill to protect them from the sun or to hide the corpses of their prey, but Viper was particularly skilled and in less than a blink of an eye Roke was buried up to his waist.

“Are you two done playing?” Styx demanded, his icy power biting through the air.

The clan chief of Nevada climbed out of the sand pit and dusted off his jeans, his expression as inscrutable as ever.

“For now.”

Viper made a sound of impatience. “Why are we here?”

Styx nodded toward their companion. “Roke has something he believes we should see.”

“His collection of blow-up dolls?”

“Christ. Enough.” Styx bared his massive fangs in warning. He didn’t know what the hell had gone down between the two clan chiefs in the past, but right now he could not care less. He didn’t have time for their bullshit. “Roke, show me.”

“This way.”

In utter silence the three vampires ghosted through the darkness, moving with a speed that made them all but invisible. They were nearing a line of rugged hills when Viper made a sound of impatience.

“As much as I adore running through the barren desert, do we have an eventual destination?” he muttered.

On cue Roke came to a sharp halt, pointing toward the desert floor just in front of them.

“There.”

Viper rolled his eyes. “Man of few words.”

“Preferable to one who doesn’t know when to shut it.”

“Agreed,” Styx said dryly, shifting so he could study the ground where Roke was pointing. It took a long moment to recognize that lines etched into the dry dirt were more than just the graffiti from some human. “Oh ... shit.”

“What the hell?” Viper tilted back his head as he caught the lingering scent. “Were.”

“Cassandra,” Styx said, easily recognizing the scent of his mate’s twin sister who had recently been revealed as a powerful prophet.

“And Caine,” Viper added. “Why would they be in the middle of the Mojave Desert?”

Now that was a hell of a question.

The pair of pureblooded Weres had been missing for weeks, despite Styx’s best efforts to locate them. An unbelievable feat considering he possessed the best trackers in the world. Of course, if the rumors were true then the two Weres were already beyond his reach.

It made any clue as to how Cassandra had been captured, or how to retrieve her from her current prison priceless.

“I’m more concerned with what they left behind,” he admitted, prowling around the edges of the strange symbols.

Viper frowned. “An etching?”

Styx shook his head. “It looks more like a hieroglyph.”

“A prophecy,” Roke said with a quiet confidence.

Styx turned to study the clan chief with a searching gaze. “Can you decipher it?”

“Yes, it’s a warning.”

Viper frowned. “You’re a seer?”

Roke shook his head, his gaze trained on the lines etched into the ground.

“There’s only one prophet. But I was sired by a wise woman who taught me to read the signs left by our forefathers.”

Of course. Styx abruptly understood precisely why he was standing in the middle of a desert.

“So now we know why Cassandra chose to travel to Nevada,” he said wryly.

“Why?” Viper demanded.

He pointed toward Roke. “Because it was the one place to make certain her message would be understood.”

Viper snorted. “She could have sent a text and saved us a trip.”

Styx’s attention never wavered from the silent Roke. It was impossible to judge how the vampire felt about being pulled into the battle against the Dark Lord.

But then, he no doubt realized that it wasn’t a choice.

Styx wasn’t the head of a damned democracy.

He led his people by cunning and brute force when necessary.

“How did you discover this?”

“A cur stumbled across it two nights ago,” Roke promptly answered. “There are no Were packs in the area so he came to me with the information.”

“How many others did he tell?”

Roke instantly understood Styx’s concern. “None, but it’s been here at least two, maybe even three weeks.” He grimaced. “It’s impossible to know how many others have seen it.”

A pity, but there was nothing to be done, Styx silently conceded.

“Could anyone else interpret it?”

Roke paused before giving a shake of his head. “Doubtful.”

Viper crouched down, studying the desert floor with a frown. “What does it say?”

Roke moved forward, careful not to disturb the marks as he pointed toward the strange etching closest to them.

“This is the symbol for the Alpha and the Omega.”

Styx froze at the familiar words.

“The children,” he murmured, speaking of the twin babies that had been found by the half-Jinn mongrel, Laylah. She hadn’t known that they were the babies mentioned in the prophecies. Or that they had been created by the Dark Lord so he could use them as vessels for his eventual resurrection. “What about them?”

