Dawn Thompson (37 page)

“I told you,” Milosh said, addressing Joss, “you have no inkling of the power of the Brotherhood. As I told you, we exist everywhere. When word is passed along the chain, a message is far-reaching.”

“This all began because I went in search of you,” Joss said to his father, wincing as the valet gave the linen binding one last tug.

“Milosh has told me,” his father said, “that you had him to mentor you in your hour of need as he once mentored us. Such as that by far surpasses anything your mother and I could have done here.” He made eye contact with the Gypsy. “And it is just one more thing for which we are eternally grateful. You could not be in better hands, son. Now, I want you to get into that bed and let those ribs mend.”

“Not until I’ve seen Cora. I need to talk to her, Father. There are . . . issues between us that must be resolved.”

“Your mother is with her. There will be time for that once you’ve both rested. When you are alone together. When we have left the Abbey.”

“Left the Abbey? You are just come home!”

His father shot him a sobering look. “You know we cannot stay,” he said. “Sebastian lives. He has crawled off to lick his wounds and regain his strength, just as he has done in the past. Once he regenerates, he will return. But not if we lure him away. We are the ones he most hungers for, Joss. Believe me, he will follow where we lead him, and that will leave you free to start a life with your lady. With the Brotherhood on guard, you will be reasonably safe—as safe as any vampire hunter can ever hope to be.”

“But . . . what am I, Father? Will I age, or stay as I am? Will I wake one day with the hunger, the bloodlust? Am I man or vampire?”

Jon Hyde-White hesitated. “Your lady does not seem to care,” he pointed out.

“But
I
care. What have I to offer her like . . . like
this
? What sort of life would it be for us . . . waiting for the worst, never knowing when it might happen?”

“Born of two vampires, you know what you are, Joss. That is not the question. What you really want to know is if the blood moon ritual has spared you the feeding frenzy. Only time will tell. That it hasn’t happened yet is a good sign. That it hasn’t happened in spite of what occurred here this night leaves me reasonably sure that it will not. I saw you. You were at your most powerful.”

“And what of aging?” Joss asked.

Jon Hyde-White breathed a sigh. “I haven’t seen a physical change in you since you were twenty. I believe you will not age. But we do not know that for certain. Heed Milosh’s council, love your lady and above all respect the Brotherhood. Whatever you are, you are no longer alone.”

“What beautiful hair you have,” Cassandra Hyde-White said, running first her hand and then a silver-handled brush the length of Cora’s long, rose-scented mane. They stood before the cheval glass in the master suite dressing room.

Cora marveled at how youthful Joss’s mother appeared. Hearing about her condition and actually seeing it were entirely two different things. It was impossible to imagine that this beautiful woman was a vampire. She looked and acted as normal as Cora herself. Cassandra was studying her now, scrutinizing her image in the freestanding mirror. Why was the woman looking at her like that, raking her from head to toe? Was it that Cora was wearing Joss’s silver brocade dressing gown over her petticoat, or did Joss’s mother’s interest go deeper? It was almost as if she were trying to see into Cora’s soul.

“How much of what you told Joss was the truth?” Cassandra asked.

Cora lowered her eyes. “In what regard?” she hedged.

Cassandra swept her hair back, exposing the puncture marks at the base of her neck; they were ugly and red. “In this regard, my girl.”

Cora hesitated. “It happened as I said,” she replied.

“Not exactly, I think.”

“It all happened so quickly, my lady,” Cora said. “The creature seized me. I was so frightened, and it mesmerized me. Joss saw the hold it had upon me when he entered.”

Cassandra looked long and hard into Cora’s eyes before she spoke, and when she did, her words rode an audible breath. “You could have been killed,” she remarked.

“But I was not. Joss came in time . . . and those wolves.”

Cassandra took Cora’s face in both her hands, and looked deeply into her eyes. “I know what you’ve done, what you’ve sacrificed for him,” she murmured. “You must
never
take such a risk again. You must
never
underestimate Sebastian Valentin again, or leave yourself vulnerable to
any
vampire. My son loves you.” She lightly fingered the angry puncture wounds on Cora’s throat. “He must never know, Cora—”

“Your son was going to send me away,” Cora defended herself. Tears welled in her eyes. She couldn’t prevent them, nor could she hold them back. They were speaking of things that dared not be spoken outright—things that they both understood, though neither would give substance with words outside these four walls. “He meant to set me on a course for home at dawn,” she went on, sobbing now. The mere thought of it brought physical pain. “He did not want to subject me to what he is . . . whatever he is!”

Cassandra embraced her. “Daughter,” she said, “these matters are secrets of the heart—
your
heart, and that is where they must remain, if you take my meaning. Shhhhh, now. All will be well. Joss’s father is having a word with him, and this little talk we’re having will be our secret, hm?”

