WRITTEN IN BLOOD …De Sonnac’s fingers inched up Collin’s hand. “It doesn’t matter,” de Sonnac said, his tone gentle. “T...
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WRITTEN IN BLOOD …De Sonnac’s fingers inched up Collin’s hand. “It doesn’t matter,” de Sonnac said, his tone gentle. “Things will change.” “Prove it.” “Four hundred years ago, people thought the world was flat.” Collin laughed. All right, yes, some things did change. He still couldn’t imagine— De Sonnac slid forward, brushing his lips over Collin’s. The touch was feather light but it slammed into Collin. The heat of de Sonnac’s body created a faint touch, but this…this was exquisite. De Sonnac’s lips were warm. Soft. The kiss ended. De Sonnac was still there, so close his breath haunted Collin, but far enough away that Collin felt the distance. “I’ll be in town a few days,” de Sonnac whispered. As he talked, his lips brushed over Collin’s. “Come back to my hotel with me.” “I don’t…” Know you. Dare. “Go to hotels with men you have just met?” “No.” Though if Collin were honest, none had ever asked him before. “I’ve never asked anyone to accompany me before either. I imagine that must be difficult to believe. It’s been ages since I had such an interesting debate with anyone, though. I want”—his lips pressed against Collin’s—“more.” God. Collin kissed him. De Sonnac’s lips felt so good against his. The heat of his body bled into Collin, imprinting its touch. This could be deliciously wicked. Dangerous, but sweet. So sweet…
WRITTEN IN BLOOD BY LUISA PRIETO
AMBER Q UILL PRESS, LLC http://www.AmberQuill.com
WRITTEN IN BLOOD AN AMBER QUILL PRESS BOOK This book is a work of fiction. All names, characters, locations, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination, or have been used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, locales, or events is entirely coincidental. Amber Quill Press, LLC http://www.AmberQuill.com All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be transmitted or reproduced in any form, or by any means, without permission in writing from the publisher, with the exception of brief excerpts used for the purposes of review. Copyright © 2009 by Luisa Prieto ISBN 978-1-60272-536-2 Cover Art © 2009 Trace Edward Zaber
Layout and Formatting provided by: Elemental Alchemy
PUBLISHED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
While stories are written in solitude, I’m fortunate that I’m not alone. This book is for Jen Ayres, JL Merrow, Rita Oakes, Lauren, CL, Michelle Mirza, Dominique, Lane Robins, Anne Cain, and JL Langley.
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CHAPTER 1 Bloody hell. His friends had lied. Collin Foster glowered at the two men sitting across from him in the cab. The horse-drawn vehicle’s interior was a place of shadow, but he could see them smiling. “I thought we were going to a pub,” he said. “You need a different kind of vice tonight,” Franklin Barnes said. “What I need is a drink.” Or two. The damnable story he’d begun investigating had twisted, turning from an expose on members of the nobility who went to secret brothels that offered children to one on a secret brothel that offered men. Collin had written it up, expecting it to be buried deep within the paper, only to wake in the morning and find it on the front 1
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page. London, he’d learned, would be dismayed over children in peril, but give them a scandal and they wanted blood. “And let you brood in a corner?” William Harrison said. He made a face. “You desperately need some company of the feminine kind, my friend.” Sharp laughter blossomed inside Collin. Feminine kind. God, the irony. “You can get a drink here,” Barnes said. “Or a bite to eat. Or—” “Syphilis?” “That’s extra,” Harrison said, his tone light. He offered Collin a smile. “I know your current story has you feeling maudlin, but I’d wager it’s gotten your paper more readers.” Likely. “I’m sure there’ll be a nice murder next week to distract you,” Barnes said. Harrison grimaced. “I’d prefer scandal. Less blood.” “Until someone kills themselves,” Collin said. “Has someone?” Barnes asked. “No.” Though he feared they would. The young men involved had been messenger boys, using the money they earned to help their families. They didn’t have the wherewithal to hire a barrister, let alone survive in Newgate. Collin had secretly left them some money to help make their stay at the prison more comfortable. Unfortunately, someone had informed them of him. In their terror, they were loyal to anyone who showed them kindness. They would talk to no reporter except him. Collin had learned about it over lunch that day with his publisher. Foster, old chap, you have a gift. He was afraid the man was right. 2
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“It’s a pity,” Barnes said. “Pardon?” Collin asked. “It’s a pity no one’s died. I can’t say the world will mourn a couple of sodo–” “I will mourn.” “You didn’t when the police put down that baby slasher last year,” Barnes said. “This isn’t so very different.” Desire for one’s own sex. Desire for blood. Actually, Collin thought there was a great deal of difference. The cab slowed, coming to a gentle stop. Collin slouched back into his seat. He was a thirty year old man. He refused to act like a schoolboy out on his first— Harrison and Barnes took hold of his arms and hauled him out of the cab door. “This is madness,” Collin said, twisting free. “Madness is watching you brood away another evening because you uncovered something other reporters would kill for,” Harrison said. “It’s not news. If they’d been caught outside this house, no one would care. The Great Social Evil is only evil when it inconveniences someone.” “Foster,” Barnes said, his voice soft. “The story is gossip. Stupid, pointless—” “Foster.” He frowned at Barnes. Once, in university, he and Barnes had had a spirited discussion about the distance created by using one’s surname instead of their Christian name. Barnes hadn’t cared; Collin had, though more out of irritation at sharing his father’s name. Hearing his surname now, over this, was irritating. If his father had still been alive, he would’ve devoured every word of his 3
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damned story. “It’s normal for men to want to visit these places,” Barnes said. “Those men, though, aren’t well. Perhaps this will move them to fight their sick desires.” “More likely it will move them to France or America,” Collin said. “Some place where the people around them will care more for their money than for their pasts.” Barnes scowled and paid the cab driver. Collin was tempted to add his thoughts about the hypocrisy of Barnes and Harrison’s plans for the evening but the sight of Barnes’s pinched face stopped him. Right now, his friends thought he was upset because his story had twisted into gossip. If he kept at it, they might start to wonder why he felt so strongly. Unfortunately, the words burned inside of him. He’d read the Symposium and Origin of Man. The world was vast and they were forever discovering new things about it and themselves. Claiming to be right about everything seemed mad. He would not ignore the hypocrisy. And if anyone ever suspected him of harboring those sentiments, they wouldn’t ignore him either. Coachman paid, Barnes motioned for Collin to lead the way. Collin scowled and headed for the house. The wind tumbled over him, sending his light brown hair into his face. He raked the strands back. The foul gossip had been devoured with relish for as long as Collin could remember. In his youth there had been low, excited whispers. At Oxford, the voices had grown. Did you hear about the vicar? Did you hear about Professor Evans? Did you hear…? For all of their dread of same sex desires, his fellows had spent a great deal of time discussing what terrible things men did 4
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together. They knew one’s member went into another’s mouth or arse. They all agreed that such a thing would likely be unpleasant, though how they knew such things were done was beyond Collin. When they reached the door, Collin stopped. A light by the door brought the moment out of simply unpleasant to nightmare reality. They were doing this. They were really doing this. “If we simply buy a few bottles and go back to my house,” he said, “we won’t have to worry about the ladies fumbling in our pockets later.” Harrison rapped his hand against the door. In the coach he’d been a shadow; here, he was a tall, pleasant looking blond man. “Once you see the beauties inside, I suspect you’ll want to do more than drink.” Collin doubted that. “I don’t know what the priests told you when you were a child,” Barnes said. Unlike either Collin or Harrison, he was handsome, with green eyes, auburn hair, and a smile that made people want to trust him with their money. Collin occasionally wondered why the man bothered to pay for company. “I assure you, they exaggerated. Nothing’s going to fall off.” “Let’s not think about such things tonight.” Harrison looked back at them. “I promise, you’ll find something here to like.” He leaned close and, lowering his voice, added, “I’ve personally examined some of the ladies at my house. Professionally, mind you. I assure you they’re healthy.” The information was a small comfort. He was loath to walk into the pretty two-story brick townhouse, but at least he knew his friends wouldn’t suffer for the visit. Last month Collin had buried an acquaintance from the paper, and though he hadn’t seen Jasper since the sores on his face had forced him to retire, Collin had 5
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recognized him. Jasper had once smiled so easily. Rigor mortis had frozen a grimace on his face. The door opened, revealing a pretty blond woman in a red dress. “Doctor,” she said, smiling at Harrison. “Hello, Victoria,” he said. The woman stepped back, smiling at Collin and Barnes. “After you,” Collin said. “Oh no,” Barnes said, nudging him forward. “You’re our guest of honor.” He felt as honored as a corpse. Collin stepped past the woman and headed down a wide hall. Piano music whispered, growing louder the farther he went. Along the wall to his left were a series of mirrors. Collin stalked past, catching a brief glimpse of himself. When drunk, Barnes had once told him he had the face of a fallen angel. Personally, Collin saw nothing. Average height, average weight, light brown hair and eyes the color of mud. Collin had once read that in some parts of the world, the rich brown element could be used to build homes. In others, pigs used it to protect themselves from sunlight. In that, the animals were very human. Collin thought people used scandals to hide themselves. Frowning, Collin looked past his reflection. His features might’ve briefly reminded a drunken friend of holier things, but after reading Thomas Henry Huxley, Collin knew he was an agnostic, and the only heavenly aspect he could ever represent was words. Like good intentions, they meant well. When they were twisted, they hurt people. A few steps later, the hall opened into a large parlor. A thick 6
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blue rug dominated a pale wood floor, softening Collin’s steps. Collin crossed the room, passing several plush sofas and women. The woman smiled pretty smiles. Aesthetically, Collin knew they were beautiful. Dark hair, pale hair, auburn; thin shapes, voluptuous shapes; one so young he felt uneasy. Other men who came here likely felt like schoolboys in a chocolate shop. Collin couldn’t wait to leave. He found a quiet corner and slumped against the wall. In the past, he’d usually only had to wait a few minutes. His friends would pair off and disappear and then he’d be able to slip away unseen. Tonight, Barnes and Harrison propped themselves against the wall, surrounding him. “Perhaps you could find something pleasant to write about here,” Harrison whispered. Oh yes. He could write about how their society politely ignored it when men sought out women for dalliances, but then turned around and ruined men when they looked at one another. In life, they ostracized them. On paper, they skewered them. After death… Collin was thankful to say he didn’t know what happened then. In school, Socrates had taught him that it was fine to question, to admit that he didn’t know; that others might not know. Afterward, Darwin and Freud removed his illusions about mankind’s brilliance. They were mortal. They made mistakes. Society, Collin hoped, was wrong about his desires. And, as long as he kept these thoughts, these feelings, to himself, he was safe. “You two don’t have to wait with me,” Collin said. “If you see someone you like, please go.” 7
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“Oh no,” Barnes said. “You’re the guest of honor. We’re going to let you choose first.” Bloody hell. Collin glowered into the room. Bastards! Did he try to make them fit his definition of the modern gentleman? Did he try to make Barnes go to debates on Darwin’s theories with him? Did he ask Harrison to stop using copies of Collin’s paper as an umbrella? They had their idiosyncrasies. They… Were worried about him. The thought drained Collin. They were trying to help him. In their place, he would’ve wanted to do something for them. He didn’t know if he would have brought them here, but if that was what they needed, he would have seen to it that they got it. “I fear I’ll take the young lady one of you would have preferred,” Collin said. Echoing pats touched his arms. “It’s a risk we’re willing to take,” Barnes said. “Now, what would you like? A blonde? A brunette?” A gentleman. “I think I see twins,” Harrison said. No. One would have been more than enough. Collin could never say those things aloud so he said, “I’d like someone who’s well read. Do you think any of them have read Plato?” Silence. Then, laughter. “You never know,” Harrison said. “Why don’t you approach a couple and see?” Might as well. Collin pushed himself away from the wall. 8
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He suspected the women were aware of his approach, for though they chatted pleasantly with one another, the ones who faced his direction glanced at him and then resumed their quiet conversation. Perhaps waiting for the gentleman to approach was a business decision, allowing the man to feel like he was courting. Collin found their polite distance kind. It gave him time to feign interest. Collin stopped beside a blond-haired woman sitting on a sofa. “Good evening, madam,” he said. “Good evening, sir.” Collin wasn’t certain what to say next, so he offered her his hand. She smiled and took it. Collin helped her rise. He considered asking her about her day, but the question seemed foolish. To be terribly honest, this was a business transaction. He was going to sit with her for an hour and then leave. That hour could become rather tedious, though. “How was your day?” he asked, following her lead as she drew him out of the room. “Dull. It was my turn to visit the grocer.” “My condolences.” He loathed that trip as well. Sometimes he missed having the stomach of a young man. Ten years before, he’d been certain he could survive on shepherd’s pie alone. “May I ask your name?” “Eleanor.” A fine name. It had been his sister’s. The connection stabbed him, making something inside of Collin curl into itself. When they stepped into the hall and he saw his shadow crouch, Collin forced himself upright. His sister had 9
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died ten years ago… She hadn’t died. Someone had murdered her. It had been a terrible affair. While everyone slept, someone had slipped into her room and taken liberties with her. When they were done, they’d held a pillow over her face until she died. Their parents had wondered if she’d left her window open. The police had wondered why she hadn’t cried out for help. The neighbors had wondered if she’d perhaps made the wrong acquaintance. All whispered, all wondered, what she’d done, how she’d invited someone to come in and kill her. At least the newspapers had focused on the murderer. No one ever caught the bastard, but Collin liked to think that the man had friends who later took him to a brothel, where he met a syphilitic whore. Or a coach struck him one day, leaving him lying broken by the side of a lonely road. Or, delicious thought, perhaps he developed some tumor and all of his organs died one by one, leaving his mind for last. Collin smiled. He would never know what happened to the bastard. In his mind, though, he met with many terrible ends. Collin hoped one was true. The woman beside him stopped at the end of the hall. She smiled at him and drew a key out of her pocket. “My room has a door that leads out into the garden. If you like, you can leave through it.” Collin stared at her. Had she just said… “Pardon?” he asked. “You can leave. They won’t see you.” Her tone was soft. Patient. Collin reclined against the doorframe. The movement brought 10
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him close to her and the faint scent of lavender surrounding her. The sweet smell got caught in Collin’s throat, forming an ache. His sister had not cared for that scent. He used to buy it for her anyway to tease her. He’d been a wretched brother. “If they ask about me,” he began in a whisper. Eleanor touched his hand. “I’ll wait a few minutes before going back out. By then, they will likely be enjoying their own revelries. When I see them again, I’ll tell them you just left.” Collin liked her dearly. Words would not be enough to thank her, so he reached into his coat. A few shillings later, Collin slipped out into the garden. Cold air wrapped around him, snatching away the house’s warmth. Collin drank in the edged air as he headed through the garden. The sky above was an inky nothing. No stars, no moon, not even a hint of clouds. The advancements that were bettering their lives occasionally cut them off from the rest of the universe. Collin couldn’t wait for the next rainfall. The deluge would clean the sky, the streets, and bring back the stars. The weather would also bring agues. People would sicken. Die. Frowning, Collin followed a narrow dirt path around the house and then out through a small gate. The street opened before him, a long dark emptiness cut every few feet by gaslight. Collin studied the area. The cab that had deposited him there was gone but another would likely arrive soon with another gentleman. There was no guarantee that the cab would come before Barnes or Harrison came out, though. In daylight, neither would likely ask him about the lady he’d been with, but the night offered shadows to whisper in. Tonight, Collin feared they would ask him for 11
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details of his encounter. He moved quickly down the street. The wind traced over him, growing sharp and cutting when he passed between homes, and then softening when the brick structures offered protection. The first gaslight was too close to the house, so he passed it and headed for the one farther down the street. As he approached it, a figure stepped out of the shadows and up to the light. Collin studied him. However disenchanted he felt with his profession, the skills he’d learned through it were sharp: the man was moneyed. His skin was pale, a sign he probably spent most of his time in an office. The coat he wore over his dark clothes was of a fine wool. He was tall, with dark hair. As Collin approached, the man turned toward him. He… He was exquisite. The man looked a touch older than Collin, perhaps in his early to mid thirties. He had an aristocratic nose, eyes the color of storm clouds, and beautifully full lips. The lips curved, creating a scythe of a smile. “It’s been years since I was last here,” the man said. “I forget how cold it can get.” The man’s voice was pleasant, his words precise. Collin wondered what he was likelier to read, the Last Days of Socrates or Varney. “I’ve lived here most of my life,” Collin said. “I forget every year.” The sound of clopping hooves drew close. Collin turned. When a cab began to take shape in the shadows, he held out a hand to flag it. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the other man do likewise. A moment later, the coach drew to a stop before them. 12
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Collin glanced at the man. He had arrived at the spot a moment before Collin and had a right to the cab. Propriety demanded Collin wait. There was every chance that another cab would be along soon. What if Barnes or Harrison emerged from the house before then, though? “We could share the cab,” the man said. “Thank you,” Collin said. “I think it would be better if—” “Collin?” The voice was distant, but the sharpness of the word stabbed Collin. Barnes was calling him. And using his given name. Bloody hell. He must be furious. Collin scowled in the direction of the house. What had Barnes done, waited for him instead of accepting one of the ladies’ favors? God, what if he had? “Sir?” the man asked. “Yes.” Collin turned back to him. “Let’s share the cab.” Collin had learned deportment at the end of a ruler, and it was memories of pain across his hands that kept him from pushing past the man and scrambling inside. After the man slipped past him, Collin followed, shutting the door sharply behind him. The cab lurched forward, unbalancing Collin. He dropped onto the padded bench across from the man. “Collin, I presume,” the man said. Collin opened his mouth to tell the man his surname. Then, he let his lips curve into a smile. If a surname created distance, in this moment he would have the opposite. “The infamous Collin, yes.” One couldn’t say he didn’t make an interesting first impression. Well, he would have liked to, but life could be contradictory at times. 13
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“And you, sir?” Collin asked. “De Sonnac.” Ah, a surname. No surprise; Collin might want something different but it didn’t mean others did as well. “If I may ask, where are you going?” de Sonnac asked. Collin gave him his address. He lived in a townhouse in Kensington, a few blocks from Hyde Park. Collin had inherited the house from his late uncle, a somber man who’d also had ink in his veins. It was a lovely neighborhood, home to doctors and lawyers and other professional men who read his paper and sighed over the state of the world. Since his last story had broken, many of them had invited him over for tea and cakes. De Sonnac opened a small panel beside him and gave the driver their destinations. Collin learned the man was staying at a hotel in central London, making him reconsider the man’s possible occupation. De Sonnac was staying in the City, the financial heart of London. Hundreds of years before, a Roman wall had protected it. Now, tall buildings cast shadows over the surrounding area, hiding the labyrinth of streets within. De Sonnac reclined back in his seat. He reached into his coat and withdrew a newspaper. The broadsheet was folded, and the bit Collin could see was upside down. Despite that, he recognized the issue. It was from that morning. The story above the fold was his. “I take it from the scowl on your face that you don’t care for current events,” de Sonnac said. “I care about news. The top story is little more than malicious gossip.” 14