Roke traced the symbol in the air. “Here they are joined.”

Styx nodded. When Laylah had found the children they’d been wrapped in the same stasis spell and she’d assumed there was only one child.

“Yes.”

“And then they were separated.” Roke pointed toward the second etching. “The Omega is lost to the mists.”

Viper muttered a low curse. Styx didn’t blame him.

They’d struggled to protect the children, but while Laylah and Tane had managed to rescue the boy child and name him Maluhia, the girl child had been taken through the barriers between dimensions and used by the Dark Lord in his attempt to return to this world.

Styx shifted his attention to the last symbol. “What’s this?”

“The children reunited.”

Hissing in disbelief, Styx turned to meet Roke’s steady gaze, the pale silver eyes even more eerie than usual.

“Reunited?”

“‘The Alpha and Omega shall be torn asunder and through the mists reunited,’” the clan chief of Nevada murmured, quoting the Sylvermyst Prophecy.

“Maluhia,” Viper breathed, his expression grim. “Cassandra was warning us that the baby is in danger.”

“Shit.” Styx shoved his hand in his pocket to yank out his cell phone, his sense of furious urgency frustrated by the realization there was no service. He needed to get back to civilization. Now. Grasping the startled Roke by the upper arm, he headed back across the desert at a blinding speed. “You’re coming with us.”

Three weeks earlier

Las Vegas

The Forum shops in Caesar’s Palace were a wonderland for any female, let alone one who had spent the past thirty years secluded from the world.

Beneath the ceilings that were painted to resemble a blue sky, the elegant stores wound their way past fountains that were intended to give the image of being transported back to Roman days, their glass display cases filled with the sort of temptation designed to make any woman drool.

With a wry smile, Caine stepped behind his dazzled companion to wrap his arms around her waist, tugging her back flat against his chest.

He could only wish Cassie would look at him with that same wistful longing, he ruefully acknowledged.

Or perhaps not, he swiftly corrected as his body hardened with a familiar, brutal need.

Since discovering Cassie being held prisoner in the cave of a demon lord weeks ago, Caine had done his best to play the role of Knight in Shining Armor.

After all, Cassie had not only been altered in the womb not to shift, but she was as innocent as a babe and twice as vulnerable.

Add in the fact she was the first true prophet born in centuries, and currently being hunted by every demon loyal to the Dark Lord, and she was a disaster waiting to happen.

She desperately needed a protector.

And since Caine (once a mere cur) had died and been resurrected as a pureblooded Were in her arms, he’d assumed that protecting Cassie was the reason the fates had returned him to this world instead of leaving him to rot in his well-deserved hell.

Unfortunately, his miraculous return to life hadn’t included a sainthood and he remained a fully, functioning male with all the usual weaknesses.

Including a rampaging lust toward the tiny female currently wrapped in his arms.

As always completely impervious to his torment, Cassie breathed a soft sigh of wonder.

“Oh ...”

“Cassie.” Bending down, he spoke directly in her ear. “Cassie, listen to me.”

She tilted back her head to meet his narrowed gaze and Caine briefly forgot how to breathe.

Holy shit, but she was beautiful.

Her hair was pale, closer to silver than blond, and pulled into a ponytail that fell to her waist. Her skin was a perfect alabaster, smooth and silken. Her eyes were an astonishing green, the color of spring grass and flecked with gold.

Her face was heart-shaped with delicate features that gave her an air of fragility that was only emphasized by her slender body. Of course, beneath her jeans and casual sweatshirt, she possessed the lean muscles of all pureblooded Weres.

“What?” she prompted when he continued to gawk at her in mindless appreciation.

He sucked in a deep breath, savoring the warm scent of lavender that clung to her skin.

“You promised me that you would blend.”

She wiggled from his grasp and darted toward the nearest store to press her face against the window.

“Mmmm. Pretty.”

Caine rolled his eyes. “I knew this was a mistake.”

“There’s so many,” she murmured as he moved to stand beside her. “How do you choose?”