“Y-yes, ma’am.”

“I am glad to have had the opportunity to meet my son’s beloved,” Cassandra went on. “It may be many years before we meet again, but now I am able to live the life I must without reservations, without fear of my son’s happiness. Joss is in good hands.” She dropped a gentle kiss upon Cora’s brow, extracting more tears, and
smiled. “Now, dry those eyes and dust those blotches with talc,” she said. “You have my blessing, dear . . . and my confidence. Do we understand one another?”

Cora nodded.
Secrets of the heart.
Yes, that is where they would stay. Cassandra floated out of the room then, with a wink and a nod and a finger pressed to her lips, as articulate as the words that remained unspoken.

Cora did as Cassandra bade her. She had scarcely doctored her blotches with talc and had just begun to address the bite marks at the base of her neck, when a gentle knock at the door called her to answer.

“Who knocks?” she said, shaky-voiced. It was not yet dawn, and she had made a promise to Cassandra.

“It is I,” Joss said from the other side. “Let me in, Cora.”

She hesitated, then threw the bolt and skittered back from the door. It came open gingerly. Cora almost giggled. Did he expect to dodge some missile? He looked as if he did. A closer look faded the smile from her thoughts, and from her lips. He was stripped to the waist, his chest tightly bound in linen strips, his shoulder also bound. Their gazes locked, he reached behind and threw the bolt. Cora almost winced at the sound it made, a rasping clang that echoed in the stillness.

For a moment they stood still, as if they’d suddenly turned to stone; then with a limp that more closely resembled a stagger, Joss reached her in two ragged strides, and crushed her into so volatile an embrace it took her breath away.

“Your ribs!” she cried when their lips parted.

“The devil take my ribs!” Joss murmured against her hair. Boldly attempting to sweep her into his arms, he winced and cried out in pain.

“You should be abed!” Cora scolded, steadying him.

“I agree,” Joss said, leading her to the four-poster.

“Y-you can’t mean to . . . ?”

“Oh, but I can,” he murmured. Tugging the sash loose on his silvery dressing gown, he stripped off the robe and revealed her camisole and petticoat beneath. Raising the dressing gown to his nose, he inhaled deeply. “I have dreamed of sleeping in this after it has come warm from your body, laced with your scent. . . .”

Cora scarcely dared breathe. He was in earnest, and her heart was thumping so violently that she feared it would jump through her skin. The back of his hand grazed her décolleté as he removed her camisole, exposing first one aching breast and then the other. Her nipples had hardened to puckered buds, and he took one into his mouth, teasing it mercilessly. Beguiled, Cora scarcely realized he’d shed his boots and buckskins or relieved her of her petticoat until they lay together naked, ensconced in the feather bedding.

Aroused, Joss lay on his back. His hands about Cora’s waist nearly met as he lifted her astride him. Cora sucked in her breath at the swift penetration. He’d plunged deeply, and her moist sex responded with a shuddering lurch that had never before occurred. Her hips jerked forward, and heat like a firestorm singed her belly and thighs.

“You are mad!” she said. “Your ribs!”

Joss cupped her breasts in his hands, his thumbs grazing her aching nipples. “If I am mad,” he panted, “then you have driven me so. Once again, my love, I am in your hands. Do what you will with me, Cora.”

“Does this mean I am not to be sent from the Abbey?” she whispered, afraid to ask the words aloud and break the spell—afraid to remind him that just hours before he had ended what had begun between them.

Burying his hands in her long hair, he gave a deep nod, lowered her face to his and murmured against her lips, “As soon as the roads are passable, you will indeed leave the Abbey. We shall
both
cross the border and wed in Gretna Green . . . if you will have me.”

Cora gave a lurch. “If I will have you?” she asked, smothering him with kisses that drove his sex into her deeper still.

“I have tasted you, Cora,” he said around the thickness of his canine teeth as the fangs descended. She could see them clearly. “I have tasted your sweetness. You are in my blood, but I am still in your hands.”

Cora sucked his lower lip into her mouth. It was cut, and she tasted the thick metallic nectar of his blood on her tongue. Warm and salty, it trickled to the back of her palate and down her throat. There was no frenzy, however, only the burning desire to always join with him in this most intimate of ways.

“Whatever you are, I am one with you now,” she whispered.

“And I, you,” he responded, tracing the wounds on her throat with his forefinger.

Outside, the dawn was breaking, and the wolves had ceased their mournful howling. All else forgotten, the two clung to each other in mindless oblivion. Joss was indeed in Cora’s hands, but more than that, he was in her heart, in her blood and in her soul. Whatever occurred, they were what they would always be, and they would face that challenge together.