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“Every paper I’ve seen has been focusing on it.” He knew. Most days Collin was pleased with his fellow reporters, with their dedication to pursuing information and warning others. Other times, they were like ravens at a battlefield, picking at the choicest bits. “When the murders occurred last summer,” Collin said, “few people cared because the murderer was targeting children in Whitechapel. When he moved to Kensington, though, they wanted him stopped. A few papers covered the news in Whitechapel, so when the murderer moved, people knew what to look out for. I think some children were saved because of that.” Collin motioned to the paper. “That story? It’ll save no one.” De Sonnac set the paper on the padded bench beside him. “I believe Scotland Yard used those papers to create a character study on the man.” “An alienist helped them with it.” Dr. Rupert Matheson. A brilliant man. Collin had been wary of having tea with him again since the man had quietly offered Collin his time. Barnes and Harrison might not notice Collin’s idiosyncrasies but Matheson had caught them. “He used information he got from the papers,” de Sonnac said. “I believe someone died as a result.” Yes. The murderer. “The murders stopped afterwards,” Collin said. It hadn’t stopped the nightmares, though. The inspector in charge of the case had allowed Collin and Matheson to accompany the police to the man’s residence. Before they stepped into the farmhouse outside of London, the man had been a suspected murderer. After Collin saw the skins the man had 15
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nailed to the walls, he’d been relieved the murderer had died in a fire. “Do you wish every issue had a murder?” de Sonnac asked. “No. I’d be delighted if they carried news about Helen Hunt Jackson’s writings about U.S. policies towards the Indians or Harrison Thomas Stead’s work against child prostitution.” “He’s the one who bought a thirteen year old and then wrote about it as if someone else had done it?” “Yes, but I doubt he touched her.” “You’re very kind to assume that he hadn’t.” Collin thought he was more practical than kind; “He’d have no reason to report it if he’d dallied.” “Perhaps he did so to assuage his guilt.” “From what I’ve seen, men who go to brothels rarely regret it afterwards.” De Sonnac raised his gloved hands to his lap and tugged at the tip of each covered finger. When all the sheathes had inched forward, he drew off the glove and began the process on the other hand. “I don’t recall any papers covering men visiting brothels that offer adult women.” “Oh, every once in a while someone will decide to pursue one to show the evils of prostitution. Everyone will lament the state of the world, and after the ink has dried they’ll go back to visiting the places. Unless, of course, the brothel happens to offer men. Then— ” What was he doing? His friends tolerated his frustration, but even with them he knew he needed to be cautious. This man was unknown. Collin parted the dark curtain beside him and glanced outside. The cab was moving briskly, but it would likely be a few minutes 16
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before they reached his home. He would have to watch his words until then. “Unless force is used, I don’t really care who one beds,” de Sonnac said. Collin stared at him. He thought— “I do think it’s newsworthy that the people involved chose to leave town rather than answer a few questions,” de Sonnac said. “Not everyone left.” The two nobles may have fled, but the men they’d consorted with had been left behind to face charges. Britain was better off without the two nobles, but at the same time, it was also pretty much the same. “You don’t believe the ones who were left behind should be punished?” “No more than any lady who finds herself forced to work at a brothel,” Collin said. Popular thought was that the women craved sex. Since popular thought had once believed the world was flat, Collin was more willing to believe that the women—and men— had done it out of desperation. This was a cold season to be hungry in. “The papers—” “Are running hypocritical gossip.” “Malicious, hypocritical gossip.” Yes. “I doubt many of the papers would have bothered with the story if the brothel had offered women,” Collin said. “Or, before Stead had done his study, children.” “I imagine the story has sold a lot of newspapers, though.” “Yes. And if the scandal causes any of the men to take their lives or flee the country, it will likely sell more.” Collin hated that, hated that his investigation into the men had led to this, hated that 17
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other reporters wouldn’t let the stupid gossip die. While he couldn’t prevent any more words from being written about it, he wouldn’t spill another drop of ink for it. Tomorrow he would write about… He didn’t know, but he’d find something. Something that would matter. Something that wouldn’t make anyone kill himself. De Sonnac studied him. His gray eyes were soft. Thoughtful. “It may seem difficult to believe,” de Sonnac said, “but things do change.” “Yes. At one time, men convicted of desiring one another were hung. Now, they’re only sentenced to imprisonments that will destroy them.” “Hanging always seemed kinder than a pear.” “A what?” “An old device. It…killed the people it was used on very cruelly.” “So society has begun killing people more gently. Small comfort.” “Great comfort. You’ve never seen someone die at the hands of one.” No, but he’d seen the skins of children, peeled so carefully off their bodies he thought they could be used as clothes. Small hands missing the fingernails, faces missing eyes, their mouths forever caught in a scream. If this pear was as terrible as de Sonnac thought, Collin would have liked to use it on the murderer. Something about de Sonnac’s words caught Collin, drawing him back. Something about the pear. Had de Sonnac seen it used on someone? Warmth slid across Collin’s hand. A glance showed de Sonnac leaning forward, his hand over Collin’s. 18
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De Sonnac’s hand was beautiful. He had long pale fingers that ended in clean, even nails. His skin whispered over Collin’s. Collin could lose himself in that sound. Collin looked up at him. This close, he caught de Sonnac’s scent. Collin didn’t know where the other man had been that night, but he’d been near pipe smoke. Its rich, smoky scent haunted his coat. “Life has become a little better,” de Sonnac said. “I suspect it will continue to do so. It will take time, time that the unfortunates involved won’t always have, but it will happen.” “I don’t believe it.” Collin wanted to, though. God help him, he wanted to believe it. De Sonnac’s fingers inched up Collin’s hand. “It doesn’t matter,” de Sonnac said, his tone gentle. “Things will change.” “Prove it.” “Four hundred years ago, people thought the world was flat.” Collin laughed. All right, yes, some things did change. He still couldn’t imagine— De Sonnac slid forward, brushing his lips over Collin’s. The touch was feather light but it slammed into Collin. The heat of de Sonnac’s body created a faint touch, but this…this was exquisite. De Sonnac’s lips were warm. Soft. The kiss ended. De Sonnac was still there, so close his breath haunted Collin, but far enough away that Collin felt the distance. “I’ll be in town a few days,” de Sonnac whispered. As he talked, his lips brushed over Collin’s. “Come back to my hotel with me.” “I don’t…” Know you. Dare. 19
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“Go to hotels with men you have just met?” “No.” Though if Collin were honest, none had ever asked him before. “I’ve never asked anyone to accompany me before either. I imagine that must be difficult to believe. It’s been ages since I had such an interesting debate with anyone, though. I want”—his lips pressed against Collin’s—“more.” God. Collin kissed him. De Sonnac’s lips felt so good against his. The heat of his body bled into Collin, imprinting its touch. This could be deliciously wicked. Dangerous, but sweet. So sweet. He felt de Sonnac’s mouth open beneath his, and then wet warmth teased against his lips. Collin drew back a little to ask what that was. He saw a hint of de Sonnac’s tongue and then de Sonnac kissed him. His tongue brushed over Collin’s lips. Then, the muscle slipped inside and stroked Collin’s tongue. Desire spiked through Collin. It felt hot, this alien thing that ran through him, making his skin aware of the other man’s touch, the feel of cool air, and the heaviness of his clothes. The coach turned left, making them sway. De Sonnac drew back, releasing Collin’s lips. Collin stared at him. His skin felt haunted. He wanted more. The coach slowed, drawing to a stop. “The Beauchamp Hotel,” the driver announced. The sound of the driver’s voice startled Collin. For a few moments, his world had been the inside of the coach. A pleasantly shadowed place where he could dare be himself. A place where he wasn’t alone. A place where the world had changed, even if it was 20
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only his world. De Sonnac squeezed Collin’s hand and rose. As his hand slid away, his fingers briefly slipped between Collin’s. Then, his hand was gone and de Sonnac was stepping over to the door. Collin stared after him. He could go with de Sonnac. It would be most unlike him, but he could. Other men dallied with courtesans. Some dared pursue others’ wives. This would hurt no one. De Sonnac opened the door. Cold air slipped inside, stealing the warmth from Collin’s skin. The chill stung Collin. He didn’t know de Sonnac. He didn’t know who he was or why he was in town. Collin knew what was inside him, though. De Sonnac was thoughtful. Clever. He believed their world would change and become a better place. Collin didn’t; he’d seen too many things to even consider it. He wanted to believe it, though. He wanted to think that one day people would focus on actual problems and not on who was bedding whom. He wanted to think one day he would be safe to be himself. De Sonnac stepped out of the coach. He turned and offered Collin his hand. Collin took it and followed him.
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CHAPTER 2 Collin released de Sonnac’s hand after he stepped out of the cab. The wind whispered over him, making a sweet, shhing sound as it drank away his warmth. Collin drew his arms around him, keeping a ghost of de Sonnac’s touch close. He was doing this. He was really going to do this. He felt daring. And, he smiled, mad. De Sonnac went over to the driver, paying and informing him that they wouldn’t need him any longer. His voice was pleasant, if cool. It was, Collin suspected, his business voice. Everything was fine, there was nothing to wonder about. Collin would have to practice it himself. De Sonnac returned. “Shall we?” 22
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“Yes.” Collin smiled. He felt de Sonnac’s fingers touch his arm, drawing Collin alongside him toward the hotel. A young man in a crisp dark hat and matching coat touched his hat. “Good evening, sir.” “Good evening,” de Sonnac said. The young man drew the door open for them. As they stepped past, warmth from the lobby spilled over them. Inside, a fire burned in a large fireplace in the center of the room. The gas lights had been turned down, allowing gentle shadows to envelop the room. De Sonnac led Collin across the room. “I stay here whenever I’m in town,” de Sonnac said. “I think you’ll find that they are quite discreet.” Collin was tempted to tell him that many men had likely thought the same of their hotels. Then he realized that the doorman wasn’t watching them. The Devil! De Sonnac was right. Collin smiled. The privacy was likely expensive, so he decided to take this gift and use it to study de Sonnac. He was curious about the other man, but since he didn’t want to answer many questions about himself, he didn’t think it fair to ask. Instead, as they waited for the lift doors to open, Collin brought up books. Needing an escape from current events, Collin had recently found a collection of Varney the Vampire. De Sonnac, meanwhile, was currently enjoying Arthur Conan Doyle. “There’s a good chance the butler did it,” Collin said. “Butler, uncle, or neighbor.” “Well, you just ruined the end for me,” de Sonnac said, smiling. “I now feel safe telling you Varney meets his end when he 23
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jumps into a volcano.” The lift doors opened. A young man in uniform smiled at them. “Pardon?” Collin asked, stepping into the lift. De Sonnac followed him. “Top floor, please,” he said, offering the lift operator a brief smile. Then, to Collin, “At the end of the series, he leapt into Mount Vesuvius to end his life.” “That’s preposterous!” “Many vampire stories are.” Collin wanted to argue. At this moment, he couldn’t; all he could think of was Polidori’s Vampyre, where the supposed gentleman hero made a promise not to betray the vampire’s secrets, allowing the creature to court his sister. The hero watched, thinking it was far better to let her die than break his word. Let her be murdered, he silently corrected. The vampire killed her. She hadn’t done anything to deserve it. The lift doors opened. De Sonnac tipped the operator and then stepped out. Collin followed, leaving his brooding behind. A glance back revealed the operator focused on the lift buttons, his face pleasant. A moment later, the lift doors clicked shut. Collin studied the area around him. The hall was wide and paneled in a pretty dark wood. Two doors faced one another, giving Collin the illusion of choice. Bedding a man or bedding a man. Hmm. Perhaps the first. De Sonnac approached the door to the left and unlocked it. As the door opened, gaslight winked off the knob. Then, he stepped aside, ushering Collin in first. Collin stepped past him into the room. The space opened up before him. The walls were hunter green, the floor a rich dark wood. A Tiffany lamp sat sentry on a low 24
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glass table beside Collin, casting an exquisitely pale light over him. Thick green and black rugs lay across the floor. To his right, two couches played court to a rug. Ahead, a short rug led past an open door to a wooden screen. The door whispered shut behind him. Collin turned, watching as de Sonnac unfastened his coat. As his fingers moved down, he revealed a rich dark suit. Light glinted off the small buttons. When the coat was undone, de Sonnac hung it on a rack. “The view from the balcony is exquisite at night,” de Sonnac said, tipping his head toward the hall. “From up here, the gaslights look like stars.” “That does sound enchanting.” Collin removed his coat. It’d been ages since he’d seen the night sky. His schedule, the weather, and pollution played havoc with that childhood pastime. The last time he’d seen the stars had been after the police had allowed him to see the first child’s body last year. Moments after seeing the skinless remains, he’d stumbled outside and thrown up. When he was done, he’d slumped against a wall and looked up. There’d been something dreadful about the world being at once so beautiful and so ghastly. The two things should not exist at once. “Second thoughts?” de Sonnac asked, holding out a hand. “No.” Collin gave him his coat. While not as rich as de Sonnac’s suit, his was finely cut. Beneath a dark gray coat were matching trousers, waistcoat, and a crisp shirt. “I was thinking about the last time I saw the stars.” “I take it things weren’t pleasant.” “No. And yes.” They’d stopped the murderer. “Life can be odd like that.” De Sonnac smiled. Then, taking Collin’s hand, he drew him 25
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down the hall. Their shadows slid along the wall, darting briefly into an open door. Following them, Collin saw an elegant marble room. He caught a hint of a clawed tub and candles, and then their shadows were back, escorting him. Two steps later, de Sonnac led him past the wooden screen and into a pleasantly dark room. Like the sitting room, this space was an elegant green and hard wood affair. The rug started a foot from the screen, half hid beneath an exquisite four-poster bed, and then ended a foot before a set of glass doors. “You’re going to love the view,” de Sonnac said. He released Collin’s hand and crossed the room. Collin followed him. He caught glimpses of nightstands and a wardrobe, but they were in the shadowed corners and he was focused on the twin glass doors before him. De Sonnac’s reflection watched him approach. When Collin was behind him, de Sonnac turned a knob. The door opened out, allowing cold air to spill over Collin. “Damnation,” de Sonnac said, stepping to one side. “I should have let you keep your coat. If you want—” Collin shook his head. As wicked as it sounded, he wanted to feel the cool air against his skin. It would make the heat of de Sonnac’s touch stand out more. “It’s no bother.” A smile played across de Sonnac’s lips. Collin echoed the expression and then stepped past him. Cold wrapped around Collin. He approached the iron railing. Lights winked across the darkness of the city before him. They wound around buildings, parks, creating a manmade constellation that stretched across London. It was beautiful. 26
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Heat bled against Collin’s back. De Sonnac’s nearness created an almost-touch. Collin was tempted to lean back, but that seemed forward. He might have come up to de Sonnac’s room, but etiquette demanded… What was the etiquette for this kind of moment? There was a hint of breath along the back of Collin’s neck, and then warm lips brushed over his neck. His ear. A shiver darted through Collin. God. “I will name that star after you,” de Sonnac said. His hand slipped past Collin and pointed at a cluster of lights to the right. It was a charming, if foolish, fancy. In day, Collin knew he would have been able to name the building the light was near, but tonight, that light was a star, and it had his name. De Sonnac’s hand retreated out of Collin’s sight. A moment later, Collin felt its heat imprint on his hip. “I believe that star over there bears your name,” Collin said, pointing to the left. There was a single light in a field of darkness, likely the only light in a park. It was bright and reminded him of the man behind him. Breath tumbled down Collin’s neck. His ear. “Such a lonely looking star,” de Sonnac whispered. “It’s strong.” Not everything could survive being alone. “Ah.” The word created an ethereal touch. It whispered over Collin’s ear, his neck. He shivered. “Cold?” de Sonnac asked. Warm arms circled Collin. “No.” Not anymore. Collin wrapped his arms over de Sonnac’s. He felt…he didn’t know. Safe. Whole. He’d never dared to even imagine kissing 27
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another man. To be standing there, feeling de Sonnac against him… He turned and kissed de Sonnac. De Sonnac’s lips were as bewitching as he remembered. Soft and firm and sweet. They were mirrored by the feel of de Sonnac’s body, his hands, the subtle weight pressing against Collin’s hip. Collin’s brows creased. He hadn’t felt that shape in the coach. What—oh. It was de Sonnac’s member. How…charming. “Mmm.” De Sonnac stepped back. The sudden loss of his lips cast a chill over Collin’s mouth. De Sonnac smiled and drew Collin toward him. “Let’s,” he whispered, stepping back, “take this.” Another step. “Inside.” Yes. In that moment, Collin thought he would follow de Sonnac anywhere. De Sonnac stepped into the room first. After Collin moved past him, he closed the door. Collin leaned against the door frame. He slipped out of his shoes with a practice born of days when he’d dropped exhausted into bed and kicked them off. Then, he raised his hands to his top button and began undoing his shirt. It was a movement he’d done a thousand times. Now that he had an audience, his fingers trembled. By the time his hands had moved to the middle of his chest, de Sonnac was letting his own shirt fall to the ground. De Sonnac watched him for a moment, and then stepped up to him. “May I?” he asked, brushing his fingers over Collin’s. Collin nodded. De Sonnac’s fingers slipped beneath his and unfastened the buttons. As his hands moved down, he brushed his lips over 28
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Collin’s neck. His chest. Stomach. Collin touched de Sonnac’s shoulders. His arms. De Sonnac had a scar over his right shoulder, a pale line with small lines crisscrossing it, hinting at a surgeon’s needlework. De Sonnac rose. His fingers slipped beneath Collin’s shirt, caressed his shoulders, and then pushed the garment back. The fabric whispered over Collin’s skin as it fell. Collin lowered his arms, letting it drop to the ground. When he was free, he set his fingers over de Sonnac’s hips. Having another man undress him felt deliciously wicked. Collin wanted to undo the other man’s trousers. The words got caught in Collin’s throat. He was proper. Gentlemen did not say such things. Collin met de Sonnac’s gaze, glanced down, and then met his gaze again. De Sonnac smiled. Collin took the wordless encouragement and set his fingers to the task. A clumsy dance of buttons, holes, and fingertips began. Dark wool teased his skin as he unfastened de Sonnac’s trousers. Despite his inexperience in undressing another, Collin was scandalously committed to the task. A few buttons later, the garment dropped, revealing a fine pair of legs and… De Sonnac did not wear under things. His member was beautiful. Long, with a thick body and an elegant, tulip-shaped tip. A line of skin surrounded the base of the tip. From the few times Collin had dared glancing at his own organ in that state, he knew it was foreskin. Looking at the handsome shape, Collin was tempted to do something wicked. Touch it. Hold 29
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it. Stand there and stare at it. “I’m going to be daring and imagine that you’re pleased,” de Sonnac said. “Yes.” Collin wondered if he sounded naïve. “I mean—” De Sonnac chuckled. The soft, rumbling sound shook him, making his member twitch. “You flatter me.” De Sonnac reached down and unfastened Collin’s trousers. The heat and movement of de Sonnac’s fingers teased Collin. As they moved down, they created a light caress over Collin’s stomach, his abdomen. The almost touch sent a shiver through Collin. The buttons stopped before de Sonnac’s fingers would reach his aching flesh, but they were so close. So wickedly close. De Sonnac’s hand brushed over the seam on Collin’s trousers. A tremor darted through Collin. It settled in his netherpart, creating a delicious ache. “God,” Collin whispered. “I’ve never been called that.” Collin laughed softly. His amusement sounded different than he was used to. Softer, perhaps, and edged with a husky warmth. Then de Sonnac ran his fingers over Collin’s member again, and Collin’s laughter stumbled and faded. When the buttons were undone, he slipped his fingers past Collin’s hips and into his pants. The heat of his skin burned into Collin. De Sonnac caught Collin’s gaze. He smiled and teased his fingers past the hem of Collin’s drawers. Then, he tugged them down. 30