“We’ll go into a store, pick out a few of your favorite clothes, and try them on ...”

“Okay.”

Without waiting for him finish, Cassie was darting through the open doorway. Caine was swiftly on her heels, but with immaculate timing a buxom nymph with dark hair and brown eyes pretended to stumble and landed against his chest.

Instinctively his hands reached to grasp her shoulders, his sapphire blue eyes narrowed with irritation.

Once upon a time he had appreciated beautiful females tossing themselves into his arms. Even though he’d been a mere cur, his short blond hair that fell across his brow and tanned, surfer good-looks made sure he had more than his fair share of babes. And it didn’t hurt that his body was chiseled with lean muscles beneath the low-riding jeans and tight T-shirt.

And oh yeah, he’d made an obscene fortune cranking out prescription drugs from his private lab.

Now it took every ounce of willpower to politely set aside the damned nymph and not toss her into the line of sleek metallic mannequins showing off the latest designer swimwear.

“Didn’t we meet in ...” she began, but Caine wasn’t listening as he swept past her and headed straight toward the tiny blonde who was fingering a white sundress with black polka dots.

“Cassie.”

He had barely reached her side when her hands reached for the bottom of her sweatshirt and began pulling it over her head.

“I want to try it on.”

“Holy shit.” He grabbed her hands, yanking the sweatshirt back into place. “Wait.”

She frowned in confusion. “But you said ...”

“Yeah, I know what I said,” he muttered. When was he going to learn she took every word quite literally?

“Did I do something wrong?”

“Never.” He brushed a finger over her pale cheek. Christ, she was so unbearably innocent. “Why don’t you show me what you like and I’ll pick out the right size?”

“You can do that just by looking?”

His lips twisted in a dry smile. “It’s a gift.”

“A well-practiced gift?”

He stilled, regarding her in surprise. Despite the fact they’d been constant companions over the past weeks, Cassie rarely seemed aware of his presence, let alone the fact that he was a red-blooded male.

Not that he took it personally.

She was plagued by her visions of the future and too often impervious to the world around her.

“Are you truly interested?” he husked.

She flashed him a dimpled smile. “Perhaps.”

He swallowed a growl, his body once again hard and aching. She was going have him a raving lunatic before this was over.

“Better than nothing.” He motioned toward the hovering saleslady, indicating he wanted one of the sundresses before steering Cassie toward the khaki shorts and pretty summer tops. “Now, let’s choose a few sensible outfits before we move on.”

Within an hour they had a reasonable pile of clothes for both of them and a bill that would make most men shudder in horror.

Caine, however, didn’t so much as flinch as he gathered the packages and headed out of the store. They had left Missouri after Cassie had offered her warning to Laylah with nothing more than the clothes on their backs. Tonight he intended to enjoy a hot shower, clean clothes, good food, and a soft bed.

In that order.

In silence they wandered down the wide passageway, occasionally halting for Cassie to peer into the windows.

For the moment Caine was content to allow her to behave as a normal female. It was all too rare that she was able to put aside the burden of her visions.

And as long as he didn’t detect any danger lurking. . .

His brain closed down as his searching gaze was snared by the sight of lace and ribbons and feminine temptation spread in front of a shop window.

Instinct alone had him herding Cassie through the door and into the hushed atmosphere of the exclusive store.

“What are you doing?” she asked in confusion.

“We did your shopping, now it’s my turn,” he informed her, moving toward a table that held a pile of satin teddies.

Oh ... hell.

Cassie halted at his side, her expression puzzled. “Here?”

“Absolutely.” Dropping his packages, Caine reached for a scarlet teddie, holding up the fragile garment for her inspection. “What do you think?”

“Tiny.” There was a faint hint of dimples. “I don’t think it will fit you.”

Heat blasted through him at the vivid image of Cassie wearing the lacy lingerie and spread across his bed, that same almost-smile teasing at her lips.

“We’ll take one of each color,” he croaked toward the saleswoman.

“They’re not very practical,” she protested.

“Practical is the last thing you should be when you’re wearing fine lingerie.”

