Blood Fire (12 page)
“What do you mean—properly take care of me? Why are you not afraid of that monster? Why does it want to kill me?”
“I have a great deal to explain to you, Lady Sutcliffe. Please let me help you. I run a house in London that is a sanctuary for young women like you—”
“I have heard of sanctuaries that are really brothels.”
“I am not like that. As you have seen, I am aware of the fantastical elements of our world. I protect girls who are witches, vampires, werewolves. Young women who have no means to protect themselves. It is my duty to teach you how to survive with your powers. I know you are special, my dear. All the young ladies in my house are special. They all have powers and, because they did not understand their magic, they were frightened by them. They were confused and afraid, and fought to hide what they are. You have tried to do the same thing, but you couldn’t, could you?”
“No, I couldn’t,” Octavia admitted. “But why do you do this? How much money do you want?”
“I do not want money. I am paid to do what I do by a benevolent patron. I can help you, but you must trust me.”
“I need to know more. I can’t just trust you.”
“Of course I understand your hesitation, Lady Sutcliffe. My patron is a duke, one with a fascination with the occult, and with preternatural beings. Unfortunately, by the terms of his patronage, I cannot reveal his name. I can tell you that he was a leader of the Royal Society—a group of vampire slayers. But after a decade in command of the group, he realized that people with special powers should be helped, not hunted. He purchased houses in London that would be sanctuaries for preternatural beings. I run his house for young ladies.”
She didn’t know what to do. Mrs. Darkwell had saved her.
“Lady Sutcliffe, I believe the satyr was commanded to assassinate you.”
Hysterical laughter hovered, and she swallowed hard. “
Assassinate
me?”
Assassinate
me?”
“Yes, due to your great power. You are unusually strong, and because of your destiny, you will be a target for all the powerful male preternatural beings. The satyrs will try to destroy you. As will the dragon-shifters and the werewolves. The vampires—”
“I don’t understand.”
“I will protect you and ensure no harm comes to you. And I will explain everything. But I cannot do it here, where you are at risk. You must come with me to London.”
On blind faith, did she go with this woman who had saved her life? Octavia’s hand strayed to her stomach. It wasn’t just her life at risk, in any decision she made. She had to think about the baby. What if the satyr returned? How could she fight him alone?
“You are afraid for your child,” the woman observed. “You will have a safe house during your confinement and the best of London’s physicians for the birth. We must keep your baby safe, too. If these monsters want to kill you, they will also kill your child.”
Octavia knew she must accept the truth. She couldn’t live alone and unprotected anymore. “All right, I will come with you.”
Octavia had been at the mysterious London house for two days—two days of delicious meals, clean, silk sheets, the constant chattering of other, apparently contented young women—when she was summoned to Mrs. Darkwell’s private rooms.
“Are you going to tell me what is happening—” she began impatiently, but Mrs. Darkwell stood up from behind her desk and put her finger to her lips.
“Not yet, Lady Sutcliffe. We have to ensure you and your baby are both well.” She nodded toward the wall.
A white-haired gentleman came forward. He carried a bag with instruments. He set it down and bowed to her.
Mrs. Darkwell glided out from behind the desk and across the room, hands clasped in front of her. “This is Dr. Hogkins, Lady Sutcliffe. He will examine you and ensure all is well.”
Octavia sank down onto a settee. She glanced around the room, for this was the first time she had seen it. The rest of the house was elegantly decorated in the latest styles. There was a Grecian room, filled with graceful chaises, Grecian vases, and statues. There was a vivid scarlet Oriental room. There was a room used only in the mornings that was filled daily with vases of fresh flowers. In short, this house was very much like her old home and Sutcliffe’s mansion.
But Mrs. Darkwell’s room was very different. It was dark—the walls were paneled in dark wood. It looked like a gentleman’s study. Pictures of horses adorned the walls.
“How do you feel, Lady Sutcliffe?” Dr. Hogkins asked jovially.
How did she feel? Frightened. Nervous. Frustrated because she had come here hoping for answers and had none yet. Worried, for she was living in a house only a few blocks away from her husband. She knew Sutcliffe was back in London—he had arrived a fortnight after his letter. Could she really hide just a few yards away from him? But the doctor was talking about the baby. “I don’t feel nausea anymore. Yesterday, I felt the baby kick.”
Dr. Hogkins felt her belly for only seconds, asked her more questions about her health and her eating habits, then he glanced to Mrs. Darkwell and nodded. “Lady Sutcliffe is quite well and progressing as should be expected. I shall make another examination in a fortnight.”
She thanked the doctor, who bowed and departed.
Mrs. Darkwell settled on the chair across from her and smiled. “There, now that is done, there are other aspects of your health to be discussed.”
“I want to speak about the satyr and what you told me—that creatures will be trying to kill me!”
“I wished to speak of something of more importance first. Your carnal desires.”
“My
what?
”
what?
”
“It is quite common for a woman with your powers. You have a heightened degree of sexual desire. You desire pleasure often. That is why your relations with Lord Sutcliffe made you feel better.”
“How could you know that? I never told you—”
“I could guess, my dear. Now, while you are expecting the child, you will be protected from your desires. It is a good thing if you pleasure yourself, as well. It is quite harmless for the child, and enjoyable for you. I suggest that you dream of a man you desire.”
Octavia launched out of the chair. “I don’t want to talk about this. I want to find out why a satyr wants me dead.”
Mrs. Darkwell held out her hand. Octavia eyed the woman with suspicion, but she stopped. This mysterious woman had given her safety and a place to stay, and here she was learning how to control her magic powers. But despite all this help, Mrs. Darkwell refused to give her any real information. Yet, even knowing the woman would not tell her what she needed to know, Octavia found she was lowering carefully back into her chair.