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Cool air caressed Collin’s legs. The element had brushed over him before. In winter it was an inconvenience; in summer, a decadent pleasure. Tonight, despite the cold, it made him aware of every inch of exposed flesh. Collin stepped back, slipping free of his trousers. De Sonnac followed, moving until he was pressed against Collin. The air had stolen some of de Sonnac’s warmth. When his body rubbed against Collin’s, their skin whispered against one another, and heat was rekindled. Collin brushed his face over de Sonnac. Without his coat and clothes, de Sonnac lost the pipe smell. In its place were more subtle scents. Sweat. Soap. A faint, warm sweetness. De Sonnac made a soft mmm sound, then kissed him. Collin slipped his hands around de Sonnac’s body and pressed into him. The movement brought their organs together. They brushed against one another, creating a delicious friction that sent shivers through Collin. De Sonnac ended the kiss. He moved his lips over the corner of Collin’s mouth, his cheek, and then his ear. The feel of his breath made something inside Collin tremble. Pressure gathered in his sac, creating a delightful ache. De Sonnac pressed into him, nudging Collin back. Collin complied, and when de Sonnac stepped up to him again, he kissed Collin. Another nudge was followed by a kiss, and then another, and another. De Sonnac slipped a hand down to Collin’s hip and turned him slightly, punctuating the movement with another kiss. A moment later, the back of Collin’s legs met the bed. Collin sat. He felt unbalanced on the edge of the bed, so he inched back until he was lying across it. 31
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De Sonnac crept after him. As he moved, he ran his lips over Collin’s hip. His arm. Shoulder. Neck. His ear. God. Collin was growing to love feeling de Sonnac’s breath on his ear. Collin brushed his hands over de Sonnac’s shoulders. There were fine hairs along de Sonnac’s arms, and when Collin moved his fingers over them, the little hairs teased the tips of Collin’s fingers. Collin silently noted the feel. He wished, however foolishly, he’d brought his notepad to bed with them. He wanted to record this night. Years from now, he wanted to remember this moment. This man. De Sonnac shifted, moving so that he could look into Collin’s eyes. De Sonnac’s eyes were the same gray as the ethereal twilight of an overcast day. They were beautiful. “You are exquisite,” de Sonnac whispered. Collin really wished he had his notebook. “You are as well,” Collin said. De Sonnac smiled. Then, he crept down, brushing his fingertips and lips over Collin’s chest. He paused over Collin’s nipple, teasing the flesh until it hardened, and then inched down. Collin’s breath stumbled. He sank his fingers into de Sonnac’s hair and watched them disappear into the obsidian strands. De Sonnac inched down. In his wake, the spots he’d kissed felt sensitized. The cool air felt like an ethereal touch over them. The whisper of de Sonnac’s hair teased him. De Sonnac’s breath ghosted over Collin’s member. His fingers followed, ghosting up and down the flesh. 32
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Pleasure jolted through Collin. The feel of the man’s fingers and breath felt deliciously decedent. De Sonnac made a hmm sound. Collin glanced down and discovered that his fingers had become tightly entwined in his hair. “My apologies,” Collin said, releasing de Sonnac’s hair. He dropped his hands onto the bed and burrowed his fingers into the sinfully soft cover. Wet heat surrounded him. Collin gasped and twisted the cover. De Sonnac chuckled. The husky sound reverberated up Collin’s member, making Collin’s toes follow his fingers’ example and grip the blanket. A warm breath teased over Collin’s organ, then de Sonnac rose. De Sonnac gazed at him. Then, he reached down and brushed his fingers down Collin’s flesh, his sac. A shiver darted through Collin. God. He released the cover and traced his fingertips over de Sonnac’s hip. His thigh. His member. De Sonnac’s breath quickened. The sound emboldened Collin. He wrapped his fingers lightly around de Sonnac and stroked him. Once, twice…and then de Sonnac moaned. Collin smiled. Years from now, this night would probably be more myth than memory. The room around him would be grander, Collin’s chatter would be wittier, de Sonnac more handsome. Collin doubted he’d ever forget that sound, though. He would remember it, remember the sight of de Sonnac arching his back, remember how that moved his member deeper into Collin’s grip, remember how exquisite his flesh felt. And, when he felt daring, he would let himself think that de 33
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Sonnac remembered him as well. Perhaps de Sonnac was right and things did change. Perhaps people would forget about the damned scandal. Perhaps one day he and de Sonnac would meet again. “Mmm.” De Sonnac reached past Collin to a dark wood and glass nightstand. He opened a drawer and brought out a clear vial. When he opened it, the sweet scent of vanilla crept over Collin. “This oil is going to feel heavenly,” de Sonnac said, pouring a few drops onto his hand. He stroked himself, making a soft mmm sound as his fingers moved across his flesh. When the tip was a pretty dark color, de Sonnac emptied the oil onto his fingers. Then, he stroked Collin. God’s sweet tears. The warm oil was exquisite. It swept over his aching flesh, keeping a shadow of de Sonnac’s heat. Collin’s breath quickened. De Sonnac had been correct. This was liquid pleasure, a sweet and intense warmth that could drive someone mad. De Sonnac stroked him. When Collin trembled, de Sonnac’s fingers moved down his flesh, over his sac, and then teased lower, along the seam of his arse. Pleasure and pressure entwined deep inside Collin. De Sonnac wanted—he was preparing him for— “Yes,” Collin whispered. When he was certain the pleasure was about to become too much, de Sonnac’s hand left him. De Sonnac blew across Collin’s member. The air teased across his flesh, making it twitch. “God,” Collin whispered. “I do so love your faith in me.” 34
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Collin laughed softly. He loved de Sonnac’s faith in de Sonnac as well. De Sonnac deposited the vial back into the nightstand drawer. A quick flick of the wrist and then the drawer was closed. Then he leaned down, pressing a kiss on the corner of Collin’s mouth. Collin turned, bringing their lips together. When he felt de Sonnac’s tongue, Collin sent his out. They brushed against one another, creating their own dance. The scent of vanilla moving past Collin’s head broke the dance. Collin turned and saw de Sonnac pick up the pillow beside him. He moved the pillow down, letting the cool fabric whisper over Collin. It came to a stop a moment later, beside Collin’s hip. Collin glanced at it and then looked up at de Sonnac. When schoolboys whispered about what men did together, none of them had ever mentioned pillows. Well, one, but it had involved the scandalous suggestion that one bit the thing. De Sonnac leaned down and kissed Collin’s ear. Then he caressed Collin’s hip and gently coaxed him to turn. Collin did, stopping when the pillow was under his stomach. It was a firm thing, making his body rise up a little. De Sonnac reached beneath him, moving the pillow until it raised Collin’s arse. “Lovely,” de Sonnac whispered. Warm fingers slid over Collin’s flesh. They circled the globes of his arse, stroking lightly. There was a sigh, and then the fingers ghosted down the seam of Collin’s backside. They moved up and down, up and down, creating a slow, exquisite pleasure. Another stroke, and then the fingers pressed in, caressing 35
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Collin’s opening. Pleasure jolted through Collin. The fingers against him made a small circular motion, stroking him. The sensation was delightful, a sweet caress that made him want more. More pressure, more fingers, more. Then, one slipped into him. Collin gasped. He’d never thought—never imagined— De Sonnac’s fingers stilled. “You’ve never…?” Damnation. He’d said that aloud. “It’s all right,” Collin said. The finger inside Collin stroked in and out. A moment later, he felt another finger push into him. “It— mmm—doesn’t matter.” “Ah, it does.” Warm lips nipped Collin’s neck, his ear. “At another time, creatures of the night would have fought over you.” Oh yes. Wait. No. “I’m not a maiden.” “No,” de Sonnac whispered. “You’re something more fascinating. Clever. Cynical. Mine.” Yes. De Sonnac’s fingers withdrew. Collin felt their loss. It was a subtle thing, a missing heat and pressure. He felt de Sonnac shift behind him. His thighs brushed against Collin’s, creating a soft, whispering sound. When he moved, his organ brushed Collin’s arse. It felt thicker than de Sonnac’s fingers. Hotter. It teased up the seam of Collin’s arse and then down. Then, it pressed against him. 36
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“Breathe,” de Sonnac whispered. Breathe? Oh yes. Collin took a deep breath. The cool air crept into him, echoing the member that he felt wanting to enter his body. When he released it, Sonnac pushed into him. Collin felt a stretching sensation. It was sweet. It burned. He dug his fingers into the sheets beneath him and breathed. De Sonnac stilled. Collin shifted, glancing back. Was this it? Was de Sonnac completely inside— Oh. No, he wasn’t. De Sonnac slipped his hands over Collin’s hips. Then, he pushed, inching deeper into Collin. The pressure that had gathered in Collin’s sac swelled. It grew tighter. Sharper. And then pleasure jolted through him. It pulsed through his body and out of his member, spotting the bed, the pillow. Collin laughed. He couldn’t believe this. He was thirty years old. In this moment, he felt thirteen. When his laughter faded, he felt warm fingers caress his hip, his back. Collin smiled and drank in the sensation of the man against him. De Sonnac was a delicious heat inside of him. “Collin?” De Sonnac’s voice was soft. Breathy. It was one of the most delightful things Collin had ever heard. “I’m well,” Collin said. His voice was quiet and edged with a pleasant huskiness. He had never heard himself use that tone. He 37
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found it charming. “Good.” Collin felt the heat of de Sonnac’s body bleed over him. A moment later, de Sonnac kissed his shoulder. His back. “You feel.” Another kiss. “Glorious.” So did he. De Sonnac pressed another kiss against Collin’s skin and then rose. The air caressed Collin’s back, teasing away de Sonnac’s warmth. When it traced over the spots de Sonnac had kissed, the flesh felt deliciously chilled. De Sonnac slipped his hands over Collin’s hips and inched out. The slow movement made his member brush something inside Collin, sending an exquisite pleasure through him. Colin’s breath stumbled. As he tried to catch it, his organ twitched, waking. Laughter curled inside him. Again? He hadn’t seen it return to life so quickly since his days at Oxford. Then, he’d ignored it. Now, he writhed against the pillow. He felt the very tip of de Sonnac’s member tease his opening. Then, it stroked back in, ghosting past that sweet place inside of Collin. Collin gasped. This touch was a rapture, the heat and friction a declaration of war. Did he dare? He dared, he would always dare, and now that they were one, the world would never be the same. It… It was likely still the same. He was the one who was different. Collin liked being different. De Sonnac drew out of him again, and then pushed back in. In, out, in out, in— God. 38
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Collin pushed back against de Sonnac. He was different. He was sublimely different. In the morning, he’d quit the paper. He’d sell his townhouse and move to the country and…he couldn’t think beyond that. He liked what he had come up with, though. De Sonnac stroked against that thing inside Collin. Collin trembled. Some would think him foolish for deciding to change his life in a moment, but they’d never felt this moment. He was free. He couldn’t keep de Sonnac —though when de Sonnac thrust into him Collin wanted to find a way to do so—but he liked himself. He liked his courage. He wanted to keep a shadow of it. Tight, delicious pressure gathered in Collin’s sac. He made a soft sighing sound. He was going to come again. De Sonnac’s lips ghosted over Collin’s neck. His teeth grazed him, sending a shiver through Collin. Collin tilted his head to one side. De Sonnac’s lips brushed over his ear, his neck. The feel of de Sonnac’s skin whispering against his sent a shiver through Collin. De Sonnac was an exquisite man. Collin wished they could have more than one night. Teeth sank into Collin’s neck. Collin gasped. Had de Sonnac just bitten him? No. He had to be imagining— Pain-pleasure lanced through him. It began in his neck, beneath de Sonnac’s mouth. From there, it rippled out, sending wickedly delicious sensation through him. The pressure on his throat settled into a pulse. A heartbeat. De Sonnac’s lips moved, making a soft suckling sound. Collin’s breath stumbled. Oh God. De Sonnac was…was drinking from him. 39
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The pain-pleasure continued its path through Collin’s body. It swept out into his hands, down his stomach. Over his member. The pressure in his sac broke free, sending Collin into a sweet, shuddering orgasm. “De Sonnac—” De Sonnac made a soft mmm sound against Collin’s throat. The gentle motion of his lips reminded Collin of when he was a child and he’d visited his mother’s family outside of town. There’d been a stream and the day had been hot, so he’d jumped in and swum. When he emerged, he’d found a leech on his calf. He hadn’t felt it attach itself to him, hadn’t felt it bite him or begin drinking his blood. He’d felt it when he yanked it off, though. God, he’d bled. He… Like a leech, de Sonnac was feeding from him. The thought sent a jolt of panic through Collin. De Sonnac was a leech. A vampire. He— Vampire. Dear God, de Sonnac was a vampire. Vampires were real and Collin had bedded one. Collin shook his head. He had to break free before de Sonnac killed him. Pain stabbed Collin’s neck. Dizziness followed, making Collin still. Damnation. De Sonnac’s teeth were still in him. De Sonnac shifted, moving his organ quickly in and out of Collin. His pace was as uneven as Collin’s heartbeat. In, out, in— Heat blossomed inside Collin. De Sonnac’s movements slowed. Stilled. The suckling motion faded, replaced by the feel of a sweetly familiar tongue laving him. The pain-pleasure feeling faded into a drowsy pleasure. A 40
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moment later, de Sonnac’s lips released his neck. Collin blinked furiously, fighting off the sleepiness. He couldn’t fall asleep. Unlike the leech, de Sonnac had had his fill of him. If Collin couldn’t stay awake, if he couldn’t escape, de Sonnac would kill him. Fingers drew Collin’s hair back. Out of the corner of his eyes, Collin saw de Sonnac smile. “So beautiful,” de Sonnac whispered. “What will you be like, now that your passion has been awakened?” Was he…was he not done? A tremor darted through Collin. He’d been a fool. He should never have trusted— Warm breath ebbed over Collin’s neck, his face. It was followed by de Sonnac. His lips. His fingers. De Sonnac kissed his ear while his fingers brushed over Collin’s face. His cheek. His lips. Collin turned and bit into the flesh between de Sonnac’s thumb and forefinger. Blood erupted into his mouth. De Sonnac tugged at his hand, making Collin dig his teeth in deeper. He wasn’t a victim, someone de Sonnac could charm, feed on, and then discard. He was a…he was him. He would fight. The blood splashed across Collin’s mouth, his tongue. The sanguine liquid was hot. Sweet. Sweet? Collin gasped, releasing de Sonnac’s hand. The flavor haunted his mouth. De Sonnac’s blood was vibrant as mulled wine. Rich. Heady. Collin could still taste it on his lips. Bugger, he’d just licked his lips. Once cherished hands turned Collin. 41
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Collin jerked, breaking free of de Sonnac’s grip and scrambling back. He stopped when he hit the headboard, feeling the cool, padded tapestry gently scratch his skin. De Sonnac stared at him. His lips were crimson. His hand held a red shadow of Collin’s teeth. His gray eyes… Were awed. Collin inched to one side. If he could get off the bed— De Sonnac crept forward, blocking him. Damnation! Collin jerked back. He hadn’t dared hope biting de Sonnac would make the bastard release him, but now that it had, he wondered what the man would do next. Could he bespell Collin, make him forget they had met? Collin hoped for that. At the same time, he was afraid of that. If he’d never met de Sonnac, he might have been safe, but he never would have discovered how exhilarating bedding someone could be. He never would have felt that delicious freedom. Was that worth dying for? De Sonnac crept closer. Collin watched him. And knew; it was worth it. That moment had been worth everything. He was tempted to ask de Sonnac his own question; was coming near him worth whatever chunk Collin would soon be tearing out of him? “You bit me,” de Sonnac said. “In a moment, I’ll do it again.” De Sonnac smiled. Unease blossomed inside Collin. He hadn’t expected de Sonnac to look pleased about that. De Sonnac glanced down. Collin followed, silently cursing himself for looking away from him…and discovered the crimson 42
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shadow that had arced across de Sonnac’s hand a few moments before was gone. It was like the wound had never existed. De Sonnac raised his hand to his own mouth. And bit into his wrist. Collin’s breath stumbled. Fell. What was he—why— If it wasn’t going to help him escape, perhaps it would be better not to know. Collin inched back along the tapestry, away from de Sonnac. It wasn’t like him to shrug off a curiosity. Considering that the last two mysteries had led to a brace of messenger boys being arrested and him bedding a vampire, his curiosity was as dangerous as de Sonnac. The vampire closed the distance between them. As he moved, blood darted down the mound of his hand and dotted the sheet. Collin felt the headboard end. He glanced at the space beside him. Nightstand. Wall. The nightstand was a small glass and wood affair. When it ended, it left a foot of space between the bed and the wall. He darted toward it. A warm weight descended on his back, dropping him onto the bed. Collin turned and pummeled at the figure above him. De Sonnac moved around his blows, allowing Collin’s strikes to brush past his shoulder, his face, his throat. Damnation. Collin regretted pursuing tennis instead of boxing. Tennis; what in hell’s name had he been thinking? Oh yes; it would make his legs look fetching. Blood from de Sonnac’s hand spotted Collin’s face. “You bastard!” Collin aimed and hit de Sonnac’s left eye. “I swear—” De Sonnac pressed his wrist to Collin’s lips. 43
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Collin tasted sweat and skin…and then blood erupted into his mouth. A muffled sound escaped Collin. It wasn’t a plea, for he would never beg, but a startled, angry, and, though he was loath to admit it, vulnerable sound. The blood tasted so sweet. It shouldn’t, he knew it shouldn’t. It was as spirited as wine and— The room was still in shadow, but suddenly Collin could see the area clearly. The pillows around him were a soft beige. The bed’s posts narrowed to dull points. The recessed ceiling had an imprint of crawling ivy along the edge. The weight of de Sonnac’s arm eased. A moment later, de Sonnac drew his wrist away from Collin. Collin began to reach for him, saw de Sonnac smile, and then yanked his hand back to himself. He could still taste blood, so he swallowed and stared at the man above him. De Sonnac’s smile was wide, allowing him to see a hint of his fangs. Collin had seen him smile many times that night, but none had been this open. It was… Someone help him. It was breathtaking. The shadows thickened, leaving Collin in a dark room again. He searched the room. The ceiling had a recess, the bed posts had dull points. He knew that. He’d seen it. To not see it now… It was de Sonnac’s blood, that was damned obvious. Forget Lord Ruthven and Varney; whatever Collin was dealing with had never been written of before. De Sonnac crouched above him. Collin could see a shadow of his smile, though none of the teeth. It didn’t matter if he could see them. They were there. They— De Sonnac raised his wrist to his mouth and bit himself again. Collin crawled back, moving out from under him. Was this a 44
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game? A different way of killing him? De Sonnac inched after him, offering Collin his wounded hand. Saliva crept into Collin’s mouth. He forced himself back and opened his mouth to ask why. And then de Sonnac was on him, putting his wrist over his mouth. Collin didn’t want to drink. It was dangerous, he didn’t know what was happening or what de Sonnac had planned. When he tasted the blood, though, he wanted it. Wanted this rich, heady liquid inside him. Wanted to feel de Sonnac’s body against his. De Sonnac nudged him back onto the bed. Warm lips brushed over his shoulder. Collin tilted his head into the touch. He drank deeply, watching the shadows recede around them. There was the ceiling, with its exquisite relief. The bedposts. The beginning of frost on the balcony doors. Then, feeling de Sonnac move, Collin released his wrist and looked at him. De Sonnac was like moonlight, beautiful and luminous. He slipped between Collin’s legs, drawing them over his shoulders. Then, de Sonnac pushed into him. Collin gasped. The delicious pressure he remembered from before was back. This time, it felt…ridged. When de Sonnac stroked in, his member caressed places inside him that sent a shiver of pleasure through him. Inside him. Around his entrance. The vampire drew out. His movement was slow, teasing Collin. When he sank back in, the pleasure returned. Sharpened. De Sonnac leaned down and kissed Collin’s shoulder. His neck. Then, he bit Collin again. 45
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Pain-pleasure rippled out from Collin’s neck. No. Oh no. He had to fight. De Sonnac’s wrist returned to Collin’s mouth. Collin shifted, and then blood doted his lips, his tongue. Fight. He needed to… He grabbed de Sonnac’s wrist and held it close. The feel of the vampire’s body, the warmth and taste of his blood, exhilarated Collin. It was so sweet. So good.