Expecting an argument, Caine was caught off-guard when she reached to gently stroke a finger over the shimmering fabric.

“I suppose they’ll be comfortable to sleep in.”

Sleep?

Caine’s fantasy abruptly altered to reality. Which meant Cassie sleeping like a baby in one bed while he tossed and turned in another.

Did he really need to add in a skimpy bit of silk to increase torture?

“For one of us,” he wryly admitted.

Predictably she didn’t have a clue why he was suddenly questioning his own sanity.

“What?”

He headed toward the discreet sales desk at the back of the store, pulling his wallet from his pocket.

“I’m an idiot.”

Please turn the page for

an exciting sneak peek of

MY LORD ETERNITY,

the next installment in Alexandra Ivy’s

Immortal Rogues series,

coming in December 2012!

Chapter 1

Although Miss Jocelyn Kingly had never before encountered the devil, she was fairly certain he was currently sitting in her front parlor.

It was not so much his appearance that made her think of the Lord of the Netherworld, she grudgingly conceded.

Indeed, he might have been a beloved angel with his long, tawny curls that framed a lean countenance and brushed his wide shoulders. His eyes were a pure, shimmering gold with long black lashes that would make any woman gnash her teeth in envy. His features were carved with a delicate male beauty.

But there was nothing angelic in the decided glint of wicked humor in those magnificent eyes and sensuous cut of those full lips.

And, of course, the indecent charm of those deep dimples.

She should have sent him on his way the moment he arrived upon her doorstep. Not even for a moment should she be considering the notion of allowing such a disturbing gentleman into her home.

She would have to be mad.

When she had first been struck with the notion of renting her attics, it had been with the prospect of discovering a quiet, comfortable tenant. Someone who would not disturb the peace of her household.

Unfortunately there were few such tenants who desired to live in a neighborhood that hovered on the edge of the stews. The local pickpockets and prostitutes did not possess the funds to pay the rent, even if she were to consider allowing them into her home. And the few gentlemen who possessed businesses in the area already owned their own property, usually far from St. Giles.

Which left Lucien Valin.

A shiver raced down her spine.

If only she were not in such desperate need of money.

If only it were not a full two months until her quarterly allowance.

If only ...

Her lips twitched with wry humor. She could devote the next fortnight to listing the “if-onlys” in her life. Now was not the time for such futile longings.

She better than anyone understood that the mistakes of the past could not be altered. One could only ensure that they were not repeated.

Unconsciously straightening her spine Jocelyn forced herself to meet that piercing golden gaze. It came as no surprise to discover her visitor’s lips were twitching as if he were amused by her obvious hesitation.

“So, Miss Kingly, was the newspaper in error?” he prodded in that husky, faintly accented voice. “Do you have rooms to let or not?”

The voice of a devil. Jocelyn sucked in a steadying breath. Devil or not, he was the only potential tenant who offered the cold, hard coin she so desperately needed.

There had to be something said for that. Unfortunately.

“There are rooms,” she agreed in cautious tones. “However, I feel it incumbent to warn you that they are located in the garret and are quite cramped. I am uncertain that a gentleman of your large proportions would find them at all comfortable.”

His slender, powerful hands moved to steeple beneath his chin, the golden eyes shimmering in the slanting morning sunlight.

“Do not fear, I am tall, but thankfully, quite intelligent. I need hit my head upon the rafters on only a handful of occasions to recall to duck.”

“There is also our unfortunate proximity to the slaughterhouses. The stench can be unbearable on some days.”

“I have discovered that there are few places in London that are not plagued with one unpleasant odor or another. Not even Mayfair is unaffected.”

Jocelyn maintained her calm demeanor with an effort. She never allowed herself to be ruffled. She had learned through painful experience that to lose control was a certain invitation to disaster.

“Unlike Mayfair, however, this neighborhood can be quite dangerous as well.”

His dimples suddenly flashed. “Surely, my dear, you do not suppose Mayfair to be without its dangers? Just imagine ... marriage-mad mamas, overdressed fops fragrant with the stench of rosewater, and a prince who insists upon keeping his chambers as smothering hot as the netherworld. It is enough to terrify the stoutest of hearts.” He lifted one broad shoulder. “I should be able to hold my own against a handful of thieves and street urchins.”

