The Vampire Dimitri

When she pulled back, her red lips glistened with blood and saliva and her eyes glowed like coals. He met her eyes defiantly, cold and filled with disgust, and when she saw his loathing, she drew back sharply. And then she slapped him again, on the other cheek this time.

“And you wonder why I wouldn’t sire you,” he managed to growl.

“That was your chance,” she said, stepping back and taking the evil, glittering rubies with her. “I was willing to give you an opportunity to see your error. Foolish, Dimitri.

You’ve learned nothing about women in the last hundred years.”

She walked away, and he was able to draw a relatively easy breath for a moment. Then she turned, contemplating him. Her eyes burned with loathing…and something else.

His skin prickled.

“Moldavi is in Paris?” he asked in an effort to distract her and to confirm his suspicions.

“Yes. He’s waiting for word from me that you’ve become cooperative.” She fondled one of the strands of rubies. There were perhaps a dozen of them, each the size of his thumbnail, set in a gold chain. She wore three necklaces like that, each of different length, and each finished off with a large pendant ruby. “I’ve learned so much from him. So much about how to get what I want.”

“You’re taking me to Paris,” Dimitri said, sniffing and again smelling the river. “To Moldavi.”

“Oh, no.” She shook her head, smiling. “No, you aren’t of interest to him. Not any longer anyway. Not since we agreed that you belonged to me, and that I would take care of you.”

She was close to him again, leaning forward, roped in gemstones. That hungry look was back in her eyes and as she caught his gaze, Lerina lifted one of the ropes of rubies from her neck.

Dimitri’s breathing shifted and he struggled to move…but they were too close, too many of them. Too powerful. He could do nothing as she wrapped the chain around one of his arms, binding it to the arm of the chair. Rolling pain undulated along his arm to his shoulder, battling with that of Lucifer’s Mark.

The room was turning red, his vision colored with struggle. She came closer and he was dimly aware of her busy fingers tugging at the ties of his shirt, warm and quick. He marshaled all his waning strength and gave a sudden heave. He managed to jolt her, but Lerina was quick and she whipped off a second necklace and bound his other arm. Her knee wedged onto the chair next to his thigh as he struggled against this new onslaught of pain. Sweat, warm and thick, trickled from his temple to mingle with the blood on his cheeks.

“You see, Moldavi is more interested in getting his sister back. And destroying Chas Woodmore for taking her,” Lerina continued. Her voice was almost singsong, but her eyes blazed hot and furious. She was very close now, nearly sitting on his lap. “Once you were out of the way, and otherwise occupied, he could obtain the prize he truly wanted.”

Dimitri was vaguely aware of his shirt opening, the cooler air brushing his hot skin. Her hands, once familiar, now spread over his shoulders like spidery fingers, pulling the shirt wide. She grasped the opening and yanked. The sound of the linen tearing was like thunder in his waterlogged ears.

“Prize?” he managed to gasp, despite the fact that he had a sudden horrible feeling he knew what. No, who. No.

Lerina smiled. Her fangs were fully extended. Her breath smelled like his blood. Her fingers curled up into the hair that clung to his damp neck, lifting it so she could blow on his hot skin.

“I’ve dreamed of this moment,” she said. Her voice penetrated the black and red clouds filling his vision and clogging his nostrils. “Since the first time you fed on me.”

“Prize?” he demanded with his last bit of breath.

“The girls, of course,” she whispered near his ear. “The sisters. The only way to get to Chas.”

Maia.

He gathered all of his strength and tugged, groaning deep in his throat with the effort. But the paralysis was complete.

She slammed her fangs into his shoulder. He gasped, his body shuddering even as it remained horribly immobile. The release of the pressure in his veins, the surge of blood flowing into her warm mouth had him trembling. His fingers couldn’t grasp the arm of the chair and he could no longer keep his eyes open.

The little tugs of pleasure as she sucked were lost in the vortex of pain. He didn’t have even the energy to pull at his bindings, to kick or twist away. Maia.

And so he closed his eyes and screamed inside his mind: Help me. Wayren, damn it, I’m ready.

13

IN WHICH OUR HEROINE PROVES HERSELF WORTHY OF THE APPELLATION

Maia stared at the ruby-studded hairpin all the way back to Blackmont Hall, trying to recall where she’d seen it.