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CHAPTER 3 Collin stirred. His body felt decadently good. He hadn’t ever experienced that, though the closest he’d come to it had been during his days at Oxford, when he’d chased after that damned little ball in the tennis courts several times a week. He hadn’t played in an age. He’d kept meaning to but there was never time and… The bedding against his bare skin was heavenly. As soft as silk. As smooth as cream. This wasn’t his bed. Collin opened his eyes slowly. He was facing a wall. There was a small nightstand beside him, with an empty vial. Collin caught the faint scent of something sweet. Vanilla. 47
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Oil. Memories stabbed him. De Sonnac. The hotel room. The delicious heat of his fingers slipping inside him. De Sonnac biting him. And, God, him biting de Sonnac back. The taste of his blood. De Sonnac feeding him and— He’d been a fool. Collin curled into himself. After all of the times he’d railed against men taking chances with their lives, with their health and the health of their wives, he’d gone and bedded the first man who’d taken his fancy. De Sonnac had seemed so…open, though. He’d understood how Collin felt and assured him things would change. He was also handsome. God, he was handsome. De Sonnac could have killed him, though. Movement rustled nearby. Collin turned his head a little. De Sonnac was sitting on a nearby divan, dressed in a dark suit and crisp white shirt. “How do you feel?” de Sonnac asked. “Uncertain.” Chuckling, de Sonnac rose and approached him. Collin pushed himself up. He would have preferred to have this fight clothed, but his clothes were out of sight. He drew the sheet around himself and drew back. The movement gave him a glimpse of the bed. The sheets were clean. Collin crept back. A glance at his hands, his chest, revealed the same. No blood. No hint of crimson. Nothing. Had he imagined— No. It’d been real. De Sonnac was a vampire, one that obviously was used to hiding evidence of his attacks. No surprise, 48
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some murderers did that. Not the child murderer, he’d left traces, but the bastard who’d killed Collin’s sister had changed the sheets and her nightgown. “I didn’t expect you to wake until later,” de Sonnac said. Collin hadn’t been certain he was going to wake at all. “I imagine you have questions,” de Sonnac said. At another time, he most likely would have. At that moment, all Collin could think of was how much he wanted to flee. When he’d tried to leave the bed last night, de Sonnac had stopped him. Chances were, he would do it again. Collin would have to distract him. Two options occurred. He could let the sheet slip and tease de Sonnac with a hint of his body. He could also use words and see if he could draw his interest elsewhere. The first had the danger of enticing de Sonnac close, so Collin decided to question. His mind was blank. Collin frowned. He was a reporter. He fought with words, with ink. If he couldn’t think of a question now, when his life might depend on it— “Who are you?” Collin asked, rising, clinging to the sheet as if it were armor. Obvious, perhaps, but it was best to start at the beginning. “Eduard de Sonnac.” “You—you are—” “A vampire.” “How long?” Collin asked, moving around the bed. He kept his steps slow. Casual. The sheet whispered against the ground behind him. “Since thirteen-fourteen.” 49
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Thirteen… God. De Sonnac was over five hundred years old. “Why did you bring me here?” Collin asked. “Had you intended to…to feed?” “No. I wanted to bed you. I’d originally meant to bed you twice more and then leave you sleeping while I saw to the errand that brought me to London. In the midst of the moment, I was overwhelmed and had to taste you.” De Sonnac’s gaze crept down, taking in Collin. “I’m glad I did.” Heat blossomed inside Collin. It bled through him, warming his neck, his face. Twice more? Until Collin had felt himself harden in the midst of their second coupling, he wouldn’t have thought it possible. After years of not pursuing any company at all, his member was more accustomed to napping than rousing. De Sonnac stepped between the bed and the wall, blocking Collin. Collin floundered silently for another question. “Who—what were you? Before you were a vampire?” “I was a Templar Knight,” de Sonnac said, approaching Collin. “I became a vampire shortly after my order was betrayed.” Puzzle pieces of history fell into place around Collin. In school, he had briefly fancied himself a historian and had read of the knights. Collin could still recite the last ten grandmasters of the Templar Order as well as the charges that the French king had issued against them. Blasphemy. Sodomy. De Sonnac took another step toward him. “The charges were lies.” Perhaps. Collin drew back. After fighting in a country that had historically shown its enemies both mercy and cruelty, Collin wouldn’t have begrudged it to anyone if they questioned their 50
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faith. Not all of the knights might have done that, though, just as not all could have preferred their own gender. Money had motivated that king. He’d been little more than a thief. The nightstand bit into the back of Collin’s legs, stopping him. Collin glanced back at it, the bed, and then de Sonnac. The vampire was three, perhaps four feet away. If Collin tried to scramble over the bed, he might escape to the other side. He might also be pounced upon. The memory of de Sonnac’s body whispering against his sent a shiver through Collin. It had felt so good. Even when de Sonnac was feeding on him, taking his blood. Frowning, Collin drew the sheet around himself. He should be cold. Problem was…he wasn’t. “What do you want?” Collin asked. “You.” Collin laughed. The sound was sharp. Startled. As it tumbled out of him, it scratched his throat. Him. De Sonnac wanted him. Collin doubted that. “You weren’t waiting for me last night,” Collin said. De Sonnac stepped toward him, frowned, then drew back. “No,” de Sonnac said. “Last night, I was talking to an acquaintance about the project that brought me to London. When I saw you, I thought you were beautiful. It wasn’t until we began talking, when you scorned that scandal, that you intrigued me. And when you tasted my blood—” De Sonnac smiled. The sight of the familiar expression tugged at Collin. The situation was odd, he felt vulnerable, but that smile… 51
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And that distance; de Sonnac retreated to the end of the bed and then sat on the corner. Close enough to watch him, far enough away to give Collin the illusion of space. Despite himself, despite everything that had happened, Collin was relieved at that distance. If de Sonnac was a few feet away, he couldn’t kill…no, not kill. Collin was afraid of him but de Sonnac seemed reluctant to hurt him. What did the man intend, then? “Why did you…” Collin frowned. He fought with words. He was not afraid of them. “After I bit you, why did you give me your blood?” “Most people, if they taste our blood, will become ill,” de Sonnac said. “Once every few hundred years, though, one of us will find someone who is strong enough to change. When we find that person, we fledge them.” Fledge. The word drew Collin out of his corner. He took one step, two, and then stopped. In the penny dreadfuls he’d read, the fiends tended to reveal their plans. Their authors were paid by the word, so their speeches felt more contrived than heartfelt. This, though… De Sonnac meant this. The thought cut through Collin, sending him slumping against the wall. De Sonnac had really been caught in the moment. He’d really felt drawn to him, both as a lover and as a—a fledgling. He found de Sonnac watching him, and he watched de Sonnac. The surprise was fading. Mostly. The surface layers had dissipated, leaving different aspects of the sensation. Him. De Sonnac had fledged him. Not everyone was strong enough to make the change. He had, though, and now… Now what? 52
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Well…yesterday he was willing to leave London and his life as a reporter. He could still do that. Devil take it, he could do more. He was a vampire. He was free. Free. The concept was beyond Collin. Freedom. What could he do? Perhaps anything. He could travel. Find other journalists who shared his anger and passion. Meet other vampires and learn about the changes they’d seen throughout their years. And love de Sonnac. And— Laughter curled inside him. Love? Bed him, really. Anything more was unknown. Anything more was possible, though. De Sonnac rose. He kept to the end of the bed, neither moving toward him nor away. Collin suspected de Sonnac was waiting for him to decide whether he wanted him near or not. Collin appreciated that. He had yet to fathom that mystery himself. “I imagine you are uneasy right now,” de Sonnac said. “Whoever you imagined I might be likely wasn’t what I actually am.” The most Collin had dared imagine of him was that he was a man of business. Oh, and human. Perhaps Collin had formed a few theories about him after all. De Sonnac stepped toward him and then drew back. “If you are frightened—” “I’m surprised.” Collin felt his back straighten. It was an old trait, snapped into him with the flick of a ruler. Fosters were strong. They could also be chill. Distant. 53
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Collin took a step toward de Sonnac. This Foster would be whatever he wished. Brave. Idealistic. Cynical. De Sonnac’s smile grew. “There is so much in this world, Collin. Bad things, yes, but the good far outweighs them. There is magic. There are ancient places that haven’t felt a mortal’s touch in centuries. You will never age. Barring terrible accident, you will live forever. Humans might be afraid of their desires but vampires aren’t. Their society will no longer shackle you.” De Sonnac’s words sent a shiver through Collin. Magic. Undiscovered places. Freedom. Collin drew the sheet tightly around himself. He wanted to believe de Sonnac, wanted to imagine and be part of a world that had something more than what people saw or were afraid of. He wanted to be a part of something that wouldn’t hate him. He was a reporter, though, and he knew that behind every façade was a hidden face, a hidden life. What things did de Sonnac hide? What did he take for granted? “When you feed,” Collin asked, “do you hunt…who do you hunt?” Like his first question, that was a good place to start. Unlike Varney, he didn’t want to stalk his distant relations. “It varies for all of us,” de Sonnac said. “I prefer thieves. My sire—the man who fledged me—feeds on soldiers.” Collin wondered what he would feed on. He hoped—he was afraid… “How long do I have before I have to feed?” he asked. The question was important, but it felt…weak. Collin was not asking about taking tea. He was trying to talk about drinking blood. He was trying to talk about killing someone. 54
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“You have a few days,” de Sonnac said. “I gave you a great deal of blood. As long as you don’t exhaust yourself testing your new abilities, you have a few days.” Abilities? He’d ask about that soon. Right now, they needed to discuss killing. “We can kill, can’t we?” Collin asked. “Oh yes.” Collin frowned. He wasn’t squeamish; when he’d been writing about the murderer the year before, a man who procured children for high paying clients had come after him. Collin had struck him so hard the man had fallen into the road and been run over by a coach. That man had been a foul blackguard and Collin had lost no sleep over his death. He couldn’t say that everyone he would encounter deserved to die, though. “We don’t need to kill to survive, though,” de Sonnac said. Collin focused on him. “Pardon?” “We don’t need to kill to survive.” De Sonnac stepped toward him. In that moment, Collin wanted him close, wanted to hear him repeat himself. “If you’re starved,” de Sonnac said, “you might drain the person to the death. You’ll also get into that state if you push your abilities to their limits. You need to feed twice a week to avoid that.” “How often…have you…” Collin shook his head. “I’m sorry. It’s none of my affair.” “It’s all right, Collin. As your sire, you have every right to know what I have done. My allies will be your allies, my enemies, 55
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yours.” “What enemies do I now have?” De Sonnac chuckled. “None at this moment.” “You’re that charming?” “I’m that deadly.” Um…yes. Collin had suspected that. It was, he suspected, an important trait in someone who could live near to forever. One either learned how to be diplomatic or one took care of threats before they became deadly. “You have nothing to fear from me, Collin.” De Sonnac took another step toward him. And then another one. The second step brought him within a foot of Collin. Close enough to touch. To fight…no. To listen. Talk. Collin inched toward de Sonnac. He believed him. “What are my abilities?” Collin asked. De Sonnac raised a hand and brushed the back of his fingers over Collin’s face. His touch was cool. Light. “Sunlight will sting your eyes for the next few years.” Sunlight. What time was it? Collin turned toward the balcony doors. The wooden screen he remembered from the night before had been moved to the glass doors. Pale light outlined the edges of the screen. Collin’s eyes ached looking at it, so he turned back to de Sonnac. “It’s quite early right now,” de Sonnac said. “In another hour you’ll be glad the screen is there.” “Will it burn me?” “No. You’ll be able to move about in it, though your senses will be dulled to that of a human. At night, your senses will be 56
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enhanced and you’ll be able to heal quickly. After that, it varies. Some of us can move quickly, others are quite strong. An ancient few are reputed to be able to change into wolves or bats.” Oh. Collin was enchanted. To change shape, to be able to fly or run… He was going to do more than escape his mortal life. He was going to rediscover himself, find whom he could become. “You have time.” De Sonnac reclined against the wall beside Collin. “Time to play,” he said, leaning forward and teasing Collin’s ear with his breath. “Time to study yourself and others.” Yes. “Let me help you,” de Sonnac whispered. As the words left him, his lips brushed past the corner of Collin’s mouth. Collin turned and kissed him. The body against him was still, and then Collin felt de Sonnac’s fingers slide down his cheek, into his hair, and finally stop at the back of his head. There, they curled, creating a delightful pressure as they wound into his hair. De Sonnac’s lips opened and then wet warmth brushed against Collin’s mouth. Collin opened his mouth and stroked de Sonnac’s tongue with his. His lover’s lips were so soft. They were also oddly cool, but they warmed beneath Collin’s mouth. The hand at the back of his head eased, releasing Collin’s hair. A moment later, de Sonnac pulled away. Collin felt a shadow of his touch across his lips. “I regret that I can’t spend this day with you,” de Sonnac said. Collin opened his mouth to ask why ever not and then stopped. It was dangerous to learn anything about a male lover in this 57
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society. If he was caught, the authorities would want to know— Balderdash. He wasn’t mortal anymore. Those laws didn’t affect him. “Need to regain your strength?” Collin asked. His tone was different than any he’d used before. Playful. Coy. He liked it. De Sonnac chuckled. “Oh, I have the energy.” His gaze slid down Collin’s body. “I would love to simply lie with you and taste you. A vampire’s blood will always carry a trace of how they were when they were fledged. The taste of a recently awakened lover is exquisite.” Heat blossomed inside Collin. How…well, embarrassing, but also intriguing. “How you were fledged?” Collin asked. “Not as pleasantly. I was in an alley, avoiding capture.” De Sonnac’s hand slid down Collin’s neck to his shoulder. His skin was cool. Collin glanced at de Sonnac’s hand and then raised his own to de Sonnac’s face. His cheek was chill. “Are you well?” Collin asked. Last night, de Sonnac’s skin had been deliciously warm. What had fledging him cost de Sonnac? “Oh yes. A touch hungry, but I can take care of that in a short while.” De Sonnac brushed his fingers over Collin’s arm, teasing the piece of sheet Collin had wrapped over himself off his shoulder. “How soon do you need to leave?” Collin asked. “In a few minutes. The business that brought me to the city demands attention.” “Pity.” De Sonnac chuckled. His gaze crept down Collin. After a moment, he sighed and drew back. “I’d like you to remain here 58
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while I avenge an old friend.” Considering the changes Collin intended to make, he would rather go home and pack a few things— “Avenge?” Collin asked. He had to have misheard De Sonnac. “Yes.” De Sonnac walked around the bed and approached a desk in the corner. “It’s not as dreadful as it sounds,” de Sonnac said, picking up a thin case. “It will be a quick affair.” There was something very surreal about this. A mysterious lover. An oath. A fight to the death. Since he was leaving the paper, perhaps he should consider a new career as a hack writer. He could write about all this, reveal that the mysterious lover was a vampire, and become the next James Malcolm Rymer. He would have to change one of the characters to a woman, though. No one would want to read the tale if the two men were intimate. Unless… A smile tugged at the corners of his lips. Perhaps he could simply let them be bosom friends, like Holmes and Watson. The reading world would likely enjoy that. Amused with the fanciful thoughts, Collin moved around the bed. “Pistols at dawn?” he asked. De Sonnac laughed. “Nothing so formal. A year ago, a reporter caused a friend’s demise.” Collin grimaced. Scandals occasionally forced people to do that. He couldn’t think of one from a year before but he didn’t doubt it had occurred. “What happened?” Collin asked. A year before…he was 59
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egocentric and thought the child murders were the most important thing. There had been a banking scandal before that time, though. He remembered being bitter about it receiving more coverage than his story before the fiend moved from a poor neighborhood to a wealthy one. “My friend, Lambert, wasn’t well.” De Sonnac opened the case and began leafing through the contents. “He’d been a knight alongside me, and when the king betrayed us, he was arrested. The things he saw…a part of him was never the same.” Collin approached the desk. The poor man. It reminded Collin of one of the detectives who’d worked on the murder case. After they found the bones— Something shifted at the edge of his sight. Collin turned. A dozen feet away, the wooden screen undulated, moving to the left to block Collin’s view of the window. “Dear God,” Collin whispered. “What’s wrong?” Collin hurried over to the desk. De Sonnac watched him, brows knitted in worry. “The screen moved,” Collin said, looking from de Sonnac to the blinds and back. “Ah.” De Sonnac offered him a smile. “It’s all right. I adjusted the spell on it to shield you.” “You…spell?” De Sonnac’s smile grew. “I’m not a great sorcerer, but I can do small things.” “Spells.” Collin glanced at the screen again and laughed. De Sonnac hadn’t been jesting when he said there was more to this world. 60
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A whisper of skin against paper drew Collin’s attention back to de Sonnac. The case hid the papers de Sonnac had taken out, but from this angle Collin could see that they were newspapers. The top one was of the banking story. Collin looked up at de Sonnac. If he remembered correctly, the knights had been involved with finances. While he couldn’t imagine a knight stealing money, Collin wasn’t surprised to discover one had decided to apply his talents in the modern financial world. “Did he blame himself for the money being embezzled from the bank?” Collin asked. “I remember one of the men who ran the place died mysteriously.” “No.” De Sonnac frowned. “I wish he’d been more interested in money.” De Sonnac opened the desk and brought out a stack of folded papers. “The things he did…I won’t ever make an excuse for them. He’d saved my life countless times over the centuries, though, and I owe it to him that his killer is destroyed.” Collin stepped up to the desk and moved along it. The case hid the papers de Sonnac had taken out, but from this angle Collin could see that they were newspapers. The top one was about a meat pie shop that had been rumored to serve meat from cadavers. It had been a dreadful affair. Collin had always thought the story was more rumor than reality, but people had been fascinated. He couldn’t remember anyone dying because of that story, but considering when it had happened, he was surprised he remembered that much of it at all. And if de Sonnac’s friend had been a part of it… “Dear God. They had been serving cadaver meat, hadn’t they?” “Pardon?” De Sonnac looked down. And then laughed. 61
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“Lambert…no. Oh no.” De Sonnac turned the top issue to the side. Beneath it was a story about the banking scandal. “His hungers were vile but he didn’t seem interested in sharing them.” Something inside Collin unknotted, making him realize he’d been holding his breath. He’d eaten at that shop once, and while the meat was tough, he hadn’t thought—hadn’t wanted to think— De Sonnac flipped the top newspaper around. Beneath it was a grainy photo of the back of a man kneeling beside something lying at the side of a road. Collin stared at the newspaper. He knew that photo. That moment. That man. This was his story. De Sonnac had come to kill him.