There was no reasonable argument to refute his confident words. Although he cloaked himself in a lazy charm, there was no mistaking the fluid power of his male form or the hint of ruthless will that was etched upon the lean features.

Only a fool would underestimate the danger of Mr. Lucien Valin. And Jocelyn was no fool.

“If you say,” she reluctantly conceded.

“Is there anything else?”

“There are my rules, of course,” she swiftly countered, not at all surprised when his lips curled in open amusement.

“Of course.”

“This is not a lodging house. I live very quietly. I will not countenance loud gatherings or drunken carousing.”

A tawny brow flicked upward. “I am allowed no callers?”

“Only if they are discreet.”

For some reason her cool response only deepened his amusement. “Ah.”

That unwelcome shiver once again inched down her spine, and Jocelyn discovered herself battling back the words to order this Mr. Valin from her house.

She did not have the luxury of turning away a perfectly suitable tenant just because of some vague fear.

“And the arrangement will be of a temporary nature,” she instead retorted in an effort to reassure her faltering nerve. “No longer than two months.”

“That suits me well enough.”

It appeared everything suited the devil.

Jocelyn narrowed her gaze. “I also must insist that you respect my privacy. You are welcome to eat in the kitchen with Meg, but the remainder of the house is not to be entered.”

There was a brief pause as he studied her carefully bland countenance. Then he gave a vague nod of his head.

“As you wish. Is that all?”

It was, of course.

She was charging him an outrageous sum of money for cramped rooms and meals he would be forced to eat in the servants’ quarters.

She had also made impossible rules that would annoy the most even-tempered of gentlemen.

The mere fact that he had so readily agreed made her even more suspicious.

“Why are you here?” she demanded in abrupt tones.

His hands lowered as he regarded her with a bemused smile.

“I beg your pardon?”

Jocelyn deliberately allowed her gaze to drop to the deep burgundy coat cut by an obvious expert and white waistcoat stitched with silver thread. Her gaze continued over the hard, muscular thrust of his legs to linger upon the glossy Hessians that cost more than many families could earn in a year.

At last she raised her head to discover him regarding her in a curious fashion. “It is obvious that you are a gentleman of means, Mr. Valin. Why would you desire to take inferior rooms in a neighborhood most consider fit only for cutthroats and whores?”

“Does it truly matter what my reason?” he demanded softly.

“I will not harbor a criminal.”

He gave a sudden chuckle. “I assure you that I am not hiding from the gallows.”

“Then, why?”

“Let us just say that there was a slight misunderstanding with my cousin.”

The explanation was a trifle too smooth for her liking.

“You had a slight misunderstanding with your cousin and now you desire to hide in St. Giles? You shall have to do better than that, Mr. Valin.”

The devilish glint in the golden eyes became even more pronounced. “Perhaps it was more than a slight misunderstanding. Gideon can unfortunately be tiresomely unreasonable when he chooses, and I believe there was some mention of a nasty duel. It seemed best to avoid him for the next several weeks. Just until his temper is recovered.”

“What is the nature of this misunderstanding?”

His features unexpectedly firmed to uncompromising lines. “That is a private matter.”

A woman, Jocelyn silently concluded, caught off guard by a traitorous prick of disappointment.

What else could she expect from such a gentleman? He was, after all, born to break the heart of susceptible women.

Then she was severely chastising herself for her unworthy thoughts.

She knew nothing of this gentleman. Certainly not enough to brand him as a womanizing letch. And in truth, even if he were, she was in no position to judge another.

“I respect your privacy, but you must understand that I have no desire to discover an angry gentleman upon my doorstep with his dueling pistol.”

The incorrigible humor swiftly returned to the bronze features. “He has no means of discovering I am here. Besides, Gideon would never harm a lady. He far prefers to charm them.” His smile became decidedly suggestive. “As do I.”

Jocelyn carefully laid her hands upon her tidy desk. This flirtatious banter was precisely what she had feared from Mr. Valin. It was important that she put a swift end to any hopes he might harbor of a casual seduction.