“You have very strong magical powers,” the woman said softly. “Whenever someone comes into strong power, as you did when you first made love with Lord Sutcliffe, members of the metaphysical world can sense it. They know things. They have spies everywhere, as well. So they learned about you. Women with such power are threats to the males—to male vampires, werewolves, dragon-shifters, satyrs. If the most powerful women were to join their powers, they could enslave all the men. There are six special magical females who can combine their powers—they can literally bind together—and who could control the world. So the men fear them. Over centuries, men have hunted and destroyed the most powerful women, to ensure that there never have been all six in existence together at once.”
Her wits were whirling. “Six women? Which six women?”
“A vampire. A female wolf-shifter, as well as a dragon-shifter. A hawk-shifter. A witch. And a—a demoness.”
“But how can I be one of these women? I knew nothing of having powers. I don’t want to have these powers, and I certainly don’t want to use them to hurt anyone.”
“I know that, Lady Sutcliffe, but these creatures do not. Unfortunately, it is because you are new to your powers that you are the perfect target for them.” Mrs. Darkwell clasped Octavia’s hands and squeezed gently. “But that will not happen now. Not with me to protect you. Now, go to bed, my dear. In your room, you will find a variety of implements to gratify yourself. After the baby’s birth, then you will be free to pursue gentlemen. As many as you wish.”
Octavia’s head reeled. “As many as I wish? But I am married.”
“You can no longer live with Lord Sutcliffe. Your decision to leave him was quite right. You must live independently, my dear. There is no other way. Otherwise he will try to quell your powers. If he tries to do that, he could very well kill you.” Mrs. Darkwell patted her knee. “There is no reason an independent woman cannot satisfy her needs.”
Octavia bundled all of Mrs. Darkwell’s strange “implements,” which included long wands, beads, and balls on a chain into her arms, and she pushed them in a drawer without using them.
She dropped into her bed, pulled up the sheets, and closed her eyes, hoping for sleep. But one never slept with whirling wits. She was one of the most powerful of the preternatural creatures. How could that be possible? A few months ago, she had been a normal, but ill, young woman, and she had never made a fire start or a mirror crack. Surely, if she were a powerful witch, she would have had some sign of it before going to bed with Sutcliffe.
As for dreaming about gentlemen . . .
She only wanted one man. Just one. Sutcliffe.
She couldn’t have him. She couldn’t live with a man who refused to love her and believed she should be locked away.
In his letter, he had outlined his entire plan. First they would go together to his most remote estate on the Scottish border. He would have to return to London, but she would not. She would have to live in his old castle, to ensure that no one learned of her strange “abilities,” as Sutcliffe put it. A small group of loyal servants—well paid for discretion—would be her companions.
She would be cut off from the world. A prisoner.
Well, she had cut herself off willingly, but on her own terms. She could imprison herself; she wouldn’t let Sutcliffe do it for her.
Not once in his letter did he say that he would live with her, or even visit her. Perhaps he intended to store her away, and he didn’t care if she rotted.
But he would care about a child, wouldn’t he? If he had married her for the sake of the child, he would not abandon it; she was certain of that. A boy would be his heir.
What frightened her was the fear he would take the baby away from her. She would be left in the middle of nowhere, and Sutcliffe would live away from her, with their child.
She couldn’t bear that.
Mrs. Darkwell had promised she would learn to control her powers, and there was no way her magic could ever hurt her child.
Octavia closed her eyes. The strangest sensation fell over her—it was as if she had dropped through a black hole and was hurtling down. Was she literally
falling
asleep? Dreaming? She opened her eyes and jerked up in the bed.
falling
asleep? Dreaming? She opened her eyes and jerked up in the bed.
She wasn’t
in
bed.
in
bed.
It was impossible, but she was in a garden, one she had never been in before. She
must
be dreaming.
must
be dreaming.
In the garden, it was daylight. Warm sunlight slanted into the beautiful place like ribbons of gold. She had to close her eyes for the rays were blindingly bright. When she took a deep breath, she smelled roses—masses of them, and their rich perfume was enough to tickle her nose and make her sneeze.
Octavia snapped open her eyes, sure the tempting garden would have vanished.
No, it was still there. A breeze made petals flutter. Hummingbirds darted, and somewhere a fountain made a splashing sound.
When was a dream ever so vivid that she could smell things? Octavia saw flagstones below her feet. The roses were high, growing in ordered rows. They made it impossible to see where she actually was.
She followed the path, winding up and down rows of flowers. She took one last turn and a tall man stood before her, his back to her. A coat of dark blue stretched over his shoulders and brought out the richness of his brown hair. His legs were slightly splayed, outlined by formfitting trousers that disappeared into tall, gleaming black boots.
It was Sutcliffe, the man she had intended to avoid. She had run away from home to escape him, yet here he was, standing right in front of her. But instead of retreating, running and hiding again, she approached. Sutcliffe turned. She expected him to look annoyed. Instead, the softest smile curved his lips. For once, he actually looked delighted to see her. His blue eyes sparkled. “I’ve worried about you.”
“I—” She steeled for the argument. She had to protest against all his plans.
But he pressed his finger to her lips. Surprised, she quieted. He had stripped off his gloves. “For months, I’ve longed to be with you. To make love to you.”
She looked down at her rounded belly.
“It won’t hurt the baby,” he whispered. “I want something sweet with you.”
He bent and kissed the swell of her breasts with soft lips. She should run away from him, but she couldn’t. Her cunny ached with need. How she loved the way his full, firm lower lip traced the lacy edge of her scooped neckline. Sensation sparkled there, making her skin tingle.
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