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CHAPTER 4 Collin would never have admitted it to another, but he used to stare at that photograph at night. For months he told himself it was because of that case, that there was something in the way the man in the photo had studied the body. In the victim’s final repose was a secret, and the alienist in the photo was deciphering it. Sometimes, late at night, Collin allowed himself to think the truth; Matheson had a charming profile. His features were sharp, his eyes a deep blue that was lost on the black and white photo. The secret had haunted Collin. If anyone had known, they would have used it against him. He found it odd to be standing there, looking at the photo, knowing de Sonnac was there because of it. Because of him. De Sonnac’s fingers entered Collin’s sight. They moved across 63
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the old issues, as if presenting him with a gift. “You’re welcome to read the articles,” de Sonnac said. “By the time you’re done, I’ll have taken care of my errand. When I return, we can leave London.” When he returned, it would be because de Sonnac had realized that the man he’d come to kill was the same one he’d recently bedded and fledged. You have nothing to fear from me, Collin. Really? Even if he was the one he’d come to kill? “What if the reporter is like you?” Collin asked. “Handsome?” A smile tugged at the corners of de Sonnac’s lips. “Older than he looks?” “A vampire. Someone’s fledgling or sire.” “A vampire wouldn’t be wasting his time chasing after scandals.” “If he was—” “You’re worried for me.” No, more like worried about himself. Collin frowned. He was being a damned coward. If de Sonnac wanted to kill him for that monster’s death, he might also want to kill Matheson or any of the detectives who’d worked on the case. De Sonnac’s smile faded. “If he was a vampire, whatever his age, whatever ties he had, I would kill him.” “He mutilated children.” The words came out a whisper. Collin wanted to say it louder, sharper, but then de Sonnac’s gaze caught him. “I won’t deny what Lambert did,” de Sonnac said. “There was more to him than what is in the papers, though. He was once a dedicated knight. He never forgot what it was to fight for his country and king, and wherever he went, he founded almshouses 64
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for soldiers. It’s for that man that I’m going to kill the reporter.” “That reporter—those stories helped people. Protected them.” “Did they? Did they lead to new laws? Did they inspire people to open their kitchens to hungry children?” The questions stung. “This was just a story to him, Collin. When he was done, the reporter moved on to other scandals. You saw his last story. If he’d seen you come up with me to my room, he would have captured it in ink and destroyed you.” No. Not after what happened the last time he followed a man to a brothel. De Sonnac studied him. “Did you lose someone? Did Lambert…” His voice was soft. Sad. He was concerned for him, Collin realized. The thought burrowed into Collin, forming a knot in his stomach. De Sonnac would mourn his loss, just as he mourned that fiend. It wouldn’t stop de Sonnac from killing him. “The families,” Collin said. “I knew them.” He’d never lost a child, but his memories of losing his sister had allowed him to understand them. They’d seen the loss in his eyes and opened their doors to him. They’d shared their thoughts, their food, and their fears with him. Then, after Lambert died, they’d drawn back and closed their doors. Collin understood. He was a reminder, as much as the papers, the whispers, and the emptiness in their homes. In their place, he’d railed at his father, the police, even Matheson, once, when the man had gently told him that finding the child murderer would not ease 65
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his memories of Eleanor’s murder. Collin knew that. He didn’t want to see another death, though. “I’m sorry,” de Sonnac said. He looked down at the papers. “He wasn’t always…there was more to him than what was in the papers.” Perhaps. Whatever kindnesses his friend had shown to soldiers or de Sonnac could not undo what he’d done to innocent children. De Sonnac’s gaze slid across the scattered stories. Collin followed his path. The issues were spread out from the beginning to the middle. The end was half hidden beneath a bundle of issues. Collin wondered if de Sonnac had read them enough times to memorize the text. He looked up at de Sonnac. When the vampire spoke of his friend, his voice was so soft. It stung Collin. “Was he…were you…intimate?” De Sonnac glanced up. “No. Lambert was my shield brother.” His lips twitched. “He actually used his shield to protect me once.” “His shield protects him now. I think it’s making you forget that he killed the children.” De Sonnac frowned. “I haven’t forgotten. I think the papers exaggerated what happened, though.” Actually, they didn’t mention the numbers of bones that had been found. They’d said countless. The detective in charge of the case had given Collin a number he hoped to one day forget. De Sonnac closed the case. “For you, I’ll alter my plans a little. I’ll make the reporter’s death quick.” “What had you been planning before?” De Sonnac’s lips twitched, hinting at a smile that, while aesthetically pleasant, unnerved Collin. “I was thinking of something bloody and scandalous. Given his love of such things, I 66
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thought it would be poetic.” He did not love— Collin looked away. De Sonnac wasn’t the only one who had ever thought that of him. Last night, Harrison and Barnes had teased about such things. “I’m not saying he isn’t a fine writer,” de Sonnac said. His voice was soft. Kind. “I think he has a gift for twisting things to his advantage. Despite what he wrote, he didn’t help anyone. The poor he wrote about are still poor. The dead, still dead.” No. He… De Sonnac was right. An ache gathered shape inside of Collin. He was not so in love with himself that he presumed he was right, but he had grown to think that an open mind would allow him more versatility. He could explore and uncover stories where others saw nothing. He would help people. His intentions now looked like ink on cheap paper, bleeding across everything after a light rain. Help people? Whom had he helped? The middle classes he came from? The lower classes he only talked to when he needed something? The upper crust that remembered his name because he was a fellow Oxford classman, that man with the wicked fountain pen who provided deliciously scandalous news? Collin hated that man. He was that man, though. “I’ll make it look like an accident,” de Sonnac said. “Perhaps he’ll have a bad fall down some steps or be involved in a robbery gone wrong.” Or perhaps he’d become entwined in a twisted tryst. Collin could see that happening quite easily. De Sonnac walked around the desk. “I know the papers made 67
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Lambert look like a monster.” Only because he was one. “He could be very generous.” De Sonnac stepped up to Collin. “I wish you’d met him.” Oh, he had. The loathsome creature had gone to one of Matheson’s lectures. The three of them had gathered at a public house afterwards and talked. Neither Collin nor Matheson had guessed who the man really was. Collin was appalled to recollect that he’d found the wretch arresting. Bitter irony; he’d also found de Sonnac arresting. Collin shook his head. “I’m sorry—” No, he wasn’t. Collin felt his brows furrow. He wasn’t sorry the fiend was dead. He wasn’t sorry the papers had shown restraint and not mentioned how deep the cellar of bones had been. The monster had been de Sonnac’s friend, though, and for that… Collin didn’t know if he could be sorry for his loss. His loss made London a little safer. De Sonnac touched his cheek. His skin whispered against Collin’s. So soft. So enticing. So dangerous. “Thank you,” de Sonnac said. Collin was about to ask for what when he remembered his last words. I’m sorry. De Sonnac probably thought he was either offering his condolences or an apology for arguing. He opened his mouth to correct himself. And then leaned into de Sonnac and kissed him. Telling de Sonnac the truth wouldn’t help. De Sonnac had wrapped his illusions around himself and wouldn’t hear him. Worse, he might 68
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begin to wonder why Collin kept arguing. De Sonnac made a mmm sound and then slipped his hands around Collin. The feel of his body, the familiar sound, stabbed Collin. He’d wanted this. This man. This chance to be himself. He’d come so close to being able to have it. If he didn’t run, it would destroy him. De Sonnac drew back. “Wait for me?” de Sonnac whispered. Collin’s lips twitched. “I waited my whole life for you.” De Sonnac smiled. It was a small thing, the curving of one side of his mouth, but Collin noted it carefully. It would likely be the last one he saw. Sighing, de Sonnac drew back. “You tempt me.” Flattering. And yet not, considering his words also tempted de Sonnac to hunt him down and kill him. Collin watched de Sonnac pick up his case, retrieve his coat from the rack, and then approach the door. Collin followed him, watching. Waiting. It took a minute, possibly less, but each step felt like an hour. De Sonnac was doing this. He was really— De Sonnac opened the door. “I’ll see you in a little while,” he said. Collin nodded, then watched him leave. He waited for the door to click shut. Then he darted back into the bedroom, let the sheet fall away from him, and looked around. He hadn’t paid much attention to where de Sonnac had dropped his garments last night, so now Collin found himself picking up every piece of cloth in sight. Socks. Drawers. Trousers. Shirt. Waistcoat, missing two buttons. Suit coat. Collin slipped on his shoes, looked around. His overcoat was 69
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missing. God, where was— The coat rack. He returned to the entry room, grabbed his coat, and shrugged into it. As he buttoned it, he noticed his nails. He usually kept them short. Now, they were long and shone like glass. Odd detail. It wasn’t helping him escape, so Collin put it aside and headed for the door. The hallway outside was empty. Collin released a long breath. It had probably taken him a few moments to dress, certainly enough time for de Sonnac to leave, but still Collin was relieved. De Sonnac was gone. His lover— former lover?—was hunting him, but he didn’t know who Collin was yet. Yet. Collin headed for the lift. It was a few steps, but each one echoed his heartbeat. He pressed the call button. It hummed. Collin watched the doors, waiting. And then focused on his reflection in the gold surface. His hair fell about his face. He’d always shrugged off his hair, seeing the strands as plain. It was too light to be brown, and was not daring enough to be blond. Now, when he was faced with his reflection, he realized the color was beautiful. Moonlight wove through the strands, giving his hair its own life. His eyes looked darker, though Collin suspected that was due more to the paleness of his skin than any change. Before, they’d been the color of wet mud. Now, the earth had shaken, leaving the soil rich. And his skin— The humming stopped. 70
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A whisper of voices, of laughter, tumbled inside the lift. De Sonnac— No. It didn’t sound like him; one voice was too light, the other too deep, but the doors were closed and maybe the lift was distorting the sound. Perhaps de Sonnac had forgotten something. Maybe he’d realized who Collin was. Collin turned and darted for the end of the hall. Behind him, he heard the elevator doors open. Before him, the door to the stairs waited. He turned the knob and slipped inside. Then, he slumped against the door and listened. If it was de Sonnac, if he had seen him, Collin had to know. Outside, the voices murmured softly. He listened to them for a moment. They— The gentleman asked me to leave the flowers outside the door, a woman said. She sounded young. Please hold the lift for me. I will, said a man. Collin blinked. The voices had been clear for a moment, but now they were murmurs. What a fascinating ability. One that wasn’t helping him escape. He hurried down the steps, taking them two at once. Halfway down the stairs, he realized that his left ankle—the reason he hadn’t played tennis in ages—was taking his hurried pace without complaint. No ache. No threat of twisting out from under him. Nothing. Thank God. This would help him. It would help him run, get out of town. This… De Sonnac also had this ability. Collin quickened his pace. De Sonnac not only had this ability, he likely had others as well. When he realized who Collin was, he 71
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would probably use them against Collin. Damnation. When de Sonnac found him… Collin didn’t want to finish the thought. Didn’t want to imagine it or think it or, someone help him, experience it. His fear didn’t stop the thought from existing. De Sonnac would realize who he was. He would use his powers to find him. If Collin didn’t get out of London soon, he would find him. When Collin reached the ground level, he darted out another door and emerged into the lobby. When he’d arrived the night before, the place had been hidden in shadow. This morning, the shadows had crept back into the corners, and a dozen lamps lit the room. A glance showed the area to be nearly empty. A young man stood behind a desk in a corner, and another in a dark uniform near the door. Collin headed across the room. The night before, the members of the staff he’d encountered had been pleasant and ignored his presence. Collin hoped these two did the same. Outside, fog pressed against the glass panel on the door and the windows. Pale light wove through the area, making his eyes ache. He frowned. The small pain was a bother; the mist a threat. It could hide de Sonnac. Then again, it would also hide him. Collin wrapped that thought, that hope, around himself. De Sonnac might understand his powers, but Collin knew this city. He could use the mist, hide within it, and slip out of town. As Collin approached, the uniformed doorman came to life. He stepped over to the door and opened it for him. Fog seeped into the entryway, devouring the man’s feet. “Good morning, sir,” the man said. 72
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“Morning. May I trouble you for the time?” “No trouble at all, sir.” The man withdrew a pocket watch from his coat. “It’s half past five.” “Thank you.” The everyday words felt odd in Collin’s mouth. Surreal. Hello, how are you? Fine, fine. A vampire is hunting me. Oh, how dreadful. Mind the step. “Sir,” the man said, reaching into another pocket. “If I may…” If he may? Oh. Collin reached into his coat pocket. The man likely wanted money. That was fine. Collin hoped it would silence the man’s tongue when de Sonnac returned. The man’s hand emerged and offered Collin a pair of blue tinted spectacles. “These will protect your eyes, sir.” Collin stared at them. The frames were thin, black, circular wire. The last time he’d seen lenses so fine had been at Jasper’s funeral. His wife had placed his amber-tinted glasses in a suit pocket. He’d had the spectacles made specially because his syphilis had made light painful to him. How ironic; Collin now needed glasses as well. “Sir?” the man asked. “I understand it’s none of my business, but the sun will be out later.” Collin looked up at the man. He knew. He knew Collin was a vampire. How— I stay here whenever I’m in town. I think you’ll find that they are quite discreet. Dear God. The people at the hotel were more than discrete. 73
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They were a part of de Sonnac’s world. And, in this moment, they thought Collin was a part of it as well. “Thank you.” Collin withdrew a few coins from his trouser pocket and exchanged them for the glasses. The man blinked at the money. “That’s quite unnecessary, sir.” “I want to. You’ve been kind.” Collin slipped on the spectacles. The world around him turned blue. A moment later, the ache in his eyes faded. “Well, mum’s the word,” the man said. “Have a reputation to keep and all that.” Collin smiled. “There’s nothing to tell. You never saw me.” “Of course. Mind the step, sir.” “Thank you.” Collin minded the step and hurried outside. Fog wrapped around him, teasing his exposed skin with its cool, wet touch. The world was quiet, the sky pale blue-gray. Collin headed out into the fog, burrowing into his coat. The movement was habit, and even as he hunched and tried to keep warm, the air gently caressed his skin. It… It felt nice. He blinked. He’d experienced heavy fog before and had never felt moved to call it pleasant. Cold. Uncomfortable. A danger, on occasions when coach drivers didn’t see one another until it was too late. It had never felt like this. He couldn’t stop, couldn’t even slow, but he pulled one of his hands out of his pockets and held it out to the fog. The ethereal air snaked over him like a breath. It crept over his fingers, licked into his sleeve, and then up his arm to his shoulder. It stirred his hair, whispered nonsense sounds to him, and then faded. 74
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Collin stared at his hand. The fog. He’d walked through mist thousands of times, but he’d never felt this sensation before. It was a wickedly delightful thing, making him feel alive. And if de Sonnac caught up with him, he would lose it. Collin quickened his pace. He needed to go home, pack— What if de Sonnac was there? Not home, then. To Matheson, perhaps. The alienist had been a part of the investigation. Chances were, de Sonnac would eventually target him and the detective who’d been in charge of the case. Collin— Couldn’t warn them. They were in New York, at a conference with other alienists. Damnation. No, thank goodness. Matheson was safer there. Despite that, Collin desperately wished the alienist was in London. The man would likely not have believed de Sonnac was a vampire, but he would have listened. Collin had talked to him once about his sister’s murder, and while Matheson had odd theories— the fact that the murderer covered Eleanor’s face made him think the murderer had known her for a while—he’d had theories. It was more than the police had ever had. Collin could wire him. What he would say…he didn’t know. The child murderer had a vengeful friend? Yes, but it lacked the details Matheson would need. A longer, more detailed wire would take time, though. Even presuming Collin dared share more, how would Matheson reach him? The longer Collin stayed in one place, the greater chance de Sonnac had of finding him. His only chance right now lay in the fact that he had not given the vampire his surname. If de Sonnac had come to hunt him, 75
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though, how much time did that really give Collin? De Sonnac had hundreds of years of experience. A little thing like a name might not stop him for long. Collin thought of other people and places, but with each name he thought no. He couldn’t go to his friends, it would endanger them. He couldn’t go to the paper, for de Sonnac would likely look there as well. The bank, to draw out some funds so that he could leave town? It wouldn’t open for a few more hours. Paddington Station? He had enough money on him to buy a ticket, but once he reached wherever the first train of the day went, he wouldn’t have any more money to continue his journey. Bloody hell. What— Collin drew in a long breath. He needed to be calm. What had Matheson once said about panic? It clouded instincts. It had sounded odd at first, but as the alienist explained, people wanted to live. When in danger, they reacted, following an inner intelligence that guided them. It had guided their ancestors when they crouched around fires and hunted in packs. It had guided them when invaders attacked, forcing them to hide or fight. Even in this modern century, it guided them still. When they panicked, they allowed their thoughts to thwart them. The problem was, when his thoughts were precise, they cut. Normally they slashed at others. A careful lie, a too easy smile. Today, they attacked him. And de Sonnac. De Sonnac had been friends with that fiend. How could he? That monster skinned children. He killed two officers and started a fire that burned down several houses. He… The little de Sonnac had said about him crept through Collin’s mind. They’d been knights together, at a time when their king 76
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betrayed them. He’d protected de Sonnac. De Sonnac had fought for him. They had several hundred years worth of friendship. What did Collin have with de Sonnac? One night. It was an unpleasant truth, but a truth nonetheless. In de Sonnac’s place, Collin would have fought for Harrison and Barnes. If they went mad and killed people, he would have entrusted them to an asylum and hired the best alienist his small inheritance would allow. He would have stayed by them, though. Whoever they hurt, whatever they’d done, he would have stayed. If they ever learned about him, about his desires, they would have done the same. The thoughts quickened his pace and sent his hands burrowing into his pockets. He didn’t want to understand de Sonnac. He wanted the anger, the frustration. He was right. The monster should have been destroyed. The openness that he’d spent his whole life cultivating now rebelled against him. Was he right? Was the vampire simply following his instincts? Could he have resisted? Yes. Like de Sonnac, he’d had time to study himself, his powers. No. As Matheson had told him, one’s instincts guided one whether they acknowledged them or not. No. Before he died, Lambert had just acquired another child. He hadn’t had time to kill the boy. Given another hour, he would have. He— Collin felt watched. It was an odd sensation. He was aware of his movement, of the way the fog twined around him. His steps sounded hushed. The wind whispered. The feeling strengthened, becoming a weight. His next step 77
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echoed. The one after that had an accompanying step. As did the next one, and the one after that, and— Damnation. He didn’t have time to deal with a thief. Collin turned. And found de Sonnac. Physically, de Sonnac looked the same as when he’d stood in the hotel room. His hair was fog-touched and clung to his head, but he was still the same man. His eyes were cool, though. They were a stranger’s eyes. A knight’s. “Collin Foster,” de Sonnac said. The last time Collin had heard someone say his name like that had been when he was a schoolboy. He couldn’t remember what he’d done, but he remembered the tone. Thoughtful. Angry. In a moment, a ruler would fall across his knuckles. “We have a problem,” de Sonnac said. Collin thought they had several. The clacking of hooves drew close. Collin glanced away, into the street, and then back at de Sonnac. De Sonnac was six, perhaps seven feet away, but the coach sounded close. If Collin could get to it— Cold fingers latched around Collin’s wrist, yanking him away from the street. He stumbled after de Sonnac. No. he had to break free. De Sonnac’s grip was strong, though. It bit into Collin’s wrist, making his fingers twitch. The scent of rotten cabbage and urine wrapped around Collin as they stepped into an alley between two buildings. Rough stone brushed past Collin’s side. Collin yanked his hand free. The sound of the coach had faded, 78