“That is all very well, but do not imagine for a moment, Mr. Valin, that I am remotely interested in any charms you might claim to possess.”

Far from wounded by her firm words, the gentleman stroked a slender finger down the length of his jaw.

“Surely you exaggerate, Miss Kingly? Not even remotely interested?”

“No.”

He heaved a teasing sigh. “A hard woman.”

“A sensible woman who has no time for foolish games,” she corrected him firmly. “You would do well to remember my warning.”

“Oh, I possess a most excellent memory,” he drawled, reaching beneath his jacket to remove a small leather bag that he placed upon the desk. “Indeed, I even remembered this.”

She eyed the bag warily. “What is it?”

“The two months’ rent in advance, just as you requested.”

Jocelyn made no effort to reach for the money. She knew the moment her fingers touched the coins she would be irrevocably committed to allowing this gentleman into her home.

And yet, what else could she do?

There was nothing particularly noble in bare cupboards and empty coal bins. And besides, she had Meg to consider.

Her old nurse was the only one to stand beside her when the scandal had broken. She was the only friend she had left in the world.

How could she possibly allow the older woman to suffer even further hardship?

The answer, of course, was she could not. This money would pay their most pressing creditors and put food on the table. At the moment that was all that mattered.

Grimly thrusting aside the warning voice that whispered in the back of her mind, Jocelyn gave a nod of her head.

“Thank you.”

As if thoroughly aware of her inner struggle, the devil lifted his brows in a faintly mocking manner.

“Do you not wish to count it?”

“That will not be necessary.”

“So trusting, my dove?”

“You will not be difficult to track down if I discover you have attempted to cheat me.”

“There is that,” he agreed with a chuckle. “When may I take possession of the rooms?”

Although not always meticulously devoted to truth if a small bit of subterfuge was more practical, Jocelyn discovered herself unable to form the lie that would allow her a few days’ grace from Mr. Valin’s presence.

Not that it truly mattered.

She would no doubt merely waste the days brooding upon what was to come. Surely this was like swallowing vile medicine. It was best to be done with quickly.

“The rooms have been cleaned and prepared,” she forced herself to admit. “You may have them whenever you desire.”

“Good. I will collect my belongings and be here later this afternoon.”

This afternoon.

She absolutely refused to shiver again.

“What of your cousin?” she demanded. “Will he not shoot you when you return for your belongings?”

“I have it on excellent authority that he devoted the goodly portion of the evening to his current mistress. It will be several hours before he awakens.”

She unconsciously grimaced. “I see.”

An odd hint of satisfaction touched the handsome countenance. “You disapprove of such pleasurable pastimes, Miss Kingly?”

Jocelyn was swift to smooth her features to calm indifference. “I do not possess sufficient interest to disapprove, Mr. Valin.”

His lips twisted wryly. “No, of course not.”

Having strained her nerves quite far enough for one morning, Jocelyn rose to her feet.

“I believe we have covered everything, Mr. Valin.”

Efficiently dismissed, the tawny-haired gentleman reluctantly pushed himself from his chair.

“I shall return in a few hours,” he was swift to warn.

Jocelyn, however, was prepared on this occasion.

“If you have need of anything, please speak with Meg. She is quite capable and is in full control of the household.”

The golden eyes narrowed as she easily maneuvered him firmly into the hands of her servant.

“More capable than you, Miss Kingly?” he demanded in those husky tones.

“Without a doubt.” With a crisp nod of her head she regained her seat and reached for her ledger book.

“Good-bye, Mr. Valin.”

He remained standing beside the desk, but as she kept her gaze upon the pages of her accounts, he at last gave a low chuckle.

“Until later, my dear.”

Jocelyn maintained her charade of distraction until she at last heard the sound of the door closing behind his retreating form. Only then did she lean back in her seat and close her eyes in an odd weariness.

There would be dinner on the table tonight.

But what was the cost?

And was she prepared to pay it?

ZEBRA BOOKS are published by

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Copyright © 2003 by Debbie Raleigh

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