Page 57 of Bite at First Sight

Many others nodded in agreement, declaring that they saw her as well.

Just on cue, William raised his voice over the clamor. “What was she doing with that book, my lord?”

“She was writing down the secrets of our kind, almost certainly with the intent of sharing the information with her fellow mortals. I have already reported this to the Elders…” Clayton was gratified to hear pleased gasps and murmurs at this bit of news. “In the meantime, Villar must be stopped, and Lady Rosslyn must be destroyed”—he paused dramatically before adding—“as the Elders themselves already commanded. Our very safety depends on it!”

The vampires roared and bared their fangs in enthusiastic agreement. Elizabeth remained silent, all of her meddlesome arguments torn away. Clayton gave her a satisfied smile. He had shown her who was in the right.

Clayton paced in front of them, imagining himself a noble general rallying his troops. “On the fifth of November, Rafael Villar will surrender to us or fall to our fangs, swords, and might in battle.”

Cheers and applause shook the rafters until dust rained down upon the masses. When his audience quieted, he bowed with a flourish and made his exit as a star performer should.

Adrenaline still pumping from his rally, Clayton grinned in satisfaction as he made his way home. He would be a far better Lord Vampire than Villar. He knew how to hold a crowd under his sway.

“M’lord.” William’s footsteps and whining voice cut through Clayton’s euphoria.

“What?” he snarled.

The vampire emerged through the thick fog coming off the Thames, regarding him with hunched shoulders. “C-could you spare a bit more blunt? I need… I need…”

From the sight of his bloodshot eyes and trembling hands, Clayton knew exactly what William thought he needed. He ground his teeth in fury. The vampire’s petty opium addiction had made him more of a liability than an asset of late.

He sighed. “Come here.”

William approached with a wide-fanged grin, resembling a happy bulldog.

Clayton glanced around and sniffed the air for any sign of witnesses before snaking his hand around the back of William’s neck and slamming him face-first into a nearby brick wall.

“I told you to quit that vile drug,” he snarled.

Over and over he pounded the vampire’s face against the hard surface, a red haze of rage overlaying his vision thicker than brick dust. He pounded until William’s skull shattered in his hands, leaving behind a mess of flesh, bone shards, and gobbets of brain matter where a head should be. Still, William’s body twitched.

Reaching past his overcoat, Clayton withdrew a long knife from the sheath at his belt and plunged it into William’s back, twisting until he reached the heart. When at last the vampire went still, Clayton threw the corpse into the Thames. He prayed it would sink before sunrise.

Yet another inconvenience to blame on Villar. A proper lord should never allow drug-addled cretins to live.

After washing his hands in the stinking river, he shoved his hands in his pockets and continued home.

* * *

Lenore moaned in bliss as the sweet blood flowed in her mouth. She could feel her body being rejuvenated, coming back to life like a hawthorn after winter’s long chill. For the first time in weeks she was warm, cocooned in heavenly soft blankets.

“That is enough for now,” a deep and somehow ominous voice declared.

The source of her sustenance was gently but firmly withdrawn from her mouth. Lenore whimpered in protest. She was still so very hungry.

“Come now, open your eyes. You’ve been unconscious for four nights. I know you’re awake and I’m ready for some explanations,” the voice commanded.

Though Lenore shivered in reluctance, her eyelids fluttered open. A small cry caught in her throat at the sight of the Lord Vampire of Rochester poised above her, healing a wound on his wrist where her mouth had been. No wonder the blood had been so potent.

Her tongue ran across her fangs, tasting the dark spice of his power. A hot tremor flashed though her body, pulsing deeply in the sore place between her thighs. The sensation triggered memories of her recent violations. Lenore bit her lip to hold back a scream and turned her focus to her surroundings before her traumatic recollections could overtake her sanity.

She was lying in the softest bed imaginable in the largest, most ornate bedchamber she’d ever seen.

Rochester leaned forward, lacing his long fingers together as he regarded her with cold, black eyes. “Now that we are alone, Lenore, would you care to tell me how you came to be wandering in my territory, starved and beaten like a mongrel dog?”

“I-I…” she stammered, overwhelmed and intimidated by his powerful presence. He could never know the shameful details of what had transpired in Clayton’s cellar.

No one could.

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