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but if he could dart back to the road, he might be able to catch the next— Hands smacked the wall on either side of him, trapping him. Collin scowled at de Sonnac. De Sonnac returned the glare, his eyes glowing a faint red. “I’m torn,” de Sonnac said. “You cost our world a valuable creature. He survived the chaos of the Inquisition. You’re young, though. I don’t think you understand what you’ve done.” “He murdered children. I think I have some idea what I did.” De Sonnac’s lips drew back. His canines grew, tapering into delicate points. “You little fool! Our kind are rare. To lose even one—” “Those children mattered!” “So did he!” “He—” De Sonnac’s hands closed around Collin’s throat. Pain circled Collin’s flesh. Collin made a startled, breathless sound and then began twisting. He had to break free. His sharp movement made his spectacles slide down his nose and then drop away. One blink and the blue faded from the world around Collin. Another one and a small pain stung his eyes. “When others were quick to turn in their neighbors as suspected witches, Lambert hid them,” de Sonnac said. “He broke into an inquisition dungeon once to rescue the people inside. He mattered.” Collin didn’t care if Lambert had saved the bloody Queen of England. It didn’t change things. “Meh.” Damnation. 79
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Collin dug his fingers beneath de Sonnac’s. It didn’t free him, didn’t take any of the sting out of the vampire’s grip. The tips of his fingers felt pinched. And then he felt a sliver of cool air in his throat. “Mu…murder…er.” Collin wanted to say more, to snap, argue, growl, but that word was the only one that escaped de Sonnac’s hold. The red in de Sonnac’s eyes deepened. “I accept that. If I’d known—” “Not. You.” Damnation. Collin would rather have died without hearing that. “Him.” De Sonnac’s brows drew together. He didn’t understand, didn’t want to understand. So much easier to blame Collin. A chaos of anger and hurt and frustration surged through Collin. It spread throughout him, helping his fingers push deeper into de Sonnac’s grasp, and nudging words up into his throat. Fine. He was responsible for Lambert’s death. Lambert was still responsible for Lambert. “Basement,” Collin whispered. “I saw. Ten thousand. Eight hundred. And two. Bones.” After Collin had first heard the number, he’d been unable to sleep for several days. After a few drinks with Harrison, his friend had revealed that the adult human body had two hundred and six bones. A newborn had up to three hundred and fifty. Harrison had learned those numbers after a few secret dissections in medical school, and while Collin would never share the observations with anyone, he’d lost sleep trying to work out how many children those bones represented. Over thirty. Less than forty. 80
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God. No God. No survival of the fittest. Simply a monster who had the strength to pursue his vile hunger and people who wanted to stop him. Who did stop him. “Small. Bones.” De Sonnac’s fingers twitched. The brief slip sent air burning into Collin’s chest. He hadn’t needed it, had been able to think and panic without it, but the ache made something inside of him slump in relief. The number clearly stunned de Sonnac. His former lover might intend to avenge his friend’s death, but de Sonnac didn’t condone his actions. It bothered him. The surge of hurt and anger broke. Maybe Collin could reach him. If he told de Sonnac about the things that hadn’t been put in the paper— De Sonnac’s grip tightened. Pain snapped around Collin’s neck. A soft, wheezy sound escaped him. De Sonnac, he realized, didn’t want to be reached. He might not have liked Lambert’s dark tendencies, but he’d separated them from his friend. He didn’t want Collin to remind him that the two people were one. To hell with that. Collin yanked one hand free and brought his palm up, driving it up against de Sonnac’s nose. The blow sent de Sonnac stumbling back, one hand over his face. Blood gushed around his fingers. Collin pushed himself away from the wall. He turned— The scent of de Sonnac’s blood crept over him. It smelled warm. Good. No. 81
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Collin ran. The streets tumbled past him. After two, he darted across the road and turned down a narrow alleyway. After four more streets, Collin turned onto a tree-lined avenue. At another time, this pace would have left him winded. A stitch would tighten in his side, making him slump against a wall in pain. He was a gentleman. Gentlemen did not run. Footsteps echoed his. Collin wished he could run faster. Something caught the back of his coat, slowing him. A brief glance back revealed an arm and a pair of red eyes in the fog behind him. Damnation. Where were the cut purses when you needed them? Collin looked around. The fog hid the road, but the building he was running past was familiar. Up ahead, the street broke into side roads. Mist curled around the buildings, making the paths between them look smaller. Mysterious. Collin reached up, unfastening his coat. When he felt another pull on the garment, he shrugged free of it. Then he threw himself forward, darting into the road that meandered toward the left. The fog wrapped around him once more, enfolding him in its cool, ethereal fabric. Collin gave himself to it as he hurried down the street. Its chill was his chill, its silence his. Buildings blurred, coaches jerked to a stop, people scattered around him. He turned… And found himself across from St. Paul’s Cathedral. Collin stared at the building. He’d run. All the way. From the Square Mile. To here. Bloody hell. 82
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A familiar ache crept into Collin’s eyes. He frowned and blinked. He hadn’t had the spectacles for long but he already missed them terribly. After a few blinks, the pain settled into an ignorable level. He sighed, drinking in the sweet coolness in the air. While not as deliciously dark as that morning, the sky was a pleasant, if painful, ash gray. Thin wisps of fog crept over Collin, offering him glimpses of the dome. The baroque cathedral stood several dozen feet from the Thames. At this hour, when the sky mourned the night and the air smelled of water, it looked beautiful. The patter of steps tore Collin’s attention away from the cathedral. De Sonnac— It wasn’t him. A young boy darted past, one hand brushing Collin’s trouser pocket in futile quest. A moment later, the boy disappeared into the fog. Collin’s lips twitched. At last, the thief he longed for. Poor lad; Collin kept his funds hidden within a specially tailored pocket in his suit coats and his great coat. The great coat he’d thrown at de Sonnac. Damnation. And thank God; the gambit had worked. He’d escaped. Just to make sure he had, though, Collin turned and studied the area around him. Across the road, a coach and horse moved through the mist toward him. A dozen feet away, two young men headed toward the City, talking of fresh bread. Collin turned, drinking in the feel of fog against his skin. The sounds of passersby. He was alone. Far from home, far from where he began, far— 83
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Dizziness swept over him. Collin felt himself stumble. A dark shape rose ahead and he grasped it, feeling the rough surface of a tree scratch his skin. One blink, two, and then the world solidified around him. Collin found himself slumped against a tall oak, both arms around it as if it were an old friend. Collin pushed himself up. He felt…all right. A little tired, but considering how far he’d run… He was exhausted. Damnation. How would he escape? He had his house keys in his suit pocket and a little money but the majority of it had been inside his great coat. He would need to return home. Returning home would give de Sonnac time to find him. Unfortunately, standing there brooding would as well. The clacking of hooves grew close. Frowning, Collin held out a hand. An hour before, he would have had the energy to run home. After running all over London, he felt fortunate that he could still stand. The shape in the fog shifted, and a moment later it emerged, drawing to a gentle stop before him. Collin slipped inside the cab. Cool shadows surrounded him. He slumped onto the seat and drank in the quiet. One breath, and the ache faded behind his eyes. Two, and he was aware that whoever had sat there last had worn lavender. “Morning, sir,” the driver said. “Morning.” How are you? Fine, fine. There’s a vampire hunting me. Oh, how dreadful. “Where to, sir?” “Kensington,” Collin said. 84
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The cab lurched, and then the horse turned and began a steady trot. Collin curled up in the corner of the cab. The dizziness he’d fought off before returned, creeping into him. He sighed and rested his head against the wall. He’d come full circle; last night he’d escaped the brothel, now he’d escaped a vampire. Laughter coiled inside him. It was a sharp, brittle thing. Hoping to calm it, he turned and looked out the narrow window. Away from the cathedral and the Thames, the fog thinned to a wisp. Collin watched people head toward work, toward the cathedral, toward their everyday lives. Nothing was hunting them. If they chose to trust someone, that person wouldn’t later want to kill them. They… Wait for me? Collin clenched his eyes shut. His stories about the child murders were the finest things he’d ever written. If he’d had a hand in stopping Lambert, he was proud. And yet, he had to wonder if there was something…dreadful about him. His friends cared for him because they didn’t completely know him. De Sonnac knew him, and he wanted to destroy him.
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CHAPTER 5 Collin locked the front door to his home behind himself. Pale light bled in through the glass panels on either side of the door behind him. By the Thames, the fog had protected him. Here, close to Hyde Park, it faded, leaving him in sunlight. The sharpness stung his eyes, making him curl forward and close them. De Sonnac had warned him it would sting. Whatever else Collin could say about the man, he hadn’t lied. He… God. He’d been a fool. The thought formed a knot inside him. After all the times he’d raged against anyone who trusted unknown women in a brothel, he’d trusted a man he’d just met. Worse, he’d liked de Sonnac. And until de Sonnac realized who he was, Collin thought de Sonnac had cared for him as well. He— 86
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Collin opened his eyes. He couldn’t let himself think this. He pushed himself away from the door. He was tired and frustrated, but if he gave into either one, they would devour his time. Instinct demanded he move, so he moved. His legs felt unsteady, but with each step he took away from the sunlight and into the shadows of his hallway, his gait steadied. The hall led past a sitting room to a set of stairs. Past the stairs were a small closet, a dining room that was far too large for one person, and a kitchen. Upstairs, two bedrooms and a bathroom. Collin headed down the hall and into the dining room. He’d converted half the room into a study, the other half he left as a dining area. The few times he’d actually entertained more than four people had been during Lambert’s time, and the people he’d had over had been glad of the working space then. They’d spread papers across the dining table and floor and paced, each a lord of his own field. They— An ache gathered inside of Collin. For all of his disgust with the scandal, he was proud of his work in the child murders. If de Sonnac would kill for that monster, then Collin would gladly die for that story. He would make de Sonnac work for it, though. Collin might not be the kind of man someone could love, but he’d tried to protect people. When—if de Sonnac caught up with him, Collin would remind his former lover what he was killing for. The curtains were drawn, but strips of light crept through the sides, giving the room a surreal glow. Collin crept across the room, heading for his desk. As he drew close, his movement interrupted the light, sending it playing across the frame above his desk. 87
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Collin glanced at it. And then frowned. It was too large to bring with him. The frame had been a gift from the father of Lambert’s last victim, the only one to escape. Behind a glass so fine it looked like crystal was the front page of Collin’s paper. Top headline: Child murderer dies in fire! Sub-headline: Authorities rescue monster’s last victim! Third headline, for a story this grand deserved three, plus a dozen photos scattered across this page and the next three: The Guardian’s own Collin Foster bears witness to the fiend’s house of horrors! Bore witness and, as the silver chain hanging from one corner of the frame reminded him, almost lost himself. Collin stepped up to his desk. He reached across the scattered papers, notebook, ink bottles, and pens and plucked the chain from its perch. At one time, it had held an ivory locket with some of his sister’s pale hair worked into it. The memento mori of his sister had been breathtaking and he’d worn it occasionally for luck, hidden beneath his shirt. Before the child murderer fell into the flames, he’d grabbed it and tried to pull Collin in with him. The fiend’s attempt had failed, or, more accurately, Matheson had grabbed hold of the back of Collin’s coat. In the war between the locket’s clasp and the black wool, the coat had won. Lambert had taken the memento mori; Collin had the chain and his life. It had been a fair trade. Collin slipped the chain into an inside pocket. Then he rifled through the loose papers, finding a black covered book. The cover was a façade; inside was a photo of his sister lying in her casket. In life, her blond hair had often slipped free of the elaborate 88
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designs their parents paid for. She’d loved singing and playing in the garden and wrapping strips of muslin around Collin, as if he were a wounded soldier and she a brave nurse. In death, her hair stayed in place, perfectly coifed, perfectly silent. Collin occasionally wondered if, for all of their black clothes and shrouds over the mirrors, their parents were relieved to finally have her quiet. Collin slipped the photograph in an inside suit pocket and then unlocked the left bottom drawer. He had a little over a hundred pounds there, emergency money in case he needed to pay for information, protection, or a meal for himself and his photographer. That was what he’d told himself, anyway, every payday when he’d added to the funds. When the scandal emerged and the unmasked sodomites fled, Collin had fumed. Then, he’d looked at the drawer and known. If he’d been discovered, he would’ve wanted to flee. He, though, would have taken his lover. Knowing him, his lover would have turned on him. Collin slipped the money into his wallet. A change of clothes, a new coat, and then he could leave London. He would go wherever the first ship took him and— Click. Gaslight spilled over him, sending his shadow falling against the wall. Collin turned. Barnes stood beside the dining table a few feet away. The previous night was a chaotic blur, but Collin was certain Barnes was dressed in the same clothes he’d worn the last time Collin had seen him. At night, he’d looked like a respectable accountant in a pale gray suit. In day, his clothes looked rumpled and his eyes 89
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thoughtful. Collin frowned. What was the man doing there? “Barnes?” “Foster.” Collin waited. Now that his surprise at seeing his friend had faded, he was left wondering how the man had gotten in. Collin hadn’t given him a key. He… Damnation. He had. Barnes had lived with him briefly, after they’d graduated from Oxford. When he’d left, he’d returned the key. It seemed he’d made himself a copy. In all the time Collin had known him, Barnes had never done anything improper. What was he doing there now? “Has something happened?” Collin asked. “Yes.” Collin stepped toward him. “Is it your sister? Or Harrison?” “No, they’re fine.” “Then what—” “I know you deserted us last night.” Last night? What was he talking about? Collin hadn’t— Memories tugged at Collin’s mind. Going to the brothel with him and Harrison. Slipping out through a back door. Getting into the coach with de Sonnac. Hearing Barnes call him. Damnation. Collin had forgotten about that. “Where were you?” Barnes asked. “Work.” Collin reached back and shut the desk drawer. He didn’t have time for this. De Sonnac was hunting him and he was growing tired. “Work.” Barnes’s lips twitched. “I tried there first.” Barnes had tried to find him? Why— To hell with it. Collin didn’t care. 90
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“Have you used the key before now?” Collin asked. “I will admit, I’ve never noticed any of my things out of place.” Barnes’s face grew blotched. “No. I kept it for emergencies.” “Like waiting for me in the dark?” “Like making sure you made it home safely after you snuck out of our revelry. Revelry that I paid for and—” Collin laughed. Money? This was about money? Barnes approached him. “I hardly see the humor in this. Harrison and I—” “How much?” “Pardon?” “How much.” Collin withdrew his wallet. If Barnes cared about the evening’s cost, then Collin would reimburse him and send him on his way. Or, better yet, add a small bonus and ask him to tell people that Collin had decided to venture north. That he was visiting kin in Hexham. If—when de Sonnac heard that, he might go north, leaving Collin the rest of the world to run to. Barnes’s frown deepened. “I’m not concerned about the money. I’m worried about you. Where were you last night? I talked to your editor. The publisher.” “They’re actually two different people, Barnes. My editor doesn’t own—” “Don’t patronize me!” “Don’t be a—” not a fool. De Sonnac used that term too easily. “Absurd. Why would you talk to them? You had no reason to.” “To see if they knew where you were. They didn’t. They thought you’d be working on a story. They thought—they don’t know you. No one knows you.” True. Did anyone truly know anyone, though? “That doesn’t matter,” Collin said. 91
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“It does. The things you write about…it does. So I told them.” Collin shoved his wallet back into his suit jacket. “There’s nothing to tell. I’m fairly boring.” A smile tugged at the corners of Barnes’s lips. The expression made something inside Collin twitch. The last time he’d seen it, Barnes had revealed to his superiors that one of his fellows had been embezzling funds. He’d been right to do so, but the small amusement on his friend’s face had stayed with Collin. “Actually,” Barnes said, “we did find some things to talk about. Your distaste for your latest story, for example.” “I detest gossip.” “You detest it because they are like you.” He’d told them… Fine. It wasn’t like Collin had intended to remain in London anyway. Despite that, he felt sad. De Sonnac was willing to kill for his friend. Barnes wouldn’t even keep his secret. “They had wondered,” Barnes said, approaching him. “You’ve been too vocal. Too angry. They—” “It doesn’t really matter, Barnes.” Barnes stumbled. “Pardon?” “It doesn’t really matter. Your word against mine. At worst, it’ll be a brief scandal.” Collin stalked past Barnes and headed for the stairs. He told himself that it was just words, and that Barnes was angry. Barnes was supposed to be his friend, though. Collin would have stood by him. Collin… There really was something wrong with him. The thought stabbed Collin. It had stung when de Sonnac turned on him. To have Barnes do it as well made him wonder. 92
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What was the point of trying to live if everyone he encountered betrayed him in the end? What if he was like Lambert? Not as deadly, perhaps, but still a malignant thing that tainted everyone he came near? Maybe it would be better if de Sonnac killed him— Dizziness swept over him, making the world fade into shadows. He stumbled, catching himself on the banister, and dug his fingers into the wood, centering himself on the feel of the cool hardness. “Collin?” Barnes sounded so far away. Collin blinked, focusing on the sound of Barnes’s breath. The uneven footstep. The smell of his cologne. The room gathered shape around him. There was a blur of movement, and then it settled into Barnes. Barnes studied him. “You’re so pale.” Collin laughed softly. Now he was concerned? “You met someone.” Ah, yes. He was concerned because it went back to his theory. Barnes had missed his calling. He would have been a good reporter. One that would have likely focused on scandals, but a gifted one nonetheless. “Yes,” Collin said. The way his luck was going that day, de Sonnac would probably arrive moments after he left. Barnes would undoubtedly talk to him. The more inaccurate things Barnes knew, the better he and de Sonnac could confuse one another. “I was working on a story.” “No.” Barnes glanced at where Collin’s fingernails dug into the banister, frowned, and then looked up at Collin. “I saw you get into 93
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a carriage with someone last night. You…” Barnes’s eyes widened. “It was a man, wasn’t it? The man you…” “No.” To the Devil with this. Collin headed upstairs. “Who was he?” Quick footfalls chased after Collin. “Who was that man you—” “Shared a ride with?” Why was Barnes so set on this? He knew that even a whisper of such dalliances could destroy someone. If Collin had still been mortal he would have been terrified. He… What would he have done, if he was mortal? What did Barnes want? “Foster. Collin.” Barnes chose to use his name now? Bloody hell. “I’m sorry to ruin your fantasy about my night but we didn’t exchange much information,” Collin said. “You fool. If anyone—” “I’m not a fool.” It was pointless, but Collin realized he hated being called a fool now. Fool seemed like shorthand for doesn’t agree with me. Barnes grabbed his arm. “Right now your publisher and editor are willing to overlook things. If they find out—” Collin jerked free. “There’s nothing to find out.” “Then whose shirt are you wearing?” Collin glanced down. In the faint light, the shirt looked like any other. If anyone stood as close as Barnes, though, they would notice the exquisite sheen to the buttons or the rich texture of the fabric. Collin frowned. Damnation. He was wearing de Sonnac’s shirt. Was de Sonnac…was his former lover wearing his? The thought made something unfurl inside of Collin. It was at once a sweet and bitter sensation. Had de Sonnac slipped into it by 94
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design, his own way of keeping Collin close? Had it been an accident, something he now regretted? The first seemed more like a schoolboy’s fancy than truth, but Collin liked it. At the same time, he was afraid of it. If de Sonnac had intended it, did he regret it now? Collin hoped he did not and… If he had, he probably did regret it. Collin hoped he never found out. Barnes released an annoyed sounding breath. “All these years, I’ve tried to look the other way. After the recent scandals, I’m disgusted you would dare such a risk.” All these years? Barnes was disgusted? “To hell with this,” Collin whispered. He couldn’t afford to think about the shirt or de Sonnac or even Barnes and his wretched scandal. At brief points in his life, the people he’d met had cared for him. Collin would study himself and those moments and see if he could become…better. A more worthy friend. Lover. Someone who wouldn’t break a former friend’s arm just for costing him time. Collin headed up the steps. Footfalls followed him. “We aren’t finished, Foster.” Yes, they were. “I lied for you,” Barnes said. Yes, it sounded like he was lying when he approached his editor and publisher. “I pretended—” “Pretended what?” Collin turned and glowered at Barnes. “That I didn’t practically live in the office, chained to my desk? That I was rarely seen at the theater or pubs, and even then it was when 95
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pursuing a story?” “I lied every time you slipped away from our amusements.” “I also avoided syphilis and ruining anyone’s reputation.” “At the cost of your own.” Bugger his— Oh wait, he had. Collin took the last few steps two at a time and headed down the hall. “You’ve been slipping away since Oxford,” Barnes said. “We noticed, Foster. The others think you were raised strictly and didn’t dare rebel. I’ve agreed, but this time—” “I find it odd that you’ve paid so much attention to me all these years.” Collin headed into his room. His room was chill, the small fireplace dark. Despite everything, for a moment Collin was tempted to light a fire. He was tired, his skin cold. He missed de Sonnac— Damnation. “I’ve been worried about you,” Barnes said. Despite how close Barnes had been on the stairs, he now sounded distant. A glance back showed him standing in the doorway. Collin laughed. Now he chose to be proper. Not when he decided to ruin Collin before his editor or publisher. Not when he stole into his home. Now. A pity Collin kept his bedroom fairly neat and dull. This would have been a perfect time for Barnes to have seen something scandalous. Artistically arranged photos of scantily clad men or a tie that did not go with any of Collin’s suits. Then again, Collin was wearing a stranger’s shirt. Perhaps that was enough. 96
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“I fail to see what is so amusing,” Barnes said. No surprise. Many people would. Collin grabbed a small case from beside his dresser. He would pack one change of clothing and then he would be out of there. Away from Barnes and his betraying friendship. Away from de Sonnac and his revenge. Barnes stepped up to him and snatched his case away. “Damn it, Foster, if you run, people will talk.” Collin scowled at him. “My understanding is that they already are.” “They’re willing to work with you if you’re willing to try harder to conform.” Oh. If he tried to conform. Meaning if he would shut up and write titillating stories about the scandal. Meaning if he found other delicious stories to report on. Collin tore the case away from Barnes. “You callous bas—” The heat of Barnes’s body flowed against Collin. The feel of it stabbed Collin, waking something inside of him. It clawed up from his stomach and out to his fingers, his mouth. Barnes’s skin was flushed. Warmth radiated from his body. It was strongest near his neck, his wrists. And over his member. Collin frowned. Why would Barnes have any heat there? Collin could understand sensing where Barnes’s blood was flowing but… Oh. Collin forced his attention up. Barnes wasn’t just angry. He was…not concerned, though there was perhaps a shade of that as well. Mostly, Barnes was afraid for him. Judging by that heat, they shared an interest in their own gender. One they could never speak of. One that Barnes hid from. 97
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One that Barnes focused on him. Barnes jerked back. “You filthy sodomite. Don’t stare at me like that.” The words stabbed Collin. Barnes was like him. How could he say something so foul? Then, the surprise faded and Collin felt tired. Barnes said that because he didn’t care for his desire. Collin couldn’t help him find peace with it. All Collin could do was use it to push him back. Barnes wrapped his arms around himself. The heat bled across his face and thickened below his waist. Collin wondered what his blood would taste like. He looked away. He had not just thought… He had. Someone help him, he had. Collin had to get out of there. Or force Barnes to run. Barnes made a sharp, disgusted sound. “If you can’t keep your attentions to yourself—” “My apologies.” Collin turned toward Barnes. And smiled. “I must admit,” Collin said, “I’m surprised at your response to me. All this time, I’d thought you were focused on your career and intended to court a young lady when you were settled. Now, though…” “Now, what?” “With all of your attention on me, I have to wonder if you were perhaps not interested in a lady.” Barnes’s eyes widened. “I never fled a club.” “No. You simply watched me instead. When you dallied afterward, did you think of me or—” “Shut up.” “I occasionally forgot my coat. You always brought it back to 98
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me the next day. Did you have the lady wear it during your tryst or did you—” “Shut. Up.” “Choose a brown haired woman.” Heat fled Barnes’s face. The sensation was echoed throughout his body, distributing the flow of blood more evenly through his neck, his wrists, legs. His breath was uneven. Was his heartbeat the same? Would it quicken if Collin— “Ah.” Collin tsked. He had to hurry. “Did she have my eyes as well? My smile? My nose?” “Shut up. Shut up. Shut—” “You once said I looked like a broken angel. I never told you, but your words did flatter—” Barnes shoved him. Collin stumbled back. The dizziness he’d fought before returned. His legs felt unbalanced, the ground skewed. Damnation! Barnes was supposed to flee not strike him. Collin grabbed at a small table, catching the edge of a book and sending a couple pieces of bric-a-brac tumbling to the ground. He took a deep breath, and then another. His grasp and balance felt precarious, but if he could pull himself up— The table tipped, sending Collin falling. Cold bit into his left temple. A chaos of pain and surprise swept through him, shoving the dizziness back. Gasping, Collin found himself on the floor, curling up against the stones before the fireplace. It hurt. God, it hurt. He reached up, touching wet warmth, torn flesh. Pain spasmed around his fingertips, spiking into his head. Collin’s fingers stilled. Oh no. 99
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CHAPTER 6 “God,” Barnes whispered. “I’m so sorry. I’m—” “Bandages.” Collin pressed against the wound. Warmth bled around his hand. It smelled sweet, making his stomach ache. “Get me bandages.” Footfalls stumbled away. Collin waited, listening to them hurry down the stairs. A better place for the man to look would have been the bathroom, but at this moment Collin was thankful for the distance. This was an accident. Barnes had never meant… God, he was hungry. Collin frowned. He wasn’t used to the sensation. A benefit of an upper middle class upbringing, he’d always had plenty to eat. This raw need frightened him. It… 100
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Is this what Lambert had felt? The thought stilled Collin. Whenever de Sonnac spoke of the man’s hungers, Collin had thought he’d been referring to the blackguard’s interest in children. If the monster had felt this ache inside him, was he really a monster? Collin didn’t know if he could resist it. He… He felt a desire for blood. Not children’s blood. Not even Barnes’s in particular, though he was there and that made him intriguing. Collin didn’t know what it meant, if it even meant anything. The thought, the hope, moved him, though. He sank his teeth into his lip to keep from yelling and pushed himself up. Dizziness swept over him, making him slump against the wall beside the fireplace. He stood there, pressing a hand to his head. De Sonnac had said something about him being able to heal quickly. Perhaps by the time Collin left London, the wound would— The skin beneath his hand twitched. As each tremor swept out, the bleeding slowed. Stopped. Collin eased his hand away from the wound. The pain was gone. He felt his brows rising. When de Sonnac said it’d be quick, he hadn’t been exaggerating. Collin knew he shouldn’t be surprised; de Sonnac did not joke, and yet he was. He’d healed so quickly— Hunger unfurled inside of him. It woke his senses. The air in the room was deliciously cool against his skin. There was a whisper of movement downstairs, as Barnes searched for bandages. His heart was likely beating quickly. His blood— 101
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Collin forced his thoughts away from Barnes. Someone help him. It would be so easy, so good, to take that man. The blackguard had betrayed him. He… Barnes was afraid. Like the sons of the nobility who’d been discovered at the club. Like the men they’d abandoned. Like him. Collin had to leave before the man returned. He began moving to the door, stopping when he noticed a dollop of red on his shirt. He looked down. And frowned. He’d been presentable when he arrived. Now, his jacket and shirt were a bloody horror. He would never be able to travel like that. Damnation! Collin glanced at the door. Barnes would probably be lost downstairs for a few more moments, trying to find something that could be used as bandages. Collin had precious little time, but he would have to spend some of it changing. He drew off the ruined items, then caught a glimpse of his reflection in a nearby glass. His skin was smooth, with the luminescence of moonlight. The flesh over his forehead was streaked with blood, but beneath it, it was whole. Untouched. Collin glanced at the door again. If Barnes returned now and saw him— He wasn’t back yet. Collin hurried to his dresser. He wiped the blood off his face with his ruined shirt and then dressed quickly; shirt, waistcoat, suit jacket, and trousers. The vest and jacket were black; they had to be black, or at least match, else he’d get attention. Collin finished slipping buttons through holes. Damnation, he was losing time. If he didn’t look presentable, though, he would stand out. 102
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Next, he transferred his funds, chain, and photograph to the new coat. He hoped— Collin smelled Barnes’s cologne behind him. He turned. Barnes stood two feet away, staring at Collin. His own shirt was torn, and in one hand were two long strips of white cloth. In the other was the poker. Guilt stabbed Collin. Barnes had torn his own— The guilt was chased away a moment later when Barnes raised the poker and brought it down. Collin darted to one side. He felt the poker dart past his face, creating a sharp cut through the air. “Barnes—” “I saw you bleed! I saw—” “The wound wasn’t that bad.” “Not that—” Barnes laughed. “Do you think me a fool?” At that moment? A little. “I’ve pieced it together,” Barnes said. “Your pallor. The way your eyes shine in the light. You’re one of the damned!” “You’re a bloody atheist! Don’t be absurd.” Barnes raised the poker. “When I left, you were bleeding. I saw it. I saw the trail of blood and the clothes. You…that man did something to you, didn’t he?” “Barnes, you’ve lost your bloody mind.” “No.” Barnes held the poker close. “You’ve changed. I thought you seemed different when I saw you, but I thought it was only because you were a deviant. I never thought…” Barnes stared at him. Collin frowned. Madness. Barnes couldn’t know. “There was no one, Barnes. I spent the night—” 103
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“Your bloody eyes are glowing!” Oh. Damn. Barnes wavered. Back, forth, back. And then forward. A wave of heat surged against Collin. Barnes’s skin was so close. Beneath the skin of his wrists, blue veins promised crimson liquor. Collin drew back. He wasn’t Lambert. He wasn’t Lambert. He… The ache inside him sharpened. “Something terrible did happen to you last night, didn’t it?” Barnes said. “I imagined some terrible things, but this is beyond my worst fantasies.” Barnes’s words caught Collin. “You imagined it?” Heat crept across Barnes’s face. “Damn you, Barnes.” Collin drew back. If Barnes kept coming near him, Collin would take him. “For a man who’s afraid of his own desires, you certainly aren’t afraid to cast me in your fantasies.” “I never—this isn’t about me. Whatever he did damned you, trapping your soul in that tainted body. I have to destroy it to free your spirit.” “Barnes—” Barnes lunged at him. Damnation. Collin stepped to one side, letting Barnes past. Barnes made a startled, annoyed sound as his strike swept past Collin. When the man turned, Collin snatched his wrist. Collin yanked him forward, driving the poker into the wall. 104
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It embedded into the surface, tearing the pale blue paper. “Enough,” Collin said, pulling Barnes’s hand away from the trapped weapon. “You will stop—” Barnes hissed. The sound was sharp. Pained. Collin looked down. Barnes’s wrist hung limply in his grasp. His fingers twitched, making the veins darken. Heat pulsed in Barnes’s body. It flowed to the wound, making it hotter still. Saliva gathered in Collin’s mouth. A moment later, he felt his canines grow, gently pressing against the inside of his bottom lip. Collin gentled his hold, not enough for Barnes to escape, but enough for Collin to access the veins. De Sonnac’s blood had been so sweet. What would Barnes’s be like? “God,” Barnes whispered. “God.” “Sshhh,” Collin whispered. The sound was soft, a lullaby one told a frightened child. It… Frightened child. How often had Lambert made that sound? Collin stared at the trembling limb. The thought didn’t simply cut him, it insinuated itself into the wound and burrowed into his flesh. Lambert had felt this hunger. He’d reveled in it. All those bones— He released Barnes and stepped back. “Get out of here,” Collin said. Barnes stumbled back, hit the wall, and then slumped to the ground. “You’re damned,” Barnes whispered. “You’re…I don’t know what, but you’re not human.” Something snarled. The sound was angry and hungry and after a moment, Collin realized it was he who’d made it. 105
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It silenced Barnes, though, making him curl into himself. Collin glowered at him. He hadn’t meant to hurt Barnes. He’d wanted to stop and— Hunger coiled inside of him. Collin forced himself back. His body trembled. It didn’t want to retreat. It wanted to grab Barnes’s wrist and sink his teeth into him and… It would kill him. Would that be so terrible? The thought was vile. And sweet. It snaked through him, sharpening his hunger. Barnes had tried to kill him. He’d forced Collin to go to places he’d had to escape from. He’d betrayed his secrets to others. He’d also torn his shirt so that Collin would have rags for his wound. He’d paid for the trip to the brothel. Listened to him talk about the child murders, the recent scandal, and hundreds of everyday worries, every day since they met at Oxford. Barnes was a blackguard. He’d also been a friend. Barnes’s eyes widened. “God, your eyes. Your eyes!” Collin felt his eyebrows rise. Were his eyes glowing softly, as de Sonnac’s had done? How charming. Footsteps stumbled nearby. They moved quickly, tugging at Collin’s mind. They— They weren’t footsteps. It was Barnes’s heartbeat. The erratic sound tumbled through Collin, creating a somber beat. Barnes crawled backwards, the movement uneven, and when he used his wounded hand he made a soft, pained sound. Collin followed him, watching his friend scramble past his dresser, his unpacked case. The sweet music tugged at Collin, 106
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inviting him close. He would take just a sip. He didn’t want to hurt Barnes. Barnes was…something. Not a fool, for that was too easy to say, but human. Afraid. Uncertain. So like him. Like de Sonnac. Perhaps even like Lambert. Had Lambert…had Lambert ever tried to fight his hunger? The desire to feed was strong. Collin would understand if he’d tried and been unable to resist, and… It’d been children. Barnes was his friend. If Lambert had tried, he hadn’t been strong enough. Was Collin? Yes. Maybe. He wanted to be. “God,” Barnes said. His heartbeat quickened, drawing Collin close. “God, God, God!” His fear made his heartbeat sharpen. Tap-tap, tap-tap, tap-tap, each beat tugging at Collin, enticing him, demanding him. Collin stepped up to Barnes. And struck him. Barnes’s head reeled with the blow. His eyes widened, and then he slumped, unconscious. His heartbeat continued its frenzied beat for a moment. Then, it slowed, becoming a trot. A hurried pace. A gentle walk. Collin knelt beside Barnes, listening to the sweet sound. He shouldn’t be near him, it was dangerous, but Barnes’s wound looked terrible, and Collin didn’t know where his concern ended and a dreadful fascination for the wound began. Damn it all to hell. If he was serious about his concern, then he should act. Collin snatched the strips of cloth Barnes had been holding 107
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and, with trembling fingers, bound Barnes’s wrist. He needed to leave, but once he was at Paddington, he would send someone back for Barnes. The man would need two doctors; one to set his hand and another to listen to him babble. When he was done, Collin set Barnes’s wrist down and rose. He moved back. Hunger swept through him, making him still. Collin trembled. His hunger felt like a living thing. It stretched inside of him, sending prickles of pain into his stomach. It slipped into his mouth, his fingers, and made his nails grow. De Sonnac’s blood had tasted so sweet. What would Barnes— No. Collin forced himself back a step, then another. Each movement reverberated inside him. He was hollow. He needed something warm, something alive. No. He wasn’t hollow. He had his mind. His caution. He would fight. He— An arm circled him, wrapping around his stomach. Snarling, Collin grabbed at it. Whoever this was, it wasn’t Barnes. He could feed from a stranger. He would take just a sip— He was hungry. He didn’t know if he would be able to stop. Collin sank his nails into the arm. A tremor shook him. “You need. To strike me. Unconscious.” “Tempting,” de Sonnac said. Collin stilled. It was de Sonnac. Damn it all, it was de Sonnac. He’d found Collin and now he was holding him and would probably kill him, but someone help him, he felt so good. His hunger uncoiled. The world faded around him, leaving only the warm shape behind him and the one before him. The one 108
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behind him was dear, but the other one was wounded and still. It would be so easy to take him. It. So easy— It was wasn’t an it. He was Barnes. Barnes. “Who is he?” de Sonnac asked. “Friend.” Of a sort. “Shield brother.” De Sonnac’s arm swept up, bringing his wrist to Collin’s mouth. What? Why? Even as he thought it, Collin grabbed the hand and sank his teeth into the wrist. There was a brief hesitance in the flesh and then sanguine liquor erupted into his mouth. Collin drank deeply. A part of him still wondered at de Sonnac’s gift, but the rest of him gloried in this warmth. This intimacy. The taste was as sweet as he remembered. Rich and heady, with an exquisite edge that teased his senses. Heat swept through Collin. It began in his throat, wound its way into his stomach, and then out through his chest, his legs, arms, and head. The sensation swept the hunger back, leaving Collin slumped against de Sonnac. Collin felt the hand twitch. It was small, just a ripple of fingers, but he understood. Just a taste, enough for him to regain control. Collin withdrew his teeth. De Sonnac shifted behind him, and then his breath brushed over Collin’s ear. “Lave the wound,” de Sonnac said. His voice had a trace of the anger Collin remembered, but there was something else there. A thoughtfulness, an…understanding. Collin ran his tongue over the wound. He could be reading 109
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things into de Sonnac’s tone. He didn’t want to die, and right now a part of him might exaggerate anything that might give him a hint of hope. That part of him was small, though, and used to being governed by his cynicism. Things did not always work out for the best. The world didn’t change, and when it did, it happened so slowly it was of no used to anyone. It could also be magical. People could be kind. Vampires could choose not to kill. Collin felt the flesh tremble beneath his lips and then stitch itself shut. He licked the remaining traces of blood off de Sonnac’s wrist. That had been an odd sensation. A little ticklish. “Thank you,” Collin said, releasing de Sonnac’s hand. It moved out of Collin’s sight slowly, dropping low and then disappearing behind de Sonnac. The remaining arm around Collin retreated. Collin turned. Beneath his jacket and waistcoat, de Sonnac was wearing Collin’s shirt. Collin forced himself to look up and meet de Sonnac’s eyes. It was just cloth, it didn’t mean… It was a half truth. Before de Sonnac discovered who Collin was, it had meant something. Now, it was just a shirt. De Sonnac could dispose of it as easily as he could dispose of him. He and de Sonnac looked at one another. Some of de Sonnac’s color had returned, a subtle hint that he’d fed before arriving at Collin’s townhouse. Collin felt unease to be near him, but he was glad de Sonnac 110
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was there, and that he had fed. Collin might not survive this encounter, but Barnes would. “We need to talk,” de Sonnac said. Talk? It wasn’t what Collin had imagined—feared—de Sonnac would say. He was worried. And glad. “All right,” Collin said. “We should do it elsewhere. He—” He tipped his head toward Barnes. “—might wake soon.” “And likely start screaming and exciting your instincts again.” “I resisted it.” “Yes. You’re strong. You’re also hungry and can be enticed. You can’t afford that. Once you feed on your first mortal, you will always be drawn to feed from the same kind of person.” If he chose Barnes, then what, he’d forever want to feed on hypocrites? Betrayers? Friends? Collin headed for the door. He didn’t want— Hunger uncurled inside of him. “Damnation,” Collin whispered, stumbling. Warm hands slipped around him, nudging him toward the hall. “You’ve over-exerted yourself,” de Sonnac said. “You’ll probably kill whoever you feed from.” Then he would need to find someone he would normally not mind hearing had died. Someone the world wouldn’t miss, like a fiend that preferred children or a wretch who forced himself on women. “A monster,” Collin whispered. “I want a monster.” De Sonnac chuckled. “They don’t like the cities. Too loud, too crowded.” 111
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Collin blinked. Was he serious? Were there really monsters? Damn it, he could find out later. “No,” Collin said. “Not a monster, monster. I want a human one.”