The design was distinctive: elegant curlicues of metal twining along the pin, decorated with five small rubies. Of course, identifying the owner didn’t necessarily mean she, or—one couldn’t eliminate any possibilities at this time—he, was involved in Corvindale’s disappearance. But the fact that it was rubies, combined with Maia’s very acute sense that something wrong had happened in the back room at that shop, certainly led to the logical conclusion that if she found the owner, she’d find information about Corvindale.

The constable had listened to her concerns, and seemed willing to do something since a peer of the realm was missing. But at the same time, he’d looked at her sidewise as if to question why she was involved. And even, why an earl must need to answer to the likes of her in regards to his actions.

And on top of all of this, Maia realized she had no way to contact Chas to let him know what had happened. But Angelica would tell Dewhurst, and perhaps the other vampire, Mr. Cale, could be notified, and then they would start the search.

Maia shook her head. By that time, impossible as it seemed, Corvindale could be dead.

The thought was like a cold hand seizing her heart and she swallowed, looking at the hairpin with even more determination. She couldn’t do much herself but try to find the owner. That was one thing Dewhurst and Mr. Cale couldn’t assist with. But it was something that Maia could put her attention to. It obviously belonged to a woman, and there were two ways to go about identifying her.

Once back at Blackmont Hall, Maia sent Tren to notify Crewston and Mrs. Hunburgh about the apparent disappearance of the earl. Someone had to take charge, and Maia was so used to doing it that she didn’t consider letting anyone else do so—including Aunt Iliana.

Then she sent for Angelica and Mirabella, only to find out that Dewhurst had taken them for a drive in the park. So she set Tren after them to bring them back.

Next, she called for the ladies’ maid she and Angelica shared. Showing Betty the hairpin, she told her nothing other than that she wanted to return it to its owner, and that she was certain she’d met her at one of the recent events. Knowing how tightly knit the below-stairs community was, how servants gossiped from one house in the ton to another, and that of all people, the ladies’ maidservants would be the ones to know of the person who wore such a hairpin, Maia felt this avenue was her best chance to identify the woman. Thus, she sent Betty off to the market and to do some shopping, where she was most likely to encounter other loose-tongued servants.

After that, she sent for Aunt Iliana and while she waited, began to peruse through the stack of calling cards and invitations that had arrived for her and Angelica, as well as for Corvindale himself. Normally he ignored such things, leaving it to his man of business to respond if necessary, or to Crewston to handle callers.

She thought that by reviewing these items, her memory might be jolted as to where and when she’d seen the woman with the hairpin. Maia knew it wasn’t someone she’d known from the ton. It was either a newcomer—someone who’d married into the peerage from another country or area—or someone who hadn’t been out in Society for some years, or some distant relative. Or even, she thought suddenly, someone of the demimonde. Those women who were neither fully accepted into Society, but who nevertheless interacted with the men as their mistresses. Perhaps she’d seen such a lady wearing this sort of decoration while shopping or at the theater.

“Maia, whatever is wrong?” Aunt Iliana appeared in the doorway of the parlor. A handsome woman of perhaps forty or forty-five, she was built nearly as tall and sturdily as a man, although she was by no means masculine in appearance. Her skin was nearly as dark as the earl’s, and her eyes the color of strong tea.

Maia was more than a bit shocked to see her dressed in loose trousers and a manlike shirt, along with soft slippers. The older woman’s dark hair was pulled straight back into a braid and her cheeks were damp and flushed. She looked as if she’d just been doing something with great exertion.

“I apologize for my appearance,” Iliana said ruefully. “But Hunburgh said it was urgent, that it had to do with D—the earl.”

“He’s disappeared,” Maia said, and explained. She ended by showing her the hairpin.

Iliana took one look and said a very unladylike thing under her breath. “Rubies. Someone knows about his Asthenia.” Then she looked at Maia as if she’d been caught with her hand in the biscuit box.

“What is it about rubies?” Maia asked. “Do they affect all the Dracule that way?”

Iliana seemed to measure her for a moment. Then, obviously finding her not wanting, said, “It’s called an Asthenia. Each Dracule has his own specific weakness. The effects are like paralysis, and when whatever it is is touched directly to them, it can cause great, excruciating pain. Your instinct is correct. Someone used the gems to weaken him enough to take him away. Dimitri would never have been caught otherwise.”

Maia had known that without being told. Although she’d never had cause to see him in jeopardy or otherwise in a physical altercation, his presence suggested a man very much in control at all times. A flash of memory, of that bare, chiseled chest, broad shoulders and the long, sleek curve of his muscular arms had her insides fluttering again. No, indeed. He would not have been caught unless taken unawares.