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CHAPTER 7 Collin sat in the back of the café, tracing a finger over his sister’s photograph. This corner was a tomb of shadows, allowing only a blade of light near his table. The ethereal warmth felt delicious on his hands. The sight of it stung his eyes, though, so Collin squinted, fighting to look through it to his sister’s serene face. If he’d still had those spectacles, Collin thought the world would have been a more pleasant, blue place. Perhaps later, after he and de Sonnac had finally talked about something that wasn’t about feeding, they could go back to de Sonnac’s hotel and Collin would see if he could acquire another pair of glasses. The world was glorious to his vampire eyes, but it was also bright. Nearby, a door jingled open. Collin looked up and saw 113
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Harrison come in. Sunlight surrounded Harrison, glinting off his blond hair and making him difficult to focus on. Then, the door closed, and shadows devoured him. Collin closed the photo case. He slipped it back into his suit pocket and rose. Harrison scanned the room, saw him, and made a smile-grimace. Hmm. Collin wondered if his old friend had had a chance to talk to Barnes. Harrison headed toward him. It had been fifteen hours since Collin had seen Harrison. Fifteen hours during which Collin had fed and watched the life leave a murderer’s eyes. Fifteen hours where he’d moved back and forth between his townhouse and the sanatorium, listening to Barnes rail that he was a monster. Fifteen hours where he occasionally looked up and found de Sonnac at the edge of his sight, waiting. Vampires, de Sonnac told Collin, lived in the shadows of humanity, and one of the reasons they could was because vampires tied off their loose ends. Collin had understood and begun making knots. When Harrison reached his table, Collin squeezed his arm. “I ordered a coffee for you. How are you?” “Good. Good. Thank you.” Harrison reached up and squeezed Collin’s arm in kind. “I’ve been talking to Barnes’s sister. I don’t know if you remember her—she was a child when we were in school—but she’s older now and—” He shrugged. “I’ve offered to escort her to visit him in the hospital.” “I’m glad you’ve been able to offer her some company,” Collin said. He meant that. He remembered Barnes’s sister, Anna, as a 114
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shy thing. Collin found it sweet that Harrison now seemed shy about her. “Has there been any word on Barnes?” “Oh yes.” Harrison slumped onto a chair. “He’s under the belief that you’re a vampire and…different.” Collin was surprised. Not that Barnes had said that—when Collin last saw him, the man had begun describing an alarmingly accurate story about what had happened to Collin, albeit with more intimate encounters—but that Harrison could only say different. Collin remembered all too well that the night before Harrison had said that he loved a good scandal. “He keeps bringing up the clothes you wore yesterday,” Harrison said. “He says that if they were found, they’d prove that you’d been wounded.” “They’d also prove that I’d fallen and just gotten a little blood on them.” Thankfully, they’d never be found. At the time, Collin had been so hungry he’d forgotten about them. After he’d fed, he and de Sonnac had returned to the townhouse. While Collin summoned help for Barnes, de Sonnac burned the garments. When he discovered the ashes, Collin had been thankful de Sonnac had acted so quickly. He… He wondered if de Sonnac had covered any of Lambert’s indiscretions before. “Foster.” Harrison’s voice softened to a whisper. “About the things Barnes says.” “About me being a vampire?” Unease threaded through Collin. Did Harrison believe Barnes? Not about him being a vampire. Harrison was a doctor and didn’t believe in things he couldn’t see, but the other accusation… No. Barnes had watched Collin and learned his secrets because 115
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he shared them. Harrison had never watched him like that. “No,” Harrison said. He stared at the coffee Collin had bought him. “I worry…I think he’s…” “Mad?” “No.” “Transferring his own fearful desires onto me?” “No. Well, perhaps. It’s just that…” Harrison leaned toward him. “Your distaste for revelries is well known,” he whispered. “As is my fear of catching…” Collin was about to say syphilis, but the word stumbled and became caught in his throat. Harrison suspected him. “Syphilis?” Harrison asked. “Yes, I often wish more men had that concern. You…you would likely be more comfortable in the country. Less chance of acquiring syphilis. You could hire a secretary to watch the house when you returned to the city for the paper.” “A secretary?” “Male, of course. Propriety and all that.” Harrison raised his coffee to his mouth and hid beneath the mug. Collin stared at him. He had to have misheard Harrison. The man was not suggesting that Collin retire to the countryside and live with a male lover. “I spoke with your publisher,” Harrison said. Now Collin was certain he’d misheard him. “Pardon?” Collin asked. “I spoke with your publisher before I came here.” Harrison slipped both of his hands around his cup. “No one there believes Barnes’s accusations about you. You are quite infamous for your caution. And the thought of you being a vampire, well, that’s too foolish to even consider.” 116
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Yes. Quite foolish. “My point is,” Harrison said, “if you were worried about not being able to go back, you can.” Collin’s lips twitched. Return. To the life he’d had before. “It was kind of you to talk to him,” Collin said. “I’m sensing a conjunction.” “I can’t go back.” “You have ink in your veins.” He also had blood. That answer would likely sound sardonic, so Collin picked up his cup and spent a moment sipping the cream and coffee concoction. During the fifteen hours he’d spent racing around London, he’d spared not a minute for his old paper. After seeing Barnes to the asylum, Collin had hired a barrister for the messenger boys, visited his sister’s grave, and then written and torn up a message to Matheson. In theory, ends were meant to be tied. In reality, Collin thought the frays would follow him wherever he went. Collin gently set his cup down. “I need to change.” Harrison looked thoughtful. “People in the countryside could use a newspaper.” “What is your fascination with the countryside?” “I have an uncle who lives out near Avebury. He made a small fortune working with hydraulics and then moved out to the countryside to paint. He loses himself in his work, so he hired a secretary to aid him.” Oh. Well… “It’s something to keep in mind,” Collin said. He had no interest in a secretary, but his life in London had grown mad. Life 117
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did indeed change. Collin wanted to do so as well. Perhaps it would be easier to do that somewhere else. Harrison smiled. “Perhaps being out of the city would allow you to get some light. Your pallor is dreadful.” “Vampire dreadful?” “Reporter dreadful. At least Lord Ruthven traveled and got some sun.” They talked for a few minutes. Nothing scandalous. Harrison talked about Anna. Collin listened and learned she was a Blue Stocking. Harrison found that charming. Collin found it charming that Harrison thought she’d put aside such things once she was married. Afterward they parted. Harrison headed back to his office and Collin to the coach that waited around the corner, scowling against the afternoon light. His steps made soft tapping sounds against the ground. At another time, Collin wouldn’t have paid much attention to them. Here, with each step echoing in the ache behind his eyes, he cringed. His work tended to keep him out at night so he was no stranger to finding bright light unpleasant, but damnation, this was bright. A moment later, he slipped inside the coach and sat. Cool shadows surrounded him, teasing the ache away. As his eyes adjusted, Collin found de Sonnac sitting across from him, reading his paper. Former paper. He no longer worked there. It would likely take him a little time to be able to think of it that way. It wouldn’t be happening in this moment, so Collin decided to focus instead on de Sonnac. If Collin had never met him, if he’d still been mortal, he was 118
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certain de Sonnac would have slipped up silently behind him and killed him without any trouble. It was nothing against him; de Sonnac had had centuries to build his skills. It was awe-inspiring. Collin frowned. He didn’t want to be awed. He was, though. He was enchanted by the man’s prowess, his ability to use the shadows to his advantage. He was impressed with how gracefully he moved, by the subtle strength in his wiry body. He was charmed by his wit. His loyalty. His kindness. His fine face. All of the things Collin liked about de Sonnac were also traits that unnerved him. De Sonnac was graceful but he was also deadly. His wit helped him hunt. His handsomeness would draw victims close. And that loyalty, that sweet and honorable loyalty, had been the reason de Sonnac had come to London. De Sonnac folded the paper and slipped it into the case at his feet. “How is your friend?” de Sonnac asked. “Harrison? Well. He thinks I should retire to the countryside.” Collin tried to imagine de Sonnac as his secretary. His imagination was powerful, but here it baulked. “And the other one?” de Sonnac asked. “Mad. He’s telling everyone I’m a vampire.” “Ah. I once knew a priest who wanted everyone to know the same of me.” De Sonnac set his hands on either side of him on the bench. “After a few weeks, he met with an accident.” “I imagine people would have believed that priest,” Collin said. “No one’s going to listen to Barnes.” “If he ever gets loose—” “His family would lock him up in their house.” After his 119
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performance in the Crimean War, Barnes’s father had been knighted. The older man was very conscious of the family name and would not want to let Barnes tarnish it. De Sonnac looked thoughtful. When he said nothing else, Collin slipped his hands into his coat and burrowed into its warmth. It was an older thing than he normally wore and had a hole in the left pocket, but since de Sonnac had mentioned tearing his other one to pieces somewhere near the Tower, Collin was content with this one. De Sonnac reached into his suit coat. “After we…parted this morning, I discovered that you dropped something behind you.” After they parted? Which time? Collin thought they’d parted three times; once at the hotel, then in the alley, and finally at his townhouse. Collin had dealt with the authorities and de Sonnac hovered, torn between killing him and simply watching him. Watching de Sonnac search his pocket, Collin wondered if de Sonnac had made a decision. De Sonnac’s hand emerged a moment later. His fingers unfurled, revealing a pair of blue-tinted glasses. “The devil—thank you.” Collin accepted the glasses and slipped them on. The world immediately developed a cooling blue edge. Collin sighed and relaxed back. The spectacles were a small luxury, but he was glad he had them. And, seeing that de Sonnac didn’t bother with them, Collin wondered if many vampires used them. “I’d intended to acquire a pair for you after I ran my errands,” de Sonnac said. Meaning after de Sonnac had killed him. Collin’s curiosity about the spectacles faded. 120
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“Except for the part where I would have been dead, I would have appreciated your thoughtfulness,” Collin said. De Sonnac’s lips twitched. “I must admit, I was impressed when you outran me.” “I would have thought you’d be annoyed,” Collin said. “I was that, as well.” A ghost of a smile touched de Sonnac’s face. “You surprised me. No one has ever outrun me before. You’re strong. You’re going to make a beautiful vampire.” Going to? So he wasn’t planning on killing— “You’ll never replace Lambert, though.” Considering the things Lambert had done, Collin wanted to argue that that might not be a bad thing. Those words, while wickedly pleasant to say, wouldn’t help either of them. When Collin thought of Lambert, he thought of a murderer. To de Sonnac, he was a complex creature. Friend. Monster. Benefactor. Bone collector. Shield brother. Child murderer. De Sonnac… The man was in mourning. “I’m sorry you lost your friend,” Collin said. De Sonnac looked across at him. “I would have thought you’d be happy he was gone.” Collin was. It didn’t stop him from feeling for de Sonnac, though. If their places had been reversed—when their places were reversed and Barnes had become something terrible, Collin hadn’t enjoyed it. He hadn’t lied to himself about it, but in all honesty, Barnes had not allowed him to. Lambert had not given de Sonnac that chance. There were things about Lambert that, if de Sonnac knew, would likely make him unable to ever say that his old friend had 121
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been trying to fight his hunger. The skins Lambert had carefully peeled off the children’s bodies. Lambert’s own collection of newspapers detailing his crimes. A man who was fighting himself did not take souvenirs. All of those things had been in his reports, though. The only thing de Sonnac hadn’t known of had been the bones, and if de Sonnac hadn’t believed the stories… No. He hadn’t wanted to believe the reports. He believed Collin, though. Collin wondered if a part of de Sonnac hated him for that. “Do you…regret…” Collin couldn’t finish the sentence. The realization made something inside him twist. He might have tried to hide what he was from others, but he’d always been honest with himself. Here, now, he was afraid to be. Collin told himself it was because this dealt with more than simply his own nature. Despite everything that had happened, he was drawn to de Sonnac. It was madness, de Sonnac had come to kill him, but he’d also woken something wickedly delicious inside Collin. He would never forget that. “Collin?” “Do you regret fledging me?” De Sonnac looked thoughtful. The odd, twisting feeling inside Collin sharpened. It was rarely a good thing when people had to think about something like that. “No,” de Sonnac said. “Fledging you has been one of my greatest moments.” It was? “I must admit,” de Sonnac said, “I am…” “Angry?” “Torn. Anger would allow me to avenge Lambert’s memory. 122
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Your recollection of the bones humbles me.” The coach turned, making them sway towards the left side. Collin brought his hands out of his pockets and steadied himself. They were at a crossroads. Collin did not regret Lambert’s death but he could feel for de Sonnac’s loss. De Sonnac did not regret fledging him but he still mourned his friend. What now? The now part caught Collin’s attention. He couldn’t ask de Sonnac to hurry through his mourning, any more than de Sonnac could ask him to care for Lambert. They were attracted to one another. Perhaps they needed to be patient with one another as well. Collin didn’t like the thought. He had waited his whole life for someone like de Sonnac. Someone to challenge him, draw him out of his world and make him believe that things could get better. To walk away from him… Might also mean walking towards him. “I don’t want to hurt you,” de Sonnac said. “I want to go back to how we were before. It may take me time but…I want to try.” “As do I. Perhaps…we should speak to one another through letters for a bit.” “Letters?” Collin offered him a gentle smile. “Paper doesn’t strangle.” De Sonnac’s lips twitched. “You are a warrior of words. I fear your letters would cut.” “They don’t always.” “No. Sometimes they hide things. Like the number of bones.” Collin looked away. If he’d shared that number with the world, would it have changed things? Or would people have thought he was exaggerating? He was afraid— Cloth whispered against wood. Collin turned…and found de 123
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Sonnac sitting beside him. “How long?” de Sonnac asked. “I don’t know.” How long did it take for someone to mourn? Not simply the person’s passing, but what they had meant to them? Collin still mourned his sister, and she’d been dead for fifteen years. “Perhaps…fifteen—” “Weeks? Agreed.” “Um. I was thinking—” “We could meet then. Talk.” “This might not be the kind of thing one can put to a schedule,” Collin said. “I know.” De Sonnac reclined against the seat. “It isn’t simply me. If I’m not near you, other vampires will think I’ve abandoned you. Lambert had other friends. If I do not claim you, they might decide to avenge him.” Lambert had had more than one friend? Bloody hell. Collin felt fortunate to even have Harrison. “You don’t have to worry about them approaching you directly,” de Sonnac said. “As Lambert’s oldest ally, I have the right to decide what may be done with you. Once they learn that I fledged you, it’ll send a message to them that you are not to be disposed of. A few might be angry, but they will accept it.” “All right,” Collin said, frowning. This reminded him of being a child. He hadn’t liked being an extension of his father then; he didn’t like it now. Now, though, people were interesting in killing him. Warm fingers slid between Collin’s. “Do you intend to stay in London for the next fifteen weeks?” de Sonnac asked. “Yes. No.” The whisper of de Sonnac’s skin against his teased 124
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Collin. He wanted to talk. Then. Tomorrow. Fifteen weeks from now. “I’m thinking of moving out to the countryside,” Collin said. “You won’t find as many people to feed on there.” Damnation. “You could have better luck moving to the outskirts of London,” de Sonnac said. “It might offer the best of both worlds.” “Perhaps.” Collin’s lips twitched. When he’d moved into his townhouse, one of the first things he’d done was look for places to eat. He found it ironic that he would be doing that again. Ah well. At least this time his friends wouldn’t be wanting to join him in his hunt. Not that they wouldn’t ask. Harrison would likely be courting Barnes’s sister, Barnes wouldn’t be allowed out of the hospital for a while, and Matheson… “De Sonnac. Eduard.” Collin met his eyes. It felt odd to use his given name. Damnable habit. One day he would move past this one. “Am I the only one you came to see?” “You were the only one whose death wouldn’t draw attention.” Yes, well, he was lovable, wasn’t he? “By that I mean that you—your stories—grab hold of people,” de Sonnac said. “If you died mysteriously, people wouldn’t know if it was because of this week’s scandal or last week’s, or perhaps something from two months before. They would not feel moved to investigate, thinking the motives clear. The others…I wasn’t angry at them. The detectives were simply doing their jobs. The alienist discovered what Lambert was and kept it quiet.” Matheson did what? “What makes you think that?” Collin asked. “About the alienist, I mean.” “It was how the alienist described him in your paper. He called 125
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Lambert a blood monster. Said he was drawn to the substance as if he fed on it. He was as subtle as a blade. My fellows and I were charmed and have decided to ignore him.” The devil. Collin laughed softly. When Matheson returned from abroad, they were having tea. The coach slowed, coming to a gentle stop. The sudden stillness smothered the last of Collin’s mirth. De Sonnac’s fingers whispered against his as they drew away. De Sonnac rose. “I’ll be staying here. I await your word.” “Word.” De Sonnac smiled. Then he leaned forward and brushed his lips over Collin’s. It was a shadow of what it had been the night before. Subtle. Haunting. His. Collin grabbed de Sonnac’s cravat and drew him close. The dark silk made a soft shhh sound against Collin’s skin. The other man felt good against him. Right. There was a whisper of skin, as de Sonnac tried to inch back. The tie in Collin’s hands slowed his movements, allowing Collin to move his lips over the corner of de Sonnac’s mouth. His cheek. He would remember this moment, this man. He would remember and hope. Collin eased his hold on the cravat. De Sonnac crept back, stopping when the end of his cravat was in Collin’s hand. He smiled. “Fifteen weeks?” “Yes.” Collin released him. “Bring the cravat.”
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LUISA P RIETO
Luisa Prieto graduated from the Odyssey Writing Workshop in 2002. Since then, she and her laptop have haunted many Starbucks. For more information on Luisa, please visit her website at: www.luisaprieto